Novelists Who Take You Places

“In books I have traveled, not only to other worlds, but into my own.” 

 Anna Quindlen

Non-fiction travel books have their place and are great for learning about sights to see, but novels have the ability to immerse you in the ethos of a culture.—the next best thing to being there in person. A book series set in one area adds layers to understanding the character and spirit of the place. Here are some authors who have written series that transport the reader and which I’ve enjoyed.  (Many, but not all are mysteries—but then, as a mystery writer I often gravitate toward them.) I’ve broken them down into location:

Canada

Louise Penny – Chief Inspector Gamache series set in Quebec (17 books) from Still Life, 2005 to The Madness of Crowds, 2021

England

Elizabeth George – Inspector Thomas Lynley series  (21 books) from A Great Deliverance, 1988 to  Something to Hide, releasing in 2022

P.D. James – Adam Dalgliesh series (14 books) from Cover Her Face, 1962 to The Private Patient, 2008

France

 Susan Kiernan-Lewis - Maggie Newberry series set mostly in the South of France (19 books) from Murder in the South of France, 2010 to Murder in Mont St-Michel, 2021

An American in Paris series (7 books) from DéjàDead, (2019) to Murder Flambé, 2021

 John Pearce – Eddie Grant series set in Paris (3 books) from Treasure of Saint Lazare, 2012 , to Finding Pegasus, 2018 

Mark Pryor - Hugo Marston series set in Paris, (9 books) from The Bookseller, 2012 to The French Widow, 2020 

Martin Walker - Bruno, Chief of Police series set in the South of France (14 books) from Bruno Chief of Police, 2009 to The Coldest Case, 2021

 Fiona Valpy – The French for… series from The French for Love, 2013 to The French for Always and The French for Christmas, 2014)

 Greece

Jeffrey Siger - Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis series (11 books) from Murder in Mykonos, 2008 to A Deadly Twist, 2020

 Ireland

Tana French – Dublin Murder Squad series (6 books)  from In the Woods, 2007 to The Trespasser 2016

 Italy

 Andrea Camilleri  - Inspector Montalbano series  set in Sicily (30 books) from The Shape f Water, 1994 to  Riccardino,2021

 Maurizio de Giovanni – Commissario Ricciardi series set in Naples (9 books) from I Will Have Vengeance, 2007 to Nameless Serenade, 2016 

The Bastards of Pizzofalcone series set in Naples (4 books) from The Bastards of Pizzofalcone, 2013 to Puppies, 2015

 Elena Ferrante – Neapolitan Novels series (4 books)  from My Brilliant Friend, 2012 to The Story of the Lost Child, 2015

Donna Leon – Commissario Guido Brunetti crime novels set in Venice (30 books) from Death at La Fenice, 1992 to Transient Desires 2021

 Gabriel Valjan - Roma Series (5 books + prequel) from Roma Underground, 2012 to Corporate Citizen, 2016

 David P. Wagner – Rick Montoya Italian Mysteries series (7 books) from Cold Tuscan Stone, 2013 to To Die in Tuscany, 2021

 Scotland

Ian Rankin – Rebus series (28 books)  from Knots and Crosses, 1987 to A Song for the Dark Times. 2020

 Sweden

Viveca Sten – Sandhamm Murders series (10 books) from Still Waters, 2008 to  Buried in Secret, releasing in 2022

 United States

Lucy Burdette  - Key West Food Critic Series set in Key West, Florida (11 books) from An Appetite for Murder, 2012 to A Scone of Contention, 2021

Dorothea Benton Frank – Low Country Novels  set in South Carolina (20 books)  from Sullivan’s Island, 1999 to Queen Bee, 2019

Edith Maxwell/Maddie Day - Country Store Mysteries set in Indiana (7 books) from Flipped for Murder, 2015 to Nacho Average Murder, 2020

Cozy Capers Book Group Mysteries set in Cape Cod, Massachusetts (3 books) from Murder on Cape Cod to Murder at the Lobstah Shack, 2021

Local Foods Mysteries set in Massachusetts (5 books) from A Tine to Live, A Tine to Die, reprinted in 2014 to Mulch Ado About Murder, 2017

Anne Rivers Siddons –  Southern Novels set in Georgia and the Carolinas (19 books) from Heartbreak Hotel, 1976 to The Girls of August, 2014

Joanna Campbell Slan – Cara Mia Delgatto Mystery Series set in Stuart, Florida (6 books) from Tear Down and Die, 2019 to Sand Trapped, 2021

Tom Turner -Charlie Crawford Palm Beach Mysteries series set in Florida (10 books) from Palm Beach Nasty, 2016 to Palm Beach Taboo, 2021

 There are also authors who write one book or a group of stand-alone books that convey much about a place. Again, I list them by location:

Afghanistan

Khaled Hosseini – The Kite Runner, 2004, A Thousand Splendid Suns, 2008 

Asne Seierstad – The Bookseller of Kabul, 2003

 China

John Hersey – A Single Pebble, 1956

Ha Jin – Waiting, 1999, Nanjing Requiem, 2011

 Egypt

Naguib Mafouz –(1988 Nobel Prize for Literature) –  Cairo Modern, 1945 in Arabic, 2008 in English, The Cairo Trilogy, 1990s English

 England

Monica Ali (Bangladeshi immigrant in London)– Brick Lane, 2003, In the Kitchen, 2009

France

 Fiona Valpy (The Beekeeper’s Promise and Sea of Memories, 2018 and The Dressmaker’s Gift, 2019)  

 Iran

Azar Nafisi - Reading Lolita in Tehran, 2003

 Ireland

Eoin Dempsey – The Bogside Boys, 2015

 Italy

Lorenzo Carcaterra  - Street Boys, 2002, and Paradise City, 2004, set in Naples,, Midnight Angels, 2010, set in Florence, Three Dreamers, 2021, set in Ischia

Turkey 

Ayse Kulin – Last Train to Istanbul, 2013, Rose of Sarajevo, 2014, Love in Exile, 2016, Without a Country, 2018

Orhan Pamuk – (2006 Nobel Prize for Literature) My Name is Red, 1998, Snow, 2004,  The Museum of Innocence, 2008

Building A Ski House

“Sweat equity is the best startup capital.”

Mark Cuban 

Our family was young and we all enjoyed skiing and other outdoor pursuits, so the idea of having our own mountain getaway took root. We had some savings, but they were just enough to buy a piece of land and some building materials—not enough to pay a builder or buy a house ready-made. My husband had helped his brother and a few friends build houses, so he had some experience. He also purchased some how-to books on construction, plumbing, wiring, etc. for guidance. 

 We decided our focus would be on locations within driving distance from Massachusetts that would provide skiing in winter and water sports in summer. In the late 1970s, we began our search in Vermont and New Hampshire. We found lots for sale in Sugarbush, VT with a great view of the mountain but no water in sight. Available lots in Stowe, VT and Sugar Hill, NH near Mittersill on the back side of Cannon lacked both views and water. 

Our search was disrupted when my husband was offered a job transfer to Italy, and we jumped at the chance to experience life abroad. We lived there for two and a half years.

When we returned to the States in 1983, we started looking in Maine near Sugarloaf, a mountain we enjoyed. The map showed a large lake nearby, so we were excited to check it out. To our disappointment, Flagstaff Lake had very low water that year and didn’t seem appealing.

Just to the west of Sugarloaf, the map showed a large concentration of lakes and ponds near another ski area, Saddleback, and close to a town called Rangeley. We had never been over that way and decided to check it out. The town was quaint and we liked it right away. 

We looked at a great lot with a sandy beach on Mooselukmeguntic Lake but the road wasn’t plowed in the winter, so we ruled it out. After looking at several other possibilities, we found a hillside lot in Rangeley in Lakeview Highlands, and we climbed ladders to see if a view of Rangeley Lake were possible. It was, so we made an offer, signed a contract and purchased it.

After we got a building permit and drew up plans, we drove up from Massachusetts on weekends and during a two-week summer vacation. At first, we spent nights in a bunkroom at the Farmhouse Inn down the road from the lot. During the days, we cleared brush, and the kids got lots of black fly bites. At the ends of our work days, we swam and cleaned off in the lake. 

Eventually, we were offered an old camper to rent. It belonged to neighbors who lived just up the hill from our lot. The downside was we had to walk to an outhouse, something that was daunting for the kids in the dark of night. The upside was that our new neighbors had hundreds of wild blueberry bushes on their property and invited us for blueberry pancakes.

The next steps required hiring professionals. We had the house site cleared and a septic installed. Then a Dowser came to locate water using a forked stick. He indicated the best placement for a well and we had it drilled and installed. The foundation was poured and a half-circle driveway was put in, so we had two entrances.

The rest was up to us. Every time we drove up to Maine, we’d stop in the small town of Strong and order lumber, which they would deliver the next day. They never asked us for payment upfront. They always sent us a bill later. Such trust was amazing to us city folk.

My husband put up the first-floor wall studs (one-car garage, family room, laundry, sauna, and utility room). I was the gofer and assistant. After that floor was closed in, except for doors and windows, our friend G. from Massachusetts helped my husband put up the heavy cross beam for supporting a second floor.

Once that floor was laid, we had an open-air cookout up there with a hibachi and some friends. Second floor walls went up (living-dining-kitchen great room, 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms) and four large beams were installed to provide stability in the high-ceilinged main room. A staircase to a third floor was built. Third floor walls went up (long dormer room). Rafters and a ridge pole were next and the roof was closed in with plywood. During this time, we had help from several neighbors (E, W, and B) and E played strongman to hoist two sliding doors up to the second floor. A friend from Massachusetts (F) helped my husband shingle the roof. 

After a deck was added, doors, windows, and plumbing went in, and vertical siding was installed, the kids helped us apply cedar stain to the outside. 

We were happy to have the house closed in before it got cold, but there was still lots of finish work to be done. We came up that first winter on weekends and the four of us would camp in one room with a space heater. In the morning, we’d drop the kids at the mountain to ski, and the two of us would do electrical work with stiff, cold fingers.

In 1986, carpeting was installed, giving the house a finished look. We didn’t get to enjoy it for long though. Another job abroad was offered, this time in Germany, and we rented out the house while we were away. We ended up being gone for six years (1986-1992).

When we returned to the States that time, we finally got to enjoy our vacation home without a lot of work. That is, until we decided to convert the first-floor garage into an extension of the family room and build a separate two-story garage. In the summer of 1997, we obtained a building permit and my husband cut down many trees to one side of the house. In 1998, the garage excavation was done and construction began. We had lots of help from neighbors when it came time to raise the second-floor walls and install the rafters and ridge pole. The outside was finished in 1999 and the upstairs room was finished off as a photography studio in 2001.

We always seem to have a project. In 2009, we built a shed to house our kayaks and summer deck furniture. In 2012, we installed oak hardwood floor in the great room and laminate wood flooring in all the bedrooms. From time to time, things need to be replaced or painted or stained, but most of the time now we just enjoy our home that we built with sweat equity. 

My Road to Traditional Publishing

“In the end, what makes a book valuable is not the paper it’s printed on, but the thousands of hours of work by dozens of people who are dedicated to creating the best possible reading experience for you.” 

John Green

In 2017, I had the germ of an idea for a new book. My inspiration was threefold: 1) Having lived in Europe for a time, I was impressed by the multi-nation appeal of the over-the-top spectacle of the Eurovision contest and how it provided an entrée to success in America for a select few. Since Russia has participated since 1994, I thought it would be interesting to explore how the success and decline of one of its groups in the U.S. might affect the family of the band members, especially a teen child. 2) As a native of New York City, I wanted my characters to inhabit a city I love. 3) Having written a 3-book series with a teen girl protagonist, I wanted this one to feature a teen guy and his buddies.

I started work on it, but real life intervened. First, my husband received a serious medical diagnosis, and navigating that was more important to focus on. Second, we made a major life change with a move to a different state which consumed more of my energy. It wasn’t until the end of 2018 that I found some writing support groups in my new state and picked up the beginnings of the manuscript again.

In December 2018, I joined Palm Beach Gardens Fiction Writers, and in early 2019, already a national and New England member of SCBWI (the Society for Children’s’ Book Writers and Illustrators), I joined the Palm Beach County chapter. Both groups critiqued bits and pieces of my writing.

By April 2019 I was making slow but steady progress on my new book, and I was enjoying the warm weather and the quiet outdoor balcony where I wrote most days.

On May 23, 2019, my laugh for the day happened while reading a section from my book manuscript aloud. It ended in "Are you serious?" and Siri answered, "Yes. I'm not allowed to be frivolous."

In July 2019, I joined the newly-formed Florida Treasure Coast chapter of Sisters in Crime. I was already a member of the national and New England groups. Presentations by accomplished writers increased my writing knowledge and helped me tighten the story.

On October 10, 2019, I finished a chapter that had been torturing me for weeks, and I knew where I was heading next.

In January 2020, with the book manuscript in progress, my online research history seemed weird. It included: The sound of spit, mango water, the breakfast burrito song, locker smells, Landshark beer history, effects of eating crayons and ways to flirt with strangers without being creepy.

In June 2020, after many drafts and revisions I sent the manuscript to ten beta readers (five young adults and five adults, including one who speaks Russian to check the Russian references for validity and sensitivity).

In July 2020, I received responses from the beta readers. They were encouraging and also contained useful feedback.

On July 25, 2020, my manuscript got some excellent feedback from an agent through the SCBWI FL online conference (Critique-A-Palooza). I was learning lots and inching closer to publication.

