And While We’re There… (September/October 2009)

     By September, things were totally ‘on course’ for Italy and the only things we had yet to decide on were what tours to take while in Florence, and what airlines and flight number we would have.  Little things like getting train tickets to Florence or to the airport, finding places to stay when we got to Rome and to Florence didn’t seem like a problem anymore since we had Fernando and the Calzaiuoli apartment.  Heck, I thought, let’s ‘go for broke’ and try a third week, rent a car and stay in a little agriturismo somewhere in Tuscany so I could paint. 

     After reading the press advances on Michael Tucker’s new book, “Family Meals”, I felt bold enough to write him again and tell him we we’re going to be in the neighbor, figuratively, the following June.  To my surprise, he responded in only days this time.

     Hi David and Marianne,

     Actually, one of the themes of the new book is our attempt to give Jill's mom a good last chapter without sacrificing our lives in the process.  Not always easy but I think we show it can be done.  

     Have fun at Lake Trasimeno.  Stay in touch.

     Mike

     The theme of giving your parents a ‘good last chapter’ has rung so true with me and Marianne.  We have lost all our parents.  Both our dads passed in 2001.  My dad, CR, had a long bout with cancer.  My brothers and I took turns caring for him, although it took me a day to get there.  He never made it to 9-11.  Marianne’s father, John, did; it was his birthday.  He was so angry that “they did that” on his birthday, I think it lead to his death.  Her father lived with us for five years.  In his nineties, John required a lot of care, and eventually had to be moved into an assisted living facility.  He fell out of bed one day, breaking his pelvis, and never recovered.  We came and saw him in the hospital when he died.  He looked so surprised, eyes wide in wonder at what would happen next.  In 2007, my mother was dropped while assistants were getting her into bed at her care facility.  The fall shattered her right femur and sent blood clots through her body.  She died three days later.

     I could tell that Michael Tucker was dealing with the same life issues we were, but I don’t think that he knew what he was actually saying when he wrote ‘stay in touch’.  Me?  The OCD guy?  I didn’t think that was going to be appropriate for me to keep sending him emails and updates.  Marianne cautioned me to keep it ‘low-key’ and “don’t scare the guy”.  I dropped the idea of responding to his email and thought I might send him another after I read his book.  Good plan.

     Through what I consider a ‘fluke’, I got a copy of Tucker’s newest book, “Family Meals” from Amazon in mid-October, even though its release date was set for November.  I devoured the book in four days.  When you are sitting around waiting for your next pain med’s, you have some extra reading time.  I had another bout with my Achilles tendon and was put in a walking boot, which in-turn irritated and inflamed the bursa around my right hip.  I literally couldn’t sleep for a week.

     The book was great.  I started out hoping that there would be just a whole lot about Umbria, but it took on this totally different direction.  He got into the ‘nitty-gritty’ of what all of us ‘baby-boomers’ have been dreading:  the aging and, inevitable, death of our parents.  He tied it in with theatre, which is always a ‘draw’ for me and Marianne.  Marianne found it to be a bit ego-centered on Tucker’s part.  She said, “It seemed to all about him, how it affected him, and not the family and Jill’s mother.”

    Of course, I had to let him know, via email, Sunday afternoon, what I thought: 

Mr. Tucker, Mr. Tucker:

Thank you. "Family Meals" is a feast. Sharing ones personal life can be tough, but you handle it with such wisdom, passion, and wit. It is your best book yet. Your writing has reached another level. I got the book Wed. and finished it on Saturday -- a record for me. I must admit that all I wanted was more tastes and smells of Italy, but you gave us real life. Grazie.

Although both our parents are passed, I relate completely with your family dealings with Jill's mother, Lora. We love her very much, by the way (watch out for the left hook!). Ending your book with waiting in the wings to go on stage resonates deeply in both our lives, even though we are amateur theatre, we still know "where you both are". We have been involved with several productions of Gurney's "Love Letters" and it is in our hearts. What I got from the book was the change in your family dynamic. In “Living in a Foreign Language” you were a couple with cameo appearances by you kids.  Now you are now a ‘nuclear’ family.  So Italian.

David and Marianne Jones

His response followed the next morning.

Dear David and Marianne,

Thank you so much.  You are my first review!  I'm so pleased with your response to the book - you made our morning.

Mike

Prego.

HELP! I’VE FALLEN IN (love with) TUSCANY AND I CAN’T GET UP

Keeping In Contact with the Writers

    Throughout the course of 2007 and 2008, I had been, madly buying books on Italy, Tuscany specifically, and devouring them at a frightening pace.  I had already bought all of Frances Mayes’ books, including her picture/recipe books “At Home in Tuscany” and “Bringing Tuscany Home”.   I found Dario Castagno’s first books, “Too Much Tuscan Sun”, “Too Much Tuscan Wine”, and “A Day in Tuscany”; Beppe Severgnini’s “La Bella Figura”; both of Ferenc Mate’s “The Hills of Tuscany”, and “A Vineyard in Tuscany”; Phil Doran’s very funny “The Reluctant Tuscan”; and Michael Tucker’s “Living In A Foreign Language”.   The combination of author’s had a massive impact on me. 

     I believe in letting folks know when they do a good job and I liked their work.  So, I started emailing the authors.  First was Ferenc Mate:

Re: Compliments On "A Vineyard In Tuscany" & "The Hills of Tuscany" 

Mr. Mate: 

I have now read both of your Tuscany books and I want you to know how much my 

wife and I have enjoyed them.  Thank you for sharing your life, your family, and 

passions with us.  Visiting Italy has always been high on my list of things to 

do when I retire, but, for now, reading your words will have to be enough. 

I hope that I might have the honor of visiting your winery, if open to the public, if we 

ever make it to Tuscany. 

Thank you, 

David Jones 

To my surprise he responded:

Dear Mr. Jones, 

Many thanks for your generous comments, it's always rewarding to hear that 

someone has been moved enough to write a note. 

Yes we are near La Villa, and do stop by to taste some wine when you're in 

Tuscany. 

 Best regards, 

 Ferenc Mate 

Next, I tried Phil Doran.  He wrote back, too:

Dear David,

    Thanks so much for your kind note, I can't tell you how much it means to hear you like my book. All the events in the book are true, although I did compress the time-line and consolidate some of the characters to make the story more manageable.

