What's wrong with this picture?

So what is wrong with this picture? The photo on the left is my home. Not my dream home, but my home. The photo above is the view from my home. It's a small photo but what you are looking at is the beach, the bay, and a small lighthouse in the distance. Okay, there are a couple of things wrong but I will start with my first pet peeve and unfortunately it has the same number of letters as my second pet peeve. Both have four letters. You win if you come up with either of the off the bat.

Largest pet peeve: YEWS. What is the purpose of yews? Who came up with this concept as something to grace the entrance of homes? Does it have something to do with low maintenance? Does anyone find them attractive? O, I have an answer to that. My neighbor finds them attractive. He has them too. He is so kind that he trims mine for me. I think that's because he doesn't want my yews looking shoddy next to his yews. I might add, since you can't really see them from the photo, that the yews are surrounded by white gravel.

Second largest pet peeve: LAWN. Do you know what you have to do to maintain an actual lawn at the beach? First you need to truck in soil. We live on sand. Then you have to use fertilizer and weed killer and all the things suburbanites use to keep their grass looking lush and green. And I've just written the worst third problem: why do we live at the beach and force our yards to look like we live in Greenwich, CT? Why aren't we striving to create the perfect beach living environment?

I want to start slow with my neighbor. I don't want to alienate him. So we've come to an agreement. I will start with the yews. They are a goner. I will give him the white gravel for his yew bed. I will do the first stage of my gardening in the 6' by 17' two formerly yew raised gardens for this year's flower and vegetable gardens. They will be contained and I won't be overwhelmed.  I will let him have his lawns. He can mow mine. I will cook for him.

In the future, I will create lawn paths through 4 gardens. That is if I find I have the time and do a good job with the two original gardens I plan to design. Additionally, I will plant a shade garden in the back of the house.

I hope removing the yews is not too cost prohibitive. That part remains to be seen. There are going to be some interesting environmental changes this spring and summer. I am looking forward to them. This has been energized by a beautiful 65 degree spring day today. Great day.

Easter

I don't know when I started to like Easter so much. I think it definitely started after moving to the Cape. Perhaps it's that the winters here are so quiet (which is a good thing) and then just as the crocus and daffodils begin to open, life here gathers a momentum that creates a lot of internal excitement. It's time to celebrate with your friends. And what is more charming than Easter? I've become a total sucker for the pinks, yellows, and baby blues. The little chicks, bunnies and, eggs, which you will not see in any photos because I didn't realize I was having Easter until yesterday and I didn't have time to pull out all the stops. I would like Easter to last a month.

The menu this year was the following: roasted potatoes with cumin & garlic; a lobster, leek, asparagus quiche; a spring green salad with Cara Cara oranges and sweet & sour dressing; tangerine & Cara Cara scones, and a large fruit salad. Coffee, juice, mimosas, Bloody Marys. Everything blended perfectly.

In my last minute shopping spree, last night at 8, there wasn't a daffodil to be had. Usually my Easter table contains a large bouquet of ranunculus, but they disappeared about 2 weeks ago. I never laid hands on one bunch. I had this smart little faux moss basket that I thought would be sweet filled with a few dozen daffs. Alas, I settled for sunflowers and I think it worked out nicely.

Everyone stayed the perfect amount of time leaving me to drive around, in vein, looking for pansies. Then I drove to the beach to see if I could spot the right whales who descend upon us each spring. We are very lucky in this regard. Right whales are very rare. Only 300 are left on the planet. Last year we had almost a third of the population visit us. I went to Herring Cove to check it out. The parking lot was full. I could see their spouts blowing in the distance. No flukes though. Still magical. I keep forgetting to put my binoculars in the car.

Then back home to enjoy the rest of my Easter Sunday without newspapers. I'm going to make chocolate chip cookies for my neighbor. He trimmed my yews. I didn't have the heart to tell him that as soon as I get some money, I'm having the yews pulled out and I'm building gardens. He loves the lawns, he loves the yews. This may as well be the suburbs, not the beach. While David was here he discovered that I have a lilac bush in the mess next to my driveway. I want a bunch of them. And hydrangea. I want a grape arbor.

