Is this blog dead or alive?

There once was a time that I was a regular blogger, with a mix of posts sharing the details of our days and posts sharing my novice photography obsession. Those were good times.

And then I eventually transitioned to blogging mostly in my head, with sporadic, unpredictable appearances here. The stories in my head have been fantastic.

And then I fell silent. Or, really, switched to micro-blogging with Instagram.  Some days I scroll through my Instagram feed and seriously question that pursuit, before quickly reminding myself that hobbies are healthy. They are indeed good for us. #longlivethehashtag

And here I am, back to 3inGiro, attempting to write. I have good cause to sharpen my long-dormant composition skills, cause that I'll leave purposefully unstated today, and am here again to give it a shot.

Alive.

Summer Reading List

Bobcat and Other Stories by Rebecca Lee
I can't remember the last time I read a collection of short stories.

One and Only: The Freedom of Having an Only Child and the Joy of Being One by Lauren Sandler
Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, yes!

All the King's Men by Robert Penn Warren
I should have read this ages ago.

The Wings of the Sphinx by Andrea Camilleri
This is on the suggestion of a friend. This is not my genre.

The Solitude of Prime Numbers by Paolo Giordano
This is on the suggestion of another friend. Camelleri and Giordano are Italian authors. I, of course, plan to read the English translations.

Let's Explore Diabetes with Owls by David Sedaris
I plan to download the audio file of Sedaris reading his essays, compliments of my local library.

Matilda by Roald Dahl (Read aloud with Young One)
We have tickets in NYC in July!!!




{Completely Unrelated Photo from Instagram}



A bit ambitious, no doubt.

Well, I likely won't get to all of this, but I will log some serious hours in planes, trains, and automobiles this summer. Preparation and flexibility are the keys to successful travel. Years of experience and that's all I've got to offer in terms of travel advice: Be prepared to be flexible. And drink lots of water.

I love that I can access digital content from my library from just about anywhere and that I can have lots of titles in one place with my iPad, which has quickly become essential to successful traveling for our family.

How is your summer list shaping up?

corner view

corner view :: leaves

Autumnal Splendor in Northern Italy :: Changing Leaves

To Autumn

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

   Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

   With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;

To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,

   And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

      To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

   With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

      For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

To hear the entire three verses of this John Keats poem, visit the Poetry Foundation website.

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For more corner views or to link up with us, visit Francesca at FuoriBorgo.

love thyself

After a disastrous photography project related to work yesterday, just as I cursed myself for the mistakes I made, I looked up and saw this. Yep. Call me a kook!  But it pulled me out of the self-depricating funk. All is good :) Love thyself.

new year | new beginning

Vineyard in Province of Vicenza

One of my favorite things about the paese is that we experience the wonder of all four seasons here; nowhere is this more evident than in the vineyards that surround us. In the next few weeks the grapes will be harvested and the rich green leaves will change to the colors of a golden sunset before leaving the vines naked for the winter. After a long cold and foggy winter when the vines will appear frozen and dead,  the paese will explode with cherry and apricot blossoms, quite a while before I notice the new growth on the vines. Eventually, though, I will notice, and when I do, I will be filled with hope because of the potential of a new beginning as promised by Mother Nature. I believe that living in a place like this is good for my soul. I truly do.

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Tomorrow marks my seventeenth first day of school as an educator. I am filled with hope and ready for a new beginning.

31 Things | Day 6 | You

1. Age: Forty and a-okay with that!

2. Favorite part of my day:  I really, truly, honestly, completely like that part of my day that I am utterly alone. I rarely get that treat, but when I do, I savor the solitude. 


3. Loving: 
I am loving the local cherries! All year I look forward to them with great anticipation and then enjoy them as much as possible during their brief season. I love hearing people tell me they enjoyed the cherry jam I made last year and hope to make my first batch of the season this weekend.

4. Longing for: 
I am longing for a new camera. It’s a bad idea. It’s a total indulgence. Okay, so while I’m in longing mode, I may as well throw in that over-the-top lens that I’ve been drooling over as well. I keep reminding myself that it’s the photographer, not the camera, that makes the image.  I believe that wholeheartedly, but I long nonetheless.

5. Inspired by: 
I am most inspired by my community of bloggers. They inspire me to be a better mother, a better writer, and a better photographer. I don’t read blogs related to my profession. Maybe I should start.