    The film rights to the book have been optioned by John Travolta and his wife Kelly Preston who would play us in the movie. We were having discussions when they suffered the loss of their son so there hasn't been any further movement while they grieve.

    Nancy has gotten away from sculpting to pursue an art form that's physically less demanding and if you go to her website you can see the portraits she's been painting. 

     Once again David, thanks for taking the time to write, and I hope you get to Italy soon and perhaps you can visit, see Nancy's studio, and the two of you can discuss painting. 

         Ciao for now,

        Phil Doran

Wow.  These guys sound like real people.  I was inspired and wrote Dario Castagno.  He wrote back:

Ciao David 

                Thanks for your note. Fortunately due to very strict laws the 

Tuscan countryside is still unspoilt and as it has always been. Also we have a 

very low density of population so "our" Tuscany is still as we authors describe 

it. The Tuscan craze has seemed to have dimmered and because of the crises fewer 

tourists flock here. 

The podere Ferrale is on the border between the boroughs of Castellina and 

Radda, the place is quite beautiful ( I slept there in 1979 when it belonged to 

a schoolmate of mine) The etruscan tombs I mention in my book are very close and 

following our studies we believe that Ferrale was the original acropolis meaning 

2500 years ago (!) 

My second book A day in Tuscany is available in the US bookshops while 

Too Much Tuscan Wine (by far my least worst book!) at the moment is only 

available through my site.  If you decide to order it please inform me whom I should 

sign them too ( in both cases I send them direct from home) and I shall also send you 

a DVD I shot based on my second book I hope that Too Much Tuscan Wine gets 

published (I'm seeking for a new US publisher) and in that case I shall return to the 

US and Portland where I have a big following! 

Ciao 

Dario 

This was great.  He was a real person, even though he was trying to make a living, too.  In late July I sent him a follow up.  He wasn’t as cheerful this time:

Re: Tuscan Tours,etc. 

Ciao...the Palio was won by Tartuca...I will not be attending the event in 

MA...just my oil will. 

Alma Domus is well located...I think though that the snag is they have curfew 

I recomend the Comapagnia dei vinattieri, enoteca i terzi, Guido, Nello uoi really

 MUST rent a car or even a scooter (thought of that?) public transportation will 

take you to the towns but you will miss so much of the beauties of Tuscany. 

I never got hold of a publisher and am currently seeking for a job; I might be 

working as a waiter nest season  

Ciao 

Dario

     It sounded like the depression/recession had hit as hard in Italy as it had in Oregon.  I shot back a response and told him not to wait tables, I had done it in my twenties before teaching and I still have nightmares about it.     

     Now Michael Tucker has made a comfortable living being an actor, and was doing fine with his two books; he even bought a house in Umbria just writing about his eating habits.  I love to eat too and long for a cuisine that only uses fresh ingredients and a long heritage of incredible food.  Compared to Tucker, I am a ‘neophyte’ when it comes to cuisine and wine, but why, I’ve been eating (well) practically my whole life and drinking for a part of my adult life as well!  Why couldn’t I become an expert?

     I found the ‘Tucker-berry’s (Jill Eikenberry and Michael Tucker) website on line in February of 2008 and decided to let Mister Tucker know how much his book enticed me.  The email was a short, maybe four paragraphs, email that let him know how much we both liked his book, and that I too had the dream, not the reality, to go to Italy. 

     He actually wrote back, a month or so later thanking me for the compliments and said we should just go for it!  Go to Italy.  Well, that’s fine for him to say, he has more money than I’ll ever have.  I kept re-reading his book and wondering why Marianne and I couldn’t have an Italian experience.  I really think that between Ferenc, Phil, and Michael, (okay, and Mayes) the ‘seed’ of ‘travel Italia’ had been planted so firmly into my psyche that poor Marianne wouldn’t even have a chance of saying ‘no’ or ‘dis-swaying’ me when the un ‘bridled monster’ broke out into the open in early June.  “Feed me!  I must go to Tuscany!”

HELP! I’VE FALLEN IN (love with) TUSCANY AND I CAN’T GET UP

Donatella, Andiamo Mamma!  (Fall 2009)

     Bigfork that year was the first time I had ever taken the laptop on vacation with us.  Sometimes it is a welcome companion, other times it is not.  Since the weather the second week of August in Montana was unseasonably wet, the internet as a great alternative to watching cable television—mostly summer reruns.

     It amazes me the amount of responses you get when you type in the words “Chianti Wine Tours”.  There’s a ‘bajillion’.  I could have gone through them one by one and spent all three nights looking for the perfect one, but when I saw “from Siena” and “Fonterultoli”  I clicked on it immediately.  This is when I ‘met’ Donatella—thirty-something wife and mother and a licensed tour guide who lives in Siena.  Her company is Wine Tours in Tuscany.

     Now I am a sucker for a pretty face and tons of pictures with really happy tourists drinking wine.  I fell more in love with each new link I clicked.   Donatella looked personable, knowledgeable, and fun-loving.  She was ready to make all my Chianti dreams come true.  And I fell for it hook, line, and sinker.  After reading everything twice, I decided to fill out her contact form and send it immediately.  She actually didn’t take long to respond:

Informativa Privacy (ex D.lgs 196/03) 

Le informazioni contenute nel presente documento e relativi allegati possono 

essere riservate e sono destinate esclusivamente alla persona o alla società 

indicata come destinatario. La diffusione e la distribuzione del presente documento 

a soggetti da quelli diversi indicati, od in generale qualsivoglia utilizzo illecito dei 

dati ivi contenuti, è proibita sia ai sensi dell'art.616 del Codice Penale che 

dal D.Lgs 196/03 in materia di protezione dei dati personali (Privacy). Se avete 

ricevuto per errore questo documento siete pregati di distruggerlo e di 

comunicarcelo prontamente tramite e-mail o fax. 

My Italian didn’t even come close to translating her response, if it was 

her and not a computer-generated one.  After we returned from Montana, 

we did get a response from Donatella in English:

Dear David, dear Marianne, 

thank you for you kind e-mail and for contacting me. 

I confirm my availability for the week June 20th to 26th, 2010. I send you what I 

have planned for your wonderful days in Tuscany. 

The tour is all inclusive, all tastings and lunch. Let me know if that suits you ok. 

You'll receive 5% discount if you'll book 2 or more. Please feel free asking me 

any questions or if you would like to receive another program. 

