School In Our Jammies

After a smooth travel day yesterday, or the last two days, or whatever, we arrived in Madrid last night to very warm weather and a clean hotel near the airport.  We are thankful to have made our connection in London (the advised transit time of 90 minutes was no joke) and to retrieve our one piece of luggage successfully in Madrid.  Since it contained all of our “camp” supplies, that was a relief.

Jim and I both woke at 5 a.m. ready to hit the road, but then after talking for a few minutes and deciding we could just relax, we promptly fell back to sleep for three and a half hours.  Zowie.  Breakfast helped get us going again, and now we’re off.

Fes, here we come.

Thanks to Anna for that little pun, and to both Nanfitos for the ride this morning.  You guys are great.

We’re also thankful for such a lovely departure day, serene Puget Sound waters, a good-bye kiss and a tail-wave from a pilot whale, and a gentle rock-a-bye train ride allowing a few naps.  We highly recommend the 4-hour trip from Edmonds to Vancouver, B.C. if you find, as we have, that international flights are so much cheaper from here than from home.

Canadians are quite nice, as usual, and after a walk and lunch then another walk and a Skytrain ride, we arrived at YVR 6 hours early for our 9 p.m. flight to Madrid.  We’re even too early to dump our check-in bag, but the wifi is good so okay.

Here’s how our next couple of days will go, Lord willing (and thank you for your prayers!)  We fly for 9.5 hours to Heathrow, walk very quickly to our next flight, and fly another 3 hours to Madrid, whereupon we shall sleep in a comfy airport hotel.  About the time you’re having your morning coffee on WEDNESDAY, we shall have arrived via Ryanair to Fes and then via taxi to our hotel.

We’ll keep you posted as we’re able!

A Drama in Three Acts

You are about to read a sappy holiday play. If you think you’ve read enough sentimental Christmas stories to last until the nest is empty and you can decorate the tree any way you like, you’re probably right – but, trust me. This one’s for you, mom. I know that you’re trying so hard to make everybody happy and at the same time teach the kids a bit of responsibility, but the balance may be off. Mercifully, it all usually works out just fine in the end.

Character List

Mom: The protagonist and our home-schooling mother of four, she is blessedly near the end of that phase with only two semi-grown-up daughters living at home.

The Daughters: Amy and Jenny, twenty and sixteen. Loving, yet deficient in their computational skills, this cute sisterly duo provides most of the angst.

Sis and Grandma: Mom’s relations, these minor characters deliver context for the secondary plot conflict.

Farm Boy: the guy at the Christmas tree stand, who is naturally more interested in pretty lumberjacks than in selling Noble Firs.

Synopsis

Set on a day in December, Mom realizes she must attend two simultaneous events — a doctor’s appointment with Grandma and a Christmas-tree hunt with The Daughters. These home-educated young ladies (dressed in matching red plaid flannel), must apply home school math skills to a mission of holiday importance – buying the tree. This is a quest tale. On the surface lies a quest for the perfect tree, but be on the lookout for that deeper meaning! Will the Daughters learn financial maturity? Will Mom’s feelings of anguish for not accompanying them on their seasonal outing be assuaged? Let’s find out.

Act I, scene i:

Mom is hauling the vacuum cleaner out of the closet as her cell buzzes. It is a text from Jenny, the youngest. “I miss my mommy! Can you and Amy and I buy tree today?” (Any mother watching this scene will empathize with the desire to drop everything and spend time with her child, as the “miss my mommy” phrase always makes our hearts go melty. If we forget for just a moment that the wily little wheeler-dealers have been conning us out of “just one more cookie” since they could speak, we could be duped.) Shifting perspective, the scene swings from the living room to the daughter’s bedroom. Gasp! The audience realizes the first shocker of our story – the daughter is texting her mother from within the same house. What could this mean? Has the mother kept the daughter isolated in her room, shackled to her desk, an algebra text yawning open before her? Does this non-working-outside-the-home mother spend her days scrubbing her already spotless house? Is neglect at issue here? Or something even more sinister?

Scene ii:

Another phone call, this time from the land line. It is Sister. The audience learns that an event simultaneous to the Christmas tree hunt – a chemotherapy appointment for Grandma – is scheduled for this day. Sis strongly desires Mom to oversee this event as Mom knows the important stuff like where to go and how to interact with Grandma’s nurses.

