Italy Part Due

After spending almost a week in Rome, Capri, the Amalfi Coast and Sorrento, we headed for Tuscany. We had two weeks booked at a time share in Lorro Cuiffenna. It was wonderful, straight out of a dream. 

We arrived on a Monday morning while the weekly street market was taking place. It had a vast array of produce and a meat vendor there who was selling porchetta sandwiches which are rolled up roasted sides of pork with a crackling skin and a few bits of liver inside of the roll. I was hooked right there and then. We explored the town, or should I say village, the rest of the day. 

The next day we visited some Tuscan Chianti wineries. We ended up buying twelve bottles of  Chianti plus a few whites and one rose wine. All of the wineries in addition to sampling their wares fed us Italian pu-pus. Half way through the day, we also had lunch in some little walled town. We spent another day sitting around the pool recovering from the previous day's excesses. 

The next day we spent exploring the Tuscan countryside with Sam and Ruth a couple from Redondo Beach who had rented a Jeep SUV. We spent another day attending an Italian cooking school learning the proper way to make home-made pasta and made tagliatelle and raviolis.  

On Saturday, being Sam and Ruth moved on to Greece, we took a cab to Montevarchi, then a train to Arezzo to rent a car. A cute little Fiat 500. We went to Pisa to see, what else, the Tower and back to Sienna. After Sienna, Jamie had to go to the Prada outlet in Montevarchi. Needless to say she was on cloud nine for a few days afterward.
It's Sunday, it must be walled cities day. We went to Montalcino, Pienza, Montepulciano where parts of Under the Tuscan Sun was filmed and finally Monteriggioni which was the best of the lot. If you think you're seeing Monte as part of the town's names it's because the walled towns are built on hilltops or montes. Damned fine views and good protection from who ever is about to invade you. By the time they get to the top of the hill in full battle gear, thy were too exhausted to put up much of a fight.

The next day we drove to Cortona and spent most of the day just enjoying Italy. We then took a train to Venice for the day and had a wonderful time and then a train back to Lorro Cuiffenna. Another train ride to Florence to catch the tour of the Cinque Terre.

Cinque Terre is on the Italian Riviera and is so beautiful it is a UNESCO Heritage site. It consists of five charming little towns that sit on the sides of hills overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. They are inaccessible by car and you can only get there by train. 

Back to Lorro Cuiffenna for the evening and then back to Florence by train for sightseeing and especially to see Michelangelo's David which is how my son got is name. There are no superlatives  that I know that describes that hunk of marble. 

Finally, we drove to the Rome airport and turned in the little red Fiat and got a hotel room next door to the Vatican and went sightseeing on our last day.

We flew to Amsterdam on KLM which was a very pleasant experience and got a hotel room on a canal. We had to be back to Schiphol,  Amsterdam's airport for our fourteen hour flight to LAX.  

I think I'll get out of retirement and go back to work, I need the rest.

ITALY

The last time I was in Italy was about 1974. My how things have changed. With me not with the country. I'm not the hell on wheels guy as I was in my yout. Rome is after all The Eternal City and as Rome goes so goes the rest of the country.

Everywhere you turn, you see history and beauty. Roman aqueducts run through the city and everywhere are two thousand year old structures. The food is to die for and the women are beautiful. Italian women are According to the Godfather "In Italy, the women are more dangerous then shotguns".

But who wants to live a boring life anyway? I don't. 

I am here in Rome right now with my own topolina awaiting our train to Florence. We are staying in Tuscany for two weeks at a small cottage. We plan on taking a few Italian cooking classes together, taking a 13 hour train excursion through Cinque Terre, also one day train trips to Pisa and Venice. With a little luck I am also going to enjoy some down time in the pool and letto. We are a "five minute walk" to the town and I am already an olympic class walker, which is a good thing. 

We have already taken a bus trip to Pompeii and then on to Sorrento. We spent two nights at the Imperial Hotel Tramontano. From the hotel, we took a boat to Capri to see the famous Blue Grotto. The damned famous grotto was so famous the crowd was like a swarm of locusts. We never got into the grotto. Note to self, never go to anything touristy in Italy in tourist season. 