I had this dream about a large house in some place like Romania. It was a friend's family house. In the foundation walls were these large niches set in deep all around the perimeter of the building. In each niche was a garden. They held a combination of herbs, vegetables and flowers. I distinctly remember one that had pale green cabbages banked by lovely dusty pink snapdragons. I thought it was the most beautiful arrangement. In fact all the gardens were a light green and dusty pink or rose. I'd love to recreate them out front. But truth be told, what will be is lusty, bright red tomatoes, dark green basil, Russian sage, a host of other herbs, and the flowers still need to be planned. There will be many spring bulbs planted (she swears), some annuals for persistent color, and other stuff that I hope my brother-in-law helps me figure out. I know I need violets, hostas and lilies-of-the-valley in the back. Ah, garden dreams I hope will come to fruition.

So, bless spring and all the hope that comes with it.

Quiet & Ollie

I am sitting at my computer. No one is barking at me; no one is biting me. I can write, read, vacuum, cook for as long as I wish and I will be undisturbed. This also means that there is a gigantic void in the house. A quiet that is not normal or natural in this place.

Ollie has a new home. Again. I think this one will stick. I got the sensation from the minute the woman walked in the house that she had no problem with Ollie's behavior. She completely ignored him until he settled down. She has a dog named Molly. Molly and Ollie got along very well. Molly is 11 years old and knows how to take care of herself around a puppy. I think this marriage is going to stick. And I am glad Ollie will have a patient mother.

This morning Ollie barked and tried to bite me for at least 2 hours, perhaps 3. It was so bad that I developed a raging headache. I took him for a walk on the beach, we went to the dump together, more beach. Didn't matter. He just wanted to bark and bark and bark. Despite this, when he left with his new mother, I cried. How many times am I going to give this child away?

I have a karma problem. How else to explain a broken marriage, multiple deaths, and investing in the only bad Bedlington on the planet?

Okay, so wipe away the tears and reinvest yourself in your home, Laura. Where are my bootstraps? I could get out the vacuum right now and right the place, but then I probably wouldn't want to make dinner. I already don't want to make dinner. But I will. It will be sesame noodles with grilled chicken and a salad with sweet and sour dressing. I'll do 2 loads of laundry and I will be able to fold them without each article being ripped out of my hands. I will unload the dishes without anybody climbing into the dishwasher. Things are looking up.

I didn't take a lot of photos of Ollie. Perhaps I knew it was a temporary love affair for us. Perhaps he was brought into my life to get me over the hurdle of loneliness. I will say, he never allowed me to feel lonely. He was my rebound relationship. We know those never work out. I will miss waking up with him. I'll miss his kisses and silly games he would play with his toys, perching them on the edge of the bed until they fell and then running after them as if they were alive. I'll miss looking at his cuteness.

I'd better start setting my alarm clock.

Another Year

I had a birthday this month. I was convinced this year would be better than last year. Time will tell but it's not looking promising. Ollie is not growing into the loving, little companion I expected him to become. His bad habits: biting, barking, and not allowing you to do anything but pay attention to him have become too much. I thought I'd find him a new home, a place where he'd get a lot of attention and exercise. So after soul searching and soul searching, I made the decision to part with him. I found him a home with a good friend which would ensure that I'd still get to see him. Three days passed and I received a woeful phone call. At the end of it I said, "So, when do you want to bring him back?" and without missing a beat my friend said, "Tomorrow!" It's Ollie's looks that save him. He is so darn cute. He also loves people, loves dogs, loves the car, and basically has many good traits. He's just too alpha for me.

For my 3 days without him, I fell in love me my home and all its prospects again. It's not settled yet. I still have boxes that I have not unpacked, mostly because I have no where to put stuff. So it's a work in progress and I enjoy that. When I woke up and Ollie was gone I thought how easy it would be to keep the house clean. No more torn toilet paper rolls, ripped NY Times, food kibbles scattered across the kitchen floor, no more stuffed animal parts with white batting rolling over the living room like tumbleweeds. But he's baack as Jack Nicholson would say.

Though it may snow tomorrow, Spring is in the air. Leaves have popped out on the hydrangea outside my office. Daffodils and crocuses are blooming; it's staying light out until 7. All these things give me hope. On the other hand, I have 4 dozen unplanted daffodil bulbs in my garage, no money to start gardening, trees that need to be removed and a host of other projects I'd like to work on. It's fun to look forward to them, but accomplishing them alone isn't so much fun.

