Spending the weekend at Go HOme Lake with Andrew Sarah, Alex and Katie. Weather is nice, out for a sail on the laser, then in the canoe for a paddle. Water is warm and nice to go in frequently. Had nice Salmon steaks and salad for dinner with fresh corn! Off to toronto next week

2011-07-27 cdn Rockies hike

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august camp, 2011 Golden, BC

A visit to Mexico

A visit to Mexico
“This baked Alaskan salmon is delicious” I commented to my gracious friendly hostess Lynndeen as she offered me a second mouth-watering serving during a send-off dinner in her winter home in Ajijic, Mexico. “Yes, we brought it down with us from our Alaskan home and we are cleaning out the freezer as we will be in New Zealand for a month” she replied. It was a farewell dinner, as she and her retired outdoorsy husband Jim were headed off for the long-dreamed-of motorcycle vacation the next day. It was mid February 2011; it was the last time Jim would enjoy a dinner around that table with friends and family.
The previous Fall I had been traveling in the Middle East with Jean and her friend Sharon. Both are adventurous; enjoy climbing, hiking and exploring old ruins. We got along well and endured some hardships in the desert at Wadi Rum, so we had become close friends. “You must visit us in Mexico before the spring and enjoy the 5000 foot mountain air around Lake Chapala” echoed both of them, knowing I enjoy travelling and like to get away from the grey New York winters. “Thanks, I will keep it in mind, and let you know” I replied, without conviction. I had already agreed to have a ski week in Chamonix followed by a week of skiing in Vermont with my family.

Then, while booking a working trip to San Antonio, the thought struck me to add on a leg to Guadalajara, a short flight from Texas. I made the arrangements, and Jean said I could use guest apartment in their friends Lynndeen and Jim’s house just down the street. After an early flight from San Antonio and a change of planes in Dallas, I arrived tired but anticipating a relaxing week by the lake. Jean, her husband and Sharon met me at the airport and whisked me lakeside in less than an hour. We had a traditional Mexican dinner in a garden restaurant inn near the town square in the rustic small cobbled stone village by the lake. Ajijic has been an expatriate community for the past 60 years, with many Canadian and Americans choosing to spend the winters there in the ideal climate next to the largest lake in Mexico.
Then we went over to Jim and Lynndeen’s Spanish-styled mountainside home where I was given a tour of their three story villa overlooking the bougainvillea-latticed enclosed courtyard with an inviting lap pool in the corner. We passed by Jim’s shining Kawasaki 650 motorcycle parked in the terraced upper courtyard which has a spectacular view over the shimmering blue lake. Their living quarters were one flight down, then further down was my apartment with steps out on to the main lush courtyard. They were very gracious and encouraged me to use anything I wanted in the house and the verdant gardens. I arrived on a Sunday and would be there until the following Monday. They were to leave in four days for their trip to New Zealand with another couple. We arranged details for the farewell dinner on Thursday evening.

The week went by quickly with many activities including strenuous mountain hikes in the early morning before the heat of the day. We also rented a guide and boat to take us to a deserted island prison, rife with rattlesnakes! Among other activities, we attended the 33^rd annual Chili Cook-off with professional and amateur cooks competing for the annual prize.
It was an action packed week, and the enjoyable farewell dinner came and went. Jean and her husband took them to the airport for their first leg to Los Angeles. Their flight to New Zealand was diverted from Christchurch to Auckland because of the devastating earthquake in that city, which occurred when they were supposed to land. They were able to reconstruct their itinerary and continue on their journey by picking up rented motor bikes for their scenic touring of the south island.
I completed my relaxing warm lakeside sojourn and flew back to snowy New York to prepare for my anticipated French ski trip with my brother Jeff.

“There has been a terrible accident in New Zealand! Jim is in a coma in the hospital” read the email from Jean. “He was riding ahead of Lynndeen and their friends; when they came around the corner, Jim’s mangled bike and he were in a ditch” it went on to say. “He is in an induced coma and will be for 3 days to 3 weeks”

I could not believe it! He was gregarious, friendly and looking forward to the down-under adventure so much when I had seen him just a few days earlier.

