Basta Pasta!!

In publishing there are four major trade shows for the bulk of American publishers. These include the Frankfurt Book Fair, the London Book Fair, Book Expo America and the Bologna Children’s Book Fair. It is the latter which is renowned for being a fantastic experience. A lot of that positive experience comes down to the locale and its amazing food and medieval character. This past week I attended my first Bologna and was lucky enough to take along a notable photographer and fellow reveller.

The schedule was for Jim and I to head out last Friday. We would have the weekend for travel, recovery and play. Sunday night the week kicked off with the annual Random House Cocktail Party. My colleague and co-conspirator, Wayne, would join us Sunday night for the first of many dinners. Monday morning the fair began. We had a packed schedule with appointments running through the day from 9 to 5 most of the three days we would be there.

Bologna is a smallish city with many very old buildings, cobblestone streets. Landing at the airport it was easy to see that Spring was more advanced there than at home. The grass and trees were greening. The air was still quite chilly and the weather would prove to be uniformly grey and rainy throughout the week. Walking the streets of Bologna in the rain, the cobblestones gleamed with moisture and the streetlights and store signs glittered in the wet air. It made for an even more romantic picture of this very old city. The rain was never a downpour so it was perfectly easy to walk around and see the sights. Umbrellas were necessary equipment and because the city was so small, the best way to get anywhere was to walk. All that walking was just as well as the food was unbelievable and it would have been criminal to abstain from the Primi Piatti–and I promise you neither Jim nor I abstained.

Saturday we were pretty wiped. The flight overnight was fairly comfortable but that first day is always rough. We had a three hour layover in Paris.

Fatigued knitter at Charles De Gaulle Airport

Post-knitting nap

An amazing view through the window as we flew over the Pyrenees.

Armed with restaurant recommendations from an experienced colleague, the eating festival began Saturday night with dinner in a unabashedly charming and fabulous restaurant called Da Cesari.

Da Cesare

Stepping into the restaurant from the dark and rainy streets was both a little intimidating and a transformative experience. At this point in the week we had not yet put our feedbags on and we did not try to pace the couples on either side of us. They were both working their way through the five-course meal with paired wines like indomitable pros. We limped through the appetizer and primi piatti and felt that was the worst we could do. It was all delicious and we shared tastes and took our time. The local Sangiovese wine was amazing.

A Country Walk

When Jim and I are in CT, we love to take long walks. Most often Dakota accompanies us on our walks. He’ll walk along grinning like a fool. He loves walking along with us when we’re talking. He feels like one of the gang. Sometimes we leave him home. While I love taking Dakota with us, he does tend to dawdle and sniff and sometimes he tries to sit down because his feet get tired. When we walk without him, we can move faster.

One of our favorite walks is up Grantville Road. The short walk is up Grantville to the White House No One Lives In. The long walk is to the end of the road. The long walk is about 4.5 miles round trip, but it features a killer hill. The short walk takes about 45 minutes and the long walk closer to 90.This is the beginning of the walk. Our neighbors, Jim and Sandi, are right next door. We’ve been neighbors for 29 years. Once past Jim and Sandi’s, we quickly hit a hill which is a bit tough when you’re just getting going.

Jim really hates that hill. It is deceptive looking. It is goes on for quite a while.

While we live in a rural area, there is some multi-family housing. Above you see an example of a local condominium. Look closely up high and you will see there are many tenants. We can hear them pecking as we walk along.

We call this the Gifford’s House. The Giffords haven’t lived there for at least fifteen or twenty years, but they used to. It is a very attractive farmhouse. The addition went on after the Giffords sold it. After the Giffords a couple lived there. The woman died about 18 months ago and in the last few months some new people moved in. We haven’t met them yet other than to wave as we walk past.

I am not sharing every house we pass, just the ones we really like.

This house we think of as the Webster’s. I believe Mr. Webster was a Judge. He passed away quite some time ago and now his granddaughter has the house with her family. They are exceptionally nice and have a large garden. They also put in a pool. I think it is the only pool in the area I can think of. It doesn’t really get warm enough to need to swim that often and there are lots of ponds and lakes around just perfect for swimming.

