rising to the occasion

Bienvenue à Montréal!

2017-11-30T18:13:00.001-08:00

A trip out of the country would not be complete without some form of goof up. Usually, it is someone else, but this time it was me! I mis-took my husband's passport!

We arrived at the airport, ready to board. Up since 4:45 a.m., and a little groggy, I reached into my purse to get my passport, and voila! I have my husband's passport. The kids looks at me with panic. (My kids are adults, 24 and 26.) I am not thinking clearly, so I tell them to go board. I tell them I will catch up with them later. Then, I stand at the counter, with the most patient, kind #Delta Airlines employee ever, @CaseyKeating. He gets on the phone and tries his best to get my flights changed and still get me to Montreal the same day. After 20 minutes, I have new flights, with only and additional $4.50! Thank you Casey @TLH @Delta.

I have three and half hours to find my passport and return to the airport. I drive home all flummoxed about by situation. When I arrive, I begin looking in all the "safe" places that I put things. I cannot understand this situation. I am a creature of very organized disorganization. My passport and my husband's are always in the same location. The secret places to lock things up and protect from hurricanes are predefined. This is highly unusual. I go through every book on the bookshelf, every closet and every drawer. Nothing. I call my husband. He assures me that he handed me both passports (they are usually locked somewhere else during storms.) Racking my brain, I return to the kitchen counter for a sip of coffee.

Standing in the kitchen getting ready to resign myself to the financial and fun loss, I stare at the small brown and black leather backpack that Morgan and I bought in Paris. I had only checked the back zipper pocket. Yes, indeed, this creature of habit put both passports in the bag, one in each pocket. At the airport, I had failed to check my bag thoroughly. And waisted, I mean wasted, four hours in the process.

Good news is that the next plane was on time and after getting to spend four hours at #LaGuardia, I was on my way to Montreal. The preparation for the trip included researching fellow #Tripadvisor folks and other top things to do sites. Also, I had spent some time researching the bus from the airport that goes directly downtown. For $10 Canadian dollars, you can ride the bus all the way downtown. Cabs and limos are $40-$50 dollars, but they will carry three or four people. If you only have two, then bus it. My kids had already taken the bus and assured me that it was easy and safe. Get off on Guy street my daughter advised. She also told me guy is pronounced ghee in Canada. Helpful to know.

They had already been to dinner when I arrived. My son went off to visit a friend, so daughter and I walked the six blocks to the @Provigo grocery store for nutrition for the evening. By this time, it was close to ten p.m. and I was glad to get some warm soup. Our Airbnb apartment is nicely situated and we had a stove. Some chicken broth, vegetables and warm soup was on the way. It was good to have something healthy after a day of traveling. The warmth was even better.

My first impression of Montreal is the welcoming atmosphere. Most shop attendants and transport people will ask if you speak French or English. They easily switch to both. They also recognize an American "Bon JouR" from their own, bonjour. I think it is the irrepressible desire to say the "r". It is nice to be able to speak a few words to let them know that you are willing to try. The other thing to note, is that no matter where daughter and I went, the city felt safe. The people who ask for money, do so in a polite and distant way. It is always hard to pass those less fortunate. In Europe and in Canada, people tend to give food, rather than money. Young people offer their chips or their half sandwich. One man, who looked as if he too could use help, gave the person with the open hat, his transport ticket. In many ways, I feel this is productive. In Bordeaux, France, we saw people leave coffee, milk, bread and cheese next to sleeping homeless in the streets. I thought that very kind.

The streets are fairly clean and in order. The walk-able downtown is easy to traverse. The cobblestone streets are charming, but careful footing for the weak ankled is advised. The underground is fabulous during the rain. More on that later.

Our first full day, we went to the Musée Art Contemporain, оr the MAC, to see the Leonard Cohen presentation. For those of you who do not know him, his site is still active beyond his life. Canadians love their own famous singer, poet, author and rebel. I do too.

Our lovely Airbnb apartment is downtown and very close to transportation. It doesn't feel quite so close in 21 degree weather with wind. But, it felt just fine at 45 degree weather and sun. Moments from the Boulevard René-Lévesque, we were close to grocery stores, restaurants and subways.

Our second day it rained. So, to walk across the city, we enter the underground city of Montreal. It is an incredible underground maze of food and shopping. There are attractions, entertainment and people watching galore. I cannot attest to the summer months, but the winter drives people underground where it is warm and you can walk and shop or eat. The underground actually goes for many blocks and attaches to the subway. It behooves one to understand the streets and the metro, or you will surely be turned around below earth. However, you will be turned around with some of the best international shopping you have ever done. Someone told us that the only underground shopping better than Montreal, is Atlanta. Born in Atlanta, I have some innate affection for the city. However, I have to say that underground Atlanta is a place of transition. And that Montreal surely has much more to offer in terms of a network. If you were born to shop, this is your city.

My daughter and i moved to the usual tourist spots, seeing the Biodôme de Montréal with the frogs and more importantly the penguins. It seemed odd walking into the first area and seeing an alligator as a display. But, of course, we are from Florida, home of the alligator! I asked my daughter to tell me the difference between an alligator and a crocodile. She rolled her eyes and said, "Please!" Oy vey, those Florida girls know everything!

As she entered the river fish display, I asked about a weird looking fish. She says that it is a sturgeon. I look at her with wonder. How does she know this? Then, I look with admiration. Does it matter? She does know it, and she is right!

Does anyone know what Brady 12 means?

We proceed to the next area, out of the river environment. To my surprise, we see penguins. Not just one, but four varieties of penguins in this habitat. The penguins are very fun to watch and better than the internet. I promise. If you take your kid to see them, this is what will happen.

Can you imagine anything cuter? Does it matter that he slipped under the ropes to touch a penguin face? This was so terribly fun and I vicariously wished him on, to laugh, to touch and go under every rope for the rest of his life!

I wish I could tell you that I was a rope ducker, but the truth is that my husband and daughter are the rope duckers. I am the rope administrator. Perhaps that is why only now, I take chances!

For now, think of those ropes and the ones you can duck under!

Of Eleventh Grade again

2017-08-07T22:12:00.001-07:00

Not very often one gets to go back to high school in a good way. I for one, hated high school. I dropped out of at least three. Was invited to not return to Clearwater Central Catholic School. Probably best that we parted ways.

Fast forward 44 years. I am at a business meeting in Phoenix. I am meeting a woman that I have seen once in 30 years. She was my disco buddy in the seventies. She knew how to dance. I knew how to hang around her. She was all grace and style, I was all hang around her. But, I had a car. So a new friendship was born of admiration and motorization. Two catholic gals on the town.

I can tell you what beautiful looks like to me, and it may not be what it looks like to you. My friend Karisa had the coal black hair with curls of Sophia Loren and a shape like her as well. She had her Spanish mother's eyes and her Italian father's verve. She was talented in acting and in movement. I was good at geometry and reading.

Our young relationship was shrouded in family controversies. We retreated as all young teen do, into our teen world of music and sharing. Then, she married and moved away. I went to school, and school and school.

I remember her writing about a house and marriage. I had no clue. I was pursuing a Master Degree and working at the All Important Legislature of Florida. We disconnected.

Then, I had a conference in Phoenix. I called her and she made time for me. She was as delightful and warming and fun as I had remembered.

This is not a poignant blog. This is a reminder to say that old connections can be refreshed. Old friendships still live. What a wonderful evening we had today. We shared food and stories and walked the cactus walk. She told me of birds and cactus and the feeders and the moon.

We aren't in high school any more, but for a few hours, we were that young and that beautiful. We definitely will meet again.

of Livingston Montana and Married Life

2017-08-07T17:20:00.001-07:00

And as if by magic (or Delta Airlines) we were transported from 96 degrees and humidity of the same at sea level, to the land of the arid mountains and smoky air at 4,200 feet.

We departed Tallahassee, Florida arriving to Salt Lake late at night their time and early in the morning our time. We arrived to the downtown Hilton hotel, tired as can be and slept soundly till 8 a.m. EST. We arose and had a bite in the Hilton Executive Lounge, then strode off to pick up our rental vehicle. Alas, the reservation was made for the day before we arrived, and now the same vehicle would cost six times as much. Avis prices were crazy, and I am an Avis Wizard Member!!!

Upstairs to hit Kayak.com to see if they could save us. And even more magic happened. We got a Nissan four door truck for $200 less than our original reservation! Thanks Budget! After a forty five minute wait, we were off to the Hilton to retrieve our bags and start the drive to Livingston, Montana.

The google maps said a mere 6 and 1/2 hour drive through Utah and Idaho, then over to Montana. The time frame did not include rest breaks or food breaks or road maintenance. The actual trip was closer to 8 hours. Most of it was through valleys that paralleled rivers, or maybe, the roads were built next to the rivers... don't know the answer. But, it is serious agricultural land.

Cows, corn and silos everywhere. Potatoes growing in neat rows, greenery a nice break from the dry mountains above. The fires burning in several states make the view a smoky red color. Still, it was a pleasant drive, rich in color and so different from where we live.

We finally arrived in Bozeman thinking we were close. Close is never close enough on the last leg. Livingston was yet another 30 minutes. We arrived to a pleasant AirBnb accommodation, which had everything we needed. We settled in, then walked the main drag in search of food. We settled on a Mexican restaurant, which was not really what we needed after sitting all day, but it was easy and we were tired.

Up the next day and off to the fly fishing event. The Flyfishers were gathering for the annual event. The local high school provided the venue. The rooms were afloat with Columbia shirts and Simms hats. The land of sensible shoes and comfortable pants. Fly rods bobbed in every back pack as people wandered in and out of the lobby. We had registered for a couple of classes. Mine was a casting class, learning the basics of the roll cast. Must say the gals (and Frank) in my group were pretty good. The instructor was very experienced and she kept things simple to make practice easier. I was particularly good at the side cast, which is handy in Florida. I enjoyed the time. It is a lot standing and casting, but once you get something right, you get a little smug. Casting on grass, and no fish in sight, you can sort of huff and puff about what might have been!

Class over, it was time for lunch and a big Montana nap. The Fish Fest Hoot was the entertainment of the evening and the music was fun, the weather fine and the crowd very relaxed.

We sipped wine and beer, ate smoked trout and lamb, and swayed to the music in the street. We also bought new boots and waders for me! Dan Bailey was fab and my new boots were only $25! Many a fly fishers dream, I might add. I also got killer waders for less than $70 bucks. Thanks to you Dan!

Next morning cooking class was the order of the day. We got up and slipped out to Gil's to grab a pastry and coffee. Hurried to class, as to not be late. However, shouldn't have done so, as the instructor did not arrive for another half hour and then didn't start for another. He was a large cowboy looking type with a well worn hat, a big mustache and a large belly. He was teaching dutch oven cooking with charcoal, a camp style cooking. He promised peach cobbler and cowboy eggs.