Before I started querying agents and editors, I knew I needed to find and pay an independent editor to look over it and help me get it in the best shape for submission. 

On September 18, 2020, following some reliable advice, I put out a request on the well-respected Editorial Freelancers’ Association web site.

 Within days, I received over 50 emails of interest. I waded through the list, looking at their CVs to find the best possible fit for me. I was looking for experience with YA and a knowledge of NYC where the story is set.

They were all talented professionals, but I narrowed them down to five, to whom I sent letters of interest, plus some chapters for sample edits. I notified the rest that I was thankful for their interest but wouldn’t need their services.

When I received replies from the five, I narrowed again to three whose work seemed compatible with mine.

After careful consideration, I chose the one who was the best fit. On September 30, 2020, I signed a contract with an editor in Arizona. She had 35years of experience as an acquiring editor for traditional publishers in both New York and California, and knew the YA market well.

In November 2020, I received the suggested edits and a manuscript evaluation. She gave me some great feedback for increasing the pacing and tension. I soon began working on revisions.

In January 2021, I participated in another FL SCBWI online conference, and the following month, I began querying agents and editors who were open to submissions from conference participants.

That same month, February 2021, I also started querying small publishers who were open to submissions from members of Sisters in Crime. The requirements were slightly different for each publisher, but they included Bio, Contact Info, Synopsis, Outline, Theme, Projected Audience, Marketing Plan, Success Rate, Recommendations, and One Chapter.

On February 20, 2021 one of the publishers requested more info: a synopsis and 30 pages. Then on March 18, 2021, they requested the entire manuscript. The following month, April 2021, they made me an offer, and I signed a publishing contract.

In April 2021, while I was waiting for the revision work to commence with my new editor, an author friend offered to read the manuscript, and I received more helpful feedback.

On May 22, 2021, I received the first suggested revisions from the editor the publisher assigned to me. For the next month, we went through several levels of polishing.

As of June 28, 2021, my book was heading for a final review with yet another editor at the publishing house. My baby is getting closer to birth.

Golden Journey

 “Marriage is the golden ring in a chain whose beginning is a glance and whose ending is eternity.”

Kahlil Gibran 

50 years ago, my husband and I had a joyous wedding then survived a leaky plane trip over a South American jungle. It was the beginning of loving and living to the fullest and supporting one another in the process.

He’s been there for me through two childbirths, knee and lower back sprains, several surgeries, learning to ski, graduate school, job searches, a ski accident, book research and writing, and so much more.

I ‘ve been there for him during job changes and major cultural moves, building projects, long drives, hikes and road races, photography excursions, shows, and exhibitions, hospitalizations, and medical challenges.

We got one another through the “terrible twos” and “trying teens” of our now-grown and perfectly likeable offspring, as well as through the sad times dealing with the deaths of all four of our parents, other family members, and close long-time friends.

The upside for us has been that our happy co-adventures have far outweighed the concerning ones. We’ve lived in three countries and several states, explored five of the seven continents, skied hundreds of downhill trails in many countries, dined in both a chateau and a wine cave, in a former caravanserai, and on a many a beach and mountain. We’ve been proud parents at graduations and sporting events. We’ve celebrated at weddings and receptions of a variety of denominations in churches, gardens, an urban industrial building, an historic beachfront hotel, a mountain home, and even right on a sandy beach.

We’ve gone zip-lining in Costa Rica, white-water rafting in Austria, tubing in Germany, walked across a swinging bridge over a ravine in Ecuador, took a cable car over a bay and several peaks and valleys to reach a giant Buddha on Lantau Island in Hong Kong, rode a cart deep into a salt mine in Austria, paddled kayaks to an island in Turkey, flew over Kauai in a helicopter, rode in a dugout canoe on the Mekong River delta in Vietnam, survived brake failure coming down a mountainside in Ecuador, and climbed to the rim of Mt. Vesuvius in Italy to look in at the fiery magma.

It’s been a long journey of commitment, but it’s been a pleasure, and the time has flown. These days, we strive not to let our ages define us, because our hearts are young, we still have dreams to fulfill, and we’re looking forward to new adventures. 

Three Miles of Smiles

“An early morning walk is a blessing for the whole day.”

Henry David Thoreau

My husband and I began walking three miles every morning back in March 2020. It was a safe way to get out of the house and exercise during the early days of the COVID 19 quarantine. Our sparsely-populated neighborhood with wide sidewalks and wooded areas meant we didn’t have crowds. When we encountered individuals, there was usually a mutual respect for distancing, so we seldom needed masks.

For more than a year now, we have kept up the routine because we enjoy it. And one of the things that pleases us the most, besides the health benefits, are the friendly faces we’ve passed over and over again along the way. They are the intrepid regulars with whom we exchange smiles or waves or sometimes even a few words. They all have distinct characteristics that we’ve come to recognize from a distance, and we’ve given them nicknames known only to the two of us.

The Lady is one of the longest-running regulars since we began. She is older, short, roundish, and sweet-looking. Her pace is slow but steady. Her white hair is always swept back into a bun and she often wears a white visor and comfortable knit pants and tees. Her quiet responses to our greetings have a hint of an accent.

Speedy is another long-timer. She’s a young, slim, and fit blonde woman who always wears colorful leggings as she either speed-walks or cycles. She’s out there rain or shine, always with a smile.

Pole lady is another fit, friendly, blonde woman who has a long stride. She uses two hiking poles and is often listening to her phone ear buds. Sometimes she’s carrying on a conversation in a language we haven’t yet deciphered.

Friendly Couple is an older husband and wife who walk at a good clip. She has dark wavy hair and is short and very bubbly. She always wears leggings and a visor. He wears a running suit, is tall, has a trimmed mustache and likes to make funny comments.

Red Shorts is a slim, tanned, middle-aged guy with a trimmed beard who always gives us a friendly wave and a smile.  He walks at a fast clip, and most days he wears red knee-length shorts. A baseball cap and ear buds top his head, and we sometimes hear snippets of business-like conversations.

Weights is an older guy we often see on the park fields walking (sometimes backwards, sometime kicking a soccer ball as he moves) in high-top sneakers. He wears wrist bands and carries weights in each hand.

Too-long sleeves is a middle-aged guy who wears  a baseball cap, sunglasses, and the same pale green nylon, crewneck shirt every day. The sleeves seem stretched out and cover his hands.

Stephanie (It’s not her real name. She just looks like a girl of that name who grew up with our daughter.) is a tall young woman with very long legs and a peppy walk. She’is very personable and always greets us with a friendly smile and hello. 

Ball cap and ear buds is a young guy who often wears tees with sayings, my favorite one stating “We test on humans.” He always has a friendly smile.

Blue and Red Windbreaker is a gray-haired cyclist who travels at a fast clip. He always wears wrap-around sunglasses and the same nylon jacket, no matter the temperature.

Jimmy Buffett couple is a short, older guy with a spring in his step and a tall, slim wife. With his engaging smile, ball cap and aviator sunglasses, he has that island vibe. 

Grandpa with baby is an older guy who walks at a slow pace pushing a baby carriage. He’s a new face this year. The little girl is usually sleeping. He recently told us she was three months old.

Skinny Guy is another newbie this year who smiles at us and gives a waffling wave that looks like he’s turning a door knob. He’s middle-aged and bearded and always wears dark shorts and tees. We often see him more than once on the park path because he walks fast and does more than one lap.

Crossing Guard, an older guy clad in a yellow neon vest and hat, is stationed at the first corner where we cross the street. We see him if we get there before his 9:30 off-duty time, after the nearby middle school starts. “How you folks doin’ today?” is his common greeting. If we’re running late, he often passes us in his truck and beeps his horn. 

Tall and short were an elderly couple we saw for months but haven’t seen lately. He was very tall and she was quite short. Hopefully they just changed their routine and are okay.

Pony tail guy was a fairly regular cyclist whom we also don’t see any more. He wore over-the-ear headphones and would yell, “hi folks,” as he passed us on his several loops. Maybe he was working from home for awhile and now spends his mornings in an office.  Who knows?

Of course, there’s always someone who doesn’t respond with a smile. Zoned-out man never acknowledges us. He walks slowly with his eyes half-closed and appears to be meditating or listening to music. He also uses a cane and walks a circular route that doesn’t involve crossing any streets, so we’ve started to wonder if he’s legally blind.

Aside from all of these strangers whom we’ve come to recognize and feel a sense of community with, it’s nice that we also meet walking and/or cycling neighbors who know us by name and with whom we can enjoy friendly chats.

All in all, our walks have been windows of freedom amidst the many constrictions imposed by the pandemic.   

Traveling Back in Time to Some of the Family I’ve Lost

“Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.”

Emily Dickinson

 The first Christmas of my life is captured in a photograph—me, my mom, a couple of her sisters, and her mom, my nana. It was near the end of World War II and all the men in the family were away in the military. I’m the only one in that photo still alive.

 Most of my childhood Christmases after that first one involved a visit to my grandma and pop pop’s house. They were my dad’s parents and their home was a gathering place, not only on holidays, but also on every Sunday after church. The living room walls, fireplace mantel, and radiator covers were filled with family photos. The gatherings included my parents and siblings plus my dad’s four brothers, their wives and children. Only my brothers, sisters and a few cousins remain.

Pop-Pop was the first one in the family whose death I remember and mourned. I was about ten years old when he passed. He was a former riverboat man from upstate New York, a tugboat captain, and tall-tale teller. He seemed larger than life. I remember him as gruff but a softie. I never witnessed his addictive nature, the reason Grandma kept an alcohol-free home, but he did smoke cigarettes. A floor-standing ashtray was always positioned next to his wooden rocker in the living room. I don’t ever recall him in casual dress. When he relaxed, he wore dress pants with suspenders, a white dress shirt, and often, a tie.

 Grandma was a tiny bird of a woman who emigrated from Ireland on her own at the age of sixteen. She was kind, loved African violet plants, grew rhubarb in her garden, and used a toast rack on her breakfast table, a curiosity I had never seen before. She always wore a dress and often, an apron. During World War II, she was considered a Gold Star Mother because she had five sons in the military. She and Pop-Pop celebrated fifty years of marriage together, but she outlived him by fourteen years. She had a soft spot for me because I was the first girl born into the family since she lost her own first child, a daughter who died as an infant. I was twenty-four when she died.

 My Nana was New York born, a descendant of Irish immigrants. She was a constant presence in my early life. I lived with her as an infant and either lived across the street from her or in the neighborhood until I married. As a child, I loved cutting paper dolls and coloring with her. She loved to talk, sing nursery rhymes and Irish songs, and always made time to listen. She also liked to play “the numbers,” which would involve a visit to a woman named Flossie. Like my Grandma, she always wore dresses, often with aprons. I remember, as do all of her grandchildren, her delicious banana cake with cream cheese icing, a recipe she kept in her head. She lived with her oldest daughter and her family for all the time I knew her, and I always assumed she was a widow. When I was twenty years old, I learned that her husband, my maternal grandfather, had recently died. I had never met him, and I later learned he walked out on Nana and their children almost thirty years before. Nana was my only grandparent to live to attend my wedding. She died when I was almost twenty-eight. Sad to say, it was two months before my first child was born, an event she’d been looking forward to.

 My dad had an excellent vocabulary, liked long discussions about current events after dinner, taught me to appreciate good table manners and was kind and honest. He was fun to ballroom dance with and smooth on his feet. He hated garlic and liked vodka gimlets. He taught me to play tennis, took me for Sunday morning swims at the public pool, and loved riding the waves with me on rubber rafts at the Jersey shore. He earned a full athletic scholarship to college where he became somewhat of a football legend but never talked about it himself. In later years, he was inducted into his school’s athletic hall of fame. He was a World War II veteran who was a staff sergeant and radar specialist. Before he was drafted into the Army, he worked as an engineer for Douglas Aircraft in Eritrea, Africa. After the war, he worked in Manhattan, and when I was in college, I enjoyed meeting him for lunch at Sloppy Louie’s at the Fulton Fish Market. He was a night owl, and when I got home late, tired from hours of studying and working part-time jobs, he’d rub my aching shoulders and we’d talk. In retirement, he served as head of a local Junior Achievement program. I was sixty when he died.

 My mom loved to talk and to shop, and I made many excursions into Manhattan with her. She was proud of the fact that, as a young woman, she could fit into designer sample sizes. She loved holidays and birthdays and made them memorable for me and my siblings. She always took an interest in my homework and taught me silly rhymes to help me remember facts. She spent hours preparing me for spelling bees. As a girl and young woman, she became an accomplished tap dancer, progressing from a local dance school to being accepted as a student in Manhattan with the legendary stage and screen performer/ producer Sam Burns. At the age of nineteen, she won a competition and danced in a show at Billy Rose’s Aquacade at the New York World’s Fair. As I and my siblings were growing up, she was active in our elementary school’s Mother’s Guild, at one point becoming its president. In later years, she enjoyed writing poetry and had three poems published locally. I was 65 when she died.

 These five people were the backbone of my life, but the two sides of my family were each large and I was fortunate to have been surrounded by many adult relatives whom I loved.

Exploring Museums Part III

“After all, isn’t the purpose of the novel, or of a museum, for that matter, to relate our memories with such sincerity as to transform individual happiness into a happiness all can share?”