The doctors, after extensive tests and consultations, determined that there was little chance of recovery, and Jim’s wishes of no resuscitation were acceded to reluctantly by Lynndeen and her daughters. He passed away quietly surrounded by his loved ones a few weeks later.

‘Jim's spirit of adventure and zest for life will live on in all of us’   echoes from his obituary

Attack by a Black Bear in Yellowstone Park!

What did you think was going to happen when you are camping and hiking at 7000 feet in the Bear Tooth Mountains at the entrance to Yellowstone Park?

Each year, since the 1880’s, the Appalachian Mountain Club has organized a wilderness hiking and camping trip. This year it was at the North East entrance to the historic Yellowstone Park in Montana. I was with my New York friend Dave, and part of a group of 50 adventurous campers who arrived in the Wild West town of Billings to enjoy the outdoors for a week.

Soon after the overloaded van left the Billings airport for the scenic three hour drive to the picturesque campsite, there were whispers and rumors of a gruesome bear attack at a nearby campsite to our home base.  We had been warned that we would be guests in the brown and black bears natural habitat and that it would be very likely that we will encounter one during our week long stay.  Each of the hike leaders was equipped with a crippling bear pepper spray which could shoot about twenty five feet. We were warned not to use it accidently or get in the way!

Soon after our arrival, and after we had settled into the army issued tents we were called around the glowing camp fire which had the surrounding snow capped mountains as a background. It was a cool evening, frost was expected and an icy wind was picking up as the glowing sun was being consumed behind the jiggered saw tooth peaks around us.

A burly, but friendly park ranger dressed like Smokey the Bear with his peaked felt hat addressed us. “There has been a vicious bear mauling in the next campsite over and all sites, except this one, have been closed in a 25 mile radius until the human seeking bear can be captured and dealt with.”  There were gasps and “I want out of here NOW” statements.  He went on to describe the nature of the attack. A sleeping camper heard rustling and scratching against his tent and he inquisitively unzipped the opening, which was right near the bears head!  The angry bear bit his hand and would not let go, but the camper’s agonizing screams brought help and scared the huge black bear off. 

The mauled camper was taken to nearest hospital where his hand was repaired during a two hour operation and forensic evidence of the shape and size of the bear teeth marks was taken.  A local tells us during the week that the hospital staff has a betting system as to how many “city folks” will be injured and brought in to be repaired each summer!

The concerned ranger went on to say “make sure that you do not have ANY food, candy, toothpaste, deodorant or items that may attract the bear’s nose to YOUR tent”.  A locked up van was used to place all of these kinds of articles in, and the kitchen tent and stoves were set up a long way from the campers sleeping tents. All of the staff and camper tents were set closer together.  It was a night when every little sound was magnified into an inquisitive bear rustling in the bushes!

The next morning one of our guide leaders took us over to a muddy area of the campsite and pointed out bear tracks. He said bears would definitely come by, it is just a matter of time and hopefully they will not be interested in one of our tents!

We were always thinking about the possibility of a bear encounter, and in fact some of the hikers did startle a bear, but he ran away. I took pictures of one beside the highway when we were on our way to a hike, but he seemed only to be interested in picking colorful berries in the grass. We had experienced Yellowstone guides and I had confidence that they would be able to handle the situation if one arose.

We had arrived on a Saturday morning in the park and on the following Tuesday the bear was found, identified and shot.  We heard this as we were buying groceries in the nearby town of Cook City, which had a claim to fame that Clark Gable and Ernest Hemmingway used to hole up in a motel there to go fly fishing and cause all kinds of drunken hell making!

Even though the outlaw bear had been captured we still remained on high alert for the rest of our outdoor adventure and were pleased that we did not end up as news in the local paper obituary column.

An unexpected evening in historical Milan

My brother Jeff, from Australia, and I had just arrived in Milan in the afternoon from a picturesque train trip through the Swiss Alps and the blissful Lake Como. We were getting settled in our comfortable, handy hotel Metropole near the main train station and were planning how to spend the time in Milan while we wait for my son to arrive from Toronto early the next morning.  It was a beautiful crisp sunny winter afternoon, so we decided to walk to the Duomo square to people watch and soak up the history.  We had both been in the city a few times before, so there was no hurry or excitement, just anticipation for the rich, colorful scenery and interesting architecture around the square and the Galleria shops and gourmet restaurants.