He read his instructions in a very deep voice, with authority they way one might talk when narrating a movie. The recipes were all simple and he had the ingredients with him. Well, most of them. After reviewing the process, we all donned aprons and proceeded to begin the chores. He insisted all eyes be on him, and all hands be on deck for prep work. Coals in the chimney for warming, we proceeded to cut onions and beat eggs. He forgot the peppers, so he had to leave us and the group of eight began chopping and beating eggs.

Then, he had everyone gather round him to take a bite of the same peach. I did so, but very reluctantly. Fortunately, I was second. He handed out peaches and we began cutting them for the oven. There is a short distraction as the coals are poured onto the flat grill bed. Butter slicing resumes and the mix is put on the peaches. The butter was not to his liking so he took over placing the butter on the mixture. The recipe would take 45 minutes and all of that would be listening to him regale us with his prowess in canning, smoking and bar b queuing. My best take away was how little charcoal it takes to make a cobbler. The heavy cast iron dutch oven with legs is a mighty grilling tool. To be able to make desert at the same time as ribs, is simply freeing. A very valuable lesson indeed. Luckily, the class over, I found the little park where we assembled to be charming.

A very pleasant ending to a very different kind of morning!

Rising to the Occasion of the Return to Austin Texas!

2017-02-17T19:49:00.001-08:00

Back in #Austin for the first time in a while. Great city. Weather is meh, mid February and very cloudy, but not cold!

Humidity makes me have big Texas hair. Pretty sure that's why they tease it and stack it here. Not much else to do with it. Went to see the #Driskill and have the famous Batini. Not so much on agave syrup.

Love the vibe though. Walked back through the capital. For all the unpleasant TSA officers, there must be 20 polite charming #TexasRangers to make up for it. They let us in the Capital Building with the aplomb one hopes the President uses inviting his guests in for dinner.

The meetings were fine, and I am glad that I got to hear the updates. But, secretly, I am just glad I got to walk Austin again!

If you need other assistance, check our my trip advisor page for detailed view. And if you are a YELP user, just click on this link for my reviews.

god

2017-02-06T18:28:00.002-08:00

I am the kind of mother who touched her children every night and prayed to god in heaven to make them smarter, braver, stronger, and better than the way they were the day before.

I asked that they be kind and direct and courteous and love their parents.

I asked to make them better at what they love and put music in their hearts in the morning.

I prayed to make me a better mother, but if only one prayer can be answered, I wanted god to care for them.

I am the kind of mother that wept when they failed.

I shook when they are on stage and I gasped when the spaces of breath are too long.

I am the kind of mother who waited patiently for them to figure out the math.

I am the kind of mother who said wipe it up, I’ll make more. It doesn’t matter. Breathe.

I am the kind of mother who explained boys don’t get it as fast as girls and that the pamphlet forgot to say ask permission to touch anyone under any circumstances.

I am the kind of mother who said you can save yourself for marriage. It is always an option.

I am the kind of mother who said you will need your brother one day don’t talk to him like that.

I am the kind of mother who cries secretly, fearing their future and praying I did enough.

Toronto

2016-05-27T19:27:00.000-07:00

So happy to finally add another city to my passport! Toronto. Probably would not have picked it, but work picked it for me so here I am. Got a few chuckles on the airplane when I asked how many people were coming here because of Donald Trump!

First impression is the city is the most integrated city I have been in - including NYC. The people are from everywhere with languages abound. The translators at the airport were from India, Korea, China, Brazil and Mexico. Most of the Canadian folks speak or understand French as well. It is not just that they are here, it is that they are seemingly comfortable here. I wait in the lines as the border folks decide that I need to have four interviews and three different passport verifications. This afforded me the opportunity to hear the people from other country's have a translator for their answering the border questions. I must answer my own questions as the lady speaks perfect English. My French is not sufficient to try to communicate in a place where they REALLY speak French. One day.

I finally shake free of the border people and and picked up by my fabulous UBER driver, Tradic. He is prompt, has a nice clean car and tells me the highlights of my temporary home, Toronto. He says the walk the edge of the CN Tower is a must for those with a bucket list. He says it is the scary thrilling sensation of a high roller coaster, with the breathtaking experience of a jump out of one. Except you don't really jump. Sounds perfect for my daughter, not I.

We arrive at the AirBnb town-home that I have leased for the week. It is a two bedroom flat on the fifth floor of a tall building near the Toronto Blue Jays store and the main tourist entertainment district. The building is full of tourists and the sassy skateboard kids wheel up and down the sidewalk outside. The day is full of families on the street enjoying the temperate day. Strollers are everywhere. There are women in every imaginable garb, covered head to toe or the tight mini skirts of the youth. There are women of every color and size, dawning the look of their preference, but truly wearing the outfit for the outing. The views reminded me of a Monet promenade. They all seem so proud to be walking.

After I am in my building and unpacked, I walk to the grocery. For my first night, I have decided to cook and stay in. I have events for the next three nights, so this is my time to adjust. I find the grocery on the map and head out. It is only a mile and the walk will be good after all he plane rides and sitting. Knowing that I am in a country that has green values, I have brought my cool NPR canvas bag for the shopping. As usual, I am hungry, which means I buy more than I can eat. I do however, keep it healthy by picking asparagus, fish and garlic. I also pick yogurt and eggs for the morning.

On my way back, the sun starts to head to another part of the world. I notice the street traffic turn from families to couples and groups of young people. I am grateful to be an older person with a place to go. Interesting aside, I have seen no obvious homeless persons. At least not in the style of Tallahassee. I hope that means that they have better options. There are lots of people who may fit the bill, but no one is holding a sign asking for money. Back to the streets, older couples walk together. A few young females saunter alone with their backpacks firmly in place. People aren't seemingly as concerned as I am, but it could be their city!

After touring Italy and seeing so many people displaced, I am a tad sensitive to the homeless. But again, that does not appear to be an issue here.

I open my windows to absorb the cool air and the noise and hustle of the city. Young people are now moving quickly and yelling in tandem as they move down the street. The sidewalks are a series of floating tattoos and fun and interest and laughter. Cars honk as people respond to the noise. Sidewalks seem to shift like the ground covered with ants. All together in fish school, then scattered as if danger lurked near.

I will probably not sleep well this first night. But it is terribly exciting to be in a new place adding one more stamp tot my passport. And I look forward to rising to the occasion of the meeting in Toronto.

Days past, and the conference is behind me. Great speakers, especially Richard Florida and the CFO of the City of Portland, Ken Rust. Truly inspiring speakers and leaders of their communities and professions. It was great to be able to walk to the convention center every morning with a Starbucks in hand and a nice breeze in my face. The weather could not have been more kind. That night, we decided to grocery shop and eat in and rest for the next day.

Finally, it was time to see some of the City of Toronto. Many attending the conference had come the week prior and had already seen the sights. They were full of funny tourist stories, so I had a relative understanding of the normal tourist routes. Thursday morning however, is dedicated to the CN Tower. Second highest tower in the world after Dubai. I was to see the tower from the inside. Morgan however, wanted to walk the edge. And so she did. Up way above where nose bleeds start, she edged to the edge.

In the afternoon, we first headed out to walk the area near the University of Toronto, or so I thought. What we found was Kensington, the Haight Ashbury of Toronto. Many shops, medicinal and otherwise. The aura was one of the hippy freaky grad student, with coffee shops and gelato every block. The people were attentive and their wares were exotic as the people. We particularly enjoyed the Blue Banana, where I ended up buying a special pair of socks for my HR Manager. The sort of gift only one who tries to please all would appreciate.

We had a heavy lunch of Ontario pork, so we wanted to be a little lighter with the fare of the evening. It was perfect. We walked back to our flat and relished the lovely day and time in a new place. Eight miles said the iPhone. Not bad for one day! The evening proved very fruitful with a walk to the restaurant Westlodge. It is a quaint and funky bar and restaurant. We opted to sit at the bar and chit chat with the bar tenders who were great. They recommended a whiskey drink, which was very tasty. We then ordered ala carte with Brussels' sprouts, beet salad and roasted cauliflower. We walked back to the flat and went upstairs to look at the pool and look at the lake. The Toronto Blue Jays stadium is our view and Beyonce concert is in full force. The people move in big waves, as if the subway openings allowed the flow to happen downstream, which I am sure contributes just a tad. The ladies are all in finery and the men seem to be far and few between. The night promises to be late for them and over for me.

The next day, we were off to explore a new area. The Saint Lawrence Market promised to be fun with artists of food and of paint. Almost every trinket or device you might want is here, in addition to rabbit, chicken, cow and pork. The seafood comes with faces and without. The building is obviously the old trade building re purposed to a fun inviting new age trade space. Of course we bought chicken, pork belly, pastry, bread, cheese and sausage. We also found olives and artichoke and of course the sun dried tomato with mozzarella cheese. A feast of kings and queens had we.

We take our groceries home and then go out for a cocktail on the lake. A big lake. I am guessing it is Lake Ontario.

Once again, we are cooking dinner. The basted chicken, asparagus and the okra are divine. The cheese is great and we have wine and beer. Tired legs never felt so well fed.

We plan what to do on Friday and after I answer a plethora of work emails, I wanted to see the distillery district and then find the top of the City at Casa Loma. But this will wait till tomorrow.

Au revoir for now.

http://www.nytimes.com/2016/05/29/travel/migrant-crisis-lesbos-greece.html?_r=0Next Isle of Lesbos

of the immigration to Europe

2016-01-01T18:06:00.004-08:00

The other night I had a dream which is haunting me. Haunting me to ask if this is this is just a dream or a possible reality. The dream was about a website, life vests, and immigrants.

Few photos are as disturbing as the ones we see of the immigrants landing on the Greek shores of Lesbos or the Italian shores in Palermo.

These people so desperate to leave their homes that they risk their lives in rickety boats and flimsy life vests. The disbelief on their faces when they realize that they made it. The joy of seeing their children on a new dry land.

The burden is huge and the number that arrive is incredible, overwhelming. The discussion in the United States about the Mexican American border pales in reality. Building a wall may be our discussion, but building a way to cope and accommodate is Angela Merkel 's responsibility and compassionate obligation. Europe struggles to follow her lead and make room for all.

It is also affecting so many other countries. refugees-and-life-jackets-fill-the-shops is an article from the New York Times reflecting on the life jacket sales in Turkey. In Lesbos, it is another matter.

"Since the beginning of the year, the number of refugees and migrants arriving here and on other Greek islands has surged to full-scale humanitarian-crisis levels. Arrivals by sea have surpassed 107,000 through July, according to United Nations figures, eclipsing even the numbers of people reaching Italy. Most of those who arrive on the shores of Lesbos, a popular tourist destination just off the coast of Turkey in the Aegean Sea, are fleeing the wars in Syria and Afghanistan and hoping to head deeper into Western Europe. In June, 15,254 migrants and refugees arrived on Lesbos, according to the Greek Coast Guard, compared with 921 the same month last year. But only squalor awaits them here. They arrive in a country that is deep in its own crisis, with an unemployment rate over 25 percent, banks not fully open and its government all but broke."

I have not seen this with my own eyes, but the photos are real, the photographers living in these moments are seeing it for me.

