Scout Moves

I've got a few more cruise photos showing some of the places we visited, but while I sort through those and look for some good ones, here are the odder photos that don't really fit any particular category. I may work on travel piece for Small Town Newspaper with photos, but I doubt the editor will appreciate these. First, a sign posted on the top deck of the Queen Mary 2. Never once did I see an animal of any sort near there, unless it was this man. This is a little dog eating meat in front of Trevi Fountain in Rome. This is a tired bus driver waiting to take people on a tour of Barcelona. "Enough, all ready," you can hear him groaning. This is a statue of Jupiter outside the ship's planetarium. And just to give you an idea of what it's like on the ship when it pulls away from shore, here is a video (I apologize for the angle) of the top deck and the commodore giving an announcement. That man could stretch twenty words in a half-hour presentation.

I'm still sick, and I mean really sick. I don't have a fever, but I do have that achy-skin feeling and chills that usually accompanies one. My eyes are watery, I struggle to get a good breath, I could do a good impression of Barry White, my throat is sore, and I have this very unpleasant and painful cough that no one else would ever want to hear. And we don't have to talk about the stuff I've been coughing up—I think it's the lining of a lung. So, what did I do yesterday to take care of myself? Well, after I took care of all the back-in-town tasks that needed doing and had lunch, I got to work in the kitchen. I couldn't stand the idea of just sitting on the couch and watching daytime TV, and Turner Classic Movies paid tribute to Donna Reed all day (she's not a favorite even with It's A Wonderful Life) and I couldn't focus enough to read or write, so I cooked. Don't worry, though, I washed my hands a lot, and I don't think I'm contagious.

We're home. We pulled into the driveway last night, and I think we were both asleep within 15 minutes of walking through the door. Now, while Husband is at work, I am trudging through the tasks of settling in—unpacking, doing laundry, getting the cats from the boarder, getting the mail from the post office, dropping a load off at the dry cleaners, emptying the fridge and going to the store in order to fill it up again. And through all of it, I'm sneezing and coughing a painful cough feeling slightly ragged. I'm glad to be home, but wasn't it just a couple of days ago that we were world travelers? Wasn't it just a couple of days ago that we were in Europe? The ship docked in Southampton early Saturday morning, and by 11:00ish, we checked into the Hilton at Heathrow. Not wanting to hang around the airport all day, we took the train into Central London. We went straight to the half-price ticket booth at Leicester Square and got tickets to a matinee performance of Chica

We’re headed back to Southampton and taking three days to do it, so we sail and we sail and we sail with no stopping. It seems there should be another word for this massive ship moving through the water other than “sail” since the ship has no actual sails. I suppose it’s the same as “rolling down the window” in a car that uses a button instead of the turning thing, and “dialing” a number long after the last rotary phone was retired. We have been very lucky with weather on this trip and have yet to encounter rough seas—there is a little rocking now and then but nothing that has you grabbing onto the handrails to keep from spilling. Still, there is a slight sense of motion you can detect even on the calmest day, and your equilibrium adjusts just slightly. I remember this from the last cruise we took a couple of years ago and how, once on land, my brain took a while to readjust to solid ground, and I was unsteady and looking for waves. All of this sitting around on the ship has caused my

We went to Barcelona today, but the activity we chose had us seeing very little of it. We were part of a small group, maybe 20 people or so, who took a little shuttle to the cathedral square where we had a quick look, and then we walked around the corner, climbed a short flight of stairs, and found seats in a room that was sort of like a cooking school. A Spanish woman who spoke a fair amount of English guided us through the making of several tapas one by one. She demonstrated the making of a Spanish tortilla, which is really an omelet made with eggs and sliced fried potatoes. She made kick-ass gazpacho and a béchamel sauce—very thick with diced ham and mushrooms—that was used in two dishes, and then she walked us through the steps of making cold tapas. We wrapped some of the béchamel mixture with ham and cheese; dipped it in flour, egg and breadcrumbs; and fried it to make croquettes. We mixed crab and diced endive for topping small slices of bread, threaded pickled vegetables onto sk

At each port on this trip in the Mediterranean, we have chosen guided excursions, although you have the option to go ashore on your own and explore at will. On Sunday, the ship docked in Livorno, Italy, and we toured a 15th-century villa and winery about 25 minutes outside of the city. The guide, a feisty woman named Lila, took us to this villa, the Varrimista, where a more local guide allowed us into the main room. The home is owned by the family that builds Vespas, and there is a classic model on display in the room. The rest of the house is closed off to the public because the family stays there now and then. We then toured the small winery including what looked like an ancient wine cellar underneath the house where tiny lizards and giant beetles live. There was mold on all of the walls, and spider webs holding dead spiders in the doorways. Then we went into a more modern room for a wine tasting. Each table was given a platter of very nice sheep’s milk cheese and local salamis and b