The Webster’s house is also obviously quite old. In front of it stands a hitching post. There is lots of stone around, walls of stone, slabs of stone protecting mailboxes. There is just plenty of stone. At the beginning of the 21st century twice as much land was farmed as it is now in this area. There are lots of full grown forests with stone walls made hundreds of years ago through back-breaking labor as a farmer cleared a field for planting.

A perfect example of both the stone walls and the size of the boulders. Lucky that boulder was on the outside of the fence because nothing was going to move it. These are all souvenirs of glaciers long ago. They carved hills and lakes and dropped much debris as they went. These stone walls are all dry walls–as opposed to walls held together with mortar.

Walking up the road, the sun breaks through the trees. Every time of day has its own show of light and shadows. Sometimes the light slants through the trees, sometimes it seems almost dark in the middle of the day. It is always cool and comfortable walking up the tree-lined parts of the road.

This house, which is quite hard to see, has no one living in it. It belongs to a family who own quite a bit of land up here, but they had a falling out. This house’s owner hasn’t been here in twenty years. It is in worse and worse condition. It sits on a gorgeous piece of property which will one day be sold as part of the woman’s estate. For years, I coveted the property. It has a gorgeous sweeping field and beautiful stone walls. But I finally realized that our property is cozier and our pond more beautiful. I still love to peer at the house as we walk past and wonder what will happen to it.

After the White House No One Lives In comes a giant hill. Heading down the hill isn’t too bad, but the way back up is a killer. The hill goes on forever and at the bottom is Dale Marchione’s place. Dale is an artist and grew up on this farm. They still have sheep and chickens. Dale has a rustic studio in which he displays his art. It is bright and colorful and I very much like it. Dale and his partner, Ben, live in a 17th Century farmhouse with tiny rooms, low ceilings and a giant fireplace. It is quite amazing. A few years ago they turned the farm into a land trust so it will stay farmland forever and their animals are protected.

After Dale and Ben’s place there is just about a quarter mile to the end of the road. There isn’t much else until you get to the very end where Grantville intersects Grant Station Road. Grant Station Road has quite a bit of traffic and the zoning is for small lots. It isn’t that nice.

On the top of the hill at the end of the road sits this log cabin. It was built a few years ago and the owners are still working on the yard and the garage. They have two giant dogs who come running and barking. It is a little unsettling, but they never leave their yarn.

To the right at the end of the road is a very cute little old house. The owners put a metal roof on it and they have a nice yard. It is quite sweet.

At this point there is nothing to do but turn and head for home. After passing Dale’s house, the big hill begins. The photo below does nothing to showcase the long, torturous ascent. Driving down the hill in the winter is also quite un-nerving. Somepeople drive miles out of their way to avoid driving down that hill in January. Retracing our steps along the road and through the woods gives us a chance to see everything from a different angle.

We walk past all of our favorite landmarks. The same trees, rocks, stone walls, houses, and other markers we have passed at least a hundred times over the past 29 years. Some things have changed. There are some new houses, but much has remained the same. We are almost the longest term people living on the road. Jim and Sandi best us by two years. Lots of times not a single car will pass us as we walk along. Those that do all wave hello.

And when we get to the end of our walk, we get to see the most beloved, prettiest house of all.

WILD by Cheryl Strayed

So far this summer has been reading heavy. I have been fortunate enough to have discovered a string of good books. Wild by Cheryl Strayed may be topping the bestseller lists and need no promotion, but I truly loved this book and felt it deeply.

Of course WILD is selling well because Cheryl wrote an amazing book. She is a strong writer, has written a memoir with great depth and the adventure of hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, but I connected with this book on many personal levels. Perhaps others are, too.

Cheryl made the decision to hike the PCT seemingly inexplicably at the lowest point in her life. Hers was a physical journey along the trail, but I related to her story deeply having just finished my own journey during what I suppose could be the lowest point of my life. Cheryl had lost her mother to cancer and had ended her marriage to a man she loved but couldn’t be married to. She had engaged in self-destructive behavior and was struggling to find a direction or meaning in her life.

