Hummingbird Mind

Italy Trip: Day 3

On Sunday we lolled about the apartment drinking tea and making our plans for the day. We walked to the historical center of Lucca (about a five minute walk if you don't stop and look into all the shops along the way as we did). We took no particular path... just meandered, soaking up the atmosphere.

It was Sunday, so the Lucchesi were walking and talking. There was a wedding at the Cathedral of San Michele.

 

The angel at the top of the Cathedral has retractable wings in case of storms.  I plan to go back and light a candle for my brother-in-law who is seriously ill.

We didn't plan where to eat for lunch, so at about 1:00 when we were ravenous we stopped at Ristoranti de Teatro near Teatro del Gigli (where Hollywood Movie is showing -- I took a picture of this cultural center with the Hollywood movie framed under glass like notice of an Opera would be).

We had the best bruschetta I think I've ever had. I orderedTaglierini with tomotoes and basil, while Debora had lasagna (the best damn lasagna ever... veal, egg pasta, ricotta and I would swear that there were both nutmeg and cinnamon in the ricotta). These are dishes we would have at home, but wanted to check the difference. There was, of course, no comparison.

Naturally our day ended with late afternoon naps and then dinner. Here's what we had:

Italy Trip: Day 2

Not in Italy yet, but working our way there. 

Friday (New York Time):

Since our plane didn't leave from JFK until 8:50 p.m., Debora and I slept in a bit, had a light breakfast in the hotel dining room and then strolled the Upper East Side. I love New York. My family is originally from Brooklyn so it's always a treat to spend time in the city. 

We worked up an appetite and by lunch were ready for the "build your own salads" at Midnight Express Diner. They were friendly, the salad and coffee was delicious, and so was the conversation. 

We made it back to the hotel, packed up and waited for our car to JFK.  The ride to the airport, the wait for take off, and the flight itself were uneventful. It was a direct flight (the only way to go), so  Debora managed to sleep and my multiple cat naps kept me from total exhaustion.

Saturday (Lucca Time):

We have landed.

We found our driver easily and it was a quick trip. The stairs to the apartment were daunting (10 sets of 8), but Debora insisted on carrying my bag up since Lucca Debora (our rental agent) carried hers. I was very grateful for the assist by the time I made it to the top. I hope to be on my way to buns of steel by the time this trip is over between the daily walking and the stairmaster that is our climb to the apartment -- "Piccioni" -- named for our feathered friends who sit on the roofs outside our windows cooing.

Here's a quick tour.  First, the living room with skylight.

 

Here are our bedrooms.  First, the cozy hobbit hole that is mine.  I'm only 5' tall so don't hit my head on the olive tree that is the main beam as often as most people would:

 

That's kind of blurry, isn't it.  I'll replace it with another later. I love my view from the window, which looks over Borno Gianotti. Here's Deborah's room:

 

Hmmm.  Another blurry picture. Sorry.  But here are better pictures of the bathroom and kitchen. We spend most of our waking time in the kitchen as we eat there and keep up on political news via the Web. By the way, now that I look at these pictures, I think I need to take new ones.  Blame the quality on my jet lag.

 
Since the shops close in the afternoon here between 1:00 and 3:30, we decided to take a quick nap (just 30 minutes or so) before heading to the market for groceries since Lucca Debora reminded us that the stores would be closed on Sunday. We wanted to stock up on items for those times we stayed in to dine.  We slept for over three hours. So much for napping on the plane.

We hurried downstairs and wandered our street (via Borno Gianatti), stopping in stores that interested us. I was very impressed with Debora's Italian. She only had a few lessons, but after a few exchanges with storekeeps was rattling away.

We came home and had a glass of wine or two, a lovely plate of apples, ciabatta, cheese and a wedge of pizza adorned with nothing but olive oil and green olives.

After showers in our luxurious bathroom, we turned in by 9:00. Though we met in the hallway a couple of times during the night, both of us a bit off schedule., between our books and iPods (mine filled with pod casts from The New Yorker), we got plenty of sleep. Or at least I did.

