JOURNEY INTO ELDERHOOD

Wildflowers and Waterfalls - The Perfect Birthday

2012-01-27T20:19:00.000+01:00

Yesterday was my birthday, double 66's. My daughter, who lives here in Trinidad's Northern Rain Forest, orchestrated a wonderful day for me and now that I have the magic combination of electricity, phone connection and internet all together, I wanted to share it with you.

The day started with what has been affectioately nicknamed "muffin bread"- made by my daughter, loved by my grands and now by me. Together with coffee and foamed milk, and a flower from the garden, it made for a good start to the day.

How about a drink made from flower petals boiled with cloves and fresh nutmeg from a tree nearby? It's sorrel, a popular beverage this time of year. It's a lovely jewel red color and I just love the whole idea of drinking flowers.

My birthday present from my daughter was a hike to a local waterfalls that I hadn't yet seen. My granddaughter accompanied us. Along the way my granddaughter picked wildflowers for me to make my birthday bouquet. She was excited by all the bright colors she found. I felt like a queen.

The destination of our hike was a series of five waterfalls reached by climbing up the river that connects them. We've had LOTS of rain since I arrived so the river is full and rushing with strong current. It meant that we had to scamper up rocks or bush to the side at times rather than always stay in the river. But I figured if my five year old granddaughter could do it so could I.

The reward for the challenging climb however was this beautiful sight, the fifth waterfalls, carved into a half moon cave and thunderous from recent rain. Our decision to bathe naked in the pool at the foot of the falls was modified somewhat, at least for me, when I felt the cold breeze blowing down the gorge. I backed into it as far as I could before getting too cold to continue. My daughter was far braver than I even through her screams.

A gorgeous, secluded spot. A perfect present. I felt exhilarated and rejuvenated.

My second best present was this photo in the front yard with my grands, ages nine and a half and almost six. Their agreement to one smile a day in a photo was extra special on my special day. My daughter printed this and framed it for me to take home. Precious.

Add to this the fun of playing "Plants vs Zombies" with the grands and learning all kinds of new strategies, coloring with my granddaughter who is seriously into drawing and coloring these days, having home made pizza for lunch, my grands making brownies, the birthday treat I requested, sharing a delicious dinner made by my daughter from produce grown by her husband in their organic garden with three researchers living in a second house on their property who research the mating rituals of hermit hummingbirds and the lek- specific dialects they sing, and finally, in a rare occurrence, beating my daughter in Scrabble.

I even connected to facebook and email long enough to be inundated with well wishes from around the world and an e card from my Honey. Perfect birthday. I feel loved and grateful for my life.

[Writing this in dial- up internet land is a long process that I am nevertheless glad to be able to do after my hiatus from blogging and my blog friends. The first post mysteriously disappeared when I changed the original title so I've added further details to this post in my eagerness to connect with you again.]

Time Out For Travel

2011-12-15T17:30:00.000+01:00

I'm traveling to Trinidad with my Honey to be with our daughter, her husband and our two grandchildren for Christmas. Internet access is dial up in her Rain Forest village so my postings will be curtailed. My Honey is there for a month and I'll be there for two months training to run a half marathon in Florida before returning home. I hope to start some kind of writing project with my grands while there and I'm eager to see what ideas they may have about this. They're ages 9 and 5 and I'd like to hear any suggestions you may have.
I'm excited for it all.

One of the surprises about friends made in the blogosphere is the importance you now have in my life. I couldn't have imagined this BB (before blogging), but I cherish it now. My life is rich and full with the combination of wonderful adventures in Italy/ Europe and via my blog. I'm grateful.
Please accept my best wishes for a holiday season full of joy for you and your families.

A Time I Had Magic

2011-12-13T22:34:00.002+01:00

A Time I Had Magic

I saved a life once.

On a Nebraska Reservation

a baby was born
blue, silent.

The doctor, a stranger

to these people,
instructed: "Leave him,

he'll die."

His mother cried,

refused to hold him,

begged: "Take him
away."

I was his nurse.

I focused on him,

massaged his feet,

stroked his chest.

Life loitered,

crept in slowly,

he breathed,

he moved,

turned pink.

Connected to life,

I fed it to him

like milk.

It was that kind of magic.

This is for dVerse Poets Open Link Night hosted today by Claudia. She has some wonderful things to say about falling in love with poetry and she's a great example of really fine writing.

Buried Alive

2011-12-11T16:01:00.000+01:00

It's not like setting fire to the rain

as Adele sang when she jettisoned

her guy and friends cheered

images of mystery and catharsis

with symphony accompaniment.

It's more like being buried alive

in sand with only my head exposed

to stare alone at the sea of our love

without arms to take us where

we are meant to be.

This is in response to the visual prompt above posted at Magpie Tales.

What Choice You Had

2011-12-09T14:53:00.001+01:00

What Choice You Had

"Come to my room, help me

choose the dress I'll be buried in.

Is it too morbid of me to ask you?"

Your first choice a fuchsia dress

silk, long sleeved, belted.

"Is it too garish for a funeral?"

You decided,

at your funeral you would wear

what you wanted,

bright color such a deliberate

counterpoint to your fading.

Final statement

by a legend of stylish dressing.

"Perfect choice, Mom."

"Guess what," you whispered, "it's a size 10!

I've always wanted to wear a size 10."

We laughed at your perverse

pleasure - loss of weight

even if it's to cancer, size 10

even if it's in your casket.

It had its intended effect.

Mourners remarked on how

beautiful your dress was,

how so like you.

Mary Harvey Warren

in loving memory of Mary McLellan Harvey

I posted this poem two years ago for a 100 word challenge. This is its full version posted in response to Victoria Slaotto's prompt at dVerse Poets entitled Meeting the Bar: Writing Emotion.
Check out this great resource blog for poets which contains both information and prompts.

Don Giovanni and Opening Night for the Opera

2011-12-08T22:21:00.000+01:00

Kierkegaard wrote that Mozart's Don Giovanni is "a work without blemish, of uninterrupted perfection." Flaubert called Don Giovanni, along with Hamlet and the sea, "the three finest things God ever made."

Tchaikovsky always held Don Giovanni in the greatest awe and regarded Mozart as his musical god.

Last night was the opening night for the Opera House, Teatro Alla Scala in Milan and they performed Mozart's masterpiece, Don Giovanni. The orchestra was under the direction of Daniel Barenboim and I was there! In a wonderful program whereby the opera is filmed up close and personal and screened in theaters all over Italy, I was able to attend, see everything, from the stunning, sumptuous theater, the people coming in in all their beautiful finery, for example the President and the Prime Minister, the orchestra warming up and then the start of the opera with the gorgeous overture. We had incomparable seats for a fraction of the cost and close to home. What a great idea.

The quality of the music, singing and performances were astonishing, breathtaking. I located this aria, "Lá ci darem la mano" on You Tube, between Don Giovanni (an arrogant sexually promiscuous nobleman) and one of his many conquests to give you a flavor. He's trying to tempt her and it starts: "There we'll join hands and you'll say yes". They showed subtitles in Italian so it was easier to follow the dialogue and arias. They also had interviews with the director and conductor about their vision and the opera itself at intermission. It was an incredible evening.