Orhan Pamuk, Turkish novelist

 Some of the museums I’ve enjoyed are further afield than the U.S. and far-western Europe. Istanbul, Turkey, where Europe meets Asia, has a wealth of them in the Sultanahmet area. Built 1,500 years ago (532–537), the Aya Sofiya was the church at the center of the Holy Roman Empire. It was converted into a mosque after the Ottoman conquest in 1453. In 1934 it became a museum and a Unesco World Heritage site. I visited in 2012. The outside is somewhat squat and plain, but the inside is magnificent with a great dome and many lit chandeliers hanging low to the ground. There are also a number of fairly well-preserved mosaics, massive marble-faced walls, colorful frescoes, and intricately carved decorative work. A second-floor balcony runs around three sides and gives an overview of the main area below. It was turned back into a mosque again in 2020.

Topkapi Palace, once the sumptuous home of the sultans and their harems, and the administrative seat of the Ottoman Empire for almost 400 years, sits on a rise in Istanbul where the Golden Horn meets the Bosphorus River and the Sea of Marmara. It was transformed into a museum in 1924. The palace complex is lovely and consists of four main courtyards, elaborate gates, some enormous structures and many smaller buildings. The Harem quarters, though decorated with exquisite tiled walls. are a prison-like warren. The women enjoyed courtyards and a sea view, but they were confined. (It is said to contain over 400 rooms on several floors, but the public can tour only a fraction of them on one floor.) The treasury has the jewels of the sultans displayed in small glass cases, and I enjoyed the displays of the various sultans' kaftans (mostly from the 16th century). Many of the out-buildings are like separate pavilions for various activities, like libraries, sports, medicine, and even circumcisions. Each has a unique decorated dome. 

 The Goreme Open Air Museum in Turkey’s Cappadocia region is an area of caves and “fairy chimney” rock formations that has been preserved for tourists and has a number of small chapels cut into the rocks with the frescoes still partially intact.

The Island of Symi in Greece, off the coast of Turkey, can be reached by boat from Rhodes. At the tiny port of Panormici on the island’s south side, is a folklore museum and a Byzantine museum in the Panormitis Monastery. At the doorway, It was determined I was "indecently" dressed, along with many of the other women and girls. (I had on almost-knee-length cargo shorts and a t-shirt.) I had to don a complimentary wrap-around skirt in order to enter. Mine had pink and white flowers. (Some men had short shorts, but they weren't bothered.) The Byzantine museum is filled with religious relics. The building also has a Greek orthodox monastery chapel, the reason for the decency requirements because it has a revered icon of Michael the Archangel, patron of the island. Lots of the Greeks were lighting long candle tapers and placing them near the icon. The tourist shop sold religious articles, somewhat like a Vatican shop. I found the folklore museum most interesting since, among other things, it has artifacts from the sponge diving industry the island is known for. 

Budapest, Hungary, divided into two parts with Buda on the northern side of the Danube River and Pest on the southern side, has many museums. Buda Castle on Varnegy (Castle Hill) is the historical palace complex of Hungarian kings. It has several museums and is surrounded by gas-lit cobblestone streets and old row houses. The Pest side has wide boulevards, grand decorated buildings, and many large squares. The Szépművészeti Múzeum (Museum of Fine Arts) is in a neoclassical building located on the largest one, Hosok Ter (Heroes Square). In addition to Hungarian art, it contains classical and Egyptian antiquities, as well as Old Master paintings.

 Agadir, Morocco has two museums I found interesting. The Musee de Souvenir (Museum of Remembrance) is all about the 1960 earthquake that destroyed much of Agadir and killed 10,000 people. The building was set next to a lovely garden commemorating a treaty between Morocco and Portugal. The Musee Municipal has a nice collection of Berber artifacts—lots of antique silver jewelry like tiaras, diadems, earrings, and bracelets. My friend and I were encouraged by a guard to pose for photos draped in a sparky gold cape. We assumed it was used for a wedding but he said it was for prayer. Very nightclub for a holy outfit! One gallery had an eclectic collection of modern art including some anti-George W. Bush photo collages and a painting of Betty Friedan.

The Museum of Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam has some interesting exhibits. One room is dedicated to weddings and has cases with various bridal costumes from both different eras and different areas of the country. (As I was leaving that room, a real bride and groom passed through the hallway with their photographer. They headed for the grand staircase for some picture-taking.) Other exhibits showed dioramas of various industries and handcrafts and also some interesting pieces related to the French and American wars—an old cow cart that was used to smuggle ammunition and a so-called “double boat.” It looks like a long canoe and it has secret compartments under the seats for guns.

 The Genocidal Museum (Tuol Sleng) in Phnom Penh, Cambodia is in an old prison that was used by the Pol Pot regime. The photos and implements of torture and claustrophobic holding cells are pretty overwhelming in their horror. One building has the porches on each of the three levels wrapped in barbed wire – to prevent prisoners who broke loose from committing suicide by jumping. It’s reminiscent of Auschwitz. The Nazis ‘final solution’ was to make an Aryan society and the Khmer Rouge’s rampage was to eliminate intellectuals (teachers, lawyers, etc.), who’d be hard to manipulate. Next stop for most prisoners was the “Killing Fields.”

The Flagstaff House Museum of Tea Ware is located in a two-story white colonial building nestled inside Hong Kong Park in the Central district of Hong Kong Island, China. It’s a branch of the Hong Kong Museum of Art. Built in the 1840s, the house originally served as the office and residence of the Commander of the British Forces in Hong Kong. It was converted to a museum in 1984. Exhibitions tell the history of Chinese tea drinking and feature various kinds of tea ware, from 1027 B.C. to the 20th century. Alongside its exhibitions, the museum holds regular demonstrations, tea gatherings and lecture programs to promote ceramic art and Chinese tea drinking culture.

 The Museo Arqueologico de la Comunidad de Agua Blanca is located in the MachalillaNational Park (located 6 miles north and east of Puerto Lopez) on the Pacific Coast of Ecuador. The small museum of thatched-roof structures was founded in 1979 and contains Pre-Colombian cultural artifacts. such as funeral urns, vessels for ceremonial and domestic use, stone columns, stone U-shaped chairs, shell, metal, bone, and certain minerals such as turquoise. The surrounding excavated ruins are from the Manteño civilization, which thrived in this area from about 800 A.D. until the arrival of the Spanish. During a walk, I saw some owls, a squirrel monkey, and lots of birds, including motmots with bright blue heads and long tails that make a sound. The site surrounds a community of over 200 people who do some farming and make some crafts from shells and tagua. A small sulfurous stream fed by volcanic runoff from the mountains is supposed to be good for your health. It also feeds into a small manmade lagoon and I took a quick dip, since I was wearing my bathing suit. A young guy in the lagoon smeared his face with the sulfurous mud similar to the way people in southern Italy do at Solfatara near Napoli.

Museums can be housed in grand or simple buildings or even out of doors, but they all have learning to impart. I’ve felt enriched by the uniqueness of each one I’ve entered.

In Pursuit Of a Vaccine

“Our vaccine scheduling system is currently live, but full with other customers.”

Florida COVID vaccine at Publix Pharmacy website, 6:00 AM

On December 29, 2020, the Florida Department of Health announced that COVID vaccine appointments for seniors could be made by phone. The hotline number was quickly overwhelmed and it crashed due to high call volume and inadequate infrastructure. In Palm Beach County, less than 200 people made it through the line. Two of my friends were lucky.

The next announcement on January 2 invited seniors to request an appointment through a specific health department email. I sent mine that day but got no appointment.

On January 18, I was happy for my husband who received his first dose. His status as a veteran made him eligible.

 On January 19, DOH-Palm Beach deactivated the email address to focus on scheduling vaccine appointments, based on vaccine availability, for those on the waitlist. They had received more than 200,000 requests. I’m on the waitlist. Still.

 Also, on January 19, Governor DeSantis announced that Publix supermarkets would be distributing the vaccine, and appointments could be made online on certain days. The website went live for 14 counties on Wednesday, January 20 and I logged into the site at 5:45am. Palm Beach County was fully booked by 7:16am and all counties by 7:25am. I had no luck.

I tried the Publix site again on Friday, January 22 but went online at 4:45am and waited. At 6:01am, it went live and claimed many people were ahead of me. By 7:45am, all counties were fully booked except those at least 3 hours away. Two roundtrips of at least 6 hours for each of the two doses doesn’t appeal, even if I could get an appointment. Anyway, no luck again.

On January 25, I learned Broward County had been distributing vaccine at sites like Holiday Park in Fort Lauderdale. I called their hotline and left my information and a request for an appointment. I also called the Miami- Dade hotline because they had been administering shots at places like Hard Rock Stadium. The message said they were fully booked. The Martin County hotline message stated their mailbox was full.

 The next opportunity was on Wednesday, January 27. That time I set my laptop sleep mode to “Never” and logged into the Publix site the night before. I figured it should bump me to the front of the line. Not so. I got up at 5am, stared at the screen and waited. When it went live at 6am, I got the same message—many people were ahead of me. Argh! They had added two more counties and two new features this time though. A 60-second countdown clock gave a visual heads-up each time the site was automatically refreshed, and each county showed the available number of vaccines that day with a countdown as they were taken. Palm Beach County started with over 9,500. They were all gone by 7:05am. Nearby counties I would be willing to drive to were fully booked even earlier. Still without an appointment, I was frustrated. I wasn’t alone. News reports had people comparing the system to Whack-A-Mole and The Hunger Games.

 On January 28, I was able to leave my information and a request for an appointment with Miami-Dade.

I tried the same early setup for the Publix site on Friday, January 29. Palm Beach County started with 9,434 available vaccines. By 6:30am, almost 2,000 were taken and, just after sunrise at 7:10am, the “fully booked” message appeared. Surrounding counties were booked by 7:06, and I was still without an appointment.

 On Saturday, January 30, the Florida COVID 19 site offered pre-registration for appointments. I filled out the form and we’ll see what happens.

 In the meanwhile, I’m planning to get up early on Wednesday, February, 3 for the next scheduling event on the Publix site. It’s a crazy annoying system even for someone like me who’s worked with computers since the 1980’s, but it seems almost perverse to have no other option for seniors without computer access or skills and those in impoverished communities without a nearby Publix. It shuts them off from a life-saving opportunity and leaves them at risk. 

 Florida isn’t the only state with problems obtaining the COVID vaccine. As of January 31, The New York Times reported just 7.2% of over-300,000,000 Americans have gotten at least the first dose and only 1.6% have been fully vaccinated. We need a fully-funded national program to get things rolling! 

Crossing the Country

“Life is beautiful if you are on the road to somewhere.”

Orhan Pamuk

I’ve crisscrossed the United States many times by air, but I’ve also made several round-trip road journeys over the years with my husband. All that riding in the car can be mind-numbing, but I maintained sanity by observing and recording random things I saw and heard along the way. The trips were wonderful opportunities to see the mundane but also to enjoy wondrous sights like the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone and Glacier National Parks, and the Beartooth Highway.

 Sometime in the late 1990s, our road trip was from Massachusetts to San Francisco. We planned to board our aging dog at the kennel in our town, as we usually did when we traveled. However, they advised getting a house sitter due to her age or take her with us. We couldn’t imagine her traversing the hilly streets in SF and we didn’t know a house sitter, so we called our son, whom we planned to visit on the way, at his university in Colorado. He made some inquiries and got her a place at a boarding facility run by the vet school. Running free on their enclosed grounds at the foothills of the Rockies was good medicine and the vet students pampered her. 

 A trip in September 2005 was from Massachusetts to Breckenridge, Colorado. In Cleveland, Ohio, I learned some good news—the Cleveland Indians lost to the White Sox 3-1 assuring a wild card slot for our Boston Red Sox, and we had two negative experiences—a room-change request at an inn due to a foul smell and awful Italian food at a chain restaurant. How could they ruin Italian? 

In Iowa, Super Unleaded gas was cheaper than regular unleaded. (They said it had something to do with helping out the farmers who convert grain to ethanol.) On an Iowan radio station, I heard an ad about joining the "Presidential Prayer Team." I had never heard of it but some research revealed it was founded by retired Navy Captain Bill Hunter. He figured Bush and the country would need a lot of prayer after the contentious Bush-Gore election in 2000. With the help of a pastor friend and an advertising agency, they had launched a non-partisan Internet ministry a week after the September 11th attacks in 2001. The result was millions of team members still praying for our country. 

 Further west in Nebraska, high rises were concrete grain storage elevators, and a popular radio show in Lincoln had a lot of politically incorrect guy humor.

 In Breckenridge, Colorado, I hiked lots of trails with my husband and kids—Sunbeam, Moonstone, Barney Ford, & Juniata on the first day then Spruce Creek and Mohawk Lake trails on the second day. The fall foliage was past peak, but some aspens still had their yellow coin-shaped leaves. On the third day, we hiked the Baker's tank trail, watched the Red Sox lose the ALDS to the White Sox, and learned that Pakistan, India, & Afghanistan had a 7.7 Earthquake. On the fourth day, we hiked the Illinois Creek and Blue river trails and I noticed lodgepole pines have needles that look like green bottle brushes.

 In northern Colorado on the return trip, a radio show was pushing Hyaluronic Acid, a "youthful molecule" for anti-aging. The ad claimed the village of Yuzurihara in Japan has 80 & and 90-year-olds who are youthful looking due to high levels of HA. 

Back in Nebraska again, I heard obituaries on the radio in Ogalala and saw a sign: "Nebraska - the good life - home of Arbor Day.” I learned that what looks like a bridge in the distance in Nebraska is usually a very long rolling sprinkler.

