Journal of an Urbane Gorilla

Clumsy is as clumsy does

Well, I knew that I shouldn’t let her go off on her own. Frankly, the thought of hanging out in my chones with Big Guy and guzzling Guinness’ while watching every ballgame we can find on the telly. It was just too tempting and I really wasn’t up to
New York.

 Of course, seeing her off involved the usual cockup. I elected to sit on the trunk while Big Guy helped Grams with her suitcase. He got the case on and stowed, but then the doors closed and he started off with train. Imagine the expression on my mug. What was I to do? I didn’t have the car keys and even if I did, I can’t drive. Well, I can drive, but I can’t do the pedals. So, I sat and waited. And waited. And waited. A half hour later, a train came from the south and off stepped Big Guy. “Don’t ask,” he said. Needless to say, I didn’t.

 
So, Grams is in New York with Henri and his mama. Yesterday, Grams and Henri’s mama went into the city. As far as I can tell, they stopped for lunch and on her way to the Ladies; Grams missed a step and went face down into a very non-forgiving floor. Evidently, her front tooth went through her upper lip and she broke her nose again, so she’s got another shiner and a fat lip. Oh, did I mention that it's blazing hot too?

 

Of course, she got up, dusted herself off, and went on with her shopping. When it comes to shopping the woman’s indomitable. She did manage to send me some pics that she took before the fall. I especially like one from the old New York Sun building (no the temperature gauge isn't working). Of course, I always like the subway art. Isn’t the mythic sewer croc great? The subway scofflaw is pretty cool too.

 

A dopo e Moochas Smoochas

Please give what you can to Doctors Without Borders and support Kiva.

 

And, of course

 

平和  に 働 き

 

(heiwa ni hataraki: work for peace)

 

 

 

 

The eyes have it, again!

Where has the Gweeds been? Well, you could have guessed. She (the Grams) did it again, and in spectacular fashion. It was the end of April and I had the bright idea that I’d take some photos of the water fowl over in the wetlands between our pied a terre and the university. Grams and Big Guy thought that this was a swell idea too.

I grabbed the camera, put on my helmet and hopped in the basket of Grams’ bike. You might remember that some time back I asked Big Guy to put a bungee chord across the basket, this was to keep me from flying out of the basket whenever Grams’ crashed (something she does with annoying frequency). I do feel much safer now with my little bungee. Grams and Big Guy, however, weren’t wearing helmets. It’s a not so long story, but has to do with Big Guy refusing to wear one and Grams saying, “If you’re not, then I’m not either, so there!” I never said that these 2 were the brightest bulbs . . .

So, off we went. It was a brilliant day in Santa Tourista. We rode through campus and went down by the wee excuse for an airport just beyond. We rested there and watched the little private planes take off. There were lots of people enjoying the day.

As we got back on our bikes (well, me in my basket), Grams said, “let’s go up the bike trail on the left side of the street, then when we turn to go into the wetlands I won’t have to worry about the traffic to my right.”

[I will stop here to explain that Grams has a wonky right eye. She calls it amblyopic, I call it blind. So, she tends to hug the left side of roads and doesn’t care to turn left into oncoming traffic.]

So, there we were going up the left side of the street when we got to a small cross street. Grams and I saw the car coming from the left and turning right. The driver didn’t see us. He was looking to left, turning right and never stopped. I yelled, HEY!” Grams yelled, “Oh, @#$%, my glasses!” and then someone screamed (that turned out to be the passenger in the car).

This time I didn’t go flying out of the basket, thanks to my bungee. My camera and I were safe. I can’t say the same for Grams. She hit to hood (bonnet) of the car (leaving a Wile E. Coyote-type impression) and then flew halfway out into the traffic of the main street.

Fortunately, a limo was just coming along, and the driver stopped and blocked the oncoming traffic, so Grams didn’t get whacked a second time. Then, a retired EMT who happened to be passing stopped to give assistance. An ambulance was called and the police too. It was all very exciting.

In the meantime, Grams kept saying, “I’m okay, really I am.” The fellow who hit her was all shook up. They were both assuring one another that they were fine. Grams was relived that she didn’t break her glasses this time. Pretty soon the ambulance came and I jumped in with Grams while Big Guy stayed behind to give the police a report of what happened.