The second day in Sorrento we took a car trip to the Amalfi Coast. It was one of the most beautiful places I've ever been to. We are seriously considering moving there, but I am holding out until I see Tuscany and Cinque Terre in particular before making firm plans.    

Pre 1950s Life in Cleveland

Pre 1950s Life in Cleveland

There aren't too many people who remember the paper and rag man. He would sit on the bench of his wagon, yelling "Paper rags " usually in the poor neighborhoods. It sounded like paypa dape to me. I was only five or six back then.

People would come out with bundled paper, rags, pots and pans, bottles and anything else he might buy. He would pay a few pennies for these remnants, then probably took them to some junkyard where he made a few pennies profit.

He was a small, elderly, wrinkled old man and the strength and range of his voice was surprising as he yelled out, "Paper rags." His wagon was pulled by a wrinkled old horse as it slowly and with difficulty made its way down our street.

We boys in the neighborhood had never seen a live horse. Our only acquaintance with horses was seeing our favorite cowboy heroes in the movies. Although hard to believe, this was before TV.

The paper and rag man was a kindly soul and he allowed us to pet the horse when he stopped to pick some paper or rags. I'm a little ashamed to remember that we often followed the wagon, taunting him by mimicking his voice and shouting "Paper rags." But he didn't mind. I think he liked the children and the attention he and the horse were getting from us. Whenever our parents could spare it, we were allowed to take a carrot or apple to the seemingly always hungry horse and it nuzzled us in gratitude.

Back then, we also had a guy who walked the streets with a small cart not unlike a golf bag cart who sharpened knives. Another guy fixed things, mainly umbrellas.

We, like everyone else, had a milk man. Our milk man would put his deliveries in our milk chute which was on the side of our house on the drive way. The other milk man actually had a horse and wagon. This was in the nineteen forties.

We also had an ice man who brought our ice right into the house and placed the block in the icebox.

There was an ice cream truck or motor scooter with a big box in front that sold ice cream bars and sandwiches. They used jingle bells like on Santa's sleigh to announce their presence. 

There was a waffle truck much like the ice cream truck. They made the waffles fresh to order and dusted them with powdered sugar.

Some houses had phones with no dials. You picked up the phone and didn't get a dial tone. An operator would come on the line and you would tell her what number that you wanted to call.

Of course, back then, there were no television sets. The first one that I saw had about a 5 inch screen and mostly showed a test pattern. The big entertainment device was the radio. We had a Zenith console that had a record player on the right side which only played 78 RPM records. Back then 45 PM records hadn't been available and 33 1/3s were science fiction.

Going downtown to shop meant going to Higbee's May's. In Ohio, it wasn't May Company or Higbee Company it was May's or Hugbee's. The frosted malteds in the basements were a special treats as there were no McDonalds or Wendie's back then. Going downtown meant taking a streetcar and later a bus.

END OF AN ERA

I am a US Navy veteran and accordingly act like the sailor that I am.

This has included, in no particular order, chasing women, drinking a lot of rum, drinking even more beer and eating almost anything I happened across. 

Well I had a big eye-opener two weeks ago. I had my third stroke. It was a miner stroke if there is such a thing. A TSA or Transient Ischemic Attack. 

The docs at the VA Hospital grilled me with a bunch of questions concerning my life style. Do you smoke? Me, I smoke about ten cigars a year. Do you drink? Me, not like I used to. Why did you cut back? Me, I got old. How much do you drink? Me, I have a mixed drink, a beer, or a glass of wine with dinner about five times a week. Do you have a healthy diet? Me, it depends who you ask. I feel that I do. I have mostly chicken breast, fish and lean pork regularly. I don't get junk food like double cheese burgers hardly ever and I eat red meat, IE beef less than once a week. 

That's good what about vegetables? Me, I could do better in that department. What does that mean? Is more than half of your plate veggies? Me, no. A quarter? Me, sometimes. You need to do better. Do want to die tomorrow? Me, of course not.

My take on this is as follows.

