Cooking for a Crowd

Can you imagine being in charge of 12,000 servings of food a day? Of supervising 80 chefs and 40 clean-up people? That’s the job of Andrew Cartwright, the Executive Chef on our cruiseship.

I have been most intrigued with the food on this cruise. It’s plentiful, varied, and of extremely high quality. I wondered just how they managed to consistently pull this off. So I wrote a letter to Mr. Cartwright asking for a tour of the kitchen. We were somewhat surprised when he personally called and arranged a time to brief us.

Multiple industrial-size coffee urns supply the ship’s needs.

They talk about recipes in multiples of 100. The cooking containers for each of the day’s 5 soups have about the same volume as a bathtub.


Polenta is turned out of the pan cut into hundreds of pieces.

The desserts are plated to match these pictures.

The wine cellar, which is about the size of a garage, is kept locked. Our half bottle of wine from last night’s dinner sits in there somewhere with our name on it and will miraculously appear at our table tonight.

As we finished our tour at 5:00, staff were already getting the dining room ready for the first seating of 700 at 6:30, followed by a seating of 1100 at 9:00.

Mr. Cartwright appeared calm and collected, but he let us know this is just the calm before the storm.

I now know that steak and shrimp cocktail are on the menu for tonight, but the remaining choices will wait for 6:30.

Tomorrow we leave our floating home to hop on a train and head south to the Amalfi Coast, where we will live in a rental house in Praiano for the last 2 weeks of the trip. I’m rather looking forward to staying put for a while.

Corfu: Final Port of Call

It was a hot day to be doing much besides sitting at the pool with a cool drink and a good book. That would definitely have been the more relaxing thing to do. But instead we felt compelled to spend hours walking around Corfu, our final port of call.

Since we didn’t take an excursion, we were limited to what we could see on foot. The walk from the dock was not one of the more picturesque parts of town. But finally we reached the town center and things improved. We couldn’t resist following a sign that said “Jewish quarter”, which led us to this bakery where the owner claims not to use butter, milk, or sugar. I find it hard to believe she can turn out such a variety of pastries without these key ingredients. We ended up with 5 Euros worth of sweet stuff that we didn’t really want or need just because the woman was so nice.

Clothes and jewelry seem to be the hot items for sale. It would seem Italian fashion is everyone’s ideal.

We ran into our traveling companions who had hiked up to an old fort and we all sat at an outdoor cafe for a cool drink.

When we wandered over to the water, I spied the boat on which I wish I had spent the afternoon.

The Corfu pigeons were feeling especially amorous despite the heat.

As we walked back to our ship, the Splendor of the Seas, I once again realized just how big it is. You can see the bus pulling away as we make our final boarding. Those little boats hanging on the side are how we would survive if it went down, something hard to imagine. The people who paid the big bucks have the balconies on decks 7 and 8.

Tomorrow is a day at sea and then we arrive back at Venice on Saturday morning. In many ways it will be nice not to have all the constant food temptations the cruise offers. We can once again eat a big salad for dinner instead of a three-course meal if we choose.

But until then we continue to live in this floating city that provides all the comforts of home and more.

A Day on Santorini

Who would have ever thought that one of my most vivid memories of Santorini would be the smell of donkey dung? We had a day to wander all over this lovely island, taking in the sights, sounds, and indeed the smells.

After our last fiasco taking tenders to shore, my friend and I offered to get in line at the crack of dawn to get a tender number. She drank coffee while I yawned and we waited to find out what boat we would be taking. Tender 3 proved a lot better than tender 12!

Upon reaching Santorini we found 3 options for getting up to the town of Thira: a cable car with a 45-minute wait, 580 steps up, or a donkey that stunk to high heaven. While our friends scampered up like mountain goats, we opted for the cable car. No one wanted to get near the donkeys.
At the top it was another experience of wall-to-wall tourists from the 3 cruise ships docked offshore. We quickly found a bus for 2.80 Euros and headed off to Oia (pronounced ee-ah). Not that there were not tourists in Oia, but there were not as many and the views were exceptional.




We had tentatively agreed to meet our friends at a town midway between Thira and Oia, so I flagged down a bus and we hopped back on at no charge. Go figure!

The Cafe Galini offered a wonderful view of the harbor while we ate traditional Greek food and drank iced coffee that was to die for! There is nothing better on a hot day like this one.

We decided to brave it and take the 580 steps to get back down to where we picked up the tender. The trip down was shared with more donkeys than I could count. Although they never stepped on me, I gasped a couple of times as I almost got pinned between a donkey and the wall.

Santorini would be a paradise if it weren’t for all the cruiseships that dock there. I’m sure those who live there sometimes wish for a break from all the tourists who are constantly invading their beautiful island.

A Taste of Turkey

I am quickly concluding that it is entirely unfair to judge a place by what you see in a few hours ashore. You walk off the ship with SUCKER written on your forehead and there is no end to the people who try to sell you something.

Today we docked at Kusadasi, Turkey, where we spent the day on a bus tour to the final home of the Virgin Mary, Ephesus, and a Turkish carpet demonstration and shopping in this small port town.


