The smell of teenagers

When I was a teenager, I loved high school football and basketball. I don’t think I ever missed a home game. To this day, I can close my eyes and imagine the unmistakable fragrance of Noxema skin cream in the air. Oh yeah, and the masculine scent of English Leather cologne as everybody tried to look and smell their very best at the games. My high school memories are full of those sensory cues and to this day, it seems that they can intoxicate and transport me. Because of those happy memories, even though I don’t spend a lot of time as a spectator—deep down, I’m something of a sucker for a sports event.

All about sports

When I went off to college, the years were pretty turbulent, so I took a a break, something of a long hiatus from organized sports. Oh, yes, I DID grow up in Ohio, and my university WAS the “Cradle of Coaches,” so I had every reason to stay the course. However, sports didn’t have quite the same allure as those earlier days. I was busy with other stuff. In the late 1960s there were lots of distractions.

Where are the fans?

Years later, both of our kids played high school sports. One, basketball. One, volleyball. I loved going to their games, but there wasn’t the same enthusiasm I remembered among the fans. Strange. Here were teams playing their hearts out with only a handful of parents and spectators in the stands. What a shame. Then our son rowed crew in college and we enjoyed his regattas, but of course, there ARE no stands and no collected fan base, so that was an experience of a very different kind. For sure, no one was doing the wave along the banks. In fact, the only waves were the ripples on the Charles River. Years passed in my life with minimal sports involvement.

Constant action

Then, everything changed recently when our daughter became a San Jose Sharks fan, and we started watching the games on TV together. I was amazed with the skill and dexterity of the players. . . and the refs! Skating backwards out of the skirmish is pretty incredible to me. I admit that I have some of the skinniest ankles in the world, so I can’t even imagine standing upright on skates for more than 5 seconds at a time. Yet those guys run, turn, and do all sorts of antics on those dangerously sharp and slippery blades—for more than an hour. Whew!

SCORE!!

So here’s what I’ve figured out: hockey is a combination of football, as in “off sides”; basketball, as in “shots and rebounds”; golf—as a sport where you swing club-like sticks at a small object; rugby—where it gets a little crazy at times; and of course, roller-derby. I remember watching women roller skating frantically around that small oval track—all the while trying to beat the stuffing out of each other. Now that I think of it, hockey even has a bit of Big Time Wrestling mixed in there as well. What a strangely attractive sport! So hockey brings together elements of ALL those quirky games into one action-packed competition that really holds my attention.

International flair

I also like the global community that hockey represents. The announcer seems to be reading the last names from an international directory. Now, I know that the players are recruited from anywhere and everywhere the talent pops up. But, I like to imagine that SOMEONE says (just to be global), “Let’s draft a player from some other country. We don’t have anyone from that part of the world yet.” He/she then sticks another little round-tipped push-pin into a world map on the cork-board, indicating that all countries are equally represented. How continental!

Beautifully menacing!

I like that the San Jose team is called the Sharks. That makes perfect sense, being here on the west coast. And of course, the fans dress to coordinate with the team. Last night I heard an announcer call them, The Men of Teal. That’s pretty funny, taken directly from Superman’s description, as the Man of Steel. I don’t know who decided to make the shark mascot swim over those cool teal background shapes while chomping a hockey stick, but I guess it’s supposed to conjure up images of the powerful beauty of the blue-green ocean—kind of serene yet intimidating at the same time.

The couch is calling me

Today, there’s a matinee match. When I asked our daughter why, she said that lots of people like to watch sports all weekend long. Hmmm, that’s pretty serious stuff! But then, I closed my eyes and and felt that familiar allure of sporting competitions calling me. I pictured my senior class at a bonfire before a big game against our number one rival. Suddenly, I was sure that I caught the unmistakable whiff of Noxema wafting across the family room—from the direction of the TV cabinet! I settled into the sofa and took my position: armchair hockey ref.

Go Sharkies!

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Location of the lunchtime sighting

After lunch, we were standing in the family room/kitchen, talking a bit. Em described something and as I listened, I became totally distracted. Something caught my eye. “Wait! What was that?” I couldn’t believe my eyes. “Is that a rooster?” Em looked at me as though I’d been elected Queen of Looneyland. “What!? What are you saying?” he asked, without even bothering to turn around.

“Don’t make any sudden moves!” I warned, as I took his elbow to slowly pivot him in the direction of the door. “Am I crazy, or is that a rooster on our deck?” He hesitated momentarily, as if to actually consider the crazy part. Then he saw it too. “I’ll get the camera!”

