Downeast Yarn Ho

Autumn Rituals

2011-10-15T19:31:00.007-04:00

"Then summer fades and passes and October comes. We'll smell smoke then, and feel an unexpected sharpness, a thrill of nervousness, swift elation, a sense of sadness and departure." --Thomas Wolfe

Fall is such an emotion-charged season. I am so reluctant to part with those languid summer days that offered early sunrises and late sunsets. But there is so much beauty surrounding us as the colors begin to show on the trees and in the uniqueness of October sunsets. Autumn in Maine has a particularly special feel: honking geese above in their organized V's heading south, the crispness in the air that barely covers the waft of smoke from a wood fire warming a neighbor's kitchen or family room, the comic antics of squirrels and chipmunks feverishly gathering and stowing their pantry provisions for the colder days ahead. It's hard not to love this season despite the message of seasonal shift it brings.

Late October is a feast for the senses. The sound of dry leaves swirling in the wind or being kicked aside by a trudging schoolboy. The cold gust of wind hitting our faces, momentarily taking breath away. The aromas of a rich creamy soup simmering on the stove, preparing to fortify against the chill. The sun rides lower in the sky, casting elongated shadows and cheating us of hours of energizing sunlight we had just a few weeks ago.

Each October Brendan and I try to spend as much time in the rural areas outside of Portland as possible. Our rituals have become almost sacred. One of our favorites is a trip to tag our Christmas tree, more of an excuse to visit an old friend on a beautiful mountain and slow our city-pace down a notch. We also take a drive up to a beautiful farmstand overlooking the White Mountains to buy pumpkins, gourds, indian corn and bask in the harvest beauty on display. Today we combined the two and threw in a visit to some other places that reminded us how lucky we are to live in such a beautiful place.

October may seem an odd time to be thinking about a Christmas tree...especially for someone who thinks Scrooge may have been on to something. Yup, Bah Humbug says it all in my book.

Sidenote: I abhor the commercialism of Christmas and particularly the recent tendancy to begin playing Christmas music in stores immediately after Labor Day. I have enough stress in my life without added pressure to find the "perfect" gift for everyone in my immediate family (including the dog), my extended family and my husband's family, decorate my home to pass muster for Martha Stewart, attend countless holiday parties bringing gifts and/or food that will make everyone ooh and aah, send greeting cards with personalized notes, bake enough holiday treats to feed a small army, travel through snow, ice, sleet, and hail to wish people good cheer and generally feel upbeat enough to wish perfect strangers a "Happy Holiday" or whatever. By Christmas, I just want to hang out in my pajamas and pretend the world beyond my front door doesn't exist. I'm exhausted at that point! And then some schmo goes and reminds me that I'll have to do it all over again next year. Thanks for nothin, pal!

Having said that, I LOVE going up to the Stop 'n' Chop farm in October. Finding the tree is secondary to enjoying the beauty of the spot and catching up with George, the owner who, after 20+ years, always recognizes us and loves to chat. Despite being confined to a wheelchair after a major stroke a few years ago, he is full of energy, energetic and always asks about Meredith whom he has watched grow up. His farm is one of the most beautiful places on earth.

It sits atop a ridge looking across the valley at Douglas Mountain to the south.

Years ago he raised sheep on the farm but turned to Christmas trees when that market began to soar.

Besides the attraction of such a beautiful location, his trees have always been top quality and by cutting them down ourselves right before the holiday we always know we are getting the freshest, most aromatic tree available. He practices sustainable tree farming as well, replanting a tree for every one sold.

Here is Brendan standing next to our choice for this year. It's a super-wide, just the right height, guaranteed to dominate our living room while making it smell super-piney! We usually spend an hour or so wandering the fields, looking for the perfect tree, only to end up going back to the first one we selected. This year we cut out the wandering and admitted that we had a winner after about ten minutes. Yay!

It was a typical autumn day with blustery winds and dramatic clouds rolling in. The sun came out for a few minutes but then disappeared behind a large cloud.

There is an abandoned old barn across the street that just begged to be photographed so we obliged it.

Each year it seems to lose more glass from the windows and become more and more weathered. The holes at the eaves were nesting spots designed for barn swallows, a typical feature of the barns in the area.

The side seems to be in danger of collapsing so
I have a feeling one of these years we will go up
to find it gone completely.

George's barn is showing its age but still seems pretty
solid. It has a foundation of massive granite blocks
holding it up, like many barns in this area.

They aren't going ANYwhere anytime soon!

All the barns ands houses in the area are equipped with lightning rods because of the high elevation and the metal roofing. It must be so impressive to see during a thunderstorm!

Our next stop was Weston's Farm in Fryeburg, one of our favorite Fall destinations each year.

They do pumpkins, squash and gourds like nobody else...

Everything is displayed by variety so neatly.

The pumpkin patch has every size and color and they have even separated out "pie" pumpkins from "jack-o-lantern" pumpkins.

Brendan loves the gourds so he picked out a bunch to bring home.

Is this the color of Autumn or what!?

I love these little guys so picked up a couple for my desk at work.

I always take a picture of these grasses blowing in the fall wind.

A couple of these beauties came home with us for some butternut squash soup.

After a picnic lunch next to the Saco River we headed home. We made one last stop at another farm stand to buy some amazing Amish butter and discovered this big boy...

It's a little big for our front porch...heck, it is BIGGER than our front porch...so I convinced Brendan we didn't need to take it with us. But inside were lots of goodies that DID go home with us!

Once again, as we pulled into our driveway, we assessed the day and gave it a definite thumbs-up! So much of what we saw today reminded us of how lucky we are to live in Maine...especially in the autumn!

Glancin' in the rearview mirror...

2011-09-05T19:51:00.000-04:00

September is normally my time to look forward. A new school year awaits, fresh with promise, the smell of a new lunchbox and the feel of a new wardrobe. It has all the excitement of New Year's Day and the same sense of new beginnings. It is typically a time for planning and anticipation.

But this year the onset of September demands some retrospective. One reason is painfully obvious. You can't go anywhere without being reminded of the tenth anniversary of that day in 2001 when we all came to terms with our vulnerability as a nation. None of us can forget the iconic images of that day and the exact sequence of details as they unfolded. We all have our own personal connections to that day. I didn't know anyone first hand who died that day but a very dear family friend lost her son, a man I never met, but who was part of the large Irish community in New York where my husband grew up.

Inwood Heights, at the very northern tip of Manhattan lost dozens of its most promising sons and daughters. Most of them attended Good Shepherd, the same small Catholic grammar school as my husband Brendan. They were policemen, firemen, construction workers, cooks and Wall Street traders. One story tells of traders descending the towers encountering their firefighter classmates ascending the stairs. Brendan didn't know them all, but recognized many of the last names and remembered siblings. The families were often large and always close-knit. A New York Times article I found describes the uniqueness of growing up in Inwood in the sixties and seventies and the devastating impact 9/11 had on this community.

Sonuvagun, if it isn't Dominion - New York Times

A garden memorial in The Church of the Good Shepherd remembers the many alumni of the school that perished that day.

Inwood's fallen heroes: 9/11 memorial garden gives kin comfort

I visited that neighborhood many, many times before my mother-in-law's death in 1996. Her funeral was held in the same church where many of these heroes were memorialized. I can attest to the special bond these neighbors had. I heard the unmistakable lilt of an irish brogue as people greeted each other or mothers called to their children. Although the demographics were changing rapidly in the late 70's as the younger people scattered to the suburbs to be replaced by a wave of hispanic residents, it was still considered home base, the place to return for nurturance and familiarity. Never was that more evident than in those dark days after September 11, 2001.

This September brings me another, more deeply personal reason for introspection. I have a milestone birthday looming later this month. I find it impossible to believe, but I am staring down the barrels of the big 6-0. Those of you who have been there will assure me that it is just a number and, perhaps, even that "life begins at 60." But I am having a bit of a problem swallowing that. When I was growing up, sixty was OLD ... ancient ... decrepit ...feeble ...senile ...early-bird specials...big ugly blue sedan driving at 10mph. People who were sixty fell asleep at seven PM and told the same story nine times. But wait! I don't feel that way. Yeah, I've got gray hair and wrinkles but I can still carry on a lucid conversation and I don't drool. I do repeat stories but only two or three times. I have all of my own teeth. I actually don't need to wear glasses to drive anymore...although they keep making the godddamn print smaller in the phone book and on packaging so I can't read it even WITH my glasses on!

So I think I'll celebrate this milestone instead of cringe at its onset. I might even take myself out to dinner and have a few beers. Hell, I'll throw caution to the wind and order a giant dessert! After all, I'm only 60 once and even if I don't remember every event in every one of the previous 59 years that got me here I know I've had one hell of a ride!! Cheers to me!

When life gives you cucumbers...burp!

2011-08-10T11:50:00.037-04:00

The garden is on full throttle, those nasty hornworms seemed to have packed their little bug-hauls and moved on, so every day I wander out with my collection basket and do some picking. This was this morning's harvest.

The cherry and grape tomatoes are my favorite and there were substantially more of them in that bowl before I walked in the back door. They are so delicious to pick and eat right off the vine.

In our house, cucumbers usually mean one thing: the world-famous summer salad recipe dating back to Meredith's earliest day-care days. I tasted this recipe and knew I HAD to have it. So my mission this morning was to sacrifice my gorgeous cukes for this time-honored tradition.

There is an assumption in our household that I can't cook. Granted, compared to Mr. B. and his apt pupil, Meredith, I am a rank amateur. But the truth is, I can hold my own in the kitchen and avoid either 1) starving or 2) poisoning anyone. Given the chance, I might even be able to put an entire dinner together that wouldn't be half bad. But I'm no fool. I have someone who lives for the food preparation process, all the way from grocery shopping to cleanup (sort of). I'm not looking THAT gift horse in the mouth! But cucumber salad is one of MY special recipes so when I can gain access to the kitchen without a food critic glued to my shoulder, I'm off and running.

Once I locate the recipe (no easy feat in this house), the first step is to crisp the cucumbers. I have found this is the true secret to this recipe. The crunch adds so much. To do that you will need kosher or canning/pickling salt, ice cubes and water and at least an hour of "crisping" time. The longer you can leave them in this icy brine, the crisper they will become.
Don't worry, you will rinse the salt later so you are in little danger of driving your blood pressure skyward (unless, of course, you have that food critic hanging around second guessing your every move and questioning your choice of utensils, ingredients, or need to make this thing in the first place). My secret? Pick a day when said food critic is not EVEN IN THE HOUSE and not due back for hours. Geez, Louise...

The first thing to do is to peel the cucumbers and discard the ends. They need to be sliced as thinly as possible, so much easier if you have one of these handy gadgets, sometimes called a mandolin (not to be confused with the musical instrument). If you strum this baby you're going to end up at the ER. It is extremely sharp and will slice your fingers in a heartbeat. Use the plastic guard if you are smart. (Voice of experience speaking here!) Our version came to us thanks to the ingenuity of the Japanese who seem to have perfected the "As seen on TV" marketing model. This thing sells for substantially less than a genuine french mandolin but does a heck of a job.

For legal reasons, I'm sure, it has been renamed the "Benriner", actually the new Benriner, so as not to be confused with the old Benriner, I guess. But the only thing that matters is that this thing can do a heck of a job slicing everything that crosses its sharp little blade. The picture shows a happy Japanese housewife but she's NOT using the guard that comes with it. Shortly after this picture was snapped she was probably whisked off to the hospital missing the tips of three of her fingers while screaming in agony because her lucrative hand modeling career was abruptly and so needlessly cut short. Don't make the same mistake...use the guard.

The directions are plainly printed on the backside of the box in case you aren't sure how to use this valuable tool.

The fact that they are in Japanese should pose no problem since, of course, everyone has a fluent speaker of Japanese in their circle of friends. Actually, the addition of the instructions in English helps too. Not that you need to be a rocket scientist to figure this out but some people do benefit from that added boost of written instructions.

Okay, now we are ready to crisp the cukes. After being sliced paper thin, layer them in a bowl with alternating layers of the kosher or pickling/ canning salt. Be generous with the salt. Most of it is going to be rinsed later.

Put as many whole ice cubes as you have on hand on the top of the cucumbers. Whole cubes are better because they will take longer to melt and keep the mixture colder longer. The longer it stays cold, the crisper the cukes will be.

Now pour cold water over the entire mix, filling the bowl as much as possible. This will dissolve the salt but keep it in contact with the cukes. Put the bowl in the refrigerator to slow the melting of the ice cubes and keeping the temperature at ideal "crisping" level. Trust me, you'll thank me for making you do this when you taste the difference in the cucumbers from the mushy, droopy ones that are in your neighbor's cucumber salad at the pot luck!

Ok, this next step is for women only. We know that men are genetically incapable of filling ice cube trays so they get a pass on this one. But, you gals know how important it is to replenish those ice cube trays that you just used. Avoid the frustration of reaching for some ice for the mojitos only to find a tray with a single cube sitting lonely in there. Some might argue that with the summer we are having, this could be a life-saving tip...especially if there are mojitos or margaritas or bloody marys involved. This has been a public service announcement.

While the cukes are crisping you can make your dressing. It won't take you the full hour, unless like me you discover at the last minute that you don't have any %*@#& vegetable oil and have to make an emergency trip to the supermarket where you get caught up in conversation with your mechanic whose sister just got divorced and found out that her ex had an affair with her hairdresser and...oh, never mind. Anyway. you mix together a cup of cider vinegar, a cup of sugar, 1/4 cup of vegetable oil, celery seed (not salt!), parsley flakes and generous amounts of pepper. Slice an onion (or two) very thin...use the mandolin/benriner...and USE THE GUARD for the sake of your own hand modeling career.

Now you are ready to drain the crisped cukes. Remember the longer you have left them to crisp the better! Pour off the the water and ice and put them on multiple layers of absorbent towels. Only use paper towels if they are heavy duty. Otherwise you will end up with a cucumber and paper towel salad...not particularly appealing unless you are desperate for fiber. Roll them up and squeeze out as much water as possible. Put the cukes in a bowl and cover with the the dressing. Refrigerate and enjoy!

You can season with additional parsley flakes, celery seed and pepper (my favorite) but you should not need any more salt (unless you're plotting a murder by hypertension). It has plenty!

Here is the complete recipe with just the facts:

Ingredients: 3-4 large cucumbers
Salt (kosher or canning/pickling)
dressing: 1 cup sugar
1 cup cider vinegar
1/2 cup vegetable oil
parsley flakes
celery seeds
lots of pepper
one large (or two small) onions, thinly sliced

Peel cucumbers and slice as thinly as possible. In large bowl layer cukes with salt between layers. Cover with ice water and ice cubes. Let sit for at least one hour, refrigerate if possible. Drain and squeeze excess water out. Mix with dressing.

Happy Crunching!

The Guest Gets the Best...

2011-08-09T10:00:00.072-04:00

There is a definite season for visitors to Maine. Summer brings them in droves, with visions of lazy beach days and idle strolls through cobblestone streets, ducking into shops for treasures to bring home. We Mainers have a love/hate affair with this time of year. We enjoy showing off the beauty of our state and basking in the envy of tourists who remind us how lucky we are to live here. On the other hand, we brace for the increase in crowds, the "creative" driving habits of some of our neighbors to the south (dubbed massholes) and count the days until late fall when we can reclaim our state, breathe a sigh of relief and resume our quieter lifestle. Only the hardiest of souls venture across the Kittery Bridge after November 1st, fearful of becoming trapped by the blizzards they believe we get non-stop from then until May.

Last summer, my sister and niece came for a long weekend in early August. They enjoyed themselves so much, they decided to make it an annual tradition. I did my best to put my hometown on display last year and, as a result, they clamored for more.

Our first stop was Deering Oaks Park and the Farmer's Market Saturday morning. That was an encore request from last year so off we went.

They loved the many colors of flowers and the tables and stalls mounded with fresh produce everywhere.

It was total sensory overload and we loved it!

Everything we saw looked so fresh and delicious.

It made us hungry just walking around.

And the flowers were spectacular. They almost made me forget those sub-zero, blizzardy February days.

Even the dogs were feeling upbeat and sociable as they conducted their obligatory "sniff and greet" routines.

Once we had surveyed all the offerings (and Lynny had purchased her usual "kitty" paraphenalia from the craft vendors) we headed up the coast to have lunch at Five Islands Lobster Company in Georgetown. I'd love to show a picture of that beautiful spot and our lunch but it's impossible to steady a camera with both hands wrapped firmly around a roll crammed full of delicious lobster meat picked fresh from a lobster that had probably been pulled from the water that very morning. No mayo, no other stuff, just lobster...precisely the way God intended us to eat that ambrosia. Man, they were good! Brendan and I have been there and taken pictures many times before so this is the view we had from our al fresco dining spot, courtesy of a previous visit. It looked exactly the same.

Next it was on to nearby Reid State Park, known for it's long beautiful beach seen in the top picture. There is a rocky outcrop overlooking the beach so we climbed up (despite Lynny's case of acrophobic jitters). Once there, she refused to venture anywhere near the edge, although she admitted it was a spectacular view. Here are some of the pictures from there.

Lynny and Melissa against the pine and ocean backdrop.

Brendan and Melissa made Lynny VERY nervous with their proximity to the edge. (It actually slopes down to the water pretty gradually but she was convinced a rogue wave...or a great white shark...was on its way in to snatch her baby and my hubby!)

OK, I'll admit it does look a little scary, especially from Lynny's vantage point practically hugging the trunks of the pine trees up above for dear life.

We finally came down from the ledges and decided to walk along the beach for a bit. It was tough going, the sand was griddle hot and the water was too churned up (and VERY cold) to do any leisurely wading.

So Melissa decided to send her boyfriend in New York a message, writing it in the sand and attempting to snap a picture with her phone. Clueless beach people kept ambling right over it like zombies. It took her four tries before she got a shot without somebody's big hairy feet stepping all over it.

Some people just ain't got no couth...or appreciation of young love and great artwork. :-)

We finally headed home, with bellies full of lobster and a little sunburnt, having introduced Lynny and Melissa to another spectacular coastal spot.

Sunday was overcast, threatening rain so we headed downtown to visit Brendan at the bakery where he does his usual Sunday morning gig. We indulged ourselves with some more lobster in the form of a frittata at the Porthole and then did our best to give the local retail economy a shot in the arm in the Old Port. Tough job but somebody's got to do it.

We spent much of the weekend poring over old photos, regaling (or boring) Melissa with stories that she has probably heard before about growing up in the fifties with our quirky family and dissolving into fits of laughter at forgotten events and images. In short, we had a wonderful time together.

Distance separates our family, much as it does so many families today but those rare times when we can reconnect bring us back immediately to earlier times that seem so much simpler. They weren't all sweetness and light...my siblings and I bickered and argued like nobody's business...but we now realize the value of having each other, the strength of the bonds forged by years of shared experiences of joy and grief, with the common everyday in between. We recognize each other's imperfections and idiosyncrasies and despite them, perhaps even because of them, we love each other to our cores.

Thanks for the wonderful visit, Lynny and Melissa. Can't wait for next year's summer visit! I'll alert the lobster boats you are on your way so they can stock up!

The Precious Gift of a Maine Summer

2011-08-03T14:33:00.026-04:00

When I first moved to Maine almost 30 years ago my New York friends teased me that I would be shoveling snow year round. There is a local joke that there are two seasons in Maine: winter and Fourth of July. Nothing could be further from the truth. While we don't have the luxury of a long growing season, we are blessed with some spectacular warm weather for the months of June, July, August and sometimes September.

