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.   

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

The Long Slow Summer (Late July 2009)

     So we were at Costco in Eugene, Oregon on a cool, cloudy weekday in late July, and we were waiting for our turn to get up to the pump.  The fancy Maxima in front of us had just pulled up to the pump; we waited while a rather short middle-aged man got out.  He apparently had no waist because his belted slacks were drawn up so far past his navel that the belt bucket was touching his chest.  It was obviously an attempt to disguise his pot belly.  Before I have a chance to say anything, Marianne speaks.

    “He’s Italian.”

    I take her at her word, having grown up back east with lost of them.  I thought he looked like a New Yorker, but what do I know, I grew up in rural Idaho.  The guy hands his cards off to the attendant, Bill.  I ask Marianne why some men actually try to hide their paunch with the high belt trick.  As quick as ever, she says, maybe he likes the feel of his underwear hiked up against his balls.  I think I blew the latte in my mouth through my nose just then.

    Bill, the attendant, seems to have has taken this new ‘bubba-do’ look to an uncomfortable extreme.  A ‘bubba-do’ is that sleek, trendy look so many ‘twent-thirty-plus-ers’ are sporting these days—the totally shaved heads with the moustache and goatee.  It would have been passable for Bill, a very personable, hard-working guy, except for one thing…he really didn’t have the right shaped head for the look.  Now I know that sounds harsh, but some heads are great bald, and some should wear hair (even balding hair) forever.  I should know--mine is like that.  So, Bill’s head was not all there.  What I mean is he seemed smart and a good soul, but the back of his head seemed to be missing.  A ‘well-rounded’ guy, maybe 250, with a full neck, Bill’s side profile was noticeable; the line of the neck continued straight up to the rather pointed crown at the top of his head. 

     “If it were me, I wouldn’t be caught dead doing that to my head,” I said.  The Jones boys, all four of them, have perfect ‘peanut’ heads and everyone knew this until we were about 11.  That’s when mom and dad decided to let us have some length to our hair instead of the burr cuts with front-bang cowlicks that she could always get to stand up by vigorous brushing or a little spit.  Spit was also good for cleaning a kids’ face.  Just a little on a hanky and a brisk rub could remove any extra dried-on food residue that might collect on a young boys face.  The red rash left by the rub however lasted a few hours.

     Looking at Bill, a distant but familiar tune popped into my head.  Now my younger brother Matthew, the doctor, who is one of the quickest wits I know, has a name for someone like this.  It’s ‘Bullet Man’.  Now B. Man was a stupid toy that was around for a very short time in the late 1970’s—kind of a weird headed super dude that could fly.  There was even a silly jingle that went with the ad that I can still sing, “Bullet Man the Human Bullet”.  Did you hear that?  I sang it perfectly—and so did Matt whenever he saw someone with a slightly torpedo-shaped head.  As it turned out, in college, he and I shared a room in a two bedroom apartment off campus for a semester.  The third roommate was a guy whose nose was unusually large—his profile was amazing, and he had little to no sense of humor.  My brother would go around singing that catchy jingle whenever Scott was not around, and he will still launch into it whenever the guy’s name is brought up to this day.  “…faster than a speeding bullet.”
     I decided not to follow suit, knowing the odd shape of my head.  Those who look really look like a Charles Schulz cartoon character should not throw stones.

      I woke on a late July morning, realizing that in a little over a week we will be traveling north to my home town in North Idaho—Sandpoint.  It is one of my favorite places in the world, but ‘progress’ and greed have started to take a toll on my once pristine childhood home.  Our cat, Maggie Mae, has already rousted me from a fairly deep slumber at 5:30 A.M. to try and get out of the screens to go after a stray Siamese-mix causally perusing our backyard.  I tried to fall back into dream-land for at least an hour, but by 6:30 that dog, a little Silky named Phoebe (a rescue but the sweetest animal we’ve ever had—even though she is a terrier) jumps on the bed and tries to give me a “French” kiss.  I pull the sheet high over my head to avoid the attack.  She snorts a few times and jumps off the bed—what fun is next she’s thinking.

