La Serenissima

All was serene in La Serenissima.

The wonderful thing about Venice is the magical light bathing the ancient architecture in a lovely glow. This was our sixth visit, and fourth stay at La Pensione Accademia. The hotel is housed in a palazzo which at one time was the Russian embassy.

These photographs are of the front of the hotel, the views from our room, and the small street next to the canal. A room with a view of the Grand Canal - what a pleasant way to recoup after our bike tour!




Here is an observation about Venice: of all the places we have traveled multiple times, Venice remains the most unchanged over the years. Every hotel is still the same, every restaurant is still in the same place with the same name, serving basically the same menu, and indeed every gelato vendor, stationery store, clothing store, mask vendor, glass purveyor, candy shop and flowerstall are in the exact same spot where they were on our first visit in 1987.

Is it over already?

The last day of bicycle touring began with a foggy, misty morning. Leaving our hotel in Treviso in good time for the last leg, we anticipated a pretty ride along the River Sile heading towards Mestre, the drop off point for our bikes. With only 28 miles to go in this final stage, it seemed like it would be a piece of cake. Before we had even left town, though, I rounded the corner of a building to find another person on a bike right in front of me. We both gasped, dodged a little bit, and continued on our way. However, it did remind me that I needed to be careful even still.

As we cycled along this last stretch, the surroundings began to look more and more Venetian. There were canal like waterways with swans, herons, egrets, ducks, seagulls and other birds. The buildings themselves began to take interesting shapes with whimsical colors. We passed this colorful dwelling along the way.

Just about lunch time, we locked the bikes for the last time. Trusty #43 had carried me safely all the way to the end.

After the rain

The third full day of biking began inauspiciously; I heard heavy rain during the night, and we woke to see a very dark sky and wet pavement. My spirits were considerably dampened as well. I knew it would take more than a little rain to dissuade my partner from setting out on our proscribed route, though! I layered on an extra pair of socks as well as my rain slicker under my lime green riding jacket.

Even though the ground was wet, we got in two full hours of bike riding before rain drops began to pelt down in earnest. We knew that there was a train station about two thirds of the way into the route, and it was mutually agreed upon that we'd take the train on into our evening's destination, Treviso. Another hour and a half riding through rain was not pleasant, but showed me that I can even do the hard stuff.

Our hotel was quite charming, and I even exclaimed when I took off my wet socks that the floors were heated. As it turns out, that wasn't the case. My feet were just so cold that the floor felt warm to me! The rain dried up, and we went out walking in this pretty little Northern Italian city which appears to be quite prosperous. As always, we were scoping out more than one restaurant possibility.

They take food quite seriously here, and we popped in and out of all sorts of shops filled with pasta, mushroms, parma ham and sausages, beautiful vegetables, jars of every kind of preserve and honey, and (naturalement) wine.

A cozy little restaurant called Trattoria Toni del Spin provided Steve with some delicious pumpkin gnocchi with cheese, and me with rabbit stew atop creamy sage polenta.

All's well that ends well!

Best part of the bike ride - a nice cuppa!

The second day of biking (Vicenza to Bassano del Grappa) was the stop for perfect cappuccinos at about the 28 mile point. Sunny and cool all morning long, the weather cooperated as we forged upwards gradually to our destination.

What we found at the end of the route on was a quaint little town (pop. around 40000) that proudly boasts a very nice museum belonging to the city where we looked at a special Ansel Adams exhibit, then toured the rest of their permanent collection of art.

Since the town is called Bassano del Grappa, we would have been remiss not to also take in the Museum of the History of Grappa, and sample a small aperitif of said spirit.

Biking the Veneto

Don Quixote and his faithful servant, Sancho Panza(aka Steve and Barb) set out on the first day from Padova heading for Vicenza.

My heart was in my throat as we started out around 9:30 a.m.. I just kept my eye on the yellow jacket on the bike in front of me as I wrangled my big orange bicycle through the crowded streets of Padova.

At last we reached a bike path, and I began to breathe easier. I was even able to glance to the left and right occasionally, to glimpse the passing scenery. At our lunch break, a small sandwich and a power bar kept me going another couple of hours.