Having studied Ephesians in my former religious life, it was extremely interesting to see the remains of ancient Ephesus, a town whose hayday was in the early centuries CE.


We had a really knowledgeable guide who made the heat bearable, but I can truly say the highlights of my day were buying a pair of clip-on sunglasses for 7 Euros (bargained down from 10) and a Turkish coffee for 1.50 Euros.

I passed up a beautiful $1,800 rug and a wall full of D&G and Prada leather purses. I passed up pashminas of every possible color. I passed up so many other shopping opportunities by people who were hungry to sell something to Americans.



I am safely BOB (back on the boat) ready to move on to Santorini tomorrow. This whole cruise thing is a little surreal.

Cruise Casting

A cruise has this way of demarcating two populations of people: those who serve and those who receive. I had forgotten just how clear that dividing line is.

There are approximately 2,500 passengers on this Royal Caribbean cruise. To serve them are 700 staff members from 62 countries. They live on the underwater decks of the ship in the equivalent of their own little town, never being allowed to use the facilities used by the guests. They are allowed a few hours off each day, but for much of the time they are working hard.

Their constant goal is to make the passengers happy and thereby maximize their tips. This means cleaning up after the teenagers who leave dirty dishes next to their lounge chairs. It means snapping photos for guests. It means putting up with loud, obnoxious passengers who have had way too much to drink. It even means making cute animals out of towels and leaving chocolates when they come into our cabins in the evenings when we are at dinner.

This idea of being waited on is never more obvious than at mealtimes. I barely sit down to dinner when our waiter Sandro puts my napkin in my lap. He cheerfully reels off the “entries” as he calls them with a big smile on his face and goes through the motions of serving a 3-course meal each evening, knowing full well he has to start all over for the 9:00 pm seating.

I’m sure many of these people from the 62 countries had never been out of their native country before signing on with Royal Caribbean. Even though they probably aren’t paid extremely well, relying to a great degree on tips, they are undoubtedly making more money than they ever before did and sending a lot of it home to family.

But it’s this caste system that makes me feel extremely uncomfortable. I like to think of all people being equal and this is definitely not the case. I suppose I was just not cut out to be royalty.

Going Ashore

There are many good things to be said about a cruise, but the difficulties of moving people off and back on the ship when you come to a port are somewhat overwhelming.

We spent the day in Dubrovnik -- that would be more like we spent 2 hours in Dubrovnik after we took a tender (lifeboat) to a bus to the old walled city, where we walked the wall, and then reversed the process. Each leg of this journey required waiting in a line, which some people respected more than others. We figure about 2,000 people from our ship went ashore. This was all complicated further by the fact that there were something like 4 cruiseships doing the same thing.

There were spectacular views of the sea from the 11th century wall around the city. The red tile roofs, the blue-green water, and the rocky shoreline all provided excellent photo ops. Brave souls were diving into the sparkling water from the rocks above us, while others were loading the cannons in our defense.




(Note the bodies in mid-air!)

But without a doubt, those who stayed on the ship poolside or enjoyed spa services found the relaxation we were missing as we made our first trip ashore.

Tomorrow is a full day at sea as we travel on to Turkey. My treat for the day will be a Swedish massage mid-afternoon. Much needed after hauling my suitcase around for a week!

At Sea

I find it somewhat amazing that we an sit here in the middle of the Adriatic on a moving cruiseship logged onto the Internet. We tore ourselves away from pretty Venice to begin a week-long trip that will ultimately take us to Dubrovnik, Santorini, Corfu, and Ephesus.

Our last morning in Venice saw the sun shining brightly as we rejoined our traveling companions to explore the Rialto markets in search of Murano beads. We found every color and shape of bead imaginable and marveled at the other window displays of beautiful yarns, leather gloves, and amazing fashion.

Then it came time to cram everything back in my way-too-heavy suitcase. As I looked for pounds to shed, I decided Rick Steves’ Venice 2008 would be a nice gift to someone just arriving in Venice.

So a random act of kindness put it in the hands of a beautiful young woman, who then helped me hoist my suitcase off the vaporetto.

At the high cost of wi-fi on this ship, I may never get to post another photo.

I’ve got to get some sleep to be up early for the gym and a yoga class before we dock in Dubrovnik. I may need the last two weeks to rest up from the demanding schedule of this cruise. But meanwhile I’m succumbing to the temptation of way too much good food and way too little time to take advantage of a smorgasbord of activities.

Let the sun keep shining!

Pretty Venice

Venice in sunshine quickly surpassed memories of Rome in rain. And the glisten of water, water everywhere reminded my of why I had liked Venice so much all those years ago.

It was an afternoon without a plan, without relying on Rick Steves' recommendations. We wandered aimlessly through the small streets and over the bridges of Venice, taking in the sights and smells, buying little besides nourishment, and taking lots of pictures. It would seem that just about anywhere you look is a photo op.

We quickly got used to the fact that these people are well-meaning, but not very precise, when it comes to directions. It seems that everything is about a 10-minute walk, which is usually quite wrong.