Out for a Stroll

While Em became a poultry paparazzo, I grabbed my shoes and headed down the alley, remembering that I’d previously heard clucking sounds in the neighborhood. “Someone around here keeps chickens. I just have to find out which neighbor and alert them about their recent escapee,” I reasoned to myself. But the alley seemed to be secure. There were no open gates or obvious breaches along the fence line. Finally, I found a neighbor, just returning from an outing and asked her who keeps chickens. “Two doors down!” she assured me and off I went.

Presumed breach of security

I went to the front door and rang the bell.  A young man appeared. “Do you have roosters?” I asked. “No, we don’t,” came his answer. Hmmm. “Well, we have one in our yard!” I offered. He just stood there looking at me rather uncomfortably— the conversation seemed to be over. Then I asked, “Well . . .  do you have chickens? Maybe it’s a chicken and I just thought it was a rooster because of its large size and all the noise it was making.”

“Yes . . . we raise chickens.”

“Are they red?”

“Some are.”

Looked like a rooster to us!

I peered at him, as I slightly raised both my eyebrow, in an effort to encourage this Quiet Guy to offer more complete answers to my questions. Honestly, it was like pulling hens’ teeth. “Well, could you please come over and look at this chicken in our side yard to see if it’s yours? And even if you don’t recognize it, it’s pretty likely she’ll be yours anyway, since you’re the only poultry keepers in the neighborhood.”

“Okay.”

Then I hurriedly stepped off the porch as the door closed behind me. Looking back over my shoulder, I realized he wasn’t following. I decided to go on home. As I rounded the block to re-enter the alley, the Quiet Guy appeared from his back yard. I waved him down, and we went through our gate together into the forbidden and dangerous chicken zone.

The chase was on

“I wonder how she got out?” he said to no one in particular, when he saw the bird. He tried to corner her against the fence but she frantically fluttered her wings while letting out a frightening squawk. With a quick sidestep, she eluded his outstretched hands. She then darted to the other end of the side yard. At that moment, I saw that Em had left the door ajar when he’d gone to retrieve the camera. “Open door! Open door!” I shouted, but the panicky hen was faster than we were and she ran right into the family room. (Fortunately the doggies were snoozing in the sun upstairs, otherwise things could have gotten ugly.)

Quiet guy and his chicken

The Quiet Guy was in close pursuit through the family room. Finally he chased her into the bathroom. Obviously feeling cornered, the poor bird let out a few more screeches to ward off her pursuer, but to no avail. Because the space is so small, he quickly nabbed her. He checked the tag on her skinny little chicken ankle and announced, “Yeah, she’s ours.” Then, with a puzzled look on his face and a quizzical tone in his voice, he wondered aloud, once again, about how she could have possibly gotten out. Hmmm. He was completely bewildered by her escape.

win-win

It really didn’t matter, we assured him. Everyone seemed to be satisfied with the outcome. Quiet Guy turned toward us and volunteered, “I’ll ask my mom to call you to apologize.” We told him there was really no need. But then, I thought of something . . . “Do you sell eggs?” He answered that indeed they do. When it comes to eating “locally,” I’m pretty sure that across the alley qualifies. The afternoon chase was a “win-win”—Quiet Guy recovered his wayward chicken and we got the promise of fresh eggs. I love happy endings!

Following is a short video of our afternoon adventure:

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Sunpuppies

Although winters in California are mild, we take every opportunity to follow the sun. No, we’re not sunbathers—at least not in the traditional sense. We just find the place in the house where the sun washes across the floor and onto a sofa, or a bed, or across a table. In our endless pursuit of sunshine, we’re hardly ever alone. As soon as we discover a sun patch, we are joined by Abby, Izzi, and Tuesday—the original sunpuppies.

Abby getting sleepy

In the mornings, sunshine washes across the guest room, spreading warmth from the windows to the opposite wall. Tuesday can often be found ON the bed, lounging in that sunshine. It makes her moany and weak. If disturbed, she can barely lift her head to acknowledge an intruder. Her facial expression is, “Oh, it’s you—please try to be quiet.” She then plops her head back down and resumes meditating.

Sunny lunch

Early afternoon finds the front space of the living room bright with sunlight. It’s really too cool to sit outside, so we carry our lunch on trays into the living room and place them gently atop the puzzle pieces that live there. Then for the next half hour or so, we eat. Lunch is tastier with a mouthful of sunshine before each bite. The only consideration is that we have to place our yogurt in shadows to keep it cool. Sunlight reflecting through a tall glass of water and a shiny, glistening apple are especially inviting.

The sun room is ready!

After lunch and a short “outdoor opportunity” with the girls, we anticipate that the sun has reached maximum warmth across the upstairs carpet and maybe even onto the bed. Tuesday usually makes this discovery first. Then Abby makes her way to the sun porch, where her steps become labored and she finally drops to her little doxie knees before her tummy touches the carpet. Her eyes relinquish any attempt to stay open and she begins to snore. Izzi is head to  tail, reconfiguring her little black and tan body into a doxie doughnut. She’s fast asleep—with her eyes wide open, which is a bit creepy. She’s always done it, but it never fails to ook us out a little bit.