I’m writing this on Sunday evening as the ship is leaving Livorno, Italy and headed for Monte Carlo. We’ve got the balcony door open so we can hear the ship moving through the sea, although the view is anything but calming—we look out onto two tender boats and all of their greased-up and gunky rigging. Nice. It rained all this morning but cleared up just in time for our afternoon tour of a 15th-century Tuscan villa and winery, but it’s storming again with plenty of lightning and rain. I’ve yet to hear thunder, although there was a lot of that last night—that storm was so thorough that the top-deck stargazing was a washout. In a little while, we’ll go have dinner at our assigned table in the Brittania Restaurant. We share it with a nice couple from D.C. who work for the government—the man is with the EPA, and the woman is with something I can’t remember. They have interesting stories to tell, and we’ve been swopping stories about our travels. We have developed a bit of a routine: someti

We went to Rome today. The ship docked at Civitavecchia where all the ships dock, and those of us signed up for this specific tour were given an orange sticker to wear so we’d be easily identified, herded onto a bus and handed receivers to hang around our necks so we could hear the tour guide who was quite often walking yards ahead. There was no disguising our status as tourists at that point, but what choice did we have?I love the idea of exploring a city without a guide, but when the city is so foreign and there is so much to see and understand, it makes sense to follow a guide on your first visit. Our guide, Paula, was full of information about the history of the city and the modern culture—at one point, she declared the Latin lover to be dead because all the men in Rome have become Mama’s boys who prefer to live with their parents until they are 40 at least, and then they are too old for a wife and a family, but she wasn’t bitter. We got off the bus not far from the Colosseum and t

I don’t see the point in spelling out my cruise adventure one day at a time, so I’ll say this: Wednesday touring small towns near Lisbon was delightful, and we bought a bottle of port from a small shop with an owner eager to hand out samples. We also bought little purses made from the bark of cork trees. As odd as that sounds, they really are cool, something exclusive to Portugal, they say. Someday we may actually spend time in Lisbon without a big bus full of tourists. It looked beautiful from the outskirts. Enough about that. Yesterday is what I’ll devote some attention to. We anchored at Gibraltar, a place I knew nearly nothing about. OK, absolutely nothing. I now know that the rock is home to a British colony that enjoys a certain amount of independence. From it, you can see Spain and Morocco, and the bay is full of industrial ships. You can take a cable car to the top of the mountain where there are spectacular views, a restaurant perfect for afternoon tea and a precocious group o

We arrived in London yesterday, hired a car to Southampton, and have been staying at a hotel there trying to catch up on sleep. I think that's technically impossible. You can try all you want, but you'll never really catch up. On the plane, I had the opportunity to buy a jet lag kit from the duty free catalog. It was full of gunky stuff to keep your face from looking like you've been under water for a week, and I briefly thought that might be a good purchase. I decided against it, but now in retrospect, I'm not so sure that was wise. We'll board the ship this afternoon at 1:00, so we've got a few more hours to relax at the hotel, waste time on Facebook and have breakfast. Hello to Dive and Beryl and Lynn who are actually in the same time zone as I am for a little bit—your country is lovely, but the lifts are so tiny, if they weren't lined with mirrors, I might have hyperventilated. Here is my last Small Town Newspaper article for awhile, so I'll link it

Dear blogville, I will be away for two weeks. Husband and I are going on a cruise to the Mediterranean, and tomorrow we fly to England to board the Queen Mary 2. Our route will take us to Lisbon, Gibraltar, Rome, Monte Carlo and Spain. Plus, we'll have five solid days at sea for a total of 12 days and nights. The Royal Astronomical Society will be on board for lectures during the day and star gazing on the upper deck at night, and a fellow from the University College London who specializes in astronomy will be with us as well—apparently, 2009 is the international year of astronomy. Husband and I have already reserved several excursions—walking tours, mostly, and some wine tastings and a culinary event in Spain where we'll create our own tapas plate. And we've had to collect an assortment of fancy schmancy clothes for the formal and semi-formal evenings. It's hardly fair, you know, that men get to buy one tuxedo with a couple of ties, and they're set. Women, on the o

I'm late with this week's assignment, but at least I've done it. This is the eighth installment of the fiction game in which Dive at Small Glass Planet (see sidebar) gives us a sentence from an existing book, and we write around it using no more than 500 words. The provided sentence is in italics. Nervous Tension John slipped down the hall toward the men’s room while I followed the hostess to the table. I sat down and began looking for some peace of mind and redemption on the menu. I let out an audible sigh of relief, scanned the room and waited for John to join me.   I was reaching for my water glass when I heard a gruff voice that stood out from the other noises in the room. The tone and the language seemed incompatible with the surrounding finery, and the other dinner guests were noticing as well. At the bar, a big man with a purple birthmark on his neck was methodically swilling Scotches through his rotted teeth, and talking to the police patrolman whom we had met