This year summer really took hold and our temperatures rivalled those of places in the deep south. For example, a couple of weeks ago I took this picture of our indoor/outdoor thermometer.

It was hotter here than in Florida where my sister lives. We don't have air-conditioning in the house -- a stubborn statement to ourselves that, thanks to cool ocean breezes it isn't necessary. That day the breezes disappeared. Even the numerous window fans we have throughout the house were useless, simply pushing the hot air around.

My major concern was for our dog, Isla, a seven year old Border Collie/Aussie mix who is blessed with a luxurious coat of thick BLACK fur. Beaches in Maine are mostly off-limits to dogs during the day...and it was too hot to think about driving somewhere anyway so my solution was to buy a small inexpensive kiddie pool and fill it for her to use to cool down.

What I hadn't counted on is her sheer stubborn streak. I filled the pool and called her over to it. She eyed it warily as if I were coaxing her into a bath of battery acid. I tried taking off my shoes and stepping into the water, cooing my joy and encouragement like a complete idiot. Nothing. I put her beloved frisbee in the water and centered it strategically in the middle so she would have to step in to get it, figuring that once she felt the cool water, in she would go. The stinker stood at the edge and stretched her neck as far as possible to snare the edge and pull it out. She was NOT going in. I even put on my bathing suit, got in and sat in the water, calling for her to join me. She came over to lick my face and swipe a lick or two of the water but refused to come in. It wasn't going to happen. Finally, I simply pulled a lawn chair over, dangled MY feet in the water and gave up on her. At that point she came over, settled down in shady grass next to me and fell asleep, snoring loudly. Obstinance, thy name is Isla!

The garden has loved this weather. We limited our efforts to tomatoes, cucumbers and some basil this year and have been doting on the plants like mother hens. Our efforts have really paid off.

There are hundreds of these beauties on the vines: full-size, cherry, grape and some that will be surprises to us since they never got tags. We've been pruning the vines and keeping a close eye on the vine growth. This year Brendan had the brilliant idea of using tomato cages to keep them upright (ahem...honey, I've been suggesting that for years and you have always dismissed the idea...just saying!) and as a result we aren't seeing the best tomatoes lying on the ground and rotting as we have in the past.

The only bad news with that crop was the startling discovery of these guys last weekend:

It's a Tomato Hornworm and it can devastate an entire tomato plant overnight. I found three of them last weekend and two more this morning. This is the kind of damage they can do to a crop.

That is a cherry tomato that is nearly completely devoured. The not-so-little bastards are feasting on MY tomatoes...how dare they!? We don't believe in putting any kind of pesticide on our veggies so I have been staging a one-woman crusade to spot them and pulverize them. They're tough to see, thanks to their natural camouflage but I'm relentless. No hornworm is going to deprive me of the sweet taste of home-grown tomatoes. This is WAR!

The cucumbers are doing spectacularly. I haven't spotted any grubby little critters feasting on them and they are climbing the stakes I put out for them nicely.

I've had a couple in salads and their sweet, crunchy goodness is so amazing. Once I have a couple good sized ones I'll make my favorite cucumber salad, one of summer's favorite treats for me.

I really enjoy the activity in the garden. In addition to the birds and squirrels who visit our yard year-round (the birds to feed, the squirrels to torture Isla) the insects are so amazing to watch.

Here are two shots of these busy, beautiful creatures at work:

The monarch butterflies go crazy for the purple coneflowers in our yard and are fascinating to watch as they delicately pick their way around the centers.

And they share the stage with the honeybees who seem to become intoxicated by their presence on the flowers, totally ignoring the presence of a camera lens. They are intent on their purpose, working at a feverish pace as if they know that their days of opportunity in the warm summer sun will disappear all too soon.

Maine summers are unique. Perhaps because they are so short and come on the heels of such polar opposite weather of the winter we treasure each warm day. We also know the countdown has already begun to fall and the winter beyond. When the snow arrives we need to have these memories to warm our thoughts and assure us that summer will return once again.

Oh, bloggie...how I have missed you!

2011-07-30T15:22:00.014-04:00

Two years plus since my last post. A lifetime has passed since then. It has been a rough stretch...a job loss, a struggle to figure out what comes next and finally a new beginning. The fact that I have to say "for legal reasons I can't go into it" should provide some idea of the tumult and upheaval but I have decided that I need to get back to the blog to assure myself that I am truly moving on, if not letting go. There are still tough times ahead but I truly believe the darkest days are behind me. And I have come to understand that working on the blog has a healing aspect that goes far beyond any need to actually have anyone read this drivel!

Through everything I have continued with two of my favorite activities: knitting and photography. They offered solace and distraction from the pain and anger. So let's review some of those highlights.

I finally finished the Einstein coat. It took 18 months of [sometimes] mind-numbing monotonous garter stitch but I was pleased with the results.

It's a great dog-walking coat on chilly late fall days and nippy early spring evenings. Would I knit it again? Probably not. But I'm glad I saw it through to the end.

I especially love the wonderful celtic knot buttons that I found at the Elegant Ewe in Concord NH. They were a little expensive but worth it for the way they dressed up the coat.

Losing my job gave me time to explore the world with my camera. Over the past two years I have taken hundreds, if not thousands of pictures in all seasons, mostly of the natural world around me. Here are a couple of my favorites.

Flowers in general, and Irises specifically have always been attractive subjects. Cliche, I know, but beauty is beauty and it is easy to see why they have been painted and photographed so frequently over time.

Perhaps because the winters are so stark and cruel here in Maine, we feel the need to saturate our senses with the colors and fragrances of so many flowers. It is our way of assuring ourselves that Spring always returns as we shiver and shovel our way through the worst weather in January.

That's not to say that winter cannot have its own special beauty. Something as ordinary as frost on a bedroom window on a sub-freezing morning can be as beautiful as the most elaborate and exquisite stained glass panel in a church. It was amazing to pick out the shapes and "pictures" in the frost. But it was reassuring to know I didn't have to go out in that cold that particular morning.

I did a whole series of these photos which are available here.

I fully intend to get back on this blogging horse and continue to ride it very regularly. It makes me sad to think of all the good things that I have missed writing about in the past two years because I was too preoccupied with the awful feelings of depression, rage and hopelessness that seemed to consume me. But I've turned that corner and am finally on the road to happy again. If you want to follow that journey, welcome aboard...if not, that's ok, too. My blog and I will get along just fine!

Spring's a-comin'...HOORAY!

2009-03-15T16:50:00.002-04:00

Crocus closeup
Originally uploaded by mabhatter

I walked out this morning to see this beauty and a few of her buddies nestled up against my brick foundation basking in the sun. What a lift she gave to my battered winter-weary psyche! It's been a rough winter here in Maine, worse than usual in my opinion. And it really isn't over yet. We'll get more snow (sorry Ms. Crocus and gang) but we hopefully won't have to endure as much bone-chilling cold. No more negative numbers on the thermometer, please!

Happy Almost Spring, everyone!!!

Some knitting updates

2009-02-27T23:17:00.004-05:00

pink baby blanket
Originally uploaded by mabhatter

This blanket was my longest running UFO, started in the fall of 2003 for a baby who is now in kindergarten. I finally finished it in January and sent it off to her cousin. It wasn't a difficult knit but I started it right after I began knitting and soon realized that I was over my head. With time and practice (and at least 15 start-overs!) it got a lot easier but also became a bit tedious. Needless to say, I won't be making another one anytime soon.

I also made a warm hat for my hubby who needed one for snowblowing and our new snowshoeing hobby. It had to cover his ears and be very soft. Some wonderful Berocco Peruvian wool fit the bill and he loves his hat.

I bought some Tencel yarn at the Common Ground Fair last fall and used it to make a scarf for an exchange this winter. It was slippery stuff and I had to experiment with different needle sizes to get the gauge I wanted but I was ultimately pleased with the result. I've got a few other projects currently underway: some socks, a star-shaped baby afghan and my Einstein coat. And the queue for future projects is very long. I've got enough projects to carry me well into the next decade. It's a good thing my stash is up to the task!

Re-entering Earth's Atmosphere

2009-02-25T14:37:00.002-05:00

This is how I feel most days!
Originally uploaded by mabhatter

After a six month absence from the blogosphere I am finally back, hopefully for keeps. This picture sums up the way I have often felt over that span...it's been a bumpy few months. No chasms or deep gorges but a whole bunch of frost heaves and potholes to navigate. I don't expect completely smooth roads by any means but I'm hopeful the ride will be a little smoother.

Truth be told, I'm glad to be back. I've missed blogging but not the hours and hours it took to post an entry. Thanks to fellow Raveler Debbie who explained how easy it is to blog pictures directly from my Flickr account. That hopefully means I can post more frequently with less frustration. I have so many great pictures in my Flickr account (under the user name "Mabhatter") so expect to see nature pictures, shots of my crazy pooch Isla as well as the obligatory knitting stuff.

I won't try to play catch up with everything over the past six months but here is another picture taken last fall on our foliage trek up in the White Mountains of New Hampshire.

Playing Tourist on our Anniversary...part two

2008-08-06T19:52:00.031-04:00

Geez, things have been crazy. I fully intended to finish the posting about our anniversary the day after my last post and then came that blasted alien abduction. I really HATE when that happens.

Anyway, I'm back so here goes:

We decided to have lunch at one of Southern Maine's many tourist traps, Warren's.

One of the most fun things about living here is that every once in a while we get to act like a genuine camera-toting, bermuda shorts and logo t-shirt wearing person "from away." Warren's is made to order. We blended right in with the tour bus crowd looking for the ultimate seafood meal deal. Here's Brendan getting ready to "walk the plank" in search of steamed clams:

Ahoy, matey. Welcome aboard the good ship Pocketpicker. We have it all...the fake fish nets hanging on the wall, the gift shop you can't avoid passing going in AND coming out, the paper placemat that tells you how to eat a lobster and a menu that just says "Market price" next to lobster, clam and crabmeat dishes.

You don't come to a place like this and order a hamburger so we started with the steamers. They were delicious but we could have easily eaten four more servings.

Our main courses were also delicious but obviously designed for smaller appetites than ours. Brendan's seafood newburgh barely covered the bottom of a small bowl and my Coconut shrimp/fried Calamari plate featured three shrimp and a little bit of calamari barely detectable in the heavy coating of batter. Our waitress was a sweet young girl struggling to keep it together as the bus crowd pecked away at her by continually summoning her over to their tables for incredibly petty reasons. I really wanted her to dump the bowl of mussels over the head of the patron who sent them back "because they tasted strange." I would be willing to bet a gold dubloon that he didn't know the difference between mussels and clams and thought he was avoiding the higher price by ordering mussels. My heart went out to the poor kid. She handled him a lot better than I would have.

Despite the Lilliputian portions we did enjoy our lunch together. Hey a day off is a day off. And spending it together was such a treat.

After lunch we headed up to Kittery Point, just a few miles up the road. It is a very historic area, one of the first areas settled in Maine and we knew exactly where we wanted to go...the cemetery. We have become fascinated with the old colonial cemeteries and the stories they can tell about life in the early days of the colonies. This was a particularly beautiful one with old graves as well as some very recent ones.

This is a rock garden planted in honor of a woman who died in 2006. The rock in front is etched with her name, her birth and death years and "Beloved Mother." There is also a bench around the left side overlooking the ocean. What an amazing tribute.

Contrast that with this woman's grave.

No name, no dates. Just "Wife" and the words At Rest and the Pearly Gates to heaven. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say she probably really needed that rest and those gates looked mighty inviting at the time.

There were some glimpses into the local tragedies as well. This headstone spoke volumes of an event that must have been huge news when it happened.

Besides the significance of listing white and negro eleven years after the end of the civil war in a state full of abolitionists I have to wonder what was going through the stowaway's mind. "Oh, crap, I picked the wrong boat to sneak onto!!"

Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time!

The cemetery is full of Victorian era cemetery art, something I find really fascinating. Here's one example.

It's a beautiful place in a gorgeous location.

And of course there were beautiful flowers everywhere

Across the Street were the First Congregational Church, one of the oldest churches in New England...

and the Lady Pepperell Mansion, an exquisite example of Georgian Architechure.

Our final stop of the day was Fort McClary, a Revolutionary War fort at the mouth of the Piscataquis River, the river that flows to the ocean from Portsmouth Harbor.

It was the end of a beautiful day trip. A short ride home, a refreshing nap and then it was off to a special dinner at Vignola, a wonderful Old Port restaurant in Portland. Happy 32nd, sweetie pie! Here's to 32 more!

"The World Will Never Starve for Want of Wonders"

2008-07-30T20:12:00.012-04:00

That quote by Gilbert Keith Chesterton couldn't be more descriptive of our short Northern New England summers. It is as if we are being rewarded for the severity of our winters.

In mid-July Brendan and I celebrated our 32nd wedding anniversary with a day trip to Portsmouth NH and the Strawberry Banke museum gardens. We've been there in the fall when the summer splendor has passed so we decided this year to take the short trip to see the gardens at the height of their beauty. We were well rewarded. Here are some of the pictures.

A restful spot full of beauty. Such an amazing array of colors.

Impatiens of every imaginable color.

Beautiful cooling fountains

Gorgeous flowers of all colors

And gnarled old trees.

The garden is next to Portsmouth Harbor so we explored the area, thoroughly enjoying the cooling breezes off the water.

An interesting monument

recalling Portsmouth's rich history

We kept walking over a small footbridge to a calm peaceful island

with a breathtaking view of the inner harbor.

We sat at the picnic table on the hill in the shade of the trees and watched the boats and birds for nearly an hour.

Then we walked back into the most historic section of the city, Strawberry Banke and marvelled at these beautifully restored houses from the earliest era of our nation's history.

The walls in these houses could tell amazing stories of courage, deprivation, simple joys and terrible tragedies.

Their classic beauty will never go out of style.

It's so fascinating to think of all of the history that has passed through these doors.

Next it was on to lunch and a visit to Kittery with its historic cemetery, the Lady Pepperell Mansion and Fort McClary...

The Good, the Bad and the Functionally Ugly

2008-07-16T20:14:00.012-04:00

Oh my! It HAS been a while since I posted. Where HAS the time gone? As usual, the summer is flying by. Why doesn't the winter seem to go by as quickly? We have been busy preparing for Meredith's departure for Grad School in NYC and her transition to REAL adulthood...(translation: she gets to pay all of her own bills!!!!) Part of the process was a super-mega-monster-bargainbasement-everythingmustgo!-garage sale over the July 4th weekend. Here is what our living room looked like in the staging process:

Amidst the chaos there were 154 Beanie Babies (I nearly cried when I realized how much of MY money, time and energy was embodied in that mass of fake fur), a Tamogachi that preoccupied most of an entire summer and fall, countless pieces of plastic jewelry and other chachkis, an entire set of Boxcar Children books, a pen and ink portrait of Mel Gibson and more clothing than an entire middle school can wear in a month...and SO much more. Categorizing everything took both us the better part of a week and when we brought everything out front it covered our entire front lawn.

The event was a success for the most part. Activity was brisk, bargaining was encouraged and after seven hours of hawking her wares (with my assistance) she netted $200 and a painful sunburn. (My suggestions to put on sunscreen went unheard until far too late in the game.) We sorted through the remaining items, carted an entire carload to Goodwill and set aside the rest for a followup event to be held in a couple of weeks with some of her friends who realized that they too could turn those childhood treasures into cold, hard cash.

Stay tuned for further adventures in the saga!

Now, as for the knitting. I've been a busy girl. The title of this post refers to my efforts since my last post. First the good...

Isn't it adorable? It's a baby blanket for Brendan's bestfriend's new grandson done in a tetris pattern. (I was SO hooked on tetris for years!!!!) I found the pattern on ravelry (of course!) and the link to it is here.

I don't crochet so I love the mock crochet edging that is so much easier than it looks! Thanks, Gracielou!

The Bad in the title refers to my agonizing efforts to produce this:

It is the bottom border of a camisole that had me at first glance. I LOVE this pattern and was determined to pull it off. Four frogs later, I finally figured how to correctly count my Yarnovers on each round of 285 stitches and thought I was off and running. Now, I need to disclose that, when stressed, I become a tight knitter. Ok, that's an understatement. I become a "can't-squeeze-the-needle-into-the-stitch-for-all-the-money-in-the-world" tight knitter. So moving the stitches around a 40" circular needle soon became a test of physical strength. And then the unthinkable happened...my addi turbo needle BROKE! The cable came right out of the tip. I stared incredulously at the *&$#% thing, muttered one of the beloved late George Carlin's seven words that can't be said on television and threw the whole thing on the floor. Time invested to date?...literally entire days of knitting. And the worst thing of all was that it was Fourth of July so no yarn stores were open. I was forced to stew in my own pity and self-loathing until the next day. In hindsight that was probably a blessing since I was probably breathing fire and steam at that point. God bless Skacel and their unconditional guarantee policy. The next day I was able to calmly walk into the local yarn store where I had purchased the needle, rationally explain what had happened and exchange the broken needle for a new one. I was so grateful that I even bought some wonderful yarn that just happened to be on sale and sitting in the bin next to the cash register calling my name.

Armed with my new weapon, I set about starting the project over. My calming mantra was "loosen up, it will be gorgeous." This effort seemed to go so much better, sliding around the needle like a little greased piglet at the county fair. After finishing all of the rounds I surveyed my handiwork and realized to my horror that somehow the entire piece had become twisted!
How the hell had that happened? I NEVER twist in the round. But the knitting gremlin was sitting there on my shoulder, yelling "gotcha" and laughing his maniacal laugh. This was a project doomed to failure so I cried "uncle" and picked out a different edge for my summer top. DAMN YOU, KNITTING GREMLIN!

Ok, now for the Functionally ugly...

When I broke my needle and had to wait all of 24 hours to get a new one, I decided to use that time productively. While cleaning out closets for the garage sale, I came across piles of old plastic bags. I remembered reading an article on line about making "plarn" from bags and knitting it into reusable grocery bags. I grabbed my scissors, rolled the bags up and started cutting up strips and stringing them together. This is what I ended up with:

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you PLARN!...sticky, smelly, nasty but amazingly durable.

I set about knitting it up on the biggest needles I have (17) and this was the result:

Pretty blasted ugly but it will last forever. It really drove home to me why plastic is such an environmental nightmare. It is the ecological equivalent to the cockroach, virtually indestructible and likely to outsurvive every other substance on planet earth.

I made two major miscalculations when I started this project. The first was how unwieldy this stuff was. My hands ached after only a few minutes of manipulating the beastly stitches. And secondly I soon realized that working with plastic yarn on the hottest, most humid days of July was just plain stupid. So, for now, this project will be shelved until the temperature and humidity is more cooperative. I probably also should have cut the strips thinner than I did and not used my good sewing scissors which have now been rendered as dull as a presidential debate. Oh, well. Live and learn.

Tomorrow is our 32nd Wedding Anniversary so my guy and I will take the day off, head out with our cameras and document a gorgeous summer day somewhere along the coast. We'll stuff our faces out in public for a casual lunch and a more formal dinner and spend the day reflecting on how lucky we are to have each other. Stay tuned for some pics and a play-by-play.

"Book[mark] 'em, Danno"

2008-05-22T11:51:00.018-04:00

It's that time of year...the end of a school year when it's time to say goodbye and thank you to so many people who have helped you and your child survive the rigors of exams, stressful classes, and, in our case, the graduate school application process. I wanted to find a small but meaningful way to show my appreciation to the people who were there when I couldn't be for Meredith, talking her down from her emotional crises and bringing her spirits up when things weren't going according to her plans.

Bookmarks seemed the perfect gift for these wonderful people in the academic world. They were quick, useful and offered a wonderful assortment of patterns to individualize each gift.