So, back to my dream. What if, just what if, the life jackets that are so valuable on one side of the water could be valuable on the other side.

What if we had an organization that was present when the people landed to take the jackets. What if they wrote a name or a phrase on the jacket that said how they felt making it across the water. The statement could be a brief thanks or a prayer or a name.

My dream was that the persons or organization could photograph the jackets. They could include the name of the person or their hands or a trinket or just a saying. The photo could be put on a website that allowed people to "adopt" the jacket before it is retired. The funds for the adoption could pay volunteers, local communities, and the immigrants.

This mess of jackets doesn't have to be the future. Many people would be grateful to send $5 or $10 on social media to support the cause. Families everywhere would gladly use their #VISA or #AMEX cards to pay the adoption fee. Giant corporations like #VISA and #Mastercard could lend their support to the cause. And somewhere there are brilliant programmers like #Anonymous that would help build a site for the process. It was just a dream. I woke up and it felt so real. I don't know enough about #internationalrelief or #UNHCR or saving people. I just know that life jackets are just that. This pile and every other pile has done their job of protecting the person wearing it.

It just seems like we could make something more of it than an abandoned pile of the most risky event ever. It seems we could help Greece and Italy with the job they are doing. There are a plethora of volunteers on the shores that could also use the help. The WSJ article references many volunteers trying to raise money to go to Lesbos and help. They site that volunteers use is for individuals who want funding to go and help. Kickstarter is one. Very admirable. I even considered this. I would love to be a solid contributor. I am not sure I would be. I am not sure that getting money to go is the best use of the money.

But, I know that people want to connect. Adopting something, like a life jacket, makes it yours; and even if it is a life jacket from a person, it will be a single person that risked their life that you can relate to on a one to one basis.

I can show you more pictures, but what I really want to know is if my dream is possible. I want to know if people that know me think it is real enough or if it was just a great dream. I can find the resources, I can't find the hearts.

Let me know your thoughts.
http://www.nytimes.com/2016/05/29/travel/migrant-crisis-lesbos-greece.html?_r=0

and now the NYTs says this:

of Bagheria Sicily, Italy

2015-11-10T11:23:00.000-08:00

On our second to last day, we decide to follow a tour book. Lonely Planet to be exact. And since it is close and we have no other plans, we head out to the train station and catch a bus to Bagheria, Sicily.

Sounds rather exotic. It is not. It is 3 kilometers from the train station. The signs direct you to the longest path possible, while the street turns right and would take you directly to the piazza of art on the bay. This is the one thing to see in Bagheria.

Since we followed the signs, we walked 3 kilometers out of the way. That is a lot of steps, in case you want to know.

fishing boats of Sicily

The signs eventually say Aspra, which is apparently the city within the City of Bagheria. We walk though neighborhoods, rich and poor. Sometimes feeling uneasy, sometimes bored. Then, we pass a tower and the remnants of a the villa of a woman who died in 1118 and whose tomb is still maintained by the local officials. The gardens have seen better days and the walls are crumbling around them.

The most interesting part of this trip is how the three of us handle the loser choice that was made to come here. First, there was not much blame, other than it was my choice. Second, we all judged the neighborhoods by the trash in the street. Third, when the scenery is the same the entire walk, people get bored. Fourth, when the walk is long, people bitch. Uphill, downhill, whining. Then, we see the sea!

This is Not Bagheria but I needed a picture so this is one of Palermo Bay

I have to commend my travel companions. For they could have trashed me badly for picking something out of the book. But they didn't. They did make many comments on the scenery and the trash and the dog poop, which I might add is everywhere in large cities in Europe.

Watch where you step. Watch how you hold your bag. Words of wisdom no matter where you travel.

Anyway, we go to the coast finally, and it is beautiful. If we had not already seen the Amalfi Coast, it would be very beautiful. But we had. So ten minutes in, the guys are ready to leave, commenting on the trash in the water on the "beach" of rocks. Trash is very apparent when there is no distraction...

Another metaphor for life...

And now home to cook. We have spaghetti from egg noodles that are "fresh" and new sauce from the Carrefour. We have antipasta of salami, buffalo mozzarella and olives. We have fresh bread and olive oil. We have wine and most important, we have the digestive.

Licorice liquor. It is is like licorice jet fuel. And we love the two sips. We leave the half bottle behind as a token of our affection for the island. And we take the recipe book of Sicily so that we can make new memories at home.

Ciao Ciao Palermo and Bagheria. Ciao Ciao!

of returning to work and things you wish you didn't have to do and not wanting to think about it too soon

2015-11-10T10:38:00.001-08:00

The last day in Palermo brings great angst. Last night, I dreamt of being back at work and having to tell my boss something he might perceive as unpleasant. It was intermittently interrupted by loud music and this weird electrical sound outside my window. But I digress. (turns out the local primary school is outside my window and the wind instruments are playing.)

Today, we toured the Teatro Massimo, the third largest theatre in all of Europe. To my great disappointment, it was built in honor of Umberto Primo, who has a statute gracing every harbor everywhere, His statute here is large and prominent, surrounded by arches of the porto and by the sea. Imagine my surprise to hear that he is displeased by the great theatre built for him. He says Palermo is nothing and does not deserve such a theatre, and he never sets foot inside.

you truly have to be here to appreciate the immenseness

this is the ceiling and the painting are window that open to increase accoustics

Poor Umberto Primo. For such a lucky man of war, he was an unlucky man of taste. But fortunately, Al Capone did step inside. Godfather III was filmed in the theatre. In Spite of either of these two, the theatre is amazing. Stepping inside is incredible and now that I know the King's box is available ( Umberto made it a public affair), I will not hesitate to try and book the best. We have missed the opera, ballet, and other performing arts all by a day. Such a poor planner I am. And there are no last minute stand up seats in these theatres. No these are for the noble, or at least those who can pay.

And in the boys will always be boys category, there is this duo who find the visual behind them hilarious. It doesn't matter, 28 or 68, they all still have boyish humor! Enough said on that!

We take off to see another piazza, not previously explored. This is the plebicita, the parliament of yore. The locals call it the "Champs Elysee " of the island. Regardless, it is a fine building with horses charging as if they would leave the building for the drivers. Hooves above your head, with brass green blazing their legs. Down below, standard breds (or the Italian equivalent) trot through the street with carts behind. These horses almost blind with blinders (sorry for the horse take on this) and hats, stupid beyond belief. The traffic booming around, these horse take of trotting forward, and tour buses beside them. I told my son, I would rather be a French dish. I apologize for my perspective. My horses have acreage and only one rider to respond to. Theses poor guys, must go forth regardless of traffic, weather, or noise. These horses are fed. They have shoes, with wooden plates, I might add. It is just a luxury in the US and not here.

Shopping. Well, yes the last day should be about shopping. We leave the piazza and head to the one wine store that I liked. It turns out not to be a wine store, but a souvenir store. Matters not, we buy the limoncello for our friends. We buy balsalmic vinegar for those who don't drink. We buy candy for those we aren't sure of. We are thinking of you, not being here with us. And, while I am happy I can buy this for you, next time, I want you to come with me.

the monument for those who died because of the Mafia

science fair in a church of the 10th century

a pope in front of the cathedralle

our view from the deck

our veiw from the patio

I am thankful for Michele, our host. He was most kind and most helpful.

I miss my husband, glad my daughter came, glad my one son came and thinking Lindsay could have made it, and the rest of you, we just need to decide to go! Patrick, you live up to your Saint name. Our next destination is only one year away...

.

rising to a tour day of Palermo and realizing how fun it can be

2015-11-07T13:10:00.000-08:00

Today started out with a little plan, walk to the local monuments and then take a bus to Monreale. Indeed, the best laid plans of mice, men and travelers in Palermo.

We took off left, towards the Cathedral and the Porto Nuovo. North, I think. (Turns out, North is to the water, and we were walking away from the water.) We were on hoof and stopped at the patisserie across from the Cathedral. Cattedrale. An espresso and a cappuccino, three pastries later and we were good to go. The cathedral is surrounded by a garden and sort of it's own piazza. We saunter across the gardens and into the church. An incredibly large and combination byzantine and Norman architecture, it rises above and towers over every other thing in the city. We entered into the Catthedrale, thinking it would be a long chute, just like every other church. Instead, it is an overwhelming entrance into the "Walter of the Mill" church. Walter commissioned the Cathedral to be his power base. Unfortunately, it took centuries to complete. And Walter lost to the the glories of William the second in Monreale. Poor Walter, I don't even think he lived long enough to know he was out done.

I think this is all for the Madonna

the saints are depicted on the columns of the church. My mother was confirmed after Saint Olivia

Strolling the the cathedral, I don't take photos very lightly. First, I am catholic, and feel like I should be genuflecting at every turn, second because I can't find the holy water. There are turns every 30 feet for a new alter and a new dead leader of the church. The latest is still in the very new tomb for show. Ted's translation is that the cardinal was killed by the mafia and now is up for sainthood. In spite of one's beliefs, the church, the Catholic Church, if you were raised in it, still holds an unbelievable power and mystery.

There is another tour, one for money, that lets you into the crypts and the roof. Corbett wanted to be on the roof, but Ted could not do it. I said I would. I cannot tell you which one made me more weak, but I am so glad that Corbett was with me. First, we paid our seven euros, then descended down to the treasury and the vaults and the crypts. The treasuries were much like those of France. Each pope, cardinal and bishop commissions a ring, a pen, a pin, a vesture ornament, a hat - all filled with jewels. The wealth of the Cathedralle is amazing. Elizabeth Taylor has nothing on these guys. The interesting thing is the rings all look like they are for very fat fingers, but the bodies outlined on the crypts are small and thin. When we descended down to the crypt, I cannot lie, I had to do the sign of the cross twice. Once for me and once for Corbett. Ted stayed above ground. I started getting creeped out, then we got to the pope that had his image on top of the crypt. He had a leg cocked up, showing all his wares, his head on his elbow, a book in his hand, his sword and helmet beside him. He could not have looked more comfortable. I, on the other hand, started realizing how far beneath the street I was and needed to escape quickly. While waiting for Corbett to come up the stairs, I took photos of the ceiling, which I am guessing was a good 75 feet above me.

looking up from the crypt entrance.

The last of the tour is the trip to the roof. And they mean the roof. You climb 110 steps in a very tiny spiral staircase to the roof. Once there, a person directs you to the walkway. The alternative is a step on the tiled roof and then the ground 150 feet below. Management changed the pitch of the roof to a flat walkway 3 feet wide with flexible iron handled rails across the top. The walk on the roof was fine, mostly as I was winded from the climb. When we got to the dome, 75 feet along, my blood was back and so was my imbalance. I clung to a corner which you see between the corners of this dome picture. I encouraged Corbett to take photos, not realizing he would actually do it. He went off and my back was plastered against the dome, slightly above the little minuet spires. Corbett finally came back and we started again across the roof. This time I held his shirt as if my life depended on it. That is because it did!. He was mostly kind, but did stop to take another panoramic (really!!!) while were on the way back to the tiny spiral staircase.

