Rising to Rome if that is even possible

Arriving in Rome is like being Audrey Hepburn or Sophia Loren.  You are at once in awe and in ownership of a busy street, a busy city.  And of course, you feel fabulous!



If you travel to many cities, you learn to pick up the vibe of the city. You know when to walk fast and you learn when to stroll.  You can catch on to the hustle factor that the big roundabouts offer.  You watch to see if people hold their bags clutched to them or if they are just holding them as the walk.  You can see if the mood is moving or if it is one of fiscal desperation.  You can learn to step out in the street, with cars flying and to watch them all stop.  And most importantly, you learn to pick out the non tourist restaurant.  Or you learn to favor a tourist restaurant.  Perhaps it is your level of interest in cuisine that makes one place more alluring over another.

On our arrival, my travel partner says to eat at a certain restaurant.  We do.  It has a tourist menu.  That alone tells you that they cater to the travelers.  It isn't bad, but it will not be authentic.  It will be the best of all and the best of none.  To be fair, my food was al dente and was nicely presented.  My seafood pasta, which was clams and mussels was just fine.  The bottle of pinot grigio acceptable.  However, I cannot help but think the amount of pasta I can make for that amount of euros. If you eat outside in Europe, you will eat with smokers.  Don't have a bad attitude.  If it is important to you to be away from smoke, then eat where you don't have to smell it.

Later, we walk the Tiber River and then buy prosciutto and cheese and bread for the late night snack.  The exhaustion of the trip before sets in and we give into the night and return to Trastevere for the evening.  Thunderstorms break out in the middle of the night and the roof sounds like it is being pounded by rocks.  The heavy tiles take the beating with aplomb and the night beats on.  With only hours till daylight, Rome doesn't disappoint the big city reputation and the street life picks up at three a.m., bottles hitting the streets and loud young people going back to their roosts.

Then, bright as can be is the alarm to awake us to to the tour of Vatican Museo and Gardens.  Six a.m. and yes we are up and staggering around in the dark.  The Vatican, I say.  We must not be late!

And when we are twenty minutes early, we climb down the well tromped tourist stairs to buy our, "you got here early" six euro coffee.  Which by the way, we gladly paid.  Well done whomever owns that spot.  Well done!

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The Vatican is like every church and museum and catholic school you ever attended or visited in one.  Many of the tourists are clergy, priests and nuns.  Many are on the Catholic pilgrimage.  The clergy are of every color and age, every tongue.  They are in black, grey and blue, with white collars.  There is the one rotund Jesuit that looks like the monk in the Robin Hood book, Friar Tuck.  Then, there are the multitudes of asian tourists (trusting word to know if that should be capitalized, sorry Sister Mary Judith). I wonder if I was in their country would I visit such a specifically religious place as this.  Oh, but we are in Rome.  It is not Miami or even Madrid.  It is the home of the city/state/country - Vatican.  There are museums and halls and rooms and halls and stairs, more than you can ever anticipate.

The ceilings are as elegant as the walls and statutes, more so in many cases.  And who knew that the Sistine Chapel ( which is the 16th chapel according to the tour guides, not built for a  pope's  sister) was so small compared to the rest of the museo and buildings.  One could spend days here.  But, the opulence makes me ponder the lives of those who built the buildings one stone at a time. The artists who did Michael Angelos' bidding, but were never he.   The paintings seldom depict happiness unless god and heaven are part of the picture.  I am glad that I did not live in those times.  The place is a wonder, but also provokes thoughts of bigger problems of the world.  I am glad for the break of the patio near the end of the tour.

Morgan and I find a bench that we think is far from everyone and she lies on my lap and quickly dozes.  Turns out we are in the best vantage spot to view Saint Peter Basilica.  Tour guide after tour come stand two inches from our bodies to look at the dome.  At one point, a nun - a rather young nun- pushes Morgans feet aside and sits on the end of the bench.  She has worn wool socks under her sandals and the heat is now too much.  She removes the socks and places them in a bag.  She then invites an elderly woman to take her place.  Another bench opens up and so Morgan and I move.  Morgan again reclines, only this time an officer says, "Madam! Madam!" and she sits up and we gather our thoughts to leave.  The cappuccinos have definitely worn off.