My first one was the Cloverleaf Eyelet Rib bookmark that I made for practice and which provided a nice birthday gift for my stepmother back in April:

I wasn't thrilled with the lack of stitch definition but it was pretty. My tight knitting meant I probably should have used larger needles. The Size 3 Crochet Thread was a little bulky.

The next one I made was the No Wrong Side Bookmark also made with size 3 crochet thread and a great gift for her academic advisor extraordinaire, Doug. He was always there for her and specialized in helping her through the darkest days of Organic Chemistry.

The Triple Chevron Bookmark was a gift for Susan, the woman who was invaluable to Meredith for her help in all of the lab research she needed to do for her thesis.

The Leaf Bookmark was a gift for one of her professors, Brenda, who provided countless hours of support and guidance in and out of the classroom.

Stephanie, Brenda's suitemate also did a yeoman's job of being there for my cookie whenever she needed a pep talk. She taught a couple of her courses and helped her stay focused on her way to her degree in Molecular Genetics and Microbiology. Her bookmark was the Pine Tree Bookmark.

This bookmark is called Flourish and I made it for Dr. Wallace, Meredith's Department Chair and her mentor for her Senior Honors Thesis. She was tough on her but only because she believed that she could hold her to high standards to produce her best work.

Steven, one of her apartment mates received Feather and Fan (Old Shale), done on Size 10 crochet thread. It was a little like knitting with spider webs and if I dropped a stitch (as I did more than once) my only recourse was to frog it and start over. A true exercise in patience! But Steven's patience and support for Meredith made it worthwhile.

And, finally, Melissa, her other apartment mate received Diamond Lace Bookmark in her favorite color purple. Meredith, Steven and Melissa were an awesome team, supporting each other through a very stressful senior year.

These past four years have gone by so quickly. It has been so reassuring to know that there were so many people in Meredith's life who provided her with caring support and friendships that will last her lifetime. If I could I would give them all a million dollars and it still wouldn't begin to thank them enough for all they have done for her.

She's a very special young woman with an amazing future ahead of her. As she heads off to a PhD program in New York City in the fall I know she has had a terrific foundation academically and emotionally during her four years at UVM. I'm SO very proud of her! Love you so much Cookie!

Goodbye, Old Friend...

2008-05-14T19:31:00.010-04:00

Thirty years ago my husband and I bought our bedroom set. We were so proud of the three pieces that transformed the empty bedroom in our apartment into a warm and cozy refuge. We moved it twice, once from Brooklyn to a rented house in Maine and, 25 years ago, into our first owned-by-us-and-the-bank REAL house.

Sadly, a few months ago we realized that our mattress and box spring were...in a word, tired. The top didn't so much resemble a mattress as it did a topographical map with some REALLY pronounced hills and valleys. That terrain was doing a number on our backs, hips and knees.

So, we did our research, found a great sale at Macy's and set out to replace our mattress and boxspring. They were delivered today. I admit I felt a little twinge of remorse as I stripped the old bed, thinking of the hours we spent cuddling, talking, dreaming, sharing ideas, resolving conflicts, watching movies, playing with our baby girl and, of course, sleeping. We probably have spent more hours there than any other place on earth.

The truck pulled up and two young men began unloading the large, bulky packages. That's when things fell apart. Here is the culprit:

That is the stairwell...and only access...to our bedroom. Apparently box springs are just a teensy-weensy bit bigger than they were 30 years ago. That extra inch or so meant there was no way the box spring was going upstairs. CRAP! So back it went on the truck...

and the set became a single...at least until our new split queen box spring arrives next week.

Ah, sweet dreams again!!

Now THAT'S more like it...

2008-05-07T20:20:00.014-04:00

After a winter that seemed to go on forever, Spring has finally burst through the door with a huge TA-DA! The colors are so intense and gorgeous. This Rhododendron is in full bloom on the college campus where I work. Here are some other glimpses of the beautiful gardens, all lovingly crafted and maintained by an amazing head landscaper named Larry. What a gift that man has!

With a shoestring budget and a staff made up of primarily students and volunteers he manages to transform the campus into a splash of color and texture.

Every branch is lovingly pruned and shaped to create the perfect effect. I often wonder how many students, faculty and staff take notice of the beauty the surrounds them. This week most of them are hunkered down for final exams but, hopefully, at some subliminal level Larry's efforts are creating a calming environment to enhance their learning.

Every pocket and corner on campus catches your eye with amazing colors.

Even some of the less-travelled walkways are full of beauty.

Thank you, Larry, for bringing your passion and your gardening gift to those of us who get to benefit from your efforts! You are truly and artist!

You made suffering through this past winter ALMOST worthwhile!!! Happy Spring everyone!

Spring, Sproing, Sprung...

2008-03-23T12:42:00.007-04:00

This pretty much sums it up for me right now...

The cycle of Wednesday/Saturday/Wednesday storms has been relentless but the winter from hell is almost in the books. And it can't end fast enough for me. The signs of Spring are popping up all over. Here's my list of reasons to rejoice:

1. Happy Easter! Today we celebrate rebirth and resurrection, a perfect analogy for Spring. It is a quiet day in our house but it used to mean Easter Egg hunts, baskets full of candy and a special new outfit. Now the Easter Bunny wears a Postal Service uniform and delivers a basket to UVM a couple of days early. This year it was filled with homemade chocolate cookies from Dad. My contribution was the prerequisite Easter goodies...Marshmallow Peeps, Jellybeans, a chocolate bunny, almond M&M's and some Ferrero Rocher chocolates. I also added some knitted goodies:

Aren't they cute? The peep pattern is here and the eggs pattern is here. (One suggestion: if you knit the eggs, do them in the round with dpns instead of dealing with the seaming nightmare.) I can see myself knitting a lot of these puppies in the future. They are so quick and easy. The basket was a self-designed pattern, one I hope to find the time to write up one of these days.

Here is what Easter looked like for my family in 1967. Aren't we all just the height of fashion? I'm the one on the far left looking totally underwhelmed by the whole experience.

My father was taking the picture. He insisted on a picture EVERY Easter and we always had the same conversation:

DAD: Stop squinting
ME: I can't... the sun is in my eyes
DAD: I can't get a good picture if you are squinting
ME: I can't HELP it. THE SUN IS IN MY EYES!
DAD: Oh, stop...it isn't that bad.
ME: YES IT IS...IT HURTS MY EYES

And then I would start crying and he would tell me to go in the house. Good times.

2. St. Patrick's Day. Despite the fact that it is usually snowing that day (as it was again this year), the wearing o' the green always lifts my spirits. My days of green beer at the pub at 11AM are long behind me and I haven't been to a good St. Paddy's Day parade in many years but my Irish heritage puts a little spring in my step and I always swear I can smell Spring in the air buried in amongst the corned beef and cabbage. This year I made a little something for my cookie to take back to school after her break to celebrate the day:

Meet HarryO'Bear! He was a quick knit and a cutie-patootie to boot. His pattern is here. He has a cousin that I made for my sister to help her through some very tough times (thanks to her trailer-trash tomcat of a husband... I think you can probably figure that situation out without much more detail.) Here he is:

[Digression Alert!... What is it with all of these sorry old men and their sex scandals lately anyway? Why can't they learn to keep it in their pants? Doesn't seem like rocket science to me. And these wives who "stand by their man no matter what" really baffle me. In their shoes I would kick that trash out to the curb where it belongs. It's not as if it's a one time dalliance. In the high profile cases lately this has been a long term behavior pattern. Honey, take him to the cleaners, empty out all of the pockets and run, don't walk as fast as you can as far away as possible! Once you have all the assets my guess is that Mr. Stud won't get a second glance from the chippies. What a shock when he realizes that what they really want is in his back pocket not under the zipper!]

3. March Madness!!!! As I write this the annual "big dance" is underway with its usual upsets and high drama. This year's bracket-busters have been Duke and Georgetown (so far). I can almost hear the groans and cheers as we all watch a David in baggy shorts stick it to Goliath. There is something about the drama and excitement of the tournament that has me glued to the screen (TV and computer) for almost three weeks. GO NORTH CAROLINA TARHEELS!

4. First Day of Spring!!! Yahoo!!! As much as old man winter fights it, he is on the run. The days are getting longer, brighter and warmer. He might throw another snowstorm at us (and he probably will!) but it's only a matter of time before the winter coats get put away for good!

Happy Spring everybody! Here's an image to capture the Spring spirit...

Tulips in spring, Mainau, Germany

New FO's...I haz dem.

2008-02-22T17:20:00.009-05:00

By now I am sure the whole world has discovered "I Can Haz Cheezburger" and its doggie sister-site, "I Has A Hot Dog." If you have NOT, you are ordered to go IMMEDIATELY HERE and after you have wet yourself laughing, don't bother to change your underwear before going HERE for dose two. If the pictures don't do you in, the captions will.

Anyway, the title of this post was a no-brainer after spending WAY too many hours surfing those two sites. I find myself lapsing into LOLspeak, the official language of these cats and dogs and I can amuse myself for hours in the process. As I have said often, I amuse easily.

All of our crappy weather lately has given me some great knitting time so things have been flying off the needles...um, except for the DNA scarf which is the slowpoke in the mix. But, yes, Meredith, I AM still working on it. You should be able to wear it sometime before the first heat wave of the summer hits. (Damn cables!)

So, in no particular order, here are the latest creations:

My "Hobo Gloves" (at least that is what hubby calls them).

(Dog fur splotch on left glove is courtesy of Isla...didn't see it before I took the pic and was too lazy to take another one after I removed it.)

They are actually called "Hooray for Me" gloves by Marnie MacLean and the pattern is here. They will be great for taking pictures and doing other things outdoors where I need to use my fingers. One of my friends commented that they are good for picking your nose outdoors. Uh...yeah, I guess. (awkward silence.)

My new sweater.

This used some Lopi Lite that was in my stash just waiting for the right fair-isle yoked sweater pattern to cross my path. Thanks to Norah Gaughan and Interweave Knits (Fall 2003), the stars aligned and *voila* I have a new sweater. This was a relatively easy knit that I spent all of our snow day last Wednesday working on. I finished it at around 9:30 that night and discovered that I had bound off too tightly at the neck and couldn't get it over my head! I was ready to shoot myself. But, once again, the wonderful internet knitting community came to my rescue and I found a site about the stretchy bind off which worked like a charm. Phew!

And finally, there is Francois the Lobster.

He was a cute and quick knit up for the Valentine's package we sent off to Meredith. He was also a free pattern and the link to him is here. He was a big hit and a lot of fun to put together.

You may be asking yourself, "Where can I get all of these spiffy pattern ideas?" Well, I'm glad you asked. If you haven't discovered Ravelry.com it's time you did. As a knitter or crocheter you will find yourself in a cyberwonderland that will change your life. Ravelry offers you an on-line community where you can log your projects, catalog your stash, list your future ideas in a queue and keep track of your knitting/crocheting library. And you can see everyone else's projects, stash, queue and library as well. If you see a project you like you can click on it and see where the pattern came from and what yarn was used to create it. There is a HUUUUUGE list of groups you can join with some of the most amazing and unusual affiliations. Are you a Joni Mitchell fan or a Procrastinator or an Empty Nester or a Smartass Yarn Ho? Then there is a group for you with an active discussion forum. There is even a feature called Radar where you can see all of the posts to every forum -- and there are hundreds of them -- as they appear in real time. It is a truly amazing site. The only caution I throw out is that it is dangerously addictive. With over 40,000 members you will be tempted to spend inordinate amounts of time that could be otherwise spent knitting or reading or eating or sleeping or being gainfully employed on the Ravelry site. But I guarantee you it will be enjoyable time spent.

The site is the brainchild of a Boston area couple, Jess and Casey, and their adorable Boston Terrier, Bob, the site's mascot. Since it is technically still in the Beta testing phase, you need to add your email to the request list to be added manually to the group, a process that can take a few days. But it is well worth the wait. Visit the site here and check out the screenshots, ooh and aah over all of the features and put your email address in to get added to the group. You won't regret it!

Here is one more shot from "I Has a Hotdog." God, I love those two sites!!!

loldogs are funny dog pictures!

"Good Luck with that in November..."

2008-02-12T23:56:00.003-05:00

I know you have probably seen this video...

But have you seen this one?...

Come on... regardless of your politics you have to admit it's pretty funny!

My Civics Lesson

2008-02-11T18:57:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was caucus day here in Maine. I wasn't originally planning to go for two reasons: 1) I had a dress rehearsal scheduled for the Vagina Monologues (You KNOW there's a post in the future about that experience!) and 2) I am an Independent and not a registered Democrat. The rehearsal was cancelled at the last minute and I found out that I could declare myself a Democrat at the caucus. It seemed like a wonderful opportunity to participate in a very exciting process.

So at 2PM I headed into town to the caucus location. I parked a few blocks away and walked the short distance to the school. I didn't wear a coat, hat or gloves because I didn't want to be stuck carrying them around. But, of course, I DID bring my knitting. The weather had been sunny and mild but clouds were beginning to move in. I turned the corner and was faced with the sight of a line that stretched around the block from the school entrance and didn't seem to be moving. I decided to take my chances and joined the line. Immediately I struck up a conversation with a delightful young woman ahead of me. Everyone was in good spirits despite the amazingly long wait. Suddenly the weather took a major turn for the worse and we were in the midst of a blizzard. Here is a shot I took of the line:

It was a slow process but we eventually made it to the door...a full hour and forty five minutes after I got on line. It was now 4:00. The volunteer staff passed out flyers, stickers and reassurances that we would eventually get in, but the crowds were obviously much larger than they had expected or than the building could accommodate. This is a shot looking back at the line from the front steps:

It was at this point that I learned that I needed to get into another line to register as a democrat. So I peeled off and headed up the stairs and down the hall to join that line. It went down the hall, up the stairs to the second floor, up the stairs to the third floor and down the third floor corridor. But at least we were indoors and warm. I was soaked to the skin so the warmth was very welcome. And as an added bonus, when I pulled out my knitting to pass the time, the man ahead of me introduced himself as the Inventory Manager at one of my favorite yarn shops...Sweet! He gave me some "inside info" on their spring line, including some new sock yarn that promises to suck some money out of my wallet guar-un-teed!

We finally made our way into the registration room and up to the table. It was now 5:15, a full three hours after I joined the line. The room was packed beyond capacity. I snapped a picture as I finished my registration.

At this point, an announcement was made that all of the caucus rooms were filled beyond capacity so we would not be able to get in. Our only choice was to get in yet another line to fill out an absentee ballot that would be taken into the caucus rooms so our votes would be counted. It was disappointing not to be able to actually participate in the discussions and votes but at least our choices would be counted. The problem was that the line was more of a swirling, milling crowd elbowing its way up to a small round table. Organization was not the strong suit here. But, surprisingly, the mood was still upbeat and positive...no whining or grumbling. People were gracious and patient. At about 5:45, I turned in my absentee ballot and headed outside. Unfortunately, with all of the lines and crowds of people heading in so many directions, I got totally lost and finally had to ask directions. Eventually I got outside, headed for my car and went home. Despite my frustration I still felt very energized and excited about being involved in the democratic process, at whatever level. It was an afternoon well spent, in my opinion!

Obama carried Maine by a significant margin. Over 4000 people showed up for the caucus in Portland, about ten times the normal turnout. The energy and excitement was palpable and it was such a refreshing change from the "business as usual" politics that we have endured for the last few elections. Regardless of the outcome, it is an affirmation of democracy and the reason why this is still the best system in the world, warts and all.

Smack Down by the Knitting Fairy

2008-01-23T19:21:00.001-05:00

One of my Christmas gifts this year was this wonderful muse from my good friend Gale.

It hangs next to my favorite knitting spot and I was hoping for some positive energy to put my knitting mojo on the right track. So far, I am not impressed. My last couple of projects have come up short in the success department.

The Maine Lung Association Gala is Saturday night and I promised two knitted bags as a donation. Last year I did the Jenanne tote bag and a Pink Lady and they were a huge hit, selling for a combined total of over 100 dollars and yielding some followup commissioned projects. This year I planned another Jenanne tote and a bag called Amanda's Squatty Sidekick, another felted purse. First the squatty sidekick...the pattern said it was a quick knit and the directions certainly made it look that way. Somehow something went terribly wrong. It ended up horribly skewed and, after felting it I "dissected" it, hoping to sew it together, line it and pull it out of the crapper. I realized that my sewing machine is buried under an avalanche of miscellaneous detritus and the clock is ticking so I decided to put it on the back burner until I can work on it without the time pressure. This is what I have to work with:

Yeah, I know...good luck with THAT! So I signalled to the bench for a substitute and will offer one of these two FO's instead:

Hopefully they will do well in the auction.

Now to turn my attention to the Jenanne tote. I've made this pattern AT LEAST five times so I figured it would be piece of cake. I had so much leftover yarn in my stash and I had separated my feltable yarn from my other yarn so I figured I was all set. The knitting gremlins must have read my mind and laughed their devilish little asses off. This bag started eating yarn like the fat kid in the pie eating contest. The clock was ticking and I still had to felt the blasted thing. All of a sudden I was running out. CRAP! I really didn't want to dig into my stash of unused yarn or go out and spend money on more yarn (my New Year's resolution was a MAJOR yarn diet!) Alas, it was not to be. Reluctantly I headed to my LYS for one more skein of Lopi and, wouldn't you know it, they didn't have ANY of the colors I was using. I had already put so much black in it that I didn't want to use any more. So I bought a skein of light blue and finished it FINALLY. For some reason I was in the slow lane on this one, unlike all of the other bags I had made. It was taking FOR-ever! On to the felting process. I put it in the washer (zipped in a pillowcase cover to keep the lint out of my machine's motor) and piled in a bunch of old ripped jeans to increase the agitation. First cycle through it felted...a little. Second time through...a little more. In the end it took FIVE times through to get to the size I wanted. But something was still amiss. The colors looked off. And, to make matters worse, some of the black turned out NOT to be pure wool...DOUBLE CRAP! That left a section of about an inch with nasty big old stitches glaring at me, unlike the rest of the bag. So here is the final result in all of its ornery, uncooperative, maddening glory:

Hopefully, like a big-eyed orphan or a whimpering puppy in the shelter, somebody will see this pathetic project and take pity on it and place a bid. The saving grace is that this is a charity auction and people tend to be very generous for a cause. After that, it will become a hot item for a white elephant sale or a gag gift that will be passed around office holiday yankee swaps for years to come. Oh, how disappointing. I feel so bad, especially since last year's projects did so well. So here's my plea...God, can I PLEASE have my knitting karma back now, PLEEEEEEZE?

It hasn't ALL been a disaster. I've been working on a Norah Gaughan sweater, the Lite Lopi Pullover from Fall 2003 Interweave Knits. And I even have all the yarn I need in my stash [woo-hoo!] It's a little slow -- circular knitting for 15+ inches but I am really liking it. So there IS hope. I won't have to stab myself in the eye with my knitting needle or hang myself with my yarn. And maybe after that I'll have the momentum going to finish some of my other UFO's and resist the urge to start anything else! Happy knitting everyone!

Our Most Excellent New York Adventure

2008-01-12T17:24:00.000-05:00

Each year Meredith and I take a trip right after Christmas to upstate New York (Schenectady to be exact) to visit my sisters, brother, stepmother and their families. This year we expanded our travels to tack on a trip down to New York City so she could visit some of the graduate schools where she has applied and interview some of the researchers she hopes to work with. We were blessed with a lull in the
bitter cold and a respite from the barrage of snowstorms and so enjoyed some worry-free travel.