     Immediately the same single-minded fanaticism begins to take hold of my mind, and soon I am wide awake worry about who will take care of the lawn, how the flowers and vegetables will be watered and tended, and a few dozen other items, while we’re gone for about two weeks.  I start thinking about why we have not heard from the apartment owner in Florence, Italy—dreading that there really isn’t an apartment or a Mr. Andrea, and that we have lost a $100 bucks to Marianna and Massimillian, the brokers.  This is after I had the gall to ask her if they had any references.  She ‘offense took’ but apologized in the next email and gave the address of the Florentine version of their Chamber of Commerce.  Yeah, that was a good ploy by the scam-artist to make the victim feel like a jerk so that they will send the deposit quicker.  The things you think when waking up.

  So I was up and getting dressed at 6:30, even earlier than I would be during the school year.  I water the lawn and plants, because today is the start of the next heat wave--mid-90s until we get to Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday in the 100s.  Ah, summer.  I do like the higher temperatures (mid-80s-90s) and it’s great to feel the sun or your back as you work in the yard, just like my dad did, but the 100’s are just cruel and adversarial if you ask me.  My plans for our vacation next week proceed during the day as I put the Italy trip onto the ‘back burner’ for a while.  The computer awaits.

Internet Espionage  (Late July 2009)

     I need to make a confession here.  I have been using the internet to ‘eavesdrop’ on some of these Italian writers to see where they live.  I know it must be a sin of some kind.  I plead no-contest to the charge.  I found Google Maps(Satelite-view) a few years back, but the spy camera technology from space is getting incredible these days.  Originally, I started innocently by looking at houses in places around Tuscany that I thought would be great to live in.  My tastes were simple, on a wooded hill away from population centers, but near a good road, and not to far from civilization.  Come on, let’s be reasonable…you have to be practical when you dream about living in a foreign country.

     First, I found some great areas around Lucca.  One did turn out to be near a friary, so it probably wasn’t for sale.  The ones down in Umbria, while breathtaking, were too spendy.  Then, when I found the podere in Chianti that I had been lusting after for months, I thought I died and gone to heaven.  It was not only a working podere (farm), but a casale used as an Agriturismo destination.  From the air it’s a huge property; there are so many hectares of land, a pool, vineyards, oil trees, etc.  Since I had a recommendation from Dario Castagno, who had stayed there once in high school, I have daydreamed about retiring to that very spot.  

    Then I got a little too ‘focused’ on finding things.  I have found all of the spots we plane to visit on our sojourn.  Found the B & B in Magione, the apartment in Firenze, an art studio in Chiusi, and countless other places.  They appear to be real now, and not just places I have read about.  Here’s where it kind of takes a ‘kinky’ turn.  I have been trying to find some of the homes of these authors that I have been reading.  Some are well-known enough to already have it marked by some considerate contributor to Google earth.  Even Ferenc Mates’ winery is listed, although I know that the indicated spot on the map is not a winery, it’s just a bend in a road.  Bramasole, Ed and Francis Mayes’ Cortona home, has a handful of possible locations, but if you know what you are looking for, you’ll find the right one. 

     Now, Jill Eikenberry and Michael Tucker’s (the Tuckerberry’s as I refer to them) remodeled ‘rustico’ was a little harder to find, but no challenge is too great for me.  I found a blurry, but old shot of it on Google Maps.  The Italian site, PagineGaille.ItVisual has the best close-up view and it’s an up-to-date satellite image because you can see the pool and the new addition on the Tuckerberry’s casa.  It is not as Michael Tucker wants you to imagine, near Spoleto.  It’s near the tiny village of Poreta.  I hoped I could one day see the estate.  I could imagine all the things that the Tuckerberry’s and the Jones’ would have in common—mainly theatre and food.  Maybe we could stop in for a visit next summer?

     I have also had the Weather Underground site permanently set on Magione--Ponte Felcino, Perugia, Umbria.  This is where the B & B Bella Magione (Fernando and Rosetta) is located.  It has surprised me how Roseburg’s and Umbria’s weather patterns are so similar.  Of course they didn’t get the record heat blast we lived through earlier that week, but there time is coming.