Our last stop on our walking tour was St. Marks square, a beautiful piazza dating back to the 11th century. From there we caught a water taxi, which slowly took us back to our hotel.

We met lots of nice people on our travels today. A couple from Venice taught me a trick for corraling my suitcase on the train. A couple from Miami on the water taxi traded stories of travel in Italy with us. Tonight as we ate in a kosher Italian restaurant, we struck up a conversation with a German couple from Hamburg.

A little sun and a lot of walking in this most unique city rendered me a fit traveling companion once again.

However, I'm preparing myself for another 70% rain day tomorrow. Hopefully we will find interesting things to do indoors.

(the next day) The rain turned out to be a few sprinkles. We spent the day exploring non-touristy areas of Venice and re-joining the throngs of tourists to visit the glass factories on Murano, an island off of Venice. It was fascinating to watch these artists continue a trade that has been most of their families for generations.

I'm in love with Venice, just as we prepare to leave tomorrow on a cruiseship. Maybe someday when I can use our computer on the Internet my photos can catch up with my words on this Blog!

A Moment of Panic

I think I was having sort of a panic attack as I sat there next to track 3 in the train station in Rome. I had no passport, no Eurail pass, not a single Euro.

We had gotten on a train intended for Venice when I decided to check with a Trenitalia guy about the validity of our tickets.

It turns out we needed a reservation for that train AND would need to have our Eurail pass validated before using it for the first time (or pay 100 Euros).

So we hauled all our stuff off that train and I opted to wait with it while my husband sought out the ticket office and tried to get us legitimately on the next train.

As I watched the ideal train to Venice pull away, I suddenly felt all alone, Euroless, and undocumented.

As the minutes ticked away and he didn't return and I realized we were in jeopardy of missing the next train to Venice, I started to feel panicky.

What if he had gotten mugged? What if he had had a medical emergency? What if he had just disappeared (sometimes the theme of European thrillers)? More likely, what if he had forgotten where I was sitting?

My feelings were alternating between fear and anger at being abandoned when he finally appeared. We're now leaving from track 8, he said.

So we schlepped all our stuff over to track 8, car 12 (which seemed to be about a mile down the track), and went through the task of finding our seats and space for our luggage.

We're finally under way as I look out to see the sun shining on the Italian countryside. I now feel legitimate once again as I touch my passport. My panic has been replaced by a feeling of regret that we're inside a train for 4 hours on the first nice day of the trip.

The Reality of Rainy Rome

This our only full day in Rome evoked a lot of “if only’s”. But it definitely improved as time passed.

(Pictures to be added when technical difficulties are resolved.)

Upon finding the rain to have stopped this morning, we opted to see the antiquities starting with the Colosseum. (Our traveling companions went for the Vatican and its accompanying museum just to play it safe.)

We had just signed ourselves up for a guided tour of the Colosseum when it started to rain. The guide was actually issued a microphone so he could be heard above the rain. I learned a lot of things I had never known about the Colosseum, but the visibility was poor and we were all literally dripping wet.

The rain let up just about the time the tour ended, so we walked from there to the old Jewish ghetto, taking in all the antiquities along the way (despite the fact that the Romans seldom see to put up a sign telling you what you are looking at.) We had to try hard to avoid all the puddles.

Lunch was way-too-salty anchovy pizza that failed to live up to my pizza standards.

The Jewish museum and synagogue tour was informative. We learned that Jews have been in Rome continuously since the 2nd century BCE. Instead of Yiddish they speak a language that combines Italian and Hebrew. There are currently only about 15,000 Jews living in Rome.

We wandered around the former ghetto area, waiting in a long line to buy the greatest Jewish cheesecake I have ever eaten.

Dinner was significantly better than lunch. My friend Kris had paper thin pizza topped with mushrooms and bacon that was undoubtedly the best choice.

Once again the highlights of my trip seem to revolve about food. But I figure if eating takes my mind off the rain, it’s just fine.

Tomorrow as the sun comes out here, we’re headed to Venice for more good food, a gondola ride, and perhaps some Murano glass.

Getting Reacquainted with Rome

It was sunny above the clouds, but as we landed in Rome the sun gave way to rain and the weather prognosticator was vindicated.

(Pictures to be added when technical difficulties are resolved.)

The first stop in any foreign country for us seems to always be a phone store. The cheap phone we had bought in Germany, which was guaranteed to work in other countries with the change of a SIM card, did in fact not work. So now we are the proud owners of a Nokia phone that at least works in Italy.

Mouse -- The same store had a variety of Rowena irons.

While I waited for the phone transaction to conclude, I snapped pictures of rush hour traffic in Rome and umbrellaed Romans.

Walking back to our hotel, I noted that Romans were no better than Berliners at scooping their dog poop and the owner of this pile must be the size of a small horse.

After our traveling companions arrived, we headed off in the rain to the Spanish Steps in search of a restaurant someone had told them not to miss: Otello a la Concordia. This kitchen scene and the smell boded well.

