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The Woman in the Blue Coat

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She swept her chestnut hair out of her face avoiding his gaze from the opposite side of the coffee shop. He sat slumped over his laptop. He made it appear as if he was more interested in something other than her sparkling blue eyes and demure smile. He knew from experience she would never look his way. He eyed her over the screen hoping this would be the day she would turn and walk over to him. She would introduce herself. She would tell him she had been noticing him for the past few weeks, but she was too shy to say hello. He would ask her to sit down. They would laugh and talk over several coffees, not noticing the world around them. They would discover they had so much in common and make plans for dinner.

He watched as she turned her collar up over her neck and grabbed her cup to leave. The door swung open with a blast of wintry air and she was gone. Her blue coat billowed behind her as she walked up the street and out of sight. He closed his laptop and sighed. He stuffed it into his satchel when he heard his name, “Mitchell!” He looked up and saw Kate’s wide smile from behind round dark-rimmed glasses.

 “I thought that was you! I got coffee. Do you wanna sit?” she asked as she brushed her auburn curls from her brow.

“Nah, thanks, Kate. I was getting to work. You enjoy,” he said. She sat and sipped her coffee watching him gather his bomber jacket from behind the wooden chair. The shop was beginning to bustle with the hum of customers ordering their lattes before a hectic day. Kate unwound her knitted scarf and placed it on the table. She stared up at him as he donned his jacket and slung his satchel over his shoulder. He gave her a warm smile that made her insides melt and her hands tremble. She set her coffee down to prevent the contents from spilling everywhere.

 “Okay, um, well, have a good day,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice the flush in her cheeks and the sweat beading her temples.

 “Thanks, Kate. You too. Nice scarf, by the way,” he said, giving her a wink. She could feel herself weakening and willed herself to stay upright in her chair.

 “Oh, thanks! My Gran knit it for me for Christmas last year and I love it, it’s so warm –“

 “That’s great, Kate.  See ‘ya later,” he replied, taking his empty cup and rushing out the door. Kate sat with the words, “Yeah, see ‘ya,” tumbling gently over her lips. She watched him sprint into the burgeoning sunshine.

Days passed and Kate revisited the coffee shop that Mitchell frequented. She knew there was a woman he wanted to see. He would sit alone at the corner table facing the door. He would open his laptop and position it preventing unwanted conversations. Kate had seen her waltz in with her long blue coat and her matching scarf wrapped elegantly around her neck. Her long brown hair swayed as if it had been washed and combed moments before entering the shop. Kate wasn’t jealous of her, exactly. She was annoyed that Mitchell had found her so captivating. She watched him wriggle in his seat the moment she walked in. He would stare atop the computer screen, and watch her order. He smiled when she smiled. He almost drooled as her hand brushed against the barista’s fingers when she gave her money. It was nauseating. It bothered Kate so much she often thought about asking him why he did it day after day but thought better of it. She couldn’t embarrass him like that; she wouldn’t.

Monday morning arrived rainy and cold. Kate sat at Mitchell’s unoccupied table wondering what had become of him. She could arrive at any minute and he wasn’t there to capture Miss Blue Coat’s entrance. Kate sipped her coffee and watched customers rush inside from the spatter of rain. She saw her right away. A black rain slicker replaced her long blue coat. She danced inside the door, deflating her opened umbrella. She motioned for someone to follow. Kate’s heart leaped at the sight of him. He was beaming despite the rain soaking his dirty blond hair and dampening his cheeks. He took up the height of the door as he guided her by the arm to the line. He looked like he would burst with joy. He had found her. Tears began to well in Kate’s eyes and she brushed them away. She hoped he hadn’t seen her in his spot watching them be happy together. Her fists clenched and her face flushed as she tried to move. She stayed forced to watch as the happy couple ordered their coffee and laughed at the rain. Kate stared as he put his hand on her waist.  She thought she might be sick. She gathered her things and raced for the door, but it was too late. Mitchell had seen her, “Kate? Join us!” he called. She barely heard him as she pushed through the crowd to the door. She managed to get outside when she felt a hand on the crook of her arm pull her to him. The rain pelted their faces, her tears melding with the droplets.