 A lot of Iowa farms have round metal structures with pointy roofs. They look like fat rockets. 

 At the Illinois Welcome Center near Joliet, we reminisced about another time there walking our dog on the bluff overlooking the Des Plaines River.

 I saw many vineyards in New York State, and in Utica I listened to an interesting analysis of Bush's government & the Iraq War by Seymour Hirsch, author of Chain of Command & contributor to the New Yorker. Near Schenectady, I picked up WBZ radio. (Hallo Boston!)

 The Berkshires in Massachusetts had colorful foliage, and The Red Lion Inn in Stockbridge had huge pumpkins flanking the main entrance. We ran into heavy fog starting near Blandford and the radio reported Logan wasn’t functioning, so there were major flight delays.

 Another ride in September 2007 was to Belgrade, Montana and back to Massachusetts. Each trip teaches me something new. Here’s what I learned that time:

The highest elevation on the Mass Pike is 1,724 feet in the town of Becket.

Minnesota is big into wind energy!

South Dakota has the world’s largest bullhead sculpture and the state also had a good yield of corn in 2007. (“Hay,” by the way, is a generic term for dried grasses, flowers, and plants used as off-season food for animals and is usually rye, oats, or alfalfa.

Gutson Borglum started carving Mt. Rushmore at age 60!

For the first time, I realized cell phone clocks are like the atomic clocks – they change time zones automatically!

The Black Hills are called that because of the way their evergreen-covered sides look from a distance.

Cowboys as young as 10 years old risked their lives to replace the vanishing buffalo herds in Wyoming by bringing longhorn cattle from Texas.

A Montana “loafing shed” is a pasture shelter for horses.

On the return trip, I saw a perfect “butte” in Laurel, Montana. I recognized the difference between a butte, mesa, and plateau thanks to my son’s explanations.

Quite a few side roads in Montana follow creeks and are named for them.

Lots of people in Montana say “Yes, Ma’am!”

There are also “Badlands” in NORTH Dakota!

You can buy elk in Minnesota – half or whole.

Minnesotans are big into having their birthdays reported on the radio.

Colorful Minnesota fall foliage wasn’t too plentiful. (Report: “ a lot of oaks, a lot of conifers, but when you see a maple, you can see it for miles.”)

Wisconsin has lots of police patrol cars.

You could get a free lead paint test kit (good for toys!) from the united steel workers (usw.com).

Wisconsin also has a large industry in sphagnum moss – who knew?

Prisoners in Ohio wear stripes and pick up trash along the highways.

You can pick up a Chinese-American radio station between Erie, Pennsylvania and Buffalo, New York.

New York State talk show factoid: Conservative talk show host Rush Limbaugh got a draft deferral from Vietnam because he had a cyst on his tailbone and now he has a job where he sits on his ass!

The Syracuse bumper sticker is ‘CUSE. Kinda cute.

You know you’re in NY when the rest areas have Breyer’s ice cream stands.

 In September 2016 we drove to Ridgway, CO and back. The Midwest had a lot of roadwork, wind power, corn fields, and hay bales. I saw a lot of triple piggyback semis along the way and many Canadian geese in vee formations. On Interstate 80 between Cleveland and Toledo, a quote and picture adorned the side of a barn: "The bold enterprises are the successful ones. "-Rutherford B. Hayes, 19th president, born in Ohio. 

 Colorado provided my first glimpse of yellow aspens that year as we passed Vail along Interstate 70. In Ridgway, I loved the cowboy ambience and also the way it showcases the arts. A hike in Dominguez Escalante Canyon near Grand Junction had amazing petroglyphs. We had a fun hike near Cascade Falls in Ouray and were blown away by the awesome aspen colors at full peak while hiking in Telluride. A side trip to Arches National Park in Utah showed us incredible red rock formations.

 Some trips have been about hauling things our kids left behind when they moved out west—a motor scooter and some large plants to our son in Montana and some large tools and a drawing table when he moved to Colorado.

Our most recent cross-country drive was to Colorado in August 2018. On that trip, we attended an Octoberfest celebration near a trailhead after a hike on The Front Range with our daughter, and I had a fun evening birthday celebration in Denver that began with prosecco and an awesome view of the Rockies.

 The drive from Denver to southwest Colorado where our son lives was scenic via Interstate 70 and we did some truckin’ and exploring with our son in Ouray’s Yankee Boy Basin. The return provided stunning scenery as we followed the Gunnison River past Blue Mesa Reservoir and over Monarch Pass back to the Denver area.

 The main point of that trip, aside from getting a chance to hug our kids was to transport a lemon tree to our daughter. Like our children, the tree is thriving out there. 

Exploring Museums Part II – Europe

“The only way to understand painting is to go and look at it. And if out of a million visitors, there is even one to whom art means something, that is enough to justify museums.”

 Pierre-Auguste Renoir

A couple of art history courses in college whetted my appetite for viewing great artworks in person. Over the years, I’ve had the good fortune to travel to many places outside the U.S. and enjoy their museum offerings.

Europe has provided many memorable art experiences. I still remember my first entrance into the Louvre in Paris, France and the breathtaking white marble sculpture, The Winged Victory of Samothrace, seeming ready to take flight at the top of a grand staircase. That same year, I fell in love with the many rooms of Impressionist paintings when they were still exhibited in the tiny, former indoor center for court tennis built by Napoleon III, the Musée du Jeu de Paume. Many years later, I got to enjoy them again in their new and much larger setting, the Musée d'Orsay, a former train station built for the 1900 World’s Fair on the Left Bank of the Seine. One of the best Parisian exhibits I attended was a gigantic retrospective of Picasso’s wide-ranging styles of various periods at the Grand Palais des Champs-Élysées.

Italy remains the number one art mecca for me, and Le Gallerie degli Uffizi, set on a bank of the Arno River in Florence, contain a treasure trove of gigantic proportions. The sixteenth-century building itself is a work of art designed by Giorgio Vasari, and Sandro Botticelli’s “The Birth of Venus,” one of my favorite paintings, hangs there. The Galleria dell'Accademia di Firenze is a small museum with a whole room dedicated to Michelangelo’s Carrara marble sculptures, including his seventeen-foot-tall work celebrating youthful male beauty—the David.

During my first visit to the Vatican Museums (in the Vatican City State, an enclave of Rome), I was distracted from the beauty of the art by the fact that the male genitals on the statues were either covered with fig leaves or broken off. It was modesty in the name of religion. In other years, I wasn’t surprised anymore, so I focused more on the masterworks of the frescos in the Raphael rooms and Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel.

As a writer, one small museum in Rome I enjoyed was the Keats–Shelley Memorial House at the side of the Spanish Steps at Piazza di Spagna 26. It’s where the English poet John Keats (“A thing of beauty is a joy for ever”) died from tuberculosis at the age of 25. The museum houses one of the world's most extensive collections of memorabilia, letters, manuscripts, and paintings relating to Keats and Shelley, as well as Byron, Wordsworth, Robert Browning, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Oscar Wilde, and others.

 Venice was the location of a unique exhibition of Salvador Dali’s work that I attended. It was in a palazzo, the name of which I’ve forgotten. There were giant red lips at the entrance, and one large section was dedicated to his black and white graphic depictions of the Holocaust.

The Museo Cappella Sansevero in Naples serves as the private mausoleum of the Sansevero family and is filled with Baroque art. The centerpiece marble, “The Veiled Christ,” by Giuseppe Sammartino is one of the most amazing sculptures I’ve ever seen. The contours of Christ’s lifeless body after it was removed from the cross are revealed though the exquisitely rendered marble shroud that drapes his wounded form.

The Prado Museum in Madrid, Spain is renowned for its many paintings by Rubens, Velasquez, Murillo, Goya, El Greco, and others. One of the most interesting for me was a Rubens that pictured Hercules as an infant, illustrating a Greek legend and the story behind it. (His father held him to his mother's breast and the milk that squirted out created the Milky Way!)

The Städtische Galerie im Lenbachhaus in Munich, Germany houses the largest collection of paintings from “The Blue Rider” school, one of the most important groups of avantgarde artists in the early twentieth century. I remember enjoying exhibits by Wassily Kandinsky, Franz Marc, Paul Klee, and others, followed by lunch at the museum’s lovely outdoor café. Another museum in Munich (which one I can’t recall) had a great exhibit that was an immersion into another culture.. It allowed one to walk through a life-size reproduction of a village in Yemen.

I love the National Portrait Gallery in London, England. The portraits in the collections span centuries and continents. They include paintings (e.g. Henry VIII, Winston Churchill, Ed Sheeran, Elton John), photography (e.g. Princess Diana, the Beatles, Audrey Hepburn, David Bowie), and sculptured busts (e.g. Virginia Woolf, George Bernard Shaw, Joseph Conrad, Cecil Beaton). Another of my favorite museum experiences in London is a walk-through of the Churchill War Rooms. This is a multi-media experience in the top-secret corridors of the underground nerve center where Winston Churchill and his inner circle directed the Second World War.

The Archaeological Museum on the island of Rhodes in Greece is housed in a medieval hospital built around 600 A.D. The sculptures and artifacts date back even further in time since Rhodes has been inhabited for about 24 centuries. One particularly lovely statue I remember is a white marble kneeling Aphrodite, often referred to as the Venus of Rhodes.

 Art lifts me up and is always thought-provoking and inspirational. Although amazing creations can be found all around us, the main strength of museums is that they are reliable sources for finding and enjoying masterworks. 

Changing Perceptions of the Color Pink

“My WWE Divas championship belt is pink and sparkly, but it doesn't mean I'm a princess. It means girls can kick butt!”

Eve Torres 

The color pink, as a symbol of femininity in the 21st century, has a number of meanings and can be used to denote a variety of objects, ideas, and moods. Pink is popular in advertising symbols and some of the brands promote the sweet and feminine (Victoria Secret PINK, Hello Kitty, Barbie). In the 2001 film Legally Blonde, Elle Wood, Harvard law student, was at first not taken seriously because she wore a lot of pink, which some correlated with girliness and weakness. She embraced it, showing strength and smarts. Some women (and men) dye their hair pink as a sign of edginess or rebellion (Pink is the new Punk!). In 2016, Pink was the name of a Bollywood movie protesting forced and violent rape and stressing the importance of a woman's consent. The title refers to the street slang for female genitalia. The Pussyhat Project and the 2017 Women’s March used pink hats and the reference to women’s genitals as a symbol of strong women advocating for rights and empowerment. Alecia Beth Moore, the singer known as Pink (stylized as P!nk), isn’t sweet-voiced. Her range is powerful and she uses it to stand up for underdogs, advocate self-love, inner power, courage, and political protest. She calls P!NK “a brand, a snarl.”

Women don’t have a lock on the color pink these days. Some companies (like LYFT ride-sharing with its pink mustache and Vineyard Vines clothing with a pink whale logo) target both male and female customers. In fact, men who wear pink are considered confident about their sexuality. Pink clothing for men (shorts, slacks, sweaters, shirts) is sold at many major retailers like J. Crew, Gap, Nautica, Ralph Lauren, Banana Republic, J McLaughlin, and even conservative Brooks Brothers. Pinkbike.com is a badass website for guys and girls. The name was originally thought up as a joke, the antithesis of names like "extremebiking.com" and "hardcorebiking.com." As time passed, word spread, and Pinkbike grew into a world-renowned source for mountain bike news.

Some male celebrities use pink to make themselves stand out. Rocker Rod Stewart sometimes wears a pink satin jacket and singer Harry Styles often performs in pink suits and shirts. Singer Joey Ramone used to hitchhike in pink, knee-high platform boots. Actor Ed Helms recalls a time when he wore pink Converse All Stars because he thought it made him seem daring and irreverent. Cam’ron, American rapper, record executive, actor, fashion designer, and Harlem trendsetter said, “When I first started wearing pink, it wasn't nothing I planned on doing or strategized. But people showed me so much love for the pink mink I wore, I had to go out to Pantone and create my own color, which is called Killa Pink.” 

 October is the month when pink is seen everywhere. From sports teams to people in the community, thousands participate and the goal is to educate people about the treatment and prevention of breast cancer in both men and women.

Pink Day, celebrated in the U.S. on June 23 and worldwide on many different dates, is a day to wear pink and stand up against the injustice of harassment and bullying, especially against minorities and those of the LGBTQ community. It was founded in 2007 by two teens from Canada after a gay boy was bullied for wearing a pink shirt.

Pink has a complicated history somewhat different from the current perceptions.

A light-hued mixture of red and white obtained from vegetable dyes surfaced between 3000 BC and 30 BC in ancient Greece. The color was called “rhodos.” Pastel shades were chiefly used for fabrics of lighter texture and women were especially fond of them.

 In Ancient Rome, there’s no mention of pink for clothing. Romans preferred white. The Dark Ages saw only subdued colors and the Middle Ages brought only the bright hues of stained-glass windows.

It wasn’t until the sixteenth century that paler colors came into use again, but there’s no mention of pink, perhaps because colors were often given exotic names (e.g. aurore, amorous desires, kiss-me-my-mignon).

Pink was first used as a color name in the 17th century, after a flower of the same name. Pink clothing wasn’t gender-specific for girls. European paintings showed young boys wore it too (e.g. Velasquez’s young boy in a black dress with a pink sash and Van Dyke’s young William II in pink hose and a pinkish-red dress).

Some paintings of the eighteenth century show this trend continued (e.g. John Singleton Copley’s young American boy wearing a black waistcoat with a pink satin collar, Larquilliere’s Prince Henry wearing a lace shirt with a pink underlining, and Francois Boucher’s French shepherd boy wearing a flowing pink tunic). 