Here rain-soaked travelers wait for a table.

The fettuccine with bacon and truffles was to die for.

I’m resigned to the fact that it will be a while before we see the sun.

En Route -- CDG

Let’s face it -- air travel is just plain stressful. Every step of the line involves yet another line. Shoes come off; shoes go on.

But so far the best surprise was the meal on Air France, which was announced with a “postcard” menu: couscous with salmon appetizer, succulent beef tips with vegetables, chocolate pudding, Camembert, and an assortment of alcoholic beverages. I usually stick to seltzer, but in the interest of falling asleep I went with a delicious Viognier and Pear Williams liqueur.

It’s a good thing we slept because we needed all the energy we could muster to stand in yet more lines in Paris en route to Rome: immigration, security, money exchange.

For the weary traveler, there was an island of calm. It was tempting, but we decided to spend our money on a croissant, a cafe au lait, and a Vittel.

The sun is shining in Paris. Could it be that the weather prediction for Rome was wrong? Hope springs eternal!

Rainy Rome

Does it seem fair that it’s going to be raining the entire time we are in Rome (70% chance)? It may be nice one day next week – the day we travel by train to Venice. And then more rain. Would it be better not to know? Unfortunately the weather prediction these days is fairly reliable.

As I considered what to pack all week I have been trading out sunny-weather clothes for clothes that will feel good in the cool of damp. The bulky sweatshirt got traded for a lightweight long-sleeve sweater and a fleece vest. I added another pair of shoes in case my one and only pair of walking shoes gets soaked.

I have an umbrella and a rain poncho, which I was hoping never to use on the entire trip. Looks like they may be called into service sooner than later.

I’m reminding myself that it rained most days when we were recently in Germany also. I’m also remembering how much better I liked Hamburg than Berlin, possibly influenced by the better weather.

Thanks to the excellent comment from Mouse, I have bundled my clothes and they fit nicely into my little suitcase. However, with the extra pair of shoes and 3 fairly big books and my pair of walking sticks, there is not a lot of room to spare. The good news is that I have not yet unzipped the expansion, so hope springs eternal that everything will continue to fit for a month.

I did pack a duffle bag to use on the last leg home in case we buy some things. Make that “to carry all the wonderful things we will buy.” How can anyone think of going to Italy and not buying things? Besides, what better is there to do if it rains than shop?

Well, maybe eat pizza in Naples. We will definitely be checking out the Pizzeria Da Michele mentioned in Elizabeth Gilbert’s book Eat, Pray, Love. Even if you hated the book, you must admit the pizza sounds divine.

So, arrivederci or ciao if I know you well. I hope to report on our trip but since I will be bumming my husband’s little Apple and we will be on the lookout for free (or cheap) wi-fi, it will probably not be every day.

Dear God – Couldn’t you just let it rain at night when we are sleeping?

Boys on Bikes

How do they do it? How does the Mormon Church get a couple of prime years of a boy’s life to go out and be a missionary either here or abroad?

I still see them all the time. Just saw a pair on the way home. You know the boys on bikes who are wearing black pants and white button-up dress shirts. Always clean-shaven with short hair. And of course they wear backpacks containing the Book of Mormon and literature to hand out.

The Mormon kids I have known in my lifetime have all been well-mannered and never seemed to question the rules they inherited by being part of the Mormon Church. No caffeine. No drugs. No premarital sex. And, at least for boys, two years of service on behalf of the Church.

One of my best employees was a young Mormon boy from Utah, whose wife was extremely homesick from the minute they moved east. He came in one day to tell me he had seen a shooting star as he was taking out the trash the night before and a voice told him to go home to Utah. So they pulled up stakes and took their three children back to live in the basement of his wife’s parents’ house while my ex-employee went back to school and ultimately got a new job.

Which leads to the other essential part of this religion: FAMILY. There is nothing much more important to a Mormon than his/her family. There is always a family safety net that means that Mormons are rarely homeless. I’ve always enjoyed the radio ads “It’s about family” aired by the Mormon Church.

I actually don’t know much about the Mormon religion and am less than excited about their treatment of blacks and their penchant (albeit now illegal) toward polygamy.

But I am impressed with their ability to turn boys into missionaries who seem not to resent what they are doing. How do they do it?

An Oldie but Goody

Our 1985 Volvo wagon is still running strong after many years of abuse by various teenage drivers and long periods of neglect. In fact we will soon be down to 2 cars once again, a 2005 Prius and this old car.

We bought the old Volvo in 1996 when our son first got his driver’s license. We wanted a car that was sturdy but didn’t go too fast. It had 100,000 miles on it when it was turned into Don Beyer by an elderly couple, the original owners.

We had a standing response to the many parking lot incidents my son seemed to have. It was a can of gray Rustoleum that never matched the color of the car too well.

Our daughter had a little mishap on Dupont Circle which resulted in the front right light hanging out like a vacant eyeball. Our able mechanic stuffed it back in and made it serviceable at a minimal cost.

The wipers are rusted but still work just fine.