In the ambulance, I watched as the EMT put a shunt in Gram’s arm just in case she needed a transfusion when she got to the Emergency Room (Casualty). After I came to, we were on the freeway. Grams said, “What age did the EMT guess that I was, Gweeds?” “Between 45 and 52,” I replied. She smiled. That made her day. Her head was starting to look like a bruised melon, but I didn’t tell her. I didn’t have to, she could feel it. “If you had been wearing your helmet,” I started to say. But she was having none of it, “I know, I know, please not now.”

At the hospital, I had to wait while she got a CAT scan. It was determined that in spite of going out without a helmet, there was a brain in there. Big Guy got there about a ½ hour later. After about 3 hours, they let her go home. I must say, they all did give her grief about not wearing a helmet.

She was really banged up. She had abrasions everywhere and her right eye closed up entirely. “At least it’s not my ‘good’ eye,” she laughed. The bike got the worst of it and at the start of the week we went off to get her a new one. But before that, I insisted they both come with me to get new helmets. Big Guy got a shiny blue one and Grams got a shiny red one. Now, they never get on their bikes without having their helmets on.

So, where have I been? Taking care of the Grams, again. The woman will drive me crazy! But, I’m very glad she wasn't hurt worse than she was. When I told her that she said, “Oh, Gweeds, I’m made of sterner stuff than that! You can’t get rid of me that easily!” I took the photo a week after the accident. She looks better now.

A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders) and support Kiva.

And, of course

平和 に 働 き

(heiwa ni hataraki: work for peace)

Auuuuugh!

Okay, I may have to create some mayhem. We're sitting in the airport lounge. I just took a pic of our plane and went to look for the memory card reader, but Grams forgot to pack it! How can I download any photos?!?

Well, she just put her ear buds in my ears. I'm listening to Feist. Oh dear me, she just stuffed an almond Hershey's Kiss in my mouth. Okay, okay, I'll find a way around this somehow. In the meantime, I'm in my happy place.

The plane stars loading in about a half hour.

A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders) and support Kiva.

And, of course

平和 に 働 き

(hewa ni hataraki: work for peace)

Well, we'll always have Paris

First of all, please accept my apologies. You see, the 29th of February is Fay Wray Day in the SBR.* In the non-leap years, we tend to celebrate FWD a little longer, since we've never been able to decide whether it's more proper to celebrate it on the 28th or the 1st. In the end, we usually settle for the whole week. That's what we did this year. It was banana daiquiris all around. A grand time was had by all. Perhaps a little too grand of a time was had by all. My wee fuzzy head is still throbbing. Wotta week! Wotta woman! Hip, hip, Fray Way!

Now, where did I leave our intrepid travelers? Ah, yes, it was their last night in San Fran. They had a disappointment earlier that day when they realized that one of their favourite joints, the Gold Spike," had bellied up. The didn't realize it until they were bopping down Columbus street. Deep sighs all around.

Of course, late in the day a family with boisterous youngsters and a colicky baby checked into the room next to theirs. Since they had connecting rooms, one of the little darlings kept trying to open the connecting door while the baby kept crying. Everything went quiet around 11 PM until 1:30 AM; that was when the colicky baby woke up. Again, I assured Grams that this sort of this wouldn't happen if I had been with them. You'll remember the time that I got us upgraded to a suite in Canada; not to mention all the upgrades on airplanes. All I have to do is smile. What can I say? When you've got it, you've got it.

So, they were a teensy bit crabby when they got up the next morning. They had to catch the Amtrak bus at 7:30 AM, so they hustled to get Pier 39. The bus arrived on time and off they went to the station at Jack London Square. The train was 2 hours late. "I can deal with 2 hours," said Big Guy; but they had already missed their breckie-puddy. When they finally got on the train they discovered that the crew was the same crew they had come up with. Their cabin attendant was, Chris, again. He had already made a luncheon reservation for them. It looked as if things were going well. Little did they know what lay ahead.

Luncheon was good. Julio was their server again. They had a few laughs. But, the train kept getting later and later. Just outside of Paso Robles, the conductor came on the speaker and said that they would be delayed 10 to 15 minutes. That delay took 1 hour. So, you can see how it went.

They went to the afternoon wine and cheese tasting. But the train kept getting later and later. Grams' bad(der) eye went out on her at supper and Chris had to make up a bed for her. I hate when that happens because she's not tired so she can't sleep; but, at the same time, she can't see. She puts it this way, “got to rest the peeper, Gweeds.”
Face it, would you want to come up against this woman? (Grams complained when she saw this photo, "you could've at least Photshopped out my freckles!" "I did! Those are your age spots!" She just doesn't appreciate what I do for her!).

