We have a launch date!

It all started on March 23, 2012 when the braces holding Forte Vento steady on land while she was getting a fresh bottom paint job gave way in the night.  Now, over a year later and some $65000 in repairs (luckily covered by the marina's insurance) she's like new (even better than new) and will go back into the water on April 21st.  All she needs is the bottom paint, deck and hull cleaning and waxing, and the installation of the main sail before she splashes into the Chesapeake.  A short tuning sail to ensure her mast is aligned properly will make her "good to go."

John and I will both take the day off work to witness this most momentous event.  We've missed Forte Vento.  If you have ever experienced a house disaster, you know how we have felt this past year. We've learned how much it means to have a place to which we can escape.  We've missed the water, the wind, even the sudden rain storm in the heat of the summer.  Somehow being on the water had become part of us and we wanted it back.  We'll have it again soon.  We feel like expectant parents.

ZAPPED!

I never thought it would happen to me.  I've heard that it happened to others, but not to me.  No way. 

A 24 hour snow fall shuttered the government last Thursday, so I sat at the dining room table teleworking from my PC.  Not the fasted machine in the camp, but it was a productive day.  I pounded out a risk analysis of one of our major applications and was pleased with it.  I saved it to my official encrypted flash drive, not saved it to my desktop.  That was the last thing that happened before a sinister force took over my PC.  In a matter of seconds all my applications and most of my files had been overwritten with some kind of software that looks like Office Word asking me to select the Asian language I wanted to work in. 

"This can't be happening,"  I screamed by the computer. "I've got two kinds of anti-virus software.  I back up my files to a cloud service every week,"  I moaned, thrusting my hands into the air, pleading to the computer gods.
 
I typed furiously, trying to find an application that worked, then I tried to access the flash drive.  The machine didn't recognize it.  I snapped out the flash-drive hoping against hope that it was not corrupted.  It would be impossible to recreate the paper! 

Thinking that I had been injured somehow, John  rushed out of his home office. "What's happened?  Are you alright?"  I explained.  Like the EMT volunteer he once was, he took direct and immediate action, "Disconnect from the Wi-Fi and then turn off your PC.  You don't want the cloud service to do another backup now that everything has been overwritten."  I did as I was told. My forehead fell onto the dead keyboard. I felt hopeless.  It was like loosing a buddy, a reliable friend who was always there when I needed her.  We'd spent over five years together.

John consoled me.  "This can be fixed.  It's not a fatal blow, but surgery is needed." 
Today, I turned over my friend to the Geek Squad.  The young woman gave me hope. "These old machines are sturdy.  Don't buy a new one.  Give us three or four days and we'll bring her back to life."  I smiled.  I have hope.

Mid-winter happenings

The weather continues to be cold, icy and gray.  It's just plain miserable outside and I'm loaded with existential angst.

What is the meaning of living is such grayness?  Daily life is not just routine; it's monotonous, no sparks of inspiration; no glimmers of sweet warm sun.  Outside my window people shuffle themselves down the street, grocery bags in hand, scarfs wrapped around heads and necks to ward off the wind. I play endless games of solitaire attempting to beat the high scores of ghostly unnamed competitors.  For what reason?   Shouldn't I read?  A year's worth of New Yorker magazines lay mostly unread expect for the cynical cartoons - at least they make me smile.  My Kindle app is loaded with a new book I am reluctant to read.  None of this makes sense.  I wait for spring.  My mind is numb.

The only hope I discover is to find pleasure is small things - a balancing game  that sparks a fun moment; a baby shower that reminds us that a new generation will turn us into great grandparents one day; babysitting a friend's pet for a week to remind us why we love but don't have dogs anymore; a physical challenge that puts me in the gym three times a week with women half my age; a roasted chicken Sunday dinner occasionally to put us in our comfort zone; an  alumni event eating hot dogs and slugging a bit of beer one evening to do service. 