All my best, 

Donatella 

Ciao Donatella: 

We received your e-mail yesterday morning and were so happy to read about 

the two excursions.  Incredible! They are wonderful, and doing both of them would 

be like a dream come true.  Would one of the stops in Chianti be Fonterutoli?  I 

noticed on your web site a picture captioned "Fonterutoli" (the winery I would 

most like to visit next to anything in Montalcino--which we have plans to see) 

and my heart jumped for joy.  "Andiamo, mamma!" We also saw the cooking 

classes and cried, "Bella!" However, Marianne and I are mere mortals and our

 means are even more so. I am so afraid to disappoint you, but we don't think 

we can afford both trips.  We might be able to do a modified version of the 

San Gimignano--Volterra excursion.  I am truly sorry.  We are so impressed 

with your web site, your expertise, and even your family. I do not want to cause 

any hard feelings, Donatella. Honestly, we wouldn't dream of taking you away 

from a profitable tour, during peek tourist season, to drive to Firenze and take 

two middle-aged Americans around on a reduced-rate excursion. Please, let 

us know what you would like to do. We respect whatever you have to say.  

 Thank you for your time and information.  I hope your summer is still going strong. 

Molto grazie, David and Marianne Jones 

Dear friends, 

I really want that your dreams will become truth!!! 

Your words about my family, my programs and also about 

my website have really touched me. Thank you. Now...., if you'll book the 2 tours 

( exactly how I have presented to you and also included Fonterutoli winery!!!) I 

make for you my best price in € 660,00 total. I'll appreciate if the payment it 

will be by cash. You are so nice that I wish to meet you. 

Take care, 

Donatella 

Ciao Donatella: 

 I apologize for not being prompter about responding. 

Thank you for you great offer.  We love the two tours. I want to say 'yes' to your 

kind offer, and we also really do want to meet you, but I am just so concerned 

about 

the money (and I hate being like this).   I have friends who say "it's only money," 

and they are right, but these two weeks in Tuscany-Umbria are like 4 months of 

income for me. We don't want to leave you hanging, and we do want to be 

responsible and realistic.   When do you need a firm commitment from us?    

Molto grazie, 

David and Marianne Jones 

Dear Marianne, dear David, 

I really feel you like good friends so that I want to do my best to satisfy you. 

If for you is ok, I'll contact you at the end of September. 

 What I offer you it will be a great unforgettable experience spend in one of 

the most beautiful area in the world but I understand the money problem is not 

a small one. 

 For the moment enjoy these last summer days. 

 My best, 

Donatella 

     We put the wine tour plans on hold for a while, knowing that 

these Tuscans can play hardball when it comes to charging for tours.  

 Meanwhile, I kept looking for tours and places to stay for our third 

week in Tuscany.  One Sunday Marianne found an ad in the Sunday 

magazine that comes in the local paper—You Enchanted Italy.  I 

found the sight and explored it thoroughly.   Brent Cook runs an 

operation that can do anything for the traveler.  I was still looking 

for the perfect tour to San Gimignano or Volterra and had done a 

lot of research.  After I emailed and explained our ‘semi-plans’ he 

wrote back:

       Brent Crook:

Hi David and Marianne,

 Thanks for contacting me at Your Enchanted Italy.  WOW, you've already
done a lot of work on your trip, good job!  I should mention that I don't handle
airline tickets –

but highly recommend this travel agency in Seattle: http://www.elizabethholmes.com/   
tell them I sent you - they're great!
 Regarding the rest of your trip - I can gladly act as a consultant for all of your other
needs - villa, apartments, tours, etc.  My consulting fee is $100 but I'll also make
contacts for you etc.  Montestigliano normally rents for a week during high season
but she would do 5 day rentals in high season-  probably nothing shorter than that
but I have other options we can consider for a shorter stay.  Glad to help out - let
me know if that's okay,

Ciao,

Brent

Brent Crook

www.yourenchanteditaly.com

     Enchantingly enough his prices were more outlandish than Donatella’s.   
I never wrote back after that first contact.  I did contact Donatella later 
on and tried to keep the connection going.  It did feel that maybe we 
may not be the cliental that she was really after.  I was hoping for a 
plan B if she was just a sweet talker waiting to dump me for the next 
Joe to come along with deeper pockets.  Even though my pockets 
were about as shallow as they get.

HELP I'VE FALLEN IN (love with) TUSCANY AND I CAN'T GET UP

The Amazing Hot Tub Saga Part 1

   I went back to work the last week of August and tried to keep my nose to the grind stone.  Amazingly enough I decided to take on another project, besides school and church music.  Our friends Myana and Leonard found us a free “like new” hot tub.  All we had do to was move it (by means of a crane!), clear the grass by the patio, level it, weed guard it, gravel it, pour a concrete slab, get a 220 electrical hook up run from the breaker box, place it on the slab, fill it and turn it on.  Easy.   Right?   And like the gullible oaf I am, I said yes.  Thus began the “Amazing Free Hot Tub” story.

     Leonard, Stinky as he has come to be affectionately called, can drive anything and build nearly everything.  His stories of driving trucks, manufacturing trailers for semis, and drinking, will go down in the annals of “the most incredible feats ever attempted” for posterity.  Leonard can take anything and make something from it.  He can buy ‘junker’ trucks, repair or dismantle them and turn a healthy profit.  He never needs to buy new.  Ever.  Except when Myana puts her foot down and says, “No, if we’re getting new appliances for the kitchen, we are getting new ones.  He is amazing—he can be a Safeway at the right time every week to get the reduced items before they are picked.  He gets all his meats, wines, you name like that.  I can’t believe his luck and cleverness.

     Stinky's and Myana’s hot tub was also free.  Of course, he did have to haul it himself, create a deck and steps, repair the pump motor, and various other things, but it is up and running and used nightly if not weekly.  The couple has even dabbled in wine making:  Finding all the carbuncles, and other assorted apparatus to turn their crushes Marechal Foch grapes into a potent brew.  They even named their brand, “Flamingo Farms”.  I painted the label for them.  Flamingos are part of a funny incident that happened on their wedding day.   During the reception at their house, a UPS truck showed up with six huge boxes, which got stacked in the middle of their ‘cozy’ front room with a hundred guests.  Inside:  20 pink plastic flamingo lawn ornaments—sent by her ex-boy friend as a wedding ‘present’.  The pink bird on the label is a humorous reminder to us all of that day.