To top it off, my friend and neighbor, who loves opera, came with us, as did our tutor and his friend. Afterwards, rather than go out for pizza, which was the first proposal, we all went back to our tutor's house for a late but delicious dinner whipped up by his friend. It was the better way to end such a full evening- in the presence of friends, sharing good food and wine, savoring the shared experience. A perfect evening.

30 - 30 - 30 - Happy Birthday, Kelly!

2011-12-06T09:25:00.000+01:00

From my daughter's birthday on December 6 to mine on January 26 our family ages are: my father- 95, me- 65, my daughter- 35, my granddaughter- 5.

I looked up the meaning for the number 30 and found it has it's own wikipedia page and people called "thirtyophiles" who sing its intricacies and praises, most of which I don't understand. There's even a You Tube video by one of these fellows at the end of the page who goes on for six minutes about the magic of number 30. Amazing!

I just think it's very cool to have this 30 year spread between four generations of my family for these two months, even if there's no cosmic significance.

As for my daughter turning 35, now there's cosmic significance. Kelly, child of my heart, when I became a mother, I thought I was mothering her to life, but in some mysterious real way, she brought parts of me to life that never would have come forth except in response to her. Mothering her is my favorite life role so far, although I'm crazy in love with my Honey and have great fun as grandmother to her two Dear Ones.

It has been different than I thought at every step of the way and I cherish it all. Well, after I got over myself and opened up to her as separate from me, I cherished it all. I didn't really get that it would continue my whole life, mothering, but I'm so grateful it has. I'm grateful to be Kelly's mother and I thank her for choosing me to be her mother. I admire and love her.

3 + 5 things I love about Kelly:
1. That she exhorts your two children to listen to their bodies and stop eating when they're full.
2. That she breast fed her babies on demand and trusted their wisdom to know when to stop.
3. That she chose where she wanted to live, found a way to finance going there and then followed her passion and lives there.
4. That she chose the man whom she wanted to marry, built her relationship with him, then trusted her judgement and heart and asked him to marry her.
5. That she and her husband built their own home, raise their own food, and always seek ways to strengthen their community.
6. That she knows, loves and preserves the Trinidad rain forest, encourages others to discover its treasures, and fights those who would harm it.
7. That when her son grew to hate school, she removed him and decided, after consulting with trusted friends, to home school him and her daughter.
8. (proposed by her Dad): That despite our faults and mistakes, she continues to love her parents.

Happy Birthday, Kelly!

Fall Colors in Our Neighborhood

2011-12-04T16:39:00.001+01:00

I'm struck by the beautiful colors in our neighborhood these days of extended fall. They're different than the dramatic colors of my native New England, a bit more subtle and subdued, but lovely nonetheless. Much of the color come from the leaves still on the vines after the recent grape harvest that is the source of our wonderful regional wines.

Taken yesterday on a country road down our hill:

Taken from my balcony this afternoon as the sun momentarily broke through the clouds.
Those are vineyards in the distance peppered with olive groves.
The first photo looks west and the second, south:

What is Poetry?

2011-12-01T22:27:00.000+01:00

First it's the words-
green words, ripe words to sip and smell, full
flavored on the tongue to transport,
temper, grip and affront.
Bottled up words concede,
become brainstorms. Words
presage, seethe and shudder, have affairs
with other words, grow gravid with illicit seed, bear
new words with primal screams.
Words smolder and succumb, relent and sulk.
A conspiracy concocted to break open our skull, bartered
to bare our heart, pursued on purpose, built in play to poems.

Ciphers decipher life, shape breath. Given mazes
poems make maps, an overview when view is overwhelming.
Poems elude and denude, invade minds in praise of words, never
inured to their salute. Poems specify new words, ascribe powers to them,
chant them, liken them to purple lupine, cast them on breath's wind,
fingered, picked, an incantation of words to stun and stupefy.
Poems revere words, cull words, draft and give back.
Poems stammer and ado, talk and bicker, clash and cause
a cause celebre. Haggles ensue in a hullabaloo. Some
rebut, some debunk, some quest or pester.
Poems bellow, howl, whoop and shout,
splash speech across the page, gnaw on magic.

This is posted in response to the generous prompt on dVerse Poets Pub by Gay Reiser Cannon on Form For All, Poetic Devices: Image, Symbol, Metaphor, Allegory.

This site is a great way to learn more about poetry, crafting poems and read other poets.

Wake The Sleeping Giant

2011-11-29T17:29:00.000+01:00

This is a poem written by my friend, Ruth, on her marvelous blog Synch-ro-ni-zing, posted on November 24 and entitled: What To Do On Thanksgiving. If you like great poetry, check out hers.

Take

the torch

down from the wall

and bravely wake

the sleeping giant

of your soul

Stir

dormant magnificence

out of her crouching

fraction of light

Strengthen

hibernating

hips arms and legs

into stomp

and thunder

on the dance floor of

your particular praise!

This great poem and call to action mobilized me mightily, got me meditating and writing for hours. To write in answer seemed to be a way to find my vision at this time, my dreams for the future. Ruth's poem contains two important questions:

1. Who is this sleeping giant of my soul?

2. What do I thunder in particular praise of?

When I was 19 years old, on a week long retreat, I had a vivid vision (not the seeing kind of vision) while praying. I tried to put it in words but it left me speechless. It was a sweeping, certain kind of knowing that we are all one. Humans in our totality and diversity, animals as fellow creatures, protectors, and guides, all things living - trees, plants and flowers, all things in nature - mountains, land, sea and sky. All. One. And that this is the divine, the sacred, the whole, the holy. The priest on that retreat said it was heresy when I told him, but I've held that vision in my heart as a gift given to me.
It was the only vision of my life but it was enough, it's the ground of my being.

I thunder in praise of this vision.

Other things I thunder in praise of:

- Knowing what makes me come alive and doing it.

- Mining the wisdom of elders, of grandmothers, in association with other grandmothers who bring their voices to the issues of the day, who say what they see, who are the solution we're looking for.

- Working to increase real respect for women and children, to make the world better, healthier and happier for our grandchildren. Love is the way.

- The beauty of art and being near artists who present what is beautiful and true.

Who is my sleeping giant? She likes:

- To move, to hike, to run, and to live in a beautiful place.

- To read and have some people with whom to discuss what I read.

- To write and be in community with other writers, including poets, who like to share their work.

- To raise plants, care for them, propagate them and learn more about local ones.

- To eat local food raised organically and sustainably while living lightly on the land.

- To walk a spiritual path in fellowship with other seekers and to find ways to be of service.

- To gather the young women of my family yearly to foster deepening bonds, family healing and remain a part of the lives of these amazing Dear Ones.

- To love John in new ways and enjoy the company of others in long-term committed relationships who share and encourage one another.

- To live in a community of people who are awake, aware, alive. A community characterized by respect, kindness, attention and courage, who share resources in some way, and where individual strengths are enhanced. A diverse community, multi-racial, multi-cultural, men and women, old and young (lots of kids), gay and straight. A creative community.

- To have more contact with Kelly, Carl and the grands. To live in community with them. To have their strengths, skills and perspectives in my community. To help home school the grands.

Some of what emerged surprised me (like the last two), some is familiar but comes together in a new way. I'll sit with it and let it percolate some more. I've summarized here but there are pages of writing. My friend, Nancy, over at Life in the Second Half who agrees the revolution is love, has been asking for awhile about drawing together a community and I was intrigued but didn't feel the tug toward it until now. I have no idea how this will manifest but the energy is flowing.
What if we all woke our sleeping giant and stirred our dormant magnificence?

