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

Moving the Tub—Electric Too

     Actually getting the tub onto the concrete pad was the easiest part of the whole job.  I called six guys on the first Wednesday morning in November, before it had to get it in place because the ‘monsoons’ would start in earnest the next day (that’s what the weather guy said) and the electrician was showing up on Friday at 8 AM.  The moving brigade got there at 6:15 PM, in the dark because of the end daylight savings time, and we moved the hot tub into place, measuring to try and center in on the pad and over the pipe for the wiring.  By the dim glow of the 60 watt florescent porch light, and one flash light, it took five minutes, tops.  I even got them to put the cheap Big Lots (Big Lots of Crap) canopy in place over the tub so it wouldn’t be too wet when the guy started working on the wiring, in two days.  No one tripped in the dark and I didn’t hurt any other part of my body.  The best thing that happened was friends from church and the theater came together to accomplish what I certainly could not.  The worst things that happened were I was late for choir rehearsal and mud from seven assorted shoes and boots got tracked through the house.  Small price to pay, I’d say.

     The electricians came by on that Friday and in short order, installed the necessary components and the tub was ready to go.  Well, almost.  I still had to fill it.  Since the back facet was leaking, so much more generously then when it was ‘repaired’ by the plumber two summers ago, I stuck the hose into the tub and closed the dismal looking lid.  After one day, there seemed to be enough water outside the tub on the concrete slab to tell me we had a leakage issue.  However, on further inspection of the mechanics of the system, I found an outflow or drainage value that was open, and there was a cap that could be screwed on the end of the plastic pipe. 

     The next day there was water in the tub and not much, you have to remember “it rains” (piove— a new Italian word) in Oregon most of the fall and winter), so I was half way convinced the cracks in the plastic shell of the tub were merely cosmetic.  The pump and mechanics, however, did not work.  I tried with my limited skills to press buttons, turn knobs, and slide levers, but nothing would work.  Yup, this is why it was free.

   By November, Marianne had established a ritual for our Monday night Italian classes.  We would do a quick study at home, grab all our books and materials, pile into the car, then stop and have dinner at a Chinese place on the way.  We would converse in Italian, using an English-Italian dictionary, and go over lessons while eating Mar Far and Fried Rice—special #1.  As it turned out, the waitress that always waited on us was the mother of a former student.  Zi Ru, a Chinese National, who was about the best student I ever had.  She was amazing. 

     Zi Ru came to school, not speaking any English.  She was bright and quick, and she had a real heart and aptitude for music.  It was wonderful to watch her grow into a musician that devoured anything I gave her.  She picked up the recorder and played it better than anyone in her class.  After her fourth grade year, she spoke fine English and was both respectful and polite.  Everyone liked her and she fit in well--just a really neat kid.  Her mom gave us up dates ever time we came into the restaurant.  Marianne thinks she’ll be a doctor.  A musical doctor is what I hope.

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

Conversing In Italian, “Ciao, Bella Gina”

     Marianne and I did something quite uncommon for us—we signed up of a night class:  Beginning Italian.  It was uncommon because we are usually either doing theatre at night or singing or directing choir for me.  It has been taught for years at UCC (Umpqua Community College) our local JC by Jean Melo. 

     Now, Jean Melo and I go back a long ways.  She was my teaching partner at Winchester Elementary School in Roseburg, Oregon in the 1990’s.  I had her kids in school when they first settled here from a cross-country move from Connecticut.  Jean is a force of nature, an incredibly versatile pianist, outstanding musician (including accordion), and speaks Italian like she was born there.  She has also been very persuasive. Extremely so.  She was after me for years to take her beginners class.  In late September we succumbed to her constant invitations and signed up for the class.

    Jean and Wes, her husband lived near Pisa while he did his service.  “Close” to the Field of Miracles really turned out to be four miles, or so, but since I live in Oregon, USA; I thought four was close and convenient.  She relished her time in Tuscany, and made many friends.  Many she goes back to see every year.  The couple they usually end up staying with live on Elba—Napoleon’s exile isle.  “Sort of looks like a sardine, doesn’t it?”  She quibbled as we started to look at the map of Italia.  She is thorough.  Not only were we getting Italian to use, but we were getting a geography lesson, culture lesson, and history thrown it for good measure.   I relished it.

     Gina loves to give her insights into the Italian culture and La bella figura.  I hang on her every word.  I fall off the cliff when she “rapid-fires” Italian questions and answers like notes from a Mozart opera overture—too many!?!  One night in class she started talking about driving in Italy and how vastly different it is to drive with Italians since the carbonating have begin to ‘crack-down’ on native-born drivers—levying heavy traffic fines on them for driving infractions. 

     “Before,” she said, “You took your life in your hands, and certainly got out of their way if you ever saw one coming.  They were terrible.”

     “Like, yellow means go faster, and red just a suggestion?” offered Marianne.

      “Si!  Now, they are courteous and almost respectful because they understand the ‘consequences’ better.”

     Later that evening at home I asked Marianne if Jean’s comments encouraged her at all about trying to drive in Tuscany.  She took the crossword she was working on and raised it up over her face so I could not see a reaction.  Well I guess a got my answer on that topic.  I would try to keep building my case later.

Those Happy Feudal Days

    Gina was running through words and phrases in class and came across la conto, the bill. 

     “First,” she says, “you must always ask for the bill at a ristorante.  They will never bring it to you.  Never.  You have to ask for it.”

     “Or mime writing on the palm of your hand,” added Marianne. 