The upstate portion was our usual stay with Sally, my wicked stepmother (hey, that's what SHE calls herself!) and the obligatory dinner at my sister's house to exchange gifts and pig out on lasagna and spaghetti pie. Unfortunately, my Florida sister and her family couldn't come this year. (We missed you, Bets!) Here are some shots of my wacky family. We definitely put the "fun" in "dysfunctional!

John may have been flashing a peace sign but Lynny and I were definitely putting bunny ears on Sally, who, for her part, was clueless to what was going on behind her.

Sally looks downright disgusted at her grandchildren's behavior and, for the record, Meredith knew she was being "bunny-eared" by her cousin Paul. What a crew!

After two days of that merriment it was time to head downstate to the Big Apple. We are blessed with wonderful friends who put us up very graciously. Chubba has been Brendan's best friend since childhood. He is a senior finance executive for the Metropolitan Museum, a fact that figures in one of our misadventures for the trip. Diana, his wife is a most gracious hostess with a large Italian family, including Meredith's new best buddy, Johnny, who loves the Yankees as much as she does. Johnny and his wife, Linda joined us for dinner that first night. My favorite experience was listening to Meredith trying to explain Molecular Genetics and her graduate programs to the rest of us. All Johnny cared about was that he would have a buddy to go to Yankee games with him for the next few years!

Here is Chubba with his new "baby", a 2-seater hard-top convertible Mercedes. He took us each for a spin and it is quite a machine.

Monday we headed into the city. We took the train in with Chubba and all went to the museum which is closed to the public on Mondays. Chubba showed us his office, we discussed a rendezvous point later and then Meredith and I began our exploration of the vastness of the museum. We explored the ancient Greek and Roman sculptures, which reminded me so much of our trip to Italy last Spring. Then we headed over to the Egyptian artifacts, which includes an amazing number of mummies and a full temple donated by the Egyptian government in the 1960's when the Aswan Dam project flooded a large area adjacent to the Nile. Suddenly a guard approached me and asked for my staff badge. I explained that we were guests of one of the museum's executives and he told us we would have to leave if we were unaccompanied by a staff member. He was initially a little nasty but then softened when he realized that it was an innocent mistake. Chubba hasn't worked there all that long and we were his first guests during closed hours. The guard escorted us upstairs where we told Chubba that we had been busted and would have to leave. He felt terrible and walked us out with some suggestions of other places to go. We just laughed it off. After all, how many people can claim to have been thrown out of the Metropolitan Museum of Art? We didn't even have to try to steal or vandalize anything to accomplish it either!

The rest of Monday we explored the East side, finding the Rockefeller Campus where Meredith's interviews were to be held later that day, and then heading uptown to find Columbia's Medical campus at 168th Street. That's where our second adventure of the day occurred. Apparently the program that Meredith applied to must be a special secret program because no one knew where it was. We got four different sets of directions, followed each one dutifully, only to find out we were NOT in the right place. One person suggested that we go to the Columbia-Presbyterian Hospital Emergency Room because "they have a directory of everybody." That would have involved crossing a major street for the third time so we just popped into a building called the [insert la-di-da name here] Research Center. The building guard there directed us to go back across the street and "right next to the homeless shelter -- just look for all of the people outside smoking"... not what a Mom wanted to hear in THAT neighborhood. One very well meaning woman pointed out a tall building that she described as the library and told Meredith to go up to the second floor. At that point I waited outside, rested my feet sitting on a bench and took a couple of pictures of the area:

She was gone for a while so I thought maybe we had finally hit paydirt. I thought wrong. She came out eventually, shaking her head and told me that the front desk guard had told her the program was NOT on the second floor but in room 313 on the third floor. He directed her to an elevator in the back of the building and she emerged onto the third floor to find the entire floor to be nothing but empty classrooms. She couldn't gain access to the second floor at all so decided to give up and come back outside. We admitted defeat and took the subway back over to the east side to grab some lunch. We had lunch in a quintessential NY Jewish deli. The owner, a little old Jewish man, even offered to pay for my lunch if I didn't like it. He got to keep his money because it was delicious! It was almost time for Meredith's interviews at Rockefeller so we walked over to York Avenue. The guard recognized us from our reconnaissance trip earlier and called to announce us. She was delightful but made a remark about everyone working there having an attitude that shook Meredith up a bit. The Rockefeller property was exquisite, overlooking the East River. I wanted to take pictures but Meredith gave me the evil eye when I touched my camera so I refrained. Here is a picture of their entrance from the web:

She had two very productive interviews and fell in love with the place. And it was easy to see why. It is clear that this is a serious research place -- lab coats all over the place. To my little lab-rat cookie, this is heaven on earth. Unfortunately, it is also the most competitive grad program on her list so I have all my fingers crossed, have started a few novenas, implored all my dead ancestors to pull any strings they can with the big guy, and wished on every first star I've seen to make this come true for her. It would be HUGE!

Needless to say, we were exhausted after our first day. We met Chubba in Grand Central and took the MetroNorth home for a quiet dinner and an early bedtime. Day Two promised to be just as active, but with a lot more funstuff thrown in.

And we were back at it bright and early on Tuesday. Diana drove us to the train and we went by ourselves. We headed over to NYU's medical campus which is also on the East Side but down in the 30's. Meredith has an interview scheduled with them in February so she just wanted to check out the neighborhood briefly. Not as ritzy as the east 60's but still very nice. Then we treated ourselves to a trip to the top of the Empire State building. I have been there a couple of times but she had never been. When she was much younger we opted to take her to the top of the World Trade Center instead and, of course, now I am so glad we did.

Back in high school she did her senior project on the Chrysler Building and fell in love with the Art Deco building style. Built only a few years after the Chrysler Building, the Empire State Building eclipsed it and became a more famous example of the Art Deco style. It really is a classy gal. This is the entrance lobby:

Is that freakin' magnificent or what?

Being a Tuesday, it was very quiet but we still had to walk through miles of roped-off trails to first pay our $38 for two tickets, secondly go through security (who confiscated my knitting scissors...oops!) and thirdly get our souvenir picture taken so they could shake us down for a ridiculous amount of money when we came down. Finally we took the elevator to the top, yawning to pop our ears as we reached the 86th floor.

It was a little hazy up there, probably due to the warmer than usual weather NY was experiencing. Oh, and a wee bit of smog from all the traffic below. But the views were still spectacular. Here are some of them:

Looking north towards Central Park and Harlem

West to the Hudson River. That looks like a ferry of some kind, maybe from New Jersey?

South to the Statue of Liberty and the construction rebuilding the area around the World Trade Center site. (No, I still haven't been down there...and I don't know if I ever will be able to face not seeing those two gorgeous buildings again.)

Northeast to the Chrysler Building and the Queensboro Bridge with Queens beyond

I took a couple of pictures of Meredith with her beloved Chrysler Building in the background...

...then we watched people do some incredibly stupid things (like hold their cameras out beyond the barriers without the wriststrap on to take self-portraits), visited the overpriced giftshop full of tacky chachkis, and then took the elevator back down. Worth $38? Probably not but I'm glad we went.

We walked over to Broadway, cruised through Macy's first floor and the Cellar as I reminisced about the way it was 25 years ago when I lived there, and then headed up to Times Square. Now THERE is a change for the better! What was once the porn and peep show capital of the universe has now become a thriving, exuberant symbol of the vitality of New York.

Ok, the corner hustlers are still there but they are dressed a lot better than they were 25 years ago and they don't reek of Mad Dog 20/20 and pee.

I didn't have the overwhelming urge to run home and take a shower when I got within ten feet of them. The flyers they were trying to stuff in my face were about cellphone deals instead of topless bars. Overall, a tremendous improvement. Good job, Rudy!

From there we headed over to Sixth Avenue and I took Meredith across West 47th Street, better known as "The Diamond District" for its saturation of jewelry shops with individual booths and bustle of jewelers. She was mesmerized by the endless windows of spectacular jewels, gold and silver. All along the street we heard the singsong "We buy gold" -- an invitation to make a deal of a lifetime. Thirty two years ago Brendan and I went there to buy my engagement ring. Fortunately for us, we met a wonderful elderly couple who recognized two babes in the woods and took us under their wing. Sophie and her husband (who never said a word in the years we knew them) were Austrian emigrants who fled from the Nazis in the late 30s with a few gems hidden in their clothes. They built a small business for themselves, primarily due to Sophie's keen eye for character and quality and her husband's jewelery crafting skills. Fate was smiling on us when we found them that November day. They are long dead but never forgotten. That day is a treasured memory among so many together.

Meredith and I then walked up Fifth Avenue to Rockefeller Center at 49th Street. We were lucky enough to find the Christmas tree still standing, although they were already in the process of removing the lights.

Despite the warmth of the day, there were quite a few skaters.

We walked through "30 Rock" with a quick trip into the NBC studio store and then out to Sixth Avenue where we checked out Radio City Music Hall (just the outside since we didn't have the time or the money for the full tour). We were getting hungry so we hopped on the subway and headed down to one of my favorite parts of the city -- Little Italy.

Exiting on Grand Street we were immediately plunged into the teeming masses of Chinatown. Once I got my bearings I found Mulberry Street and headed for Hester Street and my FAVORITE Little Italy restaurant, The Puglia. If you are going to be in Little Italy, write that name down. It is inexpensive, delicious and fun. Tables are long so seating is family style, a great way to meet people. Lunch is fairly quiet, although that day a busload of middle-schoolers were there on a field trip so it was pretty raucous. A new addition is a wood-fired pizza oven in the back of the restaurant, probably serving only for dinner to maximize its use. Dinner at The Puglia is a Little Italy experience, complete with a live singer who was diners up on their feet singing, dancing and waving napkins. Meredith and I enjoyed some fried mozzarella sticks and parmigiana, chicken for her, eggplant for me. It was WONDERFUL and we left satisfied but not too full to avoid a stop at our other Little Italy mainstay, Ferrara's, the dessert capital of the Western Hemisphere. I'll let the pictures tell THAT story:

Ok, $11 for two cannolis IS a little steep but we did choose table service, that included the tax and tip and, after all, they were FERRARA'S cannolis. Nuff said.

Now it was time to make our way back uptown to Grand Central, catch the train to Chubba and Diana's and say goodbye to Gotham City for now. Little did we know that there were more adventures in store. Remember Johnny? He works for MetroNorth and his offices are in Grand Central Station. He knows that place like nobody's business. On a previous trip he took us behind the scenes, showing us Donald Trump's indoor tennis court, the Campbell Apartment (formerly the private residence of a NY Executive and now a fashionable cocktail lounge), and the big kahuna, the switch room. He also took us up on the catwalks high above the Grand Concourse where snipers were stationed in those chilling post-9/11 weeks. I took this picture from up there last winter when we visited:

As we got into Grand Central on the subway, we remembered that Johnny had told us he would be off work at around that time. And we saw him just as he was getting off the elevator. He brightened when he saw Meredith and went into tour guide mode all over again. This time he wanted to show us the new Grand Central Market, an amazing array of individually owned booths for commuters to go "grocery shopping" on their way home...provided they don't mind leaving a lot of their daily wages right there. As Johnny told us, "It ain't cheap!" Here is a sampling of what we saw:

Every kind of sausage imaginable!

No stinky fish here...so fresh it will slap you silly!

Prepared food more your style?

Here's the Beef! Where's your wallet?

Say cheese!

Ok, we were starving by now. So the three of us hopped on the train and set out for home. Along the way Johnny pointed out where the new Yankee Stadium is being built. Meredith was totally mesmerized. He might as well have been showing her heaven on earth. When we got to Croton-Harmon, Johnny gave us one more treat. We got to play engineer! There was a train engine in a repair area and he took us up to the cockpit (I guess that is what it's called) and we posed in the driver's seat.

Thanks, Johnny! You're the greatest!

What a great trip! We came back to Maine the next day with some great memories and some high hopes for a chance to spend a lot more time in the Big Apple. Meredith now has two interviews scheduled: NYU and Columbia and fingers crossed for Cornell and Rockefeller. She should know within the next couple of weeks and then it's off to the future, a very exciting place for her (and us!)

Only 365 more shopping days!...

2007-12-26T08:16:00.000-05:00

So Christmas 2007 is in the books...whew! I have such a love/hate relationship with the holidays. I'm a total grinch as they approach, knowing that there is so much to do and so little time to get it done, but I do enjoy Christmas Day, sharing our gifts and then lolling around the house for the day with no other obligations. We each enjoy the day in our own way. Meredith revels in staying in her pajamas and watching the "Christmas Story" marathon, Brendan spends the day in the kitchen preparing the traditional Roast Beast (aka Beef Wellington), and Isla hangs out in front of the fire. This year she got a new bed and she thought she was in heaven when we put it down on the living room floor. She lolled in it all day like a movie star, flipping over onto her back occasionally and snoring like a drunken sailor. She even ignored the bags of treats sitting just a few feet away. She LOVES her new bed!

The house looks great. Meredith supervised the decorating when she got home so everything was positioned perfectly. We had a beautiful day to go up to the mountain to get the tree.

It fit perfectly in the living room (unlike other years when we have grossly misjudged size and ended up with a tree behemoth or a puny Charlie Brown tree.)

And with the ornaments in place, it was stunning!

Even Isla got into the spirit...sort of.

That was NOT one of her favorite holiday moments, to be sure.

I got in a few hours of delicious, uninterrupted knitting, putting a few more inches on Meredith's DNA scarf...

...and finishing the first "hooray for me glove" (complete with GI-normous thumb that will most definitely need some tinking!)

I mentioned the love/hate relationship with Christmas earlier. Here is the part that I hate. It should be about the joys we find in our time together, sharing family traditions, and being thankful for all of the graces that God has granted us. Instead we become saturated with materialism and greed. It becomes about receiving the perfect gifts and the disappointment that ensues if we don't. The media whips us into a virtual feeding frenzy of "gimme, gimme" starting earlier and earlier every year. Somewhere in the chaos we lose all sense of joy and serenity. The holidays should be about finding peace and contentment and instead it ends up breeding resentment and anxiety. There isn't enough time or money or energy to make it the "perfect" experience we want it to be. We end up exhausted, angry, disappointed and broke! And next year we get to do it all over again. My suggestion: No gifts for anyone and instead we donate the outrageous amount of money spent to the Salvation Army, the Animal Refuge Shelter or some other needy cause. Or we specify that we will only exchange handmade gifts and limit it to one apiece. I'm ready to declare war on the commercialism and self-centeredness that has replaced the true meaning of the season. Merry Christmas!

Make a snowflake!!!

2007-12-06T12:45:00.000-05:00

This is so cool! (Yes, I amuse easily, I admit...but try it anyway!)

In December It's a Winter Wonderland...In April It's a Pain in the Ass...

2007-12-05T19:18:00.001-05:00

We got our first snowfall on Monday. And that gave us our first Snowday (hooray!). That gave me a chance to go out and walk through some gorgeous fresh snow and take pictures with my new camera. I'm still learning how to use it but I'm hoping it will give me more pictures like the one above. I like taking pictures but have never had a really nice camera that allowed me to experiment successfully. I've had some good (accidental) shots in the past but it has definitely been hit or miss.

You're in trouble if you live in Maine and hate winter. We get a lot of it and it lasts a LONG time. Hopefully my new camera will give me another way to enjoy our longest season! Stay tuned...

And now, a word from the dogs...

2007-12-01T09:14:00.000-05:00

This video speaks for itself...enjoy!

Not to belabor the point but you wouldn't find many cats getting involved with a worldswide movement to end hunger. They're too busy yowling to get themselves fed. (see previous post)

Ok, about this cat thing...

2007-11-24T18:18:00.006-05:00

I have gotten some "feedback" about the comment about my sister's cat in my shawl post. Let me clarify something. They started it. I wasn't born disliking cats. We actually had a cat when I was young who earned my respect and admiration. Puss was a champion hunter, a no-nonsense "doing my job so leave me be" kind of creature. My only complaint about him was his tendency to leave his trophies just outside the front door where a moment's inattention meant a squishy step on a dead rabbit, mole or mouse. One summer my sister and her little friend Debbie thought it would be fun to dress him in doll clothes and carry him around like a baby. He tolerated it for a day or two but clearly was not amused. He finally made his feelings known by planting his front claws in Debbie's face, barely missing her eye. For this little episode of "kitty road rage" he earned himself a trip to the local animal shelter. Grossly unfair? Yes...but the trip probably saved my parents a messy lawsuit and cancellation of their homeowner's policy.

moar funny pictures

My relationship with cats went downhill from there. Our next cat, Romper, declared me the enemy from the get-go. My shoes mysteriously filled with catshit. She chose me to yowl at in the wee hours. My stack of freshly washed clothes was her bed of choice. We got off to a bad start and things only got worse. Ok, I wasn't totally innocent, I'll admit. One evening when she wouldn't leave me alone as I was trying to study in my room I dropped her down the laundry chute...but I knew there was a stack of clothes at the bottom to cushion her fall. My departure for college and subsequent apartments finally gave us the "time-out" that we both needed from each other.

Living on my own I switched to dogs, a mutt named Ralph and a Golden Retriever named Molly. I fell hopelessly in love with the canine species, enjoying the way they gave so much to our relationships, always wanting to please.

Then when Meredith was about three she asked for a kitty. We were "between pets" at the time so we cautiously agreed to give it a try for her sake. Brendan felt the same way I did about cats but she was so insistent. Enter Wilbur, a small Maine Coon kitten, cute as a button but with a huge attitude problem. No warm-and-fuzzy cuddle sessions for him. He entered the house in the attack mode and set his sights on making our lives miserable. I was his special target. It was as if Romper had come back to finish the job of tormenting me begun so many years earlier. Ambushes from under beds and tables were part of the morning routine. I resorted to putting panty hose on in the car each morning to ensure I had a pair without rips. His favorite technique was to wake me up about 3AM by climbing on the bed and trying to separate my big toe from the rest of my foot like a piece of the toughest beef jerky...and through three layers of blankets! I wasn't about to turn the other cheek. He loved to jump on the side of the bathtub as I was drawing Meredith's bath to watch the water come out of the faucet with intense fascination. With a little pop as I walked by he suddenly found himself in the tub, staring up at me with an evil glare. I knew I would pay for that moment of temptation and I always did. The war between us kept escalating at a dizzying rate.

He went to work shredding our furniture, earning him a trip to the vet's to be declawed. We had him neutered on the vet's advice, both to prevent him from passing on his orneriness but also to "calm him down." HAH! That only seemed to make him madder! His nastiness earned him the nickname "Wilbur, the demon cat from hell." But we held on in deference to Meredith's wishes. Then came the night she told me to shut her door at bedtime because she was afraid of Wilbur. That was all I needed. The next morning the ad went into the paper and by the end of the week he had a new home. We all breathed a sigh of relief... and went out to get a puppy. Lady, that puppy, was with us for 16 years, a treasured, loving member of our family.

Some people are cat people. We are dog people. A lucky few are both. Just as the world needs right-brained and left-brained people, visionaries and realists, Red Sox fans and Yankee fans, it also probably needs cat people and dog people. We know where we stand on the issue. I respect that some people have loving relationships with their cats. I probably never would. Cats always seem to me to be very two-faced...all over you when they want something but otherwise acting as if they can't be bothered with such inferior creatures as we humans. Even my sister who has always worshipped cats admits that her current cat is an ungrateful, nasty creature who only shows any interest in her at mealtime. She volunteers at a cat rescue shelter to get her feline affection. I once suggested that she make her own aloof and nasty cat part of the adoption process she works on, a suggestion she chose to ignore. I guess that's what makes her a cat person...and me NOT a cat person. I'll take my goofy, affectionate, tongue-lolling dog, thank you very much. She loves me no matter what, with food in sight or not, totally unconditionally!