Near our final destination, we stopped at Villa Valmarana ai Nani . The next thirty minutes were again spent in heavy city traffic. I kept reminding myself that just the day before I had seen a nun in skirt and wimple trundling along in Padova seemingly unconcerned with the city buses passing her by.

Practice run

This afternoon we made a little excursion before starting out for real tomorrow morning. Steve practiced reading the map and navigating; I practiced just trying to ride the bike. After a few wobbles up and down the alley behind the hotel, we set out in Padova for a ride along the canal going towards a tiny town called Stra. A few missed turns here and there, but we corrected ourselves and made it there and back riding a total of just over 16 miles.

Promenade

Arrival by ten o'clock this morning meant that we had the whole day to stay awake and try to acclimate to our new time zone in Padova, Italy.

So far, so good. Our hotel, called Grand Hotel Italia, is directly across from the train station and over the door it says it is a four-star hotel. I'm not sure who's passing out those stars, or if we are going by a 1-10 system. The Grand Italia looks like it had its hey-day in the 1920's and still has remnants of grandeur. Now it's just a bit frayed about the edges and in need of a fashion makeover. However, the longer we're here the more I am appreciating the good qualities of the hotel. It is extremely convenient to many museums, gardens, cafés and restaurants. The bed is nice and firm. The heated towel rack in the bathroom makes the bath linens feel extra good. And a peek into the breakfast room showed a sunny, light-filled room with a fresh rose bud on every table. I am satisfied!

Just to get the feel of this old city, after unpacking we immediately took a brisk walk to Caffé Pedrocchi. It's been in the same spot since 1831. Actually, it's rather elegant. Though my cappucino was only average, the overall experience was enjoyable as we watched the crowd stream through and listened to live piano performance.


The afternoon was spent milling about in museums and churches, and checking out the fresh fruit, flower and vegetable markets. Chestnuts roasting on an open fire (has someone used that phrase before? Sounds familiar . . . . ) made us feel the nip in the fall air.

By four o'clock we joined the promenade up and down the main street. The twenty-something girls in their skinny jeans with their boyfriends and the thirty-something moms in their tight skirts pushing strollers alongside their husbands, and the grandmothers arm-in-arm with daughters were jamming the sidewalks for several blocks.

The amazing thing to me is that all these ladies were strolling along in high-heeled knee length leather boots, mostly! I just kept on walking in my Merrells.

En route

We are on our way to Venice, Italy, on Delta airlines. There is a long, looooong layover at JFK in NYC. And on Friday Steve received a request for a bid on a really big job that would take place not too long after we come back home from this vacation.

Since we had to work, and needed wi-fi to do that, we decided to invest in day passes for Delta's Sky Club. A perk that comes free with a first class ticket (and we are flying in coach on FF miles!) it seemed worthwhile to just pay to get in here. Everything is plugged in, we got our bid off, can use the comfy chairs and nice desks, have a couple of glasses of wine, some nice little cold cheese, fruit and vegetable plates, avail ourselves of the nice bathrooms with good-smelling hand lotion - well worth the admission price!

To sleep, perchance to dream

Another gray, cloudy day breaks, and it was hard to roust myself out of the cozy nest that our bed is.

Sleeping eight hours a day seems to be what I require. The nights with unbroken sleep for that length of time are few and far between, though. There's usually about an hour of tossing and turning sometime between 2 and 4 a.m. that is extremely bothersome. Self-taught relaxation techniques are helpful, but I just love it when I get a night where there's no disturbance at all.

So, where exactly are we during sleep? I know our bodies need time to repair and recoup, but do they really need sleep? Or just inactivity?

Our minds are not shut off, yet we normally do not have much recollection of what's been going on in our brains. Sleep deprivation can drive people insane. What is it about sleep that is so necessary? I'd like to know. The innate energy that makes us each unique is somehow vibrating out into the universe while we are sleeping. Perhaps we are even having another life altogether in another dimension.

King Corn

Corn is king in my hometown, Carmi, Illinois.