This weekend is Passover. I will miss the Seder. People will be going dry-shod surrounded by lamb shanks, bitter herbs, and hard boiled eggs and I'll no longer singing all the songs I worked so hard to learn. I miss being an honorary Jew. I won't miss the brisket. One year I made Passover. My sister gave me what she considered the BEST recipe for brisket. I bought so much of it that you would have thought I was feeding a congregation. There were 5 of us and one was a vegetarian. After that, I never really wanted to see brisket again. But I deeply miss the charoset. I suppose I could make some, then eat it by myself as I sing Dayenu to myself or G_D.

Bad Times and San Francisco

This, believe it or not, is my leg. Forgive me for exposing it, but I do show it to everybody so that I can get the sympathy vote. So this is what happened: it was a week ago yesterday. It was night. My niece Leah was here to hear the crash. I was coming in from walking Ollie and I must have gotten a foot caught between the storm door and entry or I caught my foot on the entry. Leah said my whole body was twisted. I yelled "I'm fine" and sort of jumped up and went to bed. The next morning I was anything but all right. My knee was the size of a cantaloupe and I didn't have a bruise yet. Each day the lump on my knee diminishes a little and the bruise seems to spread. I'd guess it's about 15 inches or more right now. I also have a bruised shoulder and elbow.

Today I paid my mortgage. I have $33 in the bank. This has made me feel pathetic. It also makes me feel afraid. So I'm bruised and poor. In an effort to remember better times, I will now share some of my wonderful memories of San Francisco which I visited at the end of October with Pat. We went to attend but also to present a workshop at the US Conference on AIDS. And we fit in as much other stuff as we could before and after.

We took all sorts of transportation: trolley, bus, taxi, car. We took a bus from our hotel in the financial district to the Pacific. Pat had to dip her toes in so she could say she did it. And she did! I loved San Francisco. It is a wonderfully live-able city. The transportation system is great (and I'm no fan of public transportation because I'm an agoraphobic scaredy cat. But I would use it if I lived there.) There's diversity, great restaurants, art, beautiful architecture, and fun to be had. And a beach! It's got it all. Also earthquakes, but perhaps that's to keep San Franciscans from growing complacent.

Pat allowed me to use my 6th sense for places to eat. She picked the places we would visit, like Pier 39. We were extraordinarily lucky. We saw the seals, who have been laying all over the pier for twenty years, just two months before they blew town for places unknown. Maybe they wanted to follow us back to the Truro where we went to visit seals at Head of the Meadow beach a couple of years ago. Pat and I are seal aficionados.

We went to the Slanted Door, recommended by friends who said it was very expensive. We sat at the bar. Pat had oysters and a glass of wine. I had a glass of wine. We left only to find out two months later that it is considered one of the best Vietnamese restaurants in the country. We didn't even know it was Vietnamese. We went to the San Francisco Crab House and ordered this sizzling long tray of grilled shrimp, crab and mussels. Dinner came with warm wet towels which were definitely put to use. It was a fabulous repast and in front of us were large cargo ships carrying in goods from the Far East.

We had Indian food, Thai food, Japanese food. The first night we ate at a recommended Italian restaurant but it was probably not the best choice having just returned from Italy. I couldn't eat my pasta at all because it was a solid clump. All of our other meals were really wonderful.

I discovered H&M and Sephora; the first is an inexpensive clothing store started in France that caters to folks younger than I but I felt young in San Francisco and bought leggings and a sweater dress. The latter is a makeup store that Pat enjoys splurging in. I splurged too and bought all sorts of makeup that I occasionally put on when I don't want to feel like I have one foot in the grave. It doesn't help but it doesn't hurt.