Bite Me, Blogger!

2007-10-28T20:03:00.000-04:00

So I spent most of the day today putting together a post about our trip to the Wadsworth-Longfellow House yesterday, complete with pictures from the website and some pictures I took walking through downtown. I even found a copy of "My Lost Youth," Longfellow's poem about his memories of Portland and wove it into the post. It was a great post. Then Blogger ate it. Swallowed it whole and belched in my face to rub it in. I hate you, Blogger. You really suck!

The End of the "Never Again" Shawl!

2007-10-12T23:32:00.000-04:00

Last April I asked my sister what she wanted for her birthday in May. She said she wanted a shawl like the one I made for our other sister last year. When I agreed to do it little did I realize that I would be embarking on a freaking SIX MONTH project! This WIP (work-in-progress) took on a life of its own, traveling to Europe, taking trains, buses, and airplanes and sharing lattes and cappuccinos with me...don't worry I washed off the the evidence. It went to Boston twice, once on the train and once on the bus, accompanied me to Central New York State in July for my family reunion, took two trips to Burlington VT as I got Meredith set up in her apartment and took her back to school in August, celebrated our anniversary with us on a day trip downeast for a leisurely day in the sun and a great seaside lunch and went to work with me each day as I spent a few minutes at lunchtime adding a row or two. It also went to knitting group with me each week and was my TV buddy most nights.

Last Friday I FINALLY finished the last stitch in the car on our annual fall foliage trip somewhere between Fryeburg and Brownfield, Maine. My husband said he was getting tired of seeing me working on the shawl. I think what he was REALLY saying was that he was getting impatient for me to finish the socks I started for him last March.

Ok, so here is a brief pictorial history of the project.

Here is the shawl as it looked on July 13th:

Summer heat took its toll on my efforts. Some days it was just too damn hot to think about wrapping yarn around my fingers so progress was slow during July and August and even into September. With cooler weather, my speed increased. Here is a picture from the end of July:

And here it is in late September:

At this point the image of an albatross kept crossing my mind. I wanted nothing more than to just finish and move on. Each day I did a few more rows and measured to see how much longer it needed to be. I cut the fringe and had it ready for the final step and followed my pattern. (More on that in a bit...)

After the final row, it was time to wash the shawl. Six months of handling had left it a tad funky. I zipped it into a pillowcase and washed it in cold using the gentle cycle. Here it is drying:

So now for the unveiling...drumroll please!.... TA-DA!!!!

It is sooooo soft and cuddly. If I hadn't just put six months into this gift I would be tempted to keep it for myself.

But I'm already five months late for her birthday so off it goes in the mail tomorrow. I'll enclose some care instructions and a stern admonition to KEEP IT AWAY FROM HER F-ing CAT! If I hear that I just spent six months constructing a fancy scratching post for her she-cat from hell, I will hunt the critter down and personally drop her off myself at Uncle Wong's Chow Mein palace in time for the all-you-can-eat buffet! (Have I ever mentioned that I don't like cats?)

About the pattern... there really isn't one. This was a completely self-designed project. I used a fingering weight yarn I found on ebay. It is a blend of merino wool (45%) cotton (40%) and silk (15%) that came on a cone. I used #9 24" circular needles and about 12 ounces of the yarn (about 1.5 cones).

I cast on 169 stitches. The first and last 20 stitches were always knit into the back and the first stitch was always slipped as if to knit. That formed a garter stitch edge that made a nice shawl collar when it was done. The middle 129 stitches were knit in a variety of stitches I took from the 365 Knitting Stitches a Year Perpetual Calendar. I divided that center section into three individual sections of 43 stitches apiece, separated by stitch markers and found 18 stitches that could be worked on 43 stitches. I did eight rows of each stitch, separated by eight rows of either garter or stockinette stitch. At the mid-point (3 feet) I reversed the order to make the shawl symmetrical. Some of the stitches I used were: Staggered Eyelets, Little Arrowhead, Open Twisted Rib, Lacy Zigzag, Pique Rib, Hourglass eyelets, Lacy Diamonds, Slipped Rib2, Double Basketweave, Feather Lace, Garter Drop Stitch, Herringbone Lace Rib, Ridged Lace1, Crocus Buds, Lacy Rib, Zigzag Openwork, and Simple Lace Rib. I started and ended the shawl with five rows of garter stitch which provided an area to insert the fringe. I cut 432 12" lengths of the yarn which I separated into 36 bundles of 12 putting 18 at each end, spacing them equally along the edge and then trimming them to ensure they were even.

The finished length was six feet plus the fringe and the width was about 36".

I'm pleased with the result with a few little exceptions... the stitch markers left a kind of "run" down the length of the shawl, not a major flaw but more of a "personalization." I really hope my sister likes it and gets a lot of good use out of it! She had better or I'll kill her! (just kidding...sort of!)

The Fruits of our Labors...

2007-09-15T16:10:00.000-04:00

Aren't they GORGEOUS?!! And so sweet and juicy. The best part is that there are many more where they came from, assuring that we will be enjoying tomatoes in every form for the next couple of weeks. My favorite way is sliced with some fresh mozzarella cheese, basil on top and drizzled with some extra virgin olive oil. Mmmm-mmm-mmm! The cucumbers have been wonderful too although the squirrels have been "testing" them for us, taking a bite or two and then deciding they don't like them. Not the brightest batch of squirrels either because they haven't figured out they don't like them and keep biting off the ends. As usual, growing zucchini has been an adventure in excess. As fast as we pick them, there are tons more coming along. Occasionally we "miss" one in our evening garden check and, before we know it, there it is, big as a dirigible and now good for nothing other than some zucchini bread.

And have we got herbs! The basil and parsley has been amazing. We now have enough pesto to feed a small italian city for a week and my friend Jeannie who makes amazing tabouleh stopped by, stocked up on parsley and gifted me with some of it.

And there is more to come. We have some bee-yoo-tiful butternut squash for some great fall soups and some pumpkins that promise to be GY-normous. Yay, garden!!!! We think this wonderful growth is due to some great compost and mulch that Brendan bought from a small greenhouse with a curmudgeonly old owner. It truly has been like a magic potion for the garden! DEE-licious!

On the knitting front, the shawl that never ends is actually about 75 percent finished. Not bad for a birthday present due last May. I figure it will definitely be done by her half birthday in November! Then I can get on with the rest of my life.

This I Believe

2007-08-27T14:50:00.001-04:00

It's hard to believe that it has been almost a year since Michelle's senseless death. This short film, based on one of her last essays, is a wonderful tribute to her dream for a gentler world.

So, what about the knitting?

2007-07-26T20:05:00.000-04:00

The trip of a lifetime is now officially over. I think it took me so long to blog about it because it was a way to keep it going in my mind. But now it's time to move on. Life has been happening. I've been knitting all along. My current project is a shawl for my sister Lynny. She wanted one like the one I made for my other sister Betsy two years ago. This was Betsy's shawl:

I was able to find the same yarn, a beautiful silk/wool/cotton blend and cast on back in April. The pattern for the first one was made up as I went along so I decided to be a little more "planful" on this one. Using the 365 Stitches calendar, I picked out 12 stitch patterns to use on 169 stitches. I did 20 kib (knit into back) stitches, then 43x3 of the pattern, then 20 more kib stitches. The pattern stitches were 12-16 rows (depending on the pattern...usually two repeats) followed by eight rows of either garter or stockinette and then the next pattern. It has been a tedious knit, going VERY slowly, partly because of so many interruptions but I am almost at the halfway point (about 36 inches). Here is my progress to date:

As usual, I'm not 100% happy with it. It is too wide, the divisions between the three middle "panels" are too distinct, there are mistakes, yadda, yadda... But at this point I am just determined to finish it for her. I hope my yarn holds out. I hope to put some fringe on it and would be REALLY unhappy if I can't do that. Her birthday was in mid-May but she knows it will take me a while to get it done. I showed her the very early stages when we had our sister's weekend in April. During that weekend, Betsy saw the bag I made for Lynny last year (the Constant Companion) and oohed and aahed so I think that will be her request for HER next birthday in February. She mentioned how much she liked the evening bag I made for her this year and Lynny perked up and said, "Evening Bag? Ooh, that sounds nice." So, I guess the lesson I have learned is to make the same thing for both of them.

It reminds me a little of the stories that my friends with two children tell about having to duplicate what they buy to keep both kids appeased. I never had to worry about that, having an only child.

I have been home from Europe for eight weeks and it already seems like an eternity since I was there. It didn't take long to get back into the groove (or rut, depending on my mood) and I have tried very hard not to start every sentence with "When I was in Europe..." but it is so hard avoiding the temptation to tell EVERYone about the trip. Meredith is SO over that, tired of my telling the same stories she has heard a million times by now. My new resolution is to keep my mouth shut when we go anywhere together and someone asks, "So, how was your trip?" I need to let her answer and tell people about her entire semester. Things have been a little...shall we say...strained since we got home. She clearly does not want to be home this summer, thinking of it as just an unpleasant pit stop between her glorious time in Milan and her impatience to get back to her friends in Burlington. She is working a lot of hours on her research internship and taking a (shudder) Physics class in a compressed semester...and it has all conspired to turn her into little miss crankypants a great deal of the time.

Ok, enough on that topic...I had better stop before my natural tendency to say how I really feel gets me into trouble.

We've had an interesting summer since I got back. The heat arrived just in time for the annual Bike Trek Across Maine on Father's Day weekend. That meant my crew and I were not only busy keeping the refreshments going for the 1800 bikers coming through but also keeping an eye out for anyone in distress with possible heat stroke. We were lucky this year and only had a couple of people who needed extra assistance from us. It was a gorgeous weekend with perfect weather until the very end.

Back in Portland, I spent a beautiful Saturday morning at the Rose Garden in Deering Oaks Park, one of my favorite places. Here are some of the pictures I took:

Just looking at those pictures relaxes me! Then I went home and took some pictures of our garden...no great masterpiece by comparison but there are some pretty flowers.

We even have some tomato, zucchini and cucumber plants that are doing very well this year.

These pictures were taken in late June and the plants are now twice as high as they were then. We will be picking our first zucchini any day now. And then look out everybody! I'll be breaking into cars to leave them in there just to get rid of all of them!

In mid July we celebrated Anniversary number 31. It wasn't the big deal like last year at the Franconia Inn but we took the day off and took a nice ride up the coast to a beautiful area called Bailey's Island. Here are some pictures from that day:

We enjoyed a delicious lunch on the outdoor deck of a local restaurant and indulged ourselves with some steamers...

which we made short work of...

and a wonderful seafood platter.

It was so nice to just sit and relax, take our time with lunch, chat and enjoy the seabreezes. A perfect day.

I'll miss not going up to the cottage for my usual two weeks in August but my trip was well worth the sacrifice. Besides, now I can go to my wild and wacky family reunion in mid-august instead. That will surely be an event worthy of a blog entry or two. My family definitely puts the "fun" in "dys-fun-ctional"...the challenge will be paring down all of the information to keep the entry from getting too long!!!

So, it's back to knitting the shawl-from-hell so I can give it to my sister at the reunion... I KNOW she'll be asking for it.

Mas de Madrid y Adios!

2007-07-22T20:37:00.002-04:00

Day two in Madrid was another beautiful but hot one. We had really been lucky throughout our trip, having gorgeous sunny days every day but one. We got up early to maximize our last day in Spain and headed over to the Plaza Mayor to start off with a leisurely breakfast in one of the many plaza's outdoor cafes. We settled on the Cafeteria Magerit and ordered pastries, coffee and some delicious peach juice.

Zoom in on those glasses and see if you can pick out something that was a surprise... yes, there are not one but TWO ice cubes in each glass!!! We were astounded! Meredith seems to be staring in disbelief. It was a delicious breakfast. Shortly after it was served we were joined by a visitor.

He was very cute...

...very tame...

...and VERY persistent

but we reluctantly opted not to feed him since there were other sparrows very nearby and we were concerned about causing a "sparrow riot." He was not very happy with us.

The morning was so gorgeous and we felt so lucky to be enjoying it in such a beautiful place. We even had a very friendly waiter who actually seemed to be enjoying chatting with us!

This was the view from our table into the center of the Plaza.

After breakfast we took a walk around the Plaza, starting with the majestic statue of Felipe III in the center. The origins of the plaza go back to 1581 when plans were drawn up to build a central plaza to replace an older, smaller plaza. Construction did not begin until 1617 and finished in 1619. A series of fires nearly destroyed it and it was completely renovated in 1790. The statue of Felipe III dates back to 1616.

Hanging with Felipe

The Plaza Mayor has been the scene of a wide range of events: markets, bullfights, soccer games, public executions, and, during the Spanish Inquistion, "autos de fe" against supposed heretics and the executions of those condemned to death. The Plaza Mayor also has a ring of old and traditional shops and cafes under its porticoes. Celebrations for San Isidro, patron saint of Madrid, are also held here.

Along one side of the plaza is the Real Casa de la Panaderia, named for the Royal Bakery that was built here in 1619. The current building was done in 1673 after one of the many fires and now houses the Madrid Bakers Guild.

The frescoes were added in 1992.

We left the plaza through one of the nine archs that are placed symmetrically around the plaza.

It took us out onto some quaint old streets, so narrow and winding, and filled with very interesting old shops and buildings.

This cookware shop has probably been there since the middle ages.

We walked past a beautiful small church and found ourselves at a wonderful indoor market, not as opulent as the one we had visited in Barcelona. This one was obviously frequented by the locals rather than aimed at the tourists. The merchants seemed surprised to see us. One of them declared Meredith to be "muy bonita" (very pretty) and embarrassed her completely. As with the other markets, the best and freshest were on display.

Who knew there were so many different kinds of eggs?

These little piggies went to market...and probably wished they hadn't!

It was a double decker market. This was the view from the second floor.

We left the market and continued through the streets, reaching the Iglesia San Andres

and a fascinating fountain.

We passed this beautiful little park with the statue of Don Alvaro de Bazan, a 16th century Spanish admiral whose successes included suppressing piracy at sea, conquering the Turks in the Holy Alliance with Austria, and enforcing Spain's claims of land won in battles with Portugal. He also commanded the Spanish Armada which met a disastrous fate against Sir Francis Scott and his British fleet, when, due to delays in supplies, they were surprised in port and destroyed. He was named the first Marquis of Santa Cruz by King Felipe II and was a distinguished naval architect who designed the Spanish galleons which were so instrumental in transporting the riches of the New World back to Spain. He died in 1588 in Lisbon shortly before the Armada was ready to sail after being rebuilt.

It was noon and we suddenly heard a thunderous peal of church bells. Looking through the buildings we saw the towers of the Cathedral.

A few more turns and we were facing the Catedral de la Almudena, the largest Cathedral in Madrid.

Inside it was cool and very dark. I noticed bouquets of flowers on the floor and at first I thought they had fallen or been dropped there. On closer look, I realized that they had been placed there deliberately. It turns out we had entered the crypt and the floor was covered with gravestones. I started doing a kind of hopscotch dance to avoid stepping directly on these graves, much to the amusement of a couple of young priests chatting up by the altar. It seemed very strange to have all of these people buried INSIDE the church instead of in an adjacent graveyard until I realized that in the middle of an ancient city like Madrid, there was no room for any adjacent graveyard. The land was all spoken for. Nevertheless, the inhabitants of those graves must have had to be some very special parishioners to have merited such special final resting places. The Cathedral was built between 1879 and 1993 and most of the available space was occupied. We weren't able to go into the main part of the church but the crypt was most impressive.

The main entrance to the church faced the Presidential Palace...

...separated by the huge Plaza Armeria.

It contains 2800 rooms but only 50 are open to the public. It is used for visits by Heads of State and other Official Ceremonies but is not the official residence of the Royal Family. They actually live in a smaller palace outside of Madrid, a former hunting lodge. I have a feeling that it bears no resemblance to any hunting lodges here in Maine...no Moose heads on the wall or rocking chairs on a porch.

We walked along the east side of the Palace and crossed the street to the Plaza de Oriente, a large park with meticulous gardens and many statues.

The most prominent one is a large statue of Felipe IV, erected in 1843.

A short distance away we came to the Plaza Isabel II and a statue to the controversial queen. Her father, Ferdinand VII abolished the Salic laws which declared only sons to be heirs to the throne, thus paving the way for her to become regent at 13. Her ascendency to the throne was challenged by her uncle, Ferdinand's brother who declared himself King Carlos V, precipitating a series of wars between his supporters and those who believed that Isabel was the rightful heir. She married her cousin at 16 to insure a continuation of her line and had thirteen children, of whom eight survived. Her husband/cousin probably fathered none of those children since he was gay and very open about his sexual preferences. Isabel was also very open with her many love affairs. She was dethroned in 1868 by reformists and sent into exile to France with her husband and children. She soon divorced her husband and abdicated her crown in favor of her eldest son. She died in 1904 and was returned to Spain for burial.

Adjacent to the Plaza Isabel II is the Teatro Real, Madrid's main opera house.

We were getting hungry and had walked almost 8 miles so we stopped for some lunch and a chance to rest our feet. Since we were close to the main shopping area near Puerta del Sol we did a little window shopping and picked up some souvenirs. It was now late in the afternoon and, once again, the heat was making us drowsy so it was time for a siesta. Fortunately, we were close to the hotel so it made sense to take a break from our travels.

We had decided that our last night in Madrid would be Paella night. We had enjoyed the Barcelona version but wanted to sample how madrilenos prepared this classic dish. We decided to try one of the many cafes at Plaza Mayor so we could sit outside and enjoy the evening while waiting for it to be prepared. Paella is cooked to order so it can take 20-30 minutes or more to be served. We enjoyed a glass of wine and did some serious people watching in the Plaza. It was a truly spectacular night. Despite being close to 9PM, it was still quite light.

The paella was delicious and very filling. We lingered over our dinner until after 10 and then took a leisurely walk through the center of the city for one last time. The streets were full of couples, families, groups of friends and all were enjoying a beautiful early summer evening. I took a couple of last shots of Plaza Puerta del Sol before heading back to the hotel for the final time.

(Sorry about the blurriness...I almost didn't post these but then I thought they had kind of a cool, kinetic feel to them much like the atmosphere on the street.)

The next morning we packed our bags and checked out. We hadn't been on Madrid's subways yet so we were expecting a repeat of our Barcelona experience with steps everywhere. To our delight, the subways were very "wheel" friendly, extremely clean and efficient. We purchased a special ticket that allowed us to take the train directly to the airport where we were scheduled to take a short flight back to Milan on one of Europe's many smaller discount airlines, Easyjet. We didn't know what to expect in terms of the time it would take so we gave ourselves plenty of time. It turns out we gave ourselves WAY too much time. We were at the airport in no time at all, leaving us with almost four hours until our flight. We checked in at the gate, had lunch in a small restaurant at the airport and waited to board.

Easyjet does not give assigned seats so you basically take whatever empty seat is available once you board. That could have been a recipe for disaster, given the European decided aversion for waiting in line in an orderly fashion. I had visions of being mobbed and elbowed as everyone jockeyed for prime boarding position. It turns out that they do have a system after all. We were allowed to board based on our check-in time. Having arrived so early gave us a decided advantage. We were among the first group allowed on the plane so we had our choice of seats. We watched as people who boarded later got more and more agitated and frustrated, especially groups of people who wanted to sit near each other. Finally everyone was aboard and seated and the two hour flight to Milan took off. We were served a soft drink and, before we knew it, we were on the ground.

