Chuck Lured to Enigma Machine in France

 

              Chuck can usually be lured to a place he doesn’t want to go by the promise of a pretty girl OR a snack.  This time . . . when we were bound for The Peace Museum - a museum and war memorial in Caen, France - established in 1988, dedicated to peace and considered the best World War II museum in France . . . it was a machine that proved to be the ultimate allure. 

Chuck agreed to visit The Peace Museum because of a promise. Chuck would see one of the actual Enigma machines used by the Allies during World War II at Bletchley Park in England to crack the secret German code used during the transmissions.

It all started the year before when Chuck watched one of my favorite movies -- Enigma, starring Kate Winslet of Titanic fame.  The story of Enigma takes place during World War II in Bletchley Park, England.  A cryptanalyst returns to the park to help the codebreaking team regain their ability to break the German code used during their transmissions. Obsessed with his missing former girlfriend, he and his girlfriend’s roommate help to unravel the mystery of her disappearance.  

Enigma was co-produced by Mick Jagger of the Rolling Stones who not only put up the cash to make the movie but also lent the movie use of his Enigma machine to add authenticity to the movie.  

When we arrive at the Museum, I tell Chuck-- be prepared to be wowed by the experience.  I’ve been warned that going through the museum is quite an experience.  Chuck, however, is of one mind.  He only wants to see the machine.  

He doesn’t much listen as I explain that the Peace Museum traces France’s role during World War I and World War II to stop the spread the Fascism and Nazism.  The museum’s displays capture “moments in time.” 

We pass an exhibit of nap sacks, helmets, and leather pouches.  I’m fascinated by this type of display and try to imagine the real people over 50 years ago who owned these objects. 

        We pass a brick wall with a poster and again I try to see myself on a deserted street, perhaps, in Paris, in an occupied city.  

         We pass the side of a building with graffiti and a bicycle, evocative of a, perhaps, secret meeting inside.

There are symbolic exhibits.  The river of red lights stand for all the Holocaust victims.  

When we FINALLY reach the Enigma machine, Chuck stands in rapt attention. He understands that during World War II, because the enemy created an elaborate code where one letter stood for another letter when they transmitted messages, breaking the code without the machine was almost impossible . . . because the possibilities for variations were endless.  

I stare long and hard at the Enigma machine, too.  It saved many Allied lives.  

Yeah, again for technology, even the 1943 style!

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Chuck Misses Wild Partying at Giardini Naxos

If you like hot, you visit Sicily in the summer.  The average temperature in Sicily in July and August demands that you stay at lovely resort villages and spend your days in the water and at the beach. 

On the other hand, we decided to visit Sicily in November when the days were a comfortable 70 degrees Fahrenheit and the nights, well, you needed a jacket or a sweater because it was a bit nippy.

Chuck doesn’t always understand the finer points of weather and appropriate times to travel.  He knew we were staying in Taormina and that nearby was the infamous and  very popular seaside resort town of Giardini Naxos. Although the town used to be a quiet fishing village and before that--dating back to the mid 1500‘s--it even had a history of pirate invasion which is why the Vignazza Tower was built, since the mid 1970’s all that had changed and now it was known for its beaches, panoramic view of the bay and surrounding hills and almost bustling fishing port.  

Giardini Naxos attracts Italians and foreigners in equal numbers, who flock there--looking for accommodations in its hotels and pensions and looking for food in its pubs, restaurants and pizzerias.  

But neither accommodations nor food interested Chuck.  The rascal cat had heard stories of what happened on the beach and he wanted to be there to witness the sight. 

Chuck heard that people pitched tents and partied on the beach.  And then at midnight they ran into the sea for a swim while fireworks crackled overhead in the dark sky.  

Well, who wouldn’t want to see something like that?

Now the story was true all right, but the only problem was that it took place only once a year--on August 15.  We’d missed that date by two months.

August 15 or Ferragosto is very special in the Italian calendar.  It has a rich history and a varied past.  But in the present day, Ferragosto is when most Italians take a short holiday and go to the beach and enjoy a large meal.  It makes sense that they would celebrate on the beach.  

I tried to explain the reality to Chuck, but he wouldn’t listen.  

“What harm can it do?” Bob asked.  “Let the kid see for himself.”

I was hoping that maybe one confused person would set up a tent, but, of course, no one did.  Giardini Naxos is lovely, but in November it is not the same bustling resort area as July and August.  

That evening as we rode back to our hotel in Taormina, I resisted the urge to say, “I told you so.”  The Chuckster looked just too disappointed.  