We met friends of Pat's who were wonderful to spend Halloween night with. Gerry picked us up in his Mercedes convertible in front of the Hilton where we were staying. He was dressed as a pimp. That didn't make us look too good, but we jumped in the car. He gave us his San Francisco terror tour. (He doesn't just call it that on Halloween). We loved the views. Then we went to his house where we hooked up with his partner Franklin and we all walked to Kurt and Francisco's home for a wonderful dinner. Kurt and Francisco dressed as Indians with turbans and long white gowns that they had purchased in India. Franklin was dressed as a cowboy, all decked out in black. Pat and I dressed in black. I was the northern star. I had one florescent star on my chest. Pat went as the rest of the universe. She had stars stuck all over her. (If you knew Pat you'd know her costume was perfect for her). After dinner we walked along the Castro and watched the scene. It was wonderful and crazy and not unlike Provincetown with its passion for the high holiday, but it was BIG! We had a ball. It was a memorable and generous evening.

I didn't keep a journal in San Francisco so I can't remember everything we did. I went into a store call Katie Koos which doesn't have a website, I guess fortunate for me. It had some of the most spectacular clothes I'd ever seen. Clothes made for me in my dreams. I bought a necklace of a little frozen charlotte with a silver dunce cap on it. I wanted everything in the store.Then we went into a consignment sweater shop; I think it was called Four Bags Full or something else from that nursery rhyme, and the sweaters were not attractive or desirable, but they all cost about $600 and they were used!

And that is the end of my San Francisco chronicles which I hope were more exciting than my bruise and bank account story.

Ollie

After Italy came Ollie. My brother-in-law drove me down to PA to pick him up from the breeder who bred Harpo. It was a really nice trip and we drove home with a cute little lamb dog with a big chocolate kiss nose.

That was Oct. 19th. I would have to say that Bedlingtons are the best breed in the world. They are loving, loyal, funny, cozy, and they are one of the few breeds that doesn't mind spending time alone. I have also found them to be very easily trainable.

Until Ollie. My breeder pointed out that she was a bit concerned because he would not submit to his mother. At age 12 weeks, she would try to wrestle him to the ground and he would immediately jump up and bite her ears. Fortunately, my ears are a lot further from the floor, though when he can he loves to lick them and perhaps give them a tiny nibble to wake me up in the morning.

But Ollie has developed some fairly unacceptable traits. He tries to rip my clothes off, when I'm getting dressed or undressed; he bites me whenever we disagree on something; he does not submit, he comes right back for more and when he realizes I have the upper hand he barks incessantly and then bites me some more. This is by no means constant. When this isn't happening, which is about 3 times a day for 15 minutes, he is perfect. He loves to play on his own, chase his tail, cozy up. Lots of good things. But he is very strong-willed.

We are enrolled in dog training class. I have little hope. I also have little energy. I think I will hire someone to take him on long walks several times a week, which I can't afford, but I would as happily find him a new home. It makes me sad. Look at him. The cutest thing you ever saw?

Happy New Year

Just to prove I wasn't kidding about Italy, I thought it worth sharing some of the joys of my trip. I left Boston on October 1 and landed in Florence on the 2nd. All together there would be 10 women sharing a villa in Monte San Savino perfectly located about an hour from Florence and 30 minutes from Cortona and Siena. The villa had been in the family since the Middle Ages. Rolling farm land littered with olive trees, grapes, goats, pigs, chestnut tree, and a gorgeous built-in swimming pool. Out side the building was a niche in the bricks with a statue of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. On the other side of the house was a built in pizza oven and wood burning stove. It was a beautiful place to sleep and a beautiful place to wake up.

The first night we spent in San Gimignano in a lovely hotel overlooking the piazza. Our first meal was our first taste of what Italian food is all about--the freshest ingredients imaginable. Everything prepared simply and perfectly. The restaurant was called La Mangiatoia and is highly recommended. Carolyn was adventurous and ordered boar ragout. It was delicious. The Chianti region of Italy is not only known for its wine but for its beef. I ordered a filet and salad. We quickly decided that we needed to take photos of all of our meals.

Day two and we drove the Chianti Road to Monte San Savino. One wonders how something could be bucolic and death-defying at the same time. Very winding road driven at high speeds. Stopped and ate at a lovely restaurant called, I think, La Cantoniera, where the waiter dazzled us with his sommelier's techniques. Then on to our new home away from home where we met Claudia who spoke english, and mother Letizia who spoke none. They brought us homemade red and white wines, homemade brandy, an apple cake and biscotti. I think in retrospect the brandy was really Vin Santo, a sweet wine with a high alcohol content that you place in a small cordial glass and dip your biscotti into. It is a lovely after dinner ritual.