“What do you feel like doing tonight?” asked my brother

“Well, all the times I have been in Milan, I have yet to go to La Scala, the 18^th century opera house which is world famous” was my reply

“We will never get tickets for tonight if there is a performance!”

“I live in New York City, we always have day of performance tickets at the box office, usually returns”

“We will be walking past it, let’s inquire what is on and availability”

A short while later we were looking at the poster on the exterior of the building announcing that Daniel Barenboim will be conducting the La Scala orchestra playing Beethoven no. 1 op 15 and Schoenberg  Op 5.

We enquired at the main box office “Would there be tickets for tonight (in English!)”

“Go to the side entrance and check at the window” was the reply in broken English.

We exited the grand main lobby and headed to the side of the recently renovated stately building under the columned archways. The door was locked but there was a well dressed white bearded man holding a clipboard milling about.

“Could you let us know how to buy tickets for tonight?”

In broken English “Come back tonight at 6 o’clock”

We then turned to leave to wander about the piazza in the late afternoon sun that was reflecting on the buildings, highlighting the burnt orange colors.

“But first, you have to put your name on my list!” he shouted after us, with an amused smile which I think was reserved for American tourists.

We gave him our name which was assigned number 73, and we headed off to have a coffee in the magnificent Galleria which I think was the prototype for the modern American shopping malls.

We returned at five thirty and tried to make sense of the crowd that had gathered around, like pigeons in Trafalgar Square. There did not seem to be any order or logic to how the process would work. We spoke to a couple of Americans who informed us that all tickets would be five Euros on a first come first serve basis. At six sharp the fun began with the crown waiting in anxious anticipation of their number being called. As more and more people, mostly Italians received a voucher they decided they did not have to listen. They proceeded to chat among themselves to await the commencement of the third process where you are called to the ticket window to receive the actual ticket for the performance.

It seemed like forever for us to wait for our name to be called and we would then stand in line to await our number to be called to approach the ticket window. There is one voucher per seat and each individual has to present himself to the window to get the 5 Euro ticket.

We made it! We then went back to the Galleria to a small restaurant to have dinner before the performance.

La Scala was all that I pictured it would be. Almost round, the interior is lush with gold a red velvet circulating up the 5 tiers of boxes facing the stage. In the middle of the hall is a massive dangling crystal chandelier, which one could not help but think of Phantom of the Opera and the stir it would cause if it came crashing down on the stage.

Of course we were in the top balcony to the side, where they provide overhead handrails above the seats, similar to subway cars. Why? Because, if you want to see the whole orchestra, you need to stand up and lean over the person sitting in front. If you did not hang on to the rail above, you would lose your balance, and it is a long way down!

It was a magnificent evening. Daniel Barenboim played a grand piano, with the top off, while conducting the Beethoven piece. The Schoenberg piece was very dramatic with cymbals, four harps and heavy drums. Thoroughly enjoyable!

It was an unexpected and memorable evening!

Chamonix, France

Chamonix, France

“Look into my eyes! You can do this! Don’t look down! (It was a 1000 foot sheer drop from the icy ledge which I was clinging to in my ski boots). Get hold of yourself! I am going to tie you to me with a rope and I will lead you up the cliff” said the strapping young French alpine guide to a terrified frozen deer in the headlights…me! How did I get myself into this horrifying situation?

Each year my elder brother Jeff from Melbourne Australia and I arrange a ski trip together, usually with members of our family who all like to ski. This year family situations did not permit any of our children to join us. Jeff’s son Martin has ski apartment in Chamonix which was not rented for the week, so we decided to stay there. It is a small but comfortable French mountain space which looks out on to the craggy, jagged pristine Aiguille du Midi, 3842 meters straight up from the Chamonix valley. While I was looking up at it shining in the brilliant March ski, it brought back memories to me of the ski trip with friends 12 years earlier.

