PARADISO DEL PROSECCO

(Prosecco Paradise)

Champagne is a region; prosecco, a grape and Italians do not want you to forget it!

Not a major tourist destination! No tour bus armadas dangerously hogging the roads! No plethora of microphoned, sunflower-toting tour guides leading glass-eyed lemmings! No hordes of pushy tourists making cobblestoned streets impassable! No gitchy shops hawking Chinese-made Italian (?) souvenirs and not a selfie-stick in sight! Okay, to all of my tour-loving friends, my rant about big bus tourism is over. This is merely my way of saying that I am in MY travel heaven.

It’s just Jim and I and an afternoon glass of chilled Prosecco, the vista of green-leafed vines rippling across steeply terraced vineyards and tumbling down to tiny ochre-coloured villages below, spaghetti thin twisting roads that defy logic and the heady scent of sun-warmed grapes dangling heavily from ancient gnarled vines. Pure heaven.

So scenically stunning are these hills, home to the renowned sparkling wine, Prosecco, and a wine-making school dating back to 1876, that the region has been nominated as. UNESCO World Heritage site.

We have arrived just as the area is mid-harvest - la vendemmia. The terraced fields are steep enough to make the use of farm machinery untenable. All local vineyards are harvested by hand in a time-honoured, labour-intensive tradition. At under fifty thousand acres and manually harvested, this is not a region of massive producers. Savour that glass of sparkling magic.

And so, after a quiet afternoon today, we are off on our Prosecco adventure of tastings at local vineyards, exploring the glorious countryside, tastings at local vineyards, eating local foods, tastings at local vineyards.....you get the picture. I may never come home.

CON AFFETTO PER BELLA ITALIA

(With Love for Beautiful Italy)

I promised myself an early night, but jet lag has decided to play its crazy time zone havoc with my body and brain......and so I write.

No matter the hour, Venice is a heart-stopping feast for the eyes and senses, a unique atmosphere suspended in time. Jim and I so love this city. My wish would be that each of you, at least once in your lifetime, experience the thrill and impact of that gobsmacking initial arrival in Venice.

Arrive at the train station. Exit the main doors to the vista of the Grand Canal “right there”, directly in front of you or better yet, enter Venetia via water taxi from the airport, winding your way up the glorious Grand Canal. Jim and I have been blessed enough to have arrived in la Serenissima three times now. Her aura of magic and mystery never wanes. She continues to take our breath away.

Giuseppe Verdi once wrote, “Avrai tu l’universo, resti l’Italia a me”. (You may have the universe if I may have Italy.)

Over the years, we have explored Italy slowly, falling in love with each region, its unique food, art, culture, people and of course, wine. Countless cherished memories have left their loving imprints on our hearts. “Why Italy?” you ask. Don’t get me wrong. France, Scotland, Ireland, England, Austria, Germany and Switzerland have each held us in their enthrall, but in Italy, Jim and I instantly sensed a feeling of belonging. No, Canada has not been displaced. Canada is home. Nothing makes my heart soar, at the end of a trip, more than seeing that giant red maple leaf on the tail wing of our plane. But, for whatever reasons, Jim and I seamlessly fit into Italy’s culture, it’s rhythms, its food, its life.

Glancing out our window, I smile at the silhouettes of gondolas floating at dock, moored in anticipation of tomorrow’s sailings, and at the twinkling night lights reflected like a thousand stars on the winding black ribbon which is the Grand Canal at this hour. My emotions fly. Fatigue? For sure! But more the sheer joy of returning to bella Italia. We still have so much to explore. Let our northern adventure begin.

And now that blissful sleep at long last beckons.....

Buona notte. 😴

BOOGIE’S WORLD

Discovered in a box abandoned at the side of the road with her infant brothers and sisters, little Boogie was rescued and taken to a shelter. What heartless ugly human does this? But don’t get me ranting about animal cruelty. When old enough, this adorable little black kitten was put up for adoption. But who wants a black cat? They are bad luck, aren’t they? And so she waited, month after month after endless month, unwanted. At long last, a lovely couple adopted her as company for their older cat. Happy ending, right? Well..........

From the moment Boogie was introduced to her ‘forever’ family, the existing adult cat hated her, viciously attacking the new smaller arrival with alacrity. After six months, the adopters sadly came to the conclusion that Boogie, suffering from ongoing maulings, would have to be “surrendered” back to the shelter........back to the shelter at just the moment when Jim and I were looking for a cat. As our elder son, Chris, espouses, “A home without a pet is a home without a soul”. Seven years after the passing of our last beloved family pet, we needed the injection of some “soul”.

