Life In A Word

Leave Me Alone

Helen Reddy was an Australian pop singer from the 1970s who would’ve been considered a pioneer of female empowerment (had there been such a term back then). Reddy’s hit I Am Woman leaned on the same pointed lyrics that made Madonna and Katy Perry so popular decades later. Though I Am Woman is Reddy’s most famous anthem, another of her chart-topping hits floats through my brain today: Leave Me Alone. It’s the song the residents of tiny Santa Maddalena di Funes should be singing in the streets of their picturesque mountain village.

Santa Maddalena, Italy (Courtesy of Travel Wild/Stockphoto/Getty Images)

If I asked you to describe a “village” – a term we Americans don’t use very often – what would that image include? Mine would start with a small cluster of buildings, both residential and commercial, surrounding a cobblestone town square. The buildings would look quaint and simple, like throwbacks to earlier times. Narrow roads would lead into the square from the more sparsely populated surrounds. You’d find a lake or two nearby, and clusters of trees here and there. In the background, foothills or majestic snow-covered mountaintops. And right in the middle of it all, a charming church or some other public building rising above the rest.

I’ve just described Santa Maddalena to a tee. This tiny, picturesque gathering, nestled on the eastern slopes of the Dolomite Mountains in Northern Italy, is the stuff of postcards and jigsaw puzzles. There’s not much to it but the setting speaks for itself. And the little church – St. John in Ranui – seems perfectly placed beside the more nondescript buildings. Santa Maddalena is so attractive it draws 600 visitors a day during the peak travel season.

February is not peak travel season in the Dolomites but the Winter Olympics are taking place just a couple hours from Santa Maddalena. No doubt some of those sports fans will make there way over for a selfie. And therein lies the problem. Tiny Santa Maddalena simply can’t handle hundreds of tourists. If they keep coming, the photo I led with really will be too good to be true.

Were it not for the Chinese, Santa Maddalena might still be relatively undisturbed. One of China’s mobile phone companies included an image of the village on its SIM card and suddenly its customers just had to know where to find Santa Maddalena. A 2013 iPhone iOS update included images of the nearby mountains, adding to the draw. Now village officials are considering the unthinkable: restrictions.

It’s a move similar to what’s happening for the first time at the Trevi Fountain in Rome. If you drive to Santa Maddalena you may now be stopped on the outskirts of town, where you’ll leave your car in (gasp!) a parking lot. If you want to walk through town, you’ll have to purchase a ticket. One enterprising resident added a turnstile at the edge of his fields so he can charge those who want to cross over. Suddenly I’m having visions of food trucks and souvenir stands. How sad.

The plight of Santa Maddalena reminds me of those once-a-year lists you find in publications like U.S. News & World Report, where towns across America are ranked according to so-called “quality of life” criteria. Whether the schools, the parks, the clean air, or feeling safe in the streets, your own little corner of the world might suddenly be declared a top-five place to live. And that, my friends, is the kiss of death. Now you’ve been discovered, and everyone has to see what the fuss is all about (or at least go visit for a selfie). The masses throng to your backyard and some never leave. A year or two later – surprise, surprise – you’re no longer “top-five”.

Credit the residents of Santa Maddalena: they’re coming up with creative ways to discourage “over-tourism”. In a particularly bold move, they’re going to require an overnight stay to be able to walk the streets, so that tourists actually give to the local economy instead of just taking that selfie. IMHO all they really need to do is continue to be known as “Santa Maddalena” on the web. You won’t find much if you search with those words. As for “Santa Magdalena?” That’ll get you there. Even if you’ll find a quaint village of people singing Leave Me Alone.

Some content sourced from the CNN Travel article, “Italian village restricts access to its Instagram-famous church”, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

A Ringing Endorsement

This time of year the choices for sports on television are few and far between. Sure there’s a lot of basketball being played, but the football season wraps up on Sunday (Super Bowl LX), baseball doesn’t get underway until April, and unless you have the time and patience to watch golf you’re gonna channel surf without catching decent waves. But it’s also something of an illusion, because the Winter Olympic Games kick off tomorrow in Italy. You did know the Olympics are about to get underway, didn’t you?

The 25th edition of the Winter Games comes to your living room in the next two weeks, hosted in Milan, Cortina, and several towns in the surrounding Dolomite mountains. The natural venues of the region look spectacular, and no doubt the Italians will be worthy hosts to thousands of the world’s best athletes. We’ll be treated to sixteen different sporting competitions on snow and ice, from figure skating to bobsledding to ski jumping. Behind the scenes, you’ll get the usual inspirational stories, heartbreaking moments, and thrilling photo-finishes. I just hope you actually hear about any of it.