What is excitement during this gray time of year?  My Fitbit got washed in the laundry this morning and survived. Our neighbor is helping us hook up an HDMI Video and Video player --Netflix, YouTube and the Internet now all on the big screen.  New ways to enhance our couch potatoes-ness.  Endless House of Cards chapters.  No wonder people are reading less and enjoying it more. 

With the sun and warmer weather angst will give way to anticipation as I can begin to imagine sailing again; outside runs through town; and open windows refreshing our rooms.  Until then, I wring my hands and catch up on all the House of Cards chapters I missed since I first saw it on a long plane ride last September.

We haven't done what yet? Not again?

It happened again.  Despite my best intentions, the holiday cards continue to rest on the top of the filing cabinet.  The envelopes are addressed, but somehow the cards remain stacked nicely to the side.  I imagined that in the middle of the night, each card would get a hand written personal message and then be gently placed in its appropriate envelop ready for us to lick and close the next morning.  Wouldn't that be a piece of Christmas magic! Where are the elves when you need them?  Did they go on strike?  But, no worry.  We'll get the job done.  The question is how soon? 

Why do we keep "doing" cards year after year?  Is it about the need to let people know we are still alive?  To brag about our adventures and mis-adventures?  To keep the "tradition" going in a time of electronic instant messaging and texting?  Maybe it is all of these reasons; but if the truth be known, I really enjoy opening a holiday card sent through the mail. I slow down for a moment to read the greeting, even the occasional note or holiday letter.  It can all surprise me; make me smile, even laugh or once in a while, when the news is sad, make me sigh.  However, not matter what the message, I am touched that someone remembered us and I want to do the same for them. 

This year our cards will be a big surprise especially if they don't get sent before the twelfth day of Christmas.

Keeping up in London

London greeted us with mild but cloudy and sometimes sprinkling weather; however, it was perfect for walking and walking we did as we trailed behind our dear friend, Londoner, and tour guide, Martyn.  You'd think a guy would slow down at his age (80), but he is undaunted and full of vigor. Nothing makes him happier now days than to show off his home city. We met him and his wife, Ruth, hiking in Tuscany almost 20 years ago and he's still at it. Together we spent a week tubing and hoofing down by the Thames, to Covent Garden, Leicester Square, Piccadilly Circus, Oxford Street, the West End and all the surrounds.  We boated to Greenwich for a spectacular retrospective of Turners paintings - the all time master of marine painting of the 1800's and visited the Victoria & Albert Museum.  We laughed ourselves silly through the satirical and a bit shocking "Book of Mormon".  Such talent they have in London! Every night we began the evening with champagne to toast to our visit, then ate and drank fine wine in a favorite restaurant of Martyn's -- places free from tourists except for us. 

And, to top it all off John and I slept until at least 10 AM every morning.  True relaxation.  It was a perfect week -- a perfect holiday to start the Christmas holiday.

Life after furlough - the thrill of the normal

Normal is the joy of the daily grind at work, then waking up once again at 3AM all perky and unable to sleep.  I just can't sleep more than five hours without breaking out in a sweat or having weird dreams--like sailing down a highway in rush hour traffic wondering where all the cars came from-- that wake me up.

Normal is feeling healthy again after a week of "the crud" that kicked me flat on my back with a 102 fever, chills, smashing headache with full boar hacking and projectile vomiting.  Not delightful, and definitely an ugly scene and I was a good patient.  I lost a couple of pounds that I've been able to keep off.  I take delight in small miracles.

Normal is my 67th birthday confirming that my mind and body no longer match.  You know your old when your grandson is your date and you enjoy the company.  Grandson was the youngest person in the packed theatre that night.  It was tough navigating among the gray hairs with canes and ladies whose bottoms overflowed the chairs. He endured and the play was decent (Pride in the Falls of Autrey Mill, a tragic comedy of the suburbs).  Probably wished his granddad had not flew off to Bali for a conference (at least that is what he said).  When I asked him what it was like, he stated flatly, "The Caribbean, but it takes 30 hours to get here."  Guess he really was there on business.

