Sometimes I think I was supposed to be Italian. It's a bit silly, really, since I don't have a drop of Italian blood in me nor do I speak the language or, for that matter, have the metabolism to pack away a plate of pasta at every meal.

I've never understood beet-haters. I can fully sympathize with brussels-sprout-haters, for instance, since I even used to be one myself before realizing that a splash of olive oil and a turn in a hot oven make all the difference in the world. Also...

It's funny, the things moving teaches you about yourself. Particularly big, trans-global moves - like the two we've done in the last year - are as much about the journey of self-discovery as they are about the journey of things. I now know, for...