Oh, the angst! Can you feel it? As our quandary thickens, Mom is obviously distraught. Should she put the Daughters off another day? Should she insist that Sis can handle Grandma alone? Either way, people she loves will be disappointed, and while the audience knows that it is nice to be wanted, they also know that it’s nicer to be wanted when the wanting is also mutually convenient. Remember, the themes of our story are responsibility and guilt. Someone has responsibilities. Someone faces potential guilt. Ultimately, those someones are both Mom.

Act II:

Mom has an epiphany! She proposes that the daughters venture out to buy a tree together, while she accompanies Grandma to Group Health! Jen and Amy could drive the truck! They could take Mom’s debit card! They could make the tree decision together!

Act III, scene i:

Excited, the Daughters declare a “sister date.” Mom relinquishes the plastic and mentions that she would rather not pay too much, like around forty dollars perhaps for a good-looking Christmas tree; otherwise, the decision is theirs. The Daughters skip upstairs to their room and begin choosing appropriate tree-hunting attire. Costumed in matching red plaid flannel, jeans tucked into their boots so the white fur toppers peek over the tops, and red knit scarves thrown jauntily around their pretty necks, the lumberjacks kiss Mom good-bye.

Scene ii:

Daughters drive themselves to the Christmas tree lot. Mom drives Sis and Grandma to the treatment center, receiving just one call while she parks in the underground garage. The reception is a little sketchy, but she thinks she hears one asking permission to “buy ourselves COFFEE on your card?”

Scene iii:

Double-tall, eggnog lattes in hand, the pretty lumberjacks park near the tree pen, fur-lined boots crunching across the frozen dirt as pine and sawdust aromas waft in the cool wintry air. A bearded farm boy dotingly escorts them up and down the rows of slain firs and nobles. Feeling pressured to make a good decision, the Daughters remember to ask the price, which is nine dollars per foot.

Cue the spot light. Amy’s face registers concentration, and the audience deduces that she is multiplying in her head. Jenny’s face is less telling; she’s just the truck driver. Do you remember that mention of home-school math in the synopsis? Yep. Although a generic audience may not gasp in horror as The Daughters fork out seventy-two dollars for an eight-foot-tall Noble fir, you will, Mom. You would have caught the foreshadowing way back in Act I about not wanting to pay more than forty dollars for a tree this year.

Scene iv:

The Daughters are driving home, tree in truck. They discuss what has transpired.

Amy: Jen, we just spent over seventy dollars on a tree.

Jenny: Mom said no more than fifty, didn’t she? And we bought coffee, too. (Ahem. You will notice the discrepancy here, will you not?)

Amy: Oh, man. Our friends never pay this much for a tree. I’ll just pay the extra twenty dollars.

Jenny: Our tree is a beauty.

Amy: Yes. And Mom does like us to have fun together. And she was feeling badly that she couldn’t come.

Jenny: Wait! We didn’t even HAVE a tree last year! We were in San Diego!

Amy: Right! You know what this means? If we divide and cancel, then subtract with a dash of deductive reasoning and hope, this years’ tree only cost thirty-four dollars!

Epilogue:

And so that, my fellow moms, is the end to our little story of responsibility and mommy-guilt. On the surface, it is the story of a couple of girls with a debit card at the Christmas tree stand, and their Mom who was feeling badly for not coming along. But let’s not miss the deeper meanings: First, when you’re a mom, a little bit of money can mitigate a whole bunch of guilt. Second and most importantly, good things can happen when you stop trying to make everybody happy. And, perhaps thirdly:  a bit more practice with multiplication tables couldn’t hurt.

Although we’ve been home for a couple of weeks, Jim and I continue to live figuratively “out of our suitcases.”  Clothes are put away, laundry is done.  We brush our teeth with electric toothbrushes again and spray aerosol deodorant where it belongs, yet because we are in the throes of a kitchen remodel – the rest is messy.

The stove and dishwasher are in the garage, as is the fridge but it – thankfully – is plugged in and functioning.  For our morning cup of coffee, Jim and I stumble to the basement to operate the Keurig and I to the garage after that for half ‘n half.

