Even though my father had been pouring over his Italian map books for weeks planning travel routes and schedules, he neglected to pack them. Nothing, however could make him leave his prized sudoku books behind. I’m not willing to say if this makes dad interesting or forgetful. I’ll leave it to you, the gracious reader, to decide.
Fortunately, dad had been to Piano D’Arta a number of times and knew the way. Piano D’Arta is the birthplace of my zia (aunt) Catina, and she and my zio (uncle) John had been coming here in the summers and staying in zia Catina’s childhood home. My cousin Gabriele and his children Monica and Stefan were also in town. Essentially, it was a reunion with family from Canada…only in the shadow of the Alps instead of the Niagara Escarpment.
While cruising along the highway in the 130 – 140 km/h range it was clear that this car needed an extra gear. The engine was screaming at about 4000 rpm; not exactly relaxing. But mom was sleeping in the back and dad didn’t have his hearing aid in so I was the only one that noticed.
In his search of the glove compartment, dad found a CD/DVD set by Ludovico Einaudi entititled "The Royal Albert Hall Concert" (as if there's only been one there) also known as "The most boring CD in the world". As I write this I’m prepared to say that it’s not even worth a free (aka stolen) download, but I seriously doubt that anyone would go through the trouble of posting it to a file sharing site so there’s no danger here. This is proof positive of an interesting modern twist: the better your music is the less likely people will have to pay for it.
(note: I’ve since taken a listen to some of Einaudi’s other work; it’s not all bad. However, I maintain that the “Royal Albert Hall Concert” CD is as boring as whale shit…to use a technical term.)
Amazingly, Dad’s precise directions of “to the right at the top of the hill” got us to our destination. Zia Catina was overjoyed to see us, proud that we could visit her in the town where she grew up. We sat for a meal while some visitors dropped in to say hello. It was then that my dad switched gears and began to speak exclusively in his native Furlan dialect which is not recognizable as Italian at all. I understand it well but don’t speak it. Immersed in conversation dad was clearly enjoying himself. Mom turned to me smiling and said “your father’s in his glory”.
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| Piano D'Arta Terme by night |
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| March 2, 2010 - A sad day in the history of recorded music |
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