The trim on the right side is held on with duct tape.

The rear hatch was stuck shut until yesterday when our mechanic managed to unstick it and lubricate it, showing me what to do if it happens again.

Miraculously the automatic door locks, the A/C, and the radio/CD player (not 1985 vintage) all still work just fine.

The beauty of this car is there is not too much under the hood to go wrong. There is no computerization of anything. It sailed through an emissions inspection yesterday, much to the surprise of the mechanic.

Until yesterday we had planned to sell this car keeping the newer 1997 Volvo. But that car has been problematic from the get-go. It gasped a dying breath in front of the house yesterday, so it will be the one leaving us instead.

Meanwhile, while we are in Italy the old Volvo wagon will be going on a mission of mercy to help our friend who is finally coming home after a serious accident in Germany in March. Since she will not be able to get in and out of their truck, they will have our Volvo until mid-summer.

I love my (almost) vintage Volvo, which is no longer even listed in the Blue Book!

The Process of Elimination

Everyone needs a packing advisor, in addition to a fairy godmother. Decision making is so much easier when someone else is helping.

I had put aside 12" of closet space that was intended to go on my 4-week trip in my 24" suitcase. I knew I didn’t really need all those clothes and they would definitely not all fit, but I just couldn’t figure out what to eliminate.

My friend and fellow traveler came over yesterday to offer an opinion, bearing in mind what she was taking and what we might share.

After laying out all the possibilities on my bed, we logically walked through my clothes.

What do you need for dressy occasions? Two things at most. The black cardigan will work for both if it’s cool. Put back the black shawl and black jacket.

What about long pants? Mostly jeans, so two pair. One pair of dressier pants. The navy capris can go back in the closet.

And on and on through shorts, tops, jackets, shoes.

She was great. “I know you want to bring that yellow shirt, but you don’t need it. If you’re really attached to it, take it. But remember you don’t need it.” I’m not sure why I couldn’t have figured that out, but it was just one too many decisions.

By the time we were done I had put back about half of what I had originally considered taking. I will easily be able to fit it all in without even expanding my suitcase.

I find that I am being tempted today to sneak back a thing or two. My husband read the long-range forecast for Rome and Venice, which predicted rain every day next week. Maybe an extra pair of walking shoes in case my one and only pair gets wet?

I’m sure I will never even miss one of those things that went back into my closet. Besides figuring out what to wear is much easier when the choices are limited.

Our Eurail tickets have arrived. Four days until we are out of here!

Musical Sandcastles

Last night I definitely broadened my musical horizons. I went to a concert by Eighth Blackbird at the Kennedy Center, where I heard very contemporary music accompanied by performance art.

I went at the invitation of my friend Doug, whose son Sam is a professional musician in NYC in a group called Zs.

Eighth Blackbird is a group of 6 musicians who all graduated from the Oberlin Conservatory in the mid-90's. They played at least a dozen instruments over the course of the evening, ranging from the huge Steinway piano to an accordian to strings and gongs and even cans – yes, that would be metal cans.

The first piece was titled Double Sextet by Steve Reich, commissioned by the Kennedy Center. My first curiosity was how 6 musicians were going to be a double sextet. No problem: You simply record the first round of the piece and then play over top of the recording.

It was 22 minutes of music that never stopped. There were no pauses, no ritards, just a relentless beat. I can’t say it was unmelodic, although it didn’t leave me humming the theme during the intermission.

The second half was like nothing I had ever seen. It was a collaboration of David Lang, Michael Gordon, and Julia Wolfe, entitled Singing in the Dead of Night. In addition to lots of instruments, there were collections of cans and other metal objects and buckets of sand. At certain points the metal things were dropped on the floor offering definite punctuation.

But it was the sand that left a lasting impression. Almost in the vein of sand trays in a therapist’s office, the buckets of sand were gradually dumped on a table mid-stage where the performers would stop to play in the sand, lie in the sand, letting the sand fall to the floor in particular spots in the music. Then they would get up, shake off the excess, and return to the rhythm of the piece.

Toward the end the lighting changed to cast long shadows of the players on the backdrop. And just before the end, everything became blue. Totally surreal.

This is the music of today, not the stuff of the old masters that makes up my piano repertoire. It takes a little getting used to, but it was obvious that Eighth Blackbird loves making this kind of music.

I’m just glad I didn’t have to clean up that stage once the sand-play was over!

Longing for Free Parking

I’m starting to think I am jinxed in the automated parking lot at Pentagon City. The last two times I’ve been there, I wondered whether I would ever get out.

It sounds simple enough. You get a ticket on the way in. You either buy something in a store like Nordstrom’s that gives out tickets to cover a limited amount of parking OR you pay in a machine as you exit the mall.

The last time I went I ended up not buying anything and attempting to use the machine. It took my entry ticket just fine, but continued to reject my charge card. So I simply drove to a booth with an attendant on the way out and tried to pay the $1.50 I owed. She would have nothing less than $16, the cost of a lost ticket, although I kept telling her my ticket was not lost, but rather was in the jaws of the machine outside of Nordstrom’s. At this point she had the nerve to ask why I hadn’t called for assistance from that machine. A little late I would say.