I bought postcards of Pope Francis.  Pope Francesco.  And of Michelangelo paintings.  I wanted to make sure my mother received a card from the Vatican.It made me remember my grandmother who had this little pendant that she said was full of sand from the holy land and that Jesus had walked on the sand.  I can't remember how she got the pendant as I am sure that she never traveled outside the country.

My daughter and I visited the cathedral of Saint Francesco of Assisi tonight.  We saw the Bernini of the Lying Woman.

internet photo

Doesn't sound that impressive?  Well think of any church or place of worship you have been in that houses a work of art so emotive, so full of history and expression.  If you are in America, you may be hard pressed.  It is five blocks from our apartment.  Every few blocks is a new piazza with more fountains and more art.  Marble graces the open steps and Roman Warriors adorn every monument. This interesting chap was on top of the Mussolini castle and the main statute in the Borghese Park.

Umberto Primo Wiki Photo

Aside from the fact that Umberto Primo has a killer mustache, he rides a pretty mean looking horse as well!

We walk most places covering around ten miles a day.  Of course this is filled with stops for looking and grabbing a beer or prosecco. And maybe a little cheese and bread.  And maybe a pizza.  You feel like if you walk that far, you should get  to eat or drink what you want!

We stop to get the items at the butcher shop my daughter wants. Dried meats, smoked mozzarella.  I buy Sangiovese wine to go with it.  We stop at a bar for a glass of wine, waiting on our third traveler, who left earlier to see the colosseum.  And we hear, " Even Americans don't like Fleming!"

I am assuming they are talking about a painter, but soon it matters not.  They are Bob and Bob from southern California by way of Cinque Terra and Rome.  We converse on politics and wine and restaurants and Saint Francesco of Assisi.  They were disappointed with Cinque Terra hiking access and delighted with Rome.  Then, they are off and so are we.

Our host for the dinner evening is none other that Gigi. He owns Impiccetta Ristorante in Trastevere.    He trained in South Beach, Miami, Florida.  He is fluent in spanish, italian and english.  He owns a lovely little space on Via dei Fienaroli and I highly recommend it!  #impiccetta

Gigi of Impicetta

Be forewarned, a meal is enough for two love birds.  Order two, and one appetizer if you are three fold.  You will be greatly pleased.  Beer is not so much in Italy, home to Tuscany.  But there are small craft spots that you can find.  If you are not a wine connoisseur, then definitely  pick the house wine or have the wait staff pick for you.  While not all of the ones have been fabulous, none have been so poor as to send back.

The Trastevere neighborhood is safe, but trendy.  It is noisy after midnight and easy in the morning.  Lovely to walk and easy to access transportation.  We feel safe and welcome.  People for the most part are friendly and helpful.  We have not had any trouble with the usual travel warnings of pick pockets and scams.  There are always people selling stuff on the street and they can be persistent.  But a firm no, grazie or No Thanks will do.  Rome is, well what can I say, Rome.  Ciao!

Rising to the Foggy Farm Morning

The fog is thick and the moisture just hangs in the air.  I swear that you collect droplets as I walk to the pasture to call the horses for breakfast.

 In no particular hurry, they walk up the long hill taking strides that should shake the ground they are so deliberate.

I love the grey horses and the foggy morning and the light just enough to catch the motion.

It is a peaceful beginning to Sunday morning and it gives one appreciation for the simplicity of the animals, the quiet of the fog and the time to reflect on how lucky we truly are.

Rising to the Occasion of the Not Fun Job

Today, I was reading my daughter's blog about her journey through Europe on a site called Tumblr.com   Her blog is: http://somewherebynow.tumblr.com/.