MY PARANORMAL ROMANCE, WILD POINT ISLAND, IS NOW AVAILABLE IN  MASS MARKET PAPERBACK AND EBOOK FROM AMAZON.COM AND BARNES AND NOBLE.COM.  AVERAGE READER REVIEWS GIVE IT 4.7. STARS. 

Chuck and Bunny Love

       

          Years ago, before Chuck, the rascal cat, was even part of our family, my sister owned a pet rabbit.  Well, let me rephrase that.  She decided to adopt a rabbit.  And this particular rabbit became a treasured member of her family.  Mopsy (and honestly I can’t even remember the bunny’s name so I’ll just call her Mopsy from the famed Peter Rabbit story) lived in a cage which Cheryl kept in her bedroom.  She ate carrots and other bits of rabbit food.  Cheryl was quite taken by her and incessantly talked about all the different things that she did--rabbit things that never seemed all that outstanding, but still I listened, of course, because Cheryl is my dearly beloved sister, and if she loved the rabbit, well, what could I say?

I would never, for example, tell her that I had eaten rabbit once, when I’d stayed with friends in Italy.  Rabbit is served up like chicken in that country and it would have been very rude not to have partaken of the feast.

But I digress because even though I’d never adopt a rabbit myself, I still have tremendous respect for them, and I was beginning to notice that Chuck didn’t.  Have respect for them, I mean.  Not that he has that many opportunities to engage with rabbits, but we do have property around our house and rabbits come and go.  Chuck sits at a window, watches them hop by, and he snarls at them.  

So I decided - in honor of Easter - that I was going to do a bit of therapy with Chuck.  I sat him down, the day before Easter and with the promise of some tasty SNACKS, I offered him a proposition.  “Chuck,” I said, “I have some lovely vintage postcards to show you. Of rabbits.”

Well, he looked at me as if I were crazy. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” I said hastily.  “But, remember, you had a cousin who was a rabbit.” 

       Postcard #1 - rabbit sits under a beautiful flower

          

         Chuck yawned and ate a snack.

          
        Postcard #2 - two rabbits in the grass

          

          Chuck looked mildly interested and ate another snack.
          

          Postcard #3 - rabbit with flowers

          

           Chuck really looked at the postcard and ate a third snack.

           Postcard #4 - rabbit family goes for a walk

           

                      Chuck smiled at the postcard.

           Postcard #5 - beautiful girl with rabbit in her backpack

           

       Chuck was impressed.  He grabbed the postcard and scooted away with it.  

Did Chuck like rabbits now?  Or was it the pretty girl?

        Happy Easter!

        My paranormal romance, Wild Point Island, is now available in mass market paperback and ebook formats at Amazon.com and BarnesandNoble.com.  Average Amazon Reader Ratings: 4.7 stars

        Digital Book Today is reprinting my blogpost -- "What People Read 100 Years Ago" as part of their Best Guest Posts series on Sunday, March 31 (Easter) at 5 p.m.   If you're even vaguely intrigued . . . this blog sums up the research that was done at a midwestern library -- collating all the books that were taken out to be read over a one year period at the turn of the century.  What were Americans actually reading 100 years ago???  Simply fascinating and surprising!!! 

Chuck is Lured in By the Curse of Messina, Sicily

       

         Curiosity drove Chuck, my rascal cat, and I to Messina, Sicily.

We heard stories. The city had a terrible history of destruction which spanned the centuries, and it was a tribute to this city that it was still standing.

On the bright side, this port city was known for its lemons, mandarin oranges, and olives -- all of which played an important part in Italian and Greek cuisine.  In fact, it was founded in 8th century B.C. by Greek colonists.

However, it was  seized in 288 B.C. by the Mamertines who went on to kill its men and take its women for their wives.  Years later, the city was free and became an ally of Rome, but this peace was short lived when the Messina harbor became the gateway for the Black Death to enter Europe.   

Yes, you heard me right!

In 1908 Messina was almost completely destroyed by an earthquake and a tsunami which killed over 60,000 people.  

Was this city under some kind of curse?

There was no denying our nerves were on edge. 

We decided it was best to be in and out of Messina in a day.  We wanted to see only two things.  

One - there was a Cathedral from the 12th century which held the remains of King Conrad, ruler of Germany and Sicily in the 13th century.  After the earthquake and after the fire (triggered by the Allied bombings from World War II) this church had to be almost completely rebuilt. Of course.  The original Norman structure of the Church was now only visible in the spsidal area only.  

