I used to live in Italy. Growing up an Air Force brat, I moved around frequently and, with parents who both spoke fluent Italian, it was inevitable that we'd be stationed there at least a couple of times. While I was in graduate school, they had the gall to move back to Italy without me. Fortunately, DH and I got to visit them several summers in a row. As I have a late summer birthday, we generally managed to be there for it. I have so many sun-drenched birthday memories. Memories filled with sea salt, Aranciata, marble floors, and happiness. One of the things I've always loved about my family is that we do birthdays well. Wherever we happened to land on my birthday over the years, my dad always managed to finagle a birthday cake. These cakes came in all manner of flavors, shapes, and sizes. Sometimes they were smushy affairs made of yogurt and jam, sometimes they had messages spelled out in a hilarious mixture of languages, always they were heartfelt and delicious. I...