     Now, the only rough part of getting this free hot tub was we had to remove it from the owner’s deck and get it into our yard.  Simple—right?  Wrong.  The 8’ by 8’, 3 ½ foot tub was sitting behind the woman’s garage.  Did I mention she lives on the uphill side of one of the steepest hills in Roseburg?  Did I also mention that the garage is two stories high and the deck is 15 to 20 feet above the driveway’s retaining wall?  The only way to get this tub is with a crane--a really big crane.  Leonard was positive he could get the tube out without a ‘scratch’.   Umm.  Did this have disaster written all over it?  I hoped not.

    At one of our impromptu dinner parties, after the multi-course dinner, with great home grown vegetables, a grilled rare flank steak, and more bottles of wine than six people have a right to drink the idea was born. The plan was conceived, hatched and given ‘wings’:  Stinky and our friend Doug, a contractor, mapped out for us exactly what would happen when, what they would do, and what I had to do.  First I had to clear a 12’ by 12’ section of grass, and fill it with gravel.  “How am I going to get that done?”  Between us we have three trucks, so no problem.  You just have to use your wheel barrow and get it around to the back of your house.  Fine, I thought.  I was no stranger to a little hard physical labor.  I did my whole back yard that way.  Okay, what about pouring the slab?  I did do the slab for the AC unit when Myana and Leonard’s house was ours.  I could mix about 15-20 bags of concrete and pour it a wheel borrow load at a time?  Nope, no, it’s too much concrete, you need a truck.  Oh that will run about $500.  We can’t afford that, we’re saving to go to Italy. 

      “Okay, so I’ll need call for a truck, I guess”. 

     “Not so fast,” says Doug, I know this guy who works for this concrete company and they are always looking for someone or place to ‘drop’ the end of a load.  I’ll get you some concrete.  Trust me”

     “Oh, did I mention that I called the crane guy and he can deliver the tub next Thursday?”

    “Uh, no.”

    “We can just get it off the deck, swing it over the garage roof and set it down on a trailer in the driveway.  Then we’ll haul it over here and set it on its side on a piano dolly.  Then when you get the yard ready and the concrete poured, the tub will be right there to move around to the back.”

     “How many guys is that going to take to move?”

    “Maybe four, those things are light.”

     “Are you sure about all this?”

     “Yeah.  Not problem.  Just don’t worry.  Everything will be just great.”

   I said “okay”, but I was thinking this could be even worse then the time I moved an upright piano across town when I was in college.  I was doing fine, until I had to turn a quick corner into traffic, and quick as quick, the grand old upright grand was pieces and parts. 

     Marianne calls these little forays into the unknown, “The Road to Abilene”.  That’s an older business expression where the administration ‘builds-up’ the workers into a frenzy about doing something that is totally impossible to do, but everybody’s ‘on-board’, and everybody busts their butts to get it done, but because it is an impossible task, it never gets done, and everybody is pissed off that they went through the whole exercises in the first place.  Did I mention the hot tub was free?

     I quickly arranged to get an estimate from an electrician for putting in the 220 conduit.  I spent that Sunday afternoon, and Monday getting the sod removed.  The following Friday I loaded a borrowed pick-up truck with a cubic yard of sod and dirt.  This little Chevy S-10 is great for going to the dump and it’s used by all the neighbors.  Our friend across the street (a retired teacher) is always generous to a fault and even watches our house when we go away. 

     So I head out to the dump in this small truck, did I mention the small bench seat in the tiny cab does not adjust so my knees wrap up around the steering wheel (which is in my chest).  I get to the dump at 4:05 PM and was told that they couldn’t take that much, dirt and sod, and that I had to go up to the landfill.  When the attendant said that, I got a lump in the pit of my stomach.  “The only problem is that they close at 4 PM.  You’ll have to come back in the morning at 8 AM.”  I smiled, thanked the attendant and drove the truck back home.  Grumbling all the way.

     8 AM the next morning I drove the pick-up back out to the land fill.  It was peaceful and still and as I took the loaded down to the axles S-10 up the hill to the ‘landfill’ a family of deer crossed the road about 30 feet ahead and I was happy and ‘one’ with my world.  It’s the yoga practice kicking in.  Once I got to the site, things changed quickly.  Big trucks and graters roared and belched carbonized diesel and the stench of rotting refuse flooded the cab.  I back up to the edge of the pit and got my gloves on and started to unload.  It was at that exact moment that the first really good rain storm in four months hit Douglas County.  The dried sod turned to mud instantly and I was drenched in the skin through three layers of shirts.  The thirsty, dried turf went from light weight, easy to handle chunks to heavy water soaked ‘back-strainers’ in seconds.  I was sure glad that God had given me the ability to appreciate getting absolutely filthy and wet clear through to my sock and underwear.  I guess we sure needed that rain.

     Once I got home and removed all the wet cloths, I found new work cloths and proceeded to empty, wheelbarrow load by wheelbarrow load, the gravel from the trailer Leonard had left for me during the week.  It was made even heavier by how much water had mixed with the dirty and rock.  By noon, I was finished.  Really.  I didn’t want to do another thing all day.  I was beat.

    I waited another week for another load of gravel, which I unloaded in a couple of hours.  It goes faster when the rock is dry.  It was then I realized that Stinky had never gotten the crane and the tub wasn’t sitting in the yard by last Thursday.  Maybe something was wrong.  No.  He hadn’t gotten hold of the crane operator yet.  But he said I needed to make sure Doug had the concrete coming, because we were going to build the form for the pad this weekend.  Sounds good, I thought.  Well, no.   Doug hadn’t talked to anyone about the concrete, and he didn’t know when he could.  Great.

     Later that weekend Marianne and I got a chance to go see the hot tub in its nature state, perched high above its surrounding on its hill.  It was a fine looking tub, but it was in a near impossible spot for removing.  I really wondered if a crane operator could be skilled enough to maneuver it out of its remote resting roost.  I asked the owner, an old acquaintance, if she had ever used it.   She said no. 

     “It wasn’t my thing,’ she said.  She had just moved in and wanted the deck space that it took up. 

     “So did it run well when you turned it on?”  I asked.

     “Oh, I hadn’t ever turned it on.” 

     “Oh.”  The sound of a record needle went scraping across the vinyl LP in my mind.  I’m going to get a tub that might not even work.  I smiled, thanked her, and Marianne and I left.  We got in the car and drive down the insanely steep driveway.  We looked at each other and just shook our heads.  Are we idiots or what?