“What are you doing out here? Come inside,” he said as he watched her face fall.

“I can’t,” she whispered. Kate searched the ground for the words she needed to say, but couldn’t find. He tilted her chin and forced her to look into his eyes.  He returned her gaze with such tenderness it made her heart ache.

  “Kate,” he said, “you don’t understand. I’ve spent a lifetime waiting for her. I’m done waiting.  You see, I never knew my sister. I’ve found her, Kate! I want you to meet her.”

European Adventure Episode 4 –Italian Santa is Enshrined in a Random Church in Italy and I’m Not Sure I’ll Ever Recover

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                Our adventures didn’t end once we were off the ship. We had a couple of days in Rome before heading back home, so we were determined to make the most of them. Fully healed and recovered from my previous traumas, we stepped off the train in Rome and were instantly overwhelmed by traffic, noise, and people. Or at least I was overwhelmed. Not sure about the others. I could say who gives a shit if they were overwhelmed, it’s all me here, but I’m a much a better friend than that. Kinda.

                On that note, we got to the hotel, dumped our luggage, and started walking. I was a mere monkey on a string and followed the well-heeled travelers among us who assured me we were on our way to the Colosseum. The walk to the famed ragged stony structure was adventurous. The sun was beaming, the crowds were streaming, and we were sweating. All signs of a good walk to a major landmark in Rome. I was awed by the buildings and wanted to snap pics along the way, but the determination to strike one landmark off our list before lunch was strong. We walked and walked and when I thought we were finished, we walked some more. And then as quick as turning a corner, there it was in all it’s glory. Just standing there waiting for us. “It’s about time you guys showed up. It’s hot out here. I was wilting under this hot sun, you know. What took you so long? You stopped for pictures along the way, didn’t you? Rookie tourist mistake.” Only, all of that was in Italian and strongly telling me off with some spicy words thrown in for good measure.

The Colosseum in all it’s snarky hot glory

                We stood in awe, snapped a ton of pics, moved along to another part of the grounds and on our return walk realized The Boss had been in town the night before doing an outdoor concert. The stage was just coming down and we walked around the barriers and could imagine what it must have been like to attend a Bruce Springsteen concert in Rome under the stars with the Colosseum as a backdrop. There were rumoured sightings of him at a hotel which we staked out with the rest of the crowd because you know, when in Rome and all. But he was in hiding or simply wasn’t there and we moved on. We had stuff to see!

                The Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, Vatican Square, eating Gelato in the middle of an alley were all part of our treks; destinations we had planned to see and went searching for.

The Pantheon
The Trevi Fountain

But sometimes it’s the things you aren’t looking for, the things that present themselves in unusual ways, that are the most interesting and entertaining. And memorable. Like falling off a train or getting lost in a city or near misses from buses that make you appreciate the unusual, the inane and the unique. I think I bring that to the table most times. But not always. Things pop up or you stumble upon an interesting building or an old, abandoned arena or an apparent arbitrary church with no real tourist attraction other than it’s a beautiful church. And an Italian Santa happened to be ensconced in its walls in statue form, lying in state in some sort of weird shrine to Christmas. I guess they felt the nativity scene had been overdone and why not include Santa in our little church of wayward angels. I think it was a church dedicated to all the angels who weren’t as cool as Gabriel or Michael. Those whose jobs were a little less on the monumental-save-humanity scale, and more on the making-sure-the-trees-leaf-this-year scale.

An outside view of the church
Entrance to the church

                When walking into the church, there were crowds sauntering around, the doors wide open to welcome visitors. Frescos adorned the ceilings and statues along the walls. We followed the crowd, thinking this was a famous church with amazing architecture and stained glass. It was and as we descended deeper into it, there were what appeared to be altars at different areas of the church, all with the angels standing guard barely dressed and looking at their feet, or gazing skyward in a winsome I-wish-was-as-cool-as-the-angel-of-saving-the-universe. We couldn’t figure out what the name of the church was, but we did find a plaque on the outside of it.