Normal is visiting our sail boat in dry dock on Saturday.  The sole (aka floor) is refinished. Not a ding or scratch to be seen.  Buster, the guy who repaired it, took great pride in the work.  It's so beautiful, I may never have the nerve to wear shoes below decks again.  Now, if we just had the mainsail, we'd be ready for action -- but wait--it's 40 degrees out and the boat, after eight months still needs a coat of bottom paint --the original reason we took her out of the water in the first place last March 28th.  Now we morn for spring when we will have the final work done -- the bottom painted, the deck exterior decks cleaned and polished, "tuning" sail and radar lessons. 

Normal is planning dessert for Thanksgiving dinner.  We're going to friends.  I'm making a killer apple tart with almond cream.  Appropriately deadly, but non-traditional - a requirement for the event.

Diary of a Furloughed Fed: Day 16 -- The end

While driving last week out to apple picking territory, we spied a number of signs that announced  "Deer crossing next mile".  How do the deer know where to cross?  Why are there no stoplights?

When girls get bored, girls go to lunch then get mani-pedis.  I got brave and went dark polish on those old toes.

But wait, there is news -- the Tea Party has caved.  With Boehner declaring just minutes ago that the government should re-open tomorrow, I am preparing to return to work on Thursday, Friday for sure.  The votes in House and Senate are tonight.  Affordable Health Care will endure.  However, I worry that we will face this all again in the new year.  This is not a time for congratulations.  It is only a time to sigh and catch our breath.

It is very humbling to be forced out of work; to be sidelined.  I had to put my trust in my team.  They did good, but I certainly missed the action and the influence.

Diary of a Furloughed Fed: Day 11 - Glimmers of hope?

I woke this morning to an 8AM session with my trainer and a dwindling list of "things to do". Depressive thoughts are starting to set in -- I'm easily upset about nothing and I "just want to be alone", as Marlene Detrick was alleged to say.  But a glimmer of hope is on the horizon -- an audience yelled at Ted Cruz's ranting and the two sides are talking in private instead of just shouting over the air waves.  How can health care for millions of people who neither can't afford it or who have been turned down because of pre-existing conditions be "the worse thing that has ever happened to this nation since slavery?"   Is there no empathy left in people?  Do they really think our society can thrive without a safety net to ensure the safety, health and education of vulnerable citizens?  Don't they understand Maslow's hierarchy of needs?  It's useless for me to carry on....I will wait for the outcome.  No matter what the solution, I will return to work eventually.

Not knowing when I will go back to work is at the root of my frustration.  Not working is fine.  I've had time to do all those chores I never had time to do; however, I need a purpose, and purpose takes time to develop.  It's like living in a purgatory; a place in between, being neither fish nor fowl.  I'm ready to begin studying for my sailing license.  I've accumulated the required helm experience hours.  It will take 3-6 months of almost full time work to prepare -- both online and classroom sessions.  Living from day to day as I am now, makes the needed commitment shaky.  Without some solid blocks of time, I won't do well.  I know myself -- immersion is my learning style.

Last week the weather here in DC was perfect for sailing; however, the water continues to allude us. We are waiting for the delivery of the mainsail and the completion of the refinishing of the boat's sole (the internal flooring).   Looks like we will leave Forte Vento on the hard until spring and take delivery then.

This week the weather is wet, clammy and gray.  Very apropos for the current government shutdown situation and it saddens me. Perhaps, as Annie sings, "Tomorrow, tomorrow the sun will come out."  I can hope.