Siesta time

We conform to their bodies, trying to capture stray splashes of sunshine that they haven’t already absorbed. For 15 minutes or so, we all enjoy this little after lunch digestivo, digestive as Italians say. Surely the sun optimizes the benefits of the wonderful lunch we’ve just eaten.

The sunlight begins to recede and we resume our afternoon activities. We will repeat this simple sunflower routine again. Tomorrow. And the next day. And the next, contented to notice that since the winter solstice, the days are getting subtly, yet increasingly longer, which translates into more time to enjoy sunny weather inside, no matter what the temperature is outside. Everyday is magically and irresistibly transformed into a Sun-day!

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Skyline Ridge

Everybody’s saying adieu to the frazzled year, anticipating what’s to come in 2012. As we all know, ushering one year out and another in is typically done with much bravado. Parties. Celebrations. Traditions. Our festivities, on the other hand, are pretty low-key by design. For us, New Year’s Eve activities depend on the weather. That’s right. And since we’ve had some unbelievably sunny, mild days of late, we talked over lunch about what we’d like to do as our fond farewell to 2011. Simultaneously, we glanced outside and said, “Hike Skyline.”

Bayside View

As soon as we finished eating, we whisked the girls from their naps for a last minute outdoor opportunity. That done, we changed into our hiking shoes and grabbed a bottle of water. Then into the car and onto the switchbacks and beautiful curves up Big Basin Way, arriving at Skyline Boulevard. Skyline is the road that follows the summit of the Santa Cruz Mountains. The winding drive through the redwoods invites weekend warriors to jump on a bike or motorcycle and ride like crazy or just cruise. As we drove north, to the right we could see the San Francisco Bay and the towns that line that side of the peninsula. To the left, the Pacific Ocean glimmered in the distance beyond layers of lush pine and redwood forests. Even after 20 years, the sight of the mountains rolling from one body of water to the other, and the first sighting of San Francisco in the distance, still causes us to ooohh and aahh like kids.

Reflecting on a Good Year

We parked the car at the entrance of the Skyline Ridge trails and headed out. At the last minute, I grabbed a set of ear muffs and my jacket from the back seat of the car, just in case, since the weather can change rather suddenly. After the initial steep climb, the familiar gorge opened up. The hillsides look so different in the winter, with their straw-colored grasses waving in the breezes. In the springtime, however, it’s another scene altogether with the the lavender, yellow, and white wild flowers everywhere. As we rounded the next bend, a stronger, and much colder wind hit us in the face (Good call on the jacket and ear muffs). Our favorite destination is the stone lookout on the other side of the mountain. It was stunning that day as always, bringing a wonderful reflective pause—for us, 2011 was a very interesting year!

After about 30 minutes or so, we headed back. Judging from the growing number of hikers sharing the trail, it looked as if hiking Skyline was a fairly popular choice for closing out the year.

Alice's Place

Arriving back at the car, we climbed into the trusty Honda and headed north to Alice’s Restaurant. It’s a rustic place, with cow hide covers on the seats of the cozy booths and picnic tables out front. We slid into the familiar benches on either side of the redwood picnic table and perused the menu. An unusual choice caught our eyes: buffalo burger. The server was kind enough to cut the giant sandwich in half so we could share it. Munching away on our buffalo treat, we watched bikers suit up for their return rides down the mountain—clusters of people buckling gloves at their wrists and stuffing their heads into helmets. A family at the next table shared YouTube videos as they ate. It’s a very casual place and that’s what we like about it.

New Year's Day at the Beach

Sadly, Alice did NOT bake our favorite pie on that last day of the year: upside-down apple walnut. So we settled for traditional apple pie ala mode. It was a nice complement to our special sandwich. Even though the restaurant is named for the Arlo Guthrie song, the fact is, you CAN’T “get anything you want,” as the lyrics promise. But it was still delicious, and a great way to pay tribute to the waning year. What next? Well, Emerson suggested that we take a dog and buzz over the hill on New Year’s Day for a leisurely walk on the beach at Seascape. It was a good call: 1-1-12 Stroll!

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Time to puzzle

Well, it’s that time of year again. The holidays. From mid-November through the end of the year, the celebrations are strung together like beads. In fact, they can become a bit of a blur as they zip by. Of course, Thanksgiving is the gateway holiday for Black Friday—that all-important starting line for holiday shopping, and so named because it’s the day when retailers supposedly turn a profit—from “in the red,” to being “in the black.” But in our family, the holidays are much lower key and are certainly not focused on shopping. Instead, we puzzle together. No, I mean we REALLY puzzle.