So traumatized was our new little family member that for the first week, she hid, only sneaking forth to eat and use her litter box. We respected her fears, knowing that kindness, patience and love would ultimately win her over. By the end of the first week, Boogie emerged from her hiding place ever so cautiously reconnoitring her new home. Our hearts broke as we watched her warily peak around corners, obviously terrified of potential attack cats. Three weeks in and Boo was at home, cat-talking, demanding copious pats, purring, racing over our two floors and stealing our hearts. A sweet and gentle cat, she has never once scratched or nipped at Jim and I. She simply craves love, loads and loads of love. Originally named Raven, Jim took to calling her his “sweet babboo” which has morphed into Boogie. Close family and friends will understand the nickname.

An indoor cat (too many coyotes and raccoons the size of dogs in Uxbridge), Boogie’s favourite spot is on our lower level where she spends her days transfixed by “her world” of squirrels, chipmunks and birds. My now ritual 5:30am ‘cat wake up call’ 😲 is followed by food and then a demand for the French doors to be opened so that she may, like the little queen she is, oversee “her world”. Thankfully, at long last, our sweet babboo’s world is one of gentleness, sweet air and love and our home has a soul.

OH MAN, I’VE GOT IT BAD

I’m not one to worry about imagined illnesses. Life is simply too short to waste the time it takes to be a committed hypochondriac. Most certainly, cyberchondria is also not my affliction; scouring the internet researching symptoms is not my thing. No paranoia here! You can imagine, then, that no one was more surprised than me to discover my malady described ‘on line’.....in a tweet, no less.

Of late, I have noticed myself exhibiting recurring symptoms which are increasing in severity.

• Significant feelings of helplessness, anxiety and fear.
• Periodic episodes of a racing heartbeat.
• Anxiety which more frequently presents itself as anger.
• Involuntary vocal outbursts.
• Compulsive yelling at inanimate objects like the computer, TV, and radio.

I do worry that my affliction is transmittable, because it appears that, although to a lesser degree, my generally mild-mannered husband has also become infected with the malady. Many friends and family are exhibiting symptoms. Such a puzzlement or it was until miracle of miracles, this appeared:

Well, who knew? There it is folks. I have TDS and I have it bad. 

“What treatment will I seek?” you ask. Certainly there is a 12-step programme out there somewhere. I’m betting that Mr. Drumpf’s Organization would love to offer me a course of action for recovery. Decline any attempts to cross into the U.S.? Perhaps, lock me in a pen near the Mexican border. Personally, I’m holding out for $130,000. 😂  

TDS, eh? Rather than looking for a cure, I’ll live with my symptoms. God willing, they will clear up in 2020 and I can return to normal....whatever that is!

KEEPING TWO LONG-STANDING PROMISES

In 2011, Jim and I joined a Bellissime Small Group Day Tour out of Venice to the Dolomites and Cortina. We loved the idea of seeing what many people believe to be Europe’s most beautiful range of mountains. I know what close friends are thinking. What? They actually went on a group tour? Tours are definitely not our cup of tea, but we decided that for one day, we could sacrifice our independence. 

Skirting the stunning Prosecco Region and heading into the Alps, it proved to be a day of gorgeous stops - walks around shimmering turquoise lakes, awesome scenic vistas, a stroll through tyrolean Cortina and a scrumptious alpine lunch at Malga Rin Bianca, a Refugio on the side of a mountain. The piece de resistance was our final stop at Rifugio Auronzo’s car park, elevation 7600 feet. Exiting our van, to a person, we six travellers stopped and  gasped, one muttering, “if ever there was a place that touched heaven.” In front of us and soaring an additional 2300 feet towards heaven was the breathtaking Tre Cime di Lavaredo.

Our guide pointed out a commemorative chapel for the alpine forces, defensive caves carved into the massif, home to WW1 forces defending the Italian border from Austrian invasion, and the start of a 10km hiking trail which circumnavigated Tre Cime. Jim immediately looked at me and mouthed, “hiking trail!” Then simultaneously we said, “Promise!”