Day three: we travel to Arezzo to their monthly flea market. We parked and walked into the entrance to the piazza. It didn't seem to be very big, perhaps 25 vendors. What we didn't realize was that the market wrapped its way all around the town. Hundreds of vendors. Hours of shopping. I purchased 2 pieces of art that reminded me of my sister. I saw an old Santos which I really wanted and was reasonably priced, but I couldn't imagine how I would get it home. Long, wonderfully tiring day.

Day four: Cortona. I fell deeply in love with Cortona. All of the towns we visited were walled towns. Very very old. Very very clean. Pristine. I think the repairs must be constant because of the age of the buildings and cobblestone streets. Cortona has one of the oldest street in Italy. I know why Frances Mayes fell in love with Cortona, but I'm not sure I can explain it. There is so much charm there. And the people are warm and friendly and the food is outstanding. The little shops are packed with wonderful things like handmade books and beautiful Italian soaps. Cortona is also home to the Church of Saint Francis. Therein resides his tunic, pillow and journal all under glass. (Hard to see but to the left.) It is the most beautiful church I have ever entered and if I lived in Cortona I would go to mass everyday. At the time we were there you could hear the monks singing chants in an adjacent room. So beautiful. My sister loved St. Francis. We used to sing his prayer in harmony as we washed dishes when we were growing up. I lit a candle for her. You feel very close to God in the Church of St. Francis.

I discovered quickly that I wanted to continue to pare down the ingredients in dishes and order the most simple food I could, just to see if I could determine why is was so good. In Cortona at Fla Lune (this is not the name of the restaurant--I will do research!--recommended by a local proprietor) I ordered pasta with tomatoes, basil and garlic. When the waitress brought it, I told her she had made a mistake, that it wasn't what I ordered. She said, si si, the tomatoes are green. Indeed, they were. Roasted green tomatoes, basil and garlic. It was divine. It was so very very very good. I would even become a waitress to live in Cortona. I immediately wanted to return.

Day five: Umbria. Perugia to be precise. Our mission: to take a cooking class. We had directions. It was absolutely terrifying. Two way streets meant for one car. Dirt roads leading to cliffs. It was hair raising. Of course, when we fortunately arrived at our destination the road spilled into this idyllic farm. I didn't think I was going to learn a lot--how snobbish is that? I really wanted to make pasta which I knew was going to happen. But I did learn a lot. I learned Americans use too much garlic. (still not buying it) I learned that you never cook basil; it will poison you. (I think that was a hyperbolic statement). I learned it is about the ingredients (see top photo--olive oil made by our host, herbs and tomatoes grown on the property). We learned to make pasta frolla, a crust for the prune crostata that we made (see Loretta really making the pasta frolla); we learned how to make a vegetable torta with tallegio cheese which I thank Stephanie for turning me onto. We learned to make tagliatelle, which is easier and harder than you might think. She kept telling me to "put some energy into it." Apparently my arms weren't strong enough for this task. But we did succeed in making it. I learned that when you cook fresh pasta, you bring the water to a boil, drop the pasta in loosely, and when the water comes to a boil again, the pasta is cooked. VERY HELPFUL INFO. We made chicken rolletini with fresh herbs and parmesan. To be honest, I like mine better--my bastardized Julia Child recipe. And we learned to make homemade tomato sauce. That was interesting. She boiled tomatoes. Ran them through a food mill. Put olive oil in a pan, the tomatoes and one glove of garlic, not sliced. It was light and clean and delicious. It didn't look as though it would cover the pasta, but it did, lightly and flavorfully.

After "cooking" (Stephanie really did the lion's share of that), we repaired to the garden where Raquela had set up a picnic table. Again, homemade wines which we handily finished off. The meal was spectacular. A bit too spectacular and comforting for Barbara who fell asleep in a hammock. What a day. Que bella.

That night I took my first jaunt into the walled town of Monte San Savino. A cute quiet little burg where I had my first, and sadly last, gelato. Why didn't I have them every day? This one was chocolate with whole filberts. It was called a Baci gelato and yes it was. I tried to tip the server but she refused.