     Why, you ask, would I do this?  Why did I spend this much time looking for these places?  I guess it’s to try and take myself out of the place I have always been and imagine a life in a place far away.  You see, it was not real to me yet.  Yes, I’ve read about it, I’ve seen the pictures, communicated with it’s people, but until I set foot on it’s soil, breath it’s air, and deal with it’s reality for myself, Italy won’t be real, to me.   Recently I saw a video of Rick Steves sitting down to dinner with an Italian farm family and I wept a little because it was so wonderful.  I wanted to do that.  It was the act of stepping out of my existence and touching the life of someone’s half a world away that hit me square in the heart.  I wanted to live ‘larger’ than rural America and finally be a part of this world I lived in.  Not politically, not with an opinion, not with any pretexts or prejudices, but just as one being to another.

   And I wanted that for us.  I wanted it more than I could say.  Maybe it had been a long journey, through childhood hopes and dreams, through the vicarious pleasures of others, but we had to go.  We had to experience Italy.  Marianne and I are doing this for us.  Something most people rarely do.  Our lives get tangled up in doing for others.  Don’t get me wrong, I believe it’s the way to live.  I just think after 30 years of ‘their’ time we needed a big ‘our time’.  The Italian saying really applies: Chi si accontenta gode: “Contentment is happiness, or enough is as good as a feast.”

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

A Friend in Italy  (August 2009)

     God bless the day that Marianne found Fernando and Rosetta on the internet in the spring.  I, without knowing it, had stumbled upon them via the website for their B & B Bella Magione in Magione, Umbria, Italy a month before.  Their ad claimed custom tours to suite your specific wishes and desires.  Great.  Sad for them that I had a hell of a lot of wishes and desires that I had coveted for a long time in my heart.  Everything I had seen from the time I could remember, I wanted to see and experience. 

     Marianne just knew that this was the way for us to get to know Italy before we ever thought of striking out on our own.  She was impressed by the fact that this Fernando would drive us, and a group of up to eight, anywhere in central Italy.   Rosetta, his wife, cooked dinners and would even take guest to the weekly market and an olive oil mill.  However, as Marianne was quick to point out, I did not come cheap—about $5,000 a week for two.  We started to talk about a trip in mid-June of 2010.  She thought they might already be booking for that time and pushed for me to write.  I believed that she was right and I eventually emailed them in early June.

     The response to our first inquiry was:  

Conferma del messaggio inviato a <info@italyescortedtour.info> alle 04/06/2009 6.40 

Il messaggio è stato visualizzato nel computer del destinatario alle 04/06/2009  12.22

Okay.  Italian.  I thought I could decipher it:  the message about a visit via the computer was received on June, 4, 2009.  What it didn’t say was:  you have a place to stay.  Oh, I see, this auto-response gets kicked-out every time you enquire to most places.

    The next day Fernando wrote:

Dear David, thank you for your kind request !  We will get back to you with our tour suggestions for you as soon as possible. Saluti dall'Italia, Fernando.

Score!   A week went by, then 10 days.  On June 14 Fernando wrote:

Dear David,

thanks again for your kind request for 2010 and sorry if we have taken some days before to send you our information.. we are in this period every day busy with tours.

If what you are looking for is experiencing Italy more as insiders rather than as tourists, it will be our pleasure to get you into the genuine Italian way of living and treat you with all that's enjoyable of our country.

I'll  personally escort you through some of the most beautiful Italian sceneries and share with you some historical information,  fine food and wine, while Rosetta will spoil you with the traditional dishes of Central Italy...

To have look into our suggestions, budget and booking terms for your trip in Italy please click on  Mr David Jones' tour  print a copy of it and let us know what you think about.

Saluti dall'Italia

Fernando

     I quickly clicked on the link with my name on it and found a web page devoted just to my trip!

SUN:  Arrival between Tuscany and Umbria. We will pick you up in Rome airport in the morning and transfer to our Villa. If you are not too tired, after lunch we can have a tour along the way. Relax and Welcome Dinner… Antipasti of Umbria and Tuscany and local wines.