Just getting our "Puzzle-eyes" on

We like the size and challenge of 1000 piece puzzles, and started our first one early in December. Since we were just gearing up (getting our “puzzle eyes” on), that one may have taken us a week. We’d work in the evenings, but only occasionally. Once that puzzle was finished, we immediately began another. We started picking up speed, cutting our time in half. Pretty good.

"Turn-ature" begins

Here’s our technique: a new puzzle is chosen from our selection (typically 5-7 waiting in the wings). We empty the pieces onto the table in the living room and begin turning them over, from cardboard side to picture side. You may, in all fairness, ask, “Who doesn’t?” Well you’re right, EVERYBODY does that, but what it signals to our family is the beginning of the chide. That’s right. If someone has to go to the bathroom, or chooses to give the doggies a treat in the kitchen, they’re chided for their apparent intention to evade the often dreaded process of puzzle turn-ature. This mocking goes on relentlessly for some time until the irresponsible party redeems him/herself by finding more edge pieces at a faster rate than expected.

Stake your claim

Then, we get serious and really settle in. The edges form the border and we each “claim” territories of the picture to “build.” It’s common for someone to ask, “What are you building?” If two people have inadvertently chosen the same object, there’s an agreement that the one who has built more has imminent domain, and the pieces are immediately relinquished to that person—no questions asked.

As we work amid the mutterings, outbursts of singing, and sometimes serious conversation, there can be heard spontaneous shouts of “Connect!” when portions are aligned and a bridge holds the tentative pieces together. Sometimes, “Yessss!” is called out. Then we all chime in with supportive gestures by shouting out variations on the word, like “Yesssssssss!” or “Yesssaaaahh!” or maybe “Yessiree!” And for some reason, that usually encourages another jokester to quietly add “Bob,” as in “Yessiree-Bob?”

Most unfortunate!

During the puzzle working, someone will typically ask the most fearful question in all of puzzletry, “Are all the pieces here? I think something’s missing.” I did mention the doggies, so we are quick to look at Tuesday, who enjoys gnarling a piece every once in a while. Although she’s never eaten one completely, we’re left with a barely recognizable, damp form to squish into place. She just likes to be part of the action—is that so wrong? No one ever suspects Abby, since she’s typically snoring on a nearby pillow. And Izzi-B could only find a piece if it bounced off her head. Consequently, Tuesday is the usual suspect.

I'm a box-matcher

And of course, everyone has an individual puzzle working style. Em is a shape-fitter. He examines the space and scours the table for the perfect-fitting single piece. (It takes him forever, which draws fire from fellow puzzlers on occasion.) I’m a box-matcher. Give me the box and I can locate any piece that you hand me. Of course, it’s not connected to anything and is often not very useful—but hey, it works for me. And Iris? Well, she’s the puzzle-master, master-puzzler. She goes by shape, color, texture or just plain instinct, employing every possible nuance she can think of—it’s poetry in motion and any puzzler’s dream to watch her work.

Last night we began at 10:30 pm and finished the puzzle just before 2 am. Okay. We can be a little compulsive, I admit. The standard 1000-piecer, is taking us about 1 and 1/2 days now to complete. We’d be consummate professionals, if there were such things. Tomorrow, we select the next puzzle. We’ll begin the process all over again with renewed zest and anticipation.

He arrives bearing gifts

Aaron arrives on Sunday. He told Iris to be prepared because he’s bringing puzzles. Atta boy! Every family has traditions and rituals. This is ours.

“Buone feste! Happy Holidays!”

Title inspired by Rodgers and Hammerstein’s song from  “The King and I”—which by the way, would definitely make a good puzzle!

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Not bad for 12 years

By Italian law, each and every car must be inspected for its road-worthiness. In November, we took our car in for its regularly scheduled revisione, inspection. All was fine, but when we picked the car up at the end of the day, Moreno said to us, “Questa macchina è vecchia – dodici anni. Dopo questo, non farete un altro revisione. This car is 12 years old. After this one, don’t do another inspection!”

Moreno

Okay. So the next inspection wasn’t due for 2 years, which to us meant that we had a long time to think about it. A month later, the car started making some “strange” noises, so back to Moreno we went. After paying for the repairs, he reminded us once again, “Questa macchina è vecchia.” Okay, okay!

We’ve known Moreno for years and he’s always given us good advice. So, we started thinking about a replacement sooner, rather than later. Our first step: the Goldilocks Method.

For those of you who don’t know us personally, I’ll describe our perpetual dilemma: Em is 6’5″ tall. In Italy that’s technically 1.95 meters. But everybody always rounds up: He’s 2 meters tall which is not the norm, so finding a car that fits can be problematic.

