Best Laid Plans

It’s a beautiful day to wake up! I slept well, managed coffee in the Spartan kitchen, and Voldemort did not jump out of the shadows to spirit my soul away.

The Sunday morning service in the chapel was nearly over, so listened until it ended and then went to bus stop 571. It’s clearly marked. It clearly says “San Pietro”. An hour later, no bus 571 had appeared and there was no way I was going to make it to St Peter’s in time for the Angelus. No, I’m not going to get upset; I'll just go to Plan B.

Plan B took me on bus 87 to the Argentine square near the Victor Emmanuel memorial. I made my way to Piperno, a restaurant touted for it’s carciofi, artichokes done “Jewish style”, which means deep fried.  It took a little while to find the restaurant, which is tucked in a small enclave in the Jewish ghetto. On route, I was treated to a street celebration - music and dance and general noise. I didn’t ask, but it certainly might have been a wedding party. There were some barriers and youngish guards at the end of the street, a reminder that these faithful are still being persecuted and that at any time, in any place, someone might be willing to trade his or her life for theirs.

I found Piperno, was seated, and ordered the carciofi followed by a gnocchi alfredo. I meant to order the meat sauce, but this turned out to be the happiest accident in Rome so far. It was unspeakably good. I wish I could have eaten more of it!

Most of the other diners where having a great time chatting happily and eating loads of pasta, salad, meat, and fish. Two women, speaking both French and Italian, were seated beside me.  My Italian is a work in progress, but I understood enough of their French to be greatly relieved that they weren’t American. The yammered endlessly, rolled their eyes, asked the waiter to change this and hurry with that. In short, they embodied an air of unearned wealth. In any case, I was interested in the main course they each ordered, one which included one fried artichoke and several pieces each of fried fish and cheese. When I go back, I’ll have the gnocchi and the ’sampler’ plate. And yes, I will go back!

After lunch, I wandered the ghetto for a little while, then decided to turn around and find the Pantheon. It was perhaps a 15 minute walk. There’s a lot of road work and buildings surrounded with scaffolding, no doubt getting refurbished in the ’off season’.

One side of the Pantheon is thus surrounded with metal beams, bars, and cables. Somehow, it seems less ancient with all that stuff stuck to it. The Victor Emmanuel is surrounded by work barriers and (spoiler alert for tomorrow) so is the central fountain in the Piazza Navona.

There are main streets with buses and banks and hotels and churches; interesting side streets, some with touristy shops selling t-shirts, some quiet and cobbled, guarding a range of antiques, many eateries, and churches - everywhere churches. The old streets are never straight, always narrow, and incredibly interesting architecturally. No surprise, I like the old stuff best.

It was nice to wander around, not get too lost, rely on synchronicity, and continue to discover that Rome is quite a manageable city. It’s much more like Boston than New York. It's walkable. If you opt not to walk, the subway and bus system is efficient - except for the 571, which still hasn’t shown up.

Dedication

It’s hard to believe I left Maine almost a week ago. In some ways, it seems shorter, in others, longer. You know what I mean. Just think Einstein: it’s all relative.

This morning, I moved back to the convent. I saw Giovanna preparing the cottage for newcomers, and thought about making sure she knew I was moving, but I didn’t. Apparently, none of the housekeepers knew, since the bed in my room has no sheets. I’ve looked around for some without success. I could sleep in the other downstairs bedroom, but  the heat isn’t working there.  I don‘t want to be a nudgy guest and I certainly don‘t want to get anyone into trouble, so I‘ll figure something out.  To be completely honest, I feel a little like a Trappist who’s taken the vow of silence.

Nevertheless, it’s been a nice day. I went to the midday prayer service and dedication of the chapel. It featured some Italian, some Latin, and some English - in that order of magnitude.  Lee and Myra were there too. The hallway leading to the chapel was strewn (there’s a word you don’t see too often!) with fresh bay leaves on long branches.
Everyone assembled in the College foyer and walked together to the chapel singing the Kyrie. As the leaves were crushed underfoot, they gave off a wonderful, earthy, living scent. It reminded me of the procession into Jerusalem, minus the hallelujahs. 