The cigars are not good but not all that bad. Same for the alcohol. Part of the diet is OK but the veggie and fiber part needs improving.

Sunday we went to the Fish Camp. I had grilled sand dabs and instead of ordering fries and mac & cheese as my two sides, I had rice and grilled veggies. This is a quantum leap for this old sailor but entirely necessary. Last evening I bought a no-salt rotisserie chicken. I really couldn't really perceive any difference. 

My next big step is to have several meatless days each week.

It isn't the end of the world but you can see it from here.

END OF YEAR 2017 LETTER

It is Boxing Day and we are still on the lam in Palm Springs. Palm Springs to this old Cleveland boy is like SoCal on steroids. It is this worthless expanse of sand and scrub trees that some swindler seventy five, or so, years ago sold some poor hapless soul that this is just the place to grow golf courses. The land was cheap and there was an inexhaustible supply of it. We came out here last year to have a family Christmas at my second wife's home on, guess what, a golf course. The concept was great but the reality was straight out of an Alfred Hitchcock movie. 

This year we have decided to utilise the hard learned lesson of staying at an ex wife's home and securing lodgings at a timeshare. This is more like it. We are in our own little world for a few days. We have several bedrooms in the event some friend(s) need a place to crash. There is a gas grill on a patio and several pools complete with Jacuzzis within walking distance. There is a Von's a block away as well as several movie theaters. There are two HD TVs in the place with DVD players so things are really self-contained. 

We had a brunch at the club house at the golf club and the watched the frenzy of grandchildren opening brightly wrapped Christmas presents. A little nap was in order after the orgy and then it was off to a very nice restaurant at the hotel that the kids were staying at. A little wine, OK a lot of wine, and a little prime rib, OK a lot of prime rib and the day was a complete success.

OK, I seem to have skipped the January through November part. In reality, 2017 was a fairly undramatic year compared to previous years. We didn't take any cruises through the Panama Canal or motoring trips across the country. 

Much of our time was devoted to the SLBYC, IE Seal Beach Yacht Club. Jamie was asked to become the club's treasurer. It was billed as a "two to four hour a week undertaking". That was a load of horse manure, She is at that stinking club all day, every day. I was nominated to the club's board of directors and when asked what the first thing I would do is, I replied "fire Jamie. I didn't get elected and feel that I have dodged a very large bullet.
I on the other hand have been named Food Manager for the club. I will, among other things, be selecting the menu for friday night dinners at the club. I also will either cook or help cook sometimes.
We have made many new friends at the club. We sailed to Cat Harbor on a Catalina 42.
 Somehow some people said that I could drive and navigate a boat off shore. So we ended up going to Avalon on a beautiful 48 foot Californian and a few weeks later went on it to Marina Del Rey. We also went to Two Harbors, IE The Isthmus, on a 42 Hunter so life hasn't been too bad.
In March, we motored up to The Cliff House at Mussel Shoals. I ended coming down with the Flu so I don't remember too much as I was delirious with a fever. We continued on up to The Madonna Inn in San Luis Obispo and stayed the first night in the flintstone room which is literally made out of real stone boulders. I didn't sleep all night. In my feverish condition all I could think of was if we had an earthquake I would end up squashed like a piece of roadkill. The next day Jamie moved us to a much safer room. Staying at the Madonna had been one of my bucket list items but I don't remember much. Three weeks when I was better, we drove up to Cambria and spent two nights there. While in the Paso Robles/Templeton AVA we visited a lot of wineries and bought A LOT of wine. Clever marketers these wineries, get the visitor shitfaced and they will buy a lot.

BEER CAN CHICKEN

I was requested by upper management today to BBQ a beer can chicken.

I thought that I have written about the wondrous beer can chicken before but I can't seem to find it in my highly sophisticated files. So here goes.

The technique goes thusly.   

First steal a chicken. Whoops wrong recipe. That's how the recipe for authentic Hungarian Chicken Poprikash starts out. You clean out said chicken by pretending that you are a poultry proctologist and reach way up the south end of the bird and pull out anything that you're not planning on eating. Such as paper bags full of offal and the like. If there happens to be a neck stuffed in the other end, get rid of it.