Luckily on the way down there were two little boys talking behind me. I don't speak Italian, but when they started counting: ono, due, tre, sounded so familiar! So they counted in Italian, and I counted in French. It was all fine till they got to novanta, and I had to switch to quatre vingt dix. I realized they keep counting in tens and I had to switch to four twenties and a ten. No matter, mil a onse and we are down! I am no longer hostage to the depths or heights of the cathedral!

It is truly beautiful and the treasury of the church is filled with riches beyond belief. It is amazing the jewels summoned by the reigning catholic official. I don't know that I would recommend you come to Palermo for this, but if you do come to Palermo, please see this. I leave the roof trip up to you, especially if you don't bring your own Corbett.

Tis the largest church we have been in since Rome

We left the church and went through the Porto Nuova which is an arch welcoming one to the city.

We decided to try and go to Monreale Mountain, but it was closed by the clouds. Then we walked to the piazza Indipendenza. There we caught a tourist bus around the city. It was a fun open top, we never do this tour. We learned where the opera's were and the history of the city piazzas. We saw places we might not have walked to like Teatro Politeama. We jumped off at the Fountain of Shame. Which in my opinion, the only shame is the painting and graffiti on the sides of the monuments.

Fountain of shame

If I haven't lost you by now, the next adventure is to the Teatro Massimo. We eat at a local cafe and then look at the theater which is the third largest in Europe. The stairs have a nun mystery to them that involves the second step. But to learn about it cost euros and we decide we have learned quite enough from nuns already. there is a place that reminds me of my husband near the front door.

Lastly, I want to go to the Carrefour, which for anyone who hasn't been to Publix, is the Europe equivalent. So I am sure that I know where it is, as google is in my hand and two men are following me. We get to a juncture and one of my party says left, and I say google says right and we make a giant circle to the place where we were before. And then I must acquiesce the google to the map and we arrive before google says we will.

Wine, cheese and Limoncello gifts later, we are walking back to our splendid apartment. How nice to have three bathrooms! Until tomorrow, Ciao!

Aww sweet Cefalu'

2015-11-06T12:37:00.003-08:00

Woke up this morning and finally, finally felt like I was on vacation in Italy. Young children shouting on their way to school, horns honking on their way to work, voices of mothers shouting in the piazza. Water running through the pipes, and yes, wake up, its time to hit the train station and see lovely Cefalu'.

Cefalu' is pronounced Chef a loo, with emphasis on the loo. It is a one hour train ride from Palermo. The ride itself is beautiful as it clicks and clacks along the coastline, revealing hidden towns and bays. Fishermen dot the sea horizon as we pass the small villages. The water is remarkably flat and just as blue as the sea on the Amalfi Coast. You can tell that once, maybe in the 1950's that this was a wonderful fishing village. Now it is half fishing, half tourist - or maybe 80 percent tourism.

Corbett arrives in Cefalu'

the inlet in complete overcast with mountain cloud cover

The little village is snugged safely in the tiniest spot of real sand on this coast. I love the colors of the houses and windows. I am very thankful the day is not hot and the wind is not strong. Rain had wetted the cobblestone streets and thankfully washed away the scent of dogs. There is not a sacred corner in Italy, or perhaps they are all sacred.

With the wet, I gingerly tread the streets. I think we walk for at least a mile or so before deciding to stop and eat. It wasn't great, but it was "classico". How can you go wrong with pomodora and cheese, basil wrap with olive oil and oregano? If you don't know what to order, order what they do well. Wine menus often require you order the bottle. As we had miles to go, I had a Beck birre instead.

Off touring again. We walk the streets and look at the views. There is a monument to WWI soldiers. Our first stop in the village.

We trudge onward and find the port and the little cay or inlet. The scenery is breathtaking. One can envision the summer tourist invasion on this tiny town. I am very happy to be here in November.

The few tourists that are here, are European or Asian. We run into very few Americans, which were so common in Napoli (Naples). The shop keepers here run from the ice man who says nothing, to the lady at Helios that explains what matapalo is, which is really marzipan. Corbett bought the bright colored fruit and was disappointed to find the almond paste as the center of the brightly colored fruits. Turns out these are pastry that monks made to keep funds coming into their abbeys. I liked them, but a tiny bit goes a long way. Speaking of a tiny bit, I am a big fan of the local "digestive" which means a spirited shot usually The shot of digestive for Sicily is Tutone Anice Unico. A product of Palermo. It tastes like licorice on fire. Which at first sip - I do mean tiny sip - is a little alarming. A full shot takes about a half hour to consume, at least for us Tallahasseeans... I love licorice, so I was all in for the bottle. It's a small bottle. And it will most likely have some in it for the next guest.

Cefalu'

The train ride back was funny as a Swedish couple sat across from us. The only thing they understood on the train was English instructions, just as we do. When we leave the train terminal, we all exit crossing the street in front of the station which is a large circle of roaring vehicles. Buses, cars scooters. Her husband darts out and goes half way turning to look for her. She runs back and stands with us. Then, there are enough of us to barge out to the road. We cross and her husband is gleeful and he says, " It is so exciting!" and she and I agree, only for men. We try to find the grocery, but give up after our long day. The night has descended and warnings of purse snatchers and thieves send us back to our lovely apartment. Three bathrooms, one for each person! Lovely.

Tomorrow is Monreale, a trip up the mountains to see a duomo. A lovely day all in all.

Rising to the Last Leg Palermo

2015-11-05T10:19:00.002-08:00

On the way to Italy, Ted continuously watched the Godfather on the airplane video console. He said putting on a movie that you have seen 20 times makes him sleep better. I hear the gunfire through his headphones and cannot imagine that there is sleepful bliss in this.

I bring that up, because Palermo is very closely associated with Mafia history. Salvatore Giuliano was the real deal. Not the movie the Godfather, but a real Siciliani who was part of the "Robin Hood" image of Italians in the early 40's. He was dashing and anti establishment - a villain hero, who was loved and hated by all.

Salvatore, a handsome man

A lovely introduction to the Palermo streets. We debated, is Palermo like Madrid or Costa Rica or Miami. I am pretty sure the answer is yes. Big open markets, lots of traffic, horns, whistles, yelling, hands and honking. It is strangely attractive and sixties in architecture, though not really. Tall buildings so you cannot see the port like one can on the Amalfi Coast. And at the risk of the Palermo tourist industry people, dirty. More street trash, more floating garbage in the harbor, more dog poop.

That said our little piece of heaven is fabulous. Thanks to Michele, we have a three bedroom, three bath flat. The kitchen is appropriately appointed and the living space and patios are to live for. We walk the the Ballaro Market and then down to the port. We saunter back and hit a bar called, "the navy". Which of course, Corbett and Ted must stop into. We have a beer and a couple of paninis. ( I almost called them sandwiches!)

We track along and see the Carrefour sign. Don't know how I lived without them. The Publix of Europe. Open markets are great for most, but butter, oil and soap are best bought at the Carrefour! Pronounce Cawfoe. No r's.

patio view, like right there

View off the top balcony

sort of looks like the sun is peaking though for us

Palermo has not had time to know me, nor I it. I love the deep roots and mysteries. I am not sure I love the religion in every breath of every corner. I need to feel this more deeply. We head for Cefalu tomorrow. Catacombs on Saturday. Water tour on Sunday. Busy last days. Oh and last apartment had an elevator, and we were on first floor. Now we are on three and a half

I miss you Charles and Morgan and Patrick. Glad I have Corbett!

Rising to Capri

2015-11-04T12:22:00.000-08:00

We stayed up late trying ot book charters to Capri, an island off the Napoli Coast. Corbett and I finally gave up and pronounced to Ted that we had to go in person.

We did and we made it!

But first, we kill an hour in a different part of Napoli. We have a cappuccino and Corbett has a cheesecake and an orange Fanta. We watch the students, mothers and business people cross and recross the piazza. A very nice spot except for the cigarettes. The outdoors is always full of smokers.

Eleven comes and we are on the fast "jet" to Capri. It is really a giant catamaran to the island. Forty Five minutes total. We get off the boat and try and orient. Then I see the funicolare. Love those. Up and up and Ted not feeling the love so much. Heights he says. But aww the view.

I don't have photos of this, but the buses and the trucks and the cars and the anything else traveling on the road of Capri are truly the bravest and most technical people I can think of. Today, the buses were so close that we felt the breath of the other riders. Ted said there was an extra three inches, but I did not see it. And on our right, the cliff straight down. Look across the photo above and imagine driving around the rocky protrusions. The drivers inching forward, squeezing busses into fiat size streets, mirrors in, people gasping, and me - I am sure that I tried to suck my belly into my lungs to help the cause. And even then, with no buses coming, the roads sidle the edge and the lady next to me is doing the sign of the cross (a catholic thing). Her boyfriend tries to comfort her and I tell Ted, there are worse ways to die. And then the experience is in the past, as we are out on the streets and taking in the island views.

In case you are wondering, men from America act like men from America even in Italy. "Do you know where you are going?" "of course!" Do you want to look at a map? "Well that is inconvenient, but if you insist." Should I ask someone for directions, Ted says? Well yes. And then we turn 180 and head up the hill not down the hill.

Nope, no directions needed at all, why do you ask?

Ana Capri

We walk the top of the island. One of the tourist offering is a lift up the mountain in single chairs, like a ski lift. Ted does not want to ride the swinging chairs up the mountain as the clouds are covering the top. I am sure he just doesn't want to ride the solo swinging chairs. He is accompanied by a woman from New Hampshire, saying "no way!" Ted offers to stay and have a beer with her while the rest of us go up. But we decide to keep walking. We have to be back at the port by four thirty and Ted is worried about time. We take a short cut through the town, following the lovely Italian ladies below. The view is the perfect ending to another day in paradise as we are told boarding our catamaran back to Napoli. But if I ever come back, the swinging chairs for me!

A perfect end to the day indeed.

to the day of taking it easy

2015-11-03T12:02:00.002-08:00

After much wine and the home made dinner, we all made our way to bed. Memories of the day float in our heads. Such lovely images of the coast.

Morgan taunting the guide as he begs her to get down on our side of the wall

Amalfi Coast

On the church steps

Morgan is first to wake as she is leaving today. The week went by too fast when I think of her departing. I am glad that we had the chance to do the very expensive tour before she left. I am not sure when she will be back here.

Ted and I get up and walk her to the bus stop. Corbett paid 50 euro to get to the apartment by cab and she was having none of it. She hopped the bus and off she went. We walked back past the port and all the cruise ships that park there. It was early so not too many people out. We gave her a cappuccino and a pastry before she left, so hopefully, it will last until she gets the tasty airplane food. :?

When we return, we sit around, eat some light fare. Ted wants to take a nap, so Corbett and I wander off and explore the port. We see Umberto Primo, the statute and the king. What an imposing figure and he is everywhere that guy! We walk past monuments and arches.