After the service, Msgr Liam invited everyone to lunch in the refectory. There were two pasti, meatloaf, mashed potatoes, zucchini, salad, and fresh fruit. It was a really nice meal and a welcome change from what has become my staple diet - scrambled eggs with onions and ‘melba toast’. I like scrambled eggs and onion and melba toast, but I was glad to have some meat and salad too.

Maybe lunch inspired me, because I went back to Di per Di and bought some brie, Italian chocolate, and more eggs. I found a small bakery and rounded out my marketing with a quartet of small rolls.

After depositing my hoard, I decided to walk to Santa Maria Maggiore. This is one of the four major churches in the city. During a Jubilee year, each of the four has a special ‘holy door’ opened by the pope Pilgrims who pass through all four doors are rewarded with special dispensations. The four churches are: San Giovanni in Laterano, Santa Maria Maggiore, St Paulo, and San Pietro.

It took me about 20 minutes to reach Santa Maria and I was there about the same length of time On the way back, I found a big supermarket and a very fancy bakery. Since I’d already shopped, I didn’t indulge. My final stop was at L’800 for a macchiato. The room is warm enough. I’m not hungry, and I can watch “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince” tonight in my room.

My goal for tomorrow (Sunday) is to go the Angelus at St Peter’s and then to visit Abruzzi for the much-touted carbonara. Unless the carciofi wins the day.

How can you go wrong with artichoke hearts?

Walk a Mile in My Shoes

I’m going to see Caravaggio - lots of Caravaggio.  I have to look this up, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there are more paintings by him in the Borghese than any other single museum.

After I make some truly yummy eggs, I’m off to L’800 to buy a Metro ticket. It’s a couple of miles to the Borghese and I’m not going to walk that far. I don’t want to risk getting lost. That’s a good plan, right?

Everyone is wearing coats - not jackets, not sweaters - coats. And scarves - thick ones. It’s at least 65 degrees and the sun is unhampered by any cloud cover whatsoever. Albert explained that Romans dress by the calendar. The calendar says it’s winter, so they wear coats.

I don’t care if I do stand out like a tourist, I can barely stand wearing the sweater I brought, but it’s not really warm enough to leave it behind and the weather could change. I’m careful about what I choose to carry along. I can’t take photos in the gallery, but I’m going to the Spanish steps first and then through the gardens before my 3 pm entry to the gallery.

No problem getting back to the Metro since I know exactly where I got lost the first time I was at that station. No problem getting to the Spanish Steps. It was crowded and a rowdy gang of young men (wearing shamrocks but shouting in Greek) seemed to overwhelm the steps. I took photos from the base and from the top and then tried some gelato from a cart. Strike two - it was bad. Nominally pistachio, it wasn’t day-glow green, but it tasted like almond extract. I am totally bummed out. I know there’s great gelato in this city. I just have to find it.

It’s noon and the Villa Borghese is only a half mile or so from the top of the steps, so I have plenty of time to find it, walk around the gardens, and just enjoy the day. All goes as planned, almost. I have to pick up my ticket by 2:30 for the 3:00 admission. At 2:00, I start following the signs for the villa. I walk, and walk, and walk. How far can it be? I’m on the grounds after all.  Well, it’s a long way - a really long way. My watch tells me it’s a long way; my feet tell me it’s a long way. By 2:40, I’m on the right road, and it is a road, not part of the garden path. There are buses, cars, carabinieri, street cleaners, deadends, & crosswalks. Finally, I make my way up the last run of hill and get to the ticket window at 2:45.  I pay for the ticket, deposit my bag (minus my wallet containing a copy of my passport) and I go outside to wait for the appointed 3 o'clock entry.  There are three kids playing soldier on the wall. They’re cute. My feet are killing me but I’m not giving in to a little thing like pain.

At 3, I go in with about 300 other people. We have two hours - that’s it, then the 5 o’clock people get their turn. It’s not a huge building, but there is a huge amount of artwork in it. It’s dizzying, literally. Every ceiling has a painting. Every wall has a mural or multiple paintings. There are sculptures in the center of most rooms. Caravaggio will have to wait a bit; first we meet Bernini.


No photos allowed in the Borghese, so I can only say 'refer to your guidebooks' or check out Google to find images of the sculpture and paintings in the gallery. Bernini was mindboggling. There is a beautiful, small(ish) sculpture (The Goat Amalthea with the Infant Jupiter and a Faun) that he did when he was a child himself. Unbelievable. And of course, there is Daphne and Apollo (my personal favorite there) and his David. David is the introductory piece in the gallery. It's a far different interpretation of the Goliath story than one sees in the more famous David by Michelangelo, housed in L'Accademia in Florence. Bernini's David is in active mode. He's let the stone fly and watches for the giant to fall.