ESPN.com, where I get my daily dose of sports, includes a list of “Top Headlines” at the beginning of their home page. Today, less than forty-eight hours before the opening ceremonies, there is nothing about the Games. No updates on the American athletes, no projections on when or where the U.S. will be at its most competitive, no “primer” to get you ready to sit down and watch… nothing. You have to scroll way down, past NFL-this and NBA-that before you finally get to anything about what’s going on in Northern Italy. Heck, even the Westminster Dog Show rated more press than the Winter Olympics today (which always begs the question, “Is a dog show considered ‘sports'”?)

I’m glued to the coverage of the Olympics every time they come around (which is every two years, counting the Summer Games). Even with paid, professional athletes, the Olympics are the purest form of global sports competition we have left. The headlines – which will finally include the Olympics for the next two weeks – will speak more positive than negative, more jaw-dropping than ho-hum, with virtually no political undertones. How refreshing is that?

At least ESPN allots some space to the Games, however far down the page it may be. Have a look at any of the major news websites and you’ll be challenged to find similar coverage. Americans are too preoccupied with what’s going on in Washington, Wall Street, and the West Bank. It’s ironic that today’s lead news story is about the Olympics (though not really). Savannah Guthrie – one of the hosts of NBC’s television broadcast – pulled out to be with her family during the apparent abduction of her mother. My prayers are with her.

Since you’ll be hard-pressed to find a primer, here are a few tidbits about the upcoming Games. There are 232 athletes on the U.S. Olympic team, the largest in our history of participation. There are 25 venues for the competition – in four clusters across Northern Italy – making it the most geographically widespread Winter Olympics in history. And for the next eighteen days, you’ll be able to catch all of the action (at reasonable times) on some form of NBC broadcasting, whether streaming or live television. You’ll even get your fill of curling, easily the most misunderstood Olympic sport of them all.

The Olympic Games, as the broadcasters are sure to say over and over, “transcend sports”. The world records, the stories behind them, and the individuals who train tirelessly for these moments deserve our attention. Team USA’s flag bearers this year are speed skater Erin Jackson and bobsledder Frank Del Duca. Think about it – both of these athletes chose sports where their moment of glory (or defeat) starts and ends in a matter of minutes. They are everyday people whose best-in-class performances are brought to the world but once every four years.

Now go read all about it, or better yet… watch. Otherwise I’ll think you’re ignoring my ringing endorsement of the Winter Olympic Games.

Some content sourced from the NBC Olympics website, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Seasoned Greeting

Back in my days in a corporate office, where the telephone was still the preferred means of communication, my peers and I developed a habit of answering calls without a greeting. The phone would ring and we’d simply answer with our name, like “John Smith…” and then wait for the caller to start the conversation. Whether this was an effort to be businesslike or a little intimidating can be debated. But it always felt awkward to me, like one of those greeting cards with nothing printed on the inside.

Did you know the origins of “hello” go back six hundred years? We’ve led with one version or another of the greeting countless times for centuries. Take your pick from “hi”, “hiya”, “hey”, “howdy”, and even “hellaw” down here in the South: human nature demands something of an icebreaker before a conversation gets underway. The no-greeting business calls I mentioned above suggest this is not a conversation, this is business. Otherwise we need a starter word. Think about it. How awkward would it be to hug, shake a hand, or fist-bump without uttering a single word?

The history of “hello” is dry and speculative but it’s safe to say most of us started using it as soon as we could speak. Then, inevitably, we either embraced the word as our greeting or moved on to one of its offspring. For me the preference was “hey”. I find myself using “hey” whether I’m meeting someone for the first time or they’re a long-time acquaintance. I tried “hey” on for size a long time ago and it suits me just fine.

How “hello” reduced to “hi” is anyone’s guess, but it makes sense in the framework of the not-so-Queen’s English we use in America. A Brit saying “hi” doesn’t sound quite right. An American? Pretty much what we expect. A Brit can substitute “Good morning” or “Good evening” for “Hello”, while Americans just go with “Morning” or “Evening”.