The site is full of bloggers, people who just post photos and businesses that showcase books, etc.  After reading her blog, I transitioned to look at other blogs and I was surprised to find a site called, please fire me

The site is a whole list of people writing about their job and how someone or something is making it so miserable that they want to be fired.  An example of the postings:

Please fire me. I was told that I couldn’t have the promotion I was after because I am not “mean enough.”

Please fire me. My manager is 18 weeks pregnant and still follows me outside on my smoke breaks to steal drags off my cigarette.

Please fire me. I’m a teacher at school and our librarian says “Arthur” instead of “author” as well as “lie-berry” for “library”.

Please Fire Me

My first emotional response was to say to myself, "then why don't you quit?"  Why so complacent?  Just risk it and walk out!!!

Because.  I remembered my friend who was fired and looked for employment for two months.  And I remembered my friend who is looking for a new job, but after six months, still hasn't found one.

I believe that the Please Fire Me is sort of a cross between Dear Abby and a HR complaint blog.  It is  definitely a place for people to vent.  It is absolutely an HR Lawyer's dream come true of workplace violations.  But, it is also a place to feel better by feeling bad.  The new world of sharing your feelings and then feeling relieved? Or the world of sharing your feelings and feeling like now, you should share all the time?  The world of sharing your feelings but not doing anything about it?  Notice the last two aren't "new".

So, let us see where the unhappy at work person is.  Stuck for a paycheck. Stuck for another (have to pay for Mom, Dad, Kid). Stuck because change is scary.  Stuck because no one wants me.

Stuck. Please Fire Me.

The friend of mine who was fired certainly didn't like it.  He took it personal and thought of it as a failure. And I am pretty sure he never said, please fire me with any conviction. Wanting to get fired and getting fired are different.  Very different.

I was fired.  Twice.  Once, I was a maid at the age of 16 in Clearwater, Florida. I was a terrible maid.  I was fired for not vacuuming the vents in the Holiday Inn.  But, I was a terrible maid.

And the other time, I was "redirected"  for a political appointment reason, when the boss said, "We are going in a different direction, and so are you", he added, "you can resign or you can be redirected". It was not wholly unexpected, but it was not warranted nor, in my opinion, deserved.  My boss at that time was later fired for harassment, sexual and otherwise.  So, while I was devastated, I also felt vindicated.

Back to the Please Fire Me.  Who are you really?  A young person, going to "stick it to the man" as my daughter says. (For the record, she stole that from my generation.) An unhappy worker who wishes they were somewhere else or just in a bad situation? Someone who just believes that their worth and talent aren't recognized nor rewarded?

I can tell you after 43 years of working (oh my, McDonald's was my first job in 1973), there will always be a day or two or ten, when you say, fire me please.  People are emotional, not very professional, way too professional, controlled, uncontrolled, wild, crazy, boring, extreme, loved, unloved, even at work.

People do not stop being people when they are at work. If the job is just a means to an end, then your profile probably projects that.  If the job is a passion, then you probably hope that you are a part of undercover boss and winning some giant reward.

But for most of us, we must weigh the stress of  an organization and those who are in it, and the angst of quitting.  Like Dear Abby said so long ago, "are you better off with em or without em?" So the Please Fire Me  is a way to bridge the gap of contemplation.  But what is it saying to us?

If you are an employer, it should tell you that your employees, contractors or others are not happy.  If you are an employer, you should listen.  It may not affect you today, but it will affect you eventually. Look at the research by Association Leaders.  It will tell you that leadership is the biggest key in the direction of the workplace.  Leadership sets the mood, the goals, the opportunities and the limitations.  If they are not set with the workforce in mind, then the workforce will slowly turn to the Please Fire Me people.  The problem is, they will be yours and affect your organization's future - online for all to see.