The stroll bayside is so relaxing. It is dotted with selfie stick salespersons and fake designer handbag sellers. But overall, the view is incredible enough to look past that annoyance. They have to eat too. And I think they really target the cruiseline folks coming off the ships like ants on the march.

Rotary Club Monument

Corbett at Napoli Bay

We stroll back and get Ted, who is waking from his nap. We decide to go to the castle, Museo Civico Castel Nuovo. It is inviting with real castle features and tons of 14th century catholic or christian art. Some are lovely, most are dark and forbearing. It is like an artistic punishment of all doings of all mankind, then one shred of sanctity and light, but you can't ever quite reach it.

A little heavy I know. But I was raised catholic and I know the weight of these paintings in both historic value and guilt of generations. I also know that the painters did not live like the popes.

We wander into a room with clear floors, so that you can see the tunnels and walls beneath. This is the same flooring that was in Patrick's classes in FSU Valencia, Spain. You can see all the excavation and preservation.There are what appear to be bones and skeletons in the sand. But, they turn out to be cardboard. Regardless, Ted and Corbett take great joy in making fun of me walking only on the beams, as I am sure the plexiglass will not hold me. They leave the room chuckling at my insecurity!

Ted and Corbett are consumed with the artillery and the remnant of boats. I wait in a not very clean blue, soft chair near a balcony. I can't complain, because that is the Napoli Bay. And I am here. And that is Mount Vesuvius.

And not to sound ungrateful, but I wish Charles and Morgan and Patrick were with me.

of the double booking

2015-11-03T11:17:00.002-08:00

Napoli is a city of wonders. Lots to see just on the ride in from the airport. Our first day, I booked a tour of the Amalfi Coast. It is supposed to be one of the world's most beautiful coastlines. Our driver arrived promptly at nine a.m. to pick us up.

Our other driver arrived promptly too. Rut Ro.

I am not a big fan of tours and guides. I love tromping off, as my daughter says, in no direction. But in this case, I am so happy I booked an Amalfi Tour. In fact, I am so happy, I booked it twice.

So the day begins and I am all over getting people up to to get ready for the tour. I get downstairs and two men are making phone debates about who is in charge. They are arguing and then I get my party downstairs.

I think I am emailing the same person, but not true, I am emailing two and they both show and want to be paid. We are really good sports or suckers, depending how one views it. We pay driver two to go away... and then half way through the tour, we're thinking the driver and think we should have had him go the whole way driving two of us since he insisted on the full fare! The only way out is to pay, so pay we did. A very expensive tour and lesson, but worth it! Oh and we picked the handsome guide since we had a choice.

our first view of the whole Napoli Bay

My two lovely adult children

We stopped often to take photos on the winding narrow road of the coastline. We could not have picked a better day for weather and clarity. The sea is the bluest teal you will ever see. It is deep and it is very clear. We stop at edges just to look out and see the lovely skylines. The photos above are taken with the phone, so they do not do any justice to the wonder.

The ride to the cities is in a new silver van and is very comfortable, even more so if you don't have to drive. Salvetore drives efficiently and it is best not to look. There are mirrors on all of the curves so you can see who is proceeding before you or at you. The water takes your breath away and then you arrive at a little city like Amalfi or Positano. The houses emerging from the hillside and every inch of soil planted with lemons or olives. Tiny little patches house a few sheep or some milk cows. The land is terraced and houses are tucked in every available space there is.

The beach is rocky, smooth rocks, but rocks nonetheless. The water takes on the dark hue of the sand on the shoreline. It is "fresh" says Salvatore. He tells us this is the perfect time of year. The tourists are gone, it is all Saints Day and many stores are closed, but the weather is perfect. 72 degrees. I daresay we are blessed.

toes in the mediterranean

And of course it could not be a complete tour with out the tunnels and the art on the hillside overlooking the treasures that lie before us. The day got immensely better when we went to the lunch where this adorable little Italian Lady who looks like every Italian grandmother you know has flowers in her hair, a smile on her face and she is ready to tell us what to eat. Morgan has the pizza and does not finish it all. The Lady picks up the plate, puts in in front of Corbett and tell him to eat it. She was great. And he obliges as if he had an option.

We finally head to the piazza and have a campari, which no one likes but me. Beers for the others. We take a final look at the town and know that our very expensive tour is coming to a close. We get back to our lovely apartment and make dinner and have fun conversations about the abundance of selfie sticks and how every tour group is bombarded by selfie stick sellers. Make for interesting entertainment watching how people learn to say no. Oh yes, and one more. The street vendors catch the cars at red lights and run around with kleenex on the mirror. The kleenex is a six pack of little kleenex. As the light heads for green, they run around and take them back if you do not purchase. Our guide says this is effective in winter time. Perhaps a future retirement job for me!

Rising to the Rising Sun (and son)

2015-11-01T12:49:00.000-08:00

Last day in Rome and we are packing up for the departure. With a little extra time we saunter one last time to our favorite cafe and imbibe in cappuccinos and pastry. Morgan always gets something with powdered sugar. Ted is a fan of custard and pastry.

I am delighted that they sell a type of savory pizza for breakfast. I pick a new one that is simply pastry with tomato brush. Delightful.

We try to get money unsuccessfully at the ATM. Our cards are not sufficient the machines say. I would take it personally. All our cards fail, except for Morgans. The one with the least latitude in expendable funds. How that keeps one humble!

Our train trip was quite pleasant. Morgan and Ted promptly fall asleep. We are on the fast train to Napoli (Naples). The city gives way to countryside and farms swell to the base of the mountains on either side of the train. Dirty sheep dot the hillsides in pens - four legged woolen dots as we swoosh past.

Freshly plowed fields await the winter crops and creeks run back and forth along the route.

A very odd American sits talking to his companion about how different Italy is from Germany. His soft stature makes me think he is a desk jockey of some type. He points out the solar farms as well pass. My travel partners have long since left consciousness and nap to our destination. They are missing the pastoral views that inspired great artists over many centuries. I will sleep tonite, but for now, I want to capture the scenery in my memory and on this page.. The announcer says we are traveling at 293 km/h. Sounds as if we will arrive soon.

Let the harrowing taxi ride begin! You have not lived until you have ridden in a taxi in Rome or Naples. This one was particularly fun as the police kept closing streets as we drove, missed corners, backed up in a one lane alley and turned around, dodged many scooters and had narrow misses at every turn. For your entertainment I will post it on youtube Napoli Taxi

When we finally arrived, we were early, so we went to have a cappuccino. I walked down the street to see if Rosa had arrived and she did. She showed us the lovely apartment. She grew up in this apartment and it was her mothers. It is from the 18th century and she believes it was a convent at one time. We are a short walk to Teatro San Carlo. We are 100 feet from the large Cathedral in the piazza. A special plus if you like bells.

Morgan and I are ready to give up on my son Corbett, who was supposed to arrive at noon. Just as we are heading out, he comes in the door, bedraggled but fine. We drop his things and head to Brandi' for pizza. The best we are told.

selfies

And then the food arrives and it makes up all better. Broccoli leaves and mozzarella for Corbett and Morgan. Ted gets anchovies. I get salad. There is enough to share. Giggles and grins, and fun with a waiter who asks Corbett for his American change. Corbett hands him the change then gives him a one dollar bill and a five dollar bill. "All the American money I have, " he declares. The waiter tells him that he loves him.

I wait till we are at the bottom of the hill to tell him that the waiter says that to every American.

Tomorrow we are off to the Amalfi Coast to see the cliffs and the waterside towns. Can't wait!

Rising to Rome if that is even possible

2015-10-31T13:18:00.000-07:00

Arriving in Rome is like being Audrey Hepburn or Sophia Loren. You are at once in awe and in ownership of a busy street, a busy city. And of course, you feel fabulous!

If you travel to many cities, you learn to pick up the vibe of the city. You know when to walk fast and you learn when to stroll. You can catch on to the hustle factor that the big roundabouts offer. You watch to see if people hold their bags clutched to them or if they are just holding them as the walk. You can see if the mood is moving or if it is one of fiscal desperation. You can learn to step out in the street, with cars flying and to watch them all stop. And most importantly, you learn to pick out the non tourist restaurant. Or you learn to favor a tourist restaurant. Perhaps it is your level of interest in cuisine that makes one place more alluring over another.

On our arrival, my travel partner says to eat at a certain restaurant. We do. It has a tourist menu. That alone tells you that they cater to the travelers. It isn't bad, but it will not be authentic. It will be the best of all and the best of none. To be fair, my food was al dente and was nicely presented. My seafood pasta, which was clams and mussels was just fine. The bottle of pinot grigio acceptable. However, I cannot help but think the amount of pasta I can make for that amount of euros. If you eat outside in Europe, you will eat with smokers. Don't have a bad attitude. If it is important to you to be away from smoke, then eat where you don't have to smell it.

Later, we walk the Tiber River and then buy prosciutto and cheese and bread for the late night snack. The exhaustion of the trip before sets in and we give into the night and return to Trastevere for the evening. Thunderstorms break out in the middle of the night and the roof sounds like it is being pounded by rocks. The heavy tiles take the beating with aplomb and the night beats on. With only hours till daylight, Rome doesn't disappoint the big city reputation and the street life picks up at three a.m., bottles hitting the streets and loud young people going back to their roosts.

Then, bright as can be is the alarm to awake us to to the tour of Vatican Museo and Gardens. Six a.m. and yes we are up and staggering around in the dark. The Vatican, I say. We must not be late!

And when we are twenty minutes early, we climb down the well tromped tourist stairs to buy our, "you got here early" six euro coffee. Which by the way, we gladly paid. Well done whomever owns that spot. Well done!

,
The Vatican is like every church and museum and catholic school you ever attended or visited in one. Many of the tourists are clergy, priests and nuns. Many are on the Catholic pilgrimage. The clergy are of every color and age, every tongue. They are in black, grey and blue, with white collars. There is the one rotund Jesuit that looks like the monk in the Robin Hood book, Friar Tuck. Then, there are the multitudes of asian tourists (trusting word to know if that should be capitalized, sorry Sister Mary Judith). I wonder if I was in their country would I visit such a specifically religious place as this. Oh, but we are in Rome. It is not Miami or even Madrid. It is the home of the city/state/country - Vatican. There are museums and halls and rooms and halls and stairs, more than you can ever anticipate.

The ceilings are as elegant as the walls and statutes, more so in many cases. And who knew that the Sistine Chapel ( which is the 16th chapel according to the tour guides, not built for a pope's sister) was so small compared to the rest of the museo and buildings. One could spend days here. But, the opulence makes me ponder the lives of those who built the buildings one stone at a time. The artists who did Michael Angelos' bidding, but were never he. The paintings seldom depict happiness unless god and heaven are part of the picture. I am glad that I did not live in those times. The place is a wonder, but also provokes thoughts of bigger problems of the world. I am glad for the break of the patio near the end of the tour.