But even “hi” seems a little passé these days. I’m just as likely to get a Yo!, Sup!, or Hey-ya! from Millennials and younger. Furthermore, if you gave any of those generations the choice they’d rather greet you with a text than with their voice. That leads to a whole new approach to starting conversations. Who starts a text message with “Hello, Dave!” More likely it’s just “Dave…”, an emoji, or no greeting at all.

[Blogger’s note: My favorite instance of “hello” comes at the end of the movie Jerry Maguire. The line, “You had me at ‘hello'” has been recycled many times since but never as powerfully. Pretty much launched Renée Zellweger’s career in a single sentence.]

Beyond “hello” itself, the inflections of the voice convert the greeting into something else entirely. We demand attention by saying He-LLO!!! We question attention by saying HELLO? (… “is anybody home?”). And if we say “hello” quickly we’re suggesting we don’t have time for the conversation that follows. A greeting can make a lasting impression inside of a single word.

We’ve lived in the South for a little while now, and in that time we’ve learned a new approach when it comes to greeting one another. When we’re introduced to someone for the first time we often exchange “hey” as the greeting. When we see someone we already know we go with “hey hey”. I’m still trying on “hey hey” for size. It feels a little forced to someone who grew up in the West. Give me a few more years.

A decade or two from now a wholly new greeting will be out there; one we’ll never see coming (seriously, did you ever think “yo yo” would replace “hello”?) Maybe this new salutation will suit me or maybe I’ll flat out reject it. Either way, “hello” rests comfortably in my back pocket whenever I need it. Six hundred years of history suggests it’s not going anywhere in the next twenty.

Some content sourced from the BBC article, “‘Hullo, hillo, holla’, the 600-year-old origins of the word ‘Hello'”.

When I’m Sixty-Four

We’ve reached the time of year when we abide by an unwritten rule: It’s no longer appropriate to say Happy New Year! We’re well past the first week of 2026 so quit thinking the year is still “new” already. On the other hand, it’s entirely appropriate to say Happy Birthday! Today happens to be the birthday of yours truly, as it has been for the past sixty-four years. I now find myself squarely between “Early Sixties” and “Medicare Eligible”, which sparks a wide variety of thoughts. Including a song by The Beatles.

Here’s a contradiction I wrestle with every birthday. I am celebrating 64 years but it’s actually my 65th birthday. If you don’t count the very first one (when you turn “0”) you’re effectively removing the first year of your life from the equation. 64 equals sixty-four years of my existence. But 64 also means my sixty-fifth birthday. Get it? I didn’t think so.

Birthday are traditionally celebrated with presents and cake, and both made their appearance yet again this year. I keep telling my wife and kids no presents, because in our sixties we finally learn we have almost everything we need (and need almost nothing we have). On the other hand, I will never turn down birthday cake, especially when the choice of flavor is mine to make. German chocolate – heavy on the coconut if you please.

My birthday is also the perfect reason to recall my late father. He was born the very next day (well, the very next day thirty-three years before). If my mother could’ve held on for another couple of hours Dad and I would’ve shared the same birthday. Not that I ever blamed her for choosing January 22nd. I’m sure the last thing she cared about back then was the clock. But at least she got a kind of two-fer in that Dad and I celebrated our birthdays together every year.

Our financial advisor makes a nice birthday gesture every year with the colorful assortment you see here. These beautiful chocolates – handcrafted by Florida-based Norman Love Confections – are too pretty to eat. Having said that I can assure you the entire box will be empty by early February. Yes I realize this “gift” is really just me buying myself a birthday present, since it comes out of the profits of my own investments. But at least there are profits…

My birthday is also a reminder I fall under the sign of Aquarius (barely). An Aquarius is described as intellectual, independent, and humanitarian. I happily embrace all three even if I regularly fall short in all three as well. On the other hand, Aquarius is the water-bearer. In the thirty-odd years my wife and I have been homeowners we’ve been plagued with every form of water disaster imaginable. Drips, leaks, mold, flooded basements, overflowing retention ponds – you name it. Would it surprise you to know an ice storm is headed our way in the next few days?

Finally we have The Beatles; or at least, Paul McCartney. McCartney, who turned 83 last June, wrote the merry tune When I’m Sixty Four when he was only fourteen. The lyrics include musings about his life fifty years on, but really the song’s just a silly rant about a time he couldn’t possibly foretell. (At least he thought to include “Dave” in the lyrics.) If I could meet McCartney in person I’d love to ask him, Hey, was it really like the song suggested nineteen years ago? Even if it wasn’t I’ll bet he’d take age sixty-four back in a heartbeat.