Diary of a Furloughed Fed: Day 8 Frustrations

We filled the weekend with apple picking, wine tasting, and cooking with apples--apple butter, tarts and muffins.  It kept our minds off the situation,  allowed us to share time with our also furloughed friend  and got us out of the house into the sunny countryside of Virginia.  However, when Monday came I smacked right into the face of the government shutdown as John went to work and I found myself with time for the laundry and a few errands.  At lunch with Justine and another furloughed friend our talk fixated on what might happen, dwindling resources, and wishing we were back on the job.  It was difficult to talk about much else.  Even though the vote to give up back pay was passed and signed, essential and furloughed people won't get that pay until we are all back at work.  We broke our obsessive talk with an afternoon movie, Gravity, that took us far away from our troubles for a few hours.

People are starting to worry about next month's lease or home payments and starting to live off their credit cards.  I worry as well for them and for our work which is "on hold" as deployment deadlines that affect our ~68 offices around the world slip by.  My small staff of 11 "excepted" people is definitely barely able to "keep the lights on" and hoping a disaster doesn't hit us anywhere. 

I feel we are but pawns in a great battle and must remind myself that it is an important battle.  The Affordable Health Care Act was passed by Congress and declared Constitutional by the Supreme Court -- to not fund it is close to an act of treason by the right wing extremists.  I also believe that if Obama was not an African American their vitriolic hate language would be muted and there would be much less strength in the grass roots population that seem willing to follow the Koch brothers and Edwin Meese to the brink.  Don't they understand that the ACA is benefiting them already?  My girlfriend, a runner in excellent health at 55, was denied coverage and had to live without insurance for over a year because of a comment a doctor wrote on her chart.  Only after she became employed by a firm that provided health care coverage did she get relief.  Today, that would never have happened.  Denying coverage is illegal because of the ACA.  How is that taking away her freedom by the government? 

Diary of a Furlooughed Fed: Day 4_Home Improvement

I felt like a resurrected old lady this morning after my 8 AM training session so with no money, water bottle or game  plan I took off for a Potomac River run.  I did have my music that I had just downloaded from my updated music in the cloud.  Billy Joel and Cindy Lauper make me feel invincible.

I ran east on route 50 then passed through the Iwo Jima Memorial.  Hooked a loop to route 110 that rounds Arlington Cemetery.  Once on top in front of the cemetery entrance, I crossed the street, walking to catch my breath and headed for the Potomac.  By the time I was running toward Roosevelt Island, my body began to tell me what I fool I had become.  But, I persevered with a combination of   short sprints and long walks to make it back to Roslyn and finally back on route 50 east to home.

Being 66 is like being a kid -- you can't judge what you are capable.  Kids grow stronger, able to do what they couldn't do a few years ago.  I can't do what I did just of few years ago.  A bad case of reverse expectations.  I sweat, I sighed, but I did make it back home.  It's amazing how good a very long hot shower can feel at 11 in the morning.

The main project today was "home improvement"-- I installed small soft close mechanisms make your less than high end cabinets behave like designer selections.  Husband gave little guidance as I struggled with drill that was supposed to work around close quarter corners. 

I pushed aside this "guy" technology, found a good sized Phillips screw driver, a hammer and tap screw and began an exercise in upper body and arm action.  Within three hours, I installed these clever mechanisms in 28 cabinets. I was about to put them on the bathroom cabinets  (the last six), but I my body gave out once again.  Tomorrow morning will see them done is less than a hour. 

The work was extremely satisfying.  I just wish my federal job was always this satisfying with results that are so evident.     Ahhhhhh......

Diary of a Furloughed Fed: Day 2 (actually Day3)

Day 2 is actually Day 3 according to the news reports-- Monday was a half day so I stand corrected.  Anyway, it was technology day. After promising myself to do it forever,  I took the plunge.  A  bit of research, downloading and experimentation, I now have access to my contacts, calendars, photos and my music on all my "devices" using Apple's iCloud technology.  The only kink is that my iPhone is too aged (all of 2011) to do iCloud so tomorrow I'll upgrade to an iPhone 5. A walk up to the Apple store (sometimes I just need to talk with a real human being) was needed to figure out my iPhone situation. 