Bernini is everywhere in Rome, and the Borghese is a great way to become familiar with him in an intimate setting. I liked it a lot!

That brings me to Caravaggio. The pieces in the Borghese were wonderful, but...most of the really great Caravaggio was not there. There is a Caravaggio exhibit, in Rome, and that's where the well-known stuff has gone for the season. No, I did not go, so I didn't see that much Caravaggio after all. Maybe that was silly, but it's the way it is Interestingly, there is also a huge Hopper exhibition in Rome at the moment and I can't think of a greater range of style than those two artists represent. Nice.

My feet are tired, but I'm pretty happy.

La Dolce Vita

The tech guy was supposed to come, without fail, so I waited. Around 11 or so, the tech guy‘s substitute arrived and set up the Internet access. Sort of. I can get to the Web, so I can send and receive email. I can‘t sign in to Skype. I can‘t sign in to post to my blog. Never mind. I am determined not to get stressed out over computer access.

Kelley has arranged a ticket for the Borghese Gallery for me tomorrow and one for the general papal audience next Wednesday. 

I wandered down to Di per Di and bought some eggs, then stopped at a cart on the street for an onion, which I then deposited at the cottage before walking past the Lateran palace in search of gelato. I found a place with postcards and gelato. As soon as I ordered it, I knew I’d made a mistake. I got coconut, but I could see the pistachio in the case and it was fluorescent green - a very, very bad sign. I nearly threw the cone out after the first bite, but I was hungry, and some food is better than none.

I went back to the cottage, wrote my postcards, and then took a book up to the College’s roof garden, read, and watched a tiny hummingbird zip around the flowering shrubs. The air cooled, and I decided it was time to go home again. I had toast with cherry jam, wrote some email, read some email, watched the news on Sky TV, something on the Food Network, then realized I was half-asleep at nearly midnight.

Tomorrow is the Borghese. I can’t oversleep. I can’t be late. They don’t hold tickets past the time you’re booked to visit the gallery.

The forecast is for sunshine and moderate temperatures - here. It’s supposed to snow in Maine. I feel bad about that…no, not really.

Lions and Christians and Stairs - Oh, My!

I stayed awake until after 3 am hoping I’d wake and be Rome time. It didn’t quite work. I woke too late to order cappuccino (10 am), so I decided to make coffee in the cottage and have a slow day. I went to San Giovanni for an hour or so and then returned to the College for lunch at 1. I met Liam along the way: we were both late!

The kitchen staff cooks and serves everyone the same thing - a pasta course followed by a meat and veg course. The sliced potatoes with onion were about the best I have ever had anywhere. The fourth person at the table was Father Chris, who was starting a seminar on Paul later that afternoon. We talked a little about the class and a little about carbonara at Abruzzi, Michael’s favorite restaurant here in Rome.

After lunch, everyone gathered on the portico for coffee (or tea or cocoa) and then Albert and I went back to the chapel to see if the work was done. Did I forget that earlier?  The mosaic was being put up when I arrived. It was the last day, and the whole thing had taken just 5 days to do. It’s amazing, just amazing, and breathtaking in its profound simplicity.

I stopped by to see Alison and Kelley, who tell me the computer guy hasn’t shown up yet, but for sure will either come in or send someone else tomorrow. The priestly types go back to work or class and I head off to the Coliseum.

So Albert is either wearing those roller-shoes or my watch is running on Klingon time. It took me 20 minutes to get to the Coliseum from the College. In fairness, I suppose I sauntered, taking in the landmarks and shops along the way. It’s a nice walk, much better for me than for countless Christians who made the trek in the first 300 years after the life of Jesus.

It’s big, but smaller than I remember. There are fences and souvenir carts everywhere. It was a bit disheartening, but not as disheartening for me as…see above. There were loads of people too. I walked around the entire edifice, over to the Arch of Constantine, and then I looked up a hill - to my favorite place in my favorite place: the Arch of Titus. I walked up the basalt cobbles as far as the chainlink fence at the end of the Forum. A few photos and then back around the Coliseum and up the hill to the College.

