Visiting Italy's Lake District: Part IIb - Sights in Stresa

Stresa's first appearance in historical documents occurred just before the end of the first millennium, when it existed as a small community of fishermen and peasants.  Despite the natural beauty of the area, survival was fairly difficult for the people living there.  During the Middle Ages, the town was a fiefdom of the lords of Castello and Visconti.  But it was when the Borromeo family - part of the Milanese aristocracy - became its rulers, that the magnificent buildings that have since made Stresa famous were added.  The Borromeos obtained part of the territory in 1441.  By 1653 the entire district was reunited under their rule. Throughout the 16th and 17th centuries, the Borromeos commissioned palaces to be built on the islands of Bella and Madre.  Here is a glimpse of lovely Isola Bella from the Stresa lake promenade.

Stresa passed into Austrian hands in 1719, before coming under the rule of the House of Savoy in 1748.  The town began to achieve its reknown as a tourist destination at the beginning of the 19th century, when glamorous villas such as the Villa Pallavicino and Villa Vignolo were built.  In 1906, the opening of the Simplon Tunnel facilitated widespread international travel from northern and western Europe. Trains on the London-Paris-Milan line began to call at Stresa station, and travellers and writers from all over Europe came to sing the praises of Stresa and Lake Maggiore, spreading their fame far and wide and enticing an ever larger number of people to visit.  Every year, Stresa now welcomes hundreds of thousands of tourists from across the globe.

Now we were in this beautiful spot, visiting one of the lake areas that has inspired so many, especially poets, writers, artists and landscape architects from other parts of Europe.  Guide P led us along the lake promenade, pointing out sights of interest, including fine hotels,

where tourists - like us, although lodged much more expensively - lounged in the Italian sun.

Some used the lake as a backdrop for keepsake wedding photos.

One of our stops was to the Villa Ducale, built in 1770 by Giacomo Filippo Bolongaro after returning to Stresa once having made his fortune in tobacco. At that time the villa's gardens reached as far as the lake shore. When Bolongaro died in 1780, his property was passed on to his granddaughter who was a close friend of the Abbott Antonio Rosmini.  She convinced him to make the villa his official residence.  When she died, the villa was inherited by the Rosmini family and became a prestigious cultural center.  Over the years the villa changed hands many times and became known as the Villa Ducale when it was in the hands of the Duchess of Genoa (part of the Italian Royal Family).  After the Rosmini family reacquired the villa in 1942, it was restored and inaugurated as the International Center for Rosminian Studies in 1966. The villa houses a vast library containing over 100,000 volumes.  It was undergoing reconstruction when we visited and we could not visit the library or even enter the building.

The Duchess of Genoa’s daughter, Margherita, who later became the first Queen of Italy, also used to stay at the Villa.  In 1889, the Margherita pizza, where red tomatoes, green basil, and white cheese represent the colors of the Italian flag, was named after her.

The Villa's once vaunted gardens, now somewhat overgrown, needed some tending

although there were ongoing efforts at watering during our visit. 

Not wanting to be overlooked by their neighbors, the residents of the Villa Ducale constructed a wall, apparently believing, as Robert Frost's neighbors did, that "Good fences make good neighbors," even as Frost ruminated that, "Something there is that does not like a wall ... ."

But we did enjoy our introduction to this beautiful area.

Visiting Italy's Lake District: Part IIa - More Stresa

And yes, the jet-lagged group had arrived, after having been shuttled from Milan by bus.  Because Stresa's back streets, including the one where the Hotel Fiorentino is located, are so narrow, large tour buses cannot come into town.  So the bus had parked in the lakeside parking lot where I had recently been walking and the weary travellers had to make their way to the hotel on foot.  Fortunately, their luggage was ferried to the hotel in a tiny pick-up.

At the hotel, I met HWMBO, who had arrived safe and sound with the group from Milan, despite a harrowing series of connecting flights from the US.  It was the first time that we had seen each other in person, other than virtually via Skype, since February, so the welcome was warm!

HWMBO then introduced me to the other group members.  Including me, there were 20 of us.  There I also met our guides.  Guide K was a young German woman married to an Italian and who lives in Umbria.  She had accompanied the group from Milan.  Guide P was Swiss, originally from Zug in Switzerland, but who now resides in Minnesota in the USA.  He was to assist K, who was an experienced group guide, in order to learn the ropes because this was his first season with the company, European Walking Tours, contracted by Road Scholar for the visit to the Lake District.  Both guides would accompany us everywhere we went.  However, we would also have local guides who knew the regions well.  They were scheduled to give field lectures during our walks to acquaint us with the sights that we were visiting.