We make wishes when we blow out birthday candles (even at my post-middle-pre-senior age). Such was the case again this year on top of my German chocolate cake. What did I wish for? I’ll never tell, at least not unless the wish comes true. But I will admit to one distraction while I was huffing and snuffing those candles. There were only sixty-four on my cake. I’m thinking there should’ve been sixty-five.

Worthless Wardrobe Boxes

I’ve always liked the play on words of Men’s Wearhouse. If you’re familiar with MW you know they cover more ground than just formal wear. They’ve set aside an area for tuxedos and such, but they have other sections for dress shirts, accessories, and even shoes. It’s like walking through a miniature department store… which is probably why MW is destined for the dust bin sometime in the coming year.

Just eighteen months after Saks Fifth Avenue acquired bankrupt Neiman-Marcus (for the “bargain” price of $2.65 billion) Saks itself filed for bankruptcy; just yesterday. The 2024 merger of these big-box luxury retailers (which included Bergdorf Goodman) never really came to fruition. Chalk it up to biting off more than they could chew, or more likely to the impact of the changing habits of consumers. Today’s shoppers want smaller, more specific brick-and-mortar options; that is, whenever they can drag themselves away from online purchasing.

The shuttering of department stores is not limited to the high-end verions, of course. Macy’s is in the process of closing 150 “underperforming locations”. JC Penny, Kohl’s, and Marshall’s are closing outlets here and there. Even Carter’s, the popular option for children’s clothing, is calling it quits on 150 locations. And Sears, which had almost 3,000 locations just fifteen years ago, is down to a mere five. Frankly, I didn’t know Sears had any locations anymore.

Sears (or the Sears, Roebuck and Co I remember as a child) was my family’s go-to-department store for just about anything. My brothers and I were outfitted in Sears-brand clothing. My mother purchased all kinds of items for her kitchen. My father built up his workshop with dozens of Craftsman tools. And of course, the Sears catalog was not only a kid’s dream-book of Christmas wishes, but its arrival in the mailbox was a sign Santa was on his way… not to your house but to the toy department at Sears.

Like many other things in the States, department stores were based on the originals in Europe. Harrods of London has been around since 1849 and boasts of 1,100,000 square feet of selling space, making it the largest department store on the continent. Paris hosts several stores I’ve never heard of yet many have been around as long as Harrods. And Australia’s David Jones is considered the world’s longest continuously operating department store (since 1838!)

As you read this post – and if you’re Millennial or older – I’m sure a department store of your own experience comes to mind. Towards the East Coast: Gimbels, Hudson’s, or Wanamaker’s. Towards the West: May Company, Bullock’s, or Robinson’s. In Chicago alone: Marshall Field’s, Carson Pirie Scott, or Wieboldt’s. In Canada: Eaton’s. The list is endless, even as most of them are downsizing or closing altogether.

In deference to my former department store habits, I also prefer more specific retail these days. My shoes come from shoe stores. My shirts come from stores of particular name brands. But with shopping malls closing along with their aforementioned “anchors”, my stores of choice are now stand-alones or in outlet malls. Now that I think about it, outlet malls are kind of like outdoor department stores, aren’t they?

I may be nostalgic for the department stores of my past, but I certainly understand why the concept has come and is about to be gone. We have more convenient, more tailored options these days. Which has me wondering about supermarkets. Supermarkets are also under the threat of the changing habits of consumers. No, I don’t expect a return to those wonderful merchant-driven street markets you find all over Europe. But we are getting more comfortable with placing orders ahead of time and having groceries delivered to our car or front door. In other words, enjoy shopping in “food warehouses” while you still can, because department stores are about to become nothing more than worthless wardrobe boxes.

Some content sourced from the CNN Business article, “Saks Global files for bankruptcy protection…”, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

A Pricey Drive down Memory Lane

We sure love our pets, even long after they’ve moved on from this world. When we lost our Saint Bernard last September, after eleven memory-filled years together, we kept reminders of him around the house. Remy’s ashes now lie in a stately wood box up on the fireplace mantle. His leash still hangs by the back door, as if we’ll take him for another walk in the neighborhood. And the kids gifted us framed photos of our favorite moments with him. Having said all that, I never expected this under the Christmas tree…

No, this isn’t our Remy. Well, okay, it is Remy but not in the “fur” (so to speak). Instead it’s a remarkably accurate likeness based on digital photos… and it serves as a head cover for one of my golf clubs. The double-takes I get on the driving range are priceless. Those puzzled expressions from other golfers beg the question, Wait, where’s the rest of the dog?

