My So-Called (perfect) Life

We are moving to Italy.

*Sharp intake of breath*

 This news was a complete shock to me. Like- kill your appetite for the day but drink your weight in Chianti - shock.

I can neither confirm nor deny whether this occurred.

The rather boring back story is that all JAGs are required to submit the illustrious "List" of top preferences for desired duty stations-which then becomes the subject of great scrutiny, negotiation, and occasionally marriage counseling. Ironically, the reality is often more like when your kid hands you a Christmas wish list and you surprise them with nothing from it.  "Voluntold"- might capture the transactional spirit of the "List."

So, there we were- imagining our politically-charged life in D.C. when we were abruptly informed of our assignment to Vicenza- a quaint, old -like B.C. vintage-  town, west of Venice. VENICE.

Sayonara beltway.

But, enough about our astonishment- Especially when many of you are seething, "What an ungrateful chit -with such a charmed life full of fortune and rainbows and unicorns!"  

And I do feel compelled to respond to these sentiments: Should I dispel the notion? Air my dirty laundry? Rub your nose in the secret filth of my life? Or should I nurture the perception  that our presumed perfection is possible- That the gods have truly smiled upon our earthly sojourn.

Well, first, *relax, church folk*  there are no "gods."  Only One. So, there is that.

Secondly (and finally). Charmed lives are deceptive. Personally, publicizing the dirty details of my life is just not my thing. And as my friend Taylor Swift wisely discerns, "Haters gonna hate, hate, hate. . . " regardless.  

But *pause for emphasis* there are profoundly sad, sleeplessly hard, maddeningly stressful and Claire Danes-ugly cry-lonely moments and seasons and relationships that can be easily airbrushed into obscurity by choreographed photos and whitened smiles.

(Seriously, my molars are no match for that much wine and coffee.)

But, I suppose if you really want to see my dirty laundry, just ask my kids. They have not signed my non-disclosure policy. Yet.

So, what are we doing there, on the boot?  Other than the Sound of Music tour (which is non-negotiable, Jason). Four of my readers demand to know.


Well, in truth, it is all very James Bondish since *eliminating* Ahmadinejad has always been my "I have a dream" mission.  But, these pesky kids are so needy .  .  .  So, instead, I am deferring to Jason who will be defending liberty with the sword of American bureaucratic legal justice and a touch of classified North African intrigue.  It's as sexy as it sounds.

In the meantime, stay tuned for our adventures as awkward Americans in Italia.  Or don't. Taylor Swift and I will understand, haters.  *wink*