Through Wiser Eyes

“We’ll be back.”

That’s what we always say when we visit a place we enjoy, and we’ve enjoyed almost every place we’ve been.  But it has occurred to me that the older we get, there is a chance we might not be back.

That’s what made our trip to Italy, to places both familiar and new, different this time.  I took in the sights and the spirit of the people we visited through older, wiser eyes.  More appreciative of where we were, what we were doing, and who we were with.

Here are some of my favorite images from the trip.  I’m strictly an amateur photographer, armed with a Panasonic Lumix point-and shoot.

Taken from the town of Montone in Umbria

The church in Castiglion Fiorentino

Dome of the church opposite our balcony in Sorrento

Nightlife outside the Pantheon in Rome

Side street in Sorrento

Clerk at E. Volpetti’s in Rome

Sorrento beach

At Parrucchiano Ristorante in Sorrento

Come to think of it, hell yes, we’ll be back!

Time to start thinking about the next adventure.  Ciao!

Roamin’ Holiday

We came, we saw, we ate.

Having been lucky enough to see “the sights” in past visits, the goal of our trip to Italy was simple.  Enjoy.

Chef Andrea

So instead of visiting the Vatican again, we took a cooking class.  With ten other people, Chef Andrea Consoli taught us how to make everything from scratch, from the pasta to the dessert.  Four hours of work, followed by two hours of eating.  My only request to him was to give me something to do, “I can’t screw up.”  My wife, on the other hand, was right in the thick of the kitchen.

And instead of standing in line at the Colosseum again, we took a walking/eating tour of a Rome neighborhood.  We were among a dozen people, led by the lovely Luna, through Testacchio and its culinary delights.  What a great way to pass the day, away from the crowds, not a line to stand in.

Luna led the way through the Testacchio market.

From Rome, we rented a car and headed north to Umbria, a new delight for us.  After three days of discovery, we went south, to familiar territory again, Sorrento.

Our friends Mario and Pepe treated us to to three incredible nights of dining, and on our final night, we ate alone, at a restaurant recommended by Mario, L’Antica Trattoria.  Clearly, Mario had called ahead.  We were escorted to a table they had decorated with flower petals.

The best part of our stay?  Having dinner together for two weeks.  I’ve worked nights for nearly twenty years, my wife is a flight attendant, so dinner together is a treat.

We’re so fortunate to be able to travel to places like Italy, to eat at restaurants like L’Antica Trattoria and Il Buco in Sorrento.  We know that.

Il Buco

But make no mistake, that good fortune has been complemented by years of hard work, with a dash of sacrifice.

And we’re not done yet.

A Room With A View

Here’s one view.

And here’s another from across the room.

That’s the village of Lugnano in Umbria, the heart of Italy.  The view is from our room at Palazzo Majo, a B&B that quickly became “My House in Umbria.”

Brothers Joe and Mario, Scots of Italian descent, bought and restored the property.  Joe spent most of his career with Virgin Records; Mario is a trained chef and king of the “do it yourselfers.”

Joe and Mario

When Joe suggests a town to visit, a restaurant, a bottle of wine, or a certain dish on a menu, he knows what he’s talking about.  And the brothers make your problem their problem.  When we discovered the air conditioning didn’t work in our rental car, Joe found us a mechanic who righted the wrong.  (And Europcar happily reimbursed us when presented with the receipt.)

We had the place to ourselves the first two nights, and on the third, we were joined by couples from Scotland and the Netherlands.  The dynamic duo had us all on the patio for happy hour, three couples and our hosts, chatting away like old friends five minutes after the first bottle of wine was opened.

We visited old friends in one of the great cities of the world (Rome) and at the head of the Amalfi coast (Sorrento).  But I’m so glad we have new friends in a new place.  One of the most serene places I’ve ever seen.

Oh, to wake up in the morning, and open the windows and…(sigh.)

There is No Escape

We are enjoying a long-awaited return to Italy.

So naturally, the first thing I saw outside our hotel in Rome was a television reporter and his crew taping a stand-up.

He’s the Italian Jeff Saperstone, because it turned out the hotel is right next to the Parliament building, and yes, Parliament was in session.  We never had to worry about security.