Day five: Pienza and Montepulciano. I never heard of Pienza. Why? It's a wonderful town and I loved it nearly as much as Cortona, but not as much. I don't remember much about Pienza except for the feeling of comfort. A small, walled town, clean, lovely little shops, a beautiful piazza and church which Carolyn took a million photos in (with my camera), and finally lunch on a terrace overlooking a wonderful Tuscan panorama. The waiters were young, good looking and attentive snobs. White umbrellas were open over our heads. The food and wine were superb. I ordered ravioli with a special Italian cheese I should have written down. The cream sauce was scented with thyme and on top were lovely frizzles of deep fried carrots. It was an absolutely perfect place to visit. After lunch, I made it back to a great leather store before it closed for pausa. I purchased a beautiful pair of black boots, sort of riding boot style, which I find I have no cause to wear now. But I can just paw the soft leather and enjoy them.


Montepulciano is what Montepulciano is best known for...wine. We parked in front of a store that sold...wine. There were kegs in the store that were 15 feet high and 8 feet across. This was located before the walls of the town. Right before entering the town, we met two handsome outreach workers collecting money for an organization that does HIV prevention work with injection drug users. You can take a vacation, but work will find you anyway. Inside the walls, store after store filled with the red wine the area is famous for. Carolyn and I took off on our own wandering the steep streets, past churches and piazzas. I hold no passion for Montepulciano, though I did discover one of the best bell towers that I encountered while in Italy. It has a figure of, I think, some iconic clown on it. I need to research that. After the day's trek, we returned home to the feast the family had spent the day preparing for us. It was my least favorite meal, but their generosity and hospitality were outstanding.

Day six: Much to my joy everyone decides they want to return to Cortona. This gave me more time to spend in the Church of St. Francis, to have another meal, to discover a small shop with handmade books in it and a small cistern filled with golden carp, and to take more photos of clotheslines. Clothesline are all over Italy. Every house has one. The price of electricity is so high in Italy that no one has a dryer. I think they still use phosphates in the detergent because their clothes are so white. As I've been entering photos into this blog, you have no idea how laborious it is. I wanted to include a lot of clotheslines and photos of Cortona, but I don't know that I have it in me. We ate again outside on second floor patio that overlooked the piazza. I think my system had about all it could manage at this point and I just ordered a salad. Carolyn and I had been wandering around by ourselves but while we were waiting for a table, Cherrie, Cynthia, Barbara and Barbara showed up at the same restaurant so we all ate together.

Day seven: Chiusi . I would travel anywhere with Cynthia and Cherrie. Cynthia is the perfect planner of trips and Cherrie is fearless. She keeps everything moving. On this day we go to Chiusi, another town I've never heard of. It is, again, a small spotless small town. It is known for having a large collection of Etruscan artifacts including a museum that contains them. There is a nice park with a bronze statue in memory of resistance fighters. There are lovely views from terraces around the town. Everyone's property is kept to perfection. We ate at a restaurant (Zaire) that had a wine cellar that literally ran under the streets of the town. We were only allowed to see one part of it that contained over 25,000 bottles of wine. Our guide told us that the wine cellar had been there since 500 years before the birth of Christ. On departing she showed us some remnants of a road built by the Romans. There is also a place near the church where part of the sidewalk is glass and below is the Roman road which one can't really imagine...it is all made with small stones built in a swirling mosaic pattern. I would need to do research, but my memory says that this road extended from Rome to this region and beyond. That would be like building a road for hundreds of miles that is not unlike your bathroom floor. I made that up. But I want to know if it's true. Cynthia said that she once read that this town declared war against the Romans. I don't know if they won but they got a road out of it.

