Merry Christmas 2023 You would think that as we grow older the days and weeks would go by more slowly, but instead it seems the winter solstice arrives on our doorstep sooner every year. Each December, indisputably, there it is, urging us to catch up with the dwindling calendar. So far, we are mostly keeping up. The Christmas tree stands in our living room and the floor around it is packed with presents, mainly for grandchildren, but there are a couple in there for Mary and me. My old stained and repaired Christmas sock, the same one I’ve had all my life, is out and ready for Santa. It is flabbergasting to think another year has passed. Our busyness, I guess, is what keeps time humming along. In early June, we headed out to France and Italy with Provence as our first destination. We rented a village house in Roussillon and explored tiny hilltop towns, all with narrow streets, ancient churches and lovely little cafes. Roussillon is known for its ochre mines, a pigment used to color the bricks of buildings across the region. Thunderstorms chased us each afternoon, and the warm and sunny days usually ended with a dash for cover. From there it was off to Italy, following the coast of the Mediterranean on roads that clung to or tunneled through the foothills of the Alps. Our first stop was Cinque Terre in Italy, a string of towns that hug seaside cliffs. When we were in our 30s, we read stories of this place, and learned you can hike from town to town on ancient paths. We checked, and the path from Monterosso to Vernazza was rated as medium difficulty. We decided to give it a try. At the start of the trail, we looked up. Five hundred irregular stone steps ascended a narrow path on a steep slope. Egads! Creaky knees barked and crackled. Hearts raced and lungs worked overtime on the ascent. Did I mention it was hot? When we stopped in shaded wide spots to allow others to pass, we took in the view: terraced little farms with lemon and olive groves and grapevines were carved into the hillside, and of course, far below, the bright blue of the Mediterranean lapped at brightly colored towns. They say you can make this hike in 90 minutes, but I’m pretty sure we doubled that estimate. Eventually, we started down, and while the descent was less aerobic,
Mary: “It says here the trail is moderatly difficult.”
Fred: “How hard can it be.”
View from the Cinque Terre trail. The end, Vernazza, is in sight but still one more hump to get over before we truly are descending. Still a long way down to the sea.
the footing was no less difficult. Irregular stone steps on a steep path crawling with ankle busting tree roots, but ultimately it did lead down to Vernazza. After spilling out of a narrow passage onto a commercial street, I went immediately to a store in front of me to get
This was our view for dinner one day: some ochre cliffs in Roussillon, France.
In the center of Florence, we had lunch in the shadow of the impressive Duomo.
Borolo, Italy, where grape vines and wineries surround sleepy little towns.
a couple of bottles of cold water, and I sat down on nearby steps to rehydrate where I pretty much refused to move. Recovery was slow, but after a bit, we made our way to a nearby café where Mary ordered the famous pesto we had read about years ago, and I virtually climbed into the largest gelato I could find. What do you know? We finally completed the adventure we had imagined in our 30s. Glory be! From there it was on to Tuscany, with the magic and high art of Florence and rolling countryside with ancient towns. The highlight there, after the art, was the food and wine. I had wild boar at one place. Truffles, it seemed, were in everything. Putting Tuscany behind us, we went north
Rural Tuscany was a treat. This road led to one place we stayed.
to the Piedmont region, where rolling hills nestled against the Alps, and again, wine was the story. Vines covered nearly every hill. We landed in La Morra, a very pleasant little town that bustled in the day but
Isla and Atlas. Little brother gives a big hug.
Rowan is ready for beach stick throwing action.
Atlas enjoys a driftwood beach fort.
Rowan waits for treats on our covered porch.
Mary and Atlas explore our hometown beach on a cool, fall day. We had the place to ourselves.
pretty much emptied at night. From there we explored the region. Nearby was Borolo, home to very famous red wines. From there it was back to Provence for a brief stop in Aix, then back home – Lyon to London to Seattle. We were glad to get home. Family, work, entertainment and household chores filled the rest of 2023. I continue as the Executive Director of a statewide newspaper association, Mary is doing volunteer work with the local marine science center, and usually, often once a week, we welcome one of more of our grandchildren here. Our son Ben and his wife Ingrid live about 45 minutes away. The kids are Isla, 9, Atlas, 3.5, and Rowan 1.5. Mary and Isla like working on crafts together, and we all enjoy time at the beach just a few minutes down the hill from our house. Driftwood forts. Sand castles. Beachcombing. Powered by snacks and drinks, we can go for hours down there. Atlas is making big progress with his vocabulary and we love having conversations with him. “My mouth is a bear cave,” he told me. “Are you scared of bears?” I ask. “Yeah, cougars too,” he answers. He lives in a magical world. Rowan is just starting to put words to things. Mary asked if he wanted to read a book. “Read book,” he exclaimed, clear as can be. Both boys enjoy books and there is hardly anything better than having them climb into your lap for story time. Mary made her way back to the East Coast this year to visit with friends and to see her brother Jim. Her sister Nancy went with her, and they toured coastal Maine, enjoying lobster at a famous seafood shack and visiting the stomping grounds of Andrew Wyeth. Mary and I also made our way to Boise one long weekend to visit with Mary’s other brother Mike.
Mike has a big garden there and we came home with a box full of butternut and delicata squash. Always good to spend some time with Mike. Just down the street from our house is a state park that once was an army base during the first world war. An old blimp hangar there was converted into a concert hall, and we saw a couple of great concerts there this year. The first was jazz pianist and singer Diana Krall, who spent some time here early in her career making connections at a jazz program that rolls out each year. Next up, in the same facility, we heard the Indigo Girls. They brought a raucous and spirited sold-out crowd. The Indigo Girls are from Georgia, and near the end the end of the concert, we all sang happy birthday to Jimmy Carter, which was recorded, and we are told, was part of a happy birthday message delivered to the former president. Finally, we got out of the house one Saturday, left our car at the ferry landing and walked on the ferry to downtown Seattle. We trudged up the hill from the Seattle dock to the Seattle Art Museum to see an Alexander Calder display and from there, it was on to the Pike Place market and finally to a hotel for the evening. Went out for dinner downtown (haven’t done that for years) and capped the evening at Jazz Alley, where we saw guitarist Pat Metheny perform. We got back to the hotel way past our usual bedtime, but proud and excited that we had really stepped out of our usual routine. Hope all of you are safe and warm this holiday season. As always we wish the world was more peaceful and that people were kinder to each other. Merry Christmas, happy holidays and Happy New Year! Fred & Mary
PO Box 690 • Port Townsend, WA 98368 • fredobee@gmail.com • maryobee@gmail.com