Ruth G. Zavitsanos's Blog

Hail Hallmark for Providing Stars to Brighten the Season

It’s the time of year when many of us indulge in the Hallmark Christmas movies while wrapping presents, decorating or simply taking a break from the hectic holiday season. Imagine those familiar actors with sweet cheerful voices being a hug away? This past weekend, while attending the That’s for Entertainment Christmas Con Event, I was given the rare opportunity to be up close with thirty five celebrities from the Hallmark Movies roster. My experience was well worth the $75 price of admission. It is up to the individual to spend more money for photos with celebrities.

In typical Hallmark grandeur, the warehouse like venue located on the grounds of the New Jersey Expo Center was transformed into a magical place filled with festive winter scenes of sleighs, snow globes, and small town charm, including Victorian Carolers. There was also a wide assortment of vendors selling everything from candles, chocolates, and candies to ornaments and holiday gifts. 

Due to the frigid weather, the doors opened early so that the attendees could wait inside until the official opening time. Volunteers dressed up as Santa Helpers were plentiful and assisted in guiding those like me, attending for the first time, along. As I looked around at the growing crowds, I was glad I arrived early. When directed to the area set up for the celebrities, I devised a plan to meet my favorites, Catherine Bell and Cameron Mathison, early on since I planned to attend the Good Witch panel at 12 Noon.  As luck would have it Catherine and Cameron were nearby one another’s booths.

While I stood on line to meet Catherine Bell, the star of Good Witch, I noticed others queuing up in front of the various celebrity booths that lined the walls. Most of the celebrities hadn’t arrived when in strolled James Denton. I got to speak with him for a few minutes, and found The Desperate Housewives and Good Witch star to be very genuine and kind. I mentioned watching his Paris Dancing With The Stars appearance via social media and he said, “Oh that was embarrassing.” Then joked about the experience because he’s “Far from a dancer.” Later during the Goodwitch Panel event, he said that he was pleased he ended up in the “middle of the pack,” before being sent home. He also shared the challenge of the France version vs. the USA one. “There they have to perform for 2.5 minutes and here it’s a one minute dance routine.” The shared little tidbits made the day all that more special. 

Soon, those around me around me got on their toes with excitement as Catherine Bell approached her booth. She’s strikingly beautiful and very composed. Her graciousness and sweet smile while acknowledging her growing line, brought back the Good Witch charm her fans obviously adore about her. 

During the hour and forty minute drive to the venue I had practiced what I wanted to say to Catherine. Of course, in her presence my words stumbled out but thankfully made sense. “I’m so happy to meet you. My mother fell ill with Alzheimer’s in 2017 and I discovered the Good Witch movies and series then. They brought me comfort during the dark time. In 2020 just before Covid she passed. “Oh I’m sorry,” her words so sincere giving me pause. “Then I discovered Army Wives. Again, it offered me comfort. Thank you so much.” She thanked me for sharing that with her. I could’ve talked to her much longer and taken in her kindness and warmth but there were many others with their own stories of gratitude standing on line to meet her. 

Next I ventured over to the lengthy line of fans waiting to meet Cameron Mathison. I have followed his career since he appeared on the soap opera All My Children in the late 1990s. I also really enjoyed the Hallmark movie, A Summer to Remember, he and Catherine Bell co-starred in together that was set in Fiji. Cameron’s line was comparable to waiting at an amusement park for a thrilling ride. My excitement level increased with the closeness of his voice while watching his caring demeanor with his fans. When it was my turn to step up, I hesitated to hug him, mostly because I wanted to give him space, but when he initiated the hug, I was truly moved. Cameron was very engaging and, as I told him, illuminates “a beautiful soul.” This time he was moved and gave me another hug. 

My time was running out with the Good Witch Panel Q&A fast approaching. On my way to the event, I came across booths of celebrities I admired who not only appeared in Hallmark movies but other televised shows that I enjoy. Benjamin Hollingsworth from Virgin River and Jodie Sweeten of Full House and Fuller House, to mention a few. I took a seat in the large area filled with hundreds of other fans anticipating the cast reunion of Good Witch, a series that ran for seven years. It was so much fun to be up close and personal with the actors: Catherine Bell, James Denton, Catherine Disher and Sarah Power. They all recalled some very laughable moments from the set. After the moderator finished asking questions (sadly they didn’t have any news regarding another movie or series reboot) the audience was given the opportunity. One woman said she had “Five pages worth of questions, but most had been answered already.” She held up her note paper as evidence. Then, she went on to say, “I think I can speak for everyone here in thanking you for giving us this show.” She talked about how their viewing audience endured dark times but this show brought them so much happiness to take their minds off of their troubles. She received the most applause from the audience and actors who obviously appreciated her sentiment. 

It was nearly 1 pm and most of the celebrities were away from their booths for photo ops, lunch or panels. The day was progressing as per the outline of scheduled events in the free program. I did some shopping, purchased a Good Witch themed ornament, and met Anne-Marie Meyer,  the author of Christmasland, a novel that Hallmark made into a TV movie. I’m looking forward to reading the signed book.  

The drive home flew by with so much to reflect on that made for a very special day. 

Since another Christmas Con is in the works for 2025, here are some tips for attending this star studded Hallmark event. Christmas Con. 

1. Go early. Parking is easy and free.

2. Bring cash for the celebrity booths. Photos and signed pictures (the celebrities had an array of publicity shots to choose from) range in price and only cash is accepted at the booths. 

3. Some of the celebrities experience a lull. That’s a good time to say hello. I did this with Corbin Berenson. “You were my favorite on LA LAW”. He’s done so much work since then, but that’s the role that always comes to mind for me. 

4. Bring a snack because the lines for food were long. 

5. Wear comfortable shoes for waiting on the lines and maneuvering through the crowds.

Finally, I was amazed at how the celebrities took the time and put forth the effort to offer their fans a memorable encounter. It had to be exhausting to hug, greet, and talk to so many people. And the Hallmark fans are a great group of people with hearts dedicated to embracing the joyfulness of the festive season. For some, it is the event they look forward to all year. 

Beqa Island, Fiji Captures the Heart

If you’re seeking to travel to a destination without the crowds, noise, pollution, and congestion where the people readily share their traditions and are friendly, then Beqa Island, Fiji should rank high on the list. Located 1,800 miles away from any other country in the South Pacific, Fiji is made up of three hundred islands. Beqa Island lies seven miles south of the mainland and boasts some of the most astounding coral reef and shark dives in the world. Made up of nine villages with a population of just under 4,000, Beqa is both primitive and inviting after an arduous journey, like a rainbow at the end of a storm.

We departed our home in Pennslyvania at 10:30 am on Saturday, July, 20, 2024 and arrived at 11:30 am Monday, July 22, 2024 on Beqa Island. When crossing the international date line, we never experienced the date of July 21, 2024. Our total travel time was 27 hours. At the modest but efficient Nadi airport we boarded a bus for the bumpy three hour ride to Pacific Harbor at the southern tip of Fiji. Though we had a stop along the way for coffee and local gift shopping, even this souvenir seeker felt little desire to look at anything other than a lounge chair facing the ocean. As the staff placed our luggage on the boat we carefully stepped on the vessel, our third means of transportation in the past 24 hours. It was a rapid 45 minute ride across somewhat choppy waters. In the distance was a small piece of land lush with tropical green shrubbery and swaying palm trees that reminded me of Gilligan’s Island. As it came into view it appeared as though the Professor made it back to civilization and returned with a contractor to the island that was now boasting cottages (Bure’s) and a modest resort on the shoreline. 