At the time, I was living in Zurich. A bunch of friends decided we would take the train and meet some running friends from Geneva and have a ski weekend in Chamonix. It was a good plan and we all met up on the Friday night and had a good time telling stories and planning our ski day on Saturday. There was some talk of doing the Vallee Blanche on Sunday, which is a 20 kilometer off piste trail from the top of the Aiguille Du Midi ending up the Mer de Glace. Saturday was a great day and we skied on the Grand Montee glacier which was not too difficult and warmed up our ski legs. I was still not convinced that I would be able to handle the arduous Vallee Blanche on the Sunday as some of the younger, more adventurous members of the group were planning. We were required to sign up the night before and arrange a guide for the trip. I was having a good time socializing and did not bother to register as I could have lots of challenge on the regular slopes.

Sunday morning came, and there was a lot of excitement at the breakfast tables about the upcoming day trip on the glacier. It was infectious, so I handed over a lot of Swiss Francs to the guide and I was signed up, with intrepidation. Could I do this? How steep are the runs? Is it safe on the Glacier as we had not had a lot of snow at that point in January?

10 of us skiers of all ages and abilities met up with the young French guide, who came with extreme alpine gear, crampons, ice axe and ropes tied to his back pack. We took the long, almost vertical cable car up to the summit of the Midi. I was looking out down at the green valley, wondering if there was enough snow on the Mer de Glass for our decent. The guide started to tell us the story of a Japanese skier that he had rescued from a crevasse the past weekend. He said he had been lucky as his skis jackknifed across the crevasse about 50 feet down and he was dangling from them. He was able to climb down and pull him out from the aquamarine endless shaft. What am I doing here? Went through my mind!

We exited the cable car, walked through the ice tunnel and came to the ice steps which led to a catwalk across the top of a sheer drop on both sides of at least 2000 feet. Fortunately they had a temporary guide rope along the way. The guide strapped our skis on our backs and roped us together and we proceeded in our ski boots down the ice steps, and on to the narrow icy slippery two feet wide catwalk for about 100 yards. You had to concentrate on one step at a time. Then the woman in front of me was terrified and slipped. The thought went through my mind “if I had a knife, I would cut her loose and let her go!” Fortunately she recovered and we made it to the safety of the glacier to start our long trek to the bottom, which would take all day.

The skiing was relatively easy, but because of the altitude, it was hard to breathe. We were instructed to diligently follow the tracks of the guide as he was familiar with the crevasses. Still you could hear the glacier cracking and moaning as we glided across the surface. All went well until we came to an ice bridge crossing of a deep blue icy crevasse. The guide insisted we rope each other together and cross the narrow icy bridge made of ice covering the unknown of the crevasse. It came to my turn; I was not particularly concerned and glided across the narrow path with ease, glancing down the aquamarine abyss as I went over it. We continued on our way and then I noticed footprints in the snow. “How could that be? It was 10 kilometers up and 10 kilometers to the bottom?” Then it dawned on me, this is the spot where the tourist fell into the crevasse and he had to walk down from there as his skis were stuck in the hole! The guide confirmed it. Did it make me feel better or worse?

During a delicious lunch in the refuge hut the guide informed us that there was not enough snow to reach the chairlift up to the tourist train where sightseers view the glacier and we would have to climb 4 steel ladders at the end to get the train out. There was no other way. I had seen postcards of the Mer de Glass with hoards of skiers hurtling themselves down, but today very few. It was because it was difficult to get out!

No Option! We were committed and we pressed on. Where the snow gave out at the end of the glacier, it was difficult to negotiate a clear path through the pools of melted snow and ice but we made it to the bottom of the gigantic 4 ladders up the rock cliff face to the train for our way out. I looked up and shook my head. I have difficulty walking in heavy awkward ski boots on a flat road, how would I negotiate these ladders bolted into the side of the vertical icy jiggered rock cliff face with my heavy skies strapped to my back in a crisscross fashion? I also wondered about the petrified woman who had been in front of me on the cat walk at the beginning. What was going through her head?