TEDxSF - Gratitude

2011-11-27T22:36:00.000+01:00

For this Thanksgiving weekend, I offer this gorgeous video containing so much that I'm grateful for and some amazing time lapse photography for your viewing pleasure. Take 10 minutes and enjoy.
I'm ever so grateful for this blog world I've discovered and for each of you. Grazie mille.

The Kiss

2011-11-23T14:34:00.001+01:00

We dressed for our day, the air
between us thick with thrown words,
they loomed, suspended from then to now with no
bridge back. He turned,
just that. Longing jolted through me

for contact, even clothed contact,
us coiled, whorled, my head wreathed in his hands,
touched lips tried upside down like us,
a kiss to map a new way back, to rebuild what was lost
one kiss at a time.

I love that these lovers, Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward, were in a long- term marriage.
This is in response to the visual prompt at Magpie Tales #92
And for dVerse Poets Pub, open link night #19

Naples, Italy: The Birthplace of Pizza

2011-11-21T22:06:00.000+01:00

Do you like your pizza thin and crispy, like in Rome, or soft and pliable, like in Naples? I went to Naples yesterday for the first time (the streets looked just like this except more crowded for Christmas) and tried the Naples version of pizza. As an Italian man at my table said: "This is the best pizza I've ever eaten." He said this with a look on his face resembling bliss.

How do they get the pizza soft and pliable? They make the dough the day before and let it rise for 10- 15 hours. Then, they cook it in wood burning ovens at 485 degrees C (905 degrees F) for 60- 90 seconds. The crust is then soft and light and tastes like a dream. It looks like this (this is actually mine).

Although some pizzerias will serve other types of pizza, the "authentic" pizzas are considered to be pizza marinara, made with tomatoes, oregano, garlic and extra-virgin olive oil, and pizza margherita, (named for a Queen and my favorite), made to look like the flag of Italy with basil leaves for green, mozzarella for white and tomatoes for red. Mine has buffalo milk mozzarella (popular in this area) as a topping in the middle. It was extraordinary.

The first pizzeria in Naples, Antica Pizza Port'alba, was founded in 1738, although the first appearance of pizza was in a Latin text from the Italian town of Gaeta in 997AD. Most food historians point to Naples as the area of origin, and to Napoletana, the pizza of Naples, as the archetype of this type of pizza.

This pizza was served in this restaurant. People wait outside in long lines until the tables empty and they can experience pizza alla Naples. It's worth the wait.

What food are you savoring today?

Seals as Kin

2011-11-18T18:17:00.000+01:00

Celts call seals kin as they drape on dark rock,
kinship defined in fey legend, night talk,
same salt core and more, like necks thick,
heat kept by seal but man as brick.
As waves encroach on black rock seals bark back,
give voice to loss and more, skid to sea's brack.

Seals shift shape, shed skin and become human,
stay hidden from our view, but moon's lumen
shows selkie to those who might seek
and steal skin, make her ever weak.
Kinship not enough, own as mate our kin.
Shed tears for those who block another's din

(Based on the Irish/ Scottish legend of the selkie.)

Written in response to dVerse Poets pub prompt by Beth Winter for a staccato form poem with particular rules listed here. (but I missed the time deadline, aargh!)

Brave Endeavors

2011-11-17T20:34:00.000+01:00

My friend, Ruth, over at Synch-ro-ni-zing wrote a thought provoking post about living in the face of death, despair and fear. In her wise way she turned to poetry, bits of poems, she called a "found poem" to provide an important juxtaposition.
After reading it, the following quotes that I've collected because they spoke to me came together in a whole new way. They illuminate our work as writers and offer encouragement for this brave endeavor.

I don't think writers are sacred, but words are. They deserve respect. If you get the right ones in the right order, you might nudge the world a little or make a poem that children will speak for you when you are dead.
- Tom Stoppard

It is not light that we need, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake.
~Frederick Douglass

So don't be frightened, dear friend, if a sadness confronts you larger than any you have ever known, casting its shadow over all you do. You must think that something is happening within you, and remember that life has not forgotten you; it holds you in its hand and will not let you fall. Why would you want to exclude from your life any uneasiness, any pain, any depression, since you don't know what work they are accomplishing within you?

-Rilke

One of the most calming and powerful actions you can do to intervene in a stormy world is to stand up and show your soul. Soul on deck shines like gold in dark times. The light of the soul throws sparks, can send up flares, builds signal fires, causes proper matters to catch fire. To display the lantern of soul in shadowy times like these-to be fierce and to show mercy toward others; both are acts of immense bravery and greatest necessity.
-Clarissa Pinkola Estes

January Child (The Full Version)

2011-11-15T14:02:00.000+01:00

It's Open Link Night - week 18 at dVerse- Poets Pub, devoted to the encouragement of poetry and community among poets. Check it out and tell your friends.

January Child

I came along in the dead of winter

born in my own time three weeks late.

Father was at work.

Mother begged a ride from a neighbor

to go and do her woman's work alone.

She napped me on the porch

to be toughened by the snows

and gales of winter,

to cut my teeth on New England nor'easters

and fight the undeclared war against girls.

Middle child, only girl, small for my age.

Both brothers slept the porch in spring

took for granted the abundance

of our neighborhood, the visitors and friends,

the elms and hyacinths, maples and forsythias,

spring greens, yellows and new hues,

the migratory flocks parading back to northern homes.

Both boys read books, played quiet games

grew fat on father's favor.

I grew to a storm-wintered warrior child

sight practiced on bare lilac thicket,

schooled by wind in how the world sounds,

cries accompanied by jays and blackbirds,

layered against the elements.

Perhaps my skirmishes were attempts

to win that unwinable war

but I fought with the fury of calling,

battered brothers' enemies,

marshaled anger from hidden fronts

as I gave birth to myself.

Mary H. Warren

(I published a 100 word version of this poem on 9/30/11. This is the full poem that needed to be written.)

A Dream in Which I Run Over Two Toddlers

2011-11-13T16:04:00.001+01:00

This is offered in response to dVerse- Poets Pub prompt to use idioms and spread the poetry love
and Magpie Tales haunting visual prompt as seen here.

Last night in the graveyard shift of my dreams
I stood looking at a high hill that I needed to climb.
My niece ran over to show me a train track to take up
and a flat, open tram to sit on for the trek to the top. No directions
were given me for how to work this tram but
I was drawn up as if by an invisible cable.

I climbed slowly and then plateaued for a bit,
climbed again and again plateaued. On the third plateau
a young boy appeared beside the track in front of me. He held a rope
attached to a smaller, open trolley on which sat two toddlers.
The boy laughed as he pulled them along in the same direction I was headed
then turned and raced the toddlers' trolley toward my tram until I ran over them.
Traces of red blood tipped the front of the tram.

My tram continued to the top as waves
of disbelief, horror, guilt, hope that no one saw, fear
about leaving the scene of the accident and determination to make a police report on the accident
washed over me. Through it all careened the question
of how seriously the toddlers were hurt. I saw my daughter at the hilltop,
told her of the accident. She had heard it on the news,
but never said if the two little ones lived or died.