The Bolongaros deftly assigned room numbers and there was a lot of bustle and hustle as the travellers checked in, collected their baggage and left to explore their rooms and freshen up.  We reconvened at 12:30 pm for an alfresco lunch on the hotel's terrace and some tentative and exploratory conversations, as people do when they are getting to know one another.  After lunch, Guide K made the welcome announcement that everyone could rest for a while, if they wanted.  We would meet our local guide at 4:30 pm for a walk through Stresa.  And thus it was that we met Guide P, an effervescent Italian woman who was very knowledgeable about and proud of the Lake Maggiore region.

At first, we retaced my steps from the morning, stopping in front of the Stresa city hall

where the flags of Italy, the European Union, Piedmont (Stresa's region in Italy), and Stresa were displayed.

Then we strolled along the lakeside, stopping for photos of some of the trees that were still in bloom,

with occasional close-ups.

Visiting Italy's Lake District: Part II - Morning in Stresa

Well, I had arrived in Stresa safe and sound and successfully located the hotel - Hotel Fiorentino - tucked into one of the streets leading off Stresa's Piazza Cadorna.

The Hotel Fiorentino is a cosy restaurant hotel, owned and operated by the Bolongaro family since 1958. 

Hostess Carla, whose husband and son are the chef and sous-chef respectively, and who takes pride in looking after her guests personally, greeted me at the door.  Taking pity on my halting Italian, she asked me (in English) whether I was one of "the American group."  When I responded that I was, she led me to the dark mahoghany reception desk, obviously an antique, and checked the register.  I told her who I was and that my husband would be arriving from Milan with the rest of the group.   Here is a photo of Carla with her granddaughter.

I had not expected to be able to check in at my early arrival hour.  Because my early morning train had left Geneva at 5:45 am, it was still not quite 9:00 am in Stresa.  I had intended merely to request whether I could leave my suitcase, backpack and various other encumbrances at the hotel, and perhaps wash up, etc., until it was time for check-in.  To my great relief, however, Carla announced that our room was ready and that I could check in right away.  So I did.  After I had seen my room, unpacked my suitcase for our four-night stay, rid myself of everything superfluous and washed up, I felt greatly refreshed and ready to explore.  The group was not scheduled to arrive before 11:00 am.  Because the hotel breakfast period had finished by then, I headed for the piazza to find a cafe that was still serving breakfast.

There I had my first Italian cappuccino of this visit to Italy, together with the Italian version of a croissant.  The croissant was dusted with sugar and had a jam filling, which I had not expected.  But it was delicious and the piazza was a pleasant place to sit.  The coffee and croissant really hit the spot because I had not eaten at all since rising.  Most of all, I liked the sentiment expressed in the froth!

Once I had gotten my bearings from a small map that I had picked up at the hotel, I headed towards the lake, Lago Maggiore, and the main pier in Stresa, which is also where the Tourist Office is located - right underneath the Italian flag.

Lake Maggiore is Italy's second largest lake; Lake Garda, which we did not visit on this trip, is larger in surface area.  But Lake Maggiore is the longest lake.  I spent some time strolling along the lakeside where there are several sculptures

and photographing Stresa from the lakeside.

Then I wandered back into town.  Although the day was hazy, the weather was very pleasant and it was interesting just to browse through the tiny winding back streets, chock full of interesting byways,

where I noticed several Pinocchio wooden doll souvenirs displayed in shop windows. 

Because it was getting time to meet up with HWMBO and make the acquaintance of our guides and the rest of the group, I then headed back to the hotel.

Visiting Italy's Lake District: Part I - Travelling from Switzerland

Nearly a month ago - and no, I can't believe that it's been that long - I managed to get myself out of bed at around 3:30 am to finish my packing, close up the apartment and trudge to the local train station.  Rising that early was a true challenge!  I even managed to carry my wheeled medium-size suitcase for a time so that its noise wouldn't disturb my neighbors' sleep.  My backpack, containing among other things, my telescoping walking sticks, was slung on my back.  Fortunately for me, rain that had earlier been forecast for that date did not materialize and my short trek to the station passed without incident.  Unsurprisingly, given the hour, I was the only person waiting at the station, which looked pretty dark and deserted.