Morgan and I find a bench that we think is far from everyone and she lies on my lap and quickly dozes. Turns out we are in the best vantage spot to view Saint Peter Basilica. Tour guide after tour come stand two inches from our bodies to look at the dome. At one point, a nun - a rather young nun- pushes Morgans feet aside and sits on the end of the bench. She has worn wool socks under her sandals and the heat is now too much. She removes the socks and places them in a bag. She then invites an elderly woman to take her place. Another bench opens up and so Morgan and I move. Morgan again reclines, only this time an officer says, "Madam! Madam!" and she sits up and we gather our thoughts to leave. The cappuccinos have definitely worn off.

I bought postcards of Pope Francis. Pope Francesco. And of Michelangelo paintings. I wanted to make sure my mother received a card from the Vatican.It made me remember my grandmother who had this little pendant that she said was full of sand from the holy land and that Jesus had walked on the sand. I can't remember how she got the pendant as I am sure that she never traveled outside the country.

My daughter and I visited the cathedral of Saint Francesco of Assisi tonight. We saw the Bernini of the Lying Woman.

internet photo

Doesn't sound that impressive? Well think of any church or place of worship you have been in that houses a work of art so emotive, so full of history and expression. If you are in America, you may be hard pressed. It is five blocks from our apartment. Every few blocks is a new piazza with more fountains and more art. Marble graces the open steps and Roman Warriors adorn every monument. This interesting chap was on top of the Mussolini castle and the main statute in the Borghese Park.

Umberto Primo Wiki Photo

Aside from the fact that Umberto Primo has a killer mustache, he rides a pretty mean looking horse as well!

We walk most places covering around ten miles a day. Of course this is filled with stops for looking and grabbing a beer or prosecco. And maybe a little cheese and bread. And maybe a pizza. You feel like if you walk that far, you should get to eat or drink what you want!

We stop to get the items at the butcher shop my daughter wants. Dried meats, smoked mozzarella. I buy Sangiovese wine to go with it. We stop at a bar for a glass of wine, waiting on our third traveler, who left earlier to see the colosseum. And we hear, " Even Americans don't like Fleming!"

I am assuming they are talking about a painter, but soon it matters not. They are Bob and Bob from southern California by way of Cinque Terra and Rome. We converse on politics and wine and restaurants and Saint Francesco of Assisi. They were disappointed with Cinque Terra hiking access and delighted with Rome. Then, they are off and so are we.

Our host for the dinner evening is none other that Gigi. He owns Impiccetta Ristorante in Trastevere. He trained in South Beach, Miami, Florida. He is fluent in spanish, italian and english. He owns a lovely little space on Via dei Fienaroli and I highly recommend it! #impiccetta

Gigi of Impicetta

Be forewarned, a meal is enough for two love birds. Order two, and one appetizer if you are three fold. You will be greatly pleased. Beer is not so much in Italy, home to Tuscany. But there are small craft spots that you can find. If you are not a wine connoisseur, then definitely pick the house wine or have the wait staff pick for you. While not all of the ones have been fabulous, none have been so poor as to send back.

The Trastevere neighborhood is safe, but trendy. It is noisy after midnight and easy in the morning. Lovely to walk and easy to access transportation. We feel safe and welcome. People for the most part are friendly and helpful. We have not had any trouble with the usual travel warnings of pick pockets and scams. There are always people selling stuff on the street and they can be persistent. But a firm no, grazie or No Thanks will do. Rome is, well what can I say, Rome. Ciao!

Rising to the Challenge of Trip Planning

2015-10-30T07:47:00.000-07:00

Rome. Naples. Palermo. Stromboli (the place not the food).

Sounds fabulous. And it will be, I am sure. But, tonight, I stare at AirBnB and Marriott and all the other sites that I know. And then, there is the aha! That is where I want to be! Except not really. I want to be on the coast and in the mountains. I want to have the view and be in city center. I want the fancy kitchen and the close by restaurants. And of course, the time to go to cooking school in each city.

I also want to be in the best reasonable seats at the opera in Naples and have good seats on the train from Rome. Decisions, decisions. It requires discipline, research, money and a little leap of faith. Or a big one.

In a recent article in the New York Times, a young man told a tale of horror. Nothing about his trip turned out the way he planned. I personally have had great success with airbnb, but I understand the caution. I have not traveled alone on these trips This young man did.

Then there is the concern of the immigrant situation in Europe as told by many, but this article included the plight of Rome, which is where we are headed. My heart breaks with the thought of planning a vacation, when so many are lost. So many things to think about.

An image of contemporary Rome

And then, I remember that I won't be at work for two straight weeks. Sixteen days total. Limited computers, lots of walking, thighs burning from stairs and laughing at how bedraggled I have become. Dragging suitcases up stairs and running through the market with the awe of a child seeing all the things new to me. Especially the fish markets, that do not stock Florida fish...

Two weeks of no office and no confrontations, no negotiations and no bosses. Just the opportunity of a new day every day and new experiences.

internet photo

That alone will improve my posture and improve my gait. It will make my neck a little longer and my legs a little quicker. I won't be driving so my left leg will re-engage. I won't be sitting, so my core will have to work for its food. The plus part of a late year vacation in Europe: fewer tourists, lower temperatures, fewer lines, a little less expensive. On some trips, a little too cool. Small price to pay.

Departure day arrives and as we depart at the airport, my husband says not to worry about his new cast (he just had surgery) to have fun and to not worry. This means, please write me and think of me. I am sure he wants to milk this for the hunting trip to Kansas he wants to make in late November.

The long flight over is filled with older folks ( including me) but other people with white hair. The ones that surrendered to the grey or white and joined the elderhostel crowds. And a few very elderly Italian men traveling alone, looking lost. One across the aisle, one such man can't figure out how to put the earplugs into the monitor or how to choose Italian on the screen. The ear buds come with the two prong insert, which is no longer needed. I just can't stand to see him struggle, so of course I am up.

I climb over my seat mate and go to help him. He can't hear well, so it really doesn't matter that I can't speak Italian. I pat his arm and gently take the ear plugs and unwind them. Then I remove the two prong insert and plug the mike in to the slot. I hand him the ear plugs and he tells me, " gratcie, gratcie". I am sure that is not how to spell it, but it is how it sounds.

He goes to sleep after the meal and I worry not about him for now.

The plane is packed and it is surprising how quiet it is. even the babies know it is night and we are flying. I think it is harder for older folks to sleep than the babies. The fellow next to me dozed, then woke and restarted the "Godfather" and then dozed again. How does one sleep through the "Godfather"? Don't they shoot and kill people in that movie? This must be a man thing. Like sleeping through baseball and missing the grand slam.

The plane ride is ridiculously long and not the fault of the airline people. It is just a long overnight flight sitting up, waiting to arrive in a a fabulous location. A first world problem I am sure my children would say.

internet photo

Out to the airport in Rome, I ask my traveling friend if it feels like home. He says yes, go left. At this point, I am glad we have both agreed on the car to the apartment in Trastevere. The good news is the driver knew exactly where to go. The bad news is we arrived in rush hour traffic. Lovely ride though outskirts of Rome and we were so pleased that the flat looks just like the photo.

Exhausted on the first day, we stroll along the Tiber River walk south of the area we are staying. The weather is wet and drizzles are on my coat. I worry more about footing on the slick cobblestone pavement of the roads than about my damp hair or the wet coat.

We decide to turn back and my hair is increasingly curly from the rain. We stop at a tourist restaurant to eat because my travel partner says he ate there before and it was good. I said it is a tourist restaurant. He says, "it's great"! I say, he has this and only this day to choose where we eat.

There is more to tell, but it will be tomorrow.

Rising to the Occasion of Corporate Silos

2015-10-22T19:23:00.000-07:00

I attend a lot of trade organization conferences, and not even for the same trade. It’s all over the map, really— from child support, to government finance, to merchant services. When you have the opportunity to attend so many conferences of such a wide variety, it becomes clear that many organizations share the same challenge of effective communication or lack thereof. I’ll give you an example.

I recently had the distinct pleasure of attending the Money Transmitter Regulatory Association conference in Kansas City, Missouri. Sounds dull, right? But, turns out, this industry has the same problems as other industries; and it struck me loud and clear when I heard a particular session. I attended a session lead by Heidi Wicker Partner, Schwartz and Ballen LLP and Craig Timm, Deputy Chief, Asset Forfeiture and Money Laundering Section, U.S. Department of Justice. While their topic was on eCommerce compliance, the conversation turned to corporate communication. As in many companies, areas such as banking, compliance, marketing, and operations are often siloed and therefore struggle with or lack needed communication.

This lack of communication leads to a lack of accountability and in the case of a money transmitter, can cause big legal problems, including possible state and/or federal prosecution. It isn't good enough to say that the non compliance was reported, rather management has an obligation to react appropriately and timely. Ignoring the problem is not an option in the world of government regulation. And silos within the company can mask the problems, making them insurmountable when finally exposed.

Internet Photo

In many companies, the silo effect is a natural evolution of any organization that is expanding and adding new divisions, bureaus or departments. As the organization expands, it often relies on communication practices that have slowly become obsolete and ineffective. This can sometimes be exacerbated by the limited subject matter that the employee(s) are focused upon in each division. Another major cause of siloed communication is unhealthy culture development within the organization, a culture promotes defensive behavior about sharing ideas, responsibility, and accountability - which ultimately leads to infighting and turf wars. This kind of silo is particularly difficult to tackle as the parties are usually wary of change, as change can represent losing control of the turf they are protecting and view the desire to change as a threat of power or control. In the case of regulatory compliance, they would be right.

It does seem ironic that these kinds of problems don't surface in audits or management discussions, but it is quite natural that they are concealed. If the main goal is to protect the status quo and keep things the same, then revealing information that could lead to change- even if for the better- is still a threat.

So how does a company change from the silo effect to a collaborative effect? Strong leadership by example. It has to come from the top and it has to have teeth. Bringing in a one time communications or organization consultant and singing kumbaya for two hours in a "retreat" will not suffice. That will vanish as soon as the team return to the office. Nope, this has to be a good old fashioned hand wringing upset of the structure. Can you keep the existing managers in place and instill a new spirit of collaboration? Perhaps, but in order for it to work, the managers need to develop empathy for each others goals, strategies, plans and corporate place. The best way to do that is to reassign the managers to new areas for a time period.

"What did you just say?" I heard. Yes, reassign them. Put the Compliance Manager over the Governmental Affairs office. Put the CFO over IT and put the Communications Manager over Accounting. For three months or at least one month. Same performance standards and goals. Make them feel the empathy for the other staff and what the other manager must deal with day to day. Take away the protectionist mindset, the isolating circle the wagons approach, and have the managers learn to work with a whole new crew.

CHANGE

So how does a company change from a silo culture to a one that supports the collaborative culture? Before we can answer that question, we must first answer the question, “What is culture?” A healthy organizational culture is a result of strong leadership by example. Yes, it’s that simple. Its not what leadership says they do, it is what they actually do and these actions affect everyone in the organization, no matter how big or small. The best way to start is to take a hard look at the current roles each leader and department manager is in. Often, an unhealthy culture has nothing to do with the employees themselves, but much more to do with whether or not they are best suited for the role they are in. That IT Manager that is always chiming in on issues in the Government Affairs Department, but is seemingly uncaring about issues that directly affect the IT Department, is telling you something through their actions or lack thereof. So, reassign based on their actions, not their words or current title!