MON:  Siena and the Senese Countryside (Tuscany)  Breakfast: the "Crostata di Marmellata" hand made by Rosetta. Siena: you will see one of the world’s most unique piazzas del Campo and visit the precious Duomo. Cheese tasting. The heart of the Senese countryside is perfect landscape of enchanting hillsides. Dinner in our villa with a coutryside menu of Tuscany and Umbria…

TUE:  Assisi and Spello (Umbria)  Breakfast: the "Torcolo Umbro", hand-made by Rosetta. Assisi with its amazing ensemble of masterpieces, such as the Basilica of Saint Francis with Giotto’s and Cimabue’s frescos, represents a unique example of city sanctuary. Lunch in a typical trattoria. Spello, a charming town near Assisi. Dinner in our Villa: "Umbricelli al pomodoro", hand-made pasta.

WED:  Gubbio and Perugia (Umbria)  Breakfast: the "Ciaramicola", typical local cake. Gubbio: one of the most beautiful medieval towns in Europe, perfectly preserved. Lunch in a typical trattoria and in the afternoon visit of Perugia, the main town of Umbria and promenade in the shopping area. Dinner in our villa: will taste the "minestrone" and “arrosto al forno”

THU:  Caprese Michelangelo and La Verna (Tuscany) Breakfast: the "Torta di mele", hand-made by Rosetta. Shopping in the open market in Magione with Rosetta. In the morning a mystic moment for your soul at the Sanctuary of La Verna on St. Francis' tracks. Lunch in a typical Tuscan trattoria at Caprese Michelangelo: Michelangelo’s native village. Dinner in our Villa… we will taste Italian Pizza!

FRI:  LakeTrasimeno and Cortona (Umbria & Tuscany)   Breakfast: the "torta al cocco e cioccolato", hand-made by Rosetta. Guided visit with Rosetta at an oil mill and extra virgin olive oil tasting at our villa with bruschetta and wine. After lunch Cortona the town of the descendants of Dardanus from Troy, now modern day Greeks… setting of the movie “Under the Tuscan Sun”… Farewell Dinner

SAT:   Departure or Transfer to Rome Airport: it takes about 2 and a half hours from my place to Roma Fiumicino.

     We were overwhelmed and suddenly full of emotions.  Almost everything we possibly could have wanted was in this package.  Well, at least I was.  Marianne was just happy he responded.  As I examined the itinerary more closely, I realized I didn’t know some of the places Fernando had scheduled.  I also didn’t see places I had originally suggested to him.  Places like Orvieto, Spoleto, and the Tuscan triumvirate—Montalcino, Pienza, and Montepulciano.   I most certainly didn’t know places like Spello and Gubbio and I wondered why he hadn’t taken my first suggestions into consideration.  I thought better of just firing off an ill-conceived email that would strain a young relationship.  It took several days for me to craft an email that I hoped would not offend our future hosts.

Dear Rosseta and Fernando:

    Thank you so much for getting back to us.  Marianne (my wife) and I think the tour package that you have put together looks wonderful.  There are a few things on our “wish list” that we have always wanted to do and are not listed.  That being said, we understand if tour packages cannot be changed.   Please, I hope you don’t take offense if we have a few requests if our week with you is flexible.

    First, we could be in Rome as early as June 13, 2010--more information to follow later.  There are so many things we would love to see and experience, but time is a factor.  Just sitting by the pool at your villa, would be great.  Also, Marianne has some mobility problems. 

   I am an amateur painter (want to sketch & watercolor while there) and want to see the art, architecture, and the country.  Marianne also wants to see museums, find fabric, and shop.  We love live music, theatre, opera, eating and wine.  Cooking lessons with Rosseta would be wonderful. Wine tasting and seeing the process of wine making also interests us.  We are especially interested in the wines of Montalcino (brunello) and Montepulciano (vino nobile), and your suggestions, of course.  We are curious about Pisa and Lucca, but not in high tourist season (?). 

Fernando’s Tour with Jones’ Wish List:

SUNDAY--Perfect (piu espresso, per favore!)

MONDAY--Siena--Wonderful!   Is wine tasting in Chianti possible this day?