It takes longer to walk up. I stopped for a macchiato at L’800, then ordered a slice of pizza to go and went home to the cottage. Still no computer guy and it’s after 5. I watched some tv and then went up to bed with the computer so I could watch “The Invention of Lying”, which I’d downloaded to my laptop before leaving Maine. Wouldn’t you know, it was one of the in-flight films? I purposely didn’t watch in on the plane since I’d already bought it for the laptop. Then I listened to some of the pod casts I’d downloaded and finally I decided to go to bed.

This time I slept - - for 11 hours.

I’m on Rome time now.

It Never Rains in California

Once I’d negotiated the Metro from Termini to San Giovanni in Laterano stop, I thought I was home free. The directions said, “Look for the clock tower and walk toward it”. I saw one and walked toward it. Unfortunately, it was the wrong clock tower and I walked about a mile in the wrong direction. That meant I also had to walk a mile back in the right direction. That’s when it started to rain.

At first, just a mist, then a light drizzle. I could see San Giovanni getting closer. I was really glad the backpack only weighed 17 lbs!  Just as I got to the major intersection outside the Lateran, the sky opened up. I pulled the hood out of my windbreaker and walked across the intersection. I was getting soaked. Worse, the laptop case was getting wet and that worried me. So…I ducked under a roof overhang, dropped my backpack, opened the side zip and took out the last thing I packed: an umbrella.

Once back in the Lateran square, I found the right street and got to the Irish College. From landing at FCO to being buzzed in the door at the College - three hours. I was exhausted. Just thinking about it exhausts me again!

Alison and Kelley are the office staff. They phoned Father Albert, who popped over to introduce himself with the promise of showing me around once I’d had a chance to rest. I wonder how he could tell that I needed to rest?

Kelley showed me to the ‘guest house’.  The guest house formerly was a convent. It’s big. It’s marble. It‘s austere. There’s no internet access in the convent. There’s no TV. There’s no phone. And there was no heat. There was no hot water. Honestly, I didn’t care - I just needed to sleep. I was getting the shakes from being tired and hungry.

After a three-hour nap, I went back to the office where Father Albert met me, as promised. He accompanied me to the convent and showed me how to turn on the hot water. That seemed to be all right.
He had less success with the heater in my room and finally gave up and brought the space heater from the office over so I’d have heat for the night.

Then he showed me around the College. It’s a wonderful place with a rich sense of history, culture, tradition, and spiritual formation. The most impressive thing was the renovation in the chapel. It’s spectacular - have a look at the photo!

Father Albert introduced me to Monsignor Liam, who is an old friend of Michael’s. In fact, Albert also had been a student here when Michael was at the College. They invited me to lunch with them in the refectory the next day. (So far, that’s the best meal I’ve had, btw.)

The sun returned. Kelley and Alison suggested I move over to the small cottage since it had heat. I finally agreed and settled in just a few yards away from my original digs. The St Joseph cottage is charming. Unlike the convent, the cottage is quite homey and I can stay until the next people booking it arrive, on Saturday the 27th. *

The cottage is a mix of plaster walls and arched brickwork and heavy wooden beams. There are pocket doors, my favorite! I had to figure out how to flush the toilet, which has no handle or chain. (there’s a button on the bottom of the wall tank) and I wondered what the valve on the wall was for (I think it diverts hot water from the radiators to the shower). The electric kettle was pretty easy. The key(s) to the big, old, wooden door out to the street takes a little practice.

My next door neighbors are Americans who have lived in Jerusalem for 40 years. I knocked on their door and introduced myself. Lee is now retired, having been professor of archaeology at Hebrew University. He’s teaching for two months at the Gregorian University here. Myra is an artist who’s interested in book-making (making books, not taking bets!)  Lee studied at Jewish Theological Seminary, right across the street from Union. I spent a fair bit of time at JTS myself, so we had something to chat about. Myra is a Barnard/Columbia grad. And in the ‘how small a world can it be?’ realm - though he moved away at age 4, Lee was born in Bangor, Maine.  They’ve already been here for two weeks, so they were able to tell me where to go for groceries (Di per Di) and where there’s a good bakery (two blocks past the Lateran palace).

