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Happy Monday. Haha. I hate Mondays. I especially hate today because it's going to be absolutely beautiful out, and according to Wunderground, possibly stormy! I wanna be outside, dammit! Instead, I'm stuck inside a very stuffy classroom where the temperature never goes below 75F. There are no windows. Just an overhead projector being run by a really sarcastic sometimes-cool-sometimes-ass balding man. Why couldn't my training class be in December instead of the most beautiful time of year?

To get me through the day, I find myself daydreaming about the vacation Matt and I are about to embark on. We're heading out to Oregon to see my sister and her husband for five whole days. We're going to stay at the coast, go out to dinner lots, Matt and I are going to cook for them, and hit up Portland on that Friday. It'll be nice to see everyone again. I'm hoping we can all meet up at a restaurant or something for dinner. I just have to make the calls to everyone first and see if they're available. How's your Monday so far?

So I'm watching the Food Network this morning, and this show was on. Chickie's fam is from Italy. I noticed that she does something that a lot of people do in Chicagoland that drives me absolutely insane. As the show continues, she mentions farro salad, a very yummy looking Italian salad that I will have to try sometime. Keep in mind, chickie doesn't have an Italian accent whatsoever. Yet when she says farro salad, it comes out like “faddo salad.” As in, “We're going to make faddo salad.”

This drives me mad! Chicagoland is made up of a lot of Italian folk. By Italian folk, I mean their grandmother was born in Sicily. Maybe even their mom, but that's stretching it. I can even see keeping the heritage going by naming your kid a prominent Italian name. But don't start whipping around the language like you're straight off the boat. Don't brag about how you're Italian and live and breath Italian things. News flash: You're 1/8th Italian, at the most. You've never even been to Italy! A chick at work is a prime example. Her baby's name is Anna Maria. My coworker will be speaking the normal Chicago accent (Shi-CAAAA-go) and then the baby's name will come up. You think it's plain ol' Anna Maria? Nope. It's Anna Mah-dee-ya. Ugh.

Why do people do this? I'm Scotch-Irish and I don't stroll around in a Kilt. I don't own bagpipes. I don't wig out on St. Patrick's Day and carry on about my heritage. Why? It's not what makes me who I am today.

Today, Matt and I celebrate our first year together. I just want the world to know how much I love this man.

Matt,

You've changed my life in so many ways over the five year stretch we've known eachother. I never thought our relationship would progress to more than just text on a screen, but I am so very thankful that it has. It's been the best thing that's ever happened to me. I look forward to many more years together. I love you very very much, and I thank you for making my life so much happier.

Love you,

Me

Matt: …because bottoming out my truck is the cool thing to do.
Me: I know. Also, it's cool to tint your windows so no one else can see in. I want the name “Ramirez” splayed across my back window proudly.
Matt: In gothic letters.
Me: Yeah. That'd be hot.
Matt: With an Our Lady of Guadalupe sticker.
Me: Perfect!
Matt: Because Mary loves my truck.

We headed to Ohio this weekend to visit Matt's grandparents. I learned a card game called Euchre, watched a little TV, cooked a bit, and toward the end of our weekend, discovered a little treasure grandpa Rex had stowed away. You see, grandpa Rex was a soldier in WWII, spending two years overseas in Germany serving from 1943-1945. Hearing stories from Battle of the Bulge was phenominal. Even more incredible, was that grandpa Rex had a suitcase filled with memories from World War II. The picture I've posted includes an arm band Nazi soldiers wore reflecting the German eagle and swastika, German medals, stamps, amongst other things - the most intriguing being a framed picture of Hitler himself. This was found in a German headquarters. It was incredible to hold these items from WWII in my hands, my fingers sliding over the frame that touched the hands of the Nazi party sixty years ago. Anyhow, I've posted links to other pictures I took. They're high resolution for best quality. One of my favourites is of Matt's grandparents together, just before deployment. They've been together for 56 years, and are still going strong. Ain't love grand? I hope you enjoy the photos. Let me know what you think.

A German newspaper headline
A photo to remember
Herr Fuhrer
Photo from a World War II book the U.S. Army issued to soldiers in WWII
A second photo