We started up, the first ladder was fine, but at the top of the ladder it was necessary to pull yourself up onto the icy narrow slippery pathway about 18 inches wide and stand on it before you get to the next ladder. I managed the first crossover but froze solid unable to move when I hoisted myself onto the path after the second ladder. I could not move, I looked down, it was straight down and one slip and I would be gone. I was holding up all the other skiers below as there was only room for one person on the ledge.

Eventually the guide retraced his steps and came up to me and shook some sense into me, shouting into my face, about 3 inches from my eyes “You can do it! Follow the footsteps of the person in front of you, you will be tied together”. Would you believe it was the terrified woman in front of me and she was doing well? “If she can do it, so can I!”

We made it to the top, took the train to the bottom and celebrated our adventure with some Pastis! We gave the guide a special tip!

When Jeff and I were buying the lift ticket for the week ahead he asked “Do you want the ticket which includes the Aiguille de Midi?” I think you know my answer!

Wadi Rum in Jordan 2010

Wadi Rum! The spirit of Lawrence of Arabia lives on!

Why would you want to sleep in a rag Bedouin tent in a searing hot desert for a night? Why did the eccentric Lawrence of Arabia come here to regenerate his troubled soul? What is the fascinating attraction?

Sharon, Jean and I had just finished a grueling adventure packed 10 day trip through mysterious Syria and lively Lebanon and wanted to add on a trip to Petra, the lost Nabataean temple site featured in the action packed Indiana Jones movie “Raiders of the Lost Ark”. Sharon, recently retired from Stanford University, is an avid outdoor enthusiast and is always keen to explore new places. Jean, a psychiatrist, is from Alaska and spends her time in Mexico in the mountains. She also is an avid traveler and interested in getting the most out of our trip.

We tried to book two nights at a hotel in Petra, close to the entrance to the World Heritage site, but could only secure one night.  We were given the option of a second night in a Bedouin tent in the desert 40 miles from Petra. Why not? It was not cheap, so we felt it would be upscale….somewhat?

We had camped with Bedouins in Palmyra, Syria but it was with a group of 40 people, all sharing two tents. Not an ideal situation, but we got through it. It was worth it to get up early the following  morning to experience the Roman ruins from the crusader fort from above the oasis.

When we arrived in Petra in the late afternoon, we hurried around to see what transportation options are available to get us to Wadi Rum.  With no buses, we ended up haggling with Mohamed (everybody seems to be called Mohamed) to pick us up at hotel the next day at noon, after we will have toured the temples in the blistering hot sun.

We loaded up the yellow taxi (feeling like it was imported from New York) and headed down the divided super highway which connects the gulf port of Aquba with Amman. It was not long before we saw the Arabic sign to Wadi Rum, with a little addition at the bottom in English.

We had a slight problem on arrival as we did not have the full name of the Bedouin we were to meet, nor his cell phone (everybody over the age of 12 has a cell phone!). We figured that this place in the desert could not be that big and the tribesman will be looking for us. Wrong! We were swarmed by hawkers looking for tourists that do not have reservations, or those that they can steal away from others. Our driver was doing his best to find the Bedouin named Mohamed hired by the tour company. We kept repeating we are with “Terhaal eco tours”. We almost got shipped off to the wrong guy and then our guide Khalid arrived like an apparition in the desert. He was in his early 20’s, dressed immaculately in an ultra white robe and a red checked headdress to protect him from the late afternoon blistering sun. He had a sparkling white smile to greet us. We knew we would enjoy this experience.

Our rough and ready transport was a converted 4 wheel drive pickup truck that had been retrofitted with a canopy and seats in the back.  It looked well used, but practical as there were no roads where we were headed.

Off we went, into the blazing hot sun which seemed to be reflecting off the shimmering hot red sands of the desert. Wadi Rum (meaning valley near mount Rum which rises up to 1800 meters) is inhabited by Bedouin tribes which now have active tourist camps for hiking and rock climbing. It became famous when Lawrence of Arabia used it as his base during the First World War. It was also used for the film in the ‘60’s.