The housekeeper, Giovanna, speaks less English than I speak Italian, but she understands that I like the sour cherry jam, so she’s put extra in the fridge. She assumed that since I liked the cherry jam, I’d like cherry yogurt too. It’s pretty good, and the ‘good bacteria’ probably is a plus. Oh yes - the accommodations come with some fruit, cereal, coffee, etc so it’s possible to make a light, continental type breakfast. I’ve sort of lived on that, and cappuccino & pizza from “L’800” - a nice café and ‘everything shop’ about 100 yards from the College’s main gate. The tech guy is out sick but will be back tomorrow between 2 and 5.

At the other end of the road is the Coliseum. Albert advised that it’s a two-minute walk (downhill). More about that later too.

Day one was like real-life - not ideal, a few little glitches, but hey -

I can see the pope’s house from here!

Up, Up, and Away

The flights were fine. I had a complimentary upgrade from DC to Rome, and there was no one in the seat beside me, so I had a reasonable amount of space. Funny enough, the flight from DC flew right back up over Boston, so I might as well not have spent that three hours in the air. Next time, I’ll book a direct flight from Rome, even if it has to be Alitalia.

The only thing that went awry on the crossing was the guy in front of me spilled a glass of champagne before we even took off. Of course, it landed right on top of my laptop case which had been stowed in front of me but under his seat. It could have been worse; it could have been his after shave!

No problems at arrival in Rome. It was really nice seeing the sun rising just over the horizon of the Mediterranean Ocean as we landed.  The sunshine didn’t last long, but more about that later.

Clearing customs couldn’t have been easier. Maybe it helped that I just had a carry-on. BTW, final weight of the backpack, on the scale at the bus station in Portland: 17 lbs.

The Leonardo Express ran on time and I met two Canadians, a father and son from Toronto, on route to a relative’s villa in Sicily. They’d been on the plane from DC, but had flown first from TO and still had an eight hour train trip ahead of them. A couple of American priests (I could tell by the garb) were on heading to the Vatican. Like most city trains, the route passed scenery that wasn’t the best. It could have been the last half hour into Penn Station.

But it wasn’t   :-)

All my bags are packed

I'm ready to go. Almost.

And it's ONE bag. Today's backpack weight: 16 lbs. I found a neoprene sleeve for the laptop and bought a 'secret moneybelt' to thwart the pickpockets mentioned on every website I've read preparing for this trip. I've talked to my mom and my sister and told everyone I love that I love them. So even though I'm not keen on flying, by this time tomorrow, I'll be winging my way to Rome.

E-Tickets, passport and other ID, copies of my passport and other ID, money, clothes, toiletries (including 1 flattened roll of US tissue), a book, my ipod Touch (onto which I still have downloading to do), three legal-size pages in landscape orientation of three columns each outlining plans for what to see and how to see it, contact numbers in Rome and Florence. A great weather forecast for departure; a lousy forecast for 10 days of showers. I'm contemplating an umbrella but since I never carry one here, I don't think it'll make the backpack. My windbreaker has a hood; I have an extra rain poncho and a garbage bag. Power cords; plug adapter.

Deep breaths. See the piazza. Think euros and Celsius. No umbrella.

When in Rome...

It's time to meet the Australian bishop.

Michael and I were in the same fellows cohort at Harvard. He's a wonderful, interesting, deeply spiritual person. I consider Michael both a dear friend and a pastoral resource. He writes poetry; he swims; and he likes the occasional pint of good beer. When he wrote that he'd been named bishop, I couldn't have been prouder if he'd been my brother. One other thing: Michael studied in Rome.

When this trip possibility surfaced, Michael was the first person I wrote. I've been to Rome before, but each time, I was on tour. This time, if I wanted to live like a Roman for a couple of weeks, who better to ask for advice than a bloke from down-under?

Michael suggested a number of things - a few "don't miss" sights, coffee and people-watching at the Pantheon, and "the best carbonara in the world" at his favorite restaurant. The best recommendation was to contact his old college to see if accommodation might be possible.

The college's contact person replied promptly to my enquiry. Unfortunately, the college can only accommodate students during the academic year, she wrote - but - there is a guest house and if I could arrange to arrive on Feb 22, I was welcome to stay there for two weeks. IF?

My Italian isn't great, but I'm a quick study. I hope to spend some time with expats and English-speaking students, but thanks to my friend, the Australian bishop, for two weeks, I get to live like a Roman.