TUESDAY--Our Umbria list is 1) Oriveto, 2) Civita di Bagnoregio (if possible), 3) Spoleto, and 4) Assisi (if there’s enough time).

WEDNESDAY--Gubbio sounds fascinating, but we would like to see (and taste) Montalcino, Pienza, and Montepulciano.  Perugia—I don’t know.

THURSDAY--More Umbria or up to Arezzo (shopping)?  A trattoria?

FRIDAY- Olive oil & Cortona--si!  This sounds absolutely great!  Too crowded? 

SATURDAY-Departure—sad, but true. 

Scusi.  Please don’t be offended.  If it were possible for us to stay a couple nights in Firenze, could you drive us there on Saturday?  Do you think that trains and busses are reliable enough to get us back to Rome on our own (via Lucca and Pisa maybe) for our flight home?  Let us know if this is pazzo.

Molte grazie

David and Marianne Jones

Roseburg, Oregon

USA

A week later, he responded:

Dear David and Marianne,

thanks for your suggestions, they are very useful for me to plan a right tour for the two of you.

Next week we will send you a new programme considering your suggestions but also the real possibility to realize day by day what you suggested.

We will also send you train information a.s.o.

Thanks again.

Fernando

And Later:

Dear David and Marianne,

 we are working to the new plan and taking into account your suggestions...

We would like better understand some aspect of your wishes:

 About excursions:

you wrote that Marianne has some mobility problems... as the medieval towns in Tuscany and Umbria are up on the hills, we would like to know if there are problems if you have to walk up and down...

We can organize a plan to visit the different places you suggested but this means also to walk a lot... 

We don't have museums in our itineraries for a question of time and also because we give more importance to the real life with people, trattorias a.s.o. but if Marianne has an idea of what she would like to see, it could be useful to know it..

About wines:

We generally use to visit a place in the morning, have a typical lunch with local good wine and then another short visit in the afternoon before to go back home.

We offer you an experience and know like Italians generally do  and for you we organize everyday a  different visit a different flavour of food and a  different wine. We naturally drink good wines (as we have an offer very large and good quality) but not Reserve every day.

Therefore we would like to know if you would like to have professional wine tasting with: Brunello, Nobile of Montepulciano, Chianti Riserva, Sagrantino a.s.o. or if you mean just to have the opportunity to taste them as "tourist" in local wineries and perhaps by a bottle to drink at home. 

What we suggest is a mix of a different aspects of our life with some general information about our history to help to understand the expression of character between Umbrian and Toscan people.  

As we can see in your email here under, you know very good what you want to see so, are you sure that you would need our services ?  Sorry but we don't like that people could be disappointed.

Thanks for your cooperation.

Saluti

Fernando

Our response:

Dear Fernando and Rosetta:

     Thank you for returning our request email with suggestions and cautions.  First, we want you to know we trust you on everything, especially Italian culture, food and wine.  Disappointed?  We will be in Italy—how could that ever be disappointing?

Our dates can be June 13 to 20, 2010.   Does that work for you?

     Marianne’s mobility problems stem from chronic arthritis and bursitis.  She is used to a more active lifestyle.  Although she is retired now, she had a long career as a theater director and working with non-profit organizations.  She still directs plays when possible.  She looks forward to the trip and will say when she has had enough.  David should be fine walking, etc. almost anywhere.

    We totally understand about museums, and would prefer to “meet and taste” the region.  We see now that trying to do Orvieto, Civita and Spoleto all in one day is just too much.  We have been told Assisi and Spello are really worth the visit.  Maybe focusing on Orvieto and Assisi might be enough. Visiting Montalcino, Pienza and Montepulciano would be great, but if it’s too much, just say so.  Yes, Gubbio looks wonderful, but this might be our only trip to Italy.

     As for wine and wine tasting—we are tourists.  Whatever you let us sample will be wonderful.  One wine we are unable to buy locally is “Brunello” and would very much like to sample it, if possible.  We are sure that your own wine cellar will be more than adequate.

     The week following our visit with you, we are trying to book an apartment in Florence or Siena/Chianti area, reachable by train, and do day trips to Pisa, Lucca, etc. and focus on churches and museums there.  David met a teacher from Milan in a class he just took who wants to help us ‘experience’ Tuscany. 