Because of possible moisture issues with garage storage, the new cabinets sit over two-thirds of the living room, which means we have only enough space for each of us to claim a chair and a narrow line-of-sight to the television.  Scout is banished to a bedroom.  She does not like banishment, but she has her litterbox, water and food up there and she purrs when we visit.

My ears only stopped ringing within the last twenty minutes, even though I was wearing hearing protection.  We have no railing on the stairs and a 4-inch diameter hole in an entryway wall which was a mistake, but the electrical guy says the drywallers will fix that.  Okay.

The good news is that there is no going back.  Old kitchen gone; new one developing.  Jim sent the kids this picture –

and among their reactions were “Whoa!” (Jenny), “0.0” (David), “Dude” (Amy) and “DUDE THAT IS THE LINOLEUM OF MY CHILDHOOD” (Jessica).

Some things need desperately to be updated, and childhood linoleum  is among them.  We are surviving remodel inconveniences just fine so far, except that somewhere I have a ziplock bag full of chocolate…and I can’t find it.  Time to initiate an expanding-square search.

A certain faithful reader of this blog has requested – twice! – for an ending of our travel tale.  Silly me, English teacher that I am, for neglecting the denouement.  I apologize, and here ‘tis –

After rising at 3:30 a.m. in Florence on Sunday morning, June 12, we piled into a shuttle for the tiny airport just minutes away and stood in line for KLM Airlines.  Thankfully we were flying with the Dutch and not the French, as Air France pilots just happened to start their strike on that day.  However, the Dutch weren’t as accommodating as we presumed they would be, forcing us to check all of our luggage.  Yep, all of it — our “Rick Steves” bags with shoes and dirty laundry, even our itty-bitty European-style suitcases which met all of the requirements for every airplane in the sky.  Anna tried her best to argue, citing the stolen suitcase incident of 2012, but to no avail.  Sheesh.

So we checked everything except our purses and skipped lightly through security and out to our gate.  Granted it was kinda nice to be unencumbered with luggage…but still:  our souvenirs were in those bags!  And the best of our travel wardrobes!  And my camera and computer!

Off we flew for a little over two hours to Amsterdam, where we had a four-hour layover.  During our wait we found (don’t judge) Starbucks, where the perky, smiling barista asked me, in her Britishly-accented English, “I don’t know what a ‘breve latte’ is.  Would you like to explain it to me?”  Apparently, steamed cream is weird, so nevermindI’lltakeaplainlatte,thanks! was it for me.  We also used up the last of our Euros on chocolate and discussed, in ignorant whispers, how Amsterdam was a city in the Netherlands but what is Holland?  (Figured it out, folks.)

One perk of getting up so early is being sleepy on an airplane, which we were.  Nanfitos had the two seats by the window, while we and the Mealeys shared the middle row.  Sleeping wasn’t so much sleeping as it was passing out and coming to, and thus proceeded the next nine hours.  Movies were nice, so was the food.  Listening to the flight attendants switch languages on a dime was also entertaining:  Dutch-English-Dutch-English.

Arriving in Vancouver, BC, at 2 p.m. local time after leaving Amsterdam at 1:55 p.m. the same day (time zones are weird), we were overjoyed to retrieve all of our luggage.  Woo hoo!  Dave and Jane had reserved a mini-van for our drive home, and so after a 2-hour flight and a 9-hour flight, with a 2-hour wait and then a 4-hour layover, we now faced a 4-hour drive home.

The Northwest is gorgeous.  It is also green, clean, and the roads are wide and have shoulders!  We hadn’t seen shoulders for over two weeks.  People speak English here, all the time.  Streets are mostly straight and clearly marked.  The Blue Dot had no issues whatsoever.  McDonalds is still McDonalds, but we got some big Macs and fries for the drive and to stay awake, which was impossible for all except the driver…thanks, Dave.

All in all, the trip was epic, and home is a great place to come back to.  People ask us, “what was your favorite part?”  I enjoyed every day, even the travel days, but our time at the Ein Gev Resort on Galilee was a highlight, as was Jerusalem.  Rome and Naples are big cities filled with thousands of tourists all wanting to see the same things as we wanted to see, so while being there was enjoyable, moving on to the next place was, too.  Also, Tuscany! Tuscany can’t be beat for scenery, and if our rental villa in Lilliano were two hours away instead of 25, we’d go there every year and take all of our kids and grandkids and all of you, too.