Classics weren't much better

We’d heard good reports about Smart Cars. He didn’t fit, they were too small. We are fascinated with the re-release of the Fiat 500. He fit IF there was a sun roof and it was open, again too small. It was recommended that we buy an SUV, which in Italy we call a “soov,” but they’re just way too big for us. We needed something “just right,” as the story goes. The next day, after going from dealership to dealership, we concluded that our best option was to get a newer model of our 12-year-old favorite.

Gaia - the voice of reason

First stop: talk with Gaia at Lottini Insurance. She assured us that the rate would stay the same, assuming the same model, and suggested that we consider 2 things about any potential purchase: one, was a number that indicated energy displacement within the engine, and two, (and I’m not kidding) the number of watts. What? We wanted a car, not a light bulb. We clearly didn’t know what either of those things were, so Gaia helped us  out by saying “Provate per trovare la stessa macchina, just try to find the same car.” Perfect! We were off to see our trusty friend and mechanic Moreno.

We asked Moreno if he knew of a reliable used car dealership. “Certo. Moncini. Sure, Moncini.” Within minutes, we zipped around the corner to meet Angelo Moncini. We told him we were scheduled to leave within a week, but we wanted him to be looking for a newer car for us in the meantime. We all agreed—either within 5 days or in the spring. He called the next day. Yikes! Where’s that slow Mediterranean pace?

Now, paperwork is something that Italy reveres, along with the resulting bureaucracy. So when Angelo found us a car, we weren’t overly hopeful that anything could really materialize in the short time left.

Fiorella - little flower

We immediately scurried off to see our friend Fiorella at the bank in Fiesole. Within no time, we had a plan for her to make the payment in our absence. “Non c’è un problema, it’s not a problem.” She’s saved the day more than once in our various times of need! That evening with the help and flexibility of Angelo and his son Simone, we traded cars just hours before departure. Whew! What an experience. Our only delay was waiting for the newly purchased car insurance to go into effect—at precisely 6:30 pm that evening—thanks to Gaia. Also not a problem. We just got a coffee and talked with Simone to pass the time.

The next morning we flew away feeling a little amazed that we’d actually made the transaction happen in so little time. We couldn’t have done it without help from those we trust who are in the know.

Simone - would you buy a used car from this man? We would—and did!

Two days later, we received a message from Simone: it seemed that we’d forgotten to leave a crucial document with our old car. Now that was a problem. The solution—an emergency assist from our neighbor, Sandro. We Skyped him on his cell phone and within minutes, we had a scheme to deliver the document to Simone. As The Beatles said in their song, we truly DO “get by with a little help from our friends.”How did we get so lucky?!

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Wild feline in her natural habitat

We are indeed a pathetic bunch. When we’re away from home and our animals, we smile and pat the heads of pet strangers on the street. Some people do that with babies. We mostly fawn over four-legged babies. While living in the countryside, one of the biggest adjustments that we had to make was to accept animals as animals. Normally, we think of them as smaller people with strange fur coats. Finally, we have come to acknowledge that a cinghiale, wild boar is NOT a domestic pet. Not by a long shot. Serpenti, are snakes—not caterpillars without fur. Volpi are foxes. Lupi are wolves. These are mostly predatory animals. So yes, we’ve adjusted our thinking about THOSE animals—but not the ones we’ve adopted into the family.

The sweetheart

We have three dogs in the house. They are individuals, with personalities that are as unique as any human’s. Abby is the sweetheart of the group. She’s a 15-year old red long-haired dachshund. She had been something of a beauty queen from the beginning. Her ears look like hair that seems to have just been coiffed. Her body is particularly long, so she looks like a hook and ladder truck as she descends the stairway. Her nose is also a bit long, which gives her the added ability to subtly snore, almost all the time. She loves sunny patches, squinting up at us as we pass by.

Izzi-B's substantial snout

Izzi-B is the second doxy and what a cutie! We call her the town crier, because she yodels that dinner is being served. The others already know, but she still lets out a very specific exclamation just before she’s fed. She’s a black and tan, which probably adds to her cuteness. We’ve deemed her nose to be “substantial” since it is a bit thicker than most doxy noses. She’s also the long-haired variety, but her fur is particularly thick. In fact, it seems to be almost waterproof—which makes bathing interesting. At 14, she’s showing signs of aging, but at a glance, she seems a perpetual puppy.

The kid with her ole buddy the late great Emelee

Tuesday is the “kid” of the group, edging up on 12 years at her next birthday. She’s a beautiful chocolate lab/springer mix. I’m not making this up: she will engage in staring contests with us. I’ve never known a dog who makes eye-contact for the length of time that she does. And her gaze is always a “knowing” look. She looks at us as though she understands us—not just the words, but who we are, who we really are. Lately, she’s become more expressive, sighing and moaning. True to her heritage, the Tues loves water and won’t hesitate to jump right in!