My journey was the two plus years spent in the wake of a long and deeply fulfilling stretch of employment. With no expectation of a change in status, I was suddenly thrust into different circumstances. Shortly thereafter, I, too, lost my mother. Interestingly Cheryl’s mother was named Barbara, but called Bobbie (different spelling though)  like my own. While I did not embark on a long, physically challenging hike, I could relate to much of what Cheryl went through from my own experiences doing the Susan G. Komen 3-Day Walks. I may not have been on the trail for 80 days, but with all the training, I had some of the same experience. As I read I often wished I had had the courage and vision Cheryl had, perhaps I should have gone off to hike a trail rather than slog through my journey seated at desk and computer. Would I have gotten to the same end point or perhaps a better one?

It would be tempting to say that Cheryl’s journey ended at the Bridge of the Gods and that my journey ended a few weeks ago when I became re-employed, but, of course, that is not the case. Our lives are made up of many journeys. Some have clear end points, some have physical destinations and others are more internal journeys of discovery. It matters less what form the journey takes and much more what you take from the journey.

A Fantastic DC Walk!!

Opening Ceremony

Port-a-potties at Pitstop 1

Crew support

Lunch at a Pitstop

Arriving at Camp Friday Night

Making Camp

Bobbie’s Girls

Crew Cameraderie

“Stretch 5 out of 60″–5 Minutes Every Hour

Pitstop ! final morning

Supporters at Entrance to Pit Stop

Ellie and friend

Bicycle security

The Holding Pen Before Closing Ceremony

One of the Sweep Vans

Camp at Dawn

A Dedicated Walker

Support from the local fire department

Bike Security

More Walkers in Pink

Youthful Cheering on the Way

Bunnies at the White House

The Survivors at Closing Ceremony

A monument to our efforts

Beloved Port-a-potties

Saluting the Survivors at Closing Ceremony

There is no denying that the parallels between the Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure Walk and childbirth are inescapable. Of course, anytime you put 1,900 women into the same community, that kind of observation is bound to pop up, but that does nothing to alter its validity.

Take training. Twenty-four weeks of walking, fitness training and preparation. It may not be 39 weeks of gestation,  but all one’s efforts are aimed at preparation for the big event. Blisters, muscle pulls, fatigue all have their pregnancy parallels.

But enough of that…the walk was fantastic. Once we hit the holding pen before the Closing Ceremony, the cold, fatigue and aches faded and all that was left was the ecstatic feeling of having completed the walk, of having spent three days with a group of strong, committed women (and men)  helping to bring an end to breast cancer throughout the world. There were tough moments, both physically and emotionally, but it was a phenomenal experience.

Heading to DC…

All our bags are packed,

We’re ready to go

Taxi’s waiting,

He’s blowing his horn…

Well, actually Jim will be bringing us to the Amtrak train at New Rochelle. We’ll hit DC just around dinner time–a late Continental dinner.

Packing and last minute prep has been extensive. We have a weight limit of 35 lbs., but they can’t be serious. That is to include sleeping bag, mattress pad, pillow and all clothes and equipment. Even packing light, I know I exceed that. We have a brightly-colored plastic table cloth to decorate the outside of our tent and to help us locate it amongst the sea of tents. We have extra plastic tarps to protect us from the damp ground. Flashlights, extra plastic bags to keep clothes dry, bunny ears and pink boas. What else does a girl need to walk sixty miles?

Well, we have shorts and t-shirts, lots and lots of thick socks, a hat, two pairs of shoes, shower shoes, comfy clothes to wear in camp in the evening and a jacket and sweat shirt. 35 pounds? Who are you kidding?

Knitting has, of course, occupied my mind. What does one take for knitting? It has to be small and portable, fairly simple. I need it for the train up and down and in case I have any energy in the evenings. There won’t really be many lounge chairs so I bet we just lie down and go to sleep after dinner. I have decided socks are appropriate and fitting as a knitting project. They last forever, take up little space and what else would one make on a walk?

I am so happy Ellie is going with me. It won’t feel like being away having her around to hang with and take care of. I will certainly know my tent mate and have someone to keep company. Ellie wants to lie in bed and tell ghost stories. Aside from brushing up on a few well-chosen stories, I have to wonder who will be asleep first?

All we have to do now is keep on walking, one foot in front of the other and in a few days, we’ll have this nailed. I hope I remember to take some pictures. Jim is usually much more likely to do that than I am. It is so fantastic to think we are close to our fund-raising goal. There is a shot we might make it, but we’re a lot farther towards our goal than I had expected we would be.

