Preparazione…13/14-Settembre-2011
I
went to visit my Mom and Dad after finishing my work responsibilities.
“How
you feelin’, Dad?”
“Numb,”
he replied. I burst out laughing, along
with my Mom. After chit-chatting for a
while I headed home, but not before I had my usual hall consultation with Mom. She almost always accompanies me to the outer
door from their apartment so that she can have a word alone with me.
“He
only had one small problem last night.
But other than that he was pretty good. He slept in his chair a lot.”
“That’s
better, but you shouldn’t have to clean up after Dad every day, all day. Vicky is looking into Monroe Hospital for Dad
since they have an Alzheimer’s care unit with the best reputation in
town.”
“Well,
I don’t want to move. I have friends
here now.”
“Mom,
you don’t have to. I understand that there is another resident here who goes to
Monroe every day, you could tag along.”
“I
really don’t feel good about being apart.”
“But
you can’t provide the level of care Dad needs now, and it’s not good for you to
try. Moving Dad is as much for you as it
is for him.”
“I
don’t know how he is going to take the idea.”
“I’ll
tell Dad the same thing I told you. I
think he will understand.” I hope. Because his reason for living has been to see
that Mom is cared for. “And one more
thing Mom…let me be the one to tell him when I get back.”
I
need a vacation.
**********
We
picked up Mary’s car at the shop after they told us nothing was wrong. There was a minor charge for their time, but
I managed to leave with what I thought would be $500 of damage when I turned
short around a concrete light pylon I never saw. I was distracted by a car-carrier truck
beginning his move to the exit, two women walking across in front of me and the
low fuel alarm going off. The sun was at
a low angle over the dealership building, and that lit up the dirty window such
that it obscured the light post rising from the concrete that ended slightly
below window level. The light post
shadow must have been on the support between the front and back windows. Lots of factors, but I can’t ignore that once
again I was in a hurry, this time to beat the truck to the exit. After hearing the awful crunching sound and
feeling the scraping, I got out to inspect the damage. Not good.
I backed the car off the post as gingerly as possible so as not to cause
any more damage. I sighed and resigned
myself to driving home disgusted. And I
couldn’t help but notice that the truck I was trying to beat to the exit was
merely moving forward for a better angle to back up and unload.
I
really need a vacation.
**********
Mary is running all the time. She takes care of many of the needs of her Dad, who is in assisted living, and helps out with my parents as well. She curls with me and is an avid rower, heavily involved in the activities of the Genesee Rowing Club. These include all manner of coordination and organization of everything associated with getting a new club off the ground, including construction of an impressive boat house. And once in a while, she actually gets to row.
Mary works as hard as anyone I know. She really needs a vacation, too.
**********
Gail
took us to the airport where we met the Foringers being dropped off by their
daughter, Heather, and her two little girls.
After the appropriate amount of fawning over the little ones, we were
off to the usual airport routine.
“Please
remove your belt sir, everything through the machine, even your hockey
pucks.”
“Hockey
pucks?” I asked.
“Training
is starting,” he said, jovially “you never know.” Another interminably long sports season has
begun.
Waiting
for boarding, Dave took a picture of Mary and Becky sporting their “Bloomies,”
the ridiculously tacky costume jewelry the greater group of girls bought on a
trip to Gail’s condo in Florida. Mary
says they have to get pictures of the Bloomies on statues all over Italy. I’ll have to Photoshop the Bloomies on
Michelangelo’s David.
Mary
sent the picture to Lorrie, who was originally part of the group going to
Italy, along with Gail. “Nice. Have fun!”
was Lorrie’s text reply. I know she was
disappointed that it hadn’t worked out that she could go, but she showed incredible
restraint by not adding the word “Bitches!” to her text.
**********
But he really wants to be an inventor. Or if not an inventor, a consumer products entrepreneur. His pre-flight luggage stuffing exercise made him think that a hair dryer attachment that creates a vacuum for vacuum-bagging your clothing would be all the rage. Perhaps a good idea, but I’m willing to bet that with the additional space, you’d just take more stuff.
Or
maybe Dave just needs a vacation.
**********
**********
It
was another less-than-enjoyable hop over the pond. I can never get comfortable. This trip was no exception. I am just not someone who can sleep in a
sitting position. But after seeing how
Dad has mastered the skill, I’m guessing that when I am well past the
inclination to fly, I’ll be expert at sit-sleeping. Since I couldn’t sleep, I watched a
movie. I always try to watch something
I’d never see with Mary. This time it
was the sci-fi flick, Battle: Los Angeles. Glad I did not pay to see it in a theater.
When
we landed at Pisa, customs was a joke. “Passaporto?
Sì? Arrivederci.” (“Oh, you have a
passport? See ya.”)
We
picked up the car, and of course, it was not the wagon we had requested. After trying to force our luggage into the
trunk of the Mercedes sedan, we went back to get a different car. Our ride became a Ford Kuga small SUV, with a
sticker price of €25K, I found out later.
Dave, the Chevy dealer, said it was pretty OK for a Ford. At least we could get all our luggage into
it.
We
drove off toward Firenze, turning off the highway towards Sienna. I realized my reaction time was not what I
was used to as we went through roundabout after roundabout in town after
town. The uncomfortable flight was
showing its effects. Did I sleep a total
of one hour? Seems to me that for such
flights, the passengers would be more comfortable standing in slightly
reclining “beds” where they could extend fully.
Close enough to vertical to allow full extension yet reclined enough that
the passenger’s feet would not be supporting much weight. Maybe add a touch of nitrous oxide for a
little push in the proper direction.
Just extract it from the air outside and reduce greenhouse gasses at the
same time. Fly the sleepy skies…
We
stopped as San Gimignano, the tower town, to look around a bit and get a bite
to eat. It was incredibly hot. I can’t imagine what it must be like in
July.
 |
| Torre Grossa |
 |
| Italian national pastime |
I
was beat. I remember getting peach
gelato, but not what I ate for lunch, other than a piece of Dave’s pizza. And there must have been shopping...Mary and Becky were there. I had to look at the pictures the next day to
enjoy the visit. Closer to Montepulciano I pulled over and asked Dave to
drive. A somewhat mature decision, I
suppose. Then I navigated with a
horrible map in Rick Steves’ book on Tuscany.
I was disappointed in myself for not jumping out asking directions when
Dave pulled into the driveway occupied by three people, but I was completely
played out from the flight and not on my game for finding Italian words. And I’ve always hated asking directions, no
matter what the language.
Disappointed
though I might have been, I was pleased to see Dave ask, “Dove
Montepulciano?” after saying, “Non
capisco.” Though the sounds continued,
most of the audible communication ceased at that point. They spoke no English, and Dave had already
used up most of his Italian. But that’s
all part of the fun. The three argued
about how far it was, but their directions weren’t bad. And pointing works.
We
got to Relais Ortaglia soon enough and received the tour of the beautiful grounds
from Terenzio, the owner. Both the
hilltop villa and the views from it are striking, no matter how tired you
are. Getting settled in our room, Mary
tried the hot water and it did not work, so I went downstairs to see what could
be done.
“What,
no hot water!?!” exclaimed Terenzio. He leapt into action, disrupting the entire household.
Soon the maid came up to check.
“Is OK,” she said and sure enough, she was right. We were so tired we had forgotten C was for
caldo (hot) and F was for fredo (cold). More
evidence that my self-taught Italian fails when I am tired.
After
a fine dinner at a place Terenzio suggested in Montepulciano, we all passed out
in our rooms without any resistance at all.
Leave Dad at home. You go to Monroe
ReplyDelete