Not Q, but a close resemblance

Our fourth furry family member is Q. She’s a very sweet Maine coon cat, who has way too much fur to be living in San Diego. But she does. Other than her obvious choice to live in southern California, she is exceptionally bright. She’s affectionate, yet holds a bit of a grudge if ignored a little too long. But I understand, that grudge thing is a typical feline trait. Dogs generally, do NOT have that gene. No, on the contrary, it’s true that dogs are forgiving. In fact, we can learn a lot from their willingness to overlook shortcomings or unintentional slights.

3-Dog night in the making

Okay, so lots of people love their pets. Yes that’s true. But let me tell you that there’s something simply wonderful about snuggling with a doggie when the air is chilled. I don’t know what the average dog temperature is, but I think it’s slightly higher than a human’s. Last night, there was definitely a brisk nip in the air. Thankfully, we had the girls right there with us—truly a 3-Dog Night.

*photo of Maine Coon: mainecooncompanion.net

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The Journey – The Ride of a Lifetime

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Civita di Bagnoregio

There are many beautiful villages in Italy. Tuscany boasts her share of wonderment. Liguria is a seaside visual feast. The Maremma is rustic and wild, a place where time seems to have been frozen. But last week, I read of a place I’d not heard of before. Immediately we were intrigued: Civita di Bagnoregio.

I love the unique, the special, the quirky. I’m in constant search of those moments that create memories. As I read about Civita, I felt sure that it was one of those “chosen” places.

The leaning tower

Tucked into a corner where Toscana, Umbria and Lazio hold hands is this lovely, little, magical place. You know in Italy, sometimes unforeseen circumstances cause things to shift rather dramatically. Everybody knows about the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Faulty foundation. There was no choice other than to try and “correct” the problem by modifying as they built. Voila! The famous Leaning Tower.

Brunelleschi's dome

Brunelleschi lost the competition to cast the bronze doors of the Florence Baptistry to Ghiberti. The result? He turned his attention from sculpture to architecture—creating one of the largest free-standing domes in the world. Magnificent! Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? If the foundation had been stable in Pisa, the city would be “just another Italian city.” If Brunelleschi had won the door competition, the world-famous Duomo of Florence might have been “just another Italian cathedral.” But something happened in those strange circumstances that resulted in magic. This is also true with the village of Civita di Bagnoregio.

Only by foot

Founded by the Etruscans around 2500 years ago, Civita was a thriving sister city to Bagnoregio, both snugly tucked into the northeastern corner of Lazio (the province of Rome). In the 16th century Civita slowly lost its power, relinquishing favor to nearby Bagnoregio. Then, in the 17th century, Fate dealt Civita a decisive blow. The town was shaken by an incredible earthquake, which destroyed much of the connecting land. Then, erosion over the centuries ate away at the remaining ground until the village has become something of an island. In fact, it’s now reachable only by foot across a narrow bridge.

Where Toscana, Umbria and Lazio hold hands

So we were on our way. We crossed town and picked up the A1 at Firenze Sud. After about an hour we passed Arezzo. We saw the exits for Assisi and Perugia but continued south. As we skirted Umbria and entered Lazio, we knew we were close. With the aid of a map and gps, near Orvieto, we drove between the train tracks and the freeway into the countryside. Within minutes we found Bagnoregio. It was a lovely town. Very typical, which means narrow one-way streets lined with shops. At the end of town we parked the car and walked toward what seemed to be the end of the earth.

Delivery of the day

From a vantage point jutting out into a deep valley, we looked through an iron gate to see Civita isolated and perched atop the distant cliffs. We followed the road and began the long walk across the footbridge. A small Ape truck passed us—probably bringing supplies to the few remaining inhabitants. Its engine faltered and strained to make the last few meters up the steep incline.

Day in the life

We wandered through the village streets, each one a picture postcard. The town was quiet, settling in for winter no doubt. At the end of November, the seasons were beginning to shift, autumn relinquishing its tentative grip. There were several cats, huddled together in the shade, or lounging in sunny patches. Folks were friendly. Each time we commented about how beautiful the town was, someone responded with “Si, si, questa città e veramente bellisima. Yes, yes, this city is truly beautiful.”

The devastating earthquake claimed the land that surrounded Civita, leaving it a village balanced atop an island precipice. But that misfortune created the Civita we know today. As sad as the circumstances were, the resulting beauty of the village is remarkable. It’s something like seeing angels dancing on the head of a pin.