I wandered and worried since it was longer and longer
from the time of the accident, stymied
by how to find the police and consumed
by concern over the toddlers' condition.
I felt like a woman in a foggy field surrounded by chairs
whose arrangement makes no sense as I looked around for what to do next,
as if a dream is our sixth sense but defies discernment.

Then Somebody Bends Unexpectedly

2011-11-12T20:46:00.000+01:00

Remember the scene in Beauty and The Beast where Angela Lansbury in a voice over sings:

Tale as old as time
True as it can be
Barely even friends
Then somebody bends
Unexpectedly
Just a little change
Small to say the least
Both a little scared
Neither one prepared
Beauty and the Beast

Ever just the same
Ever a surprise
Ever as before
Ever just as sure
As the sun will rise

Tale as old as time
Tune as old as song
Bittersweet and strange
Finding you can change
Learning you were wrong
Certain as the sun
Rising in the east
Tale as old as time
Song as old as rhyme
Beauty and the Beast

I like this song because it rings true to my experience. It sings of the importance of one of the couple making that tiny first move, shifting the field, making a change. Until somebody bends, softens a bit, nothing changes.

When I can be the one to make that small change that changes everything, I'm awed by the difference it makes, by how my Honey lets me save face, by the closeness that results. Moments before, I'm thinking "I'm right, he's wrong and this time he'll eat shit, choke and die before I back down." But, somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember what happened the last time one of us shifted and how good it was.

Sometimes it's me who softens (even when I hate to), sometimes it's my Honey. And every time, for 38 years, it changes the dynamic to the point that we can hear each other a little more, understand each other a little better and move towards re-establishing closeness. Deepened.

What's true in the individual level is also true on the group level- political factions, racial tensions, religious differences, family discord- people maintaining rigid positions maintain the status quo or bring about worse, including destruction of one another.

Those that can soften their heart can start the chain reaction of change. Can make the world a better place. Can bring about healing. Can't they? What do you think?

MOORE

2011-11-10T21:24:00.001+01:00

This is offered in response to the visual prompt from Magpie Tails that can be seen here.

He wrote it on his tombstone.
MOORE. The story of his life.
He dressed it up fancy, the extra "o" and all caps. But it was always about wanting
more, more than anyone else had, more than he needed,
more than he could ever use, more than anyone wanted to give him once they knew him.
MOORE. He thought he was entitled to it,
to more, because of who he was.

He promised more, too,
in the belief that everyone wanted more,
lured them into his sticky web with visions of
more. But that kind of more can only happen
by seeing the real need for more. That more he never saw,
another's need. Never knew that obsession with his own
more blinded him to others' need, missed altogether the difference between
more and need.

He wanted it on his tombstone. MOORE.
Thought of it as his clever tongue-in-cheek epitaph to what was more important than his name.
He who dies with the most more wins. Never
caught the irony. It was on his
tombstone.

London With a Friend

2011-11-07T23:49:00.006+01:00

I've been caught up in the whirlwind of traveling and visiting in London (and Windsor) for the first time. And all of that with a long-time friend. What a grand time we've had. Even though I've lived in Italy for 2 1/2 years and traveled a good deal around Europe, somehow I've not been to London up to now. That's changed as of this last week. The chance to travel here with my husband and meet up with my dear friend, Mary, was too good to pass up.

It started in Windsor in a hotel directly across the street from Windsor Castle. We looked at it from our room. So day one I toured this magnificent place.

The weather was clear and fine and gave me the opportunity to get some great photos of Windsor Castle, which serves as the weekend home to the Queen or her family members, and houses priceless treasures.

The grounds are lush and beautifully kept but my favorite display (no photos allowed inside) was Queen Mary's Doll House. To see all the castle rooms reproduced in such miniature but accurate detail was delightful. I enjoy doll houses anyway so I spent a long time there just amazed at the workmanship.

London was next on my itinerary and we stayed in a hotel by Kensington Gardens and Kensington Palace, past home of Princess Margaret and Princess Diana and future home of her son, Prince William and his new bride, Kate Middleton.

The huge park and gardens were lovely and contained this magnificent tree that I named the tree of life.

Kensington Palace is in the process of a transformation but had an exibit in the meanwhile entitled "Enchanted Palace" consisting of a clever hunt through the shadowy world of the enchanted palace for the names of the seven princesses who have lived at the palace. It included an interactive visitor experience, fanciful pieces of information and displays for each of the princesses, a booklet to write their names, guides galore to give more details about their lives and a prize at the end if you got them all right. Made for a fun afternoon followed by an elegant high tea at the Orangery.

The excitement of a great city of London at night with Christmas coming was everywhere evident. I got some Christmas shopping for the grands done and loved every minute. I can't wait to see their faces when they open their special treats.

Of course, I did some old fashioned sight seeing. How could I not after hearing about and seeing in pictures these iconographic images. I'll just include a couple of night images that I thought came out well.

London theaters had so many choices for shows but not all were both available and affordable. One that was both, was the award winning "Jersey Boys". You have to see this show if you were an adolescent in the 60's. You'll sing along to every song- I sure did. Fabulous songs and a great true-life story of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons makes for a incredible musical.

The National Gallery had a photography exhibit on modern actresses and influential women that was stunning but certainly one of the most endearing aspects of this trip was the time with my friend since 1989, Mary. We had time to talk and be together, time to catch up and tell our current stories, time to share and just enjoy each other again. She's a gem and reminded me of the song we sang in Girl Scouts: "Make new friends but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold". You're pure gold, Mary. I'm so fortunate to call you friend.

Call and Response

2011-10-31T16:28:00.002+01:00

This is offered in response to the prompt for a "Call and Response poem" from dVerse- Poets Pub. (before I knew of the time limit) This is a marvelous site for learning about different kinds of poetry as well.

Call and Response

"I've a strange heaviness in my arms, Mac. Can't seem to row at all. Something's wrong. I need to get back to Mae and the baby."

"We'll turn her around, Angus. We can do the rowing. Should be back by the afternoon if the waves hold constant."

He saw Mae sitting by the window, the baby in her arms, as he rushed into the house.

"What's wrong, Mae? The baby's so still."

"Oh, Angy Mal, our Donald died this morning. He had a fierce fever while you were gone. He fought hard, poor wee one. I was praying you'd come."

"I had to come back, I couldn't row, Mae, had a heaviness in my arms. What can I do?"

"Best to make a casket to bury our baby in. Paint it white, pure soul that he was."

Angus carried the casket in his arms for the funeral. "Mae, this is the heaviness I felt in my arms in the boat, the very same."

I Had A Dream

2011-10-29T19:24:00.001+02:00

For Kelly

I had a dream when my daughter turned twenty: she began to eat the tall plant in our living room. I knew she wouldn't stop. She turned green like the plant, her lips, her face, her neck. I feared the plant would take her over, evolve her into a new life form. The she/plant grew wildly out of control, spread to the carpet, filled the room, then the house. I panicked, declared: "There'll be no more plant eating in this house!" As if I could stop it, or her, or needed to.

Prophecies come in dreams. She moved to Trinidad's Rain Forest, staked her claim to earth, connected to the plants in this far away land, discovered the ancient world view and speaks it anew: "All my relations." She gives back in balance as she takes, knows her power, walks in beauty in a sacred way and brings her medicine to mother earth. Earth needs her medicine.