 

A furlough day made this possible.  Normally, there are too many more important chores to do.  I felt like I've caught a break. 

 

A note from my business partner was most encouraging.  She told me to enjoy not having commitments and meetings and that having total control over my own time is a most terrific alternative to the past 40 years of work.  I'm not sure I agree yet, but in another day or two, I  may agree with her.

 

Had a small dinner party - more of a picnic fest - roasted BBQ chicken wings and Caesar salad complete with homemade dressings and croutons. The oldest grandson, now a college freshman at GW, just two metro stops away, and a furloughed girlfriend joined us.  It felt good to have the time to cook up a fun meal.  There was nothing left - not even a crouton. 

 

More tomorrow....looks like we are in this for some time.

 



Diary of a Furloughed Fed: Day 1

Today is all about adjustment and restructuring. Yesterday, there was no time to do all those things I keep telling myself I should do.  Today, there is all the time, so now I have to figure out what should be done.  Where do I start?  Do I really want to do all those "should do" chores?  Are they really important?  Who cares what I do? 

How do I make the days meaningful -- after all this is not a vacation where meaningful action is sauntering down quaint streets and souvenir hunting.  This is a furlough -- time off with no pay -- so my favorite pastime, recreational shopping is out of the question.

My answer is to take action -- "just do it" like the Nike ad says.  So I did and I'm able to say that at 4PM, I'm sane.  I:

• Figured out how to stay connected to those left at work outside of our official communications channels.  Just knowing what is happening, even if I can't do anything about anything, helps to keep me grounded.
• Didn't oversleep.  I gifted myself an extra 20 minutes, but then got out of bed to start the day. 
• Went for a run after coffee and a quick scan of the New York Times.  It was delightful to not have to wait until the weekend and after work for exercise.  Fresh cool air and sunshine made me happy, if sweaty.
• Tackled a few chores of that long list of "things that should be done."  I feel like I have accomplished something during the day, so there is not fog enveloping my head to stunt my ability to think positively.
• Took a trip to see what was up.  The metro and mall were sparsely populated and the buildings, monuments and parks were locked. Many security guards on Segway's hovered around.  Gave me the feeling that we are truly "locked out" of our own town.
• Grocery shopped in the afternoon.  That's what retired people do so I thought I practice.  I was able to test the fruit for ripeness without being jostled.

Today's news didn't give me much hope that we'll be going back to work this week. 

Vacation views

Several readers asked for pictures that illustrate our recent trip.  Well, here they are -- the good, the bad and the silly in no particular order.  We started out in Milan (2 days), drove north west to Lake Orte (3 days) where the Italians go to avoid Lake Como; then drove east to the medieval city of Bergamo (4 days) that included a one day side trip to Verona to see the ancient coliseum and have the most fabulous meal of our trip; and then drove back to Milan (2 days).  We only got lost big time once -- when I tried to navigate with three maps that all used different names for the same streets.  Very Italian :-) 

Furloughed!

We escaped Italy one day before the Italian government went into its annual crisis when Berlusconi's mad men withdrew from the Parliamentary coalition government.  We landed at Dulles airport only three days away from our own government crisis.  So, this morning, I found myself along with 58 of my staff saying goodbye to a skeletal crew of 11 who are charged with keeping the electrons flowing and the core systems operating.

I am now officially unemployed by Congressional decree. It's no longer an abstract issue for me.  It became personal today.  A surprisingly sad and eerie feeling overcame me as I walked to the elevator, watching myself leave as if I was having an out of body experience.  I have no idea when I might return.   I have a job, but then I don't.  Financially, I'm fine, but I do worry about the many staff who are single, or more seriously parents with no other sources of income to assist in keeping it together during the shutdown. 