Texture and detail everywhere

Breathtaking! We each snapped about 150 pictures. We took distant photos. Detail shots. Since everything is built from tufa, volcanic stone, the textures were absolutely fascinating. However, the one picture that you won’t be able to see is the one in my mind’s eye—my first impression of Civita. Fantasy-like. It seems as though you have no choice but to visit Civita to see for yourself. Then, you’ll press your own unique first impression into memory.

Following is a short video we made to capture just a hint of the magic at this special place.

You may also enjoy visiting our other websites:

Never Sleep – Original Music

The Journey – The Ride of a Lifetime

Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog by C & E

Uncommon Promise Story, Music and Art

New Music – Virtual CD

Uncommon Promise Video Channel

In Touch In Tuscany

Nothing is simple

5 years ago we studied 8 hours a day for an entire month to prepare ourselves for our Italian Drivers’ License. We passed the written portion of the test without any problems and then had to enroll in drivers’ training behind the wheel to learn the secrets of driving like an Italian. We passed that test too. Whew!

Autoscuola at Piazza Libertà

I keep a calendar of “events” that need to happen. Well, guess what needed to happen in November?! That’s right. We needed to renew our licenses. So we stopped by the Eurodrive Autoscuola, where we had done our original training. The young lady behind the desk wondered why we were there in October. “No, no. E troppo presto! It’s too early.” “Va bene la prima di novembre. It’s okay the first of November.”

Righty

Okay. You are no doubt wondering what it takes to renew the patente, license? We asked and the answer was a 3-part response. We’d need our old license along with our codice fiscale (the Italian version of a social security card). We’d need 95 euro each. And, this is the big one: A VISION TEST. Now this is the hard part of the process for a very simple reason. I am very nearsighted. I’ve worn “corrective lenses” for roughly 3/4 of my life. So what’s the big deal you might ask? The answer is: mono-vision. Years ago my trusty eye doctor prescribed a simple solution for someone nearsighted who wants to read, do needle work, or whatever: one lens. That’s right. I have an eye designated for distance and one that does close-up stuff. It actually works amazingly well. When I asked about driving, I was told that mono-vision is fine. So I’ve enjoyed wearing one contact lens, in my left eye only, for years. But in Italy, they don’t seem to care much about mono-vision. No. You just have to read the eye chart. I was nervous. My right eye is a speed reader with books, but graciously defers to my left eye for anything more demanding than say, farther away than arm’s length. Eye charts are always at least 10 feet away. My right eye began to cry. No way little Righty could pass a distance test. Oh, what to do . . .

My old glasses

Ah, yes. Glasses. I pulled them out of their hard shell case and Em immediately asked, “Where’d those come from?” I explained about my vision anxiety and that I needed to retrain Righty to see far away. “We HAVE to pass that test!” Not to drive in Italy is unheard of. Everybody here relishes the right to cut corners, stray left of center, and speed as though they are being pursued by angry wild boar. “I MUST renew my license!”

Hi-tech testing

Now, at this juncture, you may wonder how I originally passed the vision test. I had the same anxiety and forgot about wearing glasses, so I wore 2 contact lenses. Wow! Distance vision in both eyes! I could spot an owl in the dark at 100 meters, but I couldn’t see to button my sweater. Luckily, Em and I went in together and there, poised on a stool, was Sophia Loren‘s twin. This woman was too beautiful and very stylishly dressed. She immediately began flirting with Em. She asked him to read the chart. And I am not making this up: you cover one eye with your old driver’s license, while the “free eye” reads the chart. Then you switch. Card over the other eye, read the chart. Em’s distance vision is quite good, impressive, according to la Dottoressa, the lady doctor. She complimented him, smiling, chatting and flitting around the room.

The Big Test

Then it was my turn. Card up. Read. Okay. Switch. Card up. Read. I wasn’t sure that she cared about my vision, since she was still gazing into Em’s eyes at the time. But I passed, so what did I care?
But after 5 years, I was slightly worried. Righty could falter. I could go down in a tailspin after the first big E. But no! The glasses worked! I read the chart equally well with both Lefty and Righty. I was thrilled! Also, this year the la Dottoressa apparently had a prior engagement, so il Dottore put us through our paces.

I walked to the front counter and paid my 95 euro, while Em was at the mercy of il Dottore. Whew! What a relief! The young lady behind the counter told me that the new sticker would have to come from Rome—within the next couple of months. She asked if our information was all correct and current. Unfortunately, I had to tell her that the planning commission had changed our address. Same house, same everything—just a different street name and number. Nobody can explain why. So, yes, it’s a bit odd.