The boat anchored a short distance from shore. As we got off the boat and waded through the sparkling blue water, the Beqa Lagoon Resort staff stood on the sand waving and singing to us in their native tongue. During the greeting, our group of weary travelers were given a wooden cup of coconut water and a shell necklace was draped around our necks. This glorious welcome melted away my apprehensions brought on by the long, challenging journey and jet lag.

As my water shoes navigated the shallow waters of the South Pacific Ocean, the sea air tickled my nose and the sweet harmony filled the air. After leaving a heatwave back home, the cool tropical breeze and mild (their) winter temperatures running parallel at 80 degrees both in and out of the water was soothing from head to toe. 

Check in at the front desk was orderly and expedient. The general manager told us that there’s “No need for a key. There is a safe in the room for your passport and any personal items.” We soon discovered that with no crime, theft, or incidents to report there’s no need for police and therefore they do not exist on the island.  

After check in, my husband and I walked to our Bure’ along a slab concrete path dotted with hibiscus bushes, Irises, mango and coconut trees. Our spacious living quarters for the next seven days encompassed a sitting area, a full sized and king sized bed, a closet and sink with an adjoining bathroom. There were windows from floor to ceiling with drapes that housekeeping opened in the morning and then closed in the evening after adorning the bed and sitting area with hibiscus flowers. The porch area offered a plunge pool, comfortable seating area, and a hammock, all with a beautiful view of the lagoon.

Within an hour lunch was served. We unpacked and walked back to the covered picnic style dining area with a bar and open view of the ocean. During lunch the general manager greeted our group and went over the activities to sign up for throughout the week on a large bulletin board. The menus came out every morning with a small piece of paper to check off the offerings for all three daily meals. Oh, how I loved not having to pull out my phone to scan a menu. This was basic or rather simple living on an island that boasts being on Fiji time. No need to watch the clock, instead listen for the call of the drums sounding off meal time. Though, I was pleasantly surprised that I could FaceTime my family back home without considering anything but the 17 hour time difference.

During the planning stages, we had received an email from our dive coordinator suggesting we bring school supplies or books to donate to the village school. I put together a four book gift set of the young reader books I wrote with stickers signed by the author on the covers. On our second day, those interested could sign up to walk to the nearby village and visit the school children. I wore a dress that covered my knees and shoulders as advised by the activities director, out of respect to the village chief. Thankfully, the sun was shining as we traversed through the jungle with one of the resort’s staff guiding us along to the primary school. As I held my books close in hand, I felt like the studious zoologist Jane and was half expecting Tarzan to swing in front of us on a vine. 

Once at the primary school we sat on folding chairs in an open field where the children, ages five to sixteen dressed in blue and white school uniforms, sang native Fijian songs. The music teacher asked us to state our name and pause so that the children could personally greet us. This was so moving to hear these adorable children in a place so far away say, “Bula, Ruthie.” Then we were asked to say where we were from and offer some advice. When I showed them my books, they sat up and clapped. My heart soared and I felt like this beautiful moment was pressed upon my chest forever. Their last song, This Land Is Your Land, took me back to my grade school days of chorus and for a moment I was a child with them. Later we were given a tour of the modest school where I donated my books to the library for all to enjoy.

On day three, my friends and I went snorkeling off shore while my husband and daughter participated in the deep sea dives. We encountered schools of fish and several unique bright navy blue starfish. Later in the week we went on a snorkeling activity that took us thirty minutes out by boat to Nemo’s Garden, a spectacular part of the South Pacific sea with vivid topaz and aqua blues where the colorful fish shimmied in and out of various coral reefs, as though it was their Taj Mahal. We returned in time to change for dinner with an appetite as big as the sea.

In the past, Fiji was known as the Cannibal Islands with the last recorded incident involving a missionary in the 1860s who was captured and used in a cannibal ritual. Today, the fun-loving, kind and welcoming people joke about this part of Fijian History. After enjoying a delicious dinner of local fish and rooted vegetables, a handful of Beqa men from the Sawau tribe dressed in grass skirts, prepared a pit with stones and embers while offering chants to induce blessings and protection before performing a thrilling fire walking ritual. 

When we endured a day of on and off showers, our activities director took us on a walking tour of the resort describing the various plants and herbs used by the islanders to cure colds, asthma, insomnia and rashes. I experienced one of the rooted plants, Kava, grown on the island and taken for a sedating affect, during a ceremony with the chief presiding over a large wooden bowl offering sips from a coconut cup. At breakfast the following morning those in our group who drank the Kava attested to experiencing a deep restful sleep. At least once a day we experienced the culture of the island with an activity including: a basket weaving demonstration, coconut cooking class, and Tapas art painting. As the instructor guided us along he relayed the history behind the process. 

While enjoying my morning walk and sipping fresh mango juice — I did see a Mongoose not far from my Bure in the shrubbery. We both were startled and he scrambled off in a fast uncertainty that I find so appealing in these comical and brave (they will fight off lions and eat snakes) wildlife animals. On a much tamer note and as a dog lover, the sight of three dogs presiding over the resort in various stations added to the comfort of our stay. It was obvious the dogs were on Fiji time, too, as they stretched and sunbathed throughout the day, happily chasing crabs on the beach in the early morning and playing tag with one another at dusk. Petting them is allowed and the submissive dogs seem to always be within the reach of a belly rub. Several nights one dog slept on our porch trotting ahead of us in the morning on the way to breakfast. These dogs are not strays, they are cared for by the resort and feeding them is punishable with a stiff fine. I’m thinking of instilling that rule in my home. “Giving scraps to the dog will incur a $50 fine.” 

Sunset was around 5:45, right before dinnertime, as opposed to the nearly 8 pm back home. This worked well with our inner time clock that had us going to bed around 9pm and waking up by 6 am. Taking in the stunning sunset at the horizon of the glistening and pristine South Pacific Sea with a mango juice cocktail in hand was a breathtaking experience only matched by the vibrant rainbow that touched one end of the lagoon to the other so close we could practically touch it.

Bula, the greeting rolled off my lips when I passed one of the resort employees during the treks to my Bure’.  They smiled singing Bula back. On this serene and somewhat remote island there are no motorcars, no guns and the pull of the internet seems as far away as the place itself. The joyful people are proud of their culture and enjoy sharing it with others.

One of the workers told me the only time she was on the mainland of Fiji was to have her baby at the hospital. “I have never been on a plane and don’t need to go to other countries. Other countries come here.” 

The Resort staff picked hibiscus flowers for the departing travelers to wear in our hair. They told us that Island tradition is to throw the flower into the sea from the boat. If the flower returns to shore then you will also return one day.

The long journey home didn’t hinder our gratitude for visiting a place so special-it was worth it.

Italian Cookies Made Special With a Handful of Childhood Memories

A special delivery arrived for me in the mail today, inside the box was a fiery orange leaf shaped tin filled with cookies. I took in the aroma that summoned up sitting at the cafeteria table with my grade school friends. Angela, Sue, Dana and I often talking in between bites, usually about Friday night. As 9 year olds, our Friday nights meant no homework, riding our bikes, and playing hide and seek until dinner time. Then we’d tune in to our favorite show, The Brady Bunch.