6. Dreaming of:  I am not a dreamer. You know that. Don't feel sorry for me.


7. Needing:  Right now I need to be with my sister and her sweet family as they struggle with the very sudden, very serious illness of a loved one this week. I hate that I can’t give her a hug or hold her children next to me.

8. Navigating: 
I am always, always, always navigating this foreign culture. Some days are smooth sailing while others bring me to my knees.  I think I’ve offended the mother of one of Young One’s classmates; the catch is … I have no idea how or why! Likely, it was simple miscommunication (or lack of understanding on my part), but she is clearly not happy with me.

9. Struggling with: 
I am struggling with “unplugging.” I want to be able to set limits, especially during the summer. I may have to resort to bribery and rewards. See #4.

10. Knowing: I know that I am needed and loved by my family and that I give them the best of me. I know that even when I don’t, because, let’s face it, sometimes I can’t, they love me the same. That’s a good thing to know.


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I'm trying to keep up with the daily prompts of the Ali Edwards online class 31 Things. This one was quick and easy because Ali included this simple list of ten things as a writing option today. I love a good list.
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31 Things | Day 2 | Morning Routine

It goes like this nearly every single weekday. A break in this routine can have long-lasting, far-reaching consequences of the nature that I can’t mention here.

The alarm sounds at 5:15 am. I fumble to reach my iPad, hoping that I’ll escape dropping it to the floor. I hit the snooze button, but only after putting in the required pass code to unlock the dang thing. Jeezzz! It’s too early for this. Even with all the commotion, I still manage to fall back asleep before the next sound of the alarm. By now Richard has entered the shower, and I decide to be kind and wait until he is done before entering the other bathroom. You know, I don’t want to affect his water pressure … it has absolutely nothing to do with wanting to grab five more winks before starting the day.

As soon as I hear his shower stop, I leap up and sprint to the other bathroom that I share with Maddy. Well, kinda. Okay, actually I walk like an old, old peasant lady as my body decides what to think of this new day.  Meanwhile, Luigi, the wonder cat, is waiting patiently at the head of the stairs and offers me a pathetic good morning meow as fumble on by. Richard is who he really longs to see. I let the shower run for a few minutes before entering. And then, bam. I’m awake. It’s that easy. BAM! Just ask Emeril.

By now Richard has dressed and is downstairs starting the day; Gigi is off raiding the bowls of neighbor cats, while Madelyn is still fast asleep. (Or is she faking? I don’t know. I never know.) I dry my hair. I quickly iron a wrinkle-free shirt and grab the jeans I wore Monday. Surely no one will notice. I check my email, my Facebook feed. And then, I futilely attempt to wake up the sleeping child. Without her in the mix, I could be out the door within 30 minutes of waking.

Oh. My. Goodness. She simply does not want to get out of bed. Ever. (Except for Saturday and Sunday, that is.) We have a sleeper, I’m afraid. I know that when she is fifteen she will “sleep her life away” on the weekends and stay in bed until noon. Of course, when she sleeps until 9:30 on a Saturday, we LOVE it. I hope to remember this when she is fifteen.

Eventually, after repeated attempts, I get her to open her eyes.  My friends tell me that she has the divine luxury of being an only child. In their homes of two or three children, there is no time for such coaxing each morning. I help to get her dressed with the clothes that I picked out for the day. Yep. She is eight and she totally lets me pick out her every outfit. What can I say? You win some, you lose some.

She calls to her Dad to carry her down the stairs. Dutifully, dotingly he arrives and tells her she is getting too big for this; he carries her nonetheless. I warn him to be careful on the stairs. He’s already prepared breakfast for both of us: scrambled eggs with a glass of milk for her, eggs and coffee for me.  And then the three of us sit together as a family. A bona fide, dignified, connected family having a civil breakfast conversation together. It's his thing; he insists. I love him for it. I pray that this, too, will continue when she is fifteen. She demands more milk. I tell her to get it from the fridge.

With the clock between the two windows as our watchman, we decide that it’s time to go and the pace quickens once more. Richard has already packed her snack in her backpack; I help her to gather her books left out from yesterday’s homework.