 "Entropy is a measure of the number of specific ways in which a system may be arranged, often taken to be a measure of disorder....." says wiki. 

 And Please Fire Me is definitely one measure of entropy disorder.  

Rising to the Occasion of the Publix Interlude

There were many years when stopping by Publix on the way home was my social life.  Picking up three children from day care, then driving to the store was a moment of transition.  It let me move between work and home.  It let me make a plan for dinner.  It let me see people in a casual environment, while towing three behind me.  I would see other neighbors, mothers with kids in tow, work comrades, and of course the folks that worked there. Nothing like hanging out in the vegetable section, gabbing about someone's new baby over the carrots.

Flash forward and the kids are gone.  Guess what?  Publix continues to be a source of meeting and greeting my neighbors, my horse club friends, my co workers and the Publix employees.  Nothing like talking about your daughter's graduation over the organic yet packed in plastic, spinach boxes.

So, sauntering through the dairy section, a woman spots me and comes over for a hug.  She is a FB friend and a former employee.  She is happy to see me; she is one of those enthusiastic happy to see you everywhere, people.  Her smile is bigger than Texas and her hug equally so.  We are catching up on family, while I secretly eyeball the discount shelf. She asks about my only daughter.  I tell her she is backpacking through Europe for two and half months, she graduated form UF, she has not decided on her life and I am scared.  She is going to be alone for many weeks.  somewhere by now is her blog, which I can tell you doesn't make me feel better.  I tell her that her father is joining her in Croatia and that I will join her in Paris.  We are chatting and  a voice comes from behind the discount rack, "Oh my gosh, she will be fine, don't worry a second!"

And we look around and this woman comes out to tell us her story.  Her daughter fell in love here in Tallahassee.  She dated and then the young man decided to go back to his first girl friend.  The daughter is distraught and calls Mom and says, "I am selling everything and I leaving for Europe for as long as I can."

Her cart full of cheese and chips, she stops to tell us her daughter's story.  She left after the break up, touring Europe for a few months.  She lived mostly in hostels and then several nights on the streets.  Not good decisions, the mother says.  My daughter went right after the 9/11 attack.  " I was terrified and begged her to wait. She emailed me every two days.  And at some point, I needed to believe she would be okay.  And I did." Then she told us that something changed.  The young man realized the mistake.  He flew to Paris to propose.  Or maybe he flew to Rome.  I sort of forgot where he went, because this is a movie moment.  And now, they have two children and are celebrating their 10 year anniversary.  Romance, success, love and a grandmother.  Gotta love Publix.

It reminded me of my sister's visit so many years ago.  My then boyfriend had dumped me.  I took my dog to the vet, and the vet said,  "why don't you go stay at my farm in Indiana and meet my nephew?"  I was planning on going, but then, I got a job.  My sister chose to go, thinking she would be a writer, living on a farm.  Well, that story ends with three beautiful children.  And my family had many fun years in Indiana.  I bet she had many years in the local store, picking up the children and visiting with the neighbors.  Farm communities arer different, but all mom's yacking is the same.

The last three Publix stories I have to tell you are about cancer and worse.

I saw a person that I used to work with standing in the check out line a few years ago.  I said, "Hi, oh my gosh, you cute your hair!"  When I saw her, I reached up and touched it and said how cute the cut looks.  The hair clumped in my hand and fell on the floor in the check out line.  Her chemo was kicking in and her hair was falling out.  Breast Cancer.  She died ten weeks later.  I hated that moment.  I loved her courage standing in a check out line trying to do normal things while she knew she was dying. This story is ten years old.  Flash forward.

A fellow horse mom lost a child.  The disease was sudden and so sad.  Back then, I did not have the back bone or skills to say hello to a mom across the vegetable isle.  How does the social chat work in a grieving situation?  How do you look at her across the carrots and express your empathy?  I failed.