As the line started to get longer behind me I said, “Either you take my $1.50 or I am just going to sit here and all these people behind me are not going to be happy.”

At that point she called for reinforcements. A big burly guy came over and tried to give me the $16 story once again, suggesting that perhaps I had spent the night in the parking lot, how did he know otherwise? I offered him the chance to call my husband and find out that I had left home a mere hour earlier. He finally rolled his eyes and handed the woman some sort of “get out of jail” card. After which she took my $1.50 and raised the arm in front of my car.

Today when I went I was prepared to do the parking thing correctly. As it turns out I bought a new pair of NYDJ jeans in Nordstroms and they gave me the little blue freebie ticket.

As I pulled up to the robotic parking attendant, I made sure to put the green card in first, stripe up, arrow in. But when I then tried to put the blue card in, it kept getting rejected with a message of “Invalid”. I was sure Nordstrom’s was good for $1.50. I pushed the HELP button and a foreign female voice told me someone would come to help me get out.

Meanwhile I looked to my right and saw another frustrated parking patron, who didn’t seem to have as much patience as I had. I pushed the button again and got a rather loud, “I already call him to come.” By this time both of us who were stuck behind bars were getting impatient, especially when the system has a label “ExpressParc.”

After another 5 minutes a man came and dismantled the other woman’s machine and ultimately told her to back up and go out another exit.

He finally came to me and asked for my green ticket, which of course was somewhere in the bowels of the machine. He pulled out the container of tickets, picked one at random, fed it in, and then fed in my blue ticket. Voila, I was free to go! Never did he apologize to me for the fact that ExpressParc was far from it.

What ever happened to free parking? Or even parking meters? They are disappearing too as we rely on more and more complicated machines to allow us to come and go.

Water, Water Everywhere

We humans have such a love/hate affair with water. We’re either doing rain dances to end a drought or complaining about basements flooding from the 7" of rain over the past week. Did you ever hear someone say, “That was just the right amount of rain”? Well, maybe, but not often.

It strikes me that water is so essential to life and yet so quick to bring death to hundreds, even thousands in disasters like Hurricane Katrina and the recent cyclone in Myanmar. I can only imagine what it might be like to see a huge wave of water approaching with no place to find safety. That would be my worst nightmare.

There’s a certain helpless feeling even when you encounter a broken pipe or a flooding basement. After years of wringing out towels, we finally invested in a wet-vac just in case.

But what about the month when we will be away in Italy? What if it continues to rain? Or worse yet, we have another freaky accident like the one several weeks ago that threatened to inundate our kitchen. I picture Kimy’s relative’s house with 4' of standing water and water coming out the doors and windows. Yikes!

Already the rain is actually stopping and the flooded streets are becoming passable once again. We’ll dry out the umbrellas for the next deluge. And if it doesn’t rain for a few weeks, I’m sure someone will be complaining.

Meanwhile I feel indebted to the Weather Gods for providing one of the nicest days of the Spring for our Maypole dance. It was sunny, warm, and rain-free, something we haven’t seen a lot of since that day.

An Eye on the Enemy

The two Jakes are well aware of each other as they stare across the DMZ formed by our deck. Reya’s Jake (#1) is here so as to avoid the hundreds of people tromping through his house on the Capitol Hill House Tour today. My Jake (#2) is not quite sure who this stranger with his name is. But we are taking great pains to keep these two Jakes apart as experience says they must be.

Jake #1 came last night for the first phase of the House Tour. We set up a nice area with his towels just off the deck. He was content to lie there all evening without complaints as we drank wine and ate dinner on the deck.

Meanwhile Jake #2 took up his place inside the house, eventually turning his backside to the door in a sort of “Kiss my ass” statement.

This morning at 8:30 Jake #1 arrived once again with his head hanging out the car window, looking enthused about spending the day in my back yard. He was not quite so enthused as Reya drove off, but quickly sought out his familiar towels and hunkered down for the day.

It’s unseasonably cold today, so I just gave him another towel which looks like a coat of many colors. I also gave him one of his geriatric dog biscuits with glucosamine in it.

The Jakes occasionally let out a bark to announce their presence. But mostly they just stare across the DMZ wondering who that other dog could possibly be.

Jake #1 will experience the freedom of spending the day outdoors. Jake #2 will enjoy getting to be walked today. Sort of a role reversal for the two Jakes who will only know each other from afar.

Is It a ...?

As I read the article in Thursday’s Post on the duck-billed platypus I found myself thinking a lot about evolution and intrigued with this species that is so bizarre.

The platypus has always been interesting because of its strange name and its body that seems like a Mr-Potato-Head gone awry. Scientists have now determined the entire genetic code of this bizarre animal, including genetic modules that are mammalian, reptilian, avian.

There are genes for laying eggs (reptilian). There are genes for producing milk (mammalian), although the platypus has no nipples and the young must nurse through “milk patches” on the mother’s stomach. And, most surprisingly, there are genes for making venom like that of a snake (reptilian), which the platypus stores in sharp spurs its back legs.