But wait … oh no … we can’t find the dang cat. He’s still out. He won’t come when I call. “Here, here Luigi! Meow! Meow! Gigi! Gigi! Vieni!” I shake the treats. No cat.  He says he’ll text Rosy to ask her to let him in later. Dang cat.

And then we are off. Me in the moldy-smelling wagon with the hidden leak near the passenger floor board and those two in the sleek and hip Fiat 500. Only to wake up and do it all over again tomorrow.

I love my life.

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I've enrolled in the Ali Edwards 31 Things Workshop at Big Picture Classes. I need incentive to get my writing mojo going again, friends ... not that I'm busy or anything at this time of year. Sheeesh.

stuff I'm sharing

:: Grilled Asparagus Recipe :: It just left us wondering why in the world we had never grilled asparagus before Sunday. Yum.

:: Interactive Website :: Draw a Stickman

:: Coldplay Cover of Beastie Boys :: My dear husband, a man of another generation, says he doesn't even remember this song.  What the heck?


:: I've finally read Amy Chua's work, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, and I'm here to say that I totally get it.  While I am no "Tiger Mom," I do share many of her beliefs...specifically that children need high expectations and direction. I also think that the media misinterpreted her intent, likely without even reading the dang book, because much of what I had read and heard about the book before reading it was irrelevant and false. Shame on the press.

:: I also totally get this response from Dear Prudence to "Wondering." This sense of entitlement frightens me, frankly. (It's the third question in the article.)

:: Husband is back & I just booked a babysitter for a date night this weekend. I'm shooting for an early evening in Venice, with a visit to this Klimt exhibit; the week is young :) We shall see.

i did it, but it was painful

For the first time since high school, when I suffered through Watership Down in the name of a good grade, I finished a book that I absolutely did not like. At all. I think I can safely say I hated it. Yep. That strong ... hate. I knew from the moment that green baby Elphaba bit off someone's finger that I wouldn't like the book. I don't even care to take time to tell you all the other things I did not like about it. I usually quickly put books aside that don't appeal to me so early on in the story. I persevered only because I have theater tickets in London; it was my penance for insisting on the best seats in the house. Don't ask me to explain that logic...that's just how I roll.

What was the last book you finished that you didn't particularly like? Why did you do that?

2012 projects

I've taken on a few projects since the new year, and since I've managed to keep up with them so far, I thought I'd share.

The first two are in hopes of improving my photography.

366 in 2012 is my daily photo blog where I post a picture a day, usually on the day I take it, but not always. This stretches my photography by forcing me to take a photo Every. Single. Day. -- rain or shine, sun or clouds, happy or cranky, even when there is fog and rain. Since I'm usually limited to natural light loveliness that comes only when the mood hits me, this is quite a challenge. Um, and, I want to learn to rock my iPhone camera like Emily. I think mine is defective.

I've also joined a Flickr group: Clicky Project 52 / 2012. Weekly themes, photos posted in the group. Interesting people who are connected in one way or another. Feedback. Encouragement.

 Some of the same pictures appear both here and in those places, but not all of them.

The third project is a goofy one called Italian Pizza Diaries. I can't help myself.

What are you doing in this new year?

the final homemade gift

This is the last one, I promise: photo notecards!

This idea came to me from one of Richard's colleagues who gave him a set of these as a welcome gift when he visited her school this fall. Initially, I had hoped to make postcards or notecards with my images professionally printed onto them. I discovered that this would require using the same few images in multiple quantities. How ever could I choose?

 

So instead, I had some of my favorite images printed at MPix in both the 3.5 x 5 and 4 x 5 size on their metallic paper and then ordered notecards from the JoAnn craft site. With a regular ol' glue stick, I adhered the photos to the cards and then pencilled in a (sometimes cheesy) title and date on each one.

 

I'll sort them into groups of five and bundle them and their envelopes with twine. I get the best feeling from this homemade gift because it signals a bit of confidence about my photography skills and allows me to give a part of me to others. I mean, these cards look really, really nice...and those are my photos. Finally.