They arrived back in Santa Tourista around midnight: 6 hours late. Big Guy is checking airline schedules for the next time. Too bad, I know how much they love the train.

A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

And, of course

平和 に 働 き

(hewa ni hataraki: work for peace)

*Small Banana Republic

Wild horses couldn't drag me away*

It’s been a strange month so far. On the 3rd, Grams and Big Guy threw some chones into a suitcase and flew to New York. A week later they were back home; and Grams was in a full-blown funk. She’s just coming out of that this weekend. She wasn’t even going to do Thanksgiving dinner. I knew that she was coming ‘round when she bought the T.S.P. Turkey (that’s textured soy protein) for turkey day on Thursday. She is so thoughtful when it comes to my vegan ways. Then, today we hit Trader Joe’s and she got the rest of the fixings. I’ll be in a tryptophan haze by 4 p.m. on Thursday.

Of course, I hopped in the bicycle basket this morning. Fool that I am, I believed Big Guy when he said, “Let’s go to the bluffs!” I like the bluffs. It’s an easy ride, just one little hill and that’s only on the way there, we go a different route on the way back. Grams let me use her iPod. I set it on ‘shuffle’ and held on to the basket.

Wille Nelson got me “On the Road Again,” to the bike path on the big road. So far, so good. It was the Eagles’ “Hotel California,” up the street. Then, before I could say, “Whoa, Cowboy!” Big Guy turned off the path and went across the field that leads to the Tour de Terroir, and Grams followed. We were going up to the Point: this is my worst fear. All I could do is close my eyes shut and hold on for dear life.

Grams actually made it up the hill without breaking much of a sweat; which is more than I say about myself: I was sweating bullets. I have no idea what music was on, it could have been Spike Jones for all I knew. When we reached the top, Grams tapped me on the shoulder and I ventured a peek. Then, I checked my pulse: I have no idea what it was, I can’t count that fast.

Grams slowed down through the trees and fields and pretty soon we were at the Point. “Gweeds, look it’s the same as it was in February! See, it is the land of eternal spring. Oh, I wish it would look more like autumn!” Just then, on the iPod, the Rolling Stones started singing, “Wild Horses.” I started singing it to Grams. That got her. She had to admit I was right. I knew that the Hill o’ Death was still ahead of us but, at that mo’, it didn’t matter. Nature had her beauty on at 10 decibels above the threshold of pain and I was in my happy place.

It was warm, the sky was clear, the sea sparkled, and a the mist was flowing around the mouth of the slough. Yes, it’s mostly always the same here. Of course, I can remember the El Niňo year, when I thought that we’d float away any day. But, we didn’t and eventually the sun re-appeared. This year is supposed to be an El Niňo one again, but we haven’t seen any sight of it yet. It's spikey yellow balls every day in the forecast on my home page.

I’m starting to plan our Spring trip to Wales and Scotland. Actually, Emlyn is planning most of it. All I have to do is get us there and back. Easy peasy. Oooh, “Prime Minister’s Questions” is coming on. Grams says that Tony Blair gave David Cameron what for on Wednesday and it's worth a look see. Gotta go.

A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

And, of course

平和 に 働 き

(hewa ni hataraki: work for peace)

*Childhood living is easy to do
The things you wanted I bought them for you
Graceless lady you know who I am
You know I can't let you slide through my hands

Wild horses couldn't drag me away
Wild, wild horses, couldn't drag me away

I watched you suffer a dull aching pain
Now you decided to show me the same
No sweeping exits or offstage lines
Could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind

Wild horses couldn't drag me away
Wild, wild horses, couldn't drag me away

I know I dreamed you a sin and a lie
I have my freedom but I don't have much time
Faith has been broken, tears must be cried
Let's do some living after we die

Wild horses couldn't drag me away
Wild, wild horses, we’ll ride them some day

Wild horses couldn't drag me away
Wild, wild horses, we’ll ride them some day

What was I thinking?!?!?

Well, I don't know how she does it, but Grams talked me into going with her on her bike yesterday morning. Since we had planned to go to the bluffs, this shouldn't have been a problem. It wasn't as if it were the "Tour de Terrior," which I've told you about before.