It was cloudy in Milan and still beastly hot. We took a bus from the airport to the train station, instead of the Malpensa express train which I had taken when I first arrived. Our hotel was near the train station, one of the hotels we had stayed in before we left for Naples nearly two weeks earlier. It was the swanky one with the suite and the ballroom-sized bathroom where we had been able to store Meredith's large suitcase and a couple of other bags from her four month stay. This time we didn't get the suite but rather a smaller room but still very comfortable and with the highly prized free internet. We hungrily caught up on emails and checked our favorite websites, feeling as if we had been exiled to Siberia without that contact.

Meredith got in touch with a couple of her friends from the Collegio who were still around and we arranged to get together for a final dinner before we left for the US the next day. It started to rain as we left the hotel, the first real precipitation we had seen since I arrived fifteen days earlier. It cooled things down a little and felt very refreshing.

We met Kyle and Aleyna and had dinner at a great restaurant in the Porta Genova area of Milan. We followed it up with some wonderful gelato, including my first-ever Chocolate with Pepper gelato...a-may-zing stuff!!!! Truly good times!

The next day we packed up everything and headed back to the train station where we boarded the bus to Malpensa Airport. It was time to come home. I was sad to see my 15 days in Europe ending and I know Meredith was feeling even sadder about seeing her four month adventure in Italy come to an end. The flight home went smooth as silk and, before we knew it, we were in Logan airport. There was a bit of an uncomfortable moment as we went through Customs. As luck would have it, we had a tough female customs agent who found it hard to believe that Meredith had spent four months in Italy and had not purchased more than she declared. Meredith just looked her straight in the eye and said, "Everything was much too expensive. College students can't afford Georgio Armani!" The woman smiled, knew she had been bested, and let us go on through. It was a priceless moment.

We boarded the bus to Portland and headed home in a torrential thunderstorm. A very different weather picture than we had been used to the previous two weeks. Brendan met us at the bus station, gave his baby girl a big hug, packed our many bags in the car and we went home to recover from a wonderful vacation. We both hope to go back someday but this trip will always be a special one since it was our first taste of travelling abroad. So many wonderful memories.

Here are some things that made it so successful (in no particular order):

* Chris, our wonderful travel agent at AAA
* advance reservations for hotels and museums on the internet (I particularly would recommend venere.com for hotels and tickitaly.com for museums)
* Lonely Planet travel guides (www.lonelyplanet.com)
* Streetwise Maps (www.streetwise.com)
* Eurail passes and reservations (Again,thanks to Chris at AAA)
* A digital camera
* Good luggage on wheels
* Space-saver bags to help with compact packing
* A sense of humor and an adventurous attitude
* A flexible agenda and a willingness to change course for something interesting
* Using a smile as a universal language
* Knowing when to ask for help
* Patience

Armed with the above things, your journeys are bound to be successful!

Moving on to Madrid...

2007-07-18T19:05:00.000-04:00

It was time for our visit to Madrid, the final city on our whirlwind tour. We almost didn't get there. Our original ticket request had been for a 7:30AM train from Barcelona departing from Estacio Barcelona Sants, the same train station where we had arrived. That train was not available so we were ticketed for a 9:00AM train, giving us a little more time in the morning. It meant we were traveling the subway during morning rush hour, not our first choice, but we got up early, packed our luggage and started the schlep to the subway around 8AM. We reversed the trip we had made two days earlier, complete with the up-four-steps, walk 50 feet, down-four-steps debacle, only this time with MORE irritated commuters trying to maneuver past us as they hurried to catch their trains. It seemed as if we went up and down 50 bezillion sets of steps with our bags. At the FINAL sets of steps, leading down to the subway platform, a young man took pity on us and insisted on carrying our bags down to the platform. As it turned out, he was an American going to school in Barcelona. Score a big Hooray for the good old USA! We thanked him profusely as he hurried to get on the arriving train. The car was packed solid so we decided to let it go and wait for one we could actually fit into. Three more trains came and went, all crammed full of harried commuters who eyed us warily as the doors opened, willing us to stay put with our oversize burdens. We gladly complied. Finally a train arrived that offered a sliver of space so we grabbed it. We got off at the right stop and struggled up the stairs to the street, ignoring the muttering in our ears as we slowed the flow of traffic. At last we arrived at the station and checked the board for our train. It was now about 8:40AM, just 20 minutes before departure time. Our train was not up there. We found a conductor and showed him our tickets. After a pause which seemed to last an eternity he explained that we were at the wrong train station. I thought my stomach was either going to fall to my knees or come up through my throat. Apparently, when the time of our train was changed, the station was changed also... to Barcelona-Franca, the station that was a five minute walk from our hotel! We could have spared ourselves that subway ordeal if I had only just looked at the tickets more closely. Once that registered a more immediate problem presented itself. Would we be able to get to Madrid from the wrong station? The fate gods must have had a good enough laugh at our expense to cut us a break. As it turned out, the train was leaving Barcelona-Franca and its first stop was Barcelona-Sants, the very station where we standing - sweaty, worried and feeling more than a little foolish. Ok, I was the one feeling foolish since I was the one who had booked all of the reservations. I decided the best thing to do was to give myself a "time out" for a couple of minutes and I headed for the nearest cup of coffee (Americana, gracias) and a monster pastry, assuring Meredith that I would be back in time to catch the train at 9:30AM.

The train arrived right on time and we boarded. Once again we were in separate cars...and once again, probably not a bad thing under the circumstances. She was about ready to place me in a home for the elderly and infirm. I probably would have gone willingly at that point.

The trip was relaxing. I knitted and took some pictures of the passing countryside.

We left the green terrain of the coast and headed into the more arid center of the country.

Occasionally we would pass a sleepy small town.

The topography flattened out considerably.

After a four hour ride, we pulled into Madrid's Atocha station. We caught up with each other, consulted the map and headed out to the street. Surprise, surprise...it was HOT! One delightful surprise was the beautiful central garden in the station with an amazing pond just FULL of turtles!!!

After a couple of false starts, we finally headed up the right street to our hotel, the Astoria. More correctly, it was a Hostal, which meant that it was a couple of floors in a building with a very small sign at street level. We had some difficulty finding the address and finally asked a newstand vendor. An older woman overheard our question and offered to show us the address. We gratefully followed her. We arrived, checked in and headed for our room. Once again, we lucked out. It was small, but clean and had a nice modern bathroom. It was right on Carerra de San Jeronimo, a busy street, but we were high enough up that it was very quiet. Here are some pictures of the room and the view from our window:

The location was great, just down the street from the Plaza Puerta del Sol and close to the museums and the major parks.

We dropped off our bags and went to find some lunch. Around the corner we found a little restaurant that looked good. We went in and the waiter immediately seated us in a small side room. The only other table was occupied by a group of six young women who were having some sort of celebration for a birthday or an impending wedding. They were chattering away as one of the them opened her gifts. The room was small but comfortable. We ordered our lunches, some gazpacho and endive salad to start, followed by some veal scallops. We were thoroughly enjoying our lunch until the partiers decided it was time to light up their after lunch smoke. Most of the six lit up, quickly filling the small room with a foul smoke. A few polite coughs on our part were ignored. Spain does not yet have a smoking ban in their restaurants, something most of the rest of Europe has wisely adopted. We were considering having some flan for dessert but were forced to beat a hasty retreat to save our watering eyes and strained lungs. Ironically, we watched as most of the smokers just sat holding their cigarettes, not even smoking them, letting the ash just accumulate on the ends of the smoking cancer sticks. We made the decision to eat most of our remaining meals in Madrid outdoors wherever possible to avoid being trapped in closed spaces with smokers.

After lunch we took a walk along the Paseo de Prado, a long lovely boulevard adjacent to the botanical gardens and a number of the museums. We passed incredible fountains including the fountain of Neptune:

and the monument to Columbus:

We walked back down the long boulevard and decided to visit one of Madrid's premier art museums, The Museo Centreo de Arte Sofia Reina, the Central Art Museum of Queen Sofia. Chief among its exhibits is the breathtaking Guernica, Picasso's incredible depiction of the Nazi bombing of a Basque town in 1937 which killed so many innocent people, including women and children.

I saw this massive painting about 26 years ago at a travelling exhibition of Picasso's work in New York. It deeply affected me then and this time I was even more moved by the tragedy it depicts, given the pervasive images of war we encounter every day. It was commissioned by Spain's Republican government for the Paris Exposition Universelle the year of the bombing, at the height of Spain's civil war. He completed it in an amazingly short time period, driven by the powerful anti-war images that had disturbed him so deeply.

Also on display are masterpieces of other icons of modern art: Miro, Dali, Arroyo, Ernst, Gris and many, many others. Most of the artists are Spanish but there is a strong representation of surrealistic and modern artists from all over the world. Kandinsky is there, as well as Klein, and Alex Katz. There is also an eye-popping kinetic art display on the ground floor. Even the building structure is a work of art. The external glass elevator provided a great overview of the surrounding area...

...including the Atocha Train Station.

We spent about two hours in the museum and then decided to find a little cafe for a mid-afternoon pick-me-up. We had covered a lot of area, walked about seven miles, and we were fading in the heat. Time for another late afternoon nap to recharge for dinner. We were getting very used to eating at 8PM or later. The late sunsets fiddled with our internal body clocks too. It stayed light until after 10PM because of Madrid's position at the far west of its time zone.

After a couple of hours of refreshing zzz's, we looked for a tapas bar. We found a great little plaza, one of so many in Madrid, with a number of restaurants on the perimeter. As we were walking around checking them out, a young man stopped us and asked us if we spoke English. He went on to tell us that he was an American from Seattle who had been in a bad car accident with his friend who had ended up in the hospital. The rental car was totalled, the police had it impounded, and all of his money and documents, including his passport were in a briefcase in the car and no one knew where it had been taken. He had a nasty cut on his nose and his scalp which he said came from some glass that had embedded itself during the accident. The upshot was that he needed money to get a temporary id from the embassy so he could retrieve money that his parents were wiring him. Was he on the up and up? We didn't know. But there was something compelling about him and we didn't feel comfortable just walking away. He said he needed 20 euros. I couldn't give him that much but between the two of us, Meredith and I were able to give him 5 euros. He seemed very grateful and said that he would be alright. After he walked away we talked about the situation and decided that if it was a scam, he deserved what we gave him just on the merit of his acting job. We found a place that served some great looking tapas, ordered four types and some wine and enjoyed another gorgeous Spanish evening. After enjoying the meal, we poked around the area, had some gelato, found the Plaza Mayor, and decided to make that the start of our adventures the next day. By 11 we were back at the hotel and getting to sleep to prepare for our last day in Spain.

Next post: Plaza Mayor, Walking tour of the Centro, the Market, the Cathedral, hobnobbing at the Presidential Palace and so much more!

Barcelona Day Two - Ancient and Modern

2007-07-13T22:37:00.001-04:00

Our second day of Barcelona was jam-packed. SO much we wanted to see and so little
time. We started off by exploring La Rambla. It is called Spain's most famous street and it truly is a tourist trap...but still very interesting. Flanked by narrow traffic lanes, the middle is a broad, tree-lined pedestrian walkway which stretches from the Port all the way into the heart of the city. It is packed with kiosks, newstands, souvenir vendors and populated with street musicians, pavement artists, mimes and living statues. It got its name from a seasonal stream (raml in Arabic) that once followed its course. We were most fascinated with the kiosks selling pets. You could buy almost any kind of small animal here.

baby chicks

beautiful birds of all colors

baby bunnies

fish and turtles

even chipmunks!

When we got to the top of the Rambla we found the Placa de Catalunya, a beautiful plaza with lots of flowers in full bloom.

It was a good spot for another photo op!

Such a wonderful open space in the heart of the city...

...surrounded by turn of the century office buildings...

...and The Coliseum, a grand old Victorian theatre.

Next we headed back down the Rambla to stop in at the Mercat de la Boqueria. Some sources date this market back to 1200.

It is open every day, Monday through Saturday and is absolutely huge! Just about every edible item imaginable is available...

Fresh meats

Fruits and Vegetables

Fish so fresh it is practically still swimming

Nuts and dried fruits

Dead baby piggies posed to look like...um...live baby piggies

Every kind of poultry imaginable

Who knew there were so many kinds of salami?

Exotic spices from all over the world

...and did I mention how fresh the fish is? mmm-mmm-good!!!!

Ok, so now we're ravenously hungry. No big surprise there. We found a little place near the market with fried calamari and it was delicious! We then decided to find a museum that had been listed in the Lonely Planet guidebook. The Museu d'Historia de la Ciutat is an excavation site underneath the Casa Padellas, an estate built for a 15th century noble family. It is located in the heart of the Barri Gotic, adjacent to the cathedral. We entered at the ground level and took an elevator down to the site of the Roman town which orginally stood on that spot. The "floors" on the elevator were actually dates. We entered in 1996 and got out in 12 BC in ancient Barcino. As we walked on catwalks we saw the locations of the main road, a defensive tower, some shops, houses (some with original mosaic floors), public baths and storage areas for wine and garum, a type of fish sauce used widely throughout the Roman Empire. Part of the walk is under the present Cathedral where evidence of the Romanesque and Visigothic predecessors are visible. We travelled upwards and through history, passing through an exhibition of life in Barcelona in the 8th and 9th centuries when Visigoth and Moslem powers ruled. We eventually ended up in the greater Royal Palace built in the 14th century. Tinell Hall is a grand banquet room where nobles would have conducted their business. It is next to St. Agatha's chapel where the family worshipped. It contains an amazing alterpiece crafted by one of Barcelona's most noted artisans. No photographs were allowed inside the museum but here is a picture of the exit showing the banquet hall of the left and the chapel on the right.

We had one more tourist trip to make... a walk out to the Sagreda Familia, the massive cathedral commissioned in the 1880's and still under construction 125 years later. Wealthy archconservatives in Spain were nervous about the outbreak of liberalism in Europe. Garibaldi was uniting Italy and democracies were popping up everywhere. Pope Pius IX was nervous that this trend would undermine the power of the church so he called for a rededication to the "family values" in Spain. The Holy Family (Sagreda Familia) of Jesus, Mary and Joseph was the symbol he used. The original architect quit and in 1884 Antoni Gaudi took over the project. Gaudi was already a celebrated architect and worked on this project concurrent with a number of other high profile builidings, parks and monuments until 1888 when he dedicated his entire life to the cathedral. Gaudi did nothing on a small scale. His style was grand and in your face. The design for the church is a basic Gothic cathedral pattern of a cross shaped apse but that's basically where the tradition ends. Gaudi detested straight lines, believing there are none in nature. So every aspect of the building has curves and twists. He designed eighteen soaring towers with swelling outlines to imitate the topography of mountains, representing in ascending heights, the twelve apostles, the four evangelists, the Virgin Mary and Christ.

Their heights range from 100 meters (over 320 feet) to 170 meters (over 550 feet). The Church will have three grand façades: the Nativity façade to the East, the Glory façade to the South (yet to be completed) and the Passion façade to the West, each with lifesize statuary. As you can see by all of the cranes and construction equipment in the pictures, the building is far from finished. In 1926 Gaudi was killed by a streetcar while he was crossing the street lost in thought. He had become so ragged and poor trying to keep the project going that no one recognized him at first. He was buried in a vault in the unfinished church and the whole city turned out for his funeral. His original patrons of the project had abandoned their financial support years before, becoming impatient at the slow progress. Gaudi was forced to raise the money himself, offering craftsman lessons in the project's workshops and occasionally panhandling for funds on the streets around the construction.

After his death worked slowed nearly to a stop. Only a few people believed in the project and kept it going. The great depression and the Spanish Civil War nearly destroyed the whole thing. In 1936 Spanish Anarchists burned and smashed everything they could find, including Gaudi's workshop and his original plans. Construction did not resume again until 1952. Work has been continuing in fits and starts and the new target date for completion is 2026, a full 100 years after Gaudi's death and 144 years after the first stone was laid. It is clearly a monument in every sense of the word.

The style doesn't appeal to everyone...I found it too overwhelming...but I have to respect the amazing detail orientation and dedication that a project of this magnitude clearly demonstrates. Judging from the crowds and the lines of people that were waiting to get inside (for a fee, of course)it is fast becoming a shrine to the sheer determination of the human spirit. It is a controversial site not lacking in critics and experts disputing whether Gaudi's wishes are being carried out but, when all is said and done, it definitely commands attention and will eventually take its place in the manmade wonders of the world.

We walked around the perimeter of the site and decided against standing in the long lines baking in the sun. Instead we opted to duck into a Gelateria across the street and indulge our palates with some delicious gelato. We then visited a souvenir shop, stocked up on some things to bring home and started back to the hotel. On the way we passed another Barcelona icon, the Placa de Toros. Meredith grabbed a quick picture.

There were no bullfights while we were there. I wouldn't have gone anyway. I can't imagine sitting in a stadium watching a series of programs whose total content consists of slowly killing a large majestic animal. I know the pageantry is impressive but the sick feeling in my stomach would preclude me from appreciating it. It is a very controversial tradition and there are strong forces in Spain, PETA among them, who are trying to get the bullfights outlawed, or at least modified to spare the bulls. It's a difficult dilemma: hundreds of years of tradition versus a more humane and animal-friendly environment.

We were exhausted when we got back to the hotel. The heat and miles of walking had taken its toll. After a nap, we found a small restaurant that served great paella, poked around the old city for a while and then turned in to get ready for our trip to Madrid the next morning.

Hola, Barcelona!

2007-07-11T06:37:00.000-04:00

Fresh off our nightmare in France, we boarded the train for Barcelona, determined to shake off the bad karma and enter Spain with an upbeat attitude. We discovered that our train tickets put us in separate cars on opposite sides of the train...a little disappointing but not completely a bad thing. After all, we had been together 24/7 for nine days and a little distance would be good for both of us. Total togetherness for that length of time can fray the edges on even the closest relationships. I thought of it as a little bit of a grown-up "time-out"...and it would only be for four hours. I knitted, she read and we both slept and took pictures. Since we both had window seats we were able to get shots of both sides of the trip.

I saw this:

Mediterranean expanse

A sleepy seaside town

She saw this:

Some of the hundreds of windmills built to use the on-shore breezes to generate electricity

The majestic Pyrenees mountains, still snow covered despite the late May heat

We arrived at Estacio Barcelona Sants, one of the two major Barcelona train stations. It was located on the other side of the city from our hotel so we asked for directions to take the subway. I had a good map of the system so we figured we were all set. We did have to change lines at one point and that turned out to be a little more difficult than we anticipated. We were carrying quite a bit of luggage. I had a weekender, a carry-on bag and a small shoulder purse. Meredith had a larger Pullman suitcase, a carry-on bag and her laptop computer bag. Our suitcases were on wheels but a quirky feature of the Barcelona subway system is its preponderance of stairs. Besides the usual flights of steps up and down to the subway platforms, there are maddening sections of the connecting corridors where there are four steps up followed by a 50 feet stretch of corridor and then four steps down. 50 feet later, repeat the drill. For someone just walking along...no problem. For the two of us and our world of wheels, it was a major problem. Add to that the fact that it was a narrow corridor jam-packed with busy Barcelona commuters and you can see that we weren't exactly keeping the traffic flow moving. The trip seemed to take forever because we had to constantly stop and maneuver our load up and down steps. Finally we reached our destination stop. One final trip up the steps to the street and we were almost to the hotel. The location was actually ideal, adjacent to the Placa de Sant Jaume in the heart of the oldest section of Barcelona, called the Barri Gotic. It was a pensione called Rey Don Jaime, located in an older building with a ancient elevator. We went to our room and found it to be small, but clean, bright and complete with a small bath and shower...in short, just what we needed. An added bonus was a small balcony overlooking an ancient pedestrian walkway called Calle la Libreteria. This was what we saw when we looked out our window:

This was looking to the left towards the Placa de Sant Jaume. The ground level had some interesting little shops with everything from glassware to tapestries.