My suitcase looked pretty lonely in the passenger waiting area by the track, well lit in the circumstances.

The local train arrived on time at 5:00 am - this is Switzerland, after all - and took me into Geneva's Cornavin Station, a trip lasting about nine minutes because the train made no other stops.  From there, I made my way to the track where I was to board the Eurocity Train à Grande Vitesse (TGV) - high speed train - to Stresa, in Italy.  In Stresa, I was to join HWMBO and a group of individuals I had never met before.  We were part of a walking tour group sponsored by an organization that used to be known as Elderhostel, which has since 1975 provided lifelong learning opportunities at a significant value for older adults.  The organization has now changed its name to Road Scholar, a not-so-subtle play on "Rhodes Scholar."  This was to be my first "Road Scholar experience" although HWMBO was a veteran, having travelled solo on a cruise through Alaska's Inland Passage in 2009, a voyage similar to that described here.

When we had planned our travel in the December-January timeframe, while I was still in the US, we had discussed different possibilities.  One had been for me to drive over to the meeting place in Italy.  From there, we had planned that we could return to Switzerland after the tour through the Italian-speaking Swiss cantons, which I have never really visited during my time here.  But we rethought that idea when we realized that, considering the price of gas, the timing and logistics of getting together with the group at Milan's Malpensa Airport, and the expense of parking, a different course of action was warranted.

After informing myself about discount plane fares - none appeared to be available for travel to Milan during the period I was interested in - and discussing train fare possibilities with the Swiss Railways (SBB-CFF), I discovered that travelling by train was not only the most convenient alternative.  It would also be the least expensive.  The same train that travels from Geneva to Milan also makes a scheduled stop in Stresa, which is where the group was scheduled to be lodged for four nights and to begin the tour.  Meeting the group in Stresa would save the hassle of travelling all the way to Milan and then trying frantically to get out to the airport to meet the bus, scheduled to depart at 10:00 am, that would take the group - back to Stresa.  Best of all, because I was purchasing my ticket well in advance, I was eligible for a SuperFare of CHF 25!   The Superfare is excellent value.  The down side is that the ticket is only good for the train scheduled and on the date scheduled.  If one misses that train, no refunds are available. 

After discussing the train possibilities with HWMBO, it was decided that I would plan to meet him in Stresa with the group.  After the tour, we were scheduled to be dropped off at a hotel near Malpensa Airport - a night's lodging there was included in the tour price.  After having had a good night's rest after the tour, we would take the shuttle bus into Milano Centrale station and board the Eurocity train for Geneva to return here.  As a Swiss resident, I also have a half-price train subscription (demi-tarif abonnement, known colloquially as the "demi-abo"), which allows me to travel anywhere on Swiss trains at half-price for the duration.  HWMBO is not a Swiss resident and cannot use a demi-abo but was eligible for the Superfare!  But there was only one SuperFare ticket available for our train.  So, the return trip for both of us from Milan cost CHF 88 (CHF 35 for him with the SuperFare and CHF 53 for me with the demi-abo).

The first part of my early morning train ride was so dark that I couldn't see outside.  But gradually, dawn entered the mountains and the day began so that I was able to take a few photos of the Swiss countryside from the train.  Many did not turn out.  Those that did were primarily vineyards - terraced

and otherwise - in the Valais.

My train made brief stops in Lausanne, Montreux, Sion, Brig and the Italian city of Domodossola before arriving at Stresa.  There I hopped in a taxi for the very short trip to the hotel.

The long-awaited trip had begun! 

Catch-Up Interlude

Whew!  It's been a while since I've posted.  Fortunately, nothing is wrong here.  It's just that days actually seem to pass more quickly as our chronological ages increase.  I remember when I was much, much younger how interminable an hour seemed to be - particularly if one had to do something particularly unpleasant like pulling weeds in the hot summer sun, which is the kind of chore my mother was famous (infamous?) for initiating. 

On the contrary, HWMBO and I have not been pulling weeds or anything so onerous or unpleasant.  Instead, we have been on a mild and pleasant social whirl since our return from Italy and all last week's hullaballoo surrounding the demise of our giant blue spruce.  And I am also most happy to confirm that we were not among those Raptured last Saturday, 21 May.  Not that there was ever the slightest chance of that happening in my case.  Perhaps HWMBO might have made the cut.  But I, most certainly not.  At least not according to the criteria outlined. 