     It had been over a week since I had finished getting the gravel area ready in my back yard.  The lumber for the form was purchased and I was still waiting for Leonard to come with his equipment to help me build the form.  Doug wasn’t returning my calls and his wife, Molly, my church choir accompanist was more concerned about the multiple projects that she had him doing, rather than my concrete pad.  Please, just remind him he was the one who had the connections to get this done for me.  Leonard may show up at my door step with a tub any day now, I pleaded.  I knew full well that getting the tub was also the farthest thing from his mind.

     I came home to an e-mail from Sam Cossa that week:

Dear Dave,
There is so much I could say...  The bottom line is that you are going to have a great time (in Italy).
I would say the best 10 bucks you could spend would be the 2009 edition of Rick Steve’s guide to Italy (he also has separate guides for individual cities and regions).  We found his stuff to be full of all sorts of little details and inside info.
Just a couple of practical matters:  Using your Visa card is the best way to pay for stuff, even at open air markets.  Cash machines are reasonably easy to find.  Don't bring traveler’s checks as there is so much counterfeiting that many places won't take them.  Don't buy any telephone cards here for long distance calls.  Buy them in Italy.  They are sold in many bars and they make it easy to call home from pay phones for dirt cheap.
Also, internet cafes are very plentiful there.

Sam

Ah, something positive to make the passing days preparing for the hot tub.

Yea!

HELP! I’VE FALLEN IN (love with) TUSCANY AND I CAN’T GET UP

Back In Spokane (2^nd  Week of August 2009)

     We made it back to Spokane that Friday with time to spare.  The trip was long, with lots of construction and non-construction.  Why does the highway department put out traffic cones for mile after mile, forcing a four-lane highway down to two lanes for 15 miles—with no construction?  There must be a reason for that, but it escapes me.

     Spokane was threatening rain, and even though I wanted to go out to the valley mall to look for travel shoes, I opted for a late afternoon ‘snuggle’ with Marianne before Matt and Jody got home.  Plans for that night included Christie and Paul and going down the hill into the city for a modest night of fun.  After a pre-function, all six of us piled into the Cadillac and rolled down into the town.  Now downtown Spokane never ceases to amaze me.  Back in the 70’s when I lived in northern Idaho; Spokane was the place to go.  A little over seventy miles from Sandpoint, we could always take the family truck or car.  We saw a lot of concerts and did some shopping in downtown, but before the World’s Fair 1974, town was an iffy place at best.  There were a few streets with shops etc., but quite a bit of it was rundown and questionable.  After the fair, things got cleaned up and early ‘gentrification’ started to take place.  The opera house was built and really classed up the neighborhood.

     Today, with the multiple story mall, all the stores and restaurants, Spokane is happening.   Jody always knows of the best places to eat and shop.  And of course we always have to go to the mall, ascend the multiple escalators to the Cineplex on the 6^th floor above the mall. 

     That night we headed for the Steelhead Diner, and later the Marquee, where Jody’s long-time friend and lawyer, Art, was performing with his garage cover-band.  We barreled down the hill and into the city, laughing and joking about my driving or anything that passed by.  Once in town we had to maneuver around the blocks near where Jody’s firm has their offices.  As we were preparing to take a right, a woman in an SUV was trying to parallel park ahead of us.  I slowed to give her room.  Her back in approach was going to assure her of going over the curb and messing up the attempt. 

     My brother suddenly blurred out, “She’s really going to fuck that up.”

     I signaled go get into the left lane and go around her, adding, “Yes, she really is.”

     As we passed her, Matt yelled out, it’s Linda, Art’s wife!”  The entire car howled with laughter like school kids at the situation.  Out of all the people who’d you expect to see, it was Linda--a dear sweet woman, retired teacher, trying to park to get to the bar to see her husband play.

     After we parked and took a quick look at the swanky lobby where Jody’s office was located, we rushed down the block, Matt and Paul running head to get a table at the Steelhead, and the girls and I to see what was happening at the Marquee, and try to reserve a table.  Now, the Marquee is a pretty nice upscale bar—black interior, with a very small stage and dance floor.  The tables are all counter height with bar stools.  The bar is long and contemporary.  The back-bar has an eight shelf high display of all the high-end liquor they service--back-lit, translucent glass--very up-town and cosmopolitan. 

     I was having trouble getting my bearings after we parked and started out for the Steelhead.  I saw Macey’s and realized where we were.  As we headed up the street, I see Riverfront park ahead.  The Steelhead is in a brick building, that as soon as Matt told me, I realized was the old Taco Time.  The interior is great.  It is two stories of exposed brick with a great bar and a steel balcony structure above it.  The room was alive with a hundred people all off-work, ready for a Friday night.  Paul and Matt had found a table near the bar and the six of us saddled our bar stools and added our yanking voices to the high volume crowd. 

     The bar guy-waiter came over and immediately Jody, said “Richard how are you doing tonight?”  She questioned him further.  “Do you watch “Lost”?”  The guy looked at her with a “boy have I heard this before look”.  Jody thought he was a ‘dead-ringer’ for an actor on the TV show “Lost” which neither I or Marianne has ever seen, but apparently everyone else at the table, and the waiter, has.  We ordered drinks and dinner and found out the guys name was Brian.  With six vivacious people talking at the same time, he seemed to handle the situation well. 

     No sooner had the waiter left when a couple walked up to the table and laughter and fast talking erupted again.  The woman was Meagan Cossa’s sister.  We have known Sam and Meagan for years, ever since Matt and Jody’s wedding when we stayed in their basement (on his old water bed) when we came up for Matt and Jody’s wedding in 1987. 

     The couple said that they were meeting Sam and Meagan for dinner there and then heading over to the Marquee to hear the band.   Not five minutes later, the Cossa’s did show up and the table erupted was again into high-end volume.  Now Sam is a judge in Spokane and Meagan was a school teacher until she decided to stop to take care of their son, Joey, full-time.  Suddenly I remembered that the two of them had been to Italy just recently.  In fact, Jody told us after they left that they have been twice, once with the kids, and once without!  They stayed in convents and had a great time.  I made a mental note to seek out Meagan later that evening and talk to her about their travels.