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I am now officially on break until after the new year. Richard and Young One (both start break next week) have just left the house, and I'm off to complete task number one for this week:  organizing and weeding the bookshelf in Young One's room. Oh, what an exciting life I lead!

corner view

:: indispensable ::

I found a card in my mailbox at school yesterday:

Dear Ms. K,

Thank you so much for all you've done for me these past few years. I have really enjoyed working with you as well as getting to know you as a friend. I also want to thank you so much for your recommendation letter. I know it is because of your letter that I'm going to Berkeley on scholarship.  Aside from that, you've taught me a lot of life lessons that I will always remember. You've helped prepare me for this next part of my life and I cannot thank you enough for that. Our high school is far from being perfect but you are one of the better things about it, as well as one of the best teachers that I have ever had. I'm going to do my best to stay in touch and I will stop by and see you anytime that I am in town. Thank you again for everything!

Very Respectfully,
A Recent Graduate

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For a high school teacher, this kind of note is indispensable (absolutely necessary). It validates in a way that test scores and performance appraisals can't.

PS. My letter of recommendation did not gain him admission to Berkley. He is an amazing kid young man with a bright future. We are in good hands with kids like him in the next generation.

PSS. We are not friends, but he knows that I care about him, for him . . . that is indispensable for young people. When a student has the feeling that I care, I can get him/her to do almost anything :)

PSSS. We treasure these notes from parents, too. When is the last time you wrote one?

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For more Indispensable Corner Views . . . see Francesca.



mother's day in paris with the girls

I had a bit of an unconventional Mother's Day this year, spending most of it in Paris with six of the the most amazing mothers I know. We seven women are quite different from one another, with the one thing we all share being our complete and unabashed embracement of motherhood.

The Eiffel Tower Just after Midnight

So what do we decide to do for Mother's Day? Leave our children behind for a weekend together celebrating each other, celebrating motherhood, celebrating friendship . . . in Paris . . .  that's exactly what we decide to do. 

One friend likes to put it like this: We left behind seven husbands, fifteen children, one mother, and one set of in-laws to rendezvous for a girls' weekend in Paris. We are indeed blessed -- to have them and to have each other.

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And Paris?  It's simpy perfect for a weekend with girlfriends or a romantic rendezvous or a family visit or even a solo traveling experience. Simply divine. Simply Paris.

(But. . . ask me how popular that was with Young One who was memorizing a special poem just for me to deliver with breakfast in bed Sunday morning?)

taking pause

Feeling grateful for those who serve

Praying for peace

pizza mamma

When I saw “Pizza Mamma” in the subject line of the email from the class mother, it caused a knot in my gut.  I knew exactly what it meant because a good friend recently shared that the mothers in her daughter’s first grade class do the same, even call it the same. They even have a father version, which I doubt will ever happen with Young One’s class. It’s all about le mamme in our group. Richard is pretty-much down with that…lucky dog.

The unopened email taunted me from my inbox for several days with me subconsciously wishing it away. It remained. I opened it. The message informed the date and time and indicated that a list would be posted in the corridor at the school, and we should each confirm our intentions to attend.  So very public. So very obvious if the answer is negative, with neat columns labeled "Sì" and "No" next to each child's name. So very much in the style of this class mother. 

When I finally checked the list on an afternoon that I was left virtually alone in the corridor, I noticed that nearly everyone confirmed;I begrudgingly followed suit, keying it in on my iPhone calendar and then putting it out of my mind, but not without remembering the words I used to encourage my girlfriend on her first “Pizza Mamma” experience: “It’s the right thing to do. We need to integrate. You’ll be fine. You have to do it for your daughter. It’s important to be a part of the group. You are an interesting woman. Drink lots of wine. Your Italian is perfect,”  with each encouraging word nudging me toward the big wooden doors and away from the list.  Words.

 

Socialite, I am not. I’m not good at dinner parties. I’m not good at striking up conversations. I’m not good with strangers. I haven't been granted the "gift of gab." I’m not even really good at making new friends. I take a long while to "warm up." I rarely just "hit it off" with anyone.I don't talk to people on planes. Words like "network" and "small talk" give me hives. Yes...I’m an introvert who prefers intimate settings to large groups, who prefers the known to the unknown, socially speaking.  I don’t mingle. I can’t. I am not a snob, though sometimes I am mistaken for one. I am extremely reserved until I get to know someone well. I know only one of these mamme well, and she told me she likely could not make it.

Great. Just Great.