How to Fish And Not Get Seasick

2011-10-27T18:24:00.001+02:00

These odd structures with the odd name of trobacchi are actually an ingenious way to fish without ever going out to sea. Like fishing huts on stilts. They dot the 15 km southern coastline in my province of Abruzzo with their organic, quirky constructions that look like the anatomy of some exotic sea creature. Two or three of their long arms provide a network for nets that project out to sea and take advantage of favorable currents to scoop up fish.

Made from acacia trees that grow behind the beaches and salvaged drift wood washed in by the tide, each one looks quite different. Fishing families since the 18th century used these ancient formations as their main source of income. It took ingenuity to devise a framework for fishing based on a sparse population that needed to lessen loss of life at sea and not be hampered by weather conditions. Indeed, as they are repaired, trobocchi have resisted decades of storms while remaining flexible. Impressive.

Due to the over- fishing in deeper waters, Trobocchi are now cultural symbols, tourist attractions and even restaurants rather than sustainable fishing machines. My Honey and I joined friends for a Slow Food meal on a trobocco not far from us near Vasto and pictured below. The food was fresh, local and typical (the criteria of Slow Food Movement) and we feasted on gifts from the sea. One dish was a local fish soup called Rodetto di Pesche all Vastese made with assorted fishes, tomatoes, garlic and olive oil. Delicious.

There is some food that feeds more than physical hunger. This would be an example.

How about for you?

Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire

2011-10-22T16:49:00.001+02:00

It's chestnut season where I live. Chestnuts used to offer tasty sustenance through the long winter months to the peasants in this Abruzzo area of Italy. They are now available at the open markets that dot our region. Look for skins with a healthy glow and a beautiful brown shine.

Chestnuts from our local market were roasted on an open fire right on my stove in a fancy roasting pan purchased in our little town.

Wash the chestnuts in cold water first. Cut an X shape on the flatter end (so it doesn't explode when cooked) but not piercing the skin, then roast on low flame for about 15- 20 minutes. Shake them frequently and put a lid on the pan since chestnuts open up dramatically and with force. Doesn't it look like they've just opened their hearts?

Drop into a bowl when they're all opened and nicely roasted. Squeeze the chestnut before peeling and it will peel easier. Sprinkle with a little salt or cinnamon and eat while warm. Wine is a wonderful accompaniment.

I'm sorry that a blog can't contain smells because roasting chestnuts have a gorgeous, abundant, open- fire scent that made my mouth water before I ate one. European chestnuts are larger, sweeter and easier to peel than American chestnuts.

But it's the taste that is most remarkable. Chestnuts, freshly roasted, have a smooth, substantial texture. I knew I was eating a tree gift with in its essential treeness intact. Their taste hints at cinnamon (before adding it) but nutty and sweet with a full on, ample chestnut taste of their own that kept me popping them.

It seems like such a bounteous gift from the tall ones, an extravagant sharing of tree substance with us two-leggeds. Have we lavished this kind of plentiful love back on them? Or offered gratitude for this all- inclusive nourishment? These sweet chestnuts are part of me. My strength redolent with this tree gift.

Talking is Good, But We Knew That

2011-10-21T19:12:00.001+02:00

My Honey and I were reading about stress reduction the other day. We knew the secret from experience: "talk to each other." Turns out that we were right all along. You've read all the suggestions for handling stress: exercise, meditate, breath. All good. But now they're finding that talking to your spouse or loved ones reduces stress the best. 38 years of marriage taught us that, but it's good to have research back us up. We should have written a book.

It seems too simple, doesn't it? Just talk. Tell folks that care about you and that you care about how you're feeling. Women do that with one another fairly easily on a regular basis but it's good for men too. Talk to your spouse, talk to another trusted relative, talk to a close friend. Do it often. They know you and love you. They hold your highest good in their heart. We're made for that love. It's good for us.

Have a great weekend.

100,000 Monks

2011-10-20T22:05:00.000+02:00

100,000 Monks pray for a better world.

Let us join them.

All our energy toward a worthy goal.

What might we accomplish?

Steve Jobs, Rilke, Monet

2011-10-19T12:32:00.000+02:00

“Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice.
And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.”

Steve Jobs,
Stanford University Commencement address, 2005

You carry within you the capacity to imagine and give shape to your world. It is a pure and blessed way of living. Train yourself to this, but also trust whatever comes. If it comes from your desire, from some inner need, accept that and hate nothing.

Worpswede, July 16, 1903

Letters to a Young Poet

Rilke

Monet

Soft Air and Cartoons

2011-10-17T17:39:00.000+02:00

I sit on my balcony as the day turns to evening and the air is soft from a lovely slide back to summer temps. It reminds me of an Irish poem I read that admonished me, as I remember it, to "let him be, he is growing, the air is soft above his head." I love that image of soft air above a child's head. The air feels like that this evening and lets my mind wander. I no longer remember the poem's name but it sounds like it was written by a grandmother.

I remember an incident with my grandfather when I was about six and trying to mow the lawn with his push mower. The details are long gone but he said to me: "You're a disappointment." I felt the sting of that remark like a slap. I didn't know then what I had done to cause it or why he thought that. I couldn't ask him nor could I slough it off. I thought about it for years, turned it over and over in my mind wondering if it belonged to me or not.

One of the blogs I follow, "in search of white space" by erin, had a poem today about a young girl with cancer. Do yourself a favor and check out erin's elegant poetry. It stirred up these thoughts from long ago. Also made me remember the months I spent working as a nurse on a children's cancer ward in Boston back in the 60's and how I ended up appreciating my time there among these brave little ones. I heaped my inadequate aids on the side of healing as disease ravaged their small bodies and they lived as best they could. But what surprised me was the amount of laughter we shared. We watched cartoons and would dissolve in giggles at the slapstick absurdity of cartoons in those days. The kids would try some of the moves themselves and laugh all over again. They taught me how to stay in the moment those wise ones who's names I can still call.

Seems remarkable, this play of presences, past and present that stir up the rich stew of our lives and let us taste it, maybe savor it, once more.

Way To Run

2011-10-14T14:49:00.000+02:00

I've been asked by a few friends in the blogosphere what kind of program I use for running. Jeff Galoway's Run Injury Free program makes it possible. I was aged 62 when my niece invited me to run in the National Marathon To Finish Breast Cancer in Jacksonville, Florida. Since my sister-in-law and good friend, Peg, had recently died of breast cancer, I wanted to run. But I was not a runner at that point, just a walker and hiker. The marathon organizers recommended Galloway's method of training as did my niece so I gave it a try. Eight months later, at age 63, I ran and finished the marathon.

In February of this year, my daughter joined me using the same Galloway method. We trained together in Trinidad, where she lives, and finished the half marathon hands held high at the end. She was gracious enough to go at my slower pace. It was exhilarating. Two of my nieces did the half marathon walk at the same time.

Galloway's method is a run-walk-run, low mileage, three day a week program that I find both doable and sustainable. He's now trained more than 200,000 ordinary people to set and reach specific goals, including finishing a marathon. He has a pre- conditioning program for those not yet ready to start a training program.

He recommends choosing a run-walk schedule, for example, 1 minute running followed by 1 minute walking which is then repeated for the whole run. Do this for as long as it takes to move to the next split (2 min. run, 1 min. walk) or just stay at that split. I ran both my marathon and half marathon at that split and did fine. Check out his web site for a full explanation as to all the reasons why this method works. There are groups and marathons all over the country using it.