Back in the school cafeteria we’d discuss the previous episode all week long. “I think Peter is the cutest,” Sue often said. We all agreed, even though Bobby was our age. I’d dip the cookie Angela offered me in my milk. I loved those cookies her mother made, so hard on the outside that the dip was more of a soaking, yet they still remained crunchy with flavors bursting in my mouth. Those flavors sweetened my milk to perfection. Eventually I’d buy the Linden Chocolate Chip Cookies sold in the cafeteria and trade them for some of Angela’s mother’s home made cookies.

One day I asked my mother if she would make the cookies. “If you get me the recipe I’ll make them, Ruthie.” She smiled while stirring the Sunday sauce. I was really missing those cookies over the weekend. The following day I asked Angela if she would get the recipe from her mother. She took out her number two pencil from her plastic pencil case and wrote her phone number down on wide-lined notebook paper. “Your mother can call my mother for the recipe.” It sounded so easy. 

I ran home that day and waved the paper with Angela’s phone number in the air. “Mom. Mom, I got it.”

My mother was in the laundry room. When she came up and saw me smiling she gave me a hug. “Did you get an A on your spelling test?” She asked.

“No. We didn’t get it back yet,” I replied. “But, I think I did good.”

“Oh, good.”

“Mom, Angela gave me her phone number. Can you call her mother? She’s going to give you the cookie recipe.” 

My mother picked up the canary yellow phone hanging on the kitchen wall and dialed the number. “Hello, this is Mrs. Giachino, Ruthie’s mother. She has really been enjoying the cookies you make. Can you give me the recipe.” She grabbed a pen and an index card from the counter mail organizer.

Surprisingly she didn’t write anything down. There wasn’t much conversation from the other end of the phone and my mother was also grasping for words. She hung up far too soon. 

“Are you going to make the cookies?” I asked.

“I’m sorry honey, I can’t,” she said. 

“Why not?”

“Well, she is a lovely woman. And said she’s glad you and Angela are friends, but, someday I hope to learn her native language of Italian and she’s working on her English. Angela’s mother was born in Italy, like your grandfather was born in Greece.” I understood because my grandfather, my only living grandparent, had a thick Greek accent and at times grasped for the English word to describe something that quickly came to him in Greek. “She told me she has the family recipe but can’t give me any more than the ingredients, no measurements.” I frowned. “She said she’ll make us some when she makes a big batch over the holidays. Won’t that be nice.” And true to her (Italian/English) words, Angela’s mother did make us a tin of her delicious cookies.

 After grade school her parents moved into another school district. Years later, I found Angela on Facebook. She hadn’t changed, her big brown eyes and black hair that shaped her youthful round face. We became “Friends” on the social media platform. Eventually we met for lunch in New York City and caught up with one another. We talked about our days on the playground, all the laughter and those cookies I so enjoyed with my carton of milk. In recent years both of our beautiful and loving mothers passed away. Now more than ever we cherish the memories we have of them. 

Recently, Angela posted a photo of the cookies. When I told her I’d love to have some, she promised me a batch when she made them for her granddaughter’s upcoming birthday celebration. In her note with the cookies, Angela wrote that “I hope these bring back memories of our youth.” Only when she asked for my address did I discover that they are Wine Cookies. Though google is a click away or I could ask Angela for the recipe, these cookies were made to perfection with the same distinctive hand measurements over the generations from her Italian family.

Until now, it was photos and songs that brought me back to my youth. Angela’s special cookies, so delicious with every bite, took me back to 1971 and those times with my friends in the noisy cafeteria. Biting into one in my kitchen transported me back to my mother’s kitchen and that day she picked up the phone to call a woman she’d never spoken to, yet managed to get her youngest child those special cookies for the holidays. I’m sure our mothers met at some point, perhaps at a back to school night or during the fall fest held in the school gymnasium, greeting one another while smiling at the friendship of their young daughters. And now, they are smiling down as I bite into one of the Italian cookies Angela made for me. As the crunch of the cookie releases that precious time my heart readily embraces, Jim Croce’s 1970s hit, Time in a Bottle, plays in my mind.

The Great Train Adventure Travel Blog

Discovering America’s West by train is like opening an American History Book filled with glossy photos of the cattle ranches, prairies, and scenic mountain ranges from early Pioneer days. As the train travels along tracks built for freight the ride is bumpy much of the time which makes getting from car to car somewhat of a challenge. Our small group of 28 boarded the California Zephyr train in Chicago after meeting our tour guide, Edgar. Since we were all given name tags with where we resided to distinguish the group, I quickly noted that a few other couples were from the East Coast, but most were from the Midwest: Indiana, Wisconsin, Michigan, along with a fun group of women from North Carolina. Other passengers not in our group were taking the train to Denver, Colorado, one of the last stops on our thirty hour train ride to Grand Junction, Colorado.

The train transported people from all walks of life, including Amish families leaving behind their “work on farms, building sheds and such, for family vacation. We’ll fish and stay cool in the lakes,” an older Amish woman said to a young teen clad in jeans and a t-shirt with tattoos running up his bare arms sitting across from her. He was inquisitive and she was very open about the upbringing of her family the Amish way. “Our boys school until 8th grade and then they get jobs.” The teenager was aghast. “Jobs after 8th grade? What do they do?” She sat up. “Oh, all sorts of things. My older son builds sheds for people to store their mowers. My middle son is an apprentice and is learning how to build swing sets. And our youngest works on the farm.” He nodded, reluctantly while informing the woman that he had no idea what he wanted to do after his upcoming senior year of high school. They spoke for well over an hour and at times the brash teenager might’ve offended the Amish woman but she didn’t remove herself from the conversation. Instead she responded with honest curtness. In the end, they both left wishing one another a good trip.

After requesting our dinner reservation to dine with our friends at 6:30 pm, we settled into our roomette. The sleeper cars, though tight, were sufficient with wells, drawers, and bins to store belongings. Our seats faced one another and a train personnel assigned to our sleeping car stopped by to tell us that during dinner she’d be back to make our beds. Dinner offerings consisted of appetizers: Mexican Souffle with grilled street corn, Coconut Shrimp or Bake Brie and Raspberry empanadas. The Entrees included Flat Iron steak, Pan roasted chicken breast, salmon, and rigatoni bolognese. Dessert offerings were mousse, lemon cake or chocolate blueberry cobbler cheesecake. Portions were ample and the meal was fine, the cobbler cheesecake was delicious.

Amtrak Dining Car

After dinner I sought a highly coveted seat on the observation car to take in the sunset. By this time we were rolling across farms and prairies with very few towns or people in sight. Sitting in one of the pilot seats with floor to ceiling window views was both captivating and breathtaking as America’s farmland unfolded below the light blue sky full of puffy white clouds.

Nearly five hours after departure we made a brief stop in Ottumwa, Iowa. I got off because I’d never been to Iowa and as long as your feet hit the soil-ground someone said it counts! I heard Iowa is beautiful, so perhaps next time my feet will be given the opportunity to explore.

As the radiance of the sun met the horizon, a glow of serenity spread over the wide open land. Animals made their way to the barns and a stillness was interrupted by the rumbling train rolling down the tracks at the golden hour.

