So much to share.

Found a Vagabond at the airport in late April. He offered real peanut butter in exchange for a soft bed and home cooked meals for a couple of months, so we took him in.

The goodness that is Whole Foods PB is nowhere to be found on this side of the pond; a gaggle of Anna Grace’s friends almost wept with culinary rapture when I prepared a tray of PB&Jam sandwiches for them one afternoon.

Sex(ism) in the (World’s Most Livable) City.

Equality rules with the Frankfurters and Hot Dog buns, however.

One day cow tongues were randomly sprinkled in with the Easter hams at the grocery. I did not know what to make of this phenomenon.

Grocery shopping on Mondays is like a running an obstacle course. So tedious.

Waiting at the Volvo dealer for the summer tires to be put on the MomMobile, I actually found myself interested in this guide to Alpine cows. Am I becoming Austrian?

Is the Sunday Shutdown nearing the end of its unnatural life? Probably an April Fool’s prank.

Our new neighbor’s dog lives with two children under 5 years in age. Small wonder we often find him on our terrace, enjoying his safe space. He is a crotchety old man like Clayton Theodore; they get along splendidly.

I’ve got nothing.

No need to fret. With the Vagabond home my many trips to the grocer boosted Austria’s GDP, and offered up plenty of fodder for my favorite AoA topic. Win-Win for everyone!

The Silver Awards.

Must be the parking space?

Is it my imagination, or is that Fiat frowning at the Porsche?

“Attention! Our Family Parking Spaces are Exclusively Reserved for Customers with Children.”

Methinks Oma and Opa are stretching the term limits on, “Customers with Children.”

Terrible parking, the international edition (Trieste, Italy).

To end this episode, the scene at my bus stop from earlier in the spring.  The standoff lasted nearly a minute before the Impatient Asshat realized the bus was not going to move and they would have to, however begrudgingly, reverse their car to make way. Oida.