After a week of unrelenting rain in both St. Louis and Southern Illinois, our visions of a perfect Corn Day grew dimmer. Still, we persevered with our preparations for a big chowder on Saturday. Steve cleaned our freezer out of beef, turkey and chicken, which we’d been saving for this event. Thursday night in a driving rain, we went to a local farmer’s market and got lots of vegetables to load into our chowder. Friday night after work we drove in a light drizzle to Carmi. Our son Max transported the huge chowder pot, an inheritance from my granddad, Max Endicott, in his little Mini Cooper.

Lo and behold, the dawn broke on the 82^nd Annual Corn Day on Saturday morning with a weak ray of sunshine that grew brighter and warmer throughout the morning. Boiling, chopping, peeling and shredding all morning long, we happily looked forward to the events of the day.

The main event for both my brother Rob and his son, Nathaniel, was their joint appearance with the Voodoo Blues band at 12:00 noon on the stage on Main Street. Our whole family, plus assorted friends and relations, made up a huge contingency of fans. We ambled around waiting for the music to start, chatting with lots of my old high school friends. (pictured at right: Brenda Mitchell, Barbie Endicott, Judy Mears and Keitha Barton!)

Once the music started, the band played for two hours straight without a break. Nathaniel was able to dazzle with his ability to blend right in with musicians who have lots of professional seniority!

Max Adams didn’t actually blend into the crowd: he stood out with his headgear. I think his picture must have been snapped by dozens of people who did not know him and is probably digitally recorded to be seen by thousands more by virtue of the Internet! I could hear murmurs in the street of “Who is that guy in the corn hat?”

By mid afternoon, our enormous chowder pot over the open fire in my parents' back yard was ready to yield up its contents to guests that arrived over the course of the next five hours! First up was the Voodoo Blues band getting a well-deserved rest and meal before the drive back to St. Louis and their evening gig.

Next was a gaggle of relatives: cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, etc. from as far away as Phoenix, AZ, and as near as a two minute walk around the block. Finally, friends arrived, tasted, and shared a good time with all of us.

Some of us partied on in the old town at the local bars and taverns, but Steve and I tucked ourselves into bed at 9:30 p.m.

Thought provoking quote from Garrison Keillor on Salon.com

The maple trees stand in the yards of we stolid Midwesterners and they cry out for unbridled passion and heartbreaking beauty and fabulous golden yellows and blazing reds, and they tell us to quit our jobs and fly away in pursuit of hopeless romance and a life of dance and poetry and spending your life creating masterpieces that the world will ignore, and of course we don't listen to the bad advice of trees, we go right ahead fixing our children's lunches and arranging little enriching experiences for them and asking them what they want to be for Halloween, and then the rain falls and the wind blows and romanticism is gone, a heap of rotting leaves on the ground. Sic transit gloria mundi, pal.

That is what fall means in St. Paul, Minn. It's maple trees telling us about mortality and that life is short and can't be put on Pause and each of us is as fragile and forgettable as a maple tree.

Read Mr. Keillor's whole article here. Just in case you need a translation of the Latin phrase (I did!) here's what Wiki said:

Sic transit gloria mundi is a Latin phrase that means "Thus passes the glory of the world".

Corn Day coming up in Carmi

Max and Woody are getting into the spirit of things. (Headgear, courtesy of Emily Adams.)

Ice cream, peanut butter and jelly

Here is something I thought of this morning, when I was halfway between dreaming and waking up: a vanilla ice cream sundae with peanut butter and jelly topping. What do you think? Good or awful?

Forget it, Jake. It's Chinatown.

Roman Polanski has been arrested for the rape of a 13 year old child more than 30 years ago.

It was a long time ago. The girl's mother placed her in harm's way. Polanski is an artist; his pregnant wife was murdered; he is a Holocaust survivor; he was drunk; the girl (now a woman) wants this to go away.

None of those things mitigate the fact that Polanski raped a 13 year old child many years ago, and so far has not faced up to whatever retribution he may deserve for his actions these many years ago.

Here's an interesting fact about the movie "Chinatown." In the original screenplay, Evelyn was to have murdered her father, Noah Cross, in order to save her daughter from her father's predation. That finale sort of gives you hope that evil can be thwarted at long last.

Polanski changed the ending, and Noah Cross killed his daughter and took possession of their daughter/granddaughter. Rather telling, that.

To quote William Shakespeare, "The evil that men do lives after them." Julius Caesar, Act 3, Scene 2