Most interesting is the animal’s system for sex determination. Whereas humans have two chromosomes (X and Y), the platypus has 10, closer to the chromosomes of birds.

Another genetic discovery was the many genes that detect chemical signals released underwater by other animals. This is important since the platypus swims with its eyes closed.

This unique animal gives us a glimpse at our own evolution, helping us understand where we came from and how we evolved. It’s like a photograph snapped 170 million years ago when important genetic decisions were being made that eventually resulted in human beings.

What I want to know is whether we decided to ditch the venomous spurs when we figured out that we could inflict just as much damage with our words?

Eek! in the Present Moment

We were just 6 people sitting mindfully on cushions on Wednesday night. Or was there someone else?

Partway through the sit I thought I heard “Oh my God.” But then sometimes my ears play tricks on me and I let it go along with the list making and the other random thoughts that were bombarding my mind.

At the very end of our meditation time together, Sharon said, “Did anyone else see the mouse? Something with a small body and a long tail ran right in front of my cushion and when I exclaimed OMG went back into the kitchen.”

So it hadn’t been my imagination after all. What a tribute to this group that there were only 3 words in response to this unexpected visitor. I think I will continue to keep my eyes closed in the future because I might be tempted to scream not so mindfully.

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

One of the best things about Blogging is getting to read stories that I would never run across in the Post, the New Yorker, or the other sundry things I read. This week’s favorites both look at variations on our national pastime.

Throwing Hammers talks about his experience as the coach of a tee-ball team of 5 and 6 year-olds. Sometimes they just need a hug.

Ruth D tells the story of an athlete who makes a very unconventional home run (the second time around).

These two accounts are like chicken soup for the soul. Read them and smile!

When the Cat's Away

I drive the Prius and Jake sleeps on the bed. We dearly miss our head of household, but do enjoy these privileges while he’s away.

I normally have the choice between an ‘85 Volvo wagon with the trim held on by duct tape and a ‘97 Volvo sedan in which the AC doesn’t work. As the weather warms up, that’s becoming a tougher choice. Even though the Prius is almost 3 years old, it seems so new and completely functioning in comparison.

Jake loves the fact that he is welcome to share the bed with me. Sometime during the night he always finds his way back to the section of carpeting in front of the closet door where he normally sleeps, but the choice is his.

As I took out the trash for today’s pick-up, I fondly remembered the person who normally does it and wished him a good trip. I’ll take him over the Prius any day and I’m sure Jake has similar thoughts about sharing his bed.


(Jake photo courtesy of Kimy)

Drinking in the Quiet

It’s rare indeed that I have the house to myself and a day that is totally uncommitted. The only sound I hear is my dog Jake as he pants loudly after fetching his Kong.

My husband is off to Detroit for a periodic visit with his elderly mother. It’s never a fun trip, but instead an inescapable reminder of the downside to growing old. She’s fragile and a little demented at 93, but otherwise clinging fiercely to life.

After dropping my husband off at the airport, I invested in a Starbucks latte and then hung out at the library in search of all things Italian. I found guidebooks aplenty and a couple of works of fiction: Cry to the Heaven by Anne Rice and Simple Prayers by Michael Golding. If you’ve read either or know of others, please let me know so I am only lugging around reading material worth its weight!

I came home to breakfast on the deck, where I also devoured today’s Post and another 75 pages of The Girl with No Shadow (delicious!)

And the rest of my quiet day? A short nap, a lunch of leftover grilled veggies (remains from Saturday’s party which I cooked slowly in the oven) over rice, maybe some piano, and lest I forget, a trip downstairs to run and stretch.

I’m sure there will be more time in the day but am content to leave it as empty space right now. I’ve learned a lot in just one year about how to embrace free time. It’s especially nice on a day like this that just begs to be savored.

Completely Unremarkable

I was tagged by Kristin of Candy Sandwich to tell 6 unremarkable quirks about myself. I’m very quirky so that shouldn’t be too hard.

1. I’m actually crazy about keeping the bills in my wallet in order and all facing the same direction. People look at me oddly as I put my money away at an ATM (that is, when I don’t drop it first).

2. Until I married my husband, I had a long-standing record of seeing my ex-boyfriends marry the next girl they dated. I was really getting a complex about this until I married one before he could complete the ritual.

3. I hate coats. I grew up in sunny Florida where a coat was always optional and seldom really needed. I hate umbrellas almost as much. I hate weather that compels me to use a coat or an umbrella.

4. From the time I was 3 years old, I could tie a ribbon around one wrist with the other hand – either wrist. I’m not physically dextrous, but I do have manual dexterity.

5. I’m somewhat of a technophobe despite having had a career in computer programming. I always had to explain to my children that knowing how to write efficient code was not the same as operating a machine of any kind.

6. Despite the fact that I grew up in Florida, I still have a fear of deep water instilled over many formative years by my mother who was terrified of drowning. One would think I inherited that gene, but I think it was just conditioning that left me of a similar mind. I can swim, but badly, and every year I resolve to take swimming lessons so I can confidently swim in water over my head without panicking.