     We are concerned about what happens after our visit with you.  Maybe you can answer some of our questions:  Will the trains get us there and to our other day trips?  Pisa, Lucca etc.  Are the buses reliable?  Finding food, etc.—all daunting tasks in a foreign country.  Oh, is driving in the Tuscan country-side even an option?

     We are both very anxious to work out an excursion schedule that seems most manageable for you.  Thank you again, and we hope that all our planning pays off beautifully.

Arrivederci,

David and Marianne

Dear Marianne and David,

We thank you for understanding!

If you follow our programme we are sure you will be satisfied... if we have to follow you we can not guarantee...

If you go in a nice restaurant and you want to eat something that is not included in the chef's specialties or you want something new outside of his knowledge, you have to know that you risk to eat bad ... 

So, if you will arrive two or three days before and start visit Rome on your own, you will be our of  jet-lag and we will pick you up at your hotel on Sunday morning and start visit as following:

Sunday 13th:     Civita - Light lunch - Afternoon Orvieto (this town isn't crowd)

Monday 14th:     Siena - Light Lunch - Afternoon Montalcino

Tuesday 15th :   Spoleto - Light Lunch - Afternoon Assisi

Wednesday 16th: Gubbio - Light Lunch - Afternoon Perugia

Thursday 17th:   Montepulciano - Light Lunch - Afternoon Pienza

Friday 18th:        Oil Mill on Lake Trasimeno - Light Lunch - Afternoon Cortona

Saturday 19th:  Departure for Florence at your Apartment or nearby if it's not possible to reach it by car.

 As you can see we start our tour on Sunday and ending on Saturday and we cannot change the dates as we have to pick up other people on Sunday again a.s.o. so, we suggest you to reserve one day earlier in Florence (19th - 25th ?).

In this case you will be charged with our basic budget for an exclusive tour for two people and we will include a couple of wine tasting, a cheese tasting and an extra-virgin olive oil tasting.

If you agree, we will send you the final proramme including budget and booking terms.

Saluti

Fernando

We responded ecstatically—finally letting them know about our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.  They wrote back:

Dear Marianne and David,

happy to know that you like our proposal.

Once you are here and touring with me, if it will be too much we will stop early, no problem!

The ideal for us is a mini-group of 6 persons arriving in Italy at the same time at the same airport, so if your friends would like to join you, we would be very happy and you would benefit of a better price (see: http://www.italyescortedtour.info/prices.html

About an Hotel in Rome:

http://www.hoteldiocleziano.it/en/reservations.htm  Hotel Diocleziano (near Train Station - 4 stars)

http://www.hotelmadisonrome.com/it/index.htm  Hotel Madison 3 Stars at train station Termini - Via Marsala 60 - Contact: Anna Maria: aana@phh.it    TEL. +39.06.445-4344 FAX: +39.06.445-6993

Please, as Rome is a big town with thousands of hotels, fell free to search through all search engines that you prefer like www.booking.com  a.s.o.

Congratulation to your 25th Anniversary, we will open an extra bottle at you arrival.

Saluti

Fernando

     TRIMUPHANT SCORE!  GLORIA DEO!  Hot diggity dog!  It looked like everything we could possibly want was there, plus a little Rome thrown in to boot.

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

Peter and Lana-- Our Friends

     It is such a rare gift to have good friends.  Marianne and I have many friends, and usually they are as unique as we are.  Peter and Lana Graff is one such couple.  Lana is a walking fiend and knows the best routes.  She is a local, a former elementary music teacher, a choral composer, excellent soprano, jewelry maker and peace activist.  Her husband, Peter, a former business-development expert, originally from New Jersey, is active in the theater and a true bass.  Marianne and Peter formed a quick bond 20 odd years ago, through the theater, and enjoy martinis and Metaxa together—oh the stories I could tell.  He is a little older than Marianne and has had to start wearing hearing aids.  Recently he got a cutting-edge of technology set that he is trying to get use to.  Lana still has to yell at him, “turn them up, or pay attention--you old coot!   