Galloway himself is a marathoner, my age, and wanted to run to age 100 injury free. That intrigued me since I also wanted to be injury free if I was going to run. I'm now almost 66, still run three times a week and will compete in my next half marathon in February of 2012. I love to run. I've had no injuries. I got Galloway's book and followed it faithfully. I met him before the FL marathon. Nice man.

Secondarily running is a way to stay fit and healthy. This particular marathon is important to me so I'm glad to raise money for breast cancer treatment and research. 10,000 ran last year and it was an amazing atmosphere. The whole city supports the marathon and the runners. They call our names as we run by and cheer for us. Runners who are survivors get even louder cheers.

On the web site for the marathon, the runners are invited to say for whom they run. Besides Peg, I run for my daughter, granddaughter and nieces so that we finish breast cancer before any more family members are lost. And I run because I can, for all those who can't.

Friendship

2011-10-13T16:59:00.000+02:00

The whirl and swirl of the Willow Ball are sweet memories now. What a grand time I had, but all the extravagance, all the glamor, gorgeous as it was brought me back to bedrock today. It certainly enhanced friendships and forged new ones and it struck me how important this is, even in a virtual world. But more I thought of the ways that the friendships closest to home shape and sustain us and how vital it is to nurture and be grateful for these, our most precious relationships.

C.S.Lewis said it well:

“It seems no wonder if our ancestors regarded Friendship as something that raised us almost above humanity. This love, free from instinct, free from all duties but those which love has freely assumed, almost wholly free from jealousy, and free without qualification from the need to be needed, is eminently spiritual. It is the sort of love one can imagine between angels.”

C. S. Lewis

Here's to the angels in my life. Here's to friendship which sustains us. I'm so grateful.

The Willow Ball

2011-10-12T20:28:00.000+02:00

A sumptuous invitation to the fist virtual ball of the season, The Willow Ball, started a whirl of shopping for the perfect gown and jewels and endless discussions with my friends about whom to invite. The Lady of Willow Manor has made this generous invitation to all of us in the blogosphere and who could refuse? This gracious lady sets the mood with abundant candle light and arms full of yellow roses that make us all beautiful. The grandeur and magnificence is simply unequaled these days. The finest of foods.

Since this is also my first time at the Willow Ball, it became paramount to attend the premier in grand style. After searching the four fashion sows in New York, London, Paris and Milan I found the dress of dreams. The dress, white, of course, and stunning, is from my favorite Italian designer, made in Milan. I feel opulent in it, like a fine art painting of the masters. The flow of the gown as I dance is a thing of grace as it catches the music in its very fabric and swirls it around
.

One can never underestimate the role of accessories. The jewels from Tiffany provide the merest embellishment to the center stage of the gown. Important, but just a slight sparkle of diamonds in platinum, the faintest blush of Morganite pendant to catch the light and play it across my skin. Facets honed to quietly enhance rather than grab attention to themselves.

And that most vital of accessories for a dance- the shoes. In this case a simple pair of Valentino Satin Sandals. But head turners all the same. Notice the touch of silver skimming the bow, understated eye candy.

But a ball, especially the season's first ball, is all about dancing. The chance to finally dance, to flow like silk across the floor. to melt into the music and my partner's arms and move in graceful, effortless steps. To choose a partner for such an extravaganza is to choose a dance partner first and foremost, cool and cosmopolitan. I called Fred and was excited when he was free for the evening. Ah, the dance, the romance, the possibility of amore.

Also essential in this inaugural ball, Fred's a fashion icon. He wrote the book on classy dressing. His advice on what you gentlemen will need for the Willow Ball?
1. A jacket with tails
2. A white bow tie
3. A buttoniere
4. A handkerchief
5. A crisp white button-up
6. Shiny black shoes
A fashionable cane
8. A top hat

Ladies and gentlemen, the classiest dresser of them all and my date, Mr. Fred Astaire:

The Willow Ball provides many venues of music in an extravaganza of ball rooms. You'll find me in the perhaps old fashioned but ever so cultured Willow Waltz Room. The decor is divine, the people beautiful and the music oh, so danceable. The polish and politeness are evident, the refinement and sophistication, the splendor and style. Fred has been running through routines with the men pictured above who came early and wanted some of that smooth polish for themselves. They were not disappointed.

I hoped to post Fred dancing a waltz with Ginger, his usual partner, but he thought it would be too intimidating and suggested instead a short, lovely slow waltz by the Baricchi couple. Those Italians are so classically chic in their moves. Fred assures me anyone can master this. Give yourself a treat during the Ball and take a spin with Fred when I need to sit one out. He's a great dance partner and likes to sing the tunes in your ear. He has some other interesting moves that you might have to watch out for but it's all in the spirit of ardor engendered in the atmosphere.

I Imagine what we'll look like floating across the floor to waltzes by famous composers like Chopin, Schubert and the "Waltz King", Strauss. I'll be the one draped over the arm of the best dancer at the Ball and I'll be in heaven dancing cheek to cheek with Fred and the memories, well, they can't take that away from me.

(The gown is from Google images- formal ball gowns. The necklace is from Tiffany & Co.- diamond necklaces. The shoes are from Net-A-Porter Shoes.)

Early Morning Walk

2011-10-11T22:49:00.000+02:00

An early-morning walk is a blessing for the whole day.

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined.

Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.

-Henry David Thoreau

The first snow has fallen in the mountains that I can see from my balcony and town. It leant new beauty to my morning walk/run which, as Thoreau suggests, is a blessing for the whole day.
The rest of his words are inspirational too and seemed just right for this day.

The Books You Love

2011-10-08T15:34:00.003+02:00

Live for awhile in the books you love. Learn from them what is worth learning, but above all love them. This love will be returned to you a thousand times over. Whatever your life may become, these books—of this I am certain—will weave through the web of your unfolding. They will be among the strongest of all threads of your experiences, disappointments, and joys.

Viareggio, April 5, 1903

Letters to a Young Poet

Rilke

I just read the post on Synch-ro-ni-zng about Ruth's excitement of sharing wonderful books with her yet to be born grandson. It's delightful with her choices and her joy and her anticipation. Memories of doing that with my grands flooded through me. Those exact books and more and how much we loved them together and how we snuggled and they'd squeal or cry or laugh or beg to have it read again. And then this quote of Rilke rang so true. Because it keeps happening all through our lives.

Have books changed your life? Of course. Share them with your grands, or adopt a grand to read to or a whole Kindergarten class in your area. Pass this love on to the next generation. It will change their lives, too.
Books "will weave through the web of your unfolding" .

Celestial Fireworks | ESA/Hubble

2011-10-06T11:34:00.001+02:00

This image from Hubble Telescope of "Celestial Fireworks" was posted in the app "Star Walk" on my iPad the same day that Steve Jobs died.
In part, the accompanying script says: "This…is from a massive star that died…This filamentary material will eventually be recycled into building new generations of stars."
So true. Good bye, Steve. Thank you.

Click on this:
Celestial Fireworks | ESA/Hubble

Sex in Our 60's

2011-10-05T10:25:00.000+02:00

Never mind Sex in The City, how about sex in our 60's?

Recently my Honey and I have been trying out new things to keep sex in our 60's fun and satisfying. As you know, there are challenges associated with aging that call for some creativity. We've made some discoveries that I want to share and I'd like to hear what others have found for themselves.