We also wanted to see the bell tower which held one of  the largest astronomical clocks in the world.  The belfry mechanically animated statues, which illustrated civil and religious historical events, came alive every day at noon.  But that was only half of the amazing part.  In the background, the figures moved to the music of Ave Maria. 

Can you imagine?

For me, I hear that lovely music mostly sung at funerals.  

So, here we were, standing in the square, our eyes glued to the bell tower.  It was one minute before noon, and we waited for the spectacle to begin.  

All would have been purrfect if it weren’t for a certain street vendor.

Suddenly, the most delicious smell wafted by.

Chickpea fritters.  Street food.  An irresistible temptation for my now starving Chuck who hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast at the hotel.   

The almost largest astronomical clock didn’t matter anymore.

I thought I could trust Chuck to wait by my side, but he took off in the direction of the delicious aroma.  

I spotted the street vendor, dishing out his “fritella di ceci” to a few of his customers standing by. The fritters are made in the shape of squares, deep fried, hot to the touch, deliciously crunchy.  

“Chuck,” I shouted, “Wait.” I tried to grab him by the tail, but the belly boy was too quick for me.  He trotted off toward the vendor.

And what did he think he was going to do.  Meow for his fritter?

I raced after him, counting down the seconds in my head, knowing that my chasing after this recalcitrant cat while the lovely figures danced around the bell tower could be the ruin of the moment.  

I reached the vendor, just as Chuck came to a sudden halt next to him.

“Meow,” Chuck said.

The vendor guy, a nice Messina gentleman, smiled.  “Il suo gatto?” (Your cat?) he asked me.

“Il mio gatto affamato.” (My hungry cat.)

Then I heard it.  Ave Maria. 

My heart gave a little jump.  I was dealing with the vendor guy while my eyes should have been glued to the bell tower! 

The vendor handed me a fritter.

I reached into my smart bag for money to pay him.

He waved his hand aside.  “Mi piacciono i gatti.”  (I like cats. )

           “Grazie.”

I picked up Chuck and held him in my arms.  We ate the fritter together while the mechanical statues rotated around the bell tower while the beautiful Ave Maria drifted around us.  

“Messina isn’t so bad after all,” I said to Chuck.  Then I turned back to the vendor and held up what was left of the fritter.  “Squisito.”  Which in Italian means delicious. 

My paranormal romance, Wild Point Island, is now available in paperback and ebook from Amazon.com and BarnesandNoble.com  Average reader review 4.7 stars on Amazon.com.    

Chuck Wants To Be Irish in the Worst Kind of Way

   

  

         Every year, about a week before St. Patrick’s Day, my rascal cat, tries his darndest to assume a different identity.

No longer content to be Chuck, he abandonS his Anglo Saxon name in favor of the more Irish sounding Cathal, which is Irish for Charles and means, “mighty,” “a great warrior.”                        .  

He insists that the dried food he loves to snack on be died a putrid color green.

He dons a most ridiculous leprechaun looking hat because he thinks it makes him look more Irish.

He demands fish and chips for dinner.

And he dances around the house, practicing what he thinks is the Irish Jig.

In honor of St. Patrick’s Day, I thought I would cobble together some little known facts about St. Patrick and the day that we celebrate in his honor, just in case you’re invited to a party and need some trivia to share to appear intelligent.
         And, of course, I want to keep Chuck HAPPY:

FACT #1

     Although many Americans spend St. Patrick’s Day drinking and carousing around, traditionally the Irish spent the day quite sober because of the Lenten season.  In Ireland as recently as 1975, the bars and public houses were closed on St. Patrick’s Day. It was only after the Irish saw how the Americans celebrated St. Patrick’s Day, that they clamored for a change.  

FACT #2

     St. Patrick was first brought to Ireland as a slave when he was sixteen years old in the fifth century. He escaped to Europe, became a priest, returned to Ireland and converted the people to Christianity.  

FACT #3

     The first parade to honor St. Patrick took place in New York City on March 17, 1762, not in Ireland.  Irish soldiers serving in the English military marched through the streets.  Over the next 35 years Irish patriotism flourished, giving rise to “Irish Aid” societies, which sponsored more annual parades, featuring for the first time bagpipes until in 1848 several “Irish Aid” societies decided to unite their parades and form one official New York City St. Patrick’s Day Parade. 

FACT #4

     More than 100 St. Patrick’s Day Parades are held across the United States.  