     They both meet back in 1992, during a production I created and directed “Impossible Broadway”.  It was a high-powered Broadway Musical review that was one of my crowning achievements.  Later, we were witnesses at their civil marriage ceremony at City Hall after Thanksgiving that year.  They went on to do “The Mikado” with us, just before we left the theater for the first time.  They have sung with Vintage for years.  She’s got a beautiful, pure soprano, and he is as ‘bass-y’ as you get—having sung with the Nassoons at Princeton, 50 plus years ago.   

     We have been to the coast and Yachats several times with them.  We always have a great time.  I remember one Fourth of July, walking the beach in Florence (Oregon) for hours with them.  The tops of my feet got so sunburned, but the walk and the company were wonderful. 

     Friends share food and good times and the four of us have certainly had conspicuous consumption together.  We started a dinner group and had progressive meals—with international themes from all over the world.  Lana started her a couple of her own annual parties, a summer festa and a winter solstice party.  It’s always fun with them.

Tidbits to Travel Tuscany By

     I had started to read as much as I could about traveling in Italy and smart ways to travel for our "Soggiorno in Tuscany".  Yes, Rick Steves is the pro, but he is also selling things.  One unforgettable quote comes from his endorsement of a money belt that looks like a regular belt.

  “Relax: When you wear this money belt, feeling a street urchin's hand in your pocket becomes just one more interesting cultural experience.”

  Or in pushing an agriturismo…

“One of the joys of staying for at least a week in one location is you can develop a true dolce far niente ("sweetness of doing nothing") attitude.”

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

 “Oh, The Horror” Travels with Bad Beds (Late July 2009)

    We have been through ‘traveling with torturous beds’ many times before.  Strange mattresses and just bad beds—oh the ‘horror’!  Whether it’s the guest beds at my brothers’ houses, bad motels, or even the dreaded foldout couches, trying to negotiate through your day after you have had a permanent crease etched into your spine is no picnic.   Somehow, feeling like you slept on concrete with a four inch metal pipe being ground into shoulder blades doesn’t make you exactly bright and chipper the next day.  Ah, the hide-a-bed--what exquisite torture.  Please, sir, may I have another? 

     I remember some time back giving up the bed for a fold out sofa in Newport, Oregon.  We had two friends join us in this condo with a great bead and the oldest pullout you could imagine.  The mattress must have been 2 inches thick—I swear.  And, of course, when I laid down on it, one of the main supporting bars hit me square across the back.  I felt that one for a week.  I still can feel it now, after 15 years.  Isn’t it amazing how the mind can remember pain so well?

Maybe I Should Get In Shape?  (July 2009)

     I have decided to go back to yoga after a 20 year hiatus.  I needed to do something.  I started in college and stuck with it into my thirties until my job and other commitments got the best of me. 

     Teaching children is the greatest, but it’s the other stuff that goes with it that makes it hard.  Sometimes I liken teaching to nine months of holding your head under water and coming up for air around Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the end of March.  In June, you’re actually allowed to come out of the water for a couple of months.  Here in the past ten or so years I think the water has become increasingly more stagnant and swamp-like, thanks to so many school reforms, bad politicians and tax initiatives.  How many times can one foul ones water supply before everyone gets a ‘poo-flood’? 

        So, we joined the “Y” in June and I now can choose from about six different yoga classes—a variable smorgasbord of ‘pretzels and pain’.  I have been proud of my accomplishments in the past month.  I am bending and twisting quite well thank you.  I now have some strength in my shoulders and upper arms.  However, the first week of sessions absolutely got me.  I pulled a muscle in my lower right back and over stretched some tendons in the back of my left calf. 

     This last injury was probably actually caused from dancing in a musical last April.  Marianne directed the show, “Once on This Island” which was a great success.  I told her I couldn’t do the show because it opened Holy Week, which is the most intense time of a Musician in the Episcopal Church.  Yes, even more than Christmas.  There are about five services during that time, and any thought of prancing around a theatre stage was out of the question.  Plus I had a spring concert with our community a ccapella singing group, The Vintage Singers, so I had no time for a play. 