In fact, if any individuals were Raptured, they were apparently not among the flock of the deluded Reverend Camping, who is the latest in a long line of individuals who have predicted Doomsday - so far, signally without success.  I understand that Mr. Camping has not given up belief in the End of the World, which will occur, according to him, on 21 October this year.  Keep in mind, however, that he is 0 for 2 so far.  Who knows?  Perhaps the third time will be the charm.  But I prefer to tune him out altogether.

We already seem to have enough on our plates in this world without the Almighty dumping on us.  And why, in any event, would a Supreme Being who is supposed to be Everything That Is Good deliberately invoke such horrors?  If it is simply to punish Sinners (the definition of such seems to be uniquely within the province of people like Camping, et al), what about all those good people - like hapless civilians in the ongoing civil war in Libya - who get caught in an End-of-the-World crossfire?  Are they simply Friendly Fire casualties that are acceptable to a supposedly Just and Loving Being?  Well, I certainly don't know.  But I do strongly doubt it.   And if the Almightly did not see fit to end the world during a time when Evil was truly rampant - WWII and the Nazi Regime come to mind - why on earth is now a better time?  Bad as things may be for some - and things are VERY bad indeed for too many - there does not seem to be a universal Final Solution effective or operational that is deliberately targeting certain groups, sending millions to be worked or starved to death in concentration camps, gassed and cremated in death camps or executed en masse.  To my mind, the years from 1939-1945 (and some years before and after both in Nazi Germany and in Stalin's USSR) were literally the End of the World for millions.  If not Then, why Now?

Mr. Camping believes that the natural disasters that appear to be occurring more often, or at least are more publicized than in the past, are signs of the impending End.  I am sure that he is correct about this in one sense.  We human beings have not been good stewards of this wonderful planet that we inhabit.  Our addiction to fossil fuels and industries that pollute our atmosphere and destroy our protective ozone layer may ultimately have sown the seeds for our own destruction.  Global climate change, often described as
global warming, is sending us strong signals that we should be paying attention to.  Hereabouts we've had one of the hottest Mays in this area that many can remember and temperature comparison charts of  the past three years show that temperatures for the past three months have consistently been higher this year.

Horrific events such as the tornadoes in Missouri that have so far killed 125, with the death toll expected to rise significantly, and in Oklahoma appear to be symptoms of this climate change phenomenon.  Earthquakes such as the one that caused a nuclear disaster in Fukushima, Japan could also lead to our eventual undoing as a species.  But I simply do not believe that they are wished on us by a Higher Power.  They are, in large part, results of our own badly conceived actions, policy decisions and lifestyle choices.  Reputable scientists and others have been warning us for years.

It's all too similar to a story called "The Drowning Man" which goes as follows:

A fellow was stuck on his rooftop in a flood.  He was praying to God for help.  Soon a man in a rowboat came by and the fellow shouted to the man on the roof, “Jump in, I can save you.”
The stranded fellow shouted back, “No, it’s OK, I’m praying to God and he is going to save me.”  So the rowboat went on.
Then a motorboat came by. “The fellow in the motorboat shouted, “Jump in, I can save you.”
To this the stranded man said, “No thanks, I’m praying to God and he is going to save me. I have faith.”  So the motorboat went on.
Then a helicopter came by and the pilot shouted down, “Grab this rope and I will lift you to safety.”
To this the stranded man again replied, “No thanks, I’m praying to God and he is going to save me. I have faith.”  So the helicopter reluctantly flew away.
Soon the water rose above the rooftop and the man drowned. He went to Heaven. He finally got his chance to discuss this whole situation with God, at which point he exclaimed, “I had faith in you but you didn’t save me, you let me drown. I don’t understand why!”
To this God replied, “I sent you a rowboat and a motorboat and a helicopter, what more did you expect?”

This is the kind of Supreme Being I can be comfortable with:  one with a wry sense of humor who realizes that, in spite of our incredible stupidity in not taking advantage of the opportunities before us and, despite whatever we label ourselves and our beliefs, if we truly treat others as we would wish to be treated and honor the planet where we live, we will be found to be good enough to make it through the Pearly Gates, whatever and wherever they are.

35+ Years to Mature - Mere Hours to Destroy

The aftermath of last weekend's tree drama was very sad.  In order to ensure that no property damage or injury would result, the sad consensus was that our beautiful blue spruce, planted in days of yore when my sons and I were all much younger, would have to come down.  And so, with a great gulp, many sighs and general mourning, arrangements were made for the dastardly, but necessary, deed.