So far everything is beyond our expectations. The scenery is beautiful, the air fragrant, the people warm, friendly, and helpful. It is a dream of a trip so far.

Italy Trip: Day 1

Though the original plan was to leave Maryland on Wednesday and spend the night before my flight to New York with Crazy Clare, the fates intervened.  First, two clients called with work I couldn't afford to pass up.  I still had to do some last minute shopping and I was tired from getting everything done that needs doing before one leaves home for 10 days. 

United added another few hours delay when they changed my flight from Dulles to New York at the last minute. This had me scurrying to find another flight. No luck.  So, I stuck with the lousy itinerary and got up at 3:00 a.m. Thursday to pack the last few things, organize my carry-on and purse, and close up the beach house before driving to DC. 

Then... I couldn't find my passport. I knew I left it on the table near everything else; but, it was no where to be found. After a slight panic attack and a stream of early morning profanity, I took a deep breath and reminded myself that passports do not have legs and cannot get up to wander off by themselves. Since I had not moved the passport, someone else had to.  I looked at Cricket (my dog)...nope.  Then I looked at Devon (my cat).  Possibly.  Sure enough I found my passport behind my couch with an earring, a headband, my spare set of iPod earphones and a few of her cat toys.  Not sure how she managed that, but didn't have time for analysis.  I was too relieved, grateful, and about 45 minutes late. 

Drove to Arlington to meet Charlie and drop Cricket off at his place (for later pick up by middle daughter).  He drove me to the airport and let me park my car at his place for the time I'll be away. He also volunteered to pick me up at 7:30 a.m. when I return on November 2 (thank you, United, for the awful changes to my itinerary).  Very nice of Chas to offer to pick me up, too.  Especially that early on a Sunday.

The trip to New York went off without a hitch and I met my friend Debora at the Courtyard Marriott Upper East Side.  We went out to lunch at Cafe D'Alsace for a glass of wine and some wonderful soup.  If you are up that way, it's worth a visit.  Here's Debora out front:

 

After a nap at the hotel, Debora and I met David, Joanne and her husband, Frank, for dinner at Kurio (on 92nd St. about a two minute walk from the hotel). As always, David picked an interesting place with an original and tasty menu. The fact that he gets to know the owners and chefs at the restaurants he loves made for a very intimate evening. Debora took a picture of me and my writer friends, but since I'm in it, you won't see it here.  Sorry.

Then it was back to the hotel for a good night's sleep.

Politics Makes Strange Dancing Partners

I have nothing more to say about this topic:

Things Done and Left Undone

I've traced my compulsion to tie up every loose thread in my life, prior to departing on a trip longer than a weekend, to my military brat childhood. 

When we took trips it meant we weren't coming back. It meant that our our home had to be spotless (for either the new owners, the landlord, or the quartermaster's inspection). It meant that unnecessary items needed to be thrown away. Appointments with doctors, dentists, and veterinarians had to be scheduled and kept, immunization records updated and in order. We all had to be ship-shape for the trip.  Addresses, phone numbers and other information from friends had to be collected and added to the address book.  Maps, guidebooks, histories of the new location had to be read and memorized. Passports updated, tickets purchased, people notified... you get the picture. So did I.  Finally.

What does this new insight tell me? It is just not necessary to have a life that is never going to be perfect suddenly in order for the ten days I'll be away in Italy. I am coming back.  The house will still be here.  My friends and family will still be here.  The dog and cat will still be here. All the things I don't get done will still be here waitng for me to ignore them again.  And, most of all, it's okay.

I have my passport, my newly issued license, my plane tickets to NYC and back, my plane tickets to Italy and back.  Cars to and from all the airports, train schedules, tickets to the museums and other places in Italy we plan to visit, the address of the apartment where we'll stay, cameras, extra batteries, extra memory, phones, laptops, converters, Euros, credit cards, guidebooks, the right walking shoes, the right clothes, arrangements for the dog and cat, and people to watch the house. Whew!  Isn't that enough?

There is really no need for me to strip and wax the kitchen floor, clean the carpets or the oven, dust every surface or stage the house. I will never manage to get the 19,732 photographs in that big box labeled and into nicely themed albums for my kids. Sorry.