We toured the Lawrence spring, which was dry as they have not had rain, and saw the ingenious water capturing techniques. We went to a cave where there were descriptive lifelike petro graphs from the Nabeteans done around 100 AD. By this time the huge golden shimmering sun was setting over the Wadi and we headed for the camp.

Khalid offered us “Bedouin wine”, sweet tea which was hot and refreshing and we settled into our “rooms” in the tent.  Each was partitioned off into double rooms and very comfortable with mats on the woven rug floor and a door which we would leave open to view the magnificent clear starry night.

There was a Swiss couple who were touring the Middle East on a motor bike to share the wine with, they had been in the camp for four days and found it most relaxing. Soon, the sun started setting so we climbed up on the rocky outcrop above the camp to view the golden globe dropping gently behind the craggy multicolored mountains around the Wadi. It was a spectacle of color and light which gently turned into twilight of pinks and grey shadows.

When we returned to the camp we were told to go out in the desert and find our supper!  I was the first to spot the mound in the sand not far from the camp. Khalid laughed and dug up our dinner out of the sand. It is similar to the cooking method used by the Australian Aboriginals, burying food in coals and having the food simmer for a few hours. It was delicious!

We slept well under the stars which were prolific in the darkness of the desert. Morning came early and we headed out to do some climbing and touring in the four wheel drive. It was an exciting trip which was well organized and presented the Bedouin lifestyle in its best light. We were picked up by our driver mid afternoon to take us back to Petra which would be the end of our travels in Jordan. We are left with some special memories of Bedouin hospitality, searing desert heat, cool starry nights and a spectacular Wadi experience!

Christmas in Canada 2010

Christmas in Canada

It is always a challenge to travel in the great white north in the winter. Christmas hustle, bustle, gift buying and flying across borders increase the stress level, but it does not seem to deter anxious family members to brave the elements and put their shoulder to the wind and get on a plane.

My 2010 Cold Canadian Christmas adventure was no different. Sounds simple doesn’t it? With two sons, the younger one with his new wife in Toronto and the elder and his wife in Ottawa, I would take a plane from New York City to Toronto and fly back from Ottawa.  It would be an easy bus ride from Toronto to Ottawa and therefore no winter driving would be involved. I thought I had Mother Nature beaten; it was not going to stop me from enjoying a family Christmas in snowy Canada.

The first part of the plan went well with my sister in law picking me up at the Toronto airport after an uneventful small plane flight from Newark a few days before Christmas. As my son was at work we swung by his house to pick up “Monty” his 6 year old  Golden Retriever who thinks he is a playful puppy. He will do anything to retrieve a stick, and will keep it up until your arm gets weary. I will divert the story to focus on pets in the Pitt family.

My sons have both had a connection to Goldens since before they were born. Our family has had goldens since before they were born and they travelled everywhere with us in the back of the Volvo station wagon, in Canada, and New York. They even flew back from Switzerland every summer to swim in Lake Muskoka for the period we lived there.

Monty continues the good life with a good back yard and trips back to Lake Muskoka when my son visits his in laws who live by the lake. His life has been complicated by a kitten being adopted by my son, but he has adjusted and seems able to cope with the playful antics of the kitten. While I am a total dog lover, I have no time for any feline creature, period. Of course, all cats know this and immediately start purring, rubbing up against me and jumping on my lap. Over Christmas, the sly playful, hungry kitten jumped up on the inviting kitchen table and started slurping and eating my freshly poured cereal as my back was turned. Wack! I quick backhand sent it to the floor and it was a while before it returned to the scene of the crime!

The family visit in Toronto was a wonderful time with lots of catching up and enjoying each other’s company, and then I headed up to Canada to visit my elder son. There was still no snow in Ontario, but the forecast for the North East to be blanketed was starting to appear. It was bitterly cold when my son’s father in law picked me up in Kanata, just east of Ottawa.