Back at our roomette, our beds were in place with plastic wrapped pillows and blanket placed for us to properly make the beds with sanitary precautions in place. I requested two extra pillows but only received one. Since my husband was a sport about sleeping on the upper bunk I gave him the extra pillow. Sleep was not as I had imagined it to be with the train lulling me off to Lala land. We chose not to pay the extra charge to have a bathroom in our room and therefore, had to go a few doors down to use the hall bathroom. Our friends did get the bathroom in their room and it was so tight that I preferred the one in the hallway. Getting out of bed was manageable but not falling out of the small space into the sparsely lit hallways was quite the challenge. The narrow space allowed for only one person to pass through at a time. Inevitably someone had to turn around and retreat so that the other person could get by. During the night the train whistle blew more often than not and was jostling so much that I decided to go to the observation deck since sleep was elusive. As I attempted to move from one car to another I lost my balance, barely able to keep both feet on the ground. I quickly returned to my room. As I lay in my bed and listened to the train whistle with the cars swaying, I hoped my husband wouldn’t fall out. Though the top bunk has a safety strap to prevent that from happening.

I was up long before sunrise mostly thanks to the Mountain time difference. Already my internal clock had been reset twice from my normal East Coast Time Zone. I grabbed my camera and my cell phone to attempt to get some sunrise shots from the observation car. As the bright golden rays spread across the land, the mountain ranges on the horizon and clusters of trees were taking the place of the drifting tumbleweeds on the open prairies. On this first dawn of day in August the spectacular view made for a postcard, “Greetings from America’s West”.

We arrived in Denver, Colorado a few hours later at 8 am. Here we were given twenty minutes to walk through the historic Union Station. As the cool crisp mountain air filled my lungs, I noticed that my Fitbit revealed my heart rate higher than usual, a stark reminder of the higher altitude.

Our train personnel were very assisting and offered water throughout the ride for passengers to stay hydrated since the body loses water rapidly at the higher elevation level.

We had breakfast on the train with pancake, french toast, or an omelette, coffee, and juices. After breakfast, we continued to enjoy the scenery from our roomette as the Rocky Mountains and Colorado River greeted us on that bright sunny day. The Colorado River provides plenty of outdoor activities including camping, canoeing and fishing.

One room schoolhouse

After our final meal on the train, lunch, we made a stop in Glenwood Springs, Colorado. The resort town that is also the place where Doc Holliday lived out his final months and is buried in the Pioneer Cemetery, along with Kid Curry one of Butch Cassidy’s Wild Bunch members.

A few hours later we arrived at Grand Junction, Colorado located in the western part of the state not far from the border of Utah.

We gathered our things and our luggage was transported to the motor coach that took us to the nearby hotel. After checking in and freshening up we met the others who would be traveling to Utah, Wyoming, and Montana to experience National Parks and America’s history that included Lewis and Clark Oregon Trail, A Dinosaur Museum, and an array of wildlife. Edgar introduced us to Glen our bus driver and handed out a more detailed itinerary.

Though the train ride was something we were highly anticipating the consensus of my small group of four was next time we’d fly to Denver and take the train from there. Perhaps a hundred years ago travelers would’ve heralded the train in comparison to the stagecoach. Now thanks to those ambitious Wright Brothers and the advances in air travel, flying is probably less costly and certainly faster. Without a doubt, the magnificent views provided by train are a must for those travelers seeking to take in the beauty of the untouched landscape under the open sky without disturbing the vast tapestry.

This is a series that will encompass our 10 Day Vacations By Rail through Colorado, Utah, Wyoming and Montana, including The Great Tetons Nation, Yellowstone National Park and Glacier National Park. I hope you continue to follow along.

Travels With Mom-Andiamo Italia

This is the second in my on going series of Travels with Mom.

My mother and I arrived at the Fiumicino Airport in Rome, Italy at 8:30 am on Saturday, July 8th, 1978, after a long exhausting overnight flight via Alitalia. We retrieved our luggage and joined the group of travelers we’d be touring Northern Italy with for the next fourteen days. After boarding the tour bus, our tour director introduced herself. Daniela, an attractive Italian woman with a Cleopatra style haircut, sweet smile, and the exuberance of one who truly loves her job, picked up the microphone and greeted us first in Italian and then English. My mother and I said, “Buon Giorno,” both excited to use our Italian that we’d studied in preparation for the trip. Mine was, thus far, two years of high school Italian, and my mother was studying at the local community college. Since she spoke Spanish at an intermediate level, she often had to pause or do a “retake” because she found herself thinking first in Spanish and then retrieving the word in Italian. To her credit, a few days in Italy was like shifting gears on a Ferrari, she mastered it with Mario Andretti-like speed and efficiency. 

As the bus jostled down the highway I looked out the window and saw the city of Rome with modern architectures nestled conspicuously nearby the ancient Roman structures. We arrived at the first of our six hotels, The Albani, located on the outskirts of Rome, by 10:00 am. Since our rooms weren’t ready until 12 noon, my mother and I had a ‘l’aqua minerale’ and then took a walk down the cobblestone streets. A few scooters, buses and cars zipped by with little regard for pedestrians. To make matters worse many of the cars were tightly jammed against one another, some along the sidewalks, too. We considered the rather challenging and at times treacherous walk successful when we came upon an outdoor market. Lured in by the elegant handmade merchandise, my mother considered buying a lace tablecloth but decided to wait, much to the dismay of the vendor. She did purchase a small handmade doily for her nightstand table. “Grazie, Signora,” the shorter older Italian man smiled, his teeth yellow stained. He wrapped the item as though it was going to be showcased under the Christmas tree. As she walked away, he said, “Bella signora,” and my mother smiled big, both satisfied with her purchase and the compliment she received. 

Open air market in Rome

“Come on Ruthie, let’s find a place to eat,” she said, reading my mind or perhaps hearing my stomach rumble. Within a few blocks the aroma of freshly baked bread and garlic beckoned us to the cute little trattoria, “Osteria Baffa”. The waiter promptly seated us. American and British patrons were at a few other tables but other than that it was relatively empty. My mother pointed out that it was early for the locals to eat. I had a delicious tortellini in beef broth soup and a peach-strawberry salad. My mother had rice with mushrooms (risotto) and we shared a bottle of  l’aqua minerale. 

“Il conto perfavore” my mother asked when we finished our meal. The waiter smiled and placed the handwritten tab on the table. “This is next to nothing,” she said. She placed the lire (Italian currency at the time) on the table with an American style tip. The waiter ran after us to hold the door and wish us a nice day. We had watched some Americans with thick southern drawls leave a few quarters on the table and then say, “I don’t think we even need to leave it.” My mother shook her head. Later we discovered that tipping is not expected so we went with leaving an adequate tip as a “thank you for being polite and attending to our needs,” my mother had said. 

Once back at the hotel, we decided to do as the rest of Italy at that time of the day, take a “riposo”(rest) or nap. The true meaning of jet lag consumed my weary body as I sprawled out on the bed more grateful than ever to be lying down. We woke up hours later and quickly got ready for the cocktail hour or as described in the brochure- “Enjoy an aperitif while meeting your fellow travelers.” A singer, accordionist, mandolin, and guitar player were dressed in traditional Italian costumes and sang traditional Italian songs.

Entertainment while meeting our tour group of travelers

We all received a polaroid during the cocktail hour. My mother and I were obviously so happy to be in Italy!