If these doggy head covers really get popular, I’d love to see future versions get a little animated. Along with the photos, send in an audio file of your dog’s bark. Then design the mouth to open and close on cue. Remy may have been a “gentle giant” but man he had a ferocious bark. Talk about a great way to say don’t touch my clubs!

If I had any concerns about the money my wife spent on my Remy head cover, I’ve gained some perspective to make me feel better. Forget about golf clubs for a moment. Did you know you can now have your car customized as a memorial to your beloved pet?

It’s safe to say I will never own a Rolls-Royce. Even if I had the money for one I can easily come up with a dozen ways I’d rather spend that much dough. But the car-as-your-dog thing is apropos for those who have way too much money in their paws. Consider, you’re already spending upwards of $500K on the car itself so why not put another $100K into it for personalization?

The options for customizing your Rolls border on the ridiculous. You can choose the paint color to match your dog’s coat. You can have his image created in intricate wood veneer inlays between the seats. His paw prints – authentic reproductions of course – can be used to dot the pinstripes (which is nowhere near subtle with a paw the size of a Saint Bernard’s). And the possibilities with the leather seats are endless.

Candidly, when your world includes a Rolls-Royce the word “customization” really means anything you want. You begin in the lobby of a design studio, which is an unmarked ultra-secure building in downtown Manhattan. You’re escorted upstairs by an armed security guard. You then sit down to a team of consultants to fine-tune every little canine detail. Now walk away and let the Rolls-Royce crew create your personalized masterpiece. Time and money are no object so neither is negotiated. All that matters is having your dog in the details. And if you’re so inclined, those details can include real gold in the paint job.

As much as this makes for a good blog topic, I’m no fan of excess. If I’m spending six figures to embellish my vehicle with remembrances of my dog, I’ve lost all sense of fiscal responsibility. No thank you. I’ll limit my purchases to trinkets like this little framed photo ornament from Shutterfly. Okay, and head covers for my golf clubs.

One of these days my wife and I will take down the wooden box of ashes and put away the photos of our beloved Remy. Even the golf club head cover is bound to deteriorate at some point. When all that happens, I hope I can still picture our good ol’ boy in my mind. Otherwise I might be telling myself, I should’ve bought a Rolls-Royce!

Some content sourced from the CNN Style article, “Want your Rolls Royce to match your pet Labrador?…”.

Fill ‘er Up

Several years ago at a banquet, I stood at the podium to introduce the evening’s guest speaker. After sharing some of her background and accomplishments, I went with the expected, “So without further ado, please welcome”…, and then I paused. And paused some more. I’d forgotten the speaker’s name. The silence, as the saying goes, was deafening. Eventually I found her name in my notes, but not without an uncomfortable gap in my speech. Perhaps a filler word would’ve smoothed things over.

Do you use filler words? Actually, let’s make that question a statement. You use filler words. Every now and then in conversation you’ll throw in the occasional “uh”, “like”, or “so”. Filler words do exactly what their label implies: they fill up the awkward gap of silence created by a pause. Every one of us can recall an experience where we’ve left out filler words in a vain attempt to keep the polish on our speech, but it’s a no-win situation. If you go with the pause your audience looks at each other with one of those Is he okay? glances. If you go with a filler word you’re hinting you’re not completely on top of your material.

The parade of filler words is much longer than the commoners I mentioned above. The filler “uh” comes from its own family, including “um”, “oh”, “er”, and “ah”; tiny signs of reluctance to say whatever comes next. And speaking of next, how about “very”, “really”, and “highly”? These three are fillers disguised as words of emphasis but are usually superfluous. Then we have “You know…” and “You see…”, which seem to politely draw the listener into the conversation. But sorry, they’re also fillers, allowing a pause at the start of a thought. Finally (as if there’s an end to this parade), let’s add “I guess” and “I suppose”, both designed to soften a response when what you should go with instead is a confident “yes” or “no”.

I deliberately skipped one filler here because it deserves it’s own parade. “Like” sprinted to the front and center of casual English in the last couple of generations, taking up a lot of the spaces “uh” and his pals used to fill. Some people use “like” so often it starts to feel like every other word they’re saying. But make no mistake – every “like” is simply a mini-pause to allow the speaker to reboot their thoughts.