How was I to know that Big Guy would find that the gate to the far towers was open and that we would go up the "hill of death"? Of course going up the hill of death isn't the worst part. It's coming down the h.o.d. that's the worst. No, I mis-speak: hearing Grams laugh that laugh of hers is the worst part.

Why the puzzle? If you solve it you can see where we went; but in this form, this is how I felt when we got to the top. As we approached the cliffs I swallowed a bug, "Ackkkkk, bug!!!" Grams was ever so understanding, "If you weren't such a mouth breather, Gweeds! Breathe in through your nose! Exhale with your mouth! It's a Yoga purifying exercise!" I was less than impressed, "I thought you said it was a Lamaze exercise!" "That too!" she laughed. I passed out before we got back down to the bottom. Never again!

A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

And, of course

平和 に 働 き

(hewa ni hataraki: work for peace)

No sentient beings were hurt creating this post

Well, Grams was scuffed up a bit, but I’m not entirely sure that Grams can be defined as a sentient being. Yes, she went for a bike ride. How she talked me into going along, I still can’t figure out, but somehow she did. I wore her camera backpack and sat on the handlebars with my feet firmly planted in the basket. She and Big Guy had decided to go all the way to the pier. The pier is about a mile to the east of where Grams works at the university.

Why did they want to go so far? Here’s the skinny: there’s a fire in the mountains to the northeast of Santa Tourista. This fire has been going on for about 3 weeks and the borate bombers are constantly taking off and landing at the Santa Tourista airport. The bombers are so loud that when they take off or land that it sounds as if they’re coming right through our wee casita. Big Guy will usually yell out, “Open the patio door! They’re coming through!”

Since the planes fly so low and so slow, Grams thought that she might be able to get a photo of the them as she stood by the pier. The airport runway goes right by there. To get to the pier wasn’t hard. It’s down a hill from the university. It was the getting back that looked like it might be hard. Meanwhile, the bombers never appeared; no ol’ 22, or 23, or even 25 the whole time we were there.

I have to admit that Grams did real good getting back up the hill. I bent my head back to smile at her and she did a fist-pump in the air. Couldn’t wipe that grin off her face. She had her iPod on and she started singing “I will survive.” It was great until we got past the Engineering building on campus. Grams forgot about the left turn. That’s where it all went pear-shaped. She tried a sharp left and went to the ground, knees first of course. I, however, flew from the handlebars into some very prickly bushes.

Grams couldn’t get up without help from big Guy. “I’m okay, I’m okay! And look I landed on my left knee this time,” she said. “And that’s okay?” asked Big Guy. “Yes, I got the right knee last time, so at least I’m alternating!” Now, you just can’t argue with that logic, can you? Once she was upright she came over to get me, “You okay, Gweeds?” I was brushing myself off, “I’m okay, lucky I was wearing your backpack ‘cause I landed on that.” “What!?!” She grabbed the pack and checked out the cameras. No, no don’t mind the Gweeds. I’ll just pull myself out of this bush with all the thorns. The cameras were fine, harrumph!

When we got home, I iced Grams’ knee while Big Guy watched for the bombers. He finally got a shot of ol’ 22, from the alley behind our place, as it was landing. That's right, we didn't need to go to the pier after all. Life goes on.




A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,




Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

And, of course

平和 に 働 き

(hewa ni hataraki: work for peace)

The choices we make, or how to end up in a wash rack in Livorno

Santa Tourista

We’re home and I’ve finally slept off my jet lag. This morning I went out on the balcony off my bedroom, and looked at the Santa Tourista sky. As you can see, it looks like rain. It’s funny; rain in Florence was a cause for laughter. Here, rain is an annoyance. Well, it’s an annoyance to the Grams anyway. She was going to do some wash and put it out on the line, but she has to wait for the storm to pass. Also, she put out the hammock yesterday. “The winter’s gone, Gweeds! We can spend our afternoons in the hammock until fall!”

She was wrong again. So, this morning as I sipped my first latte of the day and perused the New York Times (hey, it’s Santa Tourista, not Timbuktu!), I thought about choices made and not made, the relative nature of right and wrong, and of good and bad experiences.