     The food was excellent.  We paid the bill and headed back over to the Marquee.  It was packed.  The band had started and the bar was insanely loud and raucous.  I had to stand, but Linda had saved a few stools for us.  I could barely see the band through the crowd.  They were really whaling and their fans loved it.  After Jody got us a beer, Kokanee--what else, we rocked out to great mix of Beatles and late 60’s & 70’s music.

     The band took a break after an hour of playing, and of course, Art came over to be with our table, to ‘bask’ in the glory of this ’fans’.  Marianne and my ears were ringing and we couldn’t hear hardly any of the conversation frenzy.  Suddenly as if on cue Jody tells Meagan that we are planning to go to Italy.  Meagan bolts around the table, practically running over to us, and erupts into a joy-filled conversation about their trips to Italy. 

     She is just ebullient with emotion as she tells us all there is to do, see, taste and expertise.  She loves the country, and of course, Sam, who speaks great Italian, is Italian, and on and on.  I loved her enthusiasm about everything she spoke of, including, driving, buses, the trains, and public transportation in general.  She began asking us about our plans and with each place we mentioned she became more ecstatic.  She loved Florence, and she knew of Siena, Cortona, Perugia and even Gubbio.  By now the band had started again and were we yelling over the rock and roll.  Our conversation escalated in volume and emotion. 

     She called over to her husband, “Sam!  David and Marianne are going to Italy next June!”  She called him over.

    We talked on together through the music, the whaling guitars and drums, finding out so much that we could never have read about or seen in a video.  Number one, get good walking shoes, you will be doing a lot of walking--on cobblestone and pavers.  Marianne had already started thinking about getting a special cane with a foldout seat; in case she needed to stop and rest while I obsessively—compulsively move on to see one more church, or one more hidden treasure.  Meagan and Sam kept talking.

     “We didn’t want to check baggage, but getting a suit case over there to put souvenirs in and checking that back through was a smart idea.  Oh, and Rick Steves’ books are absolutely essential.  Everything he says in true.  If the book says you are standing in such and such a place, and your turn 90 degrees to your right this will be there—and it will be!” 

     Suddenly we were talking about their escapades in convents and we all laughed when we referred to Matt and Jody’s ‘sex-capades’ in the ‘Chunnel’ between England and France.  Suddenly, at the same time, Marianne and I started wishing that Sam and Meagan were going to Italy with us. 

     “Assisi, of course, did it for me,’ said Meagan.  “Being Catholic, it really brought it all home for me.  What a spiritual place: The Church of Saint Clare, the Duomo of Saint Francis, all of that wonderful history and heritage right there.  We were able to see the crucifix that spoke to Francis and sit in on a mass.  The priest did the whole thing for the Sisters of St. Clare, and didn’t even look at us, it was all about them. We stayed in a convent and took in the whole place, including the hermitage.”

     Sam suddenly said when are you going?  We said mid-June.  Meagan said that he was helping a group of parents raise money for his son’s soccer team to go to Perugia in late-June, early July.  We told him we when were going to be there, but our dates didn’t sound like they would match-up.  I told Marianne later, that it would be so great to connect up with Sam while he was there.

   The conversation went on until the band was done and we all parted company, promising to get e-mail addresses and exchange information.  What a serendipitous chance meeting.  We were so glad we had the energy to stay up and endure the high-volume evening.  We got back to the car, jammed into it again, and headed up the south hill.  Halfway up the car started to over heat.  I couldn’t believe it--first, the coolant sensor and now this.  I wondered if we would make it through a 9 and a half hour trip the next day and get home.

  As with all travel, good and bad, there is the inevitable ‘car-trouble’ part of the trip.  I can’t count the times that we have had a car problem.  I remember once when I came up to Sandpoint in my new BMW (well, new to me) I lost the alternator southwest of Spokane and the car died on the highway; I had to be towed to Medical Lake.  Matt (pre-Jody), who had just moved back to Spokane, and started his practice, came to my rescue me.  It took two days and the fancy alternator wiped out what little money I had for the return trip.

     The next morning Jody was on the ‘job’ and trying to find a mechanic that could look at the Cadillac on a Saturday morning.  She found a Precision Tire shop over in the Valley that would take the care.  After two hours, they could find nothing wrong with the car.  We paid the man the money, said good buy to our ever-resourceful sister-in-law and headed off into the west—hoping we wouldn’t breakdown in the middle of nowhere.  Sure enough--nothing happened and the car performed with admirable aplomb.  As we headed back, avoiding crazy drivers in two states to the sound track of the Beatles “Rubber Soul”, U2 and French Caribbean music.  As we traveled, Marianne and I assessed our trip.  The reunion was successful, the family was still the same, and the best bed was Matt & Jody’s—the worst--Doug’s.  Sorry.  Two adults in a double bed for six nights is hard on ones back—and ones hips, and ones shoulders, and…

HELP! I’VE FALLEN IN (love with) TUSCANY AND I CAN’T GET UP

At Home in Sandpoint (Early August 2009)

     There are now two long bridges (two miles long) that span the water and delineate the end of the lake and the beginning of the river.  Dover and its distinctive bluff are to the west at the narrowing of the river.  To the right is Gold hill which rises to comfortable height now studded with high-end houses—some over a million.  As you cross the lake, the train trestle pops out from the shore and races with you to the north where it and highway 95 will come together, nearly.  Filling the gap is (or was) the locals’ beach, Dog Beach, where we would peddle our bikes out to everyday in the summer when we were young.  Now it seems to be the dump yard for equipment and materials for the new bi-pass. 

     This exasperating monstrosity is the culmination of 30 or more years of feuding and bickering between the town of Sandpoint, who needs to get the bumper to bumper traffic out of downtown, and the state who could careless what the dam thing looks like and wants an unrestricted route to Canada.  Then there are the environmental liberals who didn’t want the aesthetic beauty of the Sand Creek to be disturbed and the conservative work-a-day locals who just want the traffic out of the downtown. 

     Then there are the tourists who come through, in a moving gridlock, with no place to park, who just keep driving north—hoping things will get better some day.  Now what the folks of Sandpoint have is a mess.  A cheaply thought-out, ‘get-err-done’, eye-soar that cuts the town off from the city beach and will forever destroy the peaceful bucolic serenity of this once gem of north Idaho.