My mother sipped on a Campari and soda as I continued to drink my age appropriate beverage of choice, Aqua minerale. I scoped out the room while my mother talked to a married couple who were about the same age as her. They were from New Jersey and it was their first trip to Italy. I heard mention of a daughter and that’s when I met her, Kate. She was the only one somewhat close to my age. All the others were in their 40s (like my mom), 50s, 60s, and perhaps 70s. She was probably thinking the same when she approached me with a smile, nudged at her parents who were talking to my mom and then said, “I’m with them.”

“Ha, she’s my mom,” I said pointing to my mother. We wandered off to a quieter place and got to know one another. I had braces on at the time, so there was no hiding my geeky youth, though I was quick to say that I was sixteen, feeling older having just had a birthday. Kate and I became good friends throughout the tour and discovered we had a lot in common. She was also the youngest of three with a brother and sister, too. We also shared the same astrology sign. Of course, if we weren’t on this tour we probably would’ve never given one another much more than a few minutes of time or conversation because of our seven year age difference. But, we were on this tour with people twice our age and then some, so we quickly bonded. 

That first night in Rome we ate at the “Tempio Di Giovane” and had the tour dinner that consisted of macaroni, chicken, veal, sausage and salad. It was good, but I’d soon discover that meals that didn’t consist of being made and served to nearly 100 people were often hotter and better. Kate and I skipped the tricolored ice cream and told our mothers we’d be back in time for the bus departure to the hotel. 

Operatic singing in the distance guided us along the windy cobblestone street. Soon we came upon the dress rehearsal. We sat on a large rock watching the performance, which was like stepping back in time since they were dressed in Renaissance garb and the ancient stage was set against Roman Ruins. While walking back to the restaurant I got my first taste of Italian flirtation. Not one but two cars slowed down nearly stopping alongside us and the handsome young Italian men called out “Ciao bella.” I could tell Kate was tempted, but I told here, “we’re in this together.” And grabbed her arm pulling her back to the sidewalk. We returned just in time to get on the bus. 

“I”m glad you and Kate are company for one another,” my mother said when I sat down beside her.  I excitedly told her about the opera performance. “Just remember she’s got nearly ten years on you.” Then she added, “I should’ve gone with you. Though it’s good I didn’t or we would’ve missed the bus ride back to our hotel. You know how much I love the opera.” 

Our second day in Rome we woke up at 730 am. We joined the others in the large banquet room for the Continental Breakfast consisting of a hard roll, jelly and tea. Though it wasn’t that appealing, it made sense to eat before a long day of sight seeing. Daniela greeted us and explained that the large group had been broken down to two groups. Much to our dismay, I was in group A and Kate was in group B. Without hesitation, I snuck on Kate’s bus. What else could I do? She was nice enough to save me a seat. 

Our first stop was the centuries old coliseum, where cats roamed as though they’d been a shadow of their lion ancestors preparing to take on the Roman gladiators. I’d never been on such ancient grounds. Looking around, I imagined Caesar raising his emperor’s hand before the toga clad attendants. I bought a small replica of the Coliseum from one of the souvenir vendors before boarding the bus to our next stop.

Magnificent from all angles, The Coliseum

Since it was a Sunday, our tour visited the Vatican in time to be blessed with hundreds of others by Pope John Paul l. He stood on his balcony, a small man clad in white with an immense presence. Speaking in Italian he gave a blessing and then waved to the throngs of people below, who were praying or clasping their rosaries. I glanced at my mother, she pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed her cheeks. After the Pope turned away and the balcony doors were closed behind him, the uplifted audience slowly dispersed.

The Swiss Guard has been serving as personal escorts to the Pope and protectors of the Vatican since the 16th century.

Our next stop was the eerie catacombs. The ancient (dating back to the 1st century) burial grounds were built by the Etruscans and are reached through tunnels leaking with moisture at every turn. After touring the catacombs we visited The Basilica that houses Michelangelo’s famous sculpture of Moses. My mother was so moved she bought a replica of it. 

My mom at the entrance of the Catacombs

We topped the busy day off with the famous and alluring Trevi Fountain. Although it was only our second day in Italy, we knew we wanted to come back. We dug in our purses for a coin to fulfill the legendary promise to return to the eternal city again. I leaned forward, tossed the coin in the fountain and as it splashed against the water I felt a “pinch on the ass’. Up until this moment, I thought this was a myth devised to pump up the image of Italian men being descendants of the infamous Latin lover, Casanova. Nowadays, it’s looked upon more as improper but back then it was part of the culture. While I don’t condone it, I do remember telling one of my close friends, “I got pinched on the ass while throwing my coin in the Trevi Fountain.” She scrunched her face at first and then with wide eyes said, “Oh, then you’ll definitely be going back.” 

That evening we ate at the elaborate Tivoli Gardens. While walking through the gardens to the restaurant, my mother fell behind the tour group. I stayed with her, captivated by both the colorful flowers and her knowledge (she was a garden enthusiast) of the many varieties. Taking in the gardens with her was like being with the most devout Catholic at the Vatican. She was in awe of the enticing landscapes, breathtaking fountains, and array of flowers that remains one of the best examples of a Renaissance garden. 

On our way to dinner at the Tivoli Gardens

Our final day in Rome was a “free” day. My mother and I went shopping at the various shops, some upscale others street merchants. I purchased a cameo ring at a jewelry store near the Spanish Steps.

Across the street, I bought a Roma canvas bag but first my mother assisted me with bringing the merchant’s price down. That was my first time bargaining and I must say I learned from a pro. My mother was never insulting but she did manage to get a more reasonable price. She also taught me to buy what you like when you see it. “You will almost never go back the same way.” 

Ciao Roma. Andiamo a Sorrento, Capri e Venezia.

TRAVELS WITH MOM

My ongoing blog series. This is Part 1 of 4. I traveled to Europe with my mother in 1978 at 16 and again in 1985 at 23 with wide eyes and great adaptability for taking in my surroundings. Fortunately, my mother was of the “When in Rome” mentality and always branched off to immerse herself in other cultures while traveling.

Though my mother, a stay-at-home mom, rarely left her children behind, she did on two occasions while I was young. Even though I missed my mother, she returned with a great deal to share from her travels. While away, she’d call us and write postcards (that arrived nearly a month after she returned home). I still remember the excitement generated when her phone calls came through. In those days, getting a long distance or overseas call was nothing short of thrilling. For me, it was right up there with the recent (at the time) man walking on the moon. To think my mother was in Italy, Greece, France, or Mexico and I was talking to her like she was practically next door. Though at times there was some static and feedback, there was no denying my mom’s loving voice coming through.

Her first trip was to Mexico with my father. He’d been invited to go deep sea fishing with a client and his wife. My father’s sister came to stay with us. My Aunt Gemma was strict but caring, too. It was 1969 and I was seven years old. My parents arrived home a week later tan and full of stories to share with their kids. At that time, we had a cleaning lady from Spain and my mother used her high school Spanish while assisting her on a weekly basis. “My Spanish really got us around. The others on the trip with us were quite impressed,” my mother had said with great satisfaction. My father told us his great fish tales including one that earned him boasting rights with the Sailfish he caught and hung on our den wall. “I thought I’d tire him out but he tired me out,” my father said at the dinner table. “Your mother had to hold on to me and at one point I thought we both were going to find ourselves pulled overboard.” We all laughed, though my mother’s expression said what was an adventure for my father was a scary plight for my mother. I remember looking at that trophy fish from a deep blue ocean off the coast of another country and thinking, “I want to go places and see cool things, too.”