Watch out, because filler words can be contagious. I used to work for a company where it seemed every one of my teammates couldn’t start a sentence without the word “So”. Somehow “so” sounds a little smoother than “uh” but it’s basically the same filler. Before I knew it I caught myself also using “so”, as if it was the only way to start a sentence. At least “so” has a built-in bonus: you can drag it out for drama. So-o-o-o-o…

Filler words somehow sound better with a foreign accent. The Irish “um” sounds like the more pleasing ehm. Even throwing in a bunch of “you knows” in the Irish accent seems to work. And speaking of accents, Hollywood (or maybe just Los Angeles) brought us Valley Girl talk, which includes a weird form of attitude along with its own set of meaningless filler words like “totally”, “whatever”, and “as if” (think Cher from Clueless). Valley Girl talk has had a remarkable run considering its roots were in the 1980s. You still hear the words today.

The next time you call out a friend with Hello? Is anybody home? for not paying attention, consider they’re trying to avoid filler words by simply not saying anything. That’s harder to do than it sounds. Try speaking for a few minutes without filler words. It’s so difficult it’s birthed a string of funny videos on TikTok. As for me, I’ll keep using my fillers wherever I need them. Especially when I forget the name of a guest speaker.

Some content sourced from the CNN Health article, “Should you stop saying ‘um’? Here’s what the experts said”.

A Triumph in Travertine

LEGO Trevi Fountain – Update #8

(Read about the start of this build in Brick Wall Waterfall)

A little over two months ago we set out to do the impossible: construct one of the world’s great fountains in time for Christmas. Today, a day before our self-imposed deadline we put the very last piece of travertine in place. Okay, so this Trevi Fountain is made of LEGO and we’re nowhere near Rome but still, we’ve had a nice little adventure from start to finish.

As is the case with many of LEGO’s models, the final pieces are meant for flourishes and ornamentation. Bag 14 – of 15 bags of pieces – focused entirely on the top center structure you see here. Everything was completed in a cool 23 minutes, finished off by the careful placement of those four tiny statues.

Today’s musical accompaniment was fitting. I chose Gabriel’s Oboe, a short but beautiful instrumental some of you may recognize from Amy Grant’s “A Christmas to Remember” album. It was actually written by Ennio Morricone for the movie The Mission. I listened to it twice. Then I went with Luigi Boccherini’s Minuet from his String Quintet in E Major, which some of you may also recognize from movie scores. I listened to it thrice. Finally, I concluded with Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons (though of course, only with the “Winter” movement).

Bag 15 – the final bag of Trevi LEGO pieces – was an adventure from the get-go. Thirty seconds after spilling the pieces onto the counter I heard a tiny “tap tap tap” on the kitchen floor, the exact sound of a LEGO piece skittering away. Sure enough, way over by the frig, the little guy was standing there looking up at me with a devilish grin. He’d rolled way, way across my kitchen counter and dropped to the floor before attempting his escape. Again with the runaway pieces, sigh…

The statuary of the Trevi is impressive and the LEGO equivalent is kind of fun. If you look carefully in the piles of pieces above you can see hairpieces, torsos, and horse heads. Fully assembled and installed, it’s quite the collection of humans and animals in and among the rushing waters.

Finally, here’s an interesting coincidence of timing. In just over a month – for the first time in its history – you’ll have to pay $2 to see the Trevi up close. The fee is designed to reduce the overwhelming flow of tourists in front of the fountain. A fee just to see a fountain may sound nit-picky but a trial run showed it works well to reduce the chaos. Trust me: pay the $2, spend as much time front and center as they’ll allow you, and gaze upon one of the sculptured marvels of Ancient Rome. I think you’ll agree; the Trevi Fountain is a triumph in travertine.

Running build time: 7 hr. 48 min.

Total leftover pieces: 44

Caffè Companions

My wife made a batch of rolled sugar cookies last week, cut into traditional Christmas shapes like bells, wreaths, and stockings. It’s the first time in a long time for these cookies, inspired by the assistance of our young and attentive granddaughters. Though the cookies never donned their frosted/decorated costumes, they sure tasted great all by themselves. Kind of like the biscotti I’m giving up in 2026.

Are you a fan of biscotti? They’re the small, oblong cookies that resemble tiny slices of sourdough bread. They’re hard and dry, with just a smattering of almonds or almond extract for extra flavor. Biscotti are meant to accompany a drink, just as two of them do every morning with my coffee. Biscotti ward off the nausea I feel when I down my vitamins on nothing but a cup of joe. Nice excuse for daily cookies, eh?