For the first time in my adult life I'm happy with the balance between the done and the undone before beginning a long trip.

I are all growed up.

Just Because I Can See The Moon Doesn't Make Me An Astronaut

And, another musical video interlude.  This time, "Hey There Sarah Palin." I apologize in advance for the profanity.

That's me you hear applauding. Geez, what a hoot. You betcha!

I'll Always Be Alice Toklas If You'll Be Gertrude Stein...

Caught the movie "Auntie Mame" with Rosalind Russell while channel surfing.  My maternal grandmother's name was Mame -- and she was Mame.  My mother's name was Suzanne and she was Mame, too. 

I remember seeing Angela Lansbury and Bea Arthur perform "Bosom Buddies'" from the musical "Mame" at a Tony's Award show once.  It was on YouTube.com of course.  So, to all my bosom buddies (and my daughters), you know who you are:

Counterfeit Girl and the Smart Cop: You Can't Make This Stuff Up

(Second in a series of articles related to my daughter's financial free-fall, first reported here.)

As reported yesterday, Mommy, the Money Manager, lost a day as she helped youngest daughter regain financial stability -- or so we thought.  I ended my last entry after I transferred money via Western Union for pick up at the local grocery store. Once notified by e-mail that the money had been picked up, I settled in for a nice dinner and looked forward to watching CSI. But, no, the story didn't end there.

I received a call a little after 6:00 p.m. "Mom.  The money was counterfeit." 

"Ha, ha," said I.

"No, really.  Mom.  It was counterfeit."

Turns out that the clerk at the grocery store handed over three, crisp $100 bills, which youngest daughter took straight to the bank. She shoved her money into the tube at the drive-through teller station and waited.  And waited. And waited.  Finally, the teller informed her that she had just passed at least $200.00 in counterfeit currency... they weren't sure about the other $100 bill.

I won't bore you with all the details, which include a couple of trips back and forth between the grocery store and the bank to get the matter resolved as well as an interview with the police.

Jane was so excited about police involvement that she asked if her friend could take a picture of her with the police officer.

"I've never been in trouble before," said she. 

He responded, "You aren't in trouble. I only interviewed you. But, it's not a good idea. It could wind up on Facebook or Myspace and the Chief wouldn't like it."

Smart cop.  He was right.  Don't you just know that picture would wind up all over this blog AND my Facebook and Myspace pages (not just my daughter's). You know the Internet.

Always an adventure.

RANT: What About 'NO' Do ATMs Not Understand?

Like many others this week, I was focused on finances. My youngest daughter's financial situation has mirrored that of the country and the world. It's been in free-fall because of Automatic Transaction Machines (ATMs) that didn't say no.

Let me say up front that my daughters have always been pretty good with money.  Oh, there was that time my eldest daughter discovered my bankcard and used it to supplement her allowance (or lack of one) for a couple of weeks before I discovered her felonious ways.  But, on the whole, they've been respectful and careful with their funds. They've had to be. I'm a Stingy Mommy. 

Things moved along swimmingly until last week when I got the first call. She was "a little overdrawn and the bank charged a 'huge' overdraft fee."  Youngest daughter was appropriately upset and apologetic. She assured me there were no items outstanding.  I went through the motions of lecturing her without making her feel worse than she already felt. We figured out what she needed, plus I added a little more to cover the gas money for a planned trip she was making to Kentucky over the weekend. I went to the bank and deposited the money.

I got the second call Monday morning. "I don't know how it happened, but I checked my balance today and I don't have any money again." 

I ramped up my reaction a bit.  "Do you know what my parents would have done?  They'd have left me in Kentucky. They'd have said, 'Really? How about you hitchhike home?'"

Then we went through her finances once more to determine how much she needed to get back to school and to cover her overdraft. Then I set up an account with Western Union.  When, after making the transfer, the agent asked me if there was anything else she could do, I responded, "Yes, teach my daughter how to balance her checkbook." Apparently Western Union does not provide that service.