Looking right toward Placa del Angels and more street level shops, including some very upscale leather and jewelry stores.

We were very hungry so we decided to go exploring for a good place for lunch. The desk clerk was very helpful and recommended a "local" place called Romesco in a section of the city called El Raval. He gave us a map and circled its location and told us it opened for lunch at 2PM, a standard lunch time for the working class who frequent the place. He also warned us that it is in a part of town that is a bit "rough" so admonished us to keep an eye on our bags. We assured him we would and set off. It was just a little past 1PM so we poked around some shops and took our time, arriving just after the restaurant opened. It was a tiny restaurant, long and narrow with tables set up to maximize the space and pack the customers in. It was already nearly full and Meredith and I were given the last two seats at a small table. This was definitely a "no frills" spot. Our waiter handed us a dog-eared menu. We had passed the small cooking area as we went to our table and the smell of fried food hung heavy in the air. What I remember most about that meal was having the most delicious bowl of gazpacho I have ever had, full of subtle herbs and a thick cold tomato base that was tangy and refreshing. The desk clerk had definitely been right...it was a great lunch.

As we left the restaurant we passed four or five "working girls" doing some fairly aggressive recruiting of passing pedestrians. They were in a small park across the street and lingering outside an adjacent restaurant. As we hurried past them, I couldn't help noticing that they had the look of prostitutes anywhere in the world...smiling when necessary but otherwise looking tired and much older than they probably were. Their short skirts, low cut blouses and high heels seemed designed to draw attention away from the lack of energy in their faces. Some men lingered a few feet away, seemingly disinterested in the women's activities and I figured them to be their "bosses" or perhaps bodyguards of some sort. The whole scene was sordid and sad, despite the women's attempts to act flirtatious and playful.

Meredith and I decided to walk towards the harbor. I had heard that Barcelona's beaches were beautiful and we figured it would be cooler by the water. We walked down a large pedestrian boulevard called La Rambla and ended up at a large monument to Columbus.

Barcelona is supposedly where Columbus came to report his findings of a new world to Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand and some historians are even claiming that he was, in fact, a Catalan and not Italian. (Catalunya is the region of Spain where Barcelona is located.)

Whatever his origins, Columbus ended up penniless and forgotten when he died in 1506 in Valladolid in Central Spain.

We continued along the waterfront, enjoying the sea breeze, passing the marina with as many sailboats as I have EVER seen in one place at a time...

...walked through an interesting little neighborhood called La Barceloneta, an area of narrow streets and apartment buildings built in the mid 1700's which has traditionally housed sailors and fishermen and has a distinct nautical cachet. We found the beach on the other side of that, walked along a boardwalk and eventually walked out onto a jetty to sit and ponder the views.

Monjuic, the site of the 1992 Olympic Stadium and an ancient castle. It is accessible by a cable car, a funicular (a type of inclined railway) or a VERY strenuous hike (at least on a hot, humid day).

The former Olympic village, now the Gran Casino de Barcelona and Hotel Arts. The Giant Fish is a creation of steel lattice designed by Frank Gehry, an American architect.

With room rates STARTING at 680 euros a night (about $950), I am guessing they did quite a bit of renovation after the athletes vacated the premises in 1992!

A view of Tibidabo in the background, the highest hill overlooking Barcelona. Atop the hill is the unlikely combination of a major Cathedral with a giant Christ watching over the city and a large amusement park. So basically, it's a "play and pray" site.

We were really enjoying the sun, the breeze, and the chance to sit and relax for a bit. We watched some older men fishing off the jetty and one of the them scrambling around the rocks collecting what looked like periwinkles.

Our next stop was the Parc de la Ciutadella. It was originally the site of a fortress built by King Felipe V in the early 1700's. The fortress became a much hated symbol of everything Catalans hated about Madrid and was later used as a political prison. It was demolished in 1869 and the area turned into a park. In 1888 it was the site of an International Exhibition, showcasing the cutting edge art and science of the day. Its most impressive feature is the Cascada, a monumental fountain/sculpture designed with the assistance of a young architect named Antoni Gaudi, a man who would go on to make quite a name for himself in Barcelona. More on him later...

The gardens were immaculately groomed and in full blossom.

A modern sculpture in the park

The park also houses some museums. The Museu de Zoologica is in a building that was built for the 1888 Universal Exhibition to showcase the pioneering idea of putting a brick castle facade on a steel frame. During the exhibition it was a restaurant.

Its elaborate battlements, tower and even a fictional coat of arms over the door all came from the playful imagination of an architect who dubbed the creation the Castell dels Tres Dragons.

As we left the park, we passed through the "Arc de Triomf" built in 1888 for the Universal Exhibition. At that point in history, Barcelona was feeling its oats and felt as if it was poised to become a major cultural and trade center on a par with New York, Paris and London. Unfortunately, the Spanish American war ten years later pulled the plug on those dreams with the loss of Cuba, Puerto Rico and the Phillipines to the US.

From there we headed back to the Barri Gotic and the Cathedral which occupies its center. Just as in Italy, the Cathedral was the symbolic core of the city, the central meeting place for all major city events, symbolizing the secular power of the church as well as its spiritual power. The Cathedral is undergoing some sorely needed major renovations so access was very restricted. Even wrapped in its scaffolding cocoon we could see that it was a gorgeous example of a gothic cathedral.

Actually, this front facade was added to the church in 1870, although it was based on a 1408 design. The rest of the building was built between 1298 and 1460 and has a very different appearance:

While the front of the Cathedral is similar to the styles of Italy, France and England, the plain, undecorated octagonal flat-roofed style is more typical of the Catalan architecture.

The full force of the heat and humidity was beginning to get to us, as well as the fact that we had been up early to catch the train and had already walked almost 10 miles according to my trusty pedometer, so we decided to go back to the hotel which was very near the Cathedral and grab a nap before dinner.

A couple of hours later, refreshed and showered, we went in search of Tapas, the spanish bar snacks. We found a small place with a very friendly waiter (who actually turned out to be from Milan much to Meredith's delight) and ordered five different dishes and some Sangria. They were delicious! We explored a little more of the area called the Rambla and decided to turn in early to get a good jump on more sightseeing in the morning. We were discovering that Barcelona had a LOT of interesting areas and we weren't going to be able to do them all justice in just a two day visit.

Next post: The Rambla, The Boqueria Market, and Gaudi's defining work: The Sagreda Familia Cathedral.

Westward Ho! (Warning! Francophiles may want to skip this post)

2007-07-06T09:14:00.000-04:00

After short train trip we were back in Milan for a night. We had splurged for a "luxury hotel" figuring we could use a little pampering after our whirlwind week in god-knows-what kind of accommodations. We arrived at the Doria Grand Hotel and checked in, expecting something along the lines of what we had at the Windsor Hotel, a large suite with an obscenely large and comfortable bathroom. We opened our room door and...meh! It was a dinky, dark and, in short, no great shakes. The lobby and hallways were very elegant. Big deal. I'm not sleeping in the lobby or the hallway. I was glad we got a super-duper internet deal and were paying only 100 euros instead of the usual *gasp* 230 euros. And the "free" wifi internet turned out to cost 5 euros for four hours of use and we couldn't get it to work after we paid for it. Instead of refunding us our money they allowed us to plug Meredith's laptop into their direct connection in a converted closet off the lobby. We quickly read our emails and then headed out, less than impressed with the experience. I will say that one of the desk clerks was extremely helpful, spending quite a bit of time trying to get her computer working with the wifi. The fact that Meredith is young, blonde and cute probably had something to do with it. She was also more than a little pissed off and cranky about the situation and when she gets that way, people tend to respond. :-)

She was glad to be back in Milan to catch up with some of her friends so we all went out to an Apertivo (remember that from my first post?...basically a happy hour where you buy a drink and that entitles you to a great buffet.) We went to a Sushi apertivo with her friends Kyle and Kate. It turned out to be just the remedy to shoo the crankies away. We laughed and got very silly, and generally just had a terrific time. The evening went all too quickly and we knew we had to get up early to make the train to Nice so it was an early night.

The next morning we boarded the train and found ourselves in a compartment with four your men who were headed to the Grand Prix in Monaco and obviously VERY pumped about the experience. They had their Fiat jerseys on (which I mistakely took for soccer jerseys, much to Meredith's amusement)and chattered away in Italian like little kids, giggling at their own jokes and teasing each other. They were very entertaining, if a little annoying at times.

Shortly into the trip, the Mediterranean came into view so I decided to take some pictures of the scenery. That proved to be a challege, since every time I snapped a picture, it seemed to be just as we entered a tunnel. I will spare you all the shots of darkness that resulted. Here are some of the keepers.

We stopped at a few small riviera towns along the coast:

Porto Maurizio (just a bit east of San Remo along the Cote d'azur)

When we arrived in Monaco, the boys excitedly exited the train and we had the compartment to ourselves for a few more minutes until we arrived in Nice. We had to change trains there and had about an hour so we went in search of some lunch. It was cumbersome walking with our luggage...we each had a weekender on wheels, an overnight bag and a tote bad...so we looked for something close to the train station. We found a deli/sandwich shop and settled on that, despite the sorry looking fare and the exorbitant prices. I would love to have explored the area a little more but we were concerned about catching the train to Montpellier...it was the last one of the day...so we headed back to the train station. Unfortunately, my predominant impression of Nice is not a very pleasant one...a HUGE pile of dog poop right in the middle of the sidewalk. Not only did I nearly step in it, I almost rolled my suitcase over it...YUCK! It had obviously been there a while and it was right outside a restaurant so I am amazed that someone didn't clean it up. I've heard that the French love their dogs but that was just gross!

The rest of the trip was uneventful. We arrived in Montpellier in the late afternoon and began the search for our hotel. No one seemed to have heard of it, nor could they tell us where the street was when we gave them the address. We asked a police officer who directed us to the ticket office for the streetcar. The clerks in the ticket office couldn't agree whether we could purchase a ticket on board or if we had to buy one from them and couldn't agree on which streetcar to take. Welcome to France! We decided to head out with the puny little map that had been on the hotel's website. None of the streets on the map matched the streets we were seeing so we were essentially flying blind. We headed for an area called the Place de la Comedie, roughly translated to the Comedy Place. We weren't laughing. It was a large open area in the middle of the city apparently named after this theater at one end of the plaza:

AHA! There it was... Hotel Ibis.

We dragged our luggage and schlep-weary bodies over to the entrance and approached the front desk. I gave my name and said that I had a reservation. The desk clerk told me there was no reservation in my name and asked me if I was sure that I had reserved a room with THIS Hotel Ibis. I am thinking to myself, "Of course, I did... where the hell else would I have booked a room?" Then he said, "Perhaps you booked with the OTHER Hotel Ibis in town." WTF, they have TWO freakin' Hotel Ibis's in the same town? It turns out that not only do they have two Hotel Ibis's but they are literally yards away from each other. How stupid is that? I am SO not impressed with this place by now. He gave us directions to the other one and we set off. We found it but couldn't figure out where the entrance was because the architecture is all designed by someone with a Lego fixation. There were steps and box-like structures everywhere...but no doors. We finally figured it out and yes, it was our hotel. It was obviously the impoverished stepsister of the first Hotel Ibis, not nearly as spacious, no pool or balconies and teeny, tiny rooms. Oh, well, we weren't going to be there for very long. We dropped off our luggage and headed off in search of some dinner. We were famished since our crappy Nice sandwiches hadn't done much to satisfy our hunger earlier.

We figured the most likely area to explore would be back at the Place de la Comedie. There were some restaurants along the perimeter and we figured if we got lost we could still find our way back to the hotel. We settled on a little pub right on the plaza. There were outdoor tables but we sat just inside the door as the skies looked as if they would open up any minute. In due time the waiter came over and handed us a menu. He practically had the word ATTITUDE tattooed across his forehead. Neither of us speaks French so we attempted to ask a question about the menu in English. Monseiur Hoity-Toity sighed heavily, rolled his eyes at us and brusquely gave us an answer. In that instant, I knew it was not going to be a good dinner. We looked at each other and decided to go cheap and quick. No bottle of wine, no fancy appetizer. Just sustenance to get us the hell out of there as fast as possible. We were too hungry to keep looking around but we weren't going to spend a minute more in that place than we absolutely had to. As I expected, the service absolutely SUCKED. Our dinners sat up on the counter for a good ten minutes before His Nibs saw fit to deliver them to us, cold and tasteless. He was obviously very put out that we weren't going to drink lots of wine to make it worth his while to wait on us. He rolled his eyes at us so much that I was beginning to wonder if he had some visual affliction. Finally, he just decided to completely ignore us, forcing me to go up to the bar to pay our tab. We made a quick exit and decided to sit at a covered outdoor creperie for some coffee and crepes. (After all, we WERE in France so we had to have some crepes!) A similar scene ensued with this waiter. He was so apathetic that I thought maybe the first waiter had slipped us an invisibility potion, rendering us undetectable to this waiter. Finally, he sighed heavily and resigned himself to waiting on us. We placed two orders of crepes, one chocolate filled, one nutella filled. After he left, a creepy looking guy at the next table asked Meredith for a light for his cigarette. He looked incredulous when she said she didn't have one, as if she had just told him that she didn't have a brain. Our crepes arrived eventually, cold and tasteless. We immediately requested our bill, knowing that otherwise we would have to resort to tackling the waiter to get his attention again, insisted he wait while we paid him and then went back to the hotel. The whole experience from the moment we got off the train until we left the next morning had a very sour feeling about it. We found the people to be arrogant, unfriendly and rude. At one point, while negotiating our suitcases from the train station, I tripped and nearly fell. Not one person offered any assistance. We were obviously disoriented and lost and the only response from pedestrians was irritation that we weren't moving fast enough for them. They dodged us and hurried ahead, looking right through us. If a city can have a vibe, Montpellier's was a very negative one. We were relieved to be on the train for Barcelona early the next morning and on our way to Spain.

So the tally was as follows:

Nice - crappy food, untended massive doggie download on the main sidewalk...C-
Montpellier -- confusing layout, lousy attitudes all around... D+

Good riddance, France...You needn't worry about having to put up with us anytime soon, I promise. So sorry we imposed upon you. It won't happen again!!

I Love Florence in the evening...and the morning...and every other time as well!

2007-07-02T11:05:00.001-04:00

Our adventures in Pisa behind us, it was time to enjoy our final evening in Florence. We hadn't explored the Ponte Vecchio area or the sights on the other side of the Arno River so that is where we headed. It was a great excuse to revisit the Uffizi area and the gorgeous outdoor statuary.

We were greeted by Neptune's Fountain in the Piazza della Signoria. As beautiful as this fountain is, it was the subject of derision almost immediately after its unveiling in 1565. It was dubbed "Il Biancone" (the white giant). Florentine housewives used the fountain as a laundry washbasin. It has been vandalized numerous times, including damage done in August 2005, an act that was recorded by security cameras.

There are a number of other statues in the area including the "replacement" David which was placed there when the original was moved in to the Accademia.

and "Judith and Holofernes" which depicts the biblical story of Judith slaying the tyrant Holofernes while he was drunk and saving her city.

Murder and Rape seem to be very popular subjects for Renaissance painting and sculpture...much like today's movie, tv and tabloid fare. I guess Sex and Violence has ALWAYS been a big seller.

We then walked over to the Loggia dei Lanzi,

built in the late 1300's as a stage for public ceremonies. It was used briefly to house the Duke's mercenary troops from Germany and then later as an observation deck for nobility to watch performances in the piazza. It eventually became a showcase for some of the most important sculptures of the Renaissance.

Perseus slays the Medusa

Menelaus holding up the body of Petroclus

The Rape of Polyxena, showing Achilles about to stike down her mother, Hecuba, before abducting her. What a bastard!

More Rape... this time it's the Rape of the Sabine Women. Actually in this case, a more accurate title would be "The Abduction of the Sabine Women Who Were Then Given The Option To Wed Their Abductors Or Not." I guess that title wouldn't fit on the pedestal. Legend has it that the early Romans were lacking eligible women so they invited the Sabines to a big party and then kidnapped the women, hoping they would marry them. (Talk about socially awkward!) The women agreed, probably because Romulus, the Roman leader, promised them property in their name and the right to vote. Eventually, the indignant Sabine men attacked the Romans and the women negotiated a truce, since, by now, they had children by their Roman husbands. So the statue, in a strange way, celebrates the power of women when all is said and done.

Walking through the courtyard between the Palazzo Vecchio and the Uffizi Gallery, we came upon this street performer.

We saw this all over Italy and Spain. The idea is that you will be so captivated by their statue-like appearance that you will snap a picture and then they will yell at you to put some euros in the box at their feet. I tried to grab a picture without him noticing me...

BUSTED! He caught me out of the corner of his eye and began the tirade. Meredith and I took off quickly. I figured he couldn't come running after me in that get-up! We got to the end of the corridor and took pictures of the statues of some of the artists and statesmen of Florence's history.

Leonardo Da Vinci

Michelangelo

Macchiavelli

...and our country's namesake, Amerigo Vespucci. He looks like he is saying, "I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of...ME!"

We then walked through this beautiful archway out onto the esplanade that runs along the beautiful Arno River.

It was a GORGEOUS summer evening in such an amazing setting. Definitely time for a photo opportunity!!

Views across the River

To our right was the famous Ponte Vecchio so, of course, we had to cross it.

The bridge houses an amazing collection of jewelry shops whose owners live above.

The first bridge was wooden, built by the Romans in 972. It was destroyed by a flood in 1117 and rebuilt in stone. It was again destroyed, this time by fire in 1332 and collapsed in 1333. The current structure was built in 1335 using a series of arches. It is the only bridge in Florence to escape destruction by the Nazis as they retreated in 1944, allegedly at express orders from Hitler. In addition to the shops, there is a corridor that runs along one side of the bridge connecting the Uffizi to the Palazzo Pitti, built in 1565 by Cosimo I De'Medici so he could walk to work. Originally the shops were all butcher shops, a tad pungent in the warm weather, so, when a flood destroyed the shops in the 1500's, the Medici family deeded the rebuilt shops to specific families, expressly requiring them to be jewelry shops and NOT butcher shops. That's one way to ensure your royal nostrils are not offended. Those original deeds are still in effect so all of the current shops are owned and run by descendents of the original 16th century tenants.

After crossing the bridge, it was time to look for a place to have dinner. There were some intriguing sidestreets to explore:

Along one of them we found a great outdoor restaurant and sat down to a meal. I had a delicious salad of fresh tomatoes and fresh basil drizzled in olive oil. Meredith had a tossed salad and for our main dish we shared a large plate of fried calamari which was delicious. A very distinguished, well-dressed older man was seated by himself at the next table drinking a bottle of water. He began talking to us in Italian and Meredith responded. It turned out he was, in fact, Argentinian, and switched to Spanish which Meredith was able to understand, as well. He was quite a character, obviously very taken with her and impressed with her language skills and her experience in Milan. He was visiting a friend in Florence who visits him regularly. His passion was the Tango and he was quite excited to hear that Meredith has a dance background. It was fascinating to watch the two of them conversing, although I was only able to glean small amounts of the conversation, having no Italian language skills and VERY rusty Spanish from my high school and college days.
He was very concerned about my Pisa sunburn and advised me to be sure to put "crema" on it. I assured him that I would. He was such a pleasant person, very well-travelled and refined. He struck me as an example of consummate Old World refinement.