1. We're taking advantage of retirement's lack of time pressure to choose the best time of day for sex. Morning has won for us. Once I've really woken up (takes me longer than my Honey), we feel fresh and energetic but the daily "to do's" haven't yet taken over our focus as they do later.

2. It's never to late to buy nice lingerie. This year, I started a process of replacing my "functional" under garments with lingerie that I find lovely. By buying one or two items a month, it didn't hurt financially and at the end of the year, I have beautiful lingerie that I love to wear and look at and that my Honey likes to look at as well. On me. It's a little thing that makes me feel sexier.

3. We set up time to talk about how to improve our love making. We read before hand, free associated, said anything that comes to mind, and got lots of possibilities out before making choices of what to try. This is our time to experiment, indulge each other's desires and see how it feels.

4. If affairs can spice up a love life, we have one with each other. Periodically. How would I dress if meeting a lover? What kind of ambiance and what meal would I prepare? Or, since my Honey is the cook, where would I rendezvous with a lover? Why waste those wonderful moments, that exhilarating energy on someone other than our one, true love?

5. Speak well of each other in front of family and friends. I love and admire my Honey so I let others know. His most endearing feature today is his sending our family and friends birthday or anniversary
e-cards. He has a couple of e-card sites that he chooses from to make the card right for each person. He's thoughtful that way. And kind.

I interviewed my Honey on this topic to get a man's perspective and he had three suggestions:

6. Let go of inhibitions that you had, whether raised with them or culturally imposed. Carpe diem or do it while you still can.

7. If your partner is willing, explore fantasies you've had but not acted on up to now. If not now, when?

8. You get extra pleasure from giving pleasure to your spouse. Find a new way to give pleasure.

What have you found to spice up your love life?

Hike to Corno Grande

2011-10-03T20:37:00.001+02:00

Saturday dawned clear, sunny with temps in the high 60's. Perfect weather for a hike. Seven friends gathered and we set out for Campo Imperatore Wilderness to hike the highest peak of the Gran Sasso massif in the Apennine Range, Corno Grande (9,554 ft.). The parking area is at about 7,000 ft. and the trails fork off from there. The temp at that elevation was a delightful for hiking 57 degrees. One friend decided to enjoy the already wonderful view from there and six of us set out, four men and two women.

This is where we were headed, Corno Grande. See the people ahead of us on the trail?

The sky really looked like that when we started, utterly clear, deep blue, remarkable. We came to a fork with the left trail marked "normale" and the right for the "Alpinistas" who do technical climbing. We took the left trail.

Looking back at the trail. See that thin ribbon of trail in the center of the photo? That's our trail. Steady elevation gain with a few scrabbly places of loose rocks, little purchase and steep drop offs. In other words, the thrill of good hiking spots.

The other woman in our group dropped out just below one such place and headed back to keep our other friend company. The four guys and I hiked on. The sky continued to amaze us and the views in this rocky, moon- like landscape were sureal but cool.

The four guys and some of the little vegetation we encountered.

We stopped for a late lunch at a spot about 8,500 ft up and were awed by the vistas. The peaks all around us seemed to go on forever, like they've been there forever.

This was actually an opportunity to sit on a relatively high rock pile once we decided to stop.

Me with my Honey feeling exhilarated. Since the days of owning two Alaskan Malamute dogs, hiking has been a shared passion- California, Colorado, Banff, and now, Italy.

Views from the other direction.

At which point some clouds started to roll in.

But, oh the views…

As the white cumulous clouds gave way to darker ones that brought a drop in temperature, we talked it over and decided we had left too late to make it to the summit this day and still get back before the weather deteriorated further or we lost daylight.

We'll go again. Start earlier. Reach the summit. But sometimes it's just about the hike itself, the camaraderie of friends, the heart stopping vistas and the secret joys of being with your Honey and leading a hike up new mountains at age 65.

100 Word Story: January Child

2011-09-30T15:59:00.000+02:00

I've been reading 100 word stories at Mr. London Street this week and was inspired to offer this:

Mother napped me on the porch to be toughened

by the gales of winter, to cut teeth on New England nor'easters

and fight the undeclared war against girls.

Middle child, only girl, small for my age.

I grew to a storm wintered warrior child,

sight practiced on bare lilac thicket, schooled by wind

in how the world sounds, cries accompanied

by jays and blackbirds, layered against the elements.

Perhaps my skirmishes were attempts to win

that unwinable war but I fought with the fury of calling,

battered brothers' enemies, marshaled anger from hidden fronts

as I gave birth to myself.

(photo from all-free-download.com)

Where I'm From

2011-09-28T12:35:00.000+02:00

I wanted to explore this topic and found this format as a means to say "Where I'm From" in a more specific, tangible way. It has taken many weeks to finish but I deeply appreciated the process.

I'm from a balcony in Italy these days, from a land where south and west horizon meets in mountains frosted with clouds, and the sea beckons from the east with its sunrise sparkled water, a balcony of lavender that scents the air and reminds me of embroidered pillows my mother gave me to perfume dresser drawers and forever encode that fragrance with her.

From an apartment scaled to cocoon that wraps me, but spiced with the reds and golds of this peppery land, a home faced south with granite tiles that cool my feet in summer and warm them in winter when sun slants in. Books flood this home, sorted into topics that tell my story: celtic lore, poetry, women's studies, travel books, children's tales, indigenous spirituality, historical novels; words that witness a journey.

I'm from begonias, a terrestrial species that collude with this warm climate to grow showy flowers of pink and scarlet in the perennial cycle of thriving, dying and waking back that plots my course, too.

From McLellan's and Harvey's, Tierney's and Donovan's, Scottish and Irish who forged strong women, made strawberry-rhubarb, mince meat and apple pies, grew tomatoes, rhubarb and concord grapes for jelly and jam, read, argued and held strong opinions.

I'm from the bossy that struts in when strong is expected in a child, from you don't air

your dirty linen in public, from good girls don't get angry, from staunch Catholics on

both sides, awash in Catholic doctrine, from family secrets, subliminal, not yet understood.
I'm from Massachusetts, from corned beef and cabbage, potatoes and turnips.

From the aloneness of grandmother's first born with raging fever at ten months on a remote farm in Nova Scotia while grandfather was out at sea. He felt a strange heaviness in his arms, unable to row, said to his friends that he must go back. The baby boy died in his mother's arms before her husband reached. Grandfather carried the tiny, white casket in his arms for the funeral, the weight just as he had felt it.

From the grandmother born in Irish South Boston who found and married the only protestant around and converted him. From the great grandmother who came from Ireland, lived with her daughter, doted on her only grandson, wanted only to dance at his wedding and died two days later.

I'm from boxes of photos kept on the shelf of mother's bedroom closet, taken down at holidays to remind us of our family story, photos I fought to claim after she died to pass on to my daughter and grandchildren, the record of ancestors, all who existed to produce these two Dear Ones.

Develop Curiosity

2011-09-25T17:23:00.000+02:00

Theres a common misunderstanding among all the human beings who have ever been born that the best way to live is to try to avoid pain and just try to get comfortable.

A much more interesting, kind, adventurous, and joyful approach to life is to begin to develop our curiosity, not caring whether the object of our inquisitiveness is bitter or sweet.