In eighteenth century France, pastels were favored by Marie Antoinette and her court and it wasn’t sex-differentiated. Men might wear yellow breeches and a light-green coat with a pink and buff vest.

During the first half of the nineteenth century, men favored pale, neutral colors, but pink (called Levantine) was reserved for women. Pale shades were considered correct for evening although they continued to wear dark clothes during the day time. No mention is made of color differentiation between the sexes for children.

The 20th century brought the acceptance of light colors for daytime as well as evening, and “in the pink” came to mean good health and well-being for both sexes. Neon lights were invented in 1910 and some were pink. A “Pink Lady” drink (sweet and innocent-looking but packing a punch) was first referenced in a 1913 Manual of Mixed Drinks. The 1920s introduced pink nail polish and pink bubblegum. “Tickled pink,” an idiom that means one is well pleased, was first recorded in 1922 where it alluded to one's face turning pink with laughter when tickled. In The Great Gatsby, written in 1925, Jay Gatsby wears a pink suit. It wasn’t a sign of femininity but of “new money.” At the time, pink represented the working classes. The word “pinko” was coined in 1925 in the United States as a pejorative to describe a person sympathetic to communism. (The reasoning: pink is a lighter shade of red, a color associated with communism, so pink could describe a lighter form of communism.) In 1929, gender differentiation of pink for girls and blue for boys first appeared in Bologna, Italy when a midwife started the fashion for colored ribbons to announce the birth of a baby. 

In the 1940s, U.S. WWII Army officers wore light-shade trousers called “pinks” (for the pinkish cast to the light drab cloth). Heterosexual military men accepted the color and the name. On the German side, homosexual prisoners were forced to wear pink triangles. The Nazis perceived pink as feminine and a way to mark gay men as effeminate. 

Pink became trendy in the 1950s when even some cars were pink and the U.S. president’s wife, Mamie Eisenhower, popularized pale pink clothing for women. Men stayed shy of it, but teenage boys in the 1950s and 60s often wore a pink carnation in their lapels to proms. 1963 saw the introduction of the Pink Panther film character- a male who was bumbling but clever in spite of himself. Perhaps the cartoon humor excused a pink coat of male fur at a time when wearing pink was risky for men. 

By the 1970s, pink tuxedo shirts and cummerbunds were worn by some males. The term “pink-collar” was popularized in the late 1970s to denote jobs perceived as women’s work (like nurses, secretaries, and elementary school teachers). Toward the end of the 70s, pink became a symbol of rebellious youth. 1979 saw a number of rock groups with pink in their names—Pink Floyd, Pink Cadillac, Pink Section, and a Japanese bubblegum-sound group Pink Lady. As a counterpoint to rebellion, some correctional institutions began using pink on the walls to soothe inmates—“pink clinks” as Time magazine called them. 

During the 1990s, the discrimination of the gay community diminished, broadening LGBTQ people's access to formerly heteronormative jobs and leading to increased spending power—the so-called “pink economy.” 

Despite the progress, today’s gender-reveal powders come in pink and blue, and pink still isn’t accepted by many as gender neutral. It’s strange because the cones at the back of your eyeball, sitting on the thin, light-sensitive retina, are red, blue, and green sensitive. To be perceived, light pink needs red cones to fully react, and both blue and green cones to partially activate. The RBG spectrum is pretty gender-neutral, isn’t it?

Favorite Books Along the Way

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“The book to read is not the one that thinks for you but the one which makes you think.”

Harper Lee

My earliest memories of stories are nursery rhymes. I don't remember having a book of them in the house but I do remember hearing them from my Mom and my Nana over and over in sing-song fashion. We often recited them together and I loved memorizing them at a young age.

The book I remember most from when I could read by myself was the classic Heidi by Johanna Spyri. I was impressed by Heidi’s respect for her grandfather and the disabled Clara and that she valued good people over riches. It also highlighted a love of the outdoors and made me want to visit the Alps — perhaps my first bite by the travel bug! 

A favorite book of my early teen years was The Black Opal by Dorothy Maywood Bird. This story of an intrepid college girl sleuth was the first mystery I read. It began a lifelong fascination and is perhaps why I write mystery books for teens today.

My college years introduced me to new ways of thinking through books. The Psychology of Clothes by J.C. Flügel made me consider why humans wear clothes at all. It demonstrated how history pointed to the desire for bodily protection, modesty, and decoration. In The Naked Ape, Desmond Morris, a zoologist, asserted that much of human behavior could be explained in the context of animal behavior, but retrospect shows it was male-centric and he gave short shrift to female hunter-gatherers and their important contributions. Mary McCarthy’s The Group mesmerized me with its frank and controversial exploration of women’s issues, social concerns, and sexuality. Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby and The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, both by Tom Wolfe, gave me short stories epitomizing hip times in New York City where I lived. A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway lured me to Europe and The Agony and the Ecstasy by Irving Stone increased my desire to see the works of Michelangelo in Italy, as well as other artists of the Renaissance. Other memorable books of the era, for various reasons, were The Godfather by Mario Puzo, Rosemary’s Baby by Ira Levin, Dr. Zhivago by Boris Pasternak, and A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith.

Motherhood introduced me to wonderful children’s literature that delighted my son and daughter. Living in Massachusetts, Make Way for Ducklings by Robert McCloskey was a lovely Boston story we related to. A Light in the Attic by Shel Silverstein made poetry fun, and The Big Orange Splot by Daniel Pinkwater emphasized the importance of individuality. My son loved the Curious George books by H.A. Rey and Asterix and Obelisk by René Goscinny‎ and ‎Albert Uderzo. My daughter loved Is This the House of Mistress Mouse by Richard Scarry and the Frog and Toad series by Arnold Lobel. As the children got older, I enjoyed explaining the facts of life to them with the help of Peter Mayle’s delightful book, Where Did I Come From?

Important adult books for me as a stay-at-home mom were varied. I enjoyed Watership Down by Richard Adams, a charming adventure story from the point of view of a small group of rabbits, as well the torrid, forbidden romance of The Thorn Birds by Colleen McCullough. Burr by Gore Vidal drew me into early American history and I learned about one of the tragedies Native Americans endured through Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee by Dee Brown. Two very different books I read then explored the base instincts of some humans. Helter Skelter by Vincent Bugliosi was about the senseless Manson family murderers in California and Sophie’s Choice by William Styron depicted the lingering catastrophic effects of Nazism. I was drawn into Greek politics by two other books. In A Man, the Italian journalist Oriana Fallaci wrote a fictionalized account of her relationship with the man who attempted to assassinate George Papadopoulos, the Greek dictator of the 1960s and 70s. Eleni, by Nicholas Gage, took me back to the Greek civil war of the 1940s and explored the mysterious death of the author’s mother during the unrest.

When I moved to Italy for a few years, I read many books about the country and about the Naples area where I lived. One of the most memorable and provocative was I Castrati. I don’t recall the author, but It was an eye-opening peek into the 18th and 19th century opera world where young boys were castrated to maintain their angelic prepubescent voices.

A few years later, I lived in Germany for a number of years and read many books about the places related to the Nazis and Hitler in Munich where I lived. I also read a lot of books about the Resistance and especially enjoyed one novel set in France—The Blue Bicycle by Regine Deforges.

After I returned to the States in the late Nineties, I read many mystery series. I followed the crime solving of two British detectives—police commander and poet Adam Dalgleish, the protagonist of P.D. James’s novels and Inspector Thomas Lynley, Elizabeth George’s high-born sleuth. Donna Leon’s books introduced me to her Italian crime solver, Commissario Guido Brunetti of Venice. For crime novels set in the States, I turned to Margaret Truman’s Washington D.C. murder mysteries, Lisa Scottoline’s Philadelphia legal thrillers, and Tess Gerritsen’s medical suspense featuring Boston detective Jane Rizzoli and medical examiner Dr. Maura Isles.

The Nineties also got me hooked on the Harry Potter books by J.K. Rowling and one of my favorite books at the end of the decade was Into Thin Air by Jon Krakauer, about the 1996 Mt. Everest disaster.

I started the 2000s with a great book, Isaac’s Storm by Erik Larson, about the 1900 Galveston hurricane, considered the deadliest in history. I also read all the Twilight books by Stephenie Meyer and became a huge fan of Tana French and her Dublin Murder Squad series, beginning with the first one, In the Woods.

Two favorite books from 2007 were The Bookseller of Kabul by Asne Seierstad and Street Boys by Lorenzo Carcaterra. The first is about daily life pressures in Afghanistan as a family struggles between the forces of modernity and tradition. The second novel takes place in bombed-out Naples, Italy during World War II. It’s a tale of abandoned children who become fearless fighters and unlikely heroes.

I most enjoyed two very different books in 2008. The Emperor of Ocean Park by Stephen L. Carter is a murder mystery focusing on middle and upper-class Black Americans in Washington, D.C. and Martha’s Vineyard. I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith is about an eccentric family living in genteel poverty in a decaying castle in England during World War II. It’s also a coming-of-age story of the teen girl narrator. 

The outstanding book for me in 2009 was What Came Before He Shot Her by Elizabeth George. I believe it should be read by anyone working with children who live in stressful circumstances.

In 2010, First They Killed My Father by Loung Ung gave me a first-hand account of the terrors of the Pol Pot regime in Cambodia.

Three books impressed me in 2011. Zeitoun by Dave Eggers is the non-fiction story of Abdulrahman Zeitoun, a Syrian-American man who rode out the 2005 Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans and rescued neighbors with his canoe. The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien is a book of linked short stories about a platoon of soldiers fighting on the ground in Vietnam. The Lotus Eaters by Tatjana Soli is a novel about a female combat photographer in Vietnam during the war. 

2012 provided two good books at the top of my list. The Garden of Beasts by Erik Larson is the story of the American Ambassador in Berlin during Hitler’s reign. Outliers —the Story of Success by Malcolm Gladwell explores some of the surprising factors which contribute to success.

2014 introduced me to neuroscientist and author Lisa Genova and her book Love Anthony, which gives a glimpse into the world of an autistic child. I also enjoyed The Garden of Last Days by Andre Dubus III which is a novel set in Florida in the days leading up to 9/11. 

In 2015, I discovered the first book of Elena Ferrante’s compelling Neapolitan quartet— My Brilliant Friend. I was also impressed with four other books. Little Bee by Chris Cleave is the story of a terrifying event that entwines the lives of a Nigerian girl and a young English mother. The Emerald Mile by Kevin Fedarko is the true 1983 story of the fastest ride down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon. It was in a wooden dory, not a raft. The Cat's Table by Michael Ondaatje is a coming of age novel about an 11-year-old boy's journey on a large ship's three-week voyage. It was influenced by the author’s own childhood voyage from Sri Lanka to England. Townie by Andre Dubus III is a memoir of the author’s somewhat turbulent childhood growing up in Haverhill. Massachusetts. 

In 2016, I enjoyed the remaining three books in Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan series–The Story of a New Name, Those Who Go and Those Who Stay and The Story of the Lost Child. Another good book was Inside the O'Briens by Lisa Genova. It’s a novel about the impact of the neurodegenerative Huntington’s Disease upon a man and his family.

In 2017, there were two memorable books for me. Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson is a true story about the Equal Justice Initiative, a legal practice dedicated to defending those most desperate and in need: the poor, the wrongly condemned, and women and children trapped in the farthest reaches of our criminal justice system. The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead is a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel which follows one woman on a journey out of human bondage, using the author’s imaginary concept of a real system of rail connections.

Three books about World War II were most enjoyable in 2018. Lilac Girls by Martha Hall Kelly is a novel that follows the lives of three women affected by the war—a Polish Resistance worker, a German doctor, and an American working at the French consulate. Beneath a Scarlet Sky by Mark Sullivan is a novel based on the true story of a heroic Italian teenager who spied for the Allies during the Nazi occupation of northern Italy. The Alice Network by Kate Quinn is about the heroic women working as Allied secret agents in occupied France.

The Atomic City Girls by Janet Beard is one pick for 2019. It’s an historical novel set in Oak Ridge, Tennessee toward the end of World War II, where hundreds of young girls operate massive machines whose purpose isn’t explained. All they know is they’re working in a top-secret facility on something to help end the war. Another pick is The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot. It’s a non-fiction book about a Black woman and the immortal cell line researchers still use known as HeLa that came from her cervical cancer cells in 1951. It discusses ethical issues of race and class in medical research.

So far this year, 2020, my two favorites are When We Left Cuba by Chanel Cleeton and At the Wolf’s Table by Rosella Postorino. The first is set in the sixties of Fidel, Kennedy, the Bay of Pigs, Cuba, and Florida. The second focuses on the women who were recruited as food tasters for Hitler near his Wolf's Lair military headquarters on the Eastern Front.

In the last fifteen years, I’ve read an average of fifty-eight books a year, so my favorites are only a small part of my literary influence. I’ve learned something from every one of them.

 P.S. More than once, an alert reader has pointed out that this post has a misspelling. While I appreciate the feedback, I want to clarify. The name Asterix is correct for the book character, as opposed to asterisk, which is a punctuation mark.

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Exploring Museums Part I - the U.S.

“Don’t go to a museum with a destination. Museums are wormholes to other worlds. They are ecstasy machines. Follow your eyes to wherever they lead you…and the world should begin to change for you.”