I know it sounds crazy. But, what if it works? What if the CFO learns more about the company by running IT? What if the Communications Manager becomes more effective at corporate presentations because of what he or she learned in finance? What if we did the same thing with middle managers?

And what if they all started having more respect for each other and wanting to protect the entire company, versus just their division. PollyAnna. I know. But people are basically the same and if they are put into the situation to develop empathy, if they are given a new chance to grow and if they are supported through the process, it could change the culture.

No one likes drama in the workplace. No one wants to work for a culture of protectionism and defensiveness. True change in communication and collaboration doesn't come from taking classes or learning to tweet. True communication comes from trust and respect.

Ironically enough, as I write this, another industry enews sends a link on collaboration. It is Collaboration Begins With You a new book by Ken Blanchard, Jane Ripley and Eunice Parisi-Carew. Their site states, "Collaboration Begins with You helps leaders at all levels create and develop a culture that uses differences to spur contribution and creativity; provides a safe, trusting environment; involves everyone in creating a sense of purpose, values, and goals; encourages the sharing of information; and turns everyone into an empowered self-leader." I can't wait to get my order in for the book. In my world, it is essential to ensure collaboration.

In the world of regulatory compliance, it is not just about communication and collaboration, it is about following the spirit and letter of the law.

quickfacts

(#KCMO is a wonderful place to visit. I was pleasantly surprised at all the things to do!)

Rising to the Occasion of Wonder in the World

2015-05-06T17:20:00.001-07:00

RECENTLY, the Wall Street Journal (herein after referred to as the Journal), ran an article by Mr. Edward Rothstein. The article, "The World's Wild Wonders" focused on the exhibit at the American Museum of Natural History called, "Life at the limits: Stories of Amazing Species". The writing is wonderful and the topic even better. He tells of small creatures that can survive in space and freezing temperatures and come back alive and flourishing. He tells of woodpeckers with giant tongues and lizards with unique talents such as squirting blood four feet out of their eyes. He doesn't tell us of his own unique talent. He only shows it through writing. That made me wonder.

The microscopic tardigrade, of which more than 1,000 species exist. PHOTO: EYE OF SCIENCE/SCIENCE SOURCE

(As in not my photo.)

Mr. Rothstein has the privilege, quite earned I suspect, of being the Journal's "Critic at Large". As soon as I read his title, my mind went to another place of wonder. I wonder if I were critic at large at the office...

Critic at large obviously is not a negative title. It is one deserved for observation and documentation skills developed over time. I do not have this as a formal part of my training. But, I do have it and wondering about the goings on is what I do.

For instance, a person in our office came up to me and asked if I had heard about Freida's's problems. "She told Jane and Bob, but doesn't want others to know." Freida works for me, and the others, including the teller, do not. I am not totally sure that matters, but what did matter is that these people were doing the one thing she asked them not to do! They were sharing her secret and sharing it with her bosses boss. In this case it was about a family matter. It could potentially have an impact on work, but hasn't. So why were they sharing? And why with me, a Director?

The wonder is in the why. I believe they were sharing because having this secret bit of knowledge made them feel important and special. And, they wanted others to know that they are important and special. Who wants to talk about balance sheets and profit margins? In a non-work environment, if you told your best friends' secrets you would be looking for a new best friend! But, in the work environment, you don't get to choose with whom you must deal. That situation inevitably leads to confiding in people because you are with them more than reliably than anyone else. Normal human behaviour dictates that if you are with this person so frequently for such a prolonged period, you start to interact as family, and de-emphasize co-worker relationships. A normal reaction, especially for difficult news delivered at work. But not wise. Here is why.

Derby Day at the office

Your behaviour, inspite of the circumstances, is still evaluated on job performance by upper management. Sharing tidbits of information about another does not improve your performance, but could drastically affect some one elses. And management may now view you (the sharer) as untrustworthy and perhaps, disloyal. Was that the intention of the "sharing"? I doubt it. I think the employee received a call at work with bad news and needed to share and chose to do so with an indiscreet co-worker. The result, while immediately gratifying, was devastating to the employee who shared. Word to the wise, if you truly don't want something shared at work, call you sister or your minister or anyone outside of your office. That is the only way to ensure that your secrets don't belong to everyone.

To the contrary, there are those who want their secrets shared. "I am getting divorced, I can date!" "I am graduating from college and have an interview somewhere else!" She said what? I am eating Breakfast at Tiffanys!

These are far different from personal information that you want held close.

The other situation that seems to cause angst is the work function with relaxing food and drink, but the formal relationships in tact. Take the dinner cruise for instance.

Work Dinner Cruise

Hard though it might be to think that your behaviour on the dinner cruise will follow you back to work, it will. Even if you are miles away from home. Imagine that you confess to a peer in another business that your true love is someone at the company, but you are not able to express it. Or that your brother is now working for accounting, but since last names are different, no one knows. Do you think that the information will stay with the outsider that has an ongoing financial relationship with your company? I think not. Again, people with hot information want to share. It gives them validity, it feels powerful. And before you have passed booth 34, everyone in the trade show knows about it.

Wonder, yes, I could sit and wonder about peoples' work motives all day. But for now, please utilize the business etiquette rule of: if you don't want it told to the company employees in the newsletter, or by the coke machine, Don't Tell It!

You will save yourself a lot of heartache.

p.s. Don't be the one who shares secrets either, it really doesn't make you important beyond the moment!

Rising to the Thrill

2015-03-27T19:20:00.002-07:00

Wanted: thrill seekers in the world of work

Last weekend, my children jumped out of an airplane to celebrate one of their birthdays. Several years ago, two of them went up in a plane and jumped. This year, they took their younger brother. All three of my children jumped. The conservative finance major jumped. Be still my heart.

The last birthday thrill jump was off a bridge in Oregon, with bungee cords tied to their bodies.

These faces look happy right? They look like they are so glad they paid over $400 to jump off a bridge and plummet to the rocks and river below? So glad that they would pay more to jump out of a 1959 Cessna aircraft for a parachute experience? Yes, and yes they did. Thrill seekers that they are.

Needless to say, I did not go watch this event. I went the first time and it was all I could take as a mother. To assuage my concern, I started thinking about thrill seekers and the applicability to work environments. How would this scenario play out at work?

My environment is a combination of e-commerce, payments and government solutions. Not the brave new world of Mars or the thrill seeking world of Indiana Jones. Quite the contrary, most of our world is secure, locked down, predictable, controlled. My environment is full of people who rely on consistency and try to resolve inconsistency. Problems with the website, problems with the payment, problems with up-time? Radical change in the website? New products on the fly? None of these are good things for our people and they work hard to keep the outside from creeping on the inside. Consistent, routine flowing processes are what we strive for. Most of the time.

Challenging though it may be, even the staid, route, IT guy needs a thrill once in a while. Even our banking and eCommerce, "let nothing happen today" people need a thrill once in a while. But what does the "thrill" look like for them? And how is it helpful to the employee and the organization?

This question is something I have pondered for a few weeks. Ever since I heard that my children were jumping again, I wanted to mitigate my fear. And they wanted to show off theirs. In talking to them later, half of the learning was the bright new experience. The finance major said never again, but check, I have done it. He also said that he had to be twice as brave as thrill seeking is outside his wheelhouse.

WheelHouse

My point is, when looking at our workforce through this lens, you can see the "thrill seekers" and those who don't normally, but then do. What does that mean for your organization?

It means you can develop a way to recognize those who make a bold move, but who won't do it again because it wasn't right or who wouldn't normally step out of their comfort zone. Sometimes it is about a supervisor that manages too tightly. Sometimes it is just a shy person. BUT, sometimes they make a bold move! Check out the shy tech guy link to see what this can look like. We should recognize and reward them.

It also means that we should keep an eye on our thrill seekers, and help them direct that energy in positive ways for the organization. Could your finance person take a bold move and introduce a new way to show value? Could your Service Desk Manager introduce a wild idea to integrate all managers into the data base? Would that be a thrill? Or a NightMare?

It is hard to allow the thrill seekers to go out on the edge in a work environment. The dreamers are often confused with thrill seekers. They are not the same by a long shot. Even harder, keeping the thrill seeker from thinking this will be everyday. Thrills are not usual by definition. Managers are responsible for balancing this in themselves and in their subordinates. Leaders of the organization must learn to inspire thrill seeking in those who might, and to inspire confident idea presentation in those who will. There is a balance and truly healthy growing organizations need that balance. Challenging the status quo from the inside is far better than challenge from the competition or worse the Board!

I assure you that my children will be doing something other than white water rafting, bungee jumping or skydiving for the next trip. They are already talking about flyboarding. I guess thrill seekers will never stop. Just for the record: my oldest is in IT, middle in PhD pursuit and youngest in Finance. Their father in law enforcement. We have no idea where they got this!

of the return home

2015-01-08T18:35:00.000-08:00

Knowing the end of the tour was near, the weather decided to make it easier for us to depart. The gloomy skies, the drizzling rain, the wet walk to the metro. They were all leading to a departure that might have been much harder in the sunshine.

check out December weather in Paris

The walk to the metro was wet and mostly silent. Once again, I realize how much we walk when we are on vacation in Europe. Our bodies grow stronger and straighter. Our jaws relax and our eyes and ears perk up. Leaving the different life will be hard on me. Much less so for Charles my husband. He is eager for American television and normal hours.

from the internet

Prior to our departure, we made an assessment of the room. I longingly gazed at the Marriott the kind of hotel we save forever to be able to pay for stay and enjoy it. It wasn't quite the same as staying with my daughter, who appreciates a good meal and a lovely dessert, but it was much appreciated that the concierge level had lovely wines to choose from and three English beers and lots of cheese to snack on. They even had an equestrian magazine about Palm Beach to read. Good bye 6 star life.

The good news about flying back is you fly all night and it is night when you get here, so you can go right to bed. The weather was sodden in Tallahassee as well and we arrived back to a gray rainy weekend with miserable animals and more rain than measured in a few years. The yard had turned a leafy compilation of moisture and sand washed from the hills above us. The chicken coop cage floor was completely replaced with leaves and muck. The pools of water around the house almost qualified as reflection ponds they are so long.

Wet, sodden, leaf laden, home is still home. The bed felt fabulous, not because it is so much better than the 6 star hotel, but because it is mine. All mine. And there is something fabulous about going to your own spot.

www.boisemattress.com

Recently, a friend of mine lost his spot.

I don't know for sure, but I think he was living day to day. Food might have been a luxury. Then, he lost his car, his room, his bed, his spot. It is very disconcerting. Mostly, because the people who stay in that position long, tend not to recover. They end up on the squares in Boston, Atlanta, Paris, San Francisco. They end up near bus stations and highway exits.