Here’s one last pic, of us in Monterroso al Mare, the last of the Cinque Terre towns and the one where we had hoped to swim in the Med.  Lest you think the trip was all sunny and pleasant —

Thanks for keeping tabs on us, dear readers. My initial reason for blogging was for the Baumgaertel, Mealey and Nanfito families and friends to know we were alive and well, but it also became a log of our adventures; and believe it or not, I sort of miss the excuse to keep you all updated every evening.  Summer ahead has little excitement, except for a kitchen remodel, but who knows?  I might be back.

We are in Florence, folks.  The capital of Tuscany and birthplace of the Renaissance, Florence has been dubbed “the Athens of the Middle Ages”.  It has art.  It has fashion.  It has 13 million tourists each year, and six of those are currently hiding in their hotel rooms.

After a typically harrowing drive from Lilliano this morning and thank the Lord finally finding our hotel, we met a fellow Minnesotan in the lobby who gave us the best tip of the day — take the bus downtown.  Yes.  Avoid driving another block in the city at all costs…so we did.

Saw the duomo.  Saw the famous bridge over the Arno river.  Saw statues in the piazza.

Rode the bus back and checked in whilst Jim and Dave braved the streets one more time to gas up the van before turning it in to Europcar.  (Apparently this was no simple feat, and I am thankful that I got to wait it out in our room.  Jim shared a few details about gas troubles and a rude Europcar guy who threatened to charge us an extra 100 Euros plus gas if we brought it back without filling up.)

We’ll find something for dinner in a couple of hours and then try to sleep early.  Our flight is at 6:30 a.m. — 9:30 p.m. West Coast time — which means an early start HOME!

See you soon.

Today was a day at the villa, with no other place to see and no obligations to meet  except to settle our bill with Yolanda and pack our bags. Yolanda, who speaks as much English as we do Italian, showed up on our doorstep at 9:45 to return our 150 Euro damage deposit and collect the cleaning fee and taxes.  We came out just ahead by 6 Euros, which will buy six cappucinos tomorrow morning in Florence.

So far the most exciting event of the day has been a wasp “the size of a tootsie roll” according to Tim,  that  buzzed over our heads as we ate our scrambled eggs and toast.  Ignoring it for as long as our nerves would allow, we finally gave Dave the okay to “guide it towards the open window” with a broom. Afterwards the bee disappeared, most likely out the window because its carcass was neither on the floor nor stuck in the broom bristles.  Disappeared without a trace — just like the Etruscans.

Since not much else is happening around here, and we’re thankful for that, I shall back up to last night and finish the story of our last restaurant dinner in Tuscany.  We ate at an agritourismo.  What, you ask, is one of those and why would we eat there?  Well, agritourismos are working farms, or as in Italy, working vineyards, that encourage visitors to stay overnight or just to eat.  Tuscany has several, and we found one just minutes from where we are living.

The Riserva di Fizzano is a working winery right in the heart of the Chianti Classico region, near San Gimignano, Volterra, and us.  People stay here in rental “apartments” for a very reasonable price and eat yummy food made with locally-grown produce. First we laughed when we scoped out the place early in the day, because we saw this sign:

See there? “In collaborazione with ‘Olive Garden'” as in the Olive Garden.  Seriously?

Well, no.  Our waiter, upon asking us where we are from, assured us that this restaurant “is not Olive Garden.  You see Olive Garden commercial?” he asked.  “It was shot right here, where you sit.”  In reality, Olive Garden USA has come to Olive Garden, Italy, for “culinary retreats” in the off-season.  We are not the first to say that OG USA has not learned that much about authentic Italian cuisine, since the real thing bears little resemblance to OG lasagna or pasta fagioli.

I should note that we ate late, for only the second time this whole trip.  The first was the night previous, when we left Montecatini Terme late and spent two hours on the road looking but not finding a suitable restaurant.  That one was late by accident, the “Olive Garden” was late on purpose.  We even took naps so we could stay up past 8:30!  (See, kids?  Your parents haven’t changed much.)

On the drive home, our first in the darkness, we saw fireflies and a pole cat crossing the road in front of us.  Jim spied two pole cats in the yard  today early, and those critters are weird.

Tonight’s dinner was home-made sausages, peppers, olives, garlic, and tomato/cucumber salad.