My mother had brought me back a pair of hand painted maracas, a percussion instrument made from coconut shells and filled with dry beans. I’d shake them to the melody she played on the piano. She told me she enjoyed Mexico but that it was hard to see the impoverished. “One little boy wore torn dirty clothes and offered me cigarettes. Of course, I don’t smoke. I gave him pesos but really wanted to give him good meals, clean clothes, and a few more hugs.” I leaned in and gave my mother a side hug, she stopped playing the piano and held my hand.

My mother’s first passport. She offers a tentative smile with bright eyes, probably fearing
the long flight but excited by the prospect of traveling to experience different cultures.

I’ve never been to Mexico. However, my mother’s next trip with my father really got me thinking. She had gone to Italy, Greece and France with my father, his brother and sister-in-law in 1972. It was to be my Aunt’s last wish as she was succumbing to cancer. They spent a few days in Paris, five days in Rome, a few days in Athens and then went to Corfu, where my grandfather emigrated to this country from in 1919. Again, my Aunt Gemma stayed with us. This time I was eleven years old. When my mother returned from her first European trip, she brought me back a traditional Greek hat and a doll made of straw from Florence that I named Flo. She also introduced me to the French singer, Edith Piaf, with an album she brought back from Paris. I’d get swept in by the beautiful Le Vie En Rose playing in our living room as my mother sang along. My mother introduced me to cultures, foreign languages, and cuisine through her travels. She was a fabulous cook and often recreated the meals she enjoyed abroad including spanikopita (Greek Spinach pie), quiche, chicken cacciatore and flan (A Mexican dessert made of egg custard).

Florence is now on display in my home.

Traditional Greek hat hangs below my Greek flag.

When I turned sixteen I had worked at a local department store and saved enough money to travel to Italy. My father was impressed and matched my dollars since by travel to Italy I mean just that, get there and back on an airplane. His additional dollars helped pay for the hotel and meals. A year earlier, my mother and I had talked about doing a tour of Italy together. I saw an advertisement for Perillo Tours of Italy on television and immediately sent away for a travel brochure. When it arrived my mother and I sat on the loveseat looking through the brochure as though we were picking out Christmas presents for one another. “Which one would you like to do?” She asked me. “How long can we go for?” I replied. She told me she could get two weeks off from work. We decided on the Alitalia 14 day North day tour since it included Lugano, Switzerland.

My parents had divorced a few years earlier. Though at sixteen I was awkward with braces and uncomfortable in my body, (who isn’t at that age) I knew this was going to be a great time to experience Italy. I was close with my mother and admired her even back then during my self-absorbed teen years. And my father definitely helped to make it possible with his financial contribution.

School always let out for summer right around my birthday. My father drove me to motor vehicle that day and I was thrilled to have passed my written test on the first attempt. Instead of clocking driving time toward my driver’s license I was going through clothes and shoes from my closet, pulling out the designer jeans I bought earlier that year (most of my paycheck) for the cooler European evenings. Mostly, I packed sundresses, sweaters, sneakers and strapped low heel sandals. My mother packed more shoes than me and later she was sorry she had since she bought a pair of leather shoes in Italy. Finally the day, July 6th, arrived for our non-stop international Alitalia flight to Italy.

Stay tuned!

Paris, Again? Most Definitely

Paris, Again? Most Definitely

2/2020

When my friend recently took a Facebook challenge of posting 10 meaningful photos without giving any description of them, I took to heart her second one that included me. It was from late April of 2019 when she and I, along with another good friend, went to Paris for the first time. In the photo, our smiles are sparkling along with the lit up Eiffel tower we were standing beneath.

Two days after seeing that post my mother passed away. Looking at that photo again that night, I thought if I could be anywhere during this time of grief and darkness it would be there in the city of lights, a place that gave me so much joy. I told my friend who posted the photo that and to my surprise, she said, “Lets go.” We called our other friend and told her we’d found a website deal for points. Within the time it takes to say Enchante’ (delighted in French) we were purchasing our nonstop airline tickets from Philadelphia to Paris. 

The idea of being back in Paris in less than two weeks became somewhat of an obsession as I delved in to research and planning. On our first trip we only had two days in this magical city. This time, because of the spontaneity and commitments, we were only able to go for three full days. I had grandiose ideas of seeing so much more this trip as though the added day were a week. After booking our hotel, located near The Bastille, I began mapping out what we were able to do by foot and discovered the Louvre was a doable walk from our hotel. On our first visit The Louvre was closed for the celebrated May Day holiday. This time we booked tickets through Expedia with a guide. Our effervescent guide was full of knowledge and very informative with a lot of enthusiasm for history that she readily shared.

Thankfully our hotel had early check in available and we were able to get in our rooms for a much needed shower after the overnight flight. That shower and change of clothes gave us the energy to take on the day, which turned out to be a mild partly sunny one for mid February. Our flight arrived at 7 am giving us an early start to our first day. We set out to discover as much as possible and then reward ourselves with some of the delicious French food and fine wine that evening. Though we saw some familiar sights we took in many different ones since we stayed in another hotel. Although familiarity might add to comfort, it was nice to explore a different area.

On our second day we had planned to do the open market just a few blocks from our hotel and then take a taxi to Champ-Elysees’. We had so much fun at the market that offered an array of locally made crafts, jewelry and farm produce. My friends bought leather belts and purses. I bought a pair of gloves with an embossed Monet painting, so chic.

Once at the Champ-Elysees’, aptly described as the “world’s most beautiful avenue”, we walked past the luxury shops and outdoor cafes to the famous Arc de Triomphe, a monument honoring those who fought for France in the French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars. We joked about burning off the delicious croissants we had for breakfast during the steep climb to the top for an astounding view of Paris.

Our final day in Paris was dedicated to touring the Louvre. We were very excited at the prospect of going to the Louvre and seeing the famous artwork up close. For me, Venus de Milo held a special interest because my Aunt had the museum replica of the statue in her living room. I remember as a very young girl thinking, why would anyone buy a statue with broken arms. Though I found all of the well-known artwork to be breath taking (Yes, I sighed at the Mona Lisa with her demure smile and enthralling eyes), I was gravitated to one self-portrait of a mother and child in a loving embrace. While my tour continued on my mother and I stood, recognizing one another in this moving painting. She’s with me always.

Though the Louvre was perhaps the highlight to this visit, I prefer to blend it all together since for me Paris is a kaleidoscope of colorful sights. As the sun set over the majestic city, we took a taxi to the Eiffel Tower and had dinner a few blocks away. It wasn’t our best meal there, but the location was ideal for our last night. We bought a bottle of champagne and walked around the grounds until the tower lit up, prompting us to refill our glasses to sparkle alongside it.

Since this trip was only nine months after our first time there, the “mishaps” we had experienced were still somewhat fresh in our memories and therefore somewhat avoidable.  We knew better than to travel with American cash. Nobody wants it. And going to the Change Exchange places is not advisable because of the exorbitant fees they charge. Instead, we went to the ATM, which gave us the best rate for our dollar with (check with your bank) no fees.  Yes, credit cards are accepted at restaurants and the shops. However, if you go to an open-air market (this is definitely something worth doing to get a feel for the local fare), cash only is accepted. And taxi drivers prefer euros, too.