Pizza, late on Wednesday night with a group of women that I perceived to be so entirely different from me? You might imagine the anxiety that would induce in me...and then double it. Double it, and then rip it open, exposing the fresh wound to the thick, Veneto smog. Add in that the evening would be completely in Italian with the 20+ of the "beautiful people" and you could pour a bit of alcohol or iodine on the open wound for good measure.  Just sayin'...

I did follow through on my committment this week and  survived my first "Pizza Mamma," and even though I was out so late that my husband called to check on my whereabouts (he never does that), I'm A-okay, completely unscathed.

Later, I'll tell you more about it.

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oh, procrastination! how do i love thee, let me count the ways . . .

Of course, you know the reason I've taken a break from blogging in March is because I have SO. MUCH. TO. DO. With three time-sensitive projects looming, I need all the time I can get and don't have a minute to spare, especially since one of these is a whopper of a project with many little pieces to be pulled together. Truly. Yet, here I am -- not using time wisely.

I've always worked better under pressure. I've always worked better with deadlines near. I've always procrastinated until the last conceivable moment. Every. Single. Time. It, whatever "it" may be, gets done, always gets done well. Can procrastination be a valid approach for some? I do believe this is so. (It does not work well when grading essays, but cannot be avoided.)

Some things never change. Instead of doing the things that I need to be doing, I've spent my time on things I feel like doing -- like tinkering in Photoshop with the blog banner. If you get this in a reader on your fancy iPad (ahem, RD), then you may want to click over to the real deal to see the facelift. (I found inspiration for it in the banner here, by the way. Grazie, amica mia!)

photo display complete, for now

I was inspired by Emily to use magnet boards to display photos; she found the idea here . . . but really, it's all over the web.  The magnet boards are from IKEA, while the magnets are from both Crate and Barrel and this place. I ordered the prints from MPix, who offers a host of sizes.

And the photos?  They are mine and I'm (finally) proud to display a bit of my "work," imperfect as it may be.

Completing this project makes me all kinds of happy.

It's a perfect way to welcome spring and her rays of sun into our home.

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the Italian me on Wednesdays

As I was standing in the locker room after the shower this week, wishing she would hurry while watching Young One chat comfortably with two of the boys, all three of them completely nude, it occured to me: Wednesday's have been good for me this year, good for Young One, too.

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I join the same cast of characters each Wednesday as we usher our little people through the locker room and then take our seats at the bar above the pool until the end of the lesson. I wish I could tell you that we are glued to the window, observing in awe every spectacular splash and stroke, but that wouldn’t be true at all. When we do gather together behind the row of those parents fixed in seats at the window, we usually share a laugh at the awkwardness of one or the other of our children as they attempt to move their little bodies in the water as instructed.

Should one child exhibit a bit of prowess, we duly congratulate each other with exaggerated commendations: “Wow.  Che brava, Cristina! She gets it all from you.” I like that there is no feeling of competition in this crowd of friends at the pool; we are all in this together. Our same-aged children have varied abilities, and it just doesn’t matter: all for one, one for all.

I have a bit of a love / hate relationship with this Wednesday date at the pool. All things associated with preparing for the lesson and those that come after the lesson – packing the bag, rushing to the pool after school in enough time to sneak in unnoticed (to avoid harassment about potential cramps) so that I can give Young One a quick snack @ the bar before swimming (gasp!), the locker room business – especially the post-swim antics in the steamy locker room full of naked bodies wrangling for a spot in line for the showers– all of this, I loathe.  

I do love the time with my friends in the bar, both as a participant with and observer of them. This is where I had the exchange about the furs in Asiago. This is where I gather info about summer camps and clarify homework assignments. It’s where I learn of hip, usually useless apps for my iPhone and discuss appropriate pay outs by the Tooth Fairy. It's the place for tips on summer seaside destinations and the place for gossip. This is where I hold a welcomed spot at the same table week after week. Living in a forgein culture can be lonesome, even with a load of ex-pat friends. Having a place at the table with locals means something.

It’s also where I’ve learned that for all of our differences, we are fundamentally the same, with the same hopes, fears, insecurities and dreams. Most importantly, it’s where I feel most comfortable with my Italian and where I feel comfortable not saying a word at all. It’s not the me I am in the English-speaking world, but it’s the me they know, accept and include – the Italian me.