Here are the rules for this meme:

1. Tell about six unspectacular quirks of yours.
2. Link the person who tagged you.
3. Mention the rules in your Blog.
4. Tag six following Bloggers by linking them.
5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged Blogger’s Blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged.

I would like to know more about the unremarkable quirks of:

Lettuce-Eating
Steve
Shadows and Light
Gewels
Pauline
Media Concepts

Do You Believe in Magic?

This weekend was filled with magical moments. On three separate occasions I was reminded that there is indeed reason to believe.

(Photos courtesy of Steve, Blogger photographer extrordinaire!)

Saturday was one of the most beautiful days of the Spring. Just before the arrival of Bloggers from far and wide we hoisted the May pole in our back yard. Twelve colorful ribbons fluttered in the breeze.

I had never even met half of the people who came to our May party. But as we sat there drinking beer and wine coolers and eating little skewers of grilled food, we found common links that established us as family. We talked about anonymity, about family reading our Blogs, about the time-sink that Blogging can become, about when and how to quit. And of course there were stories, lots of stories. Two of our number could lord it over us that they know Cube’s first name, but no one would dare tell.

We were indeed family by the time the dance began. We were instructed to pick a ribbon of our choice and then to charge up the pole with lusty thoughts.

Half of us prepared to move in a clockwise direction; the other half would go counter-clockwise. It seemed a simple matter to go under and over as we danced to the music. We must have looked like the dorkiest bunch of dancers ever as we went round and round. Everyone looked up in awe as the pole disappeared under its woven blanket of colored ribbon. Although the tradition is to run into the woods and have sex after the May dance, there is far too much poison ivy in our woods, so we just joked about it. This was definitely magical moment #1.

Today I went to a book talk at the French embassy by Joanne Harris, author of Chocolat, Five Quarters of the Orange, and now The Girl with No Shadow, a sequel to Chocolat. Anyone who has read these books knows how magic permeates this author’s writing. During the Q & A period after her talk, someone asked her if indeed she believes in magic. She answered in the affirmative, noting that it’s not always Harry Potter type magic, but it’s magic nonetheless with a whole host of magic-related words in the English language. The magic of chocolate was present even today as we feasted while getting our books signed. Magical moment #2.

Then on to a Cinco de Mayo concert with the Capital City Symphony, where my good friend is the principal bass player. The second piece was El Amor Brujo by Manuel de Falla. A “brujo” is a magician or wizard. Thirteen segments with titles like The Apparition, Dance of Terror, and Dance of the Game of Love make up this piece. It could not have been better timed to constitute magical moment #3.

Now that I’m a true believer, I’m home again with the reality of a completed Maypole, piles of laundry, and another week about to begin. I’ll be looking for the next magical moment amidst the everyday routine that defines my life. Who knows where I’ll find it!

Different Strokes Revisited

I’m hoping to learn the art of casual entertaining this weekend. I’m really trying to subdue my tendency to plan a function to death and instead just let it happen spontaneously.

I’m co-hosting a party of Bloggers, many of whom are coming great distances and most of whom have a direct connection to the other party planner, who happens to be my Blogging mentor.

We get along like siblings, but in fact we are as different as night and day. Before any function I am forever making lists and timelines. She suggested that we meet to do the shopping 3 hours before the guests arrive, a very foreign concept for me. There is no master list, yikes!

But the nature of this party, the creation of a dance around a May pole, and the guests who are coming all suggest a spontaneous approach that defies my list-making. It will probably be a cooperative effort to put up the Maypole, to attach bright ribbons to it, and to make flower wreaths for our heads.

As for food, the menu is designed to be a “do your own thing” sort of barbeque. We will put out little wooden skewers and various marinated meats, veggies, and fruit and everyone will string together what they like best.

Meanwhile I’m enjoying the company of Letty of Lettuce-Eating, a delightful Brit who timed her first trip to the US to coincide with this party.

Now I must go shopping in my closet to find the appropriate dorky costume for our May Day dance tomorrow. And I must also do a little pre-dance dance to hold off the rain!

Held Prisoner by the Score

It just occurred to me today that what I would really like to be able to do is play the piano like I cook, sort of inventing as I go. How I envy those who can sit down and play by ear!

I’m an adventurous cook. I love the idea of just dreaming up a recipe from what you have on hand. I love to experiment with different herbs and spices. I even love to come up with substitute ingredients when something is missing.

But when I play the piano, I have to stick to the music because I don’t have the training or the natural ability to stray from the printed score. It means I tend to make a lot of mistakes and I can’t easily finesse around a problem. It also means I can’t just sit down and jam with people. It’s so frustrating to hear it in your head and not be able to replicate it with your fingers.

I keep wondering if I really apply myself and learn music theory, will I suddenly be able to put the music aside or is there actually no hope for people like me?

Maybe instead I should just hone my cooking skills and stick to playing from the music as written.