When the calculator (which doesn’t lie) reveals you ate over seven hundred biscotti over the course of 2025, you quickly come to your senses and declare a resolution for the coming New Year: Shift biscotti from “habit” to “occasional treat”. Yep, it’s time to cut down on carbs.

Before we seal the lid on the cookie jar however, biscotti deserve a little more attention to set the record straight. First and foremost, the pint-sized pastries I consume with my morning caffè are not technically biscotti; they’re cantucci. Cantucci contain ingredients like milk, butter, and flavorings, none of which are found in an authentic Italian recipe for biscotti.

Here’s another distinction. Biscotti were never meant to be partnered with coffee. They were (and still are) served alongside a glass of sweet wine as a light Italian dessert. Americans pair cantucci with cappuccino at upper-crust hotels and coffeehouses. You’re supposed to dunk to make them softer (and take the edge off the coffee) but I prefer to eat them just the way they are.

Biscotti translates to… not “biscuits”, but “twice-baked”, which is exactly how they’re made. First baked as a full loaf; then baked again as individual cookies. Now then, another Italian translation for you: Nonni means “grandmother”. Nonni’s also means a brand of biscotti (whoops, make that cantucci) you’ll find in your grocery store… and in my pantry. The Nonni’s version is an unashamed dessert cookie, with a layer of chocolate, caramel, or lemon frosting to add to the appeal. My advice: Nonni’s need to be put on a hard-to-reach shelf else they’ll become a habit just like the ones with my morning coffee.

In some Western European cultures biscotti are thrown into savory dishes, which I’m not going to get into because I find the idea unappealing. Biscotti are classy little sweet treats in my book – one of the two items in my “grown-up milk and cookies”. Alas, in 2026 it’ll just be “grown-up milk” for me… that is, as long as I stay away from my wife’s sugar cookies.

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LEGO Trevi Fountain – Update #7

(Read about the start of this build in Brick Wall Waterfall)

Today we took a mini road trip, as I chose to build the fountain’s Bags 12 and 13 – of 15 bags of pieces – on the kitchen counter (instead of upstairs in the home office). Kind of fitting considering the counter is topped with white marble. Kind of annoying considering the laundry machine and dishwasher were running nearby the whole time, interrupting Arcangelo Corelli’s moving “Christmas Concerto” in G Minor.

Maybe it was the change of venue but some strange stuff happened today. To begin with, I couldn’t find the very first piece in the build at all, until I looked closer at the instruction manual drawing and realized I was after a tiny statue. Once I found him I was off and running, though I found it sad that one of his companion statues ended up being a leftover piece.

Thought you should know: the back side of the LEGO Trevi is a sheer wall of white.

Now for the strange stuff. I assembled a flat L-shaped piece on top of another flat L-shaped piece, only to discover they weren’t supposed to go together that way. No amount of fingernail dexterity could pry those two apart. Fortunately I found myself in the kitchen. Sharp knives everywhere! It took a careful pry without cutting myself but I finally got those two unmarried. Never let it be said building LEGO models isn’t a dangerous sport.

That little brown round one (nestled top left) was missing from Bag 13!

More strange stuff. LEGO left a piece out of Bag 13. Okay, technically they left it out. “Technically” because in my growing pile of leftover pieces I found its twin. But considering LEGO never leaves out pieces, I had to wonder: Did the little guy just wander over to my leftover pile when I wasn’t looking? Or is he somewhere in the trash right now, along with the cellophane bag of Bag 13? Maybe he’s resting quietly on the kitchen floor just waiting to stub my toe? Who knows. I’m just thankful I had a “replacement” from my leftovers. And I don’t think I’ll be building LEGO models in the kitchen anymore.

Next week: The Trevi is completed!

Running build time: 6 hrs. 52 min.

Total leftover pieces: 35 (including a lonely little statue)

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Priceless Hatches

I’m enjoying a couple of soft-boiled eggs right now, my every-other-day breakfast entrée. The timer I use to prepare them sits right in the pot of water, indicating when the eggs are cooked to perfection. I pay a little more than average for my eggs, to producer Vital who advertises “pasture-raised – tended by hand by farmers who care”. On the other hand, if I wanted to pay a lot more than average I’d simply go to a rare goods auction and buy one from Fabergé.