It was quiet on the financial front until yesterday morning. My daughter, sobbing, called to say that she was several hundred dollars overdrawn and was told by the bank that she'd been charged overdraft charges on all her ATM transactions over the weekend.

First, do you know how college kids use their ATM cards?  Do you know how many ATM charges a one student can rack up over a weekend?  In our case, there were the 11 individual purchases of bottled water.  Then the box of tic tacs.  That cool headband.  The six-piece chicken nugget meal. Gasoline.  Lunch for her deadbeat friend whose ATM machine did have the sense to say no to him. (I want the name of his bank.) Then there were the ATM withdrawal fees and overdraft charges at $35.00 a clip, you can see how the deficit grew.

At what point does the ATM say no?  They said no to her friend whose lunch she had to buy.  Why not my daughter?  Oh, no. They'd rather charge her a withdrawal fee plus $35.00 for each transaction they should have denied.

After the obligatory lecture, another remote audit of her account, and an oath that there were no items outstanding, I used my new Western Union account for the second time in a week. I also let her know that there would be no more bailouts. It's clear ATMs have difficulty being the bad guy, but I don't. I can say, "No!  Call your father." And, be forewarned.  He knows all about this.

Dancing At Blended-Family Celebrations

October 2008 is filled with important days. Delaney is 11 months old today and was baptized last Sunday. Delaney's parents celebrated two years of marriage, and I start my Tuscany trip in two weeks.

Here's a picture I took of the happy family after the baptism:

 

I last attended that church about twenty five years ago for a funeral. But, there is history. I was confirmed there. I volunteered many summers at the Church Festival (iced tea station). I married  Rachel's father there. We baptized Rachel there. I directed the Junior Choir for a couple of years and directed the Christmas pageant once. 

The more than three-centuries-old brick building shaded by huge Magnolia trees, the bishop's chair, the altar, the cross, the needlepoint kneeling pews were all welcoming and familiar. But everything else was different. I knew no one in that congregation (except my former in-laws), which was jolting since at one point it had been an important social and spiritual center of my life.  It was as though that day's message was "Life moves on."

I admit that I felt displaced. I now understand that I must have expected -- or hoped -- to feel otherwise. I'm thinking that this tapped into my "military brat" pathology and other related and unresolved issues.  "You're just passing through. No matter how much you invest in energy or emotion you will never really belong."  I seldom experience those feelings anymore; but, in what felt a bit like strange -- if not hostile -- territory, they reared themselves like an internal Greek Chorus. 

The dance around family photographs was interesting and I'll have to spend some time analyzing my movements (perhaps on the plane to Pisa). There were the traditional and easily choreographed pictures of the two sets of great-grandparents holding Delaney, Jon's parents holding Delaney, and Rachel's Dad and his wife holding Delaney.  I had urged my father to stay home since he wouldn't stay overnight and he'd have been on the road about seven hours of that day had he attended.

Charlie and I, without being aware of it, held back while we watched the photo sessions. I believe we were both confused about how any posed pictures of the two of us should be handled.  We didn't want to send mixed messages to each other or anyone else. And we didn't want to step into each other's space. Should he and I have our pictures with Delaney taken separately?  Together?

My marital and parenting relationships with Rachel's biological father ended for all intents and purposes when she was six months old.  Charlie and I were married two years later. From the beginning he was her primary father (and in most people's opinions more of a father than her own both in presence and financial support) while she was growing up. Rachel will tell you that he never treated her any differently than he did our other two daughters.  Indeed, to this day he sees her as one of his three children. She and her biological father did not rebuild their relationship until she was in college.

There was a bit of a tap dance when Rachel turned to us with the camera.  As though reading our minds, she said, "Any way you want it."  Without missing a beat we found our rhythm again. Charlie reached for Delaney and we moved to the front of the church." It seemed both logical and natural.  I have no idea what the picture looks like (I'm not looking forward to seeing it given my typical photo-phobia).

Marriages may end, but parenting does not. Or should not. Charlie and I will always be parents together.  It's the kind of parents we are. It's what our kids expect.

But, as I said, I'll have a lot of time to analyze the dance and make adjustments to the choreography later, if I choose.