And when we moved north to Umbria, this was in the center of Montone, the first village we visited.  If anyone called it “The Weather Center,” my brain might have broken on the spot.

Just like home, all most people wanted to talk about was how miserable the weather had been in May and the first part of June.  I wanted to say, “We begin this conversation with a weather alert!”

“You brought the good weather with you!”

Well, no, but if you insist.

So there’s your news and weather from Italy.  No sports.  At least, not yet.

Ciao for now.

Kept in Stitches

What’s the story behind your scar?  That’s the bright and unusual idea for Colin McEnroe’s Connecticut Public Radio show on Wednesday.

Getting stitches was a rite of passage in the Brooks family.  My oldest scar, I am told, dates back to the toddler days.  I toddled to a coffee table and slammed my head into its sharp corner.  Stitches.  Scar embedded in right eyebrow.  (I have that table, by the way.  It’s consigned to my basement forever.)

The first stitches I remember came as a result of a rock fight at the site of new home construction.  Two (idiots) against two (morons)…shielded by huge mounds of dirt.  I jumped up to wing a rock, not knowing my teammate Walter Bater (who, yes, had the unfortunate nickname Master) was right behind me, ready to uncork.  And he did.  Directly into the back of my head.  Knocked the sense out of me, apparently forever.  This was not easy to explain to my parents.  Or the E.R. doctors.  Stitches.  Scar, hidden by hair which is rapidly disappearing.

A couple of years later, at breakfast, I dropped a gallon glass bottle of orange juice.  I tried to catch it before it hit the floor.  I missed, then saw red in the orange.  It was a gusher.  Left middle finger sliced open at the base.  As my mother rushed to dress to get me to the hospital, I saw the gash, and had this conversation with my father.

“I’m gonna puke.”

“If you puke, I’ll kill you.”

I didn’t puke, he let me live, and I can still hear him saying those words like it was yesterday.  Stitches.  Impressive scar.

I defiled my left hand again a few years later when I was stocking pipe in a plumbing supply company.  Shoved a piece of one-inch pipe deep into the meat of my greasy hand.  It was, in a word, gross.  My boss and I had a deep mutual dislike, and he took no small amount of glee in my predicament.  I knew he had just one lung, and offered to deflate it for him.   Lots of stitches.  Pipe-sized scar.

There was also the time I stepped on a rusty nail.  Twice.  With both feet.  I remember the look my parents gave each other. (He’s ours?)  No scar, though, so that’s a story for another day.

By the way, Colin’s fine show airs weekdays at 1pm on WNPR.   And in case you’re wondering, this was an unsolicited endorsement.

What Do You See?

These pictures have been making the rounds since the election of Pope Francis.

Most everyone oohs and ahhs over all the smartphones and tablets everyone was holding to record the historic event in 2013, compared with the nearly digital-free scene at the election of Pope Benedict in 2005.

What I see are people who passed on a chance to witness history with their own two eyes.  People who sacrificed the moment, visceral or spiritual, by putting a viewfinder between their eyes and history.  They crossed the digital divide for pictures that would be instantly available anyway.

Some things are just better committed to memory.

Look at what my camera saw at sunset one day last week in Mexico.  The photo was not retouched.

The trouble with this picture?  The panorama was far more breathtaking than what the camera saw.  I took a couple more pictures, started to get frustrated, and that’s when it occurred to me.

Some things are just better committed to memory.  I put the camera down, and enjoyed the moment.

Seems to me that sometimes we’re so eager to “share” our lives, we forget to live them.

The Brian Visit

On any given Saturday for I don’t know how long, my friend Brian would pop in for beverages and conversation.

My wife called it “The Brian Visit.”

Brian and I worked together at WPOP and WFSB.  From a working relationship came a close friendship that lasted nearly 40 years.  We both have a strict definition of the word “friend,” so to lose a friend is a profoundly sad experience.

Today, I am profoundly sad.  I have lost my friend.  There will be no more “Brian Visits.”  At least, not in person.

In the days ahead, I will join with other friends to raise a glass to Brian Garnett.  We may cry, but we will definitely laugh.  And we will appreciate who he was.

He made my life better.  He made me better.  I will miss him.