     Well, Marianne didn’t have any mature men audition, who could sing.  So by a ‘force-out’ situation, I became the old man of the show.  All the other performers were in high school, college-aged or their 30’s.  Oh, just to make it work better for me, she also moved the show forward one week so it opened the week after Easter.  Thank you sweetie, I love you too.

   I don’t think this out of shape 50 something body could have worked so hard to learn the excellent dances our 17 year old, slave-driving, choreographer created.  It was obvious for the first month that I might not make it.  Still, I think I pulled it off.  I lost about 10 pounds and felt better than I had in years—even though I screwed up this tendon behind my left knee.  I’m getting better.  I’m not quite dead yet--feeling much better.

   So this day’s class was very crowded and I didn’t recognize the instructor at all.  She hadn’t been teaching classes for the last month, but I guessed the regular gal couldn’t make it.  She started off briskly and had us bending and contorting in ways I never have thought or wanted to move.  We all got through it, but that was very intense for lower intermediate class. 

     The “Yoga Nazi” as I began to think of her, also kept a pleasant smile on her face, but knew precisely what posture she could inflect next to really challenge us.  Afterward, I checked with Harry, a long time acquaintance to see how he was doing.  He has about eight years on me, but handles himself well in the class.  I taught both his kids, directing one as Scrooge in a school Christmas play.  Harry himself was our Narrator/Mysterious Man in mine and Marianne’s joint production (she directs/I do the music) of “Into the Woods’.  He is also on the board of the Community Theater in which we are so active.  Harry usually cheerfully greets and says goodbye every Tuesday when I see him.  This day, he mumbled ‘see ya” as he left, looking like he’d ripped a muscle in every possible body quadrant.  Yoga makes you feel so centered.  It’s great.

     I have been preparing myself, physically, for the marathon of Tuscany.  It’s all built on hills, and the buildings don’t have elevators—that’s what we’ve been told.  Dario Castagno, who’s book “Too Much Tuscan Sun” exposed American (and other nationalities) tourists for their “out-of—shape-ness”.   He was really was amazed the huffing and puffing of the folks he guided.  From a cultural perspective, we came out looking pretty pathetic.  I vowed to myself, as I read his book, never to be like that if or when I go to Italy. 

   So I have been walking the hills of Roseburg to get ready.  Okay, a year in advance, but if I don’t start now, when will I?  Let me tell you, I now know that Roseburg is built on hills.  At first glance from the freeway, I-5, that ‘tears’ the town in half, it’s a flat, cozy river valley with the meandering South Umpqua running through, and bumps of high hills, like Nebo and Callahan ridge, that break up the ‘hundred valleys of the Umpqua’.  Over the past 20 years the town has slowly spread out and up the sides of these hills, in a very hap-hazard way.  Some developers have tried to keep the hillsides in tact, while others have scared in so deeply, we’re just waiting for the next big rain during the monsoon season for all those half and million dollar homes to come sliding down into the older neighborhoods.

    During my summer break, I recharged my body by taking walks, a mile or two, around the greater neighborhood area of our southwest home.  I have had some physical problems, three hernia operations, gout, and various bronchial-asthma related issues, that can sometimes limit me.   The flat part of town, where we live, gently sloping down to the river and has been great for walking.  Now that Marianne and I have a goal in mind, I have decided to push myself and take to the hills—literally.  Just a block away to the east, the southwest hill of town rises up sharply.  Mt. Nebo is on the east end, near I-5, and the ridge to its west might not even have a name. 

     I had been up the first street, Winter Ridge, which end in a field after a cul-de-sac, and it was a challenge.  Our neighbors, old friends, Peter and Lana, who live at the west end of the subdivision, first told me about the work out.  Once I return from the hill top I traverse the side of the hill and take every opportunity to take a one block cul-de-sac or side road to climb more of the ridge.  The highest street is Military and the last uphill assault is a killer.  It gets your heart pumping and the sweat a poring.  On a summer morning, there is nothing healthier than ‘huffing and puffing’ my way up there, and taking in the Roseburg vista as I try to keep from passing out.  I figured if I keep doing this throughout the coming school year I might be ready for Tuscany.