This week I'm in Italy again for work. If I needed any reminder that I'm working in a different country, today's meeting featured a lunch with a selection of beer and chianti. And when I walked into one of the tech's offices, his wall calendar featured a topless swimsuit model. Even one year on in my European stint, I've still got to manually shut off the Pavlovian response hammered into me by every American HR group I've ever worked for, which made me back out of the building with my eyes screwed shut, yelling at the top of my lungs "I don't know this man! I am completely blameless for any action associate with him or his family or anybody that he may have come into contact with! Please do not sue me!"

Horse and ducks, oh my. Never mind the issues with our giant equine shaped money-pit. We've been invaded by fowl. The courtyard off of our kitchen is surrounded by 7 foot brick walls, and while it's not that big, is a lovely little area with flowers and a flagstone patio that plays host to our grill and giant patio heater, one corner of which has some deep greenery. And in the past few weeks, apparently a mother duck has been sitting on a nest back there. We had no idea. Until today, that is, when we see the mama duck and little ducklings taking a walk around the patio. Our critter about had a crap-fest of happiness. (Literally. See my note yesterday about the almost-but-not-quite-housebroken two year old we live with). We've put out some water for them, but I'm a little worried about these ducklings chances of actually flying over that aforementioned 7 foot wall in the next few days. I have a suspicion that we'll be herding these things through our kitchen and into the wide open spaces in the next couple of days. My bride, meanwhile, was kicking herself for the missed opportunity for balut right there in our back yard. Don't know balut? Trust me. You don't want to...