The beautiful ceiling

               

One altar within the church we happened upon had a statue lying as if in a coffin, dressed in red with a white beard and elf-like shoes. SANTA! Could it be?! But why would a statue of Santa be here in some random church in Italy? An Italian Santa!

Affectionately named Santa Antonio

                Perhaps an artist decided that there were enough Baby Jesus statues adorning all the churches across Italy and he wanted to dedicate his Italian Santa statue as an homage to Christmas, or, to warn Christians the evil of Christmas.  I mean, what better way to honour Jesus and Christmas at the same time than a statue of the big guy honouring THE BIG GUY. Happy Birthday Jesus and Merry Christmas Heathens, here’s Santa Antonio. His last wish was to be dressed in red and immortalized in this church to remind you Christmas is hedonistic. And apparently, very dead. Enjoy yourselves, but remember Santa Antonio is here waiting for you to kneel at his statue and repent for all the presents you didn’t give your mother. Now, go over to the other side of the church and visit the Baby Jesus statue and wish him a Happy Birthday.

                We had difficulty recuperating following our discovery of Santa, but we decided to look around a bit more before we just up and left without so much as a Merry Christmas.

                *In truth, it appeared to be a beloved Cardinal, who must have dedicated his life to the religious teachings to his community. This was their way of honouring his memory. But I still love the Santa angle.

After doing a bit of searching, this translates to, “I will be favorable to you at Rome.” Meaning, When St. Ignatius had a vision of Jesus carrying the cross and saying this to him. He then started the Jesuits.

                See? Sometimes it’s the usual things that pop up in a trip that make it memorable. And despite our obvious delight at seeing Santa immortalized in a church, we remained as respectful as we could muster. The shoes, though!  We snapped some other pictures and said, “Ciao,” to Santa Antonio and took our leave.

                We were unable to get in to tour the Sistine Chapel or the Vatican, but I hear it is phenomenal. And, based on my assessment of the previous church, it may be better I go with a guide or someone more schooled in religious figures lest I twist a beloved Cardinal or Bishop or Pope into some strange version of a Christmas Elf or the Easter Bunny.

European Adventure Episode 3 – You Gonna Drink That? Tuscany is My Motherland

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            Following our days of hiking up the hills of Cinque Terre and the stairs that led to heaven, only to have to turn around because SOMEBODY went the wrong way, we were able to venture back to the ship virtually unscathed and ready to tackle the next day.

I don’t mean to overshadow our time doing the three towns of Cinque Terre. They were lovely, we shopped, and we climbed, and we ate. All the things one does in Italy. I didn’t want to bore you with, “Well, in this town we climbed a million stairs, climbed upwards among the cliffs, took some pictures then walked down again. The end.” Makes for a lackluster story. Especially since there was no falling, tripping or being thrown from an overcrowded bus. I know, it’s shocking but I really fared quite well. And that’s thanks largely to Hubby and friends who lent arms, elbows, shoulders, and other limbs to assist lest gravity had stepped in to overtake me leaving me to tumble down all the lanes, steps and cliffsides. “Watch out! Rolling Canadian incoming!”  

Cinque Terre and those amazing cliffsides that no one wants to see me roll down!

The following day, we connected with our tour guide Sara who drove us to Pisa and on to Tuscany for some wine tasting.       

            The day was cloudy and rainy which made for a quick trip to Pisa. We ventured around the tower, took the customary, “Oh-no-the-tower-is-falling-let-me-hold-it-up-with-my-little-hand-and-make-it-all-better!” poses, bought a souvenir, and tried to get our own Gene Kelly to do his singin’ in the rain routine, but he wouldn’t bite. Woulda been the best pic.

The tower is peeking around the corner to say, “Bonjourno!”

From there, we ventured into the countryside of Tuscany. To say it was breathtaking is an understatement. We were awed by the lush farmland, the cypress trees lining the drives into the vineyards and the sprawling hills. Amazing scenery.