Center of the Universe

She looked stern. She informed me that we HAD to have the correct information on the new license and that would require a trip to the official office to get that approval. We made that visit the very  next day and were told that a second new sticker would be issued for our licenses—from Rome, in about 6 months. In the meantime, we’d have to carry proof that we’d applied for the changes. Righty began to cry.

You may also enjoy visiting our other websites:

The Journey – The Ride of a Lifetime

Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog by C & E

Uncommon Promise Story, Music and Art

New Music – Virtual CD

Uncommon Promise Video Channel

In Touch In Tuscany

Arezzo is everything old

The largest antiques market in all of Tuscany is in the town of Arezzo. It’s always the first Sunday of the month and the Saturday before. Between the incredible antiques and the medieval architecture around every corner, you could spend the entire day just wandering around, lost in the wonder. A visit to Arezzo is one of those intensely real experiences—the stuff of memory-making.

Odds and ends

We used to go to the market EVERY month. We were looking for little odds and ends to create mood in our place. An old brass pot on the hearth says warmth. I wouldn’t cook in it, but it is a sweet little addition. We found a candle snuffer, a copper ladle and just the right lamp shade. Something always catches our eye. But once we’d “feathered our nest” we didn’t need anything else, so we went less often. Focused on other things, we knew that the market was still humming along as usual, but without us.

Relax amid relics

Typically, we’d check out the market in the morning, and then drop into one of our favorite restaurants for lunch. On an especially fun day we found a restaurant owned by a cute little dachshund. (Okay, her person technically owned the place, but don’t let the little dog know). We wove our way through the narrow streets and enjoyed many a lunch there until the doxie sold the restaurant and the place went to the dogs—not really, I just couldn’t resist saying that.

Park free!

Last week, we decided to go to the market, just like old times. When we arrived, we discovered a “new” place to park, just outside the wall—for free. Wow. That was different. As we approached the old Roman wall, we read signs for the scale mobile, moving stairs (escalators). What!!?? Sure enough, during our 5-year absence, Arezzo had installed a series of escalators to move visitors up the hill and into the ancient center. It was a bit odd to see something so new and glitzy. We were stunned. But only about half of the escalators actually worked that day, so we felt consoled that all the quirky ambiance wasn’t totally lost.

Whatever you want

Once inside the city walls we meandered through the streets. Merchants lined every available inch of space as always. Some we recognized from years before. There was enough furniture to fill every villa in Tuscany. There were brass pieces. Lamps. Fireplace tools and screens. There were books and bric-a-brac. Nothing had been missed. If it’s really, really old and transportable, it’s probably for sale at the Arezzo Market.

There's nothing quite like a buca

We browsed a while and inquired about an old fireplace back plate. Troppo caro per noi, too expensive for us. We wandered a while more until mid-day when our thoughts turned to food. The last time we’d come to Arezzo we found this sweet little restaurant in a so-called buco, hole. It was on a side street and down a stone stairway below ground level, hence the buco status. But inside, what fun! The place has arches and vaults, all hand painted and decorated. Hmmm. We just needed to recall where it was. Em asked if I remembered the name. I gave a very tentative response . . .  something about San Francesco. That was enough info. He stepped into the next shop and asked. The woman had a puzzled look at first, then lit up as she said, “Oh, si! La Buca di San Francesco.” She gestured directions waving  to go right and then indicating that we should turn left and then immediately left again. And there it was, right across the street from La Chiesa di San Francesco, the Church of Saint Frances—just as we remembered. It all came back to us.

Thank you Mario!

We had a tasty lunch with wonderful Tuscan hospitality. The star of the restaurant was Mario, a dapper older Italian gentleman who was no doubt the owner. He caught Em snapping my photo and told him to sit down and he’d take a picture of both of us. He then surprised us with a small bowl of Pappa al Pomodoro, a bread and tomato stew spiced with bits of pepperoncini. After lunch Mario insisted that we have some Vin Santo, wine of the saints along with his homemade biscotti. Only AFTER this little taste treat would he even begin to consider bringing us coffee.

After lunch, we retraced our steps and made our way to the car. We didn’t make a single purchase that afternoon. We just browsed. Strolled around. Meandered. What a wonderful way to spend a sunny autumn day.

Pop open a few memories

We love old things: an ancient city like Arezzo; an old friend in a shop we haven’t seen for a while; or musty relics and antiques waiting for a new owner to take them home and breathe new life into them. Mostly, we enjoy creating experiences that grow old in their own unique ways, maturing like an old wine kept in the cantina, cellar. Memories can be uncorked after years of mellowing—sometimes even fresher and tastier than the day they were made!

You may also enjoy visiting our other websites:

The Journey – The Ride of a Lifetime

Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog by C & E

Uncommon Promise Story, Music and Art

New Music – Virtual CD

Uncommon Promise Video Channel

In Touch In Tuscany