     The debate raged has on for decades about how best to handle Sandpoint’s’ problem, and it tore bitter gaps in friendships and families.  I know, the debate has raged through the Jones house forever and, if we had let a word slip here or voice and opinion there, both my dad and my older brother would rant and pontificate on the tree hungers and environmentalists, from ‘somewhere else’, and there stupid liberal ideas about what is best for our town.  Never once stopping to figure out why Sandpoint is such a coveted place to live, and why tearing up habitat and building concrete road ways above the creek, with traffic roaring along a 45 MPH—including semis, would screw up the ‘good thing’ we all have here.

     Sigh.  Well I don’t live here and only visit one week a year since my mom died so I can’t worry about it.  Marianne always has the same opinion about the Point.  It’s just another small town—nothing special.  She knows it’s different for me and my brothers because we grew up there.  Sandpoint’s appeal is where it is.  This cozy little community on the north edge of a huge fresh water lake with more scenic beauty than anyone but God could have crammed into a small space.  The mountains, the wildlife, the air, and the active, artsy lifestyle make it a real treasure. 

     Sad that the pour economy has always hit this part of the country the hardest.  Each new recession and depression batters the life out of this place.  Once, this area was a huge with logging.  There dozens of lumber mills and plenty of jobs.  Now there might be one mill still operating.  Changing the economy to tourism helped some, but if you were a farmer or lumberman you couldn’t make a living for your family.  That is why so many young people flock away from Sandpoint and seek a future in a more stable place.  Out the of the four sons my parents had, two left and pursued careers, two stayed and eek out an existence made tolerable by the all the natural resources the area offers.

     We are here for the first family reunion of the Jones family.  Since all our respective parents have passed, it was finally left to the ‘cousins’ to get it together and celebrate the ‘family’.  For the past 20 or so years, the only times we get together are when we lose a mother, father, aunt or uncle.  There are three branches of the Jones family that originated in Twin Falls, Idaho.  Our grandparents, Thomas Edgar and Julia Denise had three girls and two boys.  In order they were Catherine, Margaret, Thomas, Robert, and the baby, Patricia (Pat please!)  Catherine married Johnny Gentry in the late 1940’s and had three girls—Kathy, Karen, and Vicki.  Margaret married Verlon ‘Budge’—a merchant marine, and had Johnny T., Julia, Jim, and Robert. 

     My Father, Charles Robert (Bob or “CR”) married Elizabeth Ann Carpenter originally from New York City, June 4^th, 1953 in Phoenix Arizona, where she was working as a high school English teacher, and he was working in the family business of his sister’s, Margaret, husband, Budge’s citrus distributing company.  They meet in a dance hall—a social club and he loved to dance with her.  She had the best “ass” he would always reminisce.   They had four boys, Thomas, the eldest, David and Douglas, the twins, and Matthew the “oops” now the doctor.

   The reunion was a great success.  Our first night was dinner at the local, trendy, Mexican restaurant—Jalapeños.  Doug and Jim staged the main event—the BBQ—in their backyard.  Party central was at the Edgewater, where Matt and Jody’s room was open to all to party and talk.  The clan hadn’t been together since my Aunt Pat had past in January of 2007, and right before that—November of 2006 when our mother passed.

     I won’t bore you with the details, but it was a great time to get reacquainted with cousins, new wives, and grandchildren.  My niece, Lindsay and her three year-old son, Silas, took the “cutest couple award.  There were lots of promises made and invites extended, but none have ever been ‘fulfilled’ because of how involved our separate lives are going.  I just have to step back and say “Who are all these old people?”  Then I look in the mirror and see the balding, white-chinned man and say “Oh, yeah, me too”.

     The high-light of the evening was hearing my older brother tell ‘mother stories’ that basically embarrassed everyone else.  Oh, and our dog Phoebe ‘caught her first air’ that evening.  The mosquitoes were very bad that year and since the party was in my brother’s backyard, people were constantly slapping at the pests.  While standing around and talking to a cousin or five, Jody ‘involuntarily’ kicked at what she thought was a bug touching her leg.  The next thing we knew, after a ‘high-pitched’ yelp, the small dog was sailing through the air.  Jody had accidentally ‘punted’ the Silky a good four or five feet thinking the dog’s ‘nuzzling’ was a bug attack.  The dog was not hurt, but to this day if you lift your leg suddenly near her (or even five feet away) she will let out that ear-splitting yowl.

HELP! I’VE FALLEN IN (love with) TUSCANY AND I CAN’T GET UP

Eating in a Foreign Country -- America

     Italian cuisine has always enticed me.  First it was pasta, then, not so much—pizza.  However, as our Italian cookbook collection has grown, we have been constantly delighted with all things Italian—not just the noodles.  Pasta, according to Alton Brown (Food Network), is originally Italian and not Chinese.  Sadly it’s what everyone thinks of when you say Italian food.  But there is so much more.  So much!  Remember, the traditional meal has several courses in Italy and can last for hours, each course accompanied by a complimentary wine.  I want to experience this.  Not only the slow, unhurried pace of the meal, but the camaraderie and talk with friends and tablemates--something starting at say nine and lasting until eleven. 

     Sure family meals in the Jones family are like that.  Many families are like that.  Every summer when my brothers and our families get together we have the obligatory burgers, potato salad, corn on the cob, and desert with ice cream.  It takes an hour or two, but that’s because the beer is flowing generously and the BBQ takes too long to start.  But by 8:30 P.M. we’re through and ready for a card game or something on TV. 

     Recently we had a couple, newer friends over for dinner.  It was a ‘reciprocal’ meal for the one we were invited to about a year ago.  Hey, we’re slow, but we do return the compliment.   We met Duke and Lori through the theater.  He popped up one day about a week before auditions for the show I was directing, “Art” by Yasmina Raza.  He was a brilliant cut above the caliber of middle aged actor we usually get.  Obviously he had had some training somewhere in his past.  He is a marketing annalist and has a real flare for promoting and later took a board position (even a year as President) with the theater.  He was, of course, cast and did an outstanding job, along with the two other actors in the show.  His wife, Lori, is a lawyer for the Public Defenders office in town.  She, we found out, loves riding horses, and is accomplished in both western and English riding.  They met in the Bay area half a dozen years ago and were married.  He loves wines and has the broadest and specific knowledge of the subject of anyone I know.  He has even worked for a local vineyard, Abacela, one of the best, in the tasting room on weekends.  He said it was just so he could stock his “cellar”.