Next, I saw a woman in the vegetable isle, who I knew had breast cancer treatment.  She is also a horse person.  A brave, creative, fun, energetic, person.  I told her about my daughter, and she said, "oh my, Peggy, be so happy for her that you can afford it, that she can do it, she is having the adventure of her life!"  And I worried about terrorists and bombs.  She is finishing chemo and terrorists can't scare a cancer fighter.  Especially one that fights like a girl.

Who is safe, who is not, how can we be better, stronger, protect them more.  I am asking all of you to look into their eyes.  If they are busy and on the way home, then good.  But if they are slow, if they are teary, don't turn away.  Stop.  What most people want it comfort and safety.  Hug them and tell them that they are confirmed.  You don't have to agree.  You just have to validate who they are and how they feel.

So here is to the stores, the visits, the Mom's on the way home. Next time you see her, every her and any her, ask her how she is doing.  I bet she needs to tell you.  And you need to hear her.  And best of all, you might hear some good advice about your life.  None of knows when our daughters will leave for Paris or when cancer will strike.  Ladies, take heed.

Huffington: Put spotlight on new ideas | The Florida Current

Huffington: Put spotlight on new ideas | The Florida Current

Rising to the Occasion of Our Future

Today, I listened to Arianna Huffington deliver a speech to the 2013 Florida Leaders Summit. She was amazing.  The title of her speech was technology and journalism.  But the real meat of her speech for me, was on integrity, responsibility and vision.

She spoke of the speed of technological change, the balance of a meaningful life, and the inclusion of the elderly back into the family and not in far away congregate living.  She said that studies show the active giving person has less risk of Alzheimer's disease.  She spoke of education and her mother's sacrifice to educate her and her sisters.  Who knew she came from a lower income working family.

She is inspiring as a leader and as a woman of conviction for family, freedom and happiness.  I appreciated her coming to Florida, where the headlines always seem to be so unfavorable.

Her speech reminded me of the article in the WSJ A Full Life to the End article, where the daughter explains the mother's choice to not go to the hospital.  Not to go to extraordinary lengths.  Not to accept a prolonged death.  She chose instead to accept a lucid, shorter life.  She chose to be here fully, rather than be here longer in part.

And in a way, it parallels what Arianna said today.  Technology is fabulous and it is changing the world.  Soon, machines will do most, if not all of the menial labor.  Education on the net will be accessible to more than ever.  Travel and international interaction will increase more than ever.  But what happens to us as families and people?  Does making access to the internet or online education easier make it better?  Does the income gap increase or decrease?

As a mother of the Y generation, the spoiled and lazy generation, the smart and gifted generation, I think, do they care about this?  Can they see and hear what may be lost?  Will we end up with people sitting at computer screens instead of living life? And where will I be in this mix?

The theme is always: we compromise the good we know for the new and shiny.  We are Americans. We want new, fast, better, more, and more.  We go to MCDonalds, when we could make dinner.  We stress maximum participation in organized sports or activity, instead of individual freedom and discovery of the backyard; we use phone conversation instead of face to face dialog.  We are too connected; we check in too often, not allowing mistakes to happen and consequences to follow.  We drink water from bottles, when cups would do.  We make money doing anything and everything and we fall for trends.  We fall because we have no tradition.

America is young relatively speaking.  Growing up in the south, tradition is part of your upbringing.  Please and thank you and yes Ma'am (no ma'am was never something offered to me) /I have photos of funerals.  Old people talk about funerals.  Death is part of the life we live.  But, I find that the tradition is not the same for our youth. Old people don't live with the family.  They move to the extended care home.  My own mother in law and father in law decided to move to an end of life care facility, only to have my father in law die in a hospital.  Their best intention of not wanting to be a burden to the family, put them far away from us who want to see them and include them.  A different burden.  And while I don't want to say that all families should live together, I do think it is a good idea to have them close.

I think the past should be passed on, and the best way to do that is to have multi generational interactions.  The best way to do that is the old way of passing on tradition. Even if it is modified.  Why do Americans jump at new and cast away the old?  The spirit of the quest.  The new adventure. The go west young man mentality.