You wouldn’t have a Fabergé egg for breakfast, of course. No one would ever sink their teeth into a priceless work of art (well, maybe a banana), let alone one of only fifty that were ever created. One of the Fabergés – the “Winter Egg” – went under the auction block last week, with the winning bid confirmed in a mere three minutes. The buyer’s purchase of a single Fabergé for $30.2 million dollars is a new record; noteworthy considering how many times the eggs have changed hands in the last 140 years.

I can’t say why we Westerners even know about Fabergé eggs. Most hide in private collections or in museums you’ve never been to. The eggs were created in St. Petersburg, Russia in the late 1800s by jeweler House of Fabergé for the reigning tsars of the time. One or two eggs were produced every year as exquisite Easter gifts, from 1885 through 1917. Most are jeweled with diamonds and other precious gems, and hinge open to reveal delicate animals or scenes within.

The Winter Egg (1913) is described as “the most spectacular, artistically inventive and unusual” of all fifty Fabergés, which is quite a statement when any one of the eggs deserves the same praise. The Winter Egg took almost a year to design and create, and the value is evident in the details. 4,500 tiny rose-cut diamonds are married to a platinum snowflake motif to create the impression of a block of ice dusted with frost.

The Winter Egg hinges opens to reveal a hanging basket of wood anemones, made from white quartz and rare green “Tsavorite” garnets. I can’t imagine working with these expensive materials on such a small scale but maybe that’s because I don’t have the delicate fingers of a woman. The Winter Egg was designed and created by Alma Pihl, the only female jeweler in the House of Fabergé.

On a cruise around the Baltic Sea several years ago, my wife and I were fortunate to spend a couple of days in St. Petersburg, touring Catherine Palace and Peterhof among the city’s other sights. When we returned to the ship we were greeted by a local jeweler, who offered replicas of the Fabergés (for less than $32M, thank goodness). We chose the Imperial Coronation Egg (1897), inspired by the color of Tsar Alexander III’s robe. The Coronation Egg houses a replica of the imperial carriage, made with gold and platinum and detailed with rubies and diamonds (the original egg that is, not ours).

After learning a single egg can set you back $32M, I now look at my breakfast eggs a little differently. $10.99 a dozen? That used to be top of the heap. Now it’s just pocket change.

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LEGO Trevi Fountain – Update #6

(Read about the start of this build in Brick Wall Waterfall)

There’s a moment in every LEGO build where you look at what you’ve constructed and think, Hey, I’m almost done! That moment was today. Bags 10 and 11 – of 15 bags of pieces – brought the structure of the Trevi Fountain to new, practically finished heights. The tiny, tiny pieces I worked through (so many of them I was afraid to count) resulted in the uppermost level of the backdrop you see in the final photo.

From my magic hat of Italian composers I somehow chose Claudio Monteverdi for my musical accompaniment today. You don’t know Monteverdi and apparently I don’t either. Had I realized his contribution to classical music was mostly opera (hard pass) I would’ve reached into the hat again. Alas, I was subjected to Monteverdi’s L’Arianna “lament” – equal parts sorrow, anger, fear, and so on. Those singers sure didn’t sound happy as I snapped together LEGO pieces, but honestly who knows? I don’t speak “sung” Italian.

Here’s an expectation with a symmetrical LEGO build. If you construct an element that goes on one side of the model you’ll be mirroring it on the other side before you know it. A hundred or more pieces went into the windowed wall you see here, and a hundred more went into its twin soon after. It’s repetitive yes, but at least you go faster the second time around since you just had practice.

A word about the little devils in this photo. Because they’re cylindrical they can roll. Because they roll they can hide under something. Something like a LEGO instruction manual. Once again I was fooled into thinking I was missing pieces… until I thought to look under the manual. Sure enough, there they sat just smirking at me. So I promptly arrested and cuffed them, hauled them away, and now they’re jailed in the backdrop you see here, without possibility of parole.

We’re just four bags of LEGO pieces from “turning on the water” of the magnificent Trevi. I’ll admit to peeking into the box at those upcoming bags. They are small, all four of them. Perhaps I’ll wrap the fountain construction in a single go next week. Even if not, conveniently, the final block of travertine would be laid the following week, just in time for Christmas. Now that’s what I call a gift!

Running build time: 5 hrs. 42 min.

Total leftover pieces: 32 (tiny, tiny pieces)

Some content sourced from the CNN Style article, “Faberge egg fetches record $30.2 million at rare auction”, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.