            We ended up at Palagetto winery which Sara had selected as we wanted something traditional and intimate. Surrounded by greenery, tall trees, and little flowers, it was the perfect country setting for wine and company. We entered the front doors and were greeted by our hostess, Gina (Cannot remember her name, so I invented one. She looked like a Gina to me.) She escorted us to a room off the main where a round table set for seven awaited us. Surrounded by oak barrels full of wine, it was as if we had become a part of the operation and were settling down for a break from a morning’s work.  

            The family tradition has been passed down to the daughter of the owners, Ariana, and at the tender age of 28 she is making her own mark on her parents’ legacy with new wines using new methods. We were treated to both wines, traditional and new, which they served with cheeses and bread and their honey which they also made onsite. We tasted the white wine as well as red. We ate and drank as if we belonged there.  All sumptuous and we had a difficult time tearing ourselves away from the lovely atmosphere. And all that wine. The poor souls among us who weren’t wine drinkers, had to donate their glasses to worthy causes like me…and their spouses, although, how could you not drink that wine? Dude. It was WINE. IN ITALY. That’s like going to a Chinese restaurant and ordering a hamburger. IT’S JUST NOT DONE.

The honey and cheese. Yummm…
Inside the winery with all of that wine…
The reason for my existence. I love Tuscany

            I don’t think I need to elaborate on the enjoyment of the wine tasting. My only regret is that we couldn’t stay longer, like a day or a week. Tented out in the vineyard, maybe? Ugh.

            From there we went on to San Gimignano. A small walled city steeped in a history I can’t remember and fraught with shops and restaurants. The wine was great and probably inhibited me from completely downloading the history of the town into my memory, so you can see a bit of it here.

San Gimignano. The walled city

Sara booked us in a small little hole in the wall off the beaten path for lunch, Il Feudo. It appeared as if it had been a church at one time. The original brick gave the space an antique vibe with the white tables and chairs setting it off nicely. The floor was a grey tile with white pillars seeming to hold up the ceiling. Paintings adorned the walls with built-in coves containing statues which brought the idea of a church basement into view. Quaint and bright with great food, we enjoyed our lunch.  And if you are wondering if I had wine with lunch, do you even know me?! Italy. Tuscany region. Lunch. So much wine, so little time.

So good…

Sara returned to retrieve us, and it was time to head back to the ship. I hated leaving Tuscany and all that wine to just sit there. I mean, can we take a barrel or two with us?

No. No we couldn’t and as dismayed as I was to just LEAVE like that, no farewell toasts, no drunken slurring of That’s Amore, we had to head back sober and with all faculties intact or face the alternative of not getting back on the ship to finish our Italian journey. For me, the debate was real, but I was with other people and hated to have Hubby get on that ship and endure the last few days alone. Without me being there to pester him and entertain him with all my wobbly walking and graceful pratfalls, he would miss me! Maybe.

So ended our Italian Wine Tasting and Touring. I will need to go back as there were way more wineries needing my attention. I need to wander through the vineyards, taste the grapes, pour the wine, and drink my face off. Isn’t that what happens in Tuscany?  We drink, we eat and drink and eat some more? Wander the countryside barefoot in a flowing skirt and large hat in the hot sun, wine glass in hand waiting for the handsome farmhand to…

Wait. Sounds like a new idea for a book. Gina and Tomas, ill-fated lovers who are destined to be together under the Tuscan sun, the only thing standing in their way is the Vineyard overlord who refuses to allow his daughter to marry a lowly farmhand. She boldly decides to strike out on her own. She and Tomas will start a new winery with new methods that will challenge her father and all his traditions…

 OOoohhh…

The gals with Sara, our tour guide extraordinaire.

If you are planning a trip to Italy, I highly recommend a tour guide like Sara. You can book her here. She was very thorough, full of history and a joy to be with!

Ciao!