So for me, coming home to appreciate my spot, allowed me a different perspective with which to help him with a temporary spot. And of course help climbing out of his position: a job, a car to borrow, a hotel to stay in for interviews in Orlando.

It is absolutely fabulous that we have the ability to travel to places of far away. But, it is also important to cherish my earnings and help others who need a hand. No strings. No judgement.

I hope soon that he has his own spot. For I want him to feel like there is a special place all his too, at least his while he is getting back on his feet.

I am grateful for the gifts I have, for the ones given to me along the way, and grateful to have enough to share.

Happy New Year everyone.

Of the Plum Lyon

2014-12-16T13:39:00.000-08:00

Today was the day I waited and waited to arrive. And it is here. I had researched cooking schools in Lyon, the "gastronomic capital of France". Plum was what I was hoping for and indeed they had a day for me to register while on our trip.

What a day! Arriving at the door of PlumLyon is a bit of a feat all by itself, but to go in is a different fare. The marble work space, the lovely stoves and ovens and the habitat of the owner in perfect order.

We meet Lucy and student Trent, and then waste no time getting ready to leave. Off to the market first thing, and by market, I mean walking through outdoor market shopping for all food for the meal. Everything except, wine, chocolate and bread was from the market (with the exception of the special cheeses). We hiked up a very steep road to the top to see the market. We turned to catch our breath and the view was spectacular.

Then, we trolled through the market street. It was so crowded and moved so fast, I could not take the camera out of my bag. The people push and move, not in a mean way, but certainly in a steady stream of pressured momentum. Babysitters with children shopping. Elderly waving pennies or the equivalent. Many languages and ages all gathered to visit, commerce and be outside.

Lucy, our guide and instructor, leads us through the market and we look, but don't stop. We smell, but don't eat. We listen, but don't talk. Colors, odors, noises, senses on high - how grand. We select our vegetables and our meats and then off to the Boulangerie and the Cheese shop and the Chocolate shop!

Back down the hills and into the kitchen. First order of business is aprons, white and clean. Then we were handed our towels. I sort of felt official when I tucked my hand towel in. My fellow classmate, Trent and I were ready to roll.

The courses are placed on the board and then our challenge is to deliver the meal as outlined. Ourss is the Cuisine de Marche.

Amuse-

Bouche Sausissons
R lettd'ole
celery en remoulade

Mayonnaise is not just yellow stuff in a jar in France. It is homemade egg yolk and oil mixture, it is lemon and herbs and perhaps mustard or wine. It is a heavenly spread or dip or addition to an herb salad. It is, in short, fabulous.

Chopping Herbs Turns Out to be Harder than you Think!

But Plated, it is superb!

Our Hostess, Lucy!

Our first course of celery and mayonnaise and salami, with lovely sparkling white was wonderful. Lucy did a lovely job teaching us the plating.

Isn't she lovely!

Lapereau (rabbit)

The chopping of the lapereau was mostly a de-boning. I am used to meats that need attention as my husband hunts and provides many interesting cooking opportunities. I think this served me well when de-boning the rabbit meat. But, Trent is the king of the chop and mince! His knives were moving the entire time. He can certainly turn a pile of Herbs into a pile of herbs quickly.

This is good because the rabbit now prepared, we are moving onto the Entree.

Mille Feville de Betrare
Chevre fine Herbs A resson

Trent chops

Soft cheese and herbs Ready to mix

Lucy grates the beets

Now that the sliced beets are on a sheet we can begin the plating

Lucy provides an example

Trent prepares his plate

all ready to serve!

That was amazing and the beets were slightly crunchy, which is the best. loved the almonds in the herb salade.

cleaning the mushrooms from the market and Lucy provides the brushes to remove the pine debris

Mushroom came wrapped in paper and we cleaned them and left the excess in the paper.

The recipe for rabbit, Ballotine de Lapereau involves rabbit saddles, herbs and mushrooms. The other ingredients are cooking fata nd salt and pepper. Cleaning and cutting the herbs and mushrooms are the first step.

The mushrooms cleaned and prepared!

Ah, Trent our superb chopper, is mincing the onions. He is extraordinary at this task. Once we have the Confit d'Oignon simmering away, we move on to the Buerre Blanc, which is our white sauce.

Once again, our Trent is off chopping away at the shallots this time. We are preparing to add the wine, shallots and chopped tarragon to the pan. Lucy adds the cream and reduces the sauce. In the meantime, she has taught us how to roll the herb mixture into the rabbit saddle and tie it off with twine. She is a master, and Trent and I are learning to tie our shoes all over again!

The struggle of describing a cooking class for the non attendees is to keep the attention of the reader beyond the cooking. So let me tell you at this moment, we have occupied four hours of Lucy's time. She is patient as the day is long, answering questions, listening to our amateur cooking banter. She also is sharing her home. The Kitchen is conveniently in the front door room, which makes sense because this is her business. But tucked shortly behind, is the family life and the patio, which is full of fabulous iron beams. The house itself, totally redone by Lucy and her husband, is magnificent. Wood beams traverse the ceilings. Marble slab in the kitchen is for pastry chefs what hot grills are for barbeque. They renovated a marvelous space for teaching and living and it is most wonderful. I imagine it is great for family life. Lucy is not only smart and lucky, she has laid a plan that is most sensible and eloquent. The brightness in her eyes reveal the happiness in her heart and her cooking.

Back to the kitchen. We now have immersed our tied rabbit with stuffing into the pan of butte and duck fat. Just enough mind you to brown the small packages of goodness.

Captain Trent takes over the turning of the rabbit

love the luxury of the gas stove

Meat at rest, notice the steam...

meat prepared for the snipping

Plating was supposed be like rabbit ears along side the rice with onion confit

This is so beautiful, market to table, rabbit, onion, salsifi. buerre blanc!

plated and divine

Back in the Kitchen

Lucy is caramelizing the sugar for the Tarte Tartin

Trent and i raced to see who could peel the most apples

Lucy lays the apples in the pan in the proper order for the tarte

Final touches on the tarte

Lest I have forgotten any steps, Lucy please forgive me. the most important part is her teaching and our learning.

While the tarte bakes, Lucy brings out the cheeses. The plate is full with Comte, Mt Blanc, Arome de Lyon, Epoisse, Brique and Brebi, Mimolette, Crozea

We eat our cheese course and then voilà the tarte is comple.

upside right out of the oven and then

right side up and voila!

Thank you Lucy!

Oh Lyon!

2014-12-15T11:22:00.000-08:00

Oh Lyon, you feel like a big city - and indeed you should. But luckily, we are by the old City Center. The cneter is located in the confluence of the Soane River and the Rhone River. The center is not an island, but a peninsula, with lovely bridges to and fro, up and down, both sides of the center.

Some are foot bridges and some are road bridges, but all are lovely with suspension and arches and some supporting Neptune and his bride (Charles says it is cheating to look up his wife's name) statutes. We cross over the Cours de Roosevelt Bridge to the center city and walk several miles - I am sure it is that long- to Bellecour Plaza or Place as they say locally. There we gatheredthe information from the Tourista Info center and headed to the Vieux Lyon. Saint Jean and Notre Dame de Fourvier. It is everything it says, but first the metro...

We climbed through the stairs and escalators, steep as Washington DC and then hit the Metro Station. Three very authoritative, yet totally ignorant personalities take charge. Amazingly, we end up on the right rail to the top of Saint Jean - we tour ta small Cathedral of Saint Irene ( a man btw). He is still entombed there and the Church has survived since 710 ans according to the plaques.

This is NOT where we thought we were going. Vistas were vast and all city encompassing hills steep, but a neighborhood of school and home is not where we thought were headed - this is not tourist fare.
Back on the metro - thank goodness for unlimited fare, we head to Vieux Lyon and had salad and quiche. - and wine and bierre of course! The tourist info place nearby, I popped in while waiting on food and gathered the correct directions to the cathedral and Vieux Lyon proper. Lovely, but now setting sun and whipping winds have made is a place to visit briefly.

Too cold and we rush to go inside the Basilica Notre Dame de Fourviere.

Being raised Catholic, I cannot bring myself to take photos inside of a cathedral - signs tell you not to and God is watching. Part of me looks and admires the great talent and the wealth of the Catholic Church and the business sense that the Bishops had to build the empire. And the other half of me knows that it is built on the backs of those slightly above slaves, clearly - the masons worked themselves to death for the church.

The gold and ornaments of the Church would feed many and warm many houses and yet, we sacrifice that as the art and the expression and the offering of hope is too overwhelming to melt down. It is if the amount of life given, must be honored by keeping the life of the art and the sanctuary.

Back on the funicular, our little tram up and down the hill, we head home to our apartment. Patrick is ready to be finished with travel. We are in lyon for only four nights and three days. For Charles and Patrick, it is about how long since they left USA. For me, it is how short till we return.

Tomorrow, my cooking class!

Adieu Jolie Avignon

2014-12-14T12:48:00.002-08:00

This is one of my favorite photos because of the light and the view across the river. We were waiting on a small ferry that make limited free runs. We caught the last one for the night. As Charles walks us through the piloting of the boat and the motor and how the captain must swing wide, he notes that the captain is very good. He must be quite skilled. When the boat was tied off by the old deck hand, the young blonde female captain, opened the door to wait for the loading of people. How refreshing!

He looks French already!

Back at our little apartment, we readied for the trip the next morning. Another train ride and then four nights in Lyon.

The Train to Lyon

The trip itself was uneventful. We researched the night before the station and the length of time to arrive at the next apartment. We had booked with #airbnb all the way through and so far no problems with the reservations. We also managed to easily find the train and platform, though I must admit it took me twice to comprehend Twelve fifty two in French. I actually have the numbers down, its just that it is not always easy to hear them as fast as necessary - if that makes sense.

The train turned out to be a double decker and we rode up top. The view is better but the luggage must be toted up there with you in a small winding staircase. Sorry guys, I am taking all the small bags. Meet you up top!

All seated, we took off and the short hour ride was pleasant. Ears popping as we ascend to the new altitudes. Charles is dozing and reading. His favorite way to travel. Patrick buries his head in a book from Theodore Frank. I try to concentrate on a magazine, but I find my eyes wandering to the view and then up and down the aisles. The people are just as interesting. The guy next to Pat is hip hop clothed. The woman across from Charles sporting a British flag bag. The young mother walking her chattering young daughter to the water closet (WC).

We arrive and depart the train in the reverse order and walk into the Gare station. Taxi easy to identify and he drives us right to our destination in ten minutes. We are early, so we stand on the corner eyeing the neighborhood and waiting for our hostess. She is just a few minutes late and lets us in quickly. She is adorable and has relatively understandable English. You can tell she has done this before. We gather all our information and then she informs us that all stores and restaurants are closed because it is Sunday. There is one Exception:

DOMINO'S FR Pizza

So we eat something here that I wouldn't eat at home. But it tasted good and we split two beers three ways and settled in for the evening. By 8;30 pm, we are all but asleep. Good night Lyon, see you in the morning!