DC here we come…

The Roll Call of Honor and Remembrance

When I decided to do the 3-day in 2004, it was to honor my first boss, Nancy McCord. Nancy died of breast cancer. Nancy was a Smithie and she had taught me so much during the years I worked for her. Once I left working for her, I never properly thanked her for all she had done for me, but moved forward with the impudence of youth. I walked in 2004  to pay my respects and repay my debt to Nancy.

As Ellie and I prepare for our walk in 2010, we have compiled a list of those people in whose honor and in whose memory we walk. These are brave women who fought the fear and devastation of breast cancer. Some of these women won their fight and have continued to live their lives with thankfulness and some of these women lost their fight and live on in our memories.

We are walking to honor these women and to help insure that someday we will all live in a world where the fear and ravages of breast cancer will no longer exist.

Roll Call of Honor

Kay Crawford * Betsy Boyle *

Irene Spielman Hodge* Angelique L’Amour *

Candace Eisner Strick * Rita Bodett *

Carol Kiser * Phyllis Frost *

Terry O’Shea

Roll Call of Remembrance

Kathy Hale * Sarah Greenspan Eisner *

Nancy McCord * Christina Figel *

Inge Frischer *

Honorary Walkers*

Barb Burg * Bobbie Isserman *

Elaine Shapiro

*supporters who struggle with their own health issues

Rye Brook Westmore News: Rye Brook mother and daughter walking 60 miles to battle cancer

Rye Brook Westmore News: Rye Brook mother and daughter walking 60 miles to battle cancer.

Busman’s Holiday

Four weeks to go before the big walk! I have been training very regularly. Now that school has started, many of my walks are solo walks once again. My team mate is back in school and running cross country so her days are long. I think she is probably getting in shape with cross country. At any rate, I hope so. We still walk together on the weekends. She doesn’t have the stamina I have, but I expect when push comes to shove her innate fortitude will kick in. Ellie has always been tough. She has played basketball with a broken finger and displayed physical fortitude in many other ways.

A few weeks ago, I started listening to audiobooks when I walk. Now, many poeple who know me know that I have had something to do with audiobooks in my career. Quite a long history with audio, although I wasn’t always an avid listener. I didn’t have a commute by car, tended to be on public transportation and was never a big ipod user. In any case, it occured to me that long hours spend walking through the countryside or on city streets could be tons more entertaining if I could listen to a good book.

Miles to go before we Walk

With seven weeks to go before the walk, a big focus in my life is training. With Ellie back from her three weeks in Wyoming backpacking and rock-climbing, our team is intact and we’re working on getting in shape. Walking twenty miles, as I have often opined, requires a lot of time. I walk at a steady pace of about two and a half miles per hour. I guess I should be walking faster, but that is where it averages out. Do the math and it is clear that walking twenty miles takes a lot of time.

Back! No seriously!

Hey, everyone, this time there is no psych-out I am honestly back, having returned late Thursday night. Sorry to have taken a few days to begin blogging again, but being reunited with civilization has been a bit crazy. I keep waking up confused as to why I’m not in my sleeping bag in a tent or, whenever mom announces we need to run errands, I almost run to grab a backpack and hiking boots.

Besides clearly driving me a little insane, my trip was a lot of fun and I definitely learned a lot. While most of my fellow campers had all camped, backpacked, and rock climbed, I had done little of any of these and seemed to be prepared with only a smile when they asked about my previous experiences in these areas.  Honestly, the first week was incredibly difficult. Suddenly with 60 pounds on your back and rapidly increasing elevation, the simple 8 miles you’ve practiced with your mom all the time becomes much harder. But after the first days of hardship, your pains become habits and your exhaustion becomes simple routine. Past this I was able to learn how to camp while leaving no traces and to rock climb, even embarking on a multi pitch climb one day. I was also able to enjoy the Wind River Mountain Range part of the Rockies, hiking to the Continental Divide and learning the names of numerous wild flowers.

Now I’ve returned home and have already continued my training with mom, doing a 16.2 mile walk yesterday (and yes I was amazed at the amount of waving she did). Today we have a rest day with the rain up here at the country house but tomorrow we should again walk probably about 4 miles. I hope to post some pics of my trip soon, but until then wish me luck on getting used to normal life again…especially getting used to mom’s constant waving….