Jerry Saltz, Art Critic

I love museums and I was lucky enough to grow up in a city with dozens of world-class ones—New York City. My three favorites, the Met (Metropolitan Museum of Art), the Guggenheim and MOMA (the Museum of Modern Art) provided hours of pleasure and whetted my appetite to seek out the treasures of other museums around the world. 

The Met on Fifth Avenue is my number one. Its neo-classical, Richard Morris Hunt-designed entrance is majestic. In the galleries, I love gazing at the oil paintings of Renoir, Picasso, Monet, Goya, Hopper, Pollock and so many other masters. I love walking through the Egyptian Temple of Dendur. It was commissioned by the Roman Emperor Augustus when Rome ruled Egypt and was gifted by Egypt to the United States in 1965. I enjoy the special modern art exhibitions which open onto a roof garden with an awesome view of Central Park and the Costume Institute where I was fortunate to attend a class in college and get an up-close and hands-on look at designer fashions through the centuries.

What I love most about the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, about six blocks north of the Met on Fifth Avenue, is the building itself. The unique concrete, spiral-ramp architecture is a UNESCO World Heritage site designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. Paintings and sculptures by Degas, Manet, Cezanne, Gauguin, Seurat and others are displayed along the quarter-mile-long ramp and illuminated from above by a giant domed skylight.

MOMA is noted for thought-provoking contemporary and modern art. Aside from the works of artists like Niki de Saint Phalle, Alexander Calder, Ai Weiwei, Jean Arp, ,Jean-Michel Basquiat, Keith Haring, Roy Lichtenstein and many others, the museum has a large photography collection featuring Ansel Adams, Diane Arbus, Richard Avedon, Margaret Bourke-White, Gordon Parks and many more. Music plays a big role in some of the exhibitions and the museum also has an extensive film vault. One event I attended in the museum theater was an impressive sound and light show. 

New York is not the only place in the U.S. with interesting museums. Having lived in Massachusetts for many years, I’ve wandered through many of them in that state. Some of my favorites are in Boston, Cambridge and Salem.

 In Boston, one of the most enchanting is the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, modeled after a Fifteenth-Century, Venetian-inspired palazzo. One of the highlights is the sculpture-rich and flower-filled courtyard in the center when sunlight shines through the glass roof and washes over the surrounding walls and arched arcades. Gardner’s collection of paintings is so vast, the walls are crammed with great works. I remember being surprised to find a glorious Botticelli almost hidden in a tiny niche. 

My other Boston favorite is especially great for kids but inspirational for adults as well. The Museum of Science on the Charles River is filled with learning experiences about biology, paleontology, technology, chemistry, physics and more and makes them fun. It also has an IMAX theater, a planetarium, a full-size T-rex model and a 23-foot-long triceratops skeleton.

In Cambridge, one of my favorite exhibits is the Ware Collection of Blaschka Glass Models of Plants, the “Glass Flowers,” at the Harvard Museum of Natural History. Over 4,000 models are the creations of glass artisans from Dresden, Germany and they’re spectacular.

Salem has a number of museums related to the witchcraft trials of the late 1600s but the museum jewel is the Peabody Essex Museum. Visiting Yin Yu Tang, the reconstructed Chinese ancestral home there from the Qing Dynasty, gives a rare perspective on Chinese art, architecture, and culture. There is also a great collection of New England maritime art and I’ve enjoyed many special exhibitions, such as a collection of vibrant-colored photos from Havana, Cuba. 

In San Francisco, California, the copper-skinned M. H. de Young Memorial Museum (commonly referred to as the de Young) is a fine arts museum in Golden Gate Park that blends into the park landscaping. It’s easy to spend three hours browsing exhibits of American, African, Oceanic, Costume, Textile, Graphic and Photographic Arts. The museum café opens onto a great sculpture garden and the 360-degree view of the Bay Area from the tower rooftop is spectacular.

Some smaller cities and towns also have museum gems. Great Falls, Montana has the Charles M. Russell Museum, honoring the renowned painter, sculptor and writer, known for his Native American and cowboy themes. It’s an impressive complex with modern galleries, his original log cabin studio and his home.

Ridgway, Colorado, an old western town used as the setting for several classic western movies, including “True Grit” starring John Wayne, is home to the Ouray County Ranching History Museum. In addition to rooms depicting ranch life from the 1880s to the present, it showed me the impressive artistry of leatherwork used for riding saddles.

Now that I’m a Florida resident, I’ve uncovered some interesting museums here.

 907 Whitehead Street in Key West is the site of The Ernest Hemingway Home and Museum. The privacy and tropical landscape of his estate created a sanctuary for his writing and his six-toed cat, whose descendants still roam the grounds.

The Flagler Museum on Palm Beach Island was the Gilded Age estate (Whitehall) of Henry Morrison Flagler, the builder of railroads and hotels who brought tourism to Southeast Florida. A tour of the classical, Doric-columned building gives a glimpse into the luxury and lifestyle of the wealthy during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The interior rooms are a mix of styles, including Louis XIV, Louis XV, and the Italian and French Renaissances. Exhibits often include historical fashions, footwear and jewelry, in addition to paintings and photography.

West Palm Beach is home to the newly-restored Norton Museum of Art. The stark modern façade was built to accommodate a humungous banyan tree outside the front entrance and a former parking lot was transformed into a 37,200-square-foot, lush, sub-tropical sculpture garden. A quirky touch to the outside front is a colossal typewriter eraser which I love. It’s by Claes Oldenburg, one of the founders of Pop Art. Indoors, the museum has large collections of American, Chinese, Contemporary and European art, as well as Photography.

Because of COVID, many, if not all of these institutions have been closed to the public, except virtually, for months. As cases decline and safe protocols are put in place, I look forward to the museums reopening soon.

Walking Lakeview Highlands in Summer

 “I will be the gladdest thing… Under the sun!... I will touch a hundred flowers… And not pick one…. I will look at cliffs and clouds… With quiet eyes… Watch the wind blow down the grass… And the grass rise….”

“Afternoon on a Hill” by Edna St. Vincent Millay 

Our hillside in Maine (Lakeview Highlands) is a former farm that was converted into a community of private homes starting in the 1970s. When we bought our lot in 1983, we had only a few neighbors—a handful who purchased lakeside cabins the farm used to rent and had them moved up the hill and four homes the owners either had built or built themselves. We joined the latter do-it-yourself group when we built our place. Today, the hill has more than 40 well-spaced homes.

We originally bought our lot for its proximity to Saddleback Mountain and winter skiing and we used it year-round on weekends and during vacation periods until we took up residence in Florida two years ago. It’s now our summer home and one of the things we enjoy is a daily morning walk around one of the hillside loops. It’s only two miles but the hilly terrain makes it feel more challenging than our flat, three-mile, daily walk at home. The road is dirt and fine shale and dust is kept down with occasional treatments of calcium chloride. The former pasture land is now dotted with tall trees— spruce, pine, cedar, white birch and poplar.

A left out of our driveway takes us uphill. About a quarter mile up, the next house on the left is the first house built on the hill that wasn’t a cabin. I have memories of my young children building a tree house with the two boys who visited their grandparents there in the summers. Two houses up on that same side, is another of the early houses and I remember how the original owners had a shadow box filled with individual rocks they found on dozens of Maine peaks. A small road climbs to the left and I remember it used to lead to one of the cabins where we enjoyed pancakes made by the owners using blueberries from their expansive blueberry patch.

The right side of our road has three houses and a steep lot that was once the top of a short-lived ski slope. Openings in the trees offer expansive views of the southern end of Rangeley Lake and the Overlook, the hill to our south that was unbuilt on when we arrived and is now dotted with homes and is part of our landowners’ association. The last house in the row is also one of the early ones. It was built by the owner the year before ours went up and we’ve watched it grow in size over the years. The property has morphed from one house into a compound of buildings and we’ve shared many good times there. As we walk past, the scent of balsam wafts from the trees lining their roadside. 

When we arrived here in 1983, the road took a sharp left after that last house and there were no more houses until you took a right after about a mile and came upon some of the old cabins. Today, that mile has about ten houses and one of them is in the process of having an addition built.

 New roads have since been opened at that turn. One continues straight ahead, ending in a cul de sac and another is to the right. Our walk takes us right and downhill. At a curve we pass a break in the woods for power lines. A path underneath them is carved from the ruts of snowmobiles and ATVs . It makes a steep decline on our hill, crosses Nile Brook and has an even steeper incline up the Overlook hill. It reminds me of the adventures our young children had climbing down to Nile Brook and their tales of a baby moose there with long, spindly legs and finding abandoned baby rabbits they nicknamed Sam and Maxie.

One house further down on the left reminds me of former owners who had the odd habit of feeding a bobcat. Continuing downhill from there, the lake comes into view again. On the right is a weathered barn that marks the road leading up to a bed and breakfast.

Along the way, we get hints of animal musk drifting in the clear air. Even when we don’t see them, we know the woods are home to moose, deer, coyotes, foxes, black bear and rabbits. We hear the sounds of bird song. Our eyes feast on glorious wildflowers—lupine, daisies, Indian paintbrush, yellow hawksweed and more. In the woods, a few storm-tossed trees lean. Colorful kayaks are stacked under some house decks. 

Toward the bottom of the hill, the road curves right. Paralleling Route 4 and the lakeshore below it, it touches the upper boundaries of the land occupied by the farm’s original main house and outbuildings. The house has operated as The Farmhouse Inn since the 70s. The most recent owners added a huge event barn about a hundred feet long. Due to the restrictions imposed by the pandemic, it stands temporarily empty and an outdoor wedding arch is gone.

The road climbs uphill until we reach the corner and turn right onto our road again. This is the steepest part of the walk. The next house on the left, next-door to ours, has a small apple orchard and is the home of one of the farmer’s descendants. She was the last baby in that family born in the farmhouse.

Nearing the end of our walk, we turn left into our uphill driveway. It’s a workout!

Guarded Road Trip During a Pandemic

 “We can't lower our guard. We are still far from half-time.”

 Erna Solberg, Norway’s Prime Minister

Since March, when our Florida county detected its first virus cases, we stayed safe in our home, venturing out only for a few miles of exercise on uncrowded sidewalks or to make occasional grocery forays armed with masks, disinfectant wipes and hand sanitizer.

By June, the month of our annual migration to our vacation home in Maine, the virus was still a threat. We wanted to head north for a number of reasons but we were unsure what COVID-19 conditions we might encounter during the journey.

We ruled out flying since sitting in recycled air with a bunch of strangers for a few hours didn’t seem advisable. The alternative was driving. The plus was it meant only the two of us would be sharing the space. The minuses were the stops we’d have to make for bathroom breaks, gas, food and sleeping but we decided we could be in control of the risks with careful planning and taking adequate precautions. 

In addition to bringing our masks, wipes and hand sanitizer, we prepared in a couple of other ways. We purchased cotton bed sacks to sleep in. They allow you to avoid direct contact with hotel bedding and even have a pouch to insert pillows. We also filled a cooler with food so we could avoid dining in restaurants. 

Since we didn’t want to linger anywhere, we planned for two overnights and no visits to family and friends along the route. As for hotel choices, we had heard positive things about the way one chain was operating during this challenging time and made reservations through them.

On a partly sunny, 75 degree, Monday in mid-June, we set out with some trepidation at 7am. Our first stop was a rest area in northern Florida about two hours later. We put on our masks to enter the rest rooms but were dismayed to see few other travelers doing the same. There were no precaution signs either. Not a promising start.

In Georgia, we ate lunch in the car— some of our brought food and coffee from McDonald’s. 

A South Carolina rest area had good cleaning precautions making us feel safer. In addition, many travelers were wearing masks. The only downer was the weather—showers.

North Carolina was our target state for the first overnight, so I did a mobile check-in for the hotel after we crossed the state line. Then the problems began. First the showers turned to hard rain, and after a rest stop, the car wouldn’t start for a few agonizing moments. When it finally turned over, the ABS light, traction light and 4WD light all came on! We googled and it sounded like it might be a sensor problem and could still be driven, so we continued on our way with fingers crossed.

At the traffic light just around the corner from our hotel in Rocky Mount, the car died again and wouldn’t restart. Two good Samaritans helped push the car while I steered it as far as it would go. They pushed again and I steered it to the hotel parking lot. It was still raining. One of the guys opened the hood and discovered one of the terminals on our new battery hadn’t been tightened enough when it was installed. He borrowed a wrench from the hotel, tightened it and the car started right up.

The hotel lobby was empty except for 2 people behind the reception desk not wearing masks. The only contact though was when one of them handed us our key cards. The hotel restaurant was closed. Our room was clean but I wiped handles, switches, etc. with disinfectant wipes. For dinner, we microwaved baked penne we brought from home and poured some wine. We relaxed into our bed sacks, shedding the stress of the day.

Tuesday started with pouring rain. After coffee in our room, we left the hotel after dropping key cards into bowl of liquid disinfectant. After coffee and egg McMuffins from a McDonald’s drive-thru, we headed north.

 In Virginia, where we had on-again, off-again rain, we were surprised to see a large Confederate flag flying next to the highway just south of Petersburg, VA. It felt especially insensitive in the wake of several recent killings of unarmed Black men. 

 A Virginia rest stop sign said face masks were required to enter the restrooms and Virginia highway signs said, “If you have to travel, do so safely.”