     “Did you know that the ‘Count’ comes from conto, to count, keep track of.  In the feudal times the Count was charged by the Duke to go out and count all the peasants things.  The grain sacks, livestock, wine barrels, everything, and then the Duke would get 95% of it all.  That’s why the rich were very rich and the poor, well, the poor got babies.  Even today, the aristocracy won huge amounts of land.  The nobles always got the best jobs, all that sort of thing.  Although it’s not so bad, my husband, Wes, got to go on a hunt with a rich count-type and ended up shooting a wild boar (cinghale).  He even got knighted, a cross of boars’ blood on the forehead.  But that’s another story…”

Thanksgiving, Italian-Style

    “Felice Ringraziegiorno!” One week before Thanksgiving, Gina related her experience with having some loving Italian ‘la nonna’ make Thanksgiving dinner for them. 

     “She wanted to do it so badly.  She was ‘molto dolce’.  First, for the turkey--it was stuffed with a basic hamburger--meatloaf mixture.  She refused to us a bread stuffing; it was revolting to her Italian senses.  Weird, yes, but it was so tasty, “coma gustoso”.” 

     Gina shows the hand ‘language’ that goes with it—a pointer finger (thumb out fingers curled over) against the cheek.  It looked just like our “I’m so cute and adorable” sign. 

     “The hamburger ‘infused’ into the poultry and made it so moist and flavorful.  Mmmm, delizioso!  The pumpkin pie, however, was a totally foreign idea.  Mamma sliced up the pumpkin, laid the pieces into a pie shell, and the result was, non delizioso.  No, no, no.  It was pretty much a disaster.”

Hot Tub Up-Date 

     The gravel came in two loads, and even though my left knee complained about it, I hauled it all to the back yard and tamped it down.   Over the next week I got the form in place and waited for the ‘flying hot tub”.  I had to tear out the free-stand trellises and rip the healthy vines (wisteria and clematis) off of them in order for the tub to get to the patio.  After two or three mis-starts, on a sunny Thursday in mid-October, Leonard got the hot tub into the back yard.  Marianne was at home and said she was too afraid to go out and look at the process.  If I had been off work that day, I would have loved to watch the whole production.  She said she saw a shadow cross the skylight on the south side of the house, and did see the tub gracefully descend and land on the small patio on back.  Wonderful!  So we now had a 7’ x 7’ tub on a 9’x 9’ patio.  We could almost get out the back door and get around it.  Fine.  Now all that was left was getting the 10” by 10” slab poured.

   The following week, I had a non-contract Friday (the first of four furlough days and the beginning of the decrease in my 23-year salary), so I was bound and determined to get the whole thing done, poured, etc. and the weather looked like it was going to cooperate.  I called a few young, strong guys, because I knew I couldn’t really do the physical labor.  Curiously, I woke that Friday morning, after a four week aggravation of gout (yes gout!) in my left big toe, with a ‘discomfort’ in my right heel.  It hoped it had been bed sheets too tightly tucked into the mattress. No such luck.  By the afternoon, I knew I had a ‘re-visitation’ of an old Achilles tendon/bone spurs on my heel problem.  I struggled through two visits to that hell-(p)-ful place, Lowes, to get things for the concrete form and the tub, and then had to return them because I ‘blithely’ believed what the clerk had told me, when it wasn’t what I needed.  Ahh, box-stores—don’t get me started. 

     Saturday, I had to go to “Wally-World” for more things, and had to walk the half mile to the front of the store to get a cart.  Then, because they ‘improved’ the store since I was there last, I had to walk around the whole mile and a half to find the few things I needed.  By then I couldn’t believe the pain my heel was in.  I was so out of it as I passed through the food section; I grabbed a bag of toll house cookie dough, something I never do, thinking ‘I have to get a treat for this torture’.  Needless to say, after cleaning the tub, and digging out the gravel to support the concrete form, I canceled the work party and opened a bottle of Gabbiano Classico and had my own party.

    I couldn’t believe the pain I had Sunday morning, having to go to church, direct choir and sing.  I had to use a cane and stand on the ball of my right foot.  God got my through that one.  It went home and actually rested.  Unfortunately, I knew that night I could not teach the next day, so I had to drive across town at 6 A.M. to school to call for a sub and make lesson plans.  Luckily, Cain, the Site Operator was there and had the gate to campus already open.  I still had to get out of the car, open it and drive around to the music room.  I never realized how big my small music room was until I had to hobble around it to get things ready.  I got the business done and out of the room before the other teachers started to show up and 7:30. 

     I went home and crashed for an hour.  With Marianne’s help, I then I spend the next four and a half hours (that is not an exaggeration) getting into to see a doctor at the ‘Urgent-Care’ center, because my doctor was—out of town, again.  I found out I have probably broken my heel (as well as the bone spurs) and was referred to a Podiatrist.  The P.A. prescribed prednisone and walking-cast bootie. 

     When you get one of these things, at first, you can’t walk in it.  Later when you get the ’rhythm’ of the thing going it does a curious thing.  It either blows-out your knee or hip because of the contorted, unnatural way it makes you walk.  It chose my right hip.  There was absolutely no position, standing, sitting, or reclining that offered pain relief.  So, one week to the day after I woke up with a heel problem I now had a hip problem--an excruciatingly painful hip problem that kept me from sleeping for at least five nights.  Ain’t modern medicine a miracle?  Needless to say, it put the concrete project back two weeks, and the electric was now backed up into November.

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…