Next, dry the bird with a paper towel inside and out. Salt and pepper the inside cavity.

Then get a can of beer out of the beer locker and drink half of the can of beer. Good God, don't use light beer or kumquat flavored ale. Use real beer because when the bird is cooking steam from the can of beer will wisp up and help the inside get done in a deat heat with the exterior. Just as wine in a fancy shmancy French casserole. You would use a wine that you would actually drink.

Enough about the virtues of using the proper beer for cooking.

Now light off the grill, gas or charcoal and let it get warmed up to temp.

Use the beer can as a suppository just as you would with a know-it-all. Once the bird bird is properly situated with it's can be sure it is balanced properly so it doesn't topple while cooking. Then give the bird a massage with unsalted butter and sprinkle the herbs of your choice over the outside along with salt and pepper.

Pop the little guy on the grill and give him his sauna. 

Cook to your liking which should be about 170 Deg. F. in the breast.
Stand by for the onslaught of compliments. 
You can use one of those stainless steel chingausos  but then it now longer is a BEER CAN chicken.

Who am I? What am I doing here?

Where as I am now seventy five years old, I thought that it is about time for a new assesment.

There are certain givens, such as I am a father and a grandfather. I am involved with the nicest and best woman I have ever met and I am a transplanted Clevelander living in SoCal. 

But what about the less obvious.

I have always been the the kid, the upstart. The guy who dives into things and makes them right without expecting as much as a thank you. 

I am a sailor in every sense of the word. I spent eight plus years in the US Navy. I had everything go my way while in the Navy. I went to Guidedmissileman A School at Virginia Beach as an E3 a Seaman First Class. We weren't allowed to take the E4 Third Class Petty Officer while in A School. Our class graduated on a Friday. The semiannual E4 exam was held on the following Monday. The next day we flew to Pomona, CA for Terrier BT3 C School. One week before we graduated from C School, I was informed that I had passed the E4 exam and would be promoted on May first. 

When I reported for duty at my first duty station at NAD Crane Indiana on May third, I was a pettyofficer. One year later, I was a second class PO. 

I reported to Missile Technician B School as a second class PO. Nine months later, I reported for duty on my first ship, an aircraft carrier where I took the First Class exam. Six months later I was transferred to new construction at Todd Shipyard in Seattle where I promptly sewed on my First Class crow. At the time I was the youngest First Class PO in the entire US Navy at the ripe age of twenty one. Three years later I turned down Chief Petty Officer. I didn't want to be a twenty four year old CPO. Chiefs lived in the chief's quarters, AKA The Goat Locker, and I didn't want to live with these lifers. I had already decided the I wanted out of  the Navy and wanted to go to college.

In 1968, I got out. We shot a bird, missile, the day before at the pacific Missile Range and pulled into the Ammunition Depot at Seal Beach to rearm. Being I was a Plank Owner, I had them pipe me over the side and became a civilian.

Life was good as a civilian.  I had marketable skills and had no problem finding employment. I had good jobs, finished college and  traveled the world on an expense account. I became a real estate agent selling apartment buildings in Lon Beach and made lots of money. I had Norton Commandos, Porches, Mercedes and Cadillacs. I sold industrial instrumentation and had sailboats which I lived aboard. I ended up starting a company that built plastics forming machinery and made quite a good name for myself.

The bad news is in 2013, I had a stroke. T the time, I had a schooner which I lived aboard for thirty five years.  I could no longer handle the five sails that we ran around on.

I now find myself as a codger. Seventy five is an old man by anyone's criteria. I now live on a forty foot trawler power boat and take a nap most every day.

I'm not complaining. I have a wonderful relationship with a girl who is my intellectual double. I drive a BMW 325ci convertible I have two grandchildren and I do the occasional machine upgrade with no heavy lifting. We have taken cruises to Alaska and through the Panama Canal.

I guess that I really don't have anything to bitch about but I am a bit uncomfortable being 75.

Like Micky Mantle said "If I knew that I was going to live this long, I probably would have taken better of myself."