It’s not easy to break into a group of Italians, socially speaking, in this part of Italy. My closest Italian friend who is also a colleague circles herself closely with friends that she first met in high school; they are all beyond 40. No one has yet to penetrate that circle; I would never expect to do so. I wish I could explain how this is so different from the dear relationships with neighbors in the paese, but I'm afraid I can't without being misunderstood. It's just . . . different.

The first few years I had contact with this group, I barely conjured a “Ciao” from some of them. Even the more formal “Salve” didn’t flow freely.  Over time, they discovered that despite my lack of fashion sense and my general silence in most social situations, that I was an okay kinda gal. The fact that I managed to form friendships without talking much is an admirable feat. Our children frequented the same child care facility, which had many of us in prolonged daily contact. Finally, I gained approval, especially after the dreaded overnight field trip. I don’t know that I was searching so much for it after the first year, but I was happy to embrace it once offered. Everyone seeks acceptance on some level.

Now we are cool with each other. Cool. I like it like that. I can count on them, they can count on me. One of the children is in Young One's Prima B class, but the others have dispersed to other schools throughout the city. We gather together occassionally outside of our Wednesday pool dates, and when they organize something solely for the children, someone calls or texts me, Young One is included. 

When Angelica organized what has turned into my year-long recurring Wednesday date, she insisted that Young One participate. She even went so far to sign her up, pay her fees -- we could pay her back later. She called while I was at work and she was already in the line to register, speaking in rapid, frantic Italian on the other end of my phone: there was no time to spare, the three other kids were signing up, only 3 spots remained,  it would be a beautiful thing for them . . .  she refused to accept “no” as an answer. I was essentially left without a choice.

Lucky me.
Yep, Wednesday's have proven to be good for me this year. Remind of that in September when it's time to enroll in swimming again and all I can think of is the steamy locker room.
 

it's carnival time

I'm hoping to master the king cake this year. Evidently, my baking confidence has grown a bit since last year when I hesitated to tackle such a task. 

Last year, I fudged. 

I brought it to work where no one was the wiser, not even the Northerner who lived in Louisiana a couple of years. Many looked upon it with disdain (it is not exactly eye candy to the unanointed) and didn't have an inkling of its significance. Attempts to explain were thwarted by people eager to tell me a Mardi Gras story -- usually that of a friend, by people who had no interest in the culture I expounded as the hedonist thoughts often associated with this party filled their groins brains.

I have discovered that this is true for most things associated with Mardi Gras: people tend wrap it up in a boobs, booze & beads package that is far from the reality that I know and love.  I've stop explaining and have resorted to the smile and nod when they get started on the subject, and then I tell them I hope to take Young One to Mardi Gras in the next couple of years. Ha!  Whatever, people. It's annoying, but I accept defeat.


King Cake #1 :: January 7,  2011



 

But I'm not yet defeated by the baking. This first attempt was fair, but not fantastic.  I used a recipe posted by The Times-Picayune food editor on January 6, one that I later found across the Internet as well. The conundrum is, of course, determining if it's an issue of the recipe, the oven, or the baker. Baby steps . . . or as a friend says, "How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time." 

One cake at a time.
I'll try again this weekend.
Either that are some crostoli, another kind of carnival treat.

My Little Masked Reveler

In searching for my next recipe to attempt, I discovered that this bakery in NOLA is creating a king cake with. . . are you ready? . . . you won't believe it . . . it's simply fantastic . . . CHEVRE!!!  I think we'll be making a stop there on our annual summer pilgrimage. We won't find king cake at that time, but I have a feeling we'll find other goodness.

Are you a master baker with a no-fail king cake recipe to share?
Please do.

on printing

I printed this image from Sardegna. I think I picked it bc it's been so dang rainy and cold here.

For as many photos as I take, I rarely order them, and I've recently discovered that I'm not alone in this habit. I'm proud to report that I've already submitted a photo book of the holiday season (woohoo!) and just yesterday I ordered several photos from Mpix, my preferred printer (for now). I like Mpix for the quality of the prints, ease of use of the site, fair prices, and incredible speed.

In completing this excercise of selecting photos to print, I discovered that this failure to have photos printed is not solely related to lack of motivation for me, instead:  I'm picky . . . I like it to be perfect . . . It's never perfect . . . I don't print for display.

I forced myself to select some. I wonder if I'll be able to force myself to display them in my home.

Do you have a preferred printer to share?