Long Night's Journey Into Day

O'Neill won't mind me nicking and torquing his title.

The cat died last night. He's been failing for quite a while, and yesterday, he just stopped living. He didn't look right when I saw him in the morning, and when I left for work, he was nowhere to be seen. When I got home, I noticed he hadn't used the litter box at all, and I went looking for him. He was in a closet, lying on his side. I touched his ear, then picked his head up. He got to his feet, but it was clearly a struggle, and then he just laid back down. I called the vet.


This is a good time to introduce my friend, Sue. She's the American veterinarian who sometimes works in Kabul. She's on her way there today, in fact, but last night, she took time from her already over-packed day to come by after I called and said that I thought Friskie was dying. When she arrived, around 7 pm, I wasn't sure Friskie was still alive. Her immediate reaction upon seeing him was that his kidneys had shut down and his natural instinct had led him to the quiet, dark closet where he'd end his time here. It didn't take long. I was scratching his ear, and Sue said, "He's already gone." She wrapped him in a towel and held him while we said goodbye.

In my work, I've often been with people at times of passing. It's never easy but sometimes it is gentle. Friskie was lucky: his passing was gentle.

The dog, Champ, clearly knows something's wrong. He's looking for Friskie. I feel bad knowing he won't find him and that I can't explain. The bathroom seems oddly empty without the litter box and the house seems unusually quiet. I know I'm projecting, but the feeling is real.

As independent and 'I'm doing you a favor by being here' as any feline, Friskie was something of a force of nature. Sixteen-plus years of having to look before going down the steps in case he was there (because there was no way he was going to move); feeding him wet dog food (because it's what he liked); cleaning up after him (because for the last six months he didn't always use the litter box).  I feel more wrung out than I expected I would.  Last night, I slept, and I'm pretty sure I dreamt, but it's a void - just a long night's journey into day.

Wait - weight!

When something goes into the backpack, something else has to come out. Today, I decided to take a small laptop instead of trying to blog from my iPod Touch. The iPod Touch would work, but either my fingers or my eyes would give out using the keypad.  I may still reconsider since I've also found that I can Skype perfectly from the iPod Touch too. I've been a Windows user for 20 years, but the Apple stuff is winning me over.

Since it's a holiday, I'm going to spend a little time downloading podcasts. That's a whole new world to explore too - and it includes walking tours of some of the places I expect to visit.

Repacking with the laptop today, the bag was actually lighter than it was with the one shirt I removed. Amazing.

Then again, maybe it's the scale...or me :-)

Packing Rubric's Cube

No, I do not mean Rubik. Words are a huge part of my life, so I like to play with them. Get used to it.

So how much does it cost to go to Italy on holiday?  Well, there are the necessary things like airfare and housing. Then there's what to take. Even though I have loads of stuff I don't need, never wear, etc, I've been stimulating the economy by buying new stuff to take along. A smaller camera with more pixels; an earbud/microphone so I can Skype using my iPod Touch, underwear (though one of the best suggestions I've read is to take tatty underwear and toss it out as the trip goes on), moleskin, small containers of OTC meds,

My goal is to carry on my (new) backpack at no more than 20 lbs. The test-pack..... 17 lbs! How did that happen? There's a terrific site called One Bag: The Art and Science of Packing Light. The most useful bits of advice for me:  1) a packing list 2) the 'bundle' style of packing and 3) the resource links. Great, great, great info; check it out. And if you happen to see this, Doug, (he's the One Bag guru) -- thank you!

Now I'm going to take my pack and walk around the block. My neighbors might think I'm running away from home.

Hm...

It's the Eternal City

An American veterinarian who works in Kabul. A German professor of political theory who is on sabbatical in Florence. An Australian bishop who studied in Rome and Boston. These are the people who have made it possible for me to visit my favorite city again.

Why is Rome my favorite city? Art, architecture, ancient ruins, the intersection of religion and politics: what's not to like? My goal for this visit: not to study, just to steep in vita Italiana.

Today I'm laying out all the stuff I'm planning to take. The biggest challenge, I think, is getting the electrics right so I don't fry the laptop or phone.

Recommendations for off the beaten path, off the wall, or off the charts things to do, see, eat, drink, explore, etc. are welcome. I'm leaving the collar at home. :-)