As loathe as I am to admit it, I have been known on occasion to make errors, colossal errors! 🤪  On a 2013 trip to Switzerland, I managed to make what has to be my most colossal travel blunder. During our Swiss visit, Jim and I made arrangements to dip down into Italy for a four day sojourn in Varenna on Lake Como. Sitting in our Lucerne hotel room the night before our drive into bella Italia, we turned on the television. Why, when all the programmes were in German, I still don’t know. Suddenly scenes of a massive multiple car and truck accident with blazing fires and obvious casualties appeared. The scene was straight out of a nightmare. Yellow letters on the bottom of the screen screamed,  Gotthard Stabentunnel. Exhibiting my characteristic calm, I grabbed our road map and shrieked like a banshee, “ That’s the 57km long tunnel we are driving through tomorrow.” To make this sorry tale short, after numerous calls checking options because of a closed Gotthard, cancelling our Italian hotel (they understood as we were coming from the north), and booking in Gruyere and Cully, on Lake Geneva, we collapsed into bed. We are, if nothing else, always flexible when travelling. 

The following morning I received a call from the concierge at our Varenna hotel confirming that we still wished to cancel. Are you ready? There was no current problem with the tunnel. The programme we had watched was a restrospective of a 2001 disaster in the Gotthard Road Tunnel. 

Oh, just shoot me! Remind me not to watch German TV again. Jim and I had now committed and paid for four additional nights in Switzerland. Luigi, who to this day I love, kindly agreed to cancel our reservation without penalty as long as we promised to stay at their hotel on any future visit to Varenna. I promise. Luigi’s parting advice? Senora Lockett, please come from the south next time. 😂

How does that proverb go? There is no greater fraud than a promise not kept. And so this September we head off for a northern Italy adventure, keeping one promise to ourselves and one to Luigi.

THE DEEP FREEZE

Oooo, do you ever experience that instant sharp ache in the centre of your forehead when you eat too much ice cream or gulp an icy drink too quickly? Me, too, but that is not the deep freeze of which I write today. Nor am I describing our endless past winter or the highly preferred state of my jaw at the dentist.

For most of this past year, I have suffered from a deep freeze of the brain. 

Hey, you don’t have to so unanimously agree.  😲  ‘Writer’s block’ may be a kinder, gentler way of referring to my sorry state.  Let’s go with that, okay? Writing, for me, is and always has been therapeutic. Truthfully, I write for no one but myself. Surprisingly, absence of my blog and my writing has been mentioned numerous times of late. Well, maybe twice!

At first I blamed my lack of writing on an updated bloggers programme which plagued me with no end of headaches. The solution to that problem was just too easy for it to be the cause of my brain freeze.  I simply had to ask for assistance from my 10-year old grandson, Zachary. Problem solved!

At over seventy years old, I fretted that my brain was suffering from its own old age issues. Shudder! How I dread that day. Or could the one and only medication I take (more about that at a future date) possibly be slowing my thought patterns down. Please no!

At long last, I looked in the mirror; I was honest with myself. In my heart I know that the state of our current world, most particularly our neighbour to the south and sadly, our own country, at times, got the better of me. I have been overwhelmed with worry, anger, fury, negative thoughts and even hate. Attempting to channel that emotional turmoil into words stopped me in my tracks. And for the few who do read my blog, dear god, you do not need additional negative thoughts. 

Like “the Grinch’s heart grew three sizes that day”, my brain freeze began to thaw today. Guess what? There is no urgent need for me to comment on the current state of our world....well, not always.....I can leave that to investigative journalists and those far more talented than me at expressing their emotions in words. My ‘writing therapy’ can henceforth return to jotting down thoughts and keeping family and friends up-to-date on our retirement. 

Whoopee!! Brain freeze over!

PLEASE, PLEASE STOP....

.....asking me to prove myself by copying and pasting, NOT sharing, your post to show support. Grrrr! This a stupid epidemic and waste of social media time. Of late, I have received a plethora of such posts explaining that if I do not copy and paste, I am:

1. not reading your posts fully,
2. not a true friend, and worst of all,
3. not supporting the cause fighting cancer, diabetes, mental illness, kidney disease, Mothers Against Drunk Driving......or whatever!

Let me make this clear, if you are my Facebook Friend, I am, indeed, taking the time to follow your timeline and read your posts. If you don’t already know that I am a friend, please feel free to delete me immediately.

Now let’s talk causes, all of them extremely worthy. Since when does copying and pasting, NOT sharing, actually fight cancer, diabetes, mental illness, etc. Last time I checked such regurgitating of posts put zero dollars into the Cancer Society’s research coffers. As an adult I have more valuable things to do, some of which include supporting numerous causes financially and with my time.  And so, here’s my idea. Post exactly what you have done in support of any or all of these causes, and that is a timeline I will share.

‘Nuff said!