Since we returned, a lot people have wanted to know the whole story of how we ended up a wash rack in the train yard in Livorno. It’s a story about choices – all of them available and all the wrong ones taken. Now, we’ve done this before: chosen poorly. Our last trip home comes to mind when we were offered $500 if we’d allow ourselves to be bumped off an overbooked flight in Paris. We didn’t take it. Then, when we got back to the U.S., we couldn’t get home because the only road in and out of Santa Tourista had been washed out. We had to spend another $250 each to fly to Santa Tourista. Yes, that $500 we could've had if we had stayed another day in Paris would've gone a long way to covering it. Coulda, woulda, shoulda: *sigh*

This time, we didn’t pay attention and made the wrong choices. We could’ve had a driver take us from Florence to Pisa for 120 €. It seemed expensive at the time, but would’ve been money well spent. We could’ve spent the night in Pisa (Grams’ idea), but it seemed so cumbersome. We chose the train because it left at 4:30 AM and would get us to Pisa airport in plenty of time and it was only 5 € each. That would be the ‘penny wise, pound foolish’ choice.

Evidently, there is a special train that goes from the Pisa Centrale to Pisa Aeroporto, but you need to exit the main train to get it. We weren’t paying attention and stayed on our train as it left the Pisa station. “Oh look!” said Big Guy, “there’s the Pisa airport!” as we went by it. “There was the Pisa Airport,” said I. Grams just rolled her eyes. We ended up in Livorno, which was the end of the line and about 25 miles from Pisa. At this point, Grams got off the train and started looking for someone who could help.

As she wandered around the empty train platform (remember it was only about 5:45 in the morning at this point), she came across a couple. They asked her in Italian, “Does this train go to Florence?” She said, “No, it’s that one that’s leaving from platform 1,” pointing a train that was getting ready to leave. Then they asked, “but will this train go to Florence?” “Eventually,” she replied and she went on her way. Finding no one else, she got back on the train made her way back to our carriage.

“There’s no one here who works for the railway,” She sighed. Big Guy said, “Well, maybe it goes to the airport after Livorno.” “It’s too late,” said Grams, “It should’ve been there by now.” Suddenly, the train started up, but it was going the wrong way to get to the airport. Also, it was rolling very slowly. A few hundred yards later, it stopped. It was then that we realized that we were locked in the carriage.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a very small man appeared. He had on an undershirt and was wearing Wellingtons over his pants. A bandana was tied over his smooth dome. “Parli inglese?” asked Grams. “No, no! We wash! You go!” he yelled. And with that he took out a key, unlocked the doors and threw our bags and us off the train. That’s how we ended up going making our way through the train yard in Livorno, as the sun rose over Tuscany.

We had to go over broken concrete and past some sleeping bums (who were none too pleased at being awoken so early by our clattering rolling bags). It seemed forever before we got to the station. All of a sudden, that couple who’d asked directions appeared out of nowhere. They started berating Grams for leading them wrong. As Grams pulled out of their grasp she whispered, “Sheesh, I said it would eventually go to Florence!” It was at this point that Grams and I lost Big Guy. When we got there, we ran all over the station yelling, “Big Guy! Big Guy!” Finally, he found us. He had a taxi driver who was willing to take us to the Pisa airport. It would take almost our last Euro, but maybe we could just make the plane. Grams told him to take the autostrade. He said that we’d have to pay the tolls. She said that was okay; just get us to the airport, avanti.

Air France requires that passengers check in at least a ½ hour before the flight. We got there 25 minutes before our flight and they wouldn’t let us on. Our seats had been sold. So, there we were in Pisa, only 5 € to our names and facing the prospect of not being able to get out for at least 24 hours.

I suppose that we could have given up right there, but we’re not quitters. We sat down and gave it a good think. We would have to find a cash machine and then figure out how to get re-booked, and then find a hotel for the night. How we managed is for my next instalment. I will tell you this much: it was at this moment that Grams’ Capital 1 card stopped working. That’s almost a guarantee on any trip, just when we really need that particular card, it stops working. Grams will call up, apologies will be expressed, promises made; and the next time it’ll happen all over again.

But as we sat there in the Pisa airport, Grams started laughing, “Hey guys think about it, Fellini didn’t make it up. That man at the wash rack was right out of a Fellini film! ‘We wash! You go!’” Then, we all started laughing. She was right; all we needed was little Nino Rota music in the background.

To be continued . . .