This was how matters stood as of last Sunday.  Branches and chunks of wood were piled high, remnants of the half that had fallen, badly frightening the neighborhood on Saturday night.

Unfortunately, what was left standing after Saturday's freakish windstorms was much too likely to fall victim to other such occurrences.

The serious cutting down began Tuesday morning. 

In a mere couple hours, only a trunk surrounded by many branches remained.

The sad demise of a proud monarch didn't take long.

The removal work began in earnest on Tuesday afternoon.

Heavy machinery made lifting chunks of the thick trunk look like child's play.

The debris disappeared altogether - literally in moments.

The house literally looks naked without the tree.  My renter says that she almost needs sunglasses when she goes into the living room.

The next day, even the stump was removed and ground up.  Now there is nothing but bare earth in its place.

And that was that.  It took no small amount of time for my tree to grow to the size that it was when we planted it in 1976.  Add to that the 35 years since we planted it.  Since that time, whole lifetimes for my ex, my sons and I have occurred, just as they have for the various renters who have occupied the house since our departure.  My country also seems in many ways to be an entirely different country than I remember it to be.  What a history our tree lived through and what stories it could have told!

It was there with us in 1976 when we celebrated the US Centennial.  It was a witness to 1978, when my ex and I decided to go our separate ways.  It was a solace to my sons and me in 1980 when we were confined inside for a week after Mount Saint Helens blew up in May.  Later that same year, we said good-bye as we returned to Morocco again, there to begin whole new lives none of us had even imagined.  Our tree continued growing just as we ourselves grew and matured in those lives.

It takes such a long time to build something great and beautiful.  It takes only moments to destroy it.  That is a very sober fact of life that unfortunately happens too often.  But I am very happy to say that, where this story is concerned, the destruction of our beautiful tree is not the end.  It will be a new beginning.  More on that in due course ....

One Dog's Life

I am using any excuse to avoid sorting through the zillions of photographs that I took during our fabulous vacation in Italy, but this was a little vignette that I couldn't pass up.

Most dogs in Europe are treated very well, are correspondingly very well-trained and behave superbly.  As a result, they accompany their owners everywere - or almost everywhere.  Accompanying their owners to restaurants is decidedly commonplace for dogs here.  In the case of most dogs, unless one actually sees them entering or leaving a restaurant with their masters/mistresses, one hardly knows that they are present because they are so well-behaved and unobtrusive.  I have been startled on occasion when a party at a table near me leaves and an enormous dog sallies forth after unwinding itself from beneath the table.  No one had even noticed it was there; certainly not me.

Tonight was a notable exception.

HWMBO, perhaps getting tired of my version of "home-cooked" meals after our wonderful Italian fare, proposed that we have dinner out this evening.  He suggested a small restaurant at the little two-star hotel in our village which is very cozy, patronized by local Swiss people and where we have shared tasty meals.  So we walked into town, past the inveterate smokers huddled at the small tables outside, who since last summer are no longer allowed inside bars or restaurants, through the narrow bar area where the patrons enjoying their beers obviously wondered who on earth we were, and into the restaurant.  The hostess, wife of the chef and proprietor - it is a family-owned business - welcomed us and seated us.  The tiny restaurant, seating about 30 at most, was already half full with a comfortable sound buzz.

We selected items from the menu: HWMBO chose the "steak-frites-salade" combo while I had the green salad and a small pasta entree.  In the meantime, others entered the restaurant and were seated but we were paying more attention to each other than to them.  That is, until the moment when we had both received our main courses and I heard sort of a whiny, choking sound from behind me.  As it was uncomfortable - if not outright rude - for me to turn around, HWMBO relayed reports of what was happening.  One couple had entered with a miniature-size dog (when I did get a glimpse of it, it appeared to be a chow breed) that was apparently unhappy at the idea of staying under the table alone while its people were having dinner.

Without skipping a beat, the hostess provided a chair for the dog to sit in and the dog actually sat at the table with its owners.   Indeed, a friend of the couple joined them and - this knocked HWMBO for a loop - asked the dog's permission to sit with them!  The dog apparently deigned to accept her company because the friend sat down with the three others: the owners and the dog.