I fear we are in for a long shutdown.  Neither Obama nor Boehner seem open to compromise, appearing to intensely dislike each other as evidenced by their adamant public pronouncements that make private discussions next to impossible.  When Newt and  Bill went head to head in 1995-1996, the government was out for three weeks -- and they talked with each other daily -- and were careful not to say anything publicly that might harm private discussions.  At our last senior staff meeting this morning, many including myself were not hopeful that an agreement would be reached  quickly and predicted that we will remain shut out until the debt ceiling is exceeded on October 17, pushing the economy back into a recession.

We are hostages in a game not of our own making.  We are the pawns in a grand chess match where  little adult leadership is evident.  Ours lives have been abstracted to the point that the impact of it all on our lives is neither visible nor felt to the game players.  It would have been better if the shutdown had included stopping congressional salaries, the mail and the distribution of social security checks.  Then, at least, the rest of the country would feel what I feel and there would be a realistic incentive to reach a workable compromise.

Where do I stand on the situation? The Affordable Health Care Act should be implemented.  It was passed by Congress and upheld by the Supreme Court. Every adult American should be required to carry health insurance, just like we are required to have auto insurance or homeowners insurance.  Is it a perfect solution?  No--but we need to give the law a chance to become reality and then modify it where the evidence says changes are needed.  Right now it's all about hurly opinions and conjecture into the air. 

The last shutdown cost the US economy $2 billion.  Enough said.  From Washington DC -- the land of much silliness.

Impressions: Bergamo

We've gone native. Instead of a sequestered hotel with maid service and concierge support, we've rented an apartment in the lower city (bassa citia) of Bergamo.  Faced with the reality  of no breakfast as part of the deal, we found the grocery store (billa) and picked our way among the familar yet unfamiliar aisles of products.  Try to find skim milk in Italian.  Luckily the tomatoes and eggs look like tomatoes and eggs.  However, they do not refrigerate eggs.

A big advantage of an apartment (Italians have not yet discovered the affordable Embassy Suites) is that you have lots of room to spread out.  We've strewn clothes and stuff all over the place without having to fill up the bed.  And, we eat breakfast in, brew coffee and tea, keep in touch via wifi,  and generally make ourselves at home.  The down side is that the studio is a renovated attic, four floors up from the street with only a tiny lift covering two of the floors.  The decor is ikea, young guy black and white modern sprinkled with an old wood chest, antique wash stand and hand carved doors to the bath.  It's clean, but like any young man's place, it is missing finishes and good reading light.  The TV is completely Italian.  The parking two blocks away in a centro underground parking lot.  We are making do and proving that living "Italian" is not as romatic as imagined.

Bergamo is a mid-size city, kind of like Baltimore without an inner harbour.  The upper city is accessed via funicolare or many steep cobblestone stairs.  There the buildings date back into the 10th -13th century. New buildings are 17-18th century.  We did our fill of tourists and catherdrals -- all quite maginificant -- a testament to the Catholic Church's role in keeping the economy alive for so many centuries.  There isn't a piece of sandstone or marble that is not carved or polished in some manner.

Food is bi-polar -- Italian pastas with Swiss meats and sauces.  Didn't know if I should yodel and just say "Grazie" at the end of the meal.  As long as you wash it down with the inexpensive but surprisingly good local white wine, all is well.

Impressions: Como

Saturday. Sunny day. We drive to Como, one of the most dense resort towns in Italy tucked into the crevices of mountains swooping down into the lake.  Insane. What were we thinking?  A leisurely lunch on the lake?  Impossible.

It was easy to escape.  Just follow the signs to Bergamo-Lecco SS342.  Almost two hours later and too many round abouts across the foothills, we arrive Bergamo, tired and hungry.

Impressions: Lake Orta San Giulio

If there is a heaven, then San Giulio could be what it is like.  The lake is nestled in the Italian mountains north west of Milan about one hour if you can follow directions.  We took a left when we should have taken a right on the A8 so we had to back track on local roads after stopping to ask directions.  An adventure as always as John drives the manual shift car and I navigate.