European Vacation Episode 2-Throw Mama from the Train

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            After the Barcelona incident, you would think I would be more aware of my surroundings; that I would consider my current abilities and limitations and act accordingly. No. No thought of how to best maneuver my way around cities and towns ever entered my brain. No thought to how I would manage possible stairs, trains, or hills. I followed the crowd to the slaughterhouse and reveled in it.

At some point in our travels, it was brought to my attention that when wandering in other countries or cities, nothing beats the train. We don’t have a train in Newfoundland, so train hopping isn’t a thing here. It’s an experience that we’re not used to. So, when we travelled to Europe, taking the train was an obvious option. Everybody takes the train. To save time while we were sightseeing, we would hop on a train to get to the next venue. It was a quick and convenient way to get from point A to point B without much hassle.  I had no idea they could be such a vindictive bitch.

Villefranche street
Walking to the train in Villefranche

            Our ship tendered to the town of Villefranche, where we took the train to Monte Carlo. It was a warm and sunny start to the day, and we were looking forward to seeing the casino and all the beauty of Monte Carlo. Casino Royale, anyone?  Catching the train was easy and we were in Monte Carlo in no time. We walked from the train and immediately fell into the preparations for the Monte Carlo Grand Prix. Barriers blocked the streets, and bleachers were erected all along the main routes and security personnel were directing tourists away from all of it.

            We strolled the city and really enjoyed the park and the casino. Lush gardens, perfect buildings reaching the skyline, and luxury yachts parked in the marina ready for the race. We stopped on the main street and ate pizza in a little restaurant after walking around town and enjoying all the sights.

Monte Carlo marina
Monte Carlo getting ready for the Grand Prix

            Now, all of this sounds fantastic. A lovely day, leisurely strolls, beer, and pizza for lunch, what could go wrong?  I am the one traveling, remember? No bikes, no difficult traversing up hill on a mountainous trail, no climbing twisting stairs, nothing remotely challenging or weirdly placed to have me confused or in an awkward state of anxiety. Nothing. Until we board the train to head back to Villefranche.

Pizza place
Casino

            The trains were crowded, and we stepped on and walked in closer to a door. We wanted to be able to make a quick exit when it stopped. Since our stop was one of many, we watched each one in preparation for our exit. The train approached our stop, and we were ready. With our hands on our bags and phones (mine was in my hand from picture taking), the train stopped. We waited by the door. Nothing happened. We waited a bit more. Nothing. Then we see another door behind us in the opposite direction further down the train. It was open and beckoning passengers to leave.  We only had a few seconds to get to it before the doors closed and the train moved on. We banned together and hurried down the train like Jason Bourne eluding the French police. Our whole vacation started playing out like a Bourne movie. Jumping trains, riding ferries, spotting heavily armed men guarding tourist spots. I was beginning to feel like a rogue spy, only I think their skill set is a little more advanced than mine. With more balance and less falling.

Catching the train from Monte Carlo

 We rushed, with me bringing up the rear. That was a big mistake. Never put the weakest link last, people. The best I could do was a quick walk. Which I did. I get to the doors. Hubby is holding one side, another man holding the other to prevent them from closing on me. A good thought, but the doors were assholes with sadistic tendencies and ignored the men completely.  Fuck chivalry, they needed to close. Move or be moved. They began closing at an alarming rate, pushing Hubby and kind sir out of the way without so much as an, “Oh mon, Dieu. Excusez moi.” I had to leap from the inside of the train to the platform, lest I be the severed body in a pathetic example of a magic show. My foot hit the pavement, and asshole doors hit me in the ass sending me dancing. It was like they couldn’t wait to get rid of the stupid Canadian tourist, so they were expelling me from their wonderful train. “Tres imbecile! You are not worthy of our magnificence!” And spit me out.

 I wobbled like a Weeble on a bender. I could see myself falling. My brain was fully processing how close my ass was to the pavement and the amount of pain it was going to cause. What it didn’t account for, was the precious new hip that needed to be guarded and protected like a little lamb among a pack of wolves. I crashed to the pavement, my hip stinging, and my swearing profound. I hadn’t noticed anyone around me until I felt a pair of hands beneath my arms. The swiftness of a perfect stranger hauling me off the ground, handing my scattered phone to a friend and dashing off into the afternoon sun had me dazed but grateful. Merci, Monsieur.