After dinner we set off to find a very special place to have dessert. When I bought my Florence travel guide on-line from Half.com, the person who sold it to me inserted a note specifically recommending a place called Hemingways. The book describes it as a "chocolate-lover's haven." That was all we needed to hear. Armed with the address and our handy-dandy Streetwise map of Florence, we eventually found it... and it was SO worth it! We drooled over the glass enclosed case filled with the most incredible chocolate confections, finally settling on a flourless chocolate cake and a small round chocolate tart smothered in whipped cream. We sat and savored our desserts, licking the spoons most unceremoniously at the end, paid the bill (about 12 euros or $16 and worth EVERY penny) and then dreamily started back to the hotel. It was after 9PM and just beginning to get dark as we walked along the river before crossing one of the other bridges spanning the Arno. Bats were swooping around us...not my favorite sensation...but it felt so wonderful to be strolling in this magical place. I took one last picture of the river before leaving the Arno.

Goodnight, Florence!

The next morning we had a couple of hours before our train back to Milan so Meredith decided that our trip would not be complete without a little physical exertion. We grabbed some breakfast and then set off for the belltower of the Duomo. We had actually hoped to climb the dome, something she had not done on her first trip, but it didn't open until later. We paid a few euros each to the bored looking attendant at the base and started up the 414 steps. It was early, about 8:30 but the day was warm already, and the climb was steep. I felt very proud of myself for reaching the top without having to require the services of the Florence emergency medical community. I had seen how they handle those in distress two nights earlier and I was determined not to have to be carried down in a stretcher and risk being dropped!

What we saw on top was gorgeous!

Looking towards the Arno and the Palazzo Vecchio

That's the train station in the center, from which we would be departing for Milan in about an hour.

The Cathedral and Dome from above (note the graffitti on the ledge... it was everywhere!)

Morning shot of the dome

Yeah, we made it!...tired, sunburnt but victorious!!

On our way back down we passed the original bell on display... also marred by graffiti.

A shot down the center to the landing below.

The tower from the Palazzo Vecchio. No, it's not leaning... I was.

My final Florence picture as we walked back to the hotel to collect our bags. There was something so majestic about this Roman Soldier, looking battle weary but so proud.

I LOVED Florence and hope to return to explore more of it someday. But now, it's on to Milan for one night and then the Spain adventure begins!

Poking around Pisa, home of the world's most famous screw-up!

2007-06-27T20:39:00.000-04:00

We were up early and on the train to Pisa by 8AM. The Tuscan countryside outside the train window was classic, rolling hills covered with vineyards and small farmhouses.

At one point the train crossed the beautiful Arno river.

Meredith was resting up for another day of lots of walking.

We arrived in Pisa a little after 9 and stopped at a little cafe near the station for some pastry and coffee (by now our standard morning fare). We started walking towards the Cathedral and tower and were surprised at how far it was from the station and how large a city Pisa was. It was another brutally hot day. The locals had been saying that this was a significant heat wave for Italy with temperatures in the mid to high 80's every day...actually since they use the celsius scale they kept referring to the high 30's which really threw me off! Regardless of how the temperature was measured, it was HOT!

After about a 15 minute walk we reached the Campo dei Miracoli ("Field of Miracles"). It was just like something out of a postcard.

Yup, it's a leaner alright!

We did our prerequisite "holding up the tower" photo shoot...

...and then set off to explore the buildings in the area. The tower often upstages the Cathedral and the Baptistry but they are very beautiful in their own right.

The side of the cathedral

The Baptistry

It really is a pretty surreal site to see that huge tower leaning so precariously. It has recently been shored up to allow people to go up in the tower but is still in danger of toppling over since the angle of leaning increases slightly every year. People were paying to go up to the top...just hope nobody with any vertigo issues was headed up there...it could get a little ugly as they rolled over the edge and plunged to the ground below.

The front of the Cathedral. The crowds were huge...so many Japanese tour groups, in particular. They were all lined up to pay six euros to get into the Cathedral. I was more than a little turned off by the blatant commercialism of the whole place. There was a price to do EVERYTHING there, including using the bathroom!!

A closer look at the Baptistry shows how much intricate detail went into its construction. It is the largest Baptistry in Italy.

The Cathedral doors were particularly ornate, depicting scenes from the life of Christ in bronze.

It was impressive looking up the front of the Cathedral and admiring the workmanship that went into creating the impressive facade.

The Dome at the head of the Camposanto (cemetery) adjacent to the Cathedral. It is said to have been built around a shipload of sacred soil from Golgotha, brought back to Pisa from the Fourth Crusade in the 12th century.

The Apse area at the back of the Cathedral

Funny thing...from the back it leans in the other direction!

Cute little gargoyles on the tower... they look like Gollum from Lord of the Rings

The details on the tower were exquisite.

The entrance to the tower. If you pre-arranged a ticket you could go in and climb the narrow,winding, (and sloping!) stairway to the top. The day we were there there were large groups of Japanese tourists waiting to climb. They were absolutely fascinated by the tower!

Another small, exquisite detail. It really is a shame that so much of the beauty and the obvious enormous effort to create the buildings on the "Field of Miracles" is upstaged by the fact that they didn't bother to provide a secure foundation for the tower. In the end, the lasting impression left by the work of so many skilled artisans who spent their lives creating a masterpiece is that of the one guy who botched his job in the first place.

After visiting the many souvenir booths, as well as some beautiful permanent shops along the edge of the area, we decided it was time to head back into town for some lunch and the train ride back to Florence. We decided to take a different route back and see some of the city. We passed some very quaint piazzas and buildings, typical of the type of architecture we had seen throughout that area of Italy.

Now here's where things started to go horribly wrong. We were walking for quite a while and not seeming to be getting any closer to the center of the city. On our way out we had gone over a bridge that spanned a river and as much as we walked, we weren't coming close to any bridge, nor were we seeing a river. It was early afternoon, I had sweated off all of the sunblock I had applied earlier and the sun was frying me like an egg on a hot griddle. The small amount of water left in my water bottle was the temperature of bathwater. I was hot, thirsty, hungry, cranky and in need of a bathroom... in short, not a lot of fun to be with. Poor Meredith was trying to figure out the fastest way to get us relief. She stopped at a little store to ask directions and the owner told her (in Italian) that we were so far away from where we need to go that we should take a bus. She wisely opted not to convey that translation to me. Instead, she simply said, "Let's go this way." and we forged on. Eventually we started to see signs for "Stazione" meaning that the train station was at least in that general direction. We walked on and on and eventually began to see some indications that we were reaching the city center, lifting our spirits somewhat. We decided to look for a place to get a simple salad for our lunch, nothing heavy or complicated. We began stopping into restaurants and delis in our search. It was now after 2:30 and the lunch crowd had been and gone. That meant no salads for us. I was not pleased. Meredith was wishing she was someplace else, far, far away from the crabby old bitch who was inhabiting her mother's body.

The Italian interpretation of customer service is very odd. Since the lunch hour had passed, the waiters and deli clerks basically felt as if they were "off duty" and, as we walked through the door, we were completely ignored. As it happened in place after place, I began to wonder if in fact we had entered some paisano twilight zone and become totally invisible. We trudged on towards the train station, remembering that there was a food court in the station. We finally found the station and the food court and, blessedly, a public rest room. That detail was taken care of so now we were left with our search for a salad and something cold to drink.

The food court held two major restaurants, a pizza place with no option for salads and (shudder) a McDonald's with its generic "chef's salad," extremely overpriced at six euros (about EIGHT dollars!) We reluctantly got in line at the McDonald's counter behind three vacant-headed Italian teenage girls who were being waited on by another teenage girl who seemed to have two speeds: slow and stop. We glanced over her shoulder to see that there were only two salads left in the cooler and, as hungry as we were, they actually looked appealing. The minutes ticked by. The counter zombie floated in a trance filling the girls' items one...item...at...a...time, coming back to double check the orders at least twice between each trip. And then the unthinkable happened. Ten minutes into the wait, another clerk dashed over to the cooler and grabbed those last two salads, leaving a gaping void in their place. That was it... AGAIN, no salads for us. Meredith and I looked at each other and then simultaneously looked over to the pizza place. Without a word we headed over there and each bought a slice and a bottle of water. It would have to do. In a strange way I was actually relieved not to have to do business with Mickey D's. Besides the blatant price-gouging that was taking place, it just seemed wrong to be in Italy, the land of such culinary masterpieces as risotto, prosciutto, gnocchi, and gelato and resorting to eating at a McDonald's, something I won't even do when I am home in the U.S. anymore. Maybe that brain-dead counter girl did me a favor after all!

We ate our pizza, admittedly marginal at best, and then waited for the train back to Florence, our adventure in Pisa finally over with only a wicked bad sunburn and a pounding headache as residual damage. Even my frayed temper had repaired itself, although Meredith was giving me wide berth as we walked back from the train station, just in case I had another melt-down. We got back to Florence around four in the afternoon, and headed back to the guesthouse for a nap before dinner. We both slept like babies for two hours, feeling much better when we woke up.

Next post: Our last evening in Florence and a pre-departure climb to the top of the bell tower in the morning.

If it's Thursday, this must be Florence...

2007-06-26T10:24:00.002-04:00

On May 24th we caught an early train from Rome to Florence. Have I mentioned how much I enjoy the Italian train system? We rode in a four seat area with a delightful couple and their very active little boy (about two years old, I would guess). They were most apologetic for his energy, as much as we indicated how much we enjoyed watching him. The trip was about 90 minutes and went by quickly. Meredith slept most of the way while I knitted.

When we arrived in Florence we went to the hotel, another guesthouse as it turned out. It was further than we estimated and VERY hot so we were pretty wilted when we arrived. The manager of the guesthouse, a nice young man named Marco, met us and told us that the previous night's guests in our room had let the shower overflow and left the room uninhabitable until a plumber could be brought in to fix the situation. He made a point of telling us that the guests had been French...and with no small amount of disdain in his voice. I had a momentary panic attack as I envisioned us going door-to-door with all of our luggage appealing for a roof over our heads. My daydream of this doomsday scenario was thankfully interrupted when Marco explained that he had made arrangements with another guesthouse in the same building to take us for the same two days at the same price. I wanted to kiss him! (He was also very cute!) He took us upstairs and introduced us to another young man named Lorenzo who was the manager of a suite of rooms two stories above the one we had booked. Lorenzo was very nice and explained that he just needed to clean the room and that it would be ready for us in about an hour. We dropped off our luggage and left to find something to eat. Phew! Crisis averted!!!

After we ate we headed off to the Accademia di Belle Arti, the art gallery which houses Michelangelo's David, as well as a number of other Renaissance era sculptures, paintings and drawings. Once again, we were glad to have pre-booked our admission tickets, since there was a long line outside the small museum and we were able to bypass that wait and walk in at the time we had selected. We were even allowed to go in a little early, which was nice since the inside of the museum was much cooler than the hot street.

As soon as we went inside, got our tickets and headed down the hall I saw him. He was MAGNIFICENT!

...all 17 feet of him! He occupies a rounded atrium in the center of the building and commands an amazing presence. Technically, there are no photographs allowed and there are guards watching for violators but Meredith was able to squeeze off a couple of shots before she got the "evil eye" by a particularly menacing looking woman who shouted "NO PHOTOGRAPHS." As with the Sistine Chapel, I fully understand the logic of banning flash photography but the ban on non-flash photos is purely an attempt to bring more euros into the giftshop coffers. I bought my grossly overpriced souvenirs, as well as two admission tickets so I feel no guilt about the private photos.

The detail on David is amazing. He was originally commissioned to be placed on one of the buttresses of the Florence Cathedral, as part of a twelve statue Old Testament series, similar to the statues on the Milan Duomo. The original artist, a student of Donatello, began the work in 1464 and abandoned it for reasons unknown. The block of marble remained in the cathedral work yard for 25 years until Michelangelo convinced the authorities that he wanted to take on the project in 1501. He was only 26 years old and untested as an artist. He worked on the project for three years. Upon its completion, it was placed in an outdoor gallery called the Loggia Dei Lanzi. It was deemed too valuable and too beautiful to be relegated to a spire above the cathedral (and only two other statues had been completed in the set). It remained on the plaza, exposed to the elements until 1873 when it was moved indoors to the Accademia and a replica put in its place.

At its unveiling, the statue was wildly popular with the Florence people because of its theme of the little guy defeating the more powerful enemy. It came to symbolise the Florentine Republic, an independent city state threatened on all sides by more powerful rival states. This interpretation was also encouraged by the original setting of the sculpture outside the Palazzo della Signoria, the seat of civic government in Florence.

Having sprained my ankle severely in February, I was particularly impressed with how lifelike David's ankles were.

Throughout the sculpture every muscle, tendon, vein and bone is perfect. I now understand why marble was the medium of choice for statues. Its texture fools the eye into thinking you are looking at human skin, complete with the shadow of blood vessels that appear to flow just below its surface.

And then there is that wonderful tush!...

When we were kids, my brother, sisters and I used to point out people who had "pinchable fannies" (ok, we were a little twisted, but that's another post...) David would soar right to the top of that list.

He has been criticized for being a little "lacking" in the private parts. Hey, give the guy a break...he is about to do battle with a giant! It is understandable if he is a little "shriveled" in the face of mortal danger. The locals seem to be particularly sensitive to this issue, as if he is an affront to the manhood of every red-blooded italian. Get over it, people! He's still gorgeous!

The Accademia houses a number of other important artworks in addition to the David, although the big boy tends to overshadow everything else. There are some unfinished Michelangelo sculptures and a Pieta which has been attributed to him but may in fact be the work of one of his students. There are also some Renaissance paintings by other Italian artists, including Botticelli, the original plaster for the sculpture "Rape of the Sabine Women" by Giambologna and a collection of Russian icons from collections by Italian Grand Dukes. It is a small museum, easily covered in less than an hour but with a very large gift shop containing some beautiful items. Meredith and I lingered there for quite a while and stocked up on some gifts and souvenirs for ourselves.

We left and walked towards the center of the city where the Cathedral (Duomo) is located, a common setup for most of the old Italian cities. Florence's Cathedral is the third largest Cathedral in the world.

What isn't common about Florence is the design of the cathedral. The outside is covered with pink, green and white marble, making it very distinct.

The front of the Duomo

It also has a very high belltower (more about that in a later post...yes, I DID climb all 414 steps to the top!) and an unusual dome designed by Bruneschelli and an engineering marvel of its time. It was the largest dome in the world at its completion and remained so until Michelangelo designed St. Peter's Dome in Rome.

Our next stop was the Uffizi Gallery. This much larger gallery is housed in the Palazzo degli Uffizi, built in 1560 as offices for the Florentine Magistrates. (The word Ufizzi means office) The adjacent Palazzo Vecchio, historically the Palace of the Medicis, has been incorporated into the museum, making the Uffizi one of the largest and most important art museums in the world.

The Tower of the Palazzo Vecchio, recently made famous by the movie "Hannibal" when Hannibal Lecter recreates a medieval murder in the tower. A large portion of the movie was filmed in Florence. If it hadn't given me such nightmares the first time I saw it, I might consider renting it to watch it again and see the Florence scenes.

The Uffizi Gallery was very crowded the day we were there, filled with large tour groups filing in and out of the small rooms and making it difficult to see much of the exhibits. We quickly began to suffer from a condition called "artis classicus overloadus." Its chief symptoms were eyes glazing over, an urge to throttle the next person who stepped between us and the artwork we were admiring, and responses like, "Oh, that's just some vase by some italian guy." I did manage a few moments of silent admiration of Botticelli's "The Birth of Venus"

and "Primavera"

as well as some beautiful paintings by El Greco, Leonardo Da Vinci, Michelangelo and Raphael. Photos were out of the question because of the very low light to preserve the paintings and the massive numbers of people who kept getting in the way. They also had plainclothes security people mingling in the crowd spotting cameras and giving stern warnings.

By about three in the afternoon we had hit the wall. We were ready to go back to the guesthouse and take a nap. The heat was becoming oppressive and we knew the ceiling fan and the cool breeze through the fourth story window would feel REALLY good.

The inside stairwell of our guesthouse building

Meredith unlocking the door to the suite where our room was located.

Our room... simple but very comfortable with a cute little bathroom.

The view across the room from the doorway.

The building across the street

The street below to the right from our window. The dome that is visible over the rooftops is part of the Cappelle Medici, a museum devoted to the Medici reign in Florence.

This row of scooters parked outside our building will be an important element in a drama (or comedy, depending on your point of view)that unfolds later that first night.

After our refreshing nap, we were hungry so we went for a walk to find a relaxing place for dinner. We found a cafe with tables on a pretty plaza and an interesting menu. It was still very warm but it was turning into a delightful evening. As we waited for our dinner, a older German couple was seated right next to us. The man lit a cigarette and proceeded to blow smoke in our direction. It was unbearable. Since it was an outdoor restaurant he was not prohibited from smoking. The waitress clearly saw that we were uncomfortable but did nothing. This couple was ordering quite a bit of alcohol and more expensive meals than we were so she obviously chose to accommodate them rather than us. Moving our table was not an option since there were no empty ones available at that point. We ate our dinner quickly and left, more than a little annoyed at man's rudeness. Since tipping is not a common practice or an expectation in Italian restaurants we had no way of expressing our displeasure other than confrontation, something I chose not to do. Unfortunately, it would not be the last time that we experienced a meal spoiled by inconsiderate smokers.

We were getting up early to take the train to Pisa the next morning so we went to bed early. Around 11:30 we heard a very loud crash outside our window, followed by a lot of shouting. We opened the shutters to investigate and saw that a Florence Police Car had run over the row of scooters parked below our window and then crashed into the side of the building. It was a crazy scene. The policeman who had been driving was holding his head, running around the car and yelling. A second policeman, the front seat passenger, had the rear doors open and was reaching inside. A young woman was lying on the sidewalk, probably a pedestrian who had been hit by one of the struck scooters and a large crowd was gathering. Soon we saw the second policeman pull a handcuffed prisoner out of the back seat. He was handcuffed in the front, instead of behind his back as most prisoners are, and, apparently, he had been able to use something to slash the driver, causing him to lose control of the car. He also had a very sizable gash in his head which was bleeding profusely. He was very combative so the policeman forced him down on the ground and left him there. The driver then got back in the car and moved it away from the building, running over some of the scooters a second time. About this time we heard sirens and three more police cars and an ambulance arrived. The situation seemed to be pure chaos. They all began searching in, under and around the police car for something, perhaps the weapon the prisoner had used. The ambulance attendants began working on the girl who had a large gash in her leg. The decided to put her on a backboard to transport her into the ambulance and nearly dropped her in the process. The crowd was getting larger and more vocal and we noticed quite a few other people leaning out of windows as we were. The police started yelling at everyone to just go home but most of the crowd just moved a few feet down the street and then inched their way back up to the area of main activity. The whole thing looked like a Keystone Kops movie... so much running around, yelling and wild energy. Finally, after about 45 minutes, they took the girl away in the first ambulance, a second ambulance arrived for the prisoner who, by now, had left quite a pool of blood on the sidewalk and everyone left. What remained was quite a mess... scooters and parts of scooters scattered all over the sidewalk and a pool of blood. No one seemed to be left to clean up the mess. However, when we came downstairs the next morning at around 7, there was no sign of any of the previous night's events... no scooters, no blood, a pristine scene. We never did find out what happened but it was quite a lot of excitement on a quiet Florence sidestreet.

Next post: Pisa and an evening by the Arno River in Florence.