FACT #5

     Up until the mid 1800’s, Irish immigrants to the United States were middle class Protestants.  When the potato famine hit Ireland, over 1,000,000 poor and uneducated Irish Catholics flooded into the United States.  The newspapers portrayed them as drunk, violent monkeys. They soon began to organize, however, and the St. Patrick’s Day Parade became a show of strength.  In 1948 President Harry S. Truman attended the parade in New York City.  In 1962 Chicago began to die it’s river green on St. Patrick’s Day, starting another Irish tradition.  

HAPPY ST. PATRICK’S DAY! 

MY PARANORMAL ROMANCE, WILD POINT ISLAND, IS NOW AVAILABLE IN MASS MARKET PAPERBACK AND E BOOK FROM AMAZON.COM AND BARNESANDNOBLE.COM.   

AVERAGE READER REVIEW ON AMAZON: 4.7 STARS

THANK YOU TO WIKIPEDIA FOR THE GENEROUS USE OF THEIR PHOTOS!

Something Fishy in Catania, Sicily OR Chuck Goes Too Far for Heart Healthy Fish Snack

When I travel in Europe, I live for the open air markets, which are different than the flea markets that we flock to in America, which mainly sell antiques.  The open air markets of Italy and France and most other European countries offer the fresh produce of the city--the meats, the cheeses, the fish, the vegetables, the fruits. 

That day--in Catania, the second largest city in Sicily and which happens to lie at the foot of Mt. Etna (a still very active volcano)--we arrived early in the morning at the open air market, eager to browse the stalls and mingle among the locals and the tourists.

Catania has an interesting history.  Situated between Messina and Syracuse it was destroyed by earthquakes twice--once in 1169 and then again in 1692.  The city also had to contend with volcanic eruptions from Mt. Etna--the most notable occurring in 1669.  The city is mostly paved in a black pavement, made from the lava, so it is difficult to forget the history as you walk around. 

The energy was intoxicating.  

And all would have gone well . . . but because we were rushing to get to the market, we neglected to give Chuck his usual snack, and in retrospect, that small event sparked a embarrassing incident.

For the Chuckster arrived hungry, his big stomach growling, and it is never a smart idea to bring a hungry cat to a place that has food--delicious food--around every corner.

Even so, who could have anticipated that a cat, even a rascal cat like Chuck, would take matters into his own hands and want to leap from the safety of my smart bag into a display of fish?

But let me begin at the beginning.

We arrived at an already crowded market. The stalls were open, their umbrellas a colorful sight.  Vendors had their wares on display.  People were milling about, making purchases. 

We minded our own business, as usual.  We wanted to browse only.  We decided to buy some bread and cheese and prosciutto for later on.  A small picnic for lunch.  So we wandered over and made our purchases, and Chuck barely whimpered. 

Our purchases did not include fish.  After all, we were tourists staying at a hotel.  We had no means of frying fish.

But still, as we passed the fish stalls, we saw octopus, snails, tiny clams, eels and rays, tuna, and were intrigued by what seemed to be thousands of sardines laying about, their silver skins gleaming--fresh.

     And we expected to smell fish.  Nothing.  That’s how fresh they were--brought in that morning from Mazara del Vallo, Italy’s largest fishing port or one of the smaller ports in Sciacca or Favignara and hauled in by the local fishermen.  

But the Chuckster, well, any cat has super sensory smell capability and from his perch, he caught a whiff of the sardines.  

Not that I blamed him, but I felt him stir.  For the first time.  Which should have been a warning sign.

It wasn’t because when you are in the open market, it is so easy to become distracted by the stirring of life there.  

So he jumped, out of my bag toward the open display case--landing on the small wooden table just to the left of the basket that held the sardines.  A very strategic jump which he must have calculated would put him near enough to begin his own private feasting on the fish.

“Chuck.”

Luckily, the owner, the proprietor, was on the other side of the stall, dealing with a customer who had placed a rather large order so he was up to this point oblivious to the jump.

I scooped up the rascal, who now smelled like sardines because his paws had landed in some kind of goop that the table was drenched in.

“You are in the biggest trouble.”

But he didn’t act like he was in trouble.  Nor did he act contrite.  He only meowed, disappointed that he’d lost the opportunity to snack down on a sardine. 

I swiveled away from the fish stall and began hurrying away from the market.  I didn’t want a Sicilian fish monger mad at me and my cat. 

“Yuck, Chuck.  You smell like fish.”

He looked insulted, but he had the good sense to say nothing.  He didn’t even meow.  

        WILD POINT ISLAND, MY PARANORMAL ROMANCE, IS NOW AVAILABLE IN MASS MARKET PAPERBACK AND E BOOK FORMAT FROM AMAZON.COM AND BARNESANDNOBLE.COM   

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