            I rushed to a bench and sat for few minutes. The shock of falling hadn’t fully set in and my main concern became my bright and shiny new hip. What damage had I done? I stood and measured the pain. I stretched the muscle in my leg. I walked it off like the clumsy Canadian I am. I was fine. It was fine. My dignity was more bruised than my titanium hip. It can withstand a little tumble from a diabolical snooty French train. For fuck’s sake, I didn’t just fall?! Again?! Hubby tutt-tutted and friends gathered in concern. I rubbed my leg and we moved on. Trains suck.

 “C’est un vrai connard!” Yeah, I said it. I Googled French swear words, what are you gonna do? Throw me from another train?  

We stopped at a nice spot overlooking the water and had drinks to help me recover from the traumatic train banishment.

The view that assisted in my recovery

Italian trains are more sophisticated and elegant than the haughty French trains, anyway. At least they didn’t throw me out on my ass. They just made me painfully aware of enormity of Rome and the insignificance of my presence on the planet.

Thanks, France for being an asshole. Thanks, Rome for making me question my existence. You two need to tone it down a bit so we clumsy Canadians can try to Jason Bourne our way across the continent. It would make for a more exciting adventure. And better stories than, “that time in France when I fell again, only this time off Satan’s train….”  

Better Days

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I’m still waiting for the fateful call to have the ever-anticipated hip replacement, but until that blissful day arrives, I languish in renovations and baby-ness. Two totally opposite ends of the spectrum. Kitchen renos are in full swing and have been frustrating and exciting, baffling and exhausting. It’s a roller-coaster ride fit for the amusement park from hell, but we have endless amounts of hope and anticipation of a clean functional space. We also yearn for meals where we don’t have to worry about running the microwave and electric skillet at the same time without blowing a fuse. Which usually happens. It also conks out if the toaster and kettle are running.  Better days, people. Better. Days.

Our skittishness with becoming overly excited with an impending birth in the family is well-founded, but it’s getting increasingly difficult to stem. Everyday the news is better, we hope for a healthy and happy baby girl by Christmas. A little Christmas Elf. Aww. We continue to hope for the best and try not to default to the negative Nelly tugging on our elbows. It’s hard to remain nonchalant about a life-altering event, but here we are. Going about our day-to-day, trying not to buy every baby-gadget on the market or every little fluffy pink tutu out there. Yeah. Sure. I’m calm. Trying not to ask D1 every day how she’s feeling, did the baby kick today, are you eating enough…Nana needs answers! Negative Nelly whispers in my ear every now and then.

 Bitch, fly!

The ‘hood continues to regale us with unending episodes of wayward pirate cats shitting on patios and meowing until dawn. I fucking love it. The peeps are not impressed with the stray cat strut happening and decide to post every incident of feline rebellion they witness. It’s a little over-the-top but makes for great fodder. I choose not to comment, but it takes immense restraint not to. I’m still holding out for the nicky-nine door extravaganza, but the summer came and went with no such news of the heathens out to wake the ‘hood. At least the hoodlums managed to keep their pants on in front of grandma…which, could be me next year. Watch out, youngins’ I’ll walk very fast after you! Or I’ll whip out my phone and get a pic! Hubby says I’m not allowed to plaster that on FB, but I wonder if printing out the photo and pasting them around the ‘hood would be, ok? Hmmmm….

Nana is on it!

Fall is knocking louder at the door and I’m anxious to let her in with all the pumpkin spiciness I can muster. Get a sweater it’s chilly out there. Apple cider candles, the warmth of a fire, cozy blankets and oh, the fall Hallmark movies that will drip with cheesy romantic flannel shirts. Bring. It. On.

There is so much to look forward to! Survival is key here. I’ll need wine and chocolate…and a pirate cat to keep me entertained. Now if the power will just stay on so I can heat up my chicken fingers and toast some bread…