I highly recommend good walking shoes. Walking is a wonderful way to see the city with the option of stopping along the way for photos, water, and a café au lait. I put 30,000 steps (more than 10 miles) on the first day and nearly 20,000 our second day. Even with the best walking shoes, my aching legs weren’t forgiving until after a very warm and soothing shower.

The welcome distraction of researching and planning for the trip probably caused me to spend too much time and thought on exactly what I wanted to do. It’s always best to be flexible. Avoid spending excessive time looking for one place, especially since there’ll be others to discover along the way. Be sure to ask the locals for a good place to eat, they are happy to recommend one. I had printed out walking maps of where I planned for us to walk from our hotel, but Google maps proved to be far more resourceful. Just remember to put the smart phone down and take in the sights. There are so many to be seen with stories that date back centuries.

Don’t be surprised to find that English is not always spoken. In fact, most of the waiters and some of the shopkeepers do not speak English. Attempt to learn French if only to use simple phrases for travel. Or, try another language, such as Spanish or Italian, both countries border France and are more often spoken. Do not think that no answer is a rude one. Usually it means they do not understand you. We asked our taxi driver a question again and again, eventually he conceded, “No Inglese. Sorry.”

Also, while Selfies can be fun (and at times necessary) to assure a really great photo including the ever-present scenery, ask someone else to take it. Chances are they will ask you to return the favor and be extremely agreeable to it. I bragged about asking the right people because each one of the passerby’s I called upon not only agreed but they also took their time by trying various angles and working around the sun or shading of the background.

This is my final thought on traveling not only to Paris but anywhere abroad. Don’t be afraid to reveal your enthusiasm and genuine excitement for being there. In France they are very appreciative and proud of their city that draws in millions of tourists every year. Paris is undeniably one of the most enticing places in the world. There is so much to do and see that many tourists continue to go back. Though we really accomplished a lot in our three days I’m already looking forward to going back again.

Certainly I am very grateful to Paris for being a place that lifted my grieving heart. A world traveler herself, my mother probably would’ve said, “you should’ve stayed longer, honey.” And then she would’ve added, “I’m so glad you went. And isn’t she truly a sight to behold, Mona Lisa.”

Me and my mother on a ferry boat to Capri- 1978. My beautiful mother shopping at an outdoor market in Sorrento-1978

Paris Travel Tips

Comfortable Walking Shoes are a must. Walking is still the best way to see everything and stop along the way for photos, shopping, up close sights, etc.Use Google Maps for finding places. Then put your phone down to enjoy the many sights.Itinerary is not etched in stone. If something isn’t done on your list, there might be something better. Don’t chase down anything, it’s too time consuming and frustrating. Be flexible because it’s really the experience that makes the memories.Selfies are fun but for the best photos ask a passerby and be prepared to return the favor.French spoken here. Learn some phrases and attempt the language of the country.Get your tickets for the Louvre ahead of time. You’ll pay more but it beats waiting in line and perhaps not getting in if the day is jammed with tourists.Facebook Group pages for Paris Travel offer very helpful and recent travel tips, advice, and information.Don’t ask for separate checks. We kept receipts and referred to the credit card bill.

Covid 19 Postscript.

I wrote this after we returned from Paris just prior to when the Covid 19 quarantine and travel restrictions were imposed. I was going to publish it in April. After reading about so many people on various travel sites canceling or postponing their trips I decided not to. Now with the promise of a vaccine hopefully not far off I’m hoping sharing this will assist those planning their trips abroad. I have learned a great deal during this Pandemic. Like everyone else it has been a difficult and challenging time for the most part but I’ve always been an optimist and try to find the silver linings. For me it has been having my adult daughters at home and enjoying this gift of time with them. Though life is on hold we must stay strong and be grateful for our health.

I’m so glad we took this impromptu trip. At the time we had no idea that we’d be canceling a variety of trips we had planned for 2020 with family and other loved ones. One of the things I miss most during the Pandemic is not being able to travel. I’ve been a traveler since I got my first passport at age 16 and toured Italy with my mother. She shared with me her love for travel and taking in other cultures. I treasure my travel memories and often draw on them when I get down or feel the need to escape but am unable to do so. More than ever the saying from that famous movie, Casablanca, holds true for me, “We’ll always have Paris.” My mother would most definitely agree.

My mom with me at one of my book signings. She was so pleased that my children’s chapterbooks were set in the places I had traveled to and experienced up close and personal.

What’s In Your Home Office

 

With the latest work from home mandatory procedures in effect for nearly all offices globally, the focus is on setting up a conducive and productive work area—one that most likely is off your kitchen, close to the bathroom, and perhaps offers a window view.

 

So, you found your ideal location to set up your laptop or office monitor. That’s great . . . at least until you sit on the stiff wooden dining room or kitchen chair. Ouch, your aching back. It’s time to retrieve that cushioned chair in storage or invest in a plush office chair. Next thing to consider is the lighting. Does your new workstation offer ample light throughout the day and perhaps, night, depending on your hours? After adjusting the lighting, you hit your Skype or FaceTime mode and realize the background is far from business like. There’s a drape you’ve been meaning to mend or a dog bed partially in view with said dog’s paws dangling from it, quite the distraction if ever there was one. Not to mention that painting you consider a masterpiece, but others might find it as an eyesore. Oh, and that basket of laundry, whether it’s dirty or clean and folded? Either way, it needs to be put in the closet, out of sight.

 

Now that you’ve straightened up the area and given it a more professional look, how about your look? There’s extra time in the morning these days since there’s no traffic to contend with or stopping to buy gas. Take that time to look your best. Get those crumbs off your “desk” and your shirt, too. Casual attire is most likely approved but companies still want to have their employees presentable and professional. Tidy up, wear bright attractive colors, and continue to appear well-groomed. Someone else might not be next to you, but they are looking at you. It’s easy to get comfortable at home. In fact, who isn’t most comfortable in their own surroundings? Just remind yourself it’s not the weekend. This is your occupation that pays the bills. It’s a time to be productive and work with others. Although these co-workers are no longer at the office down the hall or in the cubicle next to you, they are there the moment that laptop is turned on via video conferences; FaceTime, Skype, or Zoom. Though they aren’t constantly there, they can be in your “office” at any time. It’s best to be ready to ensure a healthy and productive workplace from home. This might very well be the way of the future. Certainly, I’m not saying office buildings need to shut down, but I do like the idea of less traffic and pollution. Perhaps that home office will exist for two or three days a week if it is done properly now. Represent your workplace as a place to get things done—that’s what’s expected.

5 Tips for Setting Up a Work from Home Office.

Location: Is it adequate for your laptop/monitor?Lighting: Is it ample and conducive to your work?Background: Is it professional, clean, and without distraction?Professionalism: Are you ready for the video conference? Are you professional and tidy in appearance? Is it a quiet environment with kids occupied in a nearby room and pets not a distraction?Ready for Business: During your workday, you might very well be more comfortable working from home, but you shouldn’t be less productive. Stay on task and stick to a schedule as you would at work in the office building.

A Tuscan Cooking Class by Ruth Zavitsanos

Recently, I took an Italian cookbook off my shelf seeking a Pesto recipe since my basil is flourishing in my garden. When I opened the cookbook I discovered my mother had given it to my daughter for her 16th birthday. In her inscription she wrote, “There is always another way to prepare a new meal. It’s infinite.”