But we are better than that.  We can seize the moment and embrace the past.  We can accept technology, and include the physical environment.  We can be on line and and still actually touch each other.  So, I guess the end is the beginning, and I am suggesting that we listen to Arianna, and include our whole family, include the environment and the internet.

I am suggesting that America should set some traditions, and that the tradition should be to not throw away the past, while embracing the cowboy technology future.  And to thank a cowboy leader, Arianna gave out her email address : arianna@huffingtonpost.com

Thanks to Arianna and to Katy Butler.

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Funeral Etiquette, Clothing and The Swing

Rising to meet the world today was a little harder than usual.  My husband and sons had already discussed our morning plans the night before, so when I rose to let the chickens out, I knew what lay ahead.  Today was the funeral of a friend, my brother's father in law Mack.

The day before, my brother had called and told me the obituary was online in the local web version of the paper.  I looked.  It simply said he was born, he died, the funeral will be held at this place.  But below the small lines was a link on funeral etiquette.  I clicked, how could I not.  I was surprised to find several writers talking about how to dress, what not to say, what not to do.  Being raised a southern woman, there were always rules.  Summer black, simple dress, pearls.  Bowed heads, folded hands, modest steps.  Reading through the posts, I realized how uncomfortable this will be for many.  My own husband says, "I don't know what to say."  The advice of the bloggers: tell the truth.  If you say, "our prayers are for you", mean it.  Otherwise, stick with sorry for your loss.

With this back drop, I was proud when both my boys opted for ties and shirts (no they left the jackets off given the 90 degrees and humidity of Tallahassee).  They both asked if they looked okay, clean shaven and khakied up.  My husband, old school, wore the jacket and tie anyway.  I stuck to black skirt and seersucker jacket.  We left together, all dressed on a Saturday morning, headed for the funeral.

We have known Mack and his family almost twenty years.  We met through his lovely daughter, Lisa,who eventually married my brother.  Hence forth, all family gatherings included them or us.  The generosity and kindness of Lisa's family was exemplified by Mack's questions.  He always asked the same ones:

Where is Charles (my husband)? and Where are the children?

Mack was a kind and gentle soul.  And arriving to the funeral home did not seem so hard.  I had fond memories and knew the family and Mack had lived to 89, a full and rich life. I was surrounded by my family and Mack's family.  Then, one of his grandchildren came up to hug me.  I have known him for almost 20 years as well.  I told him that my fondest memory of his grandfather was the swings that he made for all the children, including mine.  Round wooden discs that had holes in the center for the rope to run through and to extend upwards to the sky over a high limb.  All the children had one in their yard.  All the children congregated there, for fun, for talking, for fighting, for crying.  I can still see my teenage daughter sitting on the swing, long legs twirling around and round,  talking on her phone and crying over some awful teenage thing.

The swing sits idle today.  But even now, when the "kids" come home, there can be fights and shouts on whose turn it might be to swing. And I am sure that there will be more joy and happiness and emotion and jousting over that swing.  Mack knew how to relate.  Keep it simple, keep it accessible, keep it fun.

Not a bad way to be remembered, if you think about it.  So here is to you Mack.  Thanks for the lessons in making children happy and funeral etiquette.  You will be remembered warmly.

Rising to the Occassion Texas Style

This past month, I had the opportunity to visit Texas.  With the exception of passing through to change planes, I had not been there since I was a kid.  So visiting Austin, Texas was quite an experience.

First off, Austin is not what one thinks of when you say Texas.  Very few cowboy hats.  But there were boots.  Lots of boots, but more on the boots later.

The first day, I had flown all day from Tallahassee to Austin.  That means going through Atlanta airport.  The longest, never change planes on the same concourse, ever, airport in the U.S.  Ride the train, wait to get off, ride the escalator, ride the elevator.  The only thing they didn't make you ride was a horse (that could at least be fun).  Then off to the skies to Austin.

