A trip that stays in the heart

I never worried much about pickpockets and crooks until I planned a trip to Italy.

A friend looked at the big purse I was planning to take with me and said if I carried that it would be like waving a sign that said: Rob me.

My daughter Maria said he was right and directed me to an Internet site that specialized in travel purses.

"Make sure you get one with steel cables in the straps or thieves will cut the strap and get away with your purse before you know it's gone," she said.

The travel site had tips for how to stay safe. It also had plenty of horror stories, including a video that showed how a motorcyclist could ride next to someone on the crowded streets then reach over and take a purse, leaving the victim to fall behind in the dust.

Another video showed how crooks could record our credit card information with a scanner that works from several feet away.

All that had me stressing about how I could keep my passport, credit cards and money safe.

But then my voice of sanity, better known as my husband, cautioned that worrying too much about all that would dampen my joy about the trip.

He was right. Going back to Italy was something I longed to do for more than a decade. I vowed to stay alert to my surroundings but not to let it detract from the joy of being in Italy.

After our plane landed I didn't have to worry about not feeling the joy. From the time the water taxi picked us up in Venice I was overcome with happiness. All I could think of was the phrase, "My cup runneth over."

My husband didn't expect Venice to be so special. But from the time he first saw it all he could say was OMG. The city surrounded by water worked its charm from first glance to last look.

But the hour that stands out forever was our gondola ride through the waters of Venice while being serenaded by an accordion player and an incredible tenor singing best-known arias.

I was so happy that unabashed tears of joy kept running down my cheeks. That gondola ride will live in my memory as one of the most splendid times of my life.

Every moment, every city and town and every sight in Italy was stunning for its beauty. But for me nothing could top our Vatican tour. I was there once before, but then I didn't have the luxury to sit and stare in awe at the Sistine Chapel and Michelangelo's "Pieta."

I'm not a "city girl" here at home and I wasn't one in Italy's major cities. It was the small towns of Tuscany that fascinated and charmed me.

As we walked through those towns, I kept marveling at how small the homes were compared to what we are used to here.

I kept peering through every open door I saw, intrigued with the small living space. What I liked was that even the most humble homes reflected beauty in well-chosen objects.

I didn't see a single home that was crammed with "doodads" as I might here at home. I couldn't help but contrast our cluttered lifestyles and imagined lack of space with what I saw in Italy.

Many of us here think we're poor, suffering souls if we don't have two bathrooms. Some of the rooms I saw in Italy had complete living areas smaller than our bathrooms. But the rooms oozed charm.

While here we have big kitchens with granite countertops and sleek appliances, I bet most of us don't do the cooking that goes on in Italy's pocket kitchens.

The last time I was in Italy 11 years ago, it had a profound effect on how I choose to live life. I liked how the small Italian homes didn't have much in the way of decorations, but what they did have was beautiful.

It truly made me stop any unnecessary acquiring of "things."

Italians may have small homes but they live large. They seem to live every so-called ordinary day with gusto. I related so much to that because it's something I try to do.

In every Tuscan town homes without space for a garden still sported beautiful flowers, either in containers or in clever outdoor wall hangings.

Flowers, even in small containers, add such beauty to a home. I appreciated the lesson that we don't need to have gardens to create that beauty. You can bet a trip to a nursery will be on my agenda as I try to create some of that beauty outside my own home.

My husband kept marveling at how slim the women were. They serve four-course meals, but for the most part, we didn't see fat women.

My husband pointed to groups of schoolchildren, commenting that there weren't any chubby kids.

We kept asking our Italian guides why that was, but they just laughed. A slender waitress in one restaurant carried on a conversation with me, claiming she stayed so thin without exercise. I wish someone would tell me how.

My trip to Italy is over, but it was not one of those trips you complete then forget.

It will live forever in my mind and my heart.

If I never get to go to Italy again, I will return time and again in my memories.