     Marianne and I kept our attack about possibly joining us in Italy low key.  Not wanting to spring it on them and scare them off right away.  The subject of traveling in foreign countries casually came up and before long we were talking in depth about the trip they had made to Provence, Burgundy, and Paris last June. 

     “Provence is my second choice of places to visit,” I said.

      “What’s you’re first?” They asked. 

      “Italy.” 

     “Oh, we would love to go to Italy.” 

     “Well”, Marianne chimes in, why don’t you join us next June when we go?”

     “You are?  That’s wonderful.  Where are you going?”  We proceeded to tell them about our plans to visit Tuscany and Umbria, about Rosetta and Fernando, and the week in Firenze.  They loved the idea.

     “Of course, it’s supposed to be two weeks,” said Marianne, “but David wants to stretch it to three.”

     I kind of shrugged with a “you can’t blame a guy for trying” kind of look.  They wanted to know every place we were thinking about going and soon the conversation turned back towards France.  Duke talked about driving through Burgundy, with the small villages, and rolling hills of vineyards, and I could just imagine my self there, enjoying it all.  One particular highlight of their trip was when they were looking for a tasting room to sample some Beaujolais.   It was Sunday and nothing was open.  They couldn’t find anywhere. 

     As they were driving through a small hamlet, they came to a four-way stop—pausing to look at the map and figure out where they might find some wine.  A car pulled up on there right on the cross street and motioned for them to proceed.  They motioned back for him to go ahead.  He insisted.  They held up the map and pantomimed looking for something.  He did not speak English and their broken French made things difficult.  Lori’s take on the language is to use it correctly and get all the verbal just right.  Duke just cuts a straight line.  He pantomimed drinking something, focused “binoculars” for ‘looking’, and yelled out the word Beaujolais.   After a rough banter back and forth he motioned for them to turn around and drive into a small road on their left. 

     As it turned out it was the fellow’s house.  He drove in, got out of his car, and opened his garage door.  Inside was his winery!  He graciously became host and treated them to an impromptu wine tasting that, despite the language barrier, was wonderful.  And the wine was very good.  That’s what is so special about France and Italy, everyone is vintner and has a long heritage of producing subtle, multi-layered wines.  It’s sad, but so many of the big European winemakers are trying to copy the big single flavor of a California wine, and forsaking centuries of tradition and refinement.

Getting Away for the Annual Pilgrimage Home (Early August 2009)

     So I had a ‘back to back’ “two services to play for” whammy at church.  I had to play keyboard for the annual picnic and be choir director for our new priest’s ‘Celebration’ of new ministry.   The duties fell to me, being the Music Director for our church, because the regular organist didn’t want to play the ‘lighter’ music and the pianist is in her husband’s home town attending a high school reunion.  When they returned I heard all about the heat of central Oregon and a side-ways rain-thunder-lightning-hail storm that knocked out the lights and power, at the restaurant where the dinner was taking place.  She said that they couldn’t cook, but that the beer taps flowed on into the night, until people could actually venture outside and leave—over the legal limit, but it’s central Oregon, so you know “no problem’.

     The service Sunday morning before the picnic went fine, but not many folks attended.  The last picnic I attended (15 years ago) had been a completely different affair.  They were families and children everywhere.  Food was abundant and the young pastor couldn’t set-up and run kids events fast enough.  This year the quiet Eucharist and picnic had mostly the eldest members of the church in attendance—only one family with a teenage daughter. 

     The large service that next night was a bright and spirit filled event with many more parishioners and clergy from the community and from around the state.  The visiting Reverend from Richland, Washington, gave an eloquent homily on her long-time friendship with our priest and the ministry of Saint Francis.  

     I got home from the service after eight PM and realized that we were set to leave on our yearly ‘pilgrimage’ to northern Idaho where my family lives.  I hadn’t thought about packing and hadn’t fussed about details up to that point.  I actually was very surprised and pleased with myself for not getting over anxious about the trip—which I have been know to do from time to time. 

     We left early and missed traffic in Eugene and Portland, but not Spokane.  The yearly hurtles of road construction seemed surprisingly few.  Only in the Tri-Cities had things gotten ‘messy’ as the Washington Department of Transportation tried again to solve the interchange problem of this ‘wildly’ out of control sprawling group of cities.  I was amazed that even though the bad economy has hit the west so hard over the past year, this place continues to experience growth. 
    Spokane was messy too near 5 P.M., especially because they were once again ‘resurfacing’ the freeway after another hard winter.  There were lots of pothole in the freeway.

     My brother Matt, the Optometrist, and his wife, Jody, the lawyer, were hosting the annual block party for the national Crime Watch observance.  They have a great yard for hosting big events and they love to entertain.  They had, easily, 50 neighbors there--mostly young married families who brought all the kids along.  Luckily one of the closest neighbors had an inflatable ‘bouncing house’ to keep the kids entertained.  Unfortunately the older play structure tended to deflate when more than eight to ten kids played inside.  This was the source of entertainment for the adults. 

     As Jody always plans ahead, she had arranged to have her best friend, Christie (who she grew up with in Choteau, Montana and her husband, Paul.  They are both retired, and my age.  Marianne and I, and the Pierces, who we’ve known for about 20 years, were relegated to the patio bar area, where we proceeded to drink Kokanee beer and catch up on the past year. 

     Since everyone had to have name tags, and none of the neighbors knew us, we decided to write Bill, Hilary, Barrack and Michelle on our tags.  Yes, I was called Bill several times, and some of the party goers did give us the ‘eye’ when our laughter got out of hand, but we had a great time.   Towards the end of the evening one of Matt’s more vocal neighbors came over to talk with us.  She was worried that we were over at the bar drinking all the beer.  We quibbled that we were hoping no one was noticing our strategy.

     The hour and a half trip from Spokane to Sandpoint went smoothly until we got back on the only highway that goes north out of Coeur d’Alene, 95.  At Chilco, where we have always avoided the summer congestion of traffic, we meet with construction and bumper to bumper cars.  It’s great that they are putting in a five lane expansion, but sad that it’s only for Silverwood, the amusement park.  The state roads department of Idaho has had to be tortured in the past to even admit that highways exist north of the Rathdrum prairie.     

     The scenery is beautiful, but the traffic on the two lane road has been a frustrating deterrent for ten to fifteen years now.  Once the road gets to Lake Pend Oreille and the wide expanse of blue which reflects the Selkirk range where Schweitzer ski resort is nestled all my tight muscles release and sweet calm flows over my body.