After eating, we realized the evening was warm and pleasant, so we spent our last evening on the patio before being overcome by mosquitoes.

Now ’tis truly time to finish packing, as we have an early departure for Florence in the morning.  One more sleep here and one in Florence, then we’ll be on our way home!

Today six Tuscan travelers are pleased to report the discovery of — yet another — picturesquely ancient hill town.  Monteriggioni (pronunciation unclear, however it is rumored that the “r” is silent) sits above vineyards (like they all do!) and is only a 16-minute drive from Lilliano. Deciding previously to nix their intended schedule of both Monteriggioni and Poggibonsi, the travelers enjoyed a laid-back and restful day.

“This is my favorite!” claimed one, preferring her anonymity.  “Yes, they all have their charm.  They all have walls,  They are all quite ancient.  However,” she continued, “this one has many  large parking slots, no tour buses, and the TOILETTES ARE FREE.”

Tim and Anna Nanfito, pictured above, made another unique discovery — potable water pouring from a fountain named the “Peter and Paul Fountain”.  “Peter has the key,” noted Anna, “and Paul has the tablet.”

Upon entering the city, all marveled at the peaceful, clean piazza with plenty (nay, even an overabundance of restaurants) and just enough shops to keep visitors intrigued. Dave Mealey, the group’s touring history teacher, entered a shop on the behest of his wife, Jane, only to discover an Etruscan coin for sale.

“Hey, ma’am,” he asked of the proprietress, “can you open the case so I can take a closer look at this coin?”

Happy to oblige, she allowed Dave to inspect the replica.  “So, is this Etruscan?” he inquired.  After a short conversation to verify the authenticity of said coinage, Dave agreed upon the purchase, and asked if he could use his credit card.

“My machine has been broken for two days,” answered the shopkeeper, “which is not surprising since I live in a medieval castle.”

Using money to buy money, Dave parted with 8 Euros and brought his Etruscan coin home to Lilliano.  In the interest of truth in journalism, however, it shall be noted that upon further research, Dave discovered that his coin was …

NOT ETRUSCAN, but Sicilian.

“Missed it by that much,” said Dave.

Monteriggioni is known not only for its lack of ancient Tuscan money, but also for its place in classical literature.  Dante, of “Divine Comedy” fame, compared Monteriggioni’s towers to a ring of giants standing guard around a deep, bottomless chasm.  He writes that it “was turreted with giants, half their length,” whom another character threatened when “his muttering thunder roll[ed]. And indeed, another afternoon thunder storm chased the Tuscan Travelers out of town.

“It seldom rains day after day (in Tuscany),” according to a book on a shelf in Casa Spazzavento.  “And if it does, you can wait out a shower in bed or at a café.”

Choosing naps over a café, the six travelers had lovely ones before eating at “the Olive Garden.”  More about that on the ‘morrow.

Good night, all.

It was the best of days, it was the worst of days, it was a long, long, long day and we just got home from dinner.

It was the morning of hopefulness as we departed early for Pisa
It was the afternoon of  spontaneity as we rode the tram to the town of Montecatini Terme
It was the evening of starvation as we left that one at 6 p.m. hoping to find a special restaurant in Castillina but didn’t actually eat until almost 9.
It was the epoch of blue dot wisdom;
It was the epoch of blue dot loop-de-loos;
It was the epoch of blue dot re-rout-ation.
It was the season of “wow that tower really does lean”;
It was the season of Puccini in the piazza and a bike ride around the Roman wall;
It was the season of toll booths and lane changes and honking Italians.
It was the roads in the country
It was the roads in the cities
It was the roads through farmer’s fields when the Blue Dot “went all snakey” and the navigator said “oops” a few times.
We had apples before us for lunch in our van after Pisa;
We had sandwiches, cappuccinos and gelato in Lucca which was pretty tasty;
We had wished we could find the hot pools in Montecatini Terme, but the tram was nifty anywho.
In short, the day was just about like every other day in Tuscany.

There were a driver with steady nerves and a navigator with a blue Google dot in the front seat; there were a couple of wives and a couple of Nanfitos behind these to offer advice at toll booths and parking garages, watch for road signs and gasp appropriately, or hand bottled water forward.

Apologies to Dickens.

To all a good night!