For a time, all was calm, so we proceeded with our meal - except that four young men at the table across from us kept looking back at the people with the dog and smiling broadly, finding the whole situation quite amusing, if not outright hilarious.  Then the whiny choking sound was repeated, not just once but several times.  The hostess muttered while passing our table, "He wants to eat too."  So the dog ate at the table with its masters!  The four young men could hardly contain themselves.

When we finished our meal and had paid our bill, I glanced back at the table in question, regretting that I had missed seeing all the action behind me.  By this time, Master Dog was under the table, but still not lying quietly in the way that most well-behaved dogs act.  No, he was snuffling about, looking for crumbs.

I have seen a lot of dogs in Swiss and French restaurants.  But this was the first time that I had ever had an experience like this.  There certainly could be much worse fates than coming back as a dog in Switzerland to owners like this, with understanding restauranteurs like our hostess this evening!

Gusty Wind, Miracles and Good-bye to a Beautiful Tree

Early Sunday morning, I began to receive a series of emails from the very capable woman who, with her now adult son, has been a long-term renter of the house where my ex-husband, young sons and I used to live in Montana.  At first, I wasn't quite sure what I was seeing, but it didn't look good.  At all.

As the day went on, the situation became clearer.  And, as I checked news reports from the area, I became more and more worried.  Sure enough, the branches that I was seeing belonged to MY tree, the beautiful blue spruce that our little family had planted in front of the house in the summer of 1976.  At the time, it wasn't more than a couple feet high.  In the course of nearly 35 years, it had become a beautiful, gorgeous blue spruce landmark, towering over the modest house.  "Towering" is the key word here, of course.  We probably should have been pruning the tree all along.

As my renter described things, they were seated inside the house Saturday evening when suddenly they heard a horrible crash.  They rushed out in the dark, as did all the neighbors, to find that half of the tree had been ripped from the trunk.  That half was lying partly in the neighbor's driveway but primarily in the main thoroughfare.  It had just - miraculously - missed hitting a traumatized young couple who were driving by in their car.  After a few minutes of taking stock, one neighbor called the police and others went to retrieve chainsaws and other woodcutting and chopping tools to get the street cleared.  (And yes, in Montana, chainsaws are generally standard equipment among neighbors.)  By the next morning, this is how things looked.

The city Parks and Recreation Department has been very busy these days, clearing up debris from trees felled by the violent winds of the weekend.  The hole in the remaining trunk of this tree was pretty impressive, however.

And mangled parts of the trunk lying on the ground were equally impressive.

Also miraculously, there did not appear to be any damage to the house, nearby structures or vehicles.  My renter kept repeating the story of how her granddaughter and the granddaughter's family, including three young children, had been parked in the spot where the tree fell, to leave for home only moments before.  !!

Given the list of the remaining section of the tree, another high wind could blow it over as well.  And given that our miracle allotment is likely used up right now, I had to make the decision to fell the tree.  It was easy on the one hand; I could not tolerate for a moment the idea that someone could be injured.  But, as one raised on the bleak and treeless high plains, it is always difficult for me to see any tree go, especially one as beautiful as this blue spruce.

Farewell Blue Spruce:  may your wood be used to warm many hearths, to make good furniture and housing or carved wood items!  May your branches disintegrate to provide good soil!  And however you return to this Earth, may you bring your miracles with you!  You provided nothing but pleasure during your existence and when you did finally succumb, you did it in a way that harmed no one.  If only we all could have such an epitaph!

Playtime with Princess Butterfly

I haven't seen Princess Butterfly in person since Summer 2010.  I have seen her virtually via the wonders of Skype, but am always delighted when new photos show up in my inbox.  Thus it was that, on the occasion of the Mothers' Day holiday, several recent photos arrived.  Of course, I wasn't able to see them until I had waded through my in-box and sorted through the bulk mail to find these precious gems.  But they were the best present ever for this Proud Grandmom!

These photos were mostly taken by Proud Papa, Big S, while he was between projects and spending time with the Butterfly at a playground near her home.  Princess Butterfly has grown so much!

She still has the same gleeful grin I remember as she plays in the small maze of slides.

Uh-oh - is she going to sneeze - or is something wrong?

Never fear, Princess Butterfly was just getting ready to be silly!

Here she is in a pensive moment.  I'm not sure whether the Duck theme helps with the logic.  But it is cute.  Caveat: I am not an unbiased source.

But oh, little Princess, you are such a character to see!

And your Proud Gram LOVES you very much!