After sitting endlessly through the "cattle car" section, I arrived at the Austin airport.  It was a genuine Texas welcome, with a towering guitar.  Showing my ignorance, I asked about the guitar.  Who knew that Austin was famous for music?  Okay, who in Tallahassee knew Austin was famous for music?  The guitars are everywhere.  Huge colorful guitars for varying corners with much appreciated color and meaning.  Also, a very convenient way of navigating the city.  This is particularly true for the direction challenged.

My traveling companion wanted to head to the hotel, so after checking in, I went walking to discover the lay of the land.  It was fairly straight forward and grid like, so all I needed to remember was Congress Avenue, and the numbered streets.  All the other streets are named after rivers.  That single piece of information made the walking pleasant. Once I had oriented, it was back to the hotel to make the plan for sight seeing after attending training at the huge civic center across from our hotel.

The second evening, it was a walker's paradise.  We strolled west along fourth, made it over the bridge, then turned and went toward the park.  We had heard about the bat colony: http://www.austin360.com/search/content/events/special/bats.html  It is alleged to be the biggest in urban America, but you will have to do your own research.. Though we made it to the Lamar Street Bridge and crossed over to watch.  No bats emerged where we could see, so we went back down to hike Lady Bird Lake Trail.  It was filled with people walking, jogging, running and showing their pets the outdoors.  It was lovely and laced with Texas Flowers: the bluebonnet http://www.50states.com/flower/texas.htm

They are some kind of blue and very spicey to look at.  They decorate the hillside where the lake is and make the landscape a vast canvas of color.  We continued the hike, but came to the detour site, that said the roads were closed and so was Congress Ave.  An art show was in progress of dismantling.  We missed the show, but it must have been fabulous because the streets were packed with semi trucks and porta potty vehicles.  We had to climb the hill and slip through a fence to avoid another long walk.  I personally would have kept going, but my sidekick was starting to fade on me.  She kept muttering about a coldbeer.  Coldbeer is one word for her.  And apparently, not just her.

We emerged at congress and started the long hike back.  We decided to stop at Frank's for a coldbeer and a ginger beer.  http://hotdogscoldbeer.com/  Frank's is a pretty cool place, that looks like a grocery store, but inside is a bar, restaurant, coffee shop and music hall.  We had the privelege of listening to Ava.  The photos almost can let you hear her soft melodious voice belting out crooner music.  Check her out! http://www.avaarenella.com/#!music

After that we strolled back tot he hotel.  A bit refreshed (where my sidekick decided a pizza was in order).

The next day we had time to slip out for lunch at the Driskill.  If you have never been, it is quite lovely with a story behind every pillar and room.  It was breathtaking and truly awesome when you see it  for the first time.  I can see why LBJ took Ladybird there for dates.  Quite impressive.  http://www.driskillhotel.com/

Lunch was divine and all of us had our fill.  They have the most incredible burger that you have ever had.  Amazing.  Bacon, egg, cheese, hashbrown, burgehttp://www.austinducks.com/r, bun, just oozing with caloric goodness.  It is huge too.  What a fabulous walk back to the convention center after such a lunch!

No tour would be complete without a tour with the "Ducks".  Ausitn Ducks tour http://www.austinducks.com/  took us on the river, by the capital and past the UT campus.  It was great weather and lots of fun.  Our guide was a part time tour leader who full times as a firefighter.  Handsome, fun and brave in one package!

I will visit Ausitn again, with better walking shoes (did I mention walking with my broken foot boot on?).  I really appreciate the sights, the friendly residents and the lovely atmosphere.  I wish my daughter had been in Stubbs barbeque and I wish that my sons could have heard the music.  Maybe I can put Austin on their to do lists for the future.

BTW I am not sure why, but Austin just makes you feel more beautiful and alive.