Day eight: We sadly leave our beautiful home in Monte San Savino and head to Florence. Ah, Firenze where women swoon in the Uffizi. Florence is surprisingly small. It is a wonderful town to walk in. Perhaps they consider it a city, but it didn't feel that way to me. Maybe that is because we were staying in the center where all the important sites are located. Carolyn and I checked into our rag tag hotel. Well, it wasn't a hotel. It was someone's apartment that they rented out all the rooms in. It was sufficient and within walking distance to everything we could fit in. The nice man who met us to give us the keys to the outside door, the inside door, the elevator and our room recommended a restaurant not far from the house that a friend of his owned. Carolyn thought we should look around for something else and figured Christian was getting kick backs. I said, he lives in the room next door from us; why would he steer us wrong? So we ate there. OMG, I am so happy that we did. The restaurant was called Il Tozzo di Panne. I asked how long it had been open. The waiter said over a hundred years. I asked how long the current owner had operated it and he said 3 years. I sadly cannot remember what I ordered. It was a simple pasta in red sauce I think. Carolyn ordered gnocchi with a Gorgonzola cream sauce. All I know is that mine was the best thing I ever tasted and Carolyn loved hers but couldn't finish it. I wanted to order mine all over again.

After lunch we walked to the Galleria Dell'Accademia and stood in line to see Michelangelo's David. I didn't think this would be possible without reservations. It was fortuitous that there was a Robert Mapplethorpe exhibition at the same time. It was a beautiful exhibit hung in a black room with Mapplethorpe work juxtaposed to the Masters. It illustrated what an incredible talent he was. We walked into a room of sculptures and the sense one got was to walk to the left where amazing sculptures filled the room. At one point I said something to Carolyn and she turned around to answer me and said, oh, there he is. There was an unnoticed room (I think intentionally) to the right. Filling the entire visible space was David. It would be amazing solely for its sheer enormity, if it weren't such a magnificent piece of art. Carolyn kept focusing on his right hand. She thought it was too big for his body and I have to say it was a mighty big hand, but everything was big. The most moving part of this was that the curators had placed 4 large Mapplethorpe body photos next to the sculpture. Two in front and two in back. When I walked into the room I thought how stunningly proud he would feel. But had he lived, I don't think this would have happened. Sometimes you get more respect when you are dead. And dead at the age of 43.

You are not allowed to take photos in the Accademia but I was surprised at how many people did despite and audio message stating it was prohibited and guards constantly telling people to not do it. The urge to take photos is overwhelming there. But I did not break any rules. I saw a family standing in front of David, a man with a child on his head and another by his side while his wife shot away completely ignoring the guards.

Outside, we walked to the the Duomo or more specifically the Duomo Santa Maria Del Fiore. We just missed going inside because it had closed. I could have attended Mass the next morning, but that was pushing it even though I wanted to see inside badly. But the building's exterior compensated for a lot. I never knew that this building was so intricate. Every square inch is mosaic with niches filled with the most amazing sculptures of saints and bishops and angels. They are in the process of cleaning it and eliminating traffic from around it to prevent soot build up. The church is immense. It is inspiring. I took a million photos because I couldn't imagine that human beings could actually build something so ornate. This photo is of the Campanile designed by Giotta. I think this must be what it's like to see intricate mosques and tile work in Morocco. In the same plaza as the Duomo is the Baptistry of San Giovanni. It's an octagonal building and is now used for the opera.

Aside from eating, the rest of Florence was walking and site seeing. We saw the Uffizi but never got in. We walked across the Ponte Vecchio and saw the Arno, the Pitti Palace and the shops in Oltrarno which were closed for Sunday. The Ponte Vecchio is beautiful from an architectural point to view, but it is lined with stores that sell nothing but gold jewelry. It wasn't the slightest enticing and was a huge contrast to the beauty of Florence.

I loved Florence too. We didn't spend nearly enough time there to see all the beautiful things it has to offer. I discovered that I became a little more adventurous with my Italian while I was in Italy. At least I tried to speak and people were receptive and appreciative of that. (I was not good with understanding numbers). I think it could be an easy language to learn if you had the time and the environment.

What stood out most for me is how much more civil, gracious, and enjoyable life is in Italy than in the US. The priorities seem different. Families still live near each other; the elderly have their adult children to lean on; the food is local and that is why the food is so pure; everyone has health care; art means everything; history means everything. People are so respectful of their environment. It's spectacularly clean. It appears that there is a wonderful quality of life there. At least in Tuscany. I know it's hard to get the garbage picked up in Naples. I know there's government corruption. I know there's racism. But that could be said of our country too. So give me art and the best food on the planet and my family near me. I'm for it.