We had a wonderful gift filled, food fiesta Christmas with Andrew’s in laws from Nova Scotia joining in the festivities. Of course “Camy” the Golden had to join in all the fun. She is a 9 month old puppy and acts like one! Having a dog in Andrew’s regulated apartment is a challenge. They have a bylaw which states that all dogs have to be crated or carried while in the building. As Andrew lives on the 12^th floor, each time Camy has to be walked she has to be in the crate, wheeled to the elevator, then to the exit, then put on the leash and taken away from the building to respond to natures calling. Guess who did most of the early morning drills? I didn’t mind to get out into the crisp cold Canadian fresh air, and being with an ecstatic dog bounding about looking for squirrels to chase. The only problem was that he was on a leash with my arm on the end of it, getting longer each time I took her for a walk.

Andrew and Sarah had a beautifully decorated tree and much fun was had opening the presents Christmas morning and the wonderful festival scrumptious Christmas dinner that his mother in law lovingly prepared.

The issue was the blizzard at Newark airport and the lack of preparedness to deal with it. I am sure there were lots of worse stories than mine. At least I was with family and the delay was tolerable, but inconvenient to say the least. Continental Air just stopped flying to Ottawa, refused to allow me to change to another airline. To get back before January 4^th, I would have to buy another ticket, which I did, to get back to my friends in New York for New Year’s Celebration.

Mother Nature had that last word!

Nana....Elsie

“Elsie”  …....Nana

“Don’t bring THAT Catholic girl into this house! I will not come downstairs if you do!”  exclaimed a very flushed Elsie shaking her finger at her rascal of a son Jack.

Elsie was small in stature but the way she carried herself, the impeccable way she dressed, her winning smile and the grand way she entered a room made her a figure to be reckoned with. She was larger than life and always looking for a way to end up on top of a situation.

Which of the many stories and images could I tell to convey the impressions I have of my Nana 42 years after her death? Whether it is the vivid retelling of the colorful stories or my hazy infant memory, but I do remember staying with Nana and Pa in their big house on the pineapple plantation in Queensland Australia.

George and Elsie had a large property and required help during the Second World War because of conscription. They were assigned two Italian prisoners of war to help them.  However, they had a warm relationship with the interns. It does sound fitting with the convict heritage of Australia. I also travelled down from Cairns to Brisbane at the time of my brother’s 21st birthday, and my current girl-friend Carmel was in town as well. My mother said Nana told her “Teddy could not be serious; she is a “tyke” isn’t she?”. It is ironic that her great grandson married a Catholic Italian girl in a fairy-tale wedding in a hill town in Piedmonte, ITALY.

My mother still tells stories of Elsie entertaining the “Yanks” in her house with parties and card games into the night. Of course the Americans, who were stationed in a huge camp nearby because of the Battle of the Coral sea, would bring food and liquor. All of which was contraband, kind of like “ Mash”. Elsie loved to entertain and be the center of attention.

Then there was the time that Mum and Dad were out searching for a business opportunity and left my rambuctious brother Jeff and me with them for a week. We must have been small, probably I was 4 and my brother was 5. There was a colorful rocking horse under the house. All houses are built on high posts to allow the breeze through the building. Jeff and I were fooling around on the horse and somehow it toppled over and fell on Jeff. Pa heard the crash, and came down and grabbed Jeff giving him a spanking with his belt. Only afterwards did Nana find out that Jeff had broken his collarbone. You can imagine the scene when our mother arrived back and found out about the “mistreatment” of her darling boys....we deserved it.

Well, then there was George, Pa. A big proud man who loved the horses and hunting wild fowl with his beloved black Labs. They were deeply in love but the fights were notorious. Elsie had high blood pressure and would get so excited that she would pass out. We also stayed with them on another occasion when they ran a small Hotel at Apple Tree Creek with colourful incidents of snakes in the outside “dunny” and in the local creek where we played.

They both passed away in 1969. Soon after Nana died, Pa went into a deep depression and we all say he died of a broken heart. They had a good life together and raised a close knit family, with lots of bumps along the way, and are lovingly remembered by their descendents.

By the way, Jack did marry “That Girl” and Nana did go to the wedding, swearing up to the last minute that she would not go the the Catholic church. Jack had four lovely daughter and was happily married, with the lovely Dympna caring for him during a long painful illness before his death.