A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

And, of course

平和 に 働 き

(hewa ni hataraki: work for peace)

Belle notte in Firenze and Pardon my Pisa

Our last evening in Firenze was very relaxed. We had supper at the Colonnine. It’s the corner café that we go to often. It’s on the via Benci and has a very welcoming atmosphere. They also make a bang up plate of spinach: this is a fave of Grams and mine. We combined that on our last night with another fave, calzone. We had a calzone with spinach and ricotta.

After a double espresso and a little dolce (cicolatta), we went for a walk along the Arno. The moon was full and it kept scudding between clouds. The night air was very comfortable. All of the tourist groups had gone back to wherever they go to at night. We had the Arno almost to ourselves with only the occasional scooter to disrupt our reverie.

We had already packed since we had to get up a 3 AM in order to catch the 4:30 AM train to Pisa airport, in order to catch the 7:15 AM plane to Paris. The Santa Maria Novella is always crowded when we go there, but at a little after 4 AM, it’s almost deserted. We’ve never seen it that empty.

Of course, when I travel with these two clowns, you never know what will happen next. What did happen was that we ended up in Livorno. We didn’t even end up at the station, we were still on the train when it pulled on to a siding to get a washing. It was then that the man with the hose helped us off and sent us off toward the station. Big Guy and I found a cab and we had Mr. Toad’s Wild ride to Pisa airport.

Unfortunately, we didn’t get there in time. Much gnashing of teeth and new arrangements followed. We had to pay a king’s ransom to get on a plane for tomorrow. Grams is in a foul mood. After we got the new tickets, she sat down and went on line. She found a hotel nearby that was almost reasonable and made reservations. Well, she thought that she made reservations. When we got to the hotel, the reservations hadn’t shown up yet. Nevertheless, the desk clerk took pity on us and let us check in early (4 hours early): we must’ve looked really tired.

After a wee 40 winks, we went for lunch. It turns out that we are not in an historic part of Pisa; rather we are in the industrial section. “It’s just like ‘Red Desert’!” exclaimed Grams. “Wots that?” I asked. “A film by Antonionni. It was a comment on the industrialisation of Italy.” “Whatever,” said I. Needless to say, we are not anywhere near the leaning tower this time; but we are close to the airport.

We actually had a nice lunch at a working class place – fabulous coffee too. Then, we went for a walk and I took this photo of a modern version of the leaning tower at a cement works. There’s a mix of industrial and residential properties all around our hotel.

Now, here’s what we learned: ask as many questions as you can about going somewhere where you’ve never gone before. Think as if you were a 5-year old. The more questions, the better. Evidently there’s a special train that goes from Pisa Centrale Station to the Pisa Airport. So, it’s necessary to get off the train from Florence. If you stay on, you will end up in Livorno. Livorno is a perfectly nice town, but not if you have plane to catch in less than an hour. Lesson learned.

A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

And, of course

平和 に 働 き

(hewa ni hataraki: work for peace)

So, how can you lose what you've never owned?*

I had an itch yesterday for some pumpkin muffins. I used the new silicon muffin pan that Grams got for her birthday. Admittedly she offered to help, but I was determined to make the muffins myself. I might not try this again. Best to leave it up to those who know how.

I went on-line to check out the live webcams in Vienna. What can I say? It’s still snowing! I’m packing my boots, mittens and warm sweaters. I started to pack the cocoa, but Big Guy put it back.

While we’re in Vienna, you can check on what the weather’s like by going to the webcams. Of course it helps to know if there’s any daylight (webcams aren’t nearly as cool in the dark). So, I also found a world clock. You can tell from it if it’s day or night anywhere in the world. How cool is that?

Now, I have to go and print out places to go in Vienna. The excitement at Chez Gweeds is palpable.

A dopo e Moochas Smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

And, of course

平和 に 働 き

(hewa ni hataraki: work for peace)

*"Life is Just a Bowl of Cherries"

People are queer, they're always crowing, scrambling and rushing about;
Why don't they stop someday, address themselves this way?
Why are we here? Where are we going? It's time that we found out.
We're not here to stay; we're on a short holiday.

Life is just a bowl of cherries.
Don't take it serious; it's too mysterious.
You work, you save, you worry so,
But you can't take your dough when you go, go, go.

So keep repeating it's the berries,
The strongest oak must fall,
The sweet things in life, to you were just loaned
So how can you lose what you've never owned?
Life is just a bowl of cherries,
So live and laugh at it all.

-lyrics by Lew Brown, music by Ray Henderson (1931)