I pulled out one of my favorite cookbooks the other day, Bon Appétit by Barbara Fairchild. It's 750 pages plus an index of pure cooking joy. These are all recipes pulled from issues of the magazine of the same name, and they are all approachable. Don't be put off by the price of this book ($35) because it includes a two-year subscription to the magazine. I made last week's menu from the book—Corn, Wild Rice and Sausage Soup; Jamaican Jerk Burgers with Orange-Chipotle Mayo; Fettuccine Bolognese; Grilled Pork Fajitas with Chipotle Chile Sauce; Tandoori-Spiced Chicken with Tomato-Ginger Chutney. I think it was all good, but the Jamaican jerk sauce was the best. I also made a dessert, which I normally don't bother doing. I made the Country Plum Tart on page 600, and it was all I could do not to eat the entire thing—I didn't, mind you—just had my fair share. I served it with Häagen-Dazs vanilla, specifically the Five sub-brand. Each flavor (ginger is wonderful, by the w

My orchestra performed another Labor Day concert this past weekend. This was their tenth, and I think I've played in at least eight of those—I have this idea I missed a few, but I don't know for sure. Anyway, it's a concert in the park with the cicadas in the trees and listeners on the lawn and stars in the sky, and it's lovely. We play pops sort of things with a few classical pieces, while the conductor, dressed in a white tuxedo jacket, leads us along. Here is a snippet Husband captured from the Star Wars number—notice the cicadas underneath (or on top of) the orchestra: This weekend, we performed a Haydn piece, William Tell Overture; theme pieces from Star Wars, Star Trek and Raiders of the Lost Arc; and more fun stuff like an original patriotic piece that is always moving, and an arrangement of Swing On A Star with the conductor singing. I'm a real sap for Going My Way and Barry Fitzgerald and Bing Crosby, so this is always a favorite of mine. This upcoming orch

On account of Labor Day, a lazy day, I'd be honored if you would read this . I'll get to "play" tomorrow, possibly, by touring an Amish farm for a news piece. And I got to "play" last night in an orchestra concert. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow. If you're in the U.S., enjoy your day off. If you're somewhere else, get to your labor, you slothful bum.

So, the president wants to talk to America's school children and ask them to work hard, set goals for themselves and not drop out of school. His speech to them will be a voluntary event so kids can choose to listen or not, and school principals can choose to offer it or not. He will encourage kids to do these things: • Create posters of their goals. Posters could be formatted in quadrants or puzzle pieces or trails marked with the labels: personal, academic, community, country. Each area could be labeled with three steps for achieving goals in those areas. It might make sense to focus on personal and academic so community and country goals come more readily. • Write letters to themselves about how they can achieve their short‐term and long‐term education goals. And now people are accusing President Obama of trying to indoctrinate children with his socialist agenda and equating this with Hitler's Youth Program. The head of the Florida GOP has even called him the Pied Piper. Gran

I'm getting a slow start today. I had set today aside to work on an editorial for Labor Day—something about how everyone has a role to play, and even though Labor Day was started by labor unions to acknowledge "the working man," I think it's fair to say we can all be called "the working man," everyone but a schmuck like Bernie Madoff, that is. Anyway, normally I would have finished with breakfast an hour ago and already been seated at the worky computer ready to sort out some ideas, but this morning I'm sluggish. Last night, I dreamed I was imprisoned in a concentration camp. It was a cleaned up variety so it wasn't quite as hellish as images I've seen from World War II. But still, it was a bad place, and me and my fellow prisoners were plotting a coup. We were gathering in the cold snow and ready to attack in what I was sure would be a successful battle, but then I woke up. I was so disappointed to find myself awake because I really did want to

I had a lovely time yesterday afternoon. I got this idea that Small Town Newspaper needed a story about the damage our burgeoning deer population is causing to area farmers. So, I got on the phone with a director from the state farm bureau and learned that the state of Ohio has around one million deer, but the bureau would like to reduce the number to a quarter million. Of course, the only way to do that is to kill the things, so they are working on ways to get hunters in touch with farmers. Most farmers don't like opening their land to hunters because they've had bad experiences with them in the past. Sometimes hunters come with buddies and sit in the woods, drink beer, and shoot anything that moves. One farmer said to me, "If it's brown, it's down," as the motto the jerks tend to have. And some hunters will show up in the middle of the night, or shoot too close to a residence or wipe out the buck population for the trophy of the antlers but leave the does be

No. 1 is very busy with grad school these days, but before classes started, she kept herself occupied by crocheting. She likes to do that, so she found a pattern for a blanket and made it for her study—it looks great with the red walls and the wooden blinds we installed in the huge windows. I liked the design so much, I asked her to make one for me. So, using yarn I ordered and had shipped to her, she got to work. Here is what she made—Tiger likes it, too. Tiger also likes my horn case and tends to curl up in it when I practice. The little guy had a tumor removed from his leg and will have the stitches removed on Friday. He seems OK to me, but we're still waiting on the results of the biopsy.