Certainly, my mother was an astounding cook. I’m not bragging, those who were fortunate enough to eat one of her meals can certainly attest to her insightful creativity in the kitchen. This is something she had to self teach in an age when the Galloping Gourmet (Graham Kerr) was the only cooking show on TV and she often missed the show (no DVR) because of her other household duties. However, she’d rave about the dining experiences she had with my father during business engagements that included fancy establishments like Tavern on The Green, The Sign of the Dove, or the latest fine dining restaurant opening. In those days (late 1960s and early 1970s) the chef often came to the table to greet the guests. My mother usually complimented the chef and would say, “I detect…” and go on to mention the herbs she’d identified in her meal. The chef (most likely because of her precision in defining his creation) often shared the recipe that my mother banked in her memory to recreate for her family.

Though I observed and often assisted my mother in the kitchen, I never had that innate ability to decipher a meal’s ingredients. However, I do enjoy cooking and consider myself a fine cook. Granted, one who can always learn more. Hence the reason for booking a Tuscan Cooking Class during a recent trip to Italy.

I chose Fattoria Il Poggia based on the online reviews, the location (thirty minutes from the villa we were staying in), and the options of doing a wine tasting, vineyard and olive oil tours along with the cooking class. Also, I appreciated the prompt and informative replies to my email inquiries. Our picture perfect drive took us through winding roads draped in wildflowers, cypress trees, and pop up villas dotting the Tuscan countryside. Fattoria Il Poggia, is a few miles from the quaint medieval hilltop village of Monte Carlo.

Jen, the business manager, asked that we arrive between 945 and 10 am via an email. Unfortunately, we got a late start and missed a turn along the way. We arrived at 10:15 am, somewhat distressed fearing the class may have started without us. However, Jen, greeted us with a smile and said, “Your timing is fine.” A large friendly dog bounced toward us. “This is Alice. Like Alice in Wonderland, because look where she is,” and Jen spread her arms out at the beauty of the Tuscan hillside featuring acres of vineyards and olive groves. Yes, Alice was one lucky dog. We were given a tour of the vineyard and then taken to an area where the olive oil is produced. She pointed to the olive press and explained the process of making extra virgin olive oil.

After our informative tour, we followed Jen to the inviting Tuscan kitchen that featured an array of fresh herbs, olive oil and wine practically right off the presses. Jen introduced us to, Chef Laura a small woman with a sweet smile. At the sight of three place settings arranged with cooking tools beside bowls of flour with a brown egg in the center, we immediately asked, “Is it just us?”

“Si, yes.” Jen said.

Chef Laura took in our jubilant smiles by raising her hands in the air, as if we were the musicians she’d be conducting. “Lets get to work,” she said in Italian.

“I will interpret for you because Laura speaks very little English.”

“Buon Giorno,” Chef Laura said with a tentative smile.

We all replied, “Buon Giorno” and Chef Laura raised her head obviously delighted these three American women greeted her in Italian.

After donning our aprons, we stood before our place settings listening intently as Jen described the traditional Tuscan dishes we would be preparing under Chef Laura’s direction. “In typical Italian cuisine” Jen began and went on to explain that we’d be making; an appetizer, bruschetta with mushrooms, a first course, homemade pasta with ragu, a second course, Balsamic Chicken, and dessert, Tiramasu. Chef Laura busied herself, pulling out a pan and pointing to the olive oil. “Questo,” she began. We were eager students and our teacher took all of our inquisitive questions readily sharing her professional knowledge that spans for decades. The cooking class far exceeded my expectations. Chef Laura generously shared her expertise in the kitchen, a place she effortlessly maneuvered and full heartedly embraced.

While making homemade pasta, my technique was off and Chef Laura came to my aide along with an encouraging pat that dusted me with flour. We both giggled. I was delighted to learn and create with my good friends, smiling under her praise. It should’ve come as no surprise that the time, over three hours, flew by. Our hard work was rewarded with a delicious lunch that we had created, along with a wine tasting in the ideal Grotto setting.

My friends and I all agreed that we learned a great deal from Chef Laura.

The Tuscan Cooking Class was most definitely a highlight of our time in Tuscany. Certainly, I’d highly recommend it since we walked away feeling inspired to bring home the recipes and recreate them in our own kitchens for our families. For me the only thing lacking was my mother’s creative hand assisting Chef Laura.

Three things I learned from Chef Laura’s direction: 1.Cooking is an art of distinction. For Chef Laura, living in a place that produces the best wine, olives, tomatoes, and other vegetables is key to keeping it all fresh 2. Have fun when pouring, pinching, rolling and dusting. 3. Be generous. Those fresh ingredients offer an explosion of tantalizing tastes, so why not be generous when adding them to your dish? “Un poco” Chef Laura said while generously pouring the extra virgin olive oil in the pan.

My mother’s thoughtful inscription is fitting, “The kitchen is the heart of the home and the dining room where you receive praises and rewards.”

Seven Travel Tips that Will Save You Money, Time and Despair

 

After returning from two weeks abroad (France and Italy) I realized that there is never enough preparation when travelling. That said, these tips may help prevent costly and confusing setbacks. Gathering information in advance is the best you can do to avoid stressful situations. Of course, there will likely be some “mishaps” along the way, but it’s all a learning experience. Strategizing and seeking assistance will come into play. In the end hopefully you’ll return with advice for others and some fun stories to share, too.

 

 

When you see something you like and want to purchase it, take the time and buy it. Do not think, “Oh I’ll buy it on the way back.” More often than not the way back is never the same.

 

Read the warning signs at the airport and be alert. No matter the research and preparation for safe guarding money, there will always be crooks ready to pounce. And tourists coming off of a long flight from a different time zone are easy prey. If there is not a taxi sign or a meter in the taxi do not buckle up. Instead, take your luggage and get out. Or you will find yourself paying a far more exorbitant amount.

 

When changing money inquire about the fees. Do not consider the exchange rate the only difference. It doesn’t matter that these CHANGE places are well marked and in various locations throughout foreign cities. Read the information first and consider any additional service fees.

 

Since cell phone WiFi can be activated at any time, when leaving a hotel or place that offers free WiFi be sure to adjust the settings. Know your phone carrier rates for traveling overseas. Do they charge for roaming? Data? Wifi? I kept mine on airplane setting or turned it off completely when I knew I didn’t need it to avoid being charged for the day. Bottom line, take the time to get it right.

 

It’s advisable to always have a backup for technology that can be both spotty and frustrating in a foreign country. We used the AAA provided Trip Tik for directions. We also noted landmarks along the way to make returning to our villa easier. Be sure to have your (hotel, air bnb, etc) address available.

 

The car rental places provide maps and information for driving in the foreign country. Review the road sign interpretations. Also, take a photo of where you park your car (including streets signs) and any receipts/garage tickets you receive.

 

 

Note the metric system conversion in advance. Though we all were subject to learning it in school, do we ever really use it in the United States? It’s good to know how many meters make a mile, how fast one is going miles per hour in the car, and how many kilos one’s suitcase weighs in pounds in advance.

 

Keep in mind this vacation took savings, time from work, and planning. Don’t allow setbacks to take you off course. Regroup, breathe, and take in the view. Most likely, a smiling face and a glass of wine are just around the bend awaiting your arrival.