The rain stopped in Maryland and highway signs there said, “If out and about, do your part. Keep social distance.” Except for Delaware, all of the next states we passed through had highway signs pertaining to COVID-19 caution. New Jersey’s said, “Face coverings required in service areas.” New York had two different signs: “Outside with no mask? Fuhgeddaboudit!” and “Wear masks in public. Wash hands with soap.” Connecticut followed with, “Connecticut respect: If you have to ask, wear a mask.” Our second overnight target state, Massachusetts, declared, “All travelers entering Massachusetts are urged to self-quarantine for 14 days.” 

After the Massachusetts state line, I did a mobile check-in for our hotel in Worcester. The hotel lobby was empty except for one guy at the reception desk behind a clear plastic partition and the floor was marked for social distancing. Again, there was no contact, except for the key card handover. The hotel restaurant was closed. Our room was clean but I wiped down surfaces just to be sure. We microwaved pizza slices we brought from home and drank some wine then slept in our bed sacks. 

Our last day on the road was sunny. As we left the hotel, we deposited our key cards in a receptacle at the parking lot exit. Breakfast was a Dunkin stop for coffee and sandwiches which we ate at a picnic table outdoors with no other people nearby. Knowing we’d have to self-quarantine in Maine, we made two grocery stops in Massachusetts to stock up. Market Basket limited customers to 127 and had one-way aisles. Customers and store personnel wore masks. Costco had the cart handles wiped down and masks seemed universal there as well.

I noticed no highway signage in New Hampshire but Maine greeted us with, “Executive order – non-essential persons entering Maine must 14-day self-quarantine.” When we entered our little mountain lake town, Rangeley, a road sign reminded us once more, “Welcome…Remember Social Distance…Quarantine.” 

Venezuelan Honeymoon Adventure

“If happiness is the goal – and it should be, then adventures should be a priority.”

Richard Branson 

Today’s Venezuela is violent, poverty-stricken and one of the countries with a “Do Not Travel” recommendation from the U.S. State Department. That was not the case in June 1971 when my husband and I spent our honeymoon there. It was then under the leadership of President Rafael Caldera who helped forge an unprecedented period of civilian democratic rule. Its oil production peaked the year before and Caldera made a visit to the U.S. to meet with President Nixon who committed to increasing the market share of Venezuelan petroleum exports to the United States. We were free to visit and enjoy the wild natural beauty of the country.

We flew from New York to Caracas via Viasa, the now-defunct, international airline of Venezuela. We were provided with a menu booklet, then dinner and an aperitif were served.

Since Caracas is close to the northern Caribbean coast of the country, we started with some idyllic beach days at a nearby seaside resort in Macuto. As was usual in those days, the hotel kept our passports during our stay.

When it was time for us to leave for Caracas, we were a bit disconcerted when the Macuto hotel insisted on keeping our passports. They insisted it was required and assured us they’d be forwarded to our next hotel. We took their word for it, hoped for the best and moved on to explore the capital city.

My memories of Caracas are a blend of mountain vistas, massive traffic jams, wolf-whistles because my mid-length pencil skirt had a slit up the front that reached just above my knees, shopping with the local currency (bolivars) and the importance of being respectful at the a giant equestrian statue of Simon Bolivar who led Venezuela and several other counties to independence from the Spanish Empire.

Our first venture away from the city was by gondola. The Teleférico de Caracas ascended El Ávila Mountain within El Ávila National Park. The view from the top showed the city of Caracas on one side and the coastline on the other. There was a tower with steps leading to a building, so we headed up to have an even higher vantage point. We stopped when an armed soldier wearing a cape rushed out the door and pointed his rifle at us. Backing down with hands up and eyes wide, we apologized and used the ignorant tourist excuse.

Our next adventure was a long day trip via Avensa, a small regional airline, also now defunct, to remote Canaima National Park, the sixth biggest national park in the world. It’s located in southeastern Venezuela between the borders of Brazil and Guyana and is home to indigenous Pemon Indians. The only ways to get there are by air or water.

We flew over miles of jungle and part of the Orinoco River until we landed at Canaima Airport. We were then driven to a jungle camp on the banks of a lagoon on the Carrao River where we had lunch under a thatched roof shelter at an open-air restaurant. Plates were turned upside-down until food was served, we assumed to keep them clean from insects, dust or both. The water they poured into our drinking glasses was tea colored. It was safe to drink, the color coming from natural tannins in the water.

After lunch, we walked over to a sandy beach, boarded a boat and crossed the lagoon to get close to a cluster of powerfully wide waterfalls (Ucaima, Golondrina, Wadaima and Hacha Falls). They all had the same yellowish-brown tint as the drinking water.

Our next journey was to go further into the park by plane to see Angel Falls, the world's highest uninterrupted waterfall. It drops over the edge of a tepuis (table-top mountain) with a height of 3,212 feet and a plunge of 2,648 feet. Surrounded by a thick jungle, it’s one of the least accessible tourist attractions in South America and can only be seen when flying by it in a plane or riding near it in a boat. It requires some flying skill and luck to reach as it depends on weather conditions. I remember how the winds buffeted our plane as the pilot navigated the canyon but we were fortunate to have no clouds blocking our view, as sometimes was known to happen.

Following that spectacular ride, the plane headed back toward Caracas and we soon headed into a heavy rain storm. The rocking and rolling of the plane didn’t bother us too much. Our nerves ramped up when saw the flight attendants stuffing paper into places where the rain was leaking into the cabin. To calm everyone down, thy handed out small nips of alcohol.

At the end of the day, we did arrive back in the city safe and sound. It was a wonderful adventure to a park which has since been declared (in 1994) a World Heritage Site by UNESCO. It’s off-limits right now, but it would be cool to go back and visit Angel Falls by water in a dugout canoe sometime.

For one of our last adventures in Venezuela, we rented a car. We had heard about what was once called a “lost” German village in the mountains west of Caracas. We located Colonia Tovar on the map and headed out onto a highway. At some point, we took a wrong turn and stopped to ask directions. A young man pointed up to the mountains, said the way was hard to describe and offered to go with us. He hopped in and soon we were on steep mountain roads with no guardrails. There were occasional crosses near the edge and he yelled, “Muerto!” at each one. It was nerve wracking but we couldn’t turn around.

When we did finally pull into the village, we learned it was 7,000 feet above sea level. We had come up the steep side and it soon became evident it wasn’t worth the effort. Colonia Tovar was a Disneyesque version of a German town and was filled with tourists, most of whom by the way, had arrived via a direct superhighway from the city. We took a fast look around and went back to Caracas the quick way. It took us over three hours to get there and less than an hour and a half to return. 

When our adventurous honeymoon was coming to an end, we checked out of our hotel and requested our passports, but they didn’t have them. The beach hotel in Macuto had forgotten to send them but promised to have someone bring them right away. Worry about missing our return flight to New York loomed as we waited. When they finally arrived, we had a frantic ride to the airport, where we found out our plane had already boarded. The people at the reservation desk called and had the plane held then they hustled us across a field dotted with rifle-toting soldiers. It was a dramatic end to our stay.

All in all, our honeymoon was romantic and memorable with lots of adventure thrown in–just the way we liked it.

Navigating Winter into Spring During COVID-19

"When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.'"

Fred Rogers

(Part of my coping with COVID-19 restrictions and avoiding too much navel-gazing, has been a daily 3-mile walk and keeping a diary.)

Week of January 26th

Though China told the World Health Organization about reports of a new coronavirus at the end of December, it didn’t affect my personal radar until January 27th when two friends were heading to Hong Kong. The CDC issued a travel health warning about the virus and I worried as Hong Kong cancelled the Lunar New Year celebration, the marathon and schools. On January 28th, 30 high school kids and 3 teachers from my town here in Florida were put into self-quarantine after attending the Model UN program in New Haven, Connecticut. They’d been exposed to coronavirus.

Week of February 2nd

After a few days stay, due to impending flight cancellations from Hong Kong to the US, my friends cut their trip short and returned to Boston.

Week of February 9th

In mid-February, two other friends left on a multi-stop international trip.

Week of February 23rd

When our friends got to Tokyo at the end of the month and the reports were ramping up, I started to worry about them.

Week of March 1st

Our friends continued to Singapore where cases were being reported and my husband and I had our last kayak outing before boat ramps were closed in Palm Beach County.

Week of March 8th

Our friends continued to Dubai where cases were also reported. On March 10th, I got my last haircut before salons were closed here. On March 11th, my husband and I had our bags packed for a flight to Argentina the next day. However, we received an email from the U.S. Embassy in Buenos Aires stating we’d have to self-quarantine for 14 days upon arrival. That was pretty much our whole trip! We wouldn’t be able to see the sights, go to restaurants, learn to tango or take a paid-for flight to Mendoza. Airline phones and web sites were so overwhelmed, we had to go to the airport to cancel. The terminal was like a ghost town which was good for social distancing and getting things done quickly. Due to the pandemic, they gave us a code to re-book using our non-refundable tickets. At the time, they said they’d be good for a year. Now all tickets are good through 2022. That same day, March 11th, Palm Beach County had its first coronavirus case. On March 12, we unpacked our bags, cancelled our Buenos Aires – Mendoza flights and our county’s second coronavirus case was verified. On March 13th, I had my last meal in a restaurant with my husband and four friends, before restaurants were closed. We ate at a table on an outdoor porch and I wiped the plastic cover of the menu and the metal table with a disinfectant wipe. One friend sprayed all of our hands with alcohol when we finished eating and I washed my hands well when I got home.

Week of March 15th

The March 15th headline in the Palm Beach Post channeled the hurricane zone buying sprees: “Toilet paper is the plywood of the pandemic.” In Colorado where my kids live, all ski areas were closed. On March 16, I attended my first Palm Beach Gardens Fiction Writers critique meeting via WEBEX video. On March 17, our friends were supposed to leave Dubai and head to South Africa to visit family. However, due to coronavirus, the South African government started denying entry to foreigners and they flew home to the U.S. instead. That same day, Argentina suspended flights to the US. Also, Palm Beach county closed parks to group activities and a medical relative of my husband was ordered to stay home from the hospital for two weeks because he’d been on an airplane. Florida ordered all bars closed. On March 18th, I took my last walk on a beach before the county closed them the following day.

Week of March 22nd

On March 22nd, Palm Beach County closed all boat launches and marinas. On March 23rd and 26th, I connected with Newburyport Writers in Massachusetts via ZOOM. The first day was a test run and the second was a workshop on How to Get Your Writing Rejected. On March 24th, my son in Colorado social-distanced and kept busy by building a beautiful wooden pergola over his wife’s garden bed. On March 25th, I took my last walk in one of the natural areas that are now closed. Right after that, our resident association closed the community pool and our town issued a stay-at-home advisory. On March 27th, a nearby spa closed, so my facial was cancelled and I finished sewing 13 cloth masks.

Week of March 29th

 On March 31st, my son’s place of employment was ordered to close, I participated in an author video podcast using ZOOM and my husband and I went to Costco where the lines were socially distanced all around the parking lot at 7:30am for the 8-9am senior shopping hour. On April 1st, I posted a blog about walking during the pandemic, my dentist cancelled because the state closed them down except for emergencies and I touched base with family in hard-hit New York. My sister was doing an online boot camp run by her physical therapist. A niece was finishing her final semester of graduate work via video. My musician brother was entertaining via online video and another brother was conducting medical equipment trainings via video rather than traveling to various hospitals. On April 2nd, my daughter who is a neuroscience nurse in Colorado tended to her first COVID patients and I attended a ZOOM video workshop run by the Society for Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators. On April 4th, during a morning walk, I came upon a couple social distancing and beating the heat by sitting in a blow-up pool on their lawn and drinking beers. Coincidentally the same day, my daughter in Colorado told me Avery Brewery in Boulder was giving away cases of beer to CO nurses and doctors. That same day, I attended a Florida Treasure Coast Sisters in Crime ZOOM meeting about editing.

Week of April 5th

On April 5th, two snowbird friends made a straight-run drive home to Massachusetts and a neighbor was reprimanded by the police for riding his bike into an empty county park. On April 6th, I admired a neighbor’s bromeliads (air plants) on a tree. The next day, I began collecting one air plant each day during my daily neighborhood walk and attaching them one of our trees. On April 8th, my dermatologist cancelled my appointment because the office is closed due to pandemic. On April 9th, I wore a cloth mask for the first time to grocery shop at Publix. On April 10th, my daughter the nurse was given a super power backpack by her boss.

Week of April 12th

On April 12th, I gave 2 cloth masks to neighbors who had none and two friends in Germany tested negative for COVID-19 after one was exposed at work. On April 13th, I trimmed my husband’s hair because barber shops are closed and, related to our cancelled trip, finally got the International coverage charges for our cell phones removed. On April 15th, Palm Beach County announced high school seniors will have virtual graduations and my daughter’s neuroscience department went from 0 to 13 COVID patients in less than a week. On April 17, my husband went to Costco and encountered no lines and no toilet paper.

Week of April 19th

On April 20th, I went to Publix and they also had no toilet paper. (Good thing we have enough for a while.) In the evening, I had my Palm Beach Gardens Fiction Writers WEBEX critique meeting. On April 22nd, I had my first ZOOM critique meeting with the local chapter of the Society for Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators. On April 23, my husband’s May eye exam was cancelled due to the pandemic, I attended a ZOOM meeting on Beta Readers with Newburyport Writers and enjoyed my brother and others playing and singing in a ZOOM Facebook Live event with Staten Island Arts. On April 25, I virtually attended the Newburyport Literary festival via ZOOM and my daughter’s hospital received face shields from the collaborative effort of 3 outdoor gear companies: Yeti, Smith and Black Diamond.