Our hotel is at the bottom of the San Giulio town square.  It overlooks the lake and the historic island on which nuns are cloistered in the Basilica.  We must park the car up in a lot outside the square.  Cars are not allowed except for residents and "drop off" like ourselves.  The streets are cobblestone  lined with the building walls that are full of scrapes.  I know it is like heaven for the following reasons:

• Four languages are spoken - Italian, English, French and German - without disdain by the locals.
• Out of our hotel room between our toes, we see mountains, the clear blue Orta lake and the Basilica isle overwhelmed with ancient structures that are now modern homes.  It is all reminiscent of Venice where the houses and water meet.
• In the center of the San Giulio peninsula is a mountain atop which, after a one hour completely 15 degree uphill walk is a world heritage site of 20 chapels built between 1597 and 1660.  Each has a piece of St. Francis' life depicted in statuary and  trompe l'oeil painted walls.  If I were Catholic I would have been on pilgrimage.
• The morning is crisp--easy for walking.  The afternoon - sunny and breezy ready for a cruiser ride across the lake to the isle.  The evening is cool again, ready for sitting out with a sweater to gaze at the mountains as the sun sets in the west and play rummy 500 while we drink our newest find -- blueberry grappa.
• The food makes you forget American cuisine -- we just finished lunch -- light tagliatelli with fresh slices of black truffles and a veal chop flattened "elephant ear style" so tender than it melted in my mouth.  This was preceded  a sea bass capriccio served with fresh peaches set in a bit on ever so fine olive oil.
• The local white wine is crisp, creamy yet dry if a bit tart.  It is also less than 15 euros a bottle in the restaurants.
• The streets are narrow, ancient, built into the mountain and speckled with shops and restaurants tucked into the stone and brick buildings.
• You can walk the perimeter of the peninsula after dinner on a stone walk that wraps the land.  If you stay out too lake, lamp post lights brightened the path so you do not mistakenly fall into the lake.

Yes, this could be what heaven is like, except we do have to pay for our Internet connection and sit in the hotel lobby to access it.  Maybe this is a good thing.  Ciao!

Impressions: Milan

The first thing you have to get over in Milan is the graffiti.  It is everywhere on walls from the outer suburbs to the downtown, except the Duomo, the great cathedral at the center of the city.  The graffiti is multi-colored Italian. -- tags, sentences (must the university crowd), words urging action or just univeral foul language.

Milan is an old city but a beige city.  Not colorfully grand like Rome, Florence or Venice.  It's caught somewhere between boring chic and financial gritty.   Our hotel is chic modern planted in an industrial district that is rising out of the dust of car repair shops and small manufacturing businesses.  It's an urban frontier full of new office and residential construction.  The 30 minute tram ride to city center brushed us up against the everyday Milano, a reserved but helpful sort.  At our Santa Rosa stop, a retiree smiled and made sure we didn't get on the #9 train.  He just knew we needed the #12 train -- and we did.  We must look and smell like Americans :-)

Fashion is Milan's calling card. I know you've probably read about that, but seeing Milanos walk and bike through the narrow cobble streets makes it real.  Whether you're a student of the Academy in low cost duds or a woman of a certain age who shops at stores where blouses start way above what I paid for my last suit, Milanos know how to dress.  And, they are slender.  Even if you discount the numerous really, really thin models  strolling about in the markets, 90% of Milanos are slender.  But slender doesn't capture the aura you fell as someone walks by. A better word is streamlined that come s from the cut of the clothes, the fabric and the way it fits each body.  Our waitress at the small outdoor trattoria where we ate fresh pasta  had the aura and all she wore was a white and black uniform.  The men are stunning.  Even the plain faced, bald ones.  Everyone is clean shaven.  America does not have men who look so fine and so stunning without even trying.  All this is what we are not and makes me suck in my gut and hope for the best.

There are sights to see.  The Duomo cathedral is magnificent.  On the outside gargoyles stretch ominously over the sides, perched everywhere protecting the edifice.  We've seen many grand churches on our travels, but this one takes the cake, or should I say is the cake! It reminds me of the drip sand castles I used to build at the Jersey shore with my daughter.

La Scala is worth the walk up the street. The opera is not playing this week so we settled for a tour of the house and the museum.  Close your eyes and imagine a giant horse shoe of red velvet orchestra seats surrounded with five tiers of box seats and then two more tiers of standroom only.  The gold paint around the hall was subtle but visible.  In the center was the president's box heavily draped and low lighted with a height of three tiers.  Manifico!

Back to the future

Jeremy's been a freshman for a week now.  We're looking forward to his arrival for Sunday brunch in just about 90 minutes.  Last weekend his parents, brother and I  moved him into his dorm room at George Washington University.  Made me remember when my folks took me Lawrence in Appleton WI, a small town outpost and home city of the infamous Joe McCarthy. Jeremy didn't want that kind of isolation.  He wanted a city school with lots of kids from all over the world.  Smart kid!

The furniture was as I  remembered my first dorm room, only older and greatly more used - basic ash wood single bed, desk and chest, no drawer pulls. I shared a room with one other young woman.  He's sharing with four other guys.  It should be interesting to see if any of them sleep well. It's a diverse group - one Asian with high style clothes, one Pakistani with the manners of a well trained prince, one apparently normal guy from Cleveland, and one skinny dude from Syracuse NY who brought the TV (yes, they have cable TV as well as Wi-Fi in the dorm.  Rounding out the gang is Jeremy, the quiet one from New Jersey.  They are all starting out as business majors, so I'm not sure just if they're really diverse.

The dorm building is old, but that's what he wanted.  He's on the 8th floor (we climbed the stairs three times because the lines for the tiny elevators was so long).  The parquet floors must have ten coats of varnish on them.  The walls are institutional beige, some smooth and some the remnants of original plaster walls.  There's a white fridge, insufficient ceiling lights, one bathroom with a door that doesn't shut real well, one huge and one small closet, but no cooking facilities. If you lay on Jeremy's bed and look out the niche window to the left there's a long view of the Potomac river south toward the airport. Makes you feel you are in the heart of something special!

He's happy.  It's a big step.  We're feeling old.   It was 1966 when I was a freshman, still a virgin and hankering to let loose. I shake my head in amazement that I survived it all.  I hope Jeremy not only survives, but thrives.  He's a good kid who is not afraid to make tough decisions.

Stopping the summer leak

August.  The summer is seeping out of the year like an pipeline leak - not enough to be alarmed, but enough to realize that  something is amiss.  With Forte Vento on "the ground" until the end of September, John and I are slipping from weekend to weekend letting the summer seep by.  There is no excitement and there will be no memories of it unless we get off our butts and take action.  So we did. 

We flew to Boston, stayed with our friends Bev and Rick and played tourist for four days.  We took the 31 bus and Green line "T" in the rain to  the Museum of Fine Arts (their American wing was very much a "must do");  walked in perfect sun and breeze around the North End and toured the US Constitution at Charlestown Harbor; were chauffeured by Bev and Rick to Salem where we toured the House of Seven Gables that Hawthorne made famous and  took a brisk late afternoon sail with 35 people on a replica of the privateer schooner Fame; and on Monday walked the Harvard Yard and ate lobster for the fourth time.

Our hosts had planned an informal small gathering with several neighbors in their building at 6PM the day we toured Salem.  However, because our sail would not return to dock until after 5:30, Bev called Larry to say we would delay the gathering until 7ish.  Larry was out.  She left a message.  He called back later to say that he had been playing tennis.  Nothing unusual, you might ask? Well, Larry is 88.  When we did finally arrive at his apartment (he decided he should host, not Bev and Rick), we spent several hours in rich conversation about politics and life. There is hope for our old age. 

It was a good trip.  Everyone should have such warm and welcoming friends.  Thank you Bev and Rick. The visit plugged the seeping summer.