Week of April 26th

On April 28th, one of my husband’s photographs became part of a virtual online exhibit for The Lighthouse Art Center in Jupiter, Florida. On April 28th, Palm Beach County reported 17 new deaths from COVID-19, its highest daily death count yet. The next day, the 29th, the county re-opened (with 19 pages of restrictions) county parks, golf courses, pools and marinas. Our own community sent an email saying they wouldn’t comply and our pool would remain closed. As much as I miss my morning swims, I think it’s the right move. On the 29th, my husband picked a handful of grape-size coco plums during out morning walk. On April 30th, I found toilet paper in the supermarket for the first time in a very long time!

A Neighborhood Walk Before and During a Pandemic

“As a nation, we can’t be doing the kinds of things we were doing a few months ago.”

Dr. Anthony Fauci 

When the world was normal, a walking loop around my Florida neighborhood was done for enjoyment. Today it’s done because I need a break from isolation, fresh air and exercise to help my immune system stay strong and relief from the bombardment of depressing virus news on my devices.

Not far from my front door, the walk takes me past the community pool, patio, clubhouse and gym. A short while ago, people would be swimming, lounging and working out. All of these facilities are closed now, and the county has closed public pools and even the beaches and boat launches. 

As I exit toward the street through a gate, I don’t dare touch it with my hands like I used to do without even thinking about it. Instead, I elbow it open.

Heading north, the sidewalk is about ten feet wide, serpentine and shaded by palms, live oak and pine. Once in a while, a small lizard scoots underfoot. I’d often pass walkers, joggers and cyclists before, but now they’re scarcer. Cyclists whiz by fast enough that I don’t give them a second thought but when another person on foot is approaching me, I watch to see which side of the walk they edge over to and I choose the opposite edge. Neither of us wear a mask and some give a tentative greeting but we keep our six-foot distance. At times, I’ve heard bits of cell conversations as they pass, “Yes, honey, I’m doing that. Don’t worry.” Like many, they’re reaching out with technology to loved ones isolated far away.

  A few hundred yards up is a canal where I sometimes see fish swimming and birds like egrets, herons and wood storks wading. These days, I’m careful not to touch the railing when I peer over the edge.

 The next mile passes the gates to another housing community before trees line the grass on the road side and jungle-like bushes edge the other all the way to the next intersection. Depending on the time of day, this intersection used to have a crossing guard who’d give a friendly greeting. The nearby schools are closed now, so he’s out of a job.

 A right turn takes me east and I pass a large county park on the left with a wooded walking trail and several grassy athletic fields. Soccer teams of all ages used to be there either practicing or playing official games. During games, the parking lots facing the fields would be full of cars, and the benches along the field were filled with families and friends. A playground with a jungle gym would be busy with squealing younger kids. For now, there’s a sign on the fence that says, “Field Closed” and playground use is forbidden. At first, the fields were only closed to group events, so I’d sometimes still see three or four teens kicking a ball around. My guess is they were high school players trying to stay in shape in case their cancelled season got a reprieve. Now, they can’t even do that, since all county parks have been closed, as the state parks were a week earlier.

Two schools (elementary and middle) are on the right. Before, I might see cars with parents behind the wheels lined up all down the road. They’d be waiting to pick up their kids after classes let out. School buses would be lined up in the driveways and the parking lots filled with teachers’ vehicles. The schools are closed now and teachers have prepared online curriculums for who knows how long. The latest projection is until May 1, but it may be extended. 

One day about a week ago, there was a sign on the elementary school fence that said, “Digital Pickup.” Laptops were being made available for kids to borrow if they didn’t have computers at home. It’s a great idea but I wondered if those same kids would have access to WI-FI for using them. Poverty disadvantages kids in so many ways.   

Reports yesterday allayed my worries. More than 30,000 have been distributed countywide and some companies are offering free internet access temporarily. The district has provided a list of potential options. In addition, for those who can’t access lessons online, the district is also offering televised classes during the school day through the district’s TV station, The Education Network.

 The fence gates are now locked and the schools are shuttered but learning continues, relying in large part, on the dedication of parents who must oversee their children’s participation.

 At the next corner, I turn right and south and there’s a tennis park on the left with many courts. Those were always busy and used to have crowds at times watching tournaments. Because a tennis game has a maximum of only four people, they remained open until last week. They’ve since been closed. 

 High hedges are on my right, then further on, line the sidewalks on both sides. They shield multi-age housing communities from passersby. Some of these communities used to be quiet during the day because kids were at school and many adults were at work. These days, they’re quiet for several reasons. Some workers are holed up in their houses telecommuting and some are lying low and worrying about finances because their jobs have been shut down. Though kids are home, they can’t play outside as carefree as they used to.

  At the next corner, a right takes me west onto a street filled with once-bustling restaurants, cafes, outdoor bars and small businesses. Most of them are closed now, except some of the restaurants are offering curbside take-out service for anyone who dares to venture over there. Behind these shops is an empty golf course. All golf courses in the county were closed this past week.

At the back entrance into my own community, I turn right and pass a few dozen townhouses and a couple of ponds. When I reach home, I’ve walked a loop of almost three miles. I’ve been doing this walk with my husband most days and, up until they closed the parks, we got some variety walking in uncrowded natural areas. The question in my mind now is, Will a neighborhood walk remain possible? 

A Fork in the Road of Life

“The more decisions that you are forced to make alone, the more you are aware of your freedom to choose.”

Thornton Wilder

Many people around the world dream of life-changing journeys, but their reality is full of roadblocks. Here is one man’s story:

He’d been a good son. When his mother pushed him to clean behind his ears, brush his teeth and dress properly, he didn't complain. In fact, he was grateful for those good habits because they raised his esteem in the eyes of others. When his father asked him to study hard and make him proud, he persevered until he earned a university degree..

But his education makes him see the world in a different way from his father, and his attractive appearance gives him social opportunities his mother doesn’t understand.

His body feels weighted down with indecision as he stares with blank eyes into his soul. Two paths lay before him, but which should he choose? The first is what he considers the opportunity of a lifetime, a chance to do graduate work abroad. The second is to honor his parents with obedience. They oppose his leaving because they have other plans for him which they consider important for the family; to marry the cousin they have selected and to take a government job in his country. 

He’s a man torn between two cultures, two generations, two worlds — the modern one he yearns to experience and the traditional one he’s obliged to occupy and not question.

Leaving would break many hearts and distance him, perhaps for good, from the family that has nurtured and loved him. He loves them too, but also understands their love is intricately bound up with rituals, restrictions, obedience and ideals he sometimes questions. He yearns to be free, not of his family, but of the taboos that stifle reasonable dissent. 

Staying and taking a government position doesn't guarantee stability. It might provide protection for his family but who knows? His country's government is volatile and the regime in power is corrupt. Anyway, he’d be sacrificing his ideals and hopes for democracy.

And the marriage! His cousin is a nice enough girl, but he feels no attraction for her in the least. She’d be nothing more than his baby-making machine for padding the family tree. It isn't fair — to either of them. He wants love. Is that so unreasonable?

The thing is… it's hopeless. Leaving requires a cold heart, courage and money. He lacks all of these, especially the money.

If he abandons his parents, they lose not only his future financial support but also the chance to watch his children grow and carry on the traditions. Dreams of his mother's tears and his father's rebukes would torture him..

If he refuses his cousin, she will be shamed and perhaps seen as unsuitable for marriage. He’d carry the weight of her humiliation with him.

But why should family demands override his needs and goals? Shouldn't parents feel joy when their child has new opportunities for growth? Why are they so resistant to change?

Last week he almost convinced himself it was foolish to be sentimental when his life was at stake. He made discreet inquiries about a student visa; it was no problem if he could afford to pay for his transportation, room and board. Perhaps, he thought, he could sell his computer and his old motorbike. After that, he’d find a job. 

Yesterday, he stashed the laptop into his backpack and made a dusty trip on the bike to see the merchants. The little cash they offered was contemptible. It would fund his getaway but he’d be penniless when he got there.  

He rode back home discouraged and doubt set in again. He told himself it would have been foolish to surrender the laptop that was essential for school. And without the motorbike, how would his brother take over the errands he did for the family now? 

Here in the dark room, the ramifications of leaving make his head throb, but the thought of staying makes his stomach ache. Is it more courageous to stay or to go?  How will he live with himself either way?

For Better or Worse—Memorable Trip Moments

“Live life with no excuses, travel with no regrets.”

Oscar Wilde

Sometimes the travel events we remember most are the mishaps, oddities, eye-openers or scary things. My life has had its share of those.

Mishaps

After touring with my two sisters visiting us in Italy, we packed the car for a trip to Greece. Somewhere on the Autostrada heading for the ferry between Brindisi and Patmos, their luggage flew off the roof of our car and we never found it again. 

On an Easter Sunday visit to a Croatian beach, we locked the keys in our car. Most places were closed. A local family helped to jiggle the window down and their young son was skinny enough to reach through and retrieve the keys.

On my husband’s first day of work at his new job in Italy, he exited our hotel to find that our car had been stolen from its parking spot directly in front of the hotel lobby. He spent several hours at the police station before reporting to work.

After a flight from New York to Istanbul, Turkey, we learned that our luggage was lost and one of our credit cards had been hacked at JFK. The luggage turned up several days later. The credit card was replaced, but not in time for use on our trip. Luckily, we had another card.

Some mishaps were health related and required doctor or pharmacy visits—a skin rash in St. Thibery, France, mal de schiena (lower back pain) in Rome, Italy, a meniscus tear on a ski slope in St. Anton, Austria, getting achy and feverish after a hot tub dip in Val d’Isere, France and a fat lip for my son after running and tripping in a restaurant in southern Italy.

Oddities

Thanksgiving is a very American holiday and when one is in a foreign country, the day is marked only in touristy hotels in major cities. Prato, Italy, where we found ourselves one year, is an old textile center and not touristy, so our T-day dinner was not traditional. In fact, our meal was unusual even for Italians, because the only restaurant we could find open was Chinese.

We saw some rather macabre catacombs (Catacombe dei Capuchini) with many bodies preserved, fully dressed and hanging in upright positions in Palermo, Sicily. The most memorable, however, was not standing but lying in a glass-covered coffin. It was that of Rosalia, a two-year-old girl in lifelike condition, despite being dead for almost a century.

Eye-openers

Eye-openers can be conversations you didn’t expect to have. For me, one happened in a Warsaw, Poland restaurant (prior to the wall coming down). An East German guy asked us why we were there when we had the freedom to travel to so many wonderful places beyond his reach. He was bitter because he had few choices, all of which were confined to the Eastern Bloc countries. 

A request from Morocco shocked me with the revelation that an everyday product in the U.S. was a scarce commodity there. My husband and I hand-transported 1,000 bars of hotel-size soap to a health clinic in a small village so our nurse friend in the Peace Corps could provide anti-bacterial care for wounds and minimize germ contamination.

A late-night arrival at JFK resulted in a long wait for our 6am connection to Boston and showcased the dire straits of homeless people who sought refuge in the nearly deserted terminal.

Scary Things

Our honeymoon in Venezuela included a hairy plane flight between Canaima and Caracas. The attendants gave us complimentary alcohol and then proceeded to stuff leaks in the plane with toilet paper.

When we passed through (then) Czechoslovakia on our drive to Poland, we stopped in Prague, only to find out our visas were one-way. We spent half a day in a government office filling out paperwork and hoping we’d be able to re-enter the country on our way back.

On leaving Poland, our car, with our children asleep in the back seat, was subjected to a complete search late at night. We had an “unofficial” painting bought from an art student in Krakow instead of a government store, so we were on edge.

After a harrowing detour on a high mountain road skirting a volcano in Baños, Ecuador, we were making a windy, steep descent into town when our rental car lost its brakes. 

Finally, we survived an earthquake in Naples, Italy. It could have been worse; we were at a soccer game near the epicenter only hours before.

As trying as those events were, my travels have also included amazing, surprising and sweet moments.

Amazing

Amazing moments for me have been many, like walking amidst blue-footed boobies on Isla de la Plata, Ecuador and having an outdoor bed massage on a beach in Koh Lanta, Thailand. 

Many amazing experiences have involved food— a dinner in a former camel caravan stall in Sarajevo, in what was then Yugoslavia, flying in to have lunch in a jungle camp near Canaima Falls, Venezuela, a complimentary bottle of sherry, almonds and chocolate at a parador near Huelva, Spain and enjoying giant, grilled shrimp at an oceanside inn in Figueira da Foz, Portugal. 

France didn’t disappoint in the amazing meals department either— a spectacular fish platter (Plateau Prunier) in Bayonne that was as large as the table, an eighteenth-century costumed, holiday dinner party in a French castle near Paris and a Michelin-starred dinner in a Beaujolais cave.

Surprising

We’ve had some surprises along the way. A Parisian waiter defied the French reputation for rudeness when he noticed I left my purse at a café and tracked me down on his motorcycle to return it.

In the largely Muslim country of Morocco, we encountered a painting of the feminist Betty Friedan in a museum in Agadir.

The teenage daughter of an Italian friend had a picture of American singer Jackson Browne in her bedroom at their vacation home in Sapri.

The manager of the hotel we stayed at in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam gifted me with a lovely white wool scarf on the day we left.

Sweet

My husband and I, both of retirement age, were sitting together at the edge of a fountain in Madrid, Spain when a local photographer asked to take our picture for a love-themed contest.