Pema Chodron
Tibetan Buddhist nun and teacher

A new friend, Christine, visited yesterday and shared a bit about her life journey. She came the day after I received this quote of Pema Chodron. And in a synchronicity, she seemed to me to be a good example of Chodron's ideal of one who has developed her curiosity, not knowing if the results will be bitter or sweet. Christine's been an artist, entrepreneur, furniture maker and wine sales person. She's lived in many places in the US, lost spouses, been seriously ill herself, worries about her sons in the states, relocated alone to the remote village of her ancestors in our region of Abruzzo and experiences all the culture shock that you can imagine that entails. But her attitude is upbeat, positive, and filled with the energy that comes from genuine curiosity. She travels all over Italy drinking it all in. She's fun and interesting to be with.

Chodron praises curiosity, exhorts us to develop it. Then sets up a stark juxtaposition- avoid pain and get comfortable vs taking an interesting, adventurous and joyful approach to life whether it brings us the bitter or the sweet. We just went through the laborious process of renewing our permesso di soggiorno (permission to stay) for another two years and smacked up against the bureaucracy that characterizes Italy. A taste of the bitter. But after five months and two attempts following submission of all documents needed to actually get them, we got them. By ourselves. In Italian. Without the letter we were supposed to have received in the mail setting up our appointment. A sweet outcome.

Our move here 2 1/2 years ago came from a desire to explore Italy and Europe. To experience a different culture, language, environment and history. It has brought in its wake the self-doubt, the uncomfortable, even painful experiences Chodron describes but also the joy that comes from doing something interesting and adventurous that expands curiosity in the process. Chodron uses a strange word in her juxtaposition- kind. Maybe that's her true wisdom, it's kind to ourselves and to others to develop our curiosity. It grows us and enables us to taste the world of another. Sweet.

Friday's Photo - Phone Caddy

2011-09-23T10:01:00.000+02:00

Made in Italy and amazingly helpful. I like the color, too.

Where do you put your phone while charging it?

250th Blog Post

2011-09-20T20:07:00.001+02:00

This is my 250th blog post and I'm sitting here amazed. When I started this blog to attempt to stay aware on my journey as an elder, I really didn't think of how many posts I would write or for how long or if I could continue to write. I just wrote a post and another day I wrote a post and another day I wrote a post and so on until today when I write my 250th. In the meanwhile, I've made new and wonderful friends in the blogosphere, been inspired by them, and shared in significant ways with them. Writing has become deeply important to me. My world has expanded in ways I couldn't have predicted.

Running is similar. I started to run in my 60's. After the initial process of getting used to it, working through the kinks, hating it and wanting to stop and eventually, loving it, and not being able to think of my life without it. Now, I run three times a week, every week. At some point my Nike + iPod announced that I had run 250 miles since I started to wear their chip that keeps track of my runs. Then, a while ago, it announced that I had run 500 kilometers and I was surprised. One step at a time. In the meanwhile, I've run races for good causes that matter to me, met fascinating people who are vital and healthy and I have a way to stay fit. Running has become deeply important to me. My life has been enriched in ways I couldn't have predicted.

Maybe a lot of life IS about showing up. Doing what we say we will do. Doing what we know to be good for us or important or what we love. Until we find that we're writing our 250th blog post or running our 500th kilometer or, in some other significant way, celebrating a milestone that's important to us. And feeling good about ourselves. More in love with our lives. With richer, fuller lives than we could have imagined.

Gimme Shelter | Playing For Change

2011-09-17T14:31:00.000+02:00

I saw this on Grandma's Briefs and knew I wanted to play it for you in support of this unifying cause.
Today is the Playing For Change Day for 2011. Playing For Change Foundation is a non-profit organization raising funds for music education programs for children around the world. Listen to musicians from all over the world as they sing "Gimme Shelter" in their communities.
You'll be glad you did.

A great quote shown before the song is an Irish proverb:
"It is in the shelter of each other that people live."

Irish Pasta

2011-09-16T10:23:00.000+02:00

When this basil needed pruning, I looked at my husband, "pesto" we said together:

First, take the leaves off the stems:

Add pine nuts with some walnuts:

Add garlic:

Add olive oil from olives we picked. Mix it in the blender. Stand in the kitchen, close your eyes and breathe in the tang of basil that fills the room:

Add freshly grated aged parmesan cheese:

Which altogether becomes this:

Which, because the pesto and beans are green and potatoes are added to the butterfly pasta, becomes what my husband, chef extraordinaire, has named Irish pasta:

Eat outside and savor the fresh flavor with a glass of crisp, white wine. Add avocado drizzled with lime. Enjoy.

Evening

2011-09-13T22:22:00.000+02:00

Slowly evening takes on the garments held for it by a line of ancient trees. You look, and the world recedes from you. Part of it moves heavenward, the rest falls away.

And you are left, belonging to neither fully, not quite so dark as the silent house, not quite so sure of eternity as that shining now in the night sky, a point of light. You are left, for reasons you can't explain, with a life that is anxious and huge, so that, at times confined, at times expanding,

it becomes in you now stone, now star.

Book of Images

Rilke

Because at times we are confined and at times expanding,

now stone, now star.

Photos from our next door neighbors' balcony two nights ago

(thanks Lucia).

Poetry from "A Year With Rilke" kindly hosted by Ruth and Lorenzo.

The Wine of My Own Poetry

2011-09-12T17:23:00.000+02:00

Because the teacher comes along exactly when needed,
these quotes came to me in the last two days:

The Wine of My Own Poetry

I didn't trust it for a moment

but I drank it anyway,

the wine of my own poetry.

It gave me the daring to take hold

of the darkness and tear it down

and cut it into little pieces.

-- Lala, a 14th century Persian poet

TAPPING INTO YOUR SOURCE

"Theres a reason that you can learn from everything: you have basic wisdom, basic intelligence, and basic goodness. Therefore, if the environment is supportive and encourages you to be brave and to open your heart and mind, youll find yourself opening to the wisdom and compassion thats inherently there. Its like tapping into your source, tapping into what you already have. Its the willingness to open your eyes, your heart, and your mind, to allow situations in your life to become your teacher."

Pema Chodron

My Inspiration

And that's to say nothing of the collective wisdom of my friends in the blogoshere whom I treasure, whose words I find to be words to live by, who reminded me of what I had forgotten: We have enough, we are enough, we are perfect just the way we are and when we are true to ourselves, our very lives are poetic. My deepest gratitude.

In Search of Self

2011-09-09T13:11:00.000+02:00

I sit here on my balcony. It's 82 degrees and the breeze flaps the awning. I listen to Sarah Brightman on the iPod as she sings "Nella Fantasia" in her high, clear voice that lingers on those lilting Italian words. In front of me the Majella Mountains are dimmed by the heat haze to a blue outline jutting into the sky. The clouds, too, are indistinct, a white gauze against the lightened sky. The Adriatic has lost its two toned aqua/turquoise summer coloring and is a single shade of blue more intense than today's sky. Next to me, new stalks of lavender shoot up in defiance of September's date and sweeten the air with their characteristic scent. I feel a vague restless yearning that I want to put into words to better understand it. And so I write.

I retired two years ago. At that time I thought I would provide some kind of grand service to humanity, then undefined but important none-the-less. I presumed it would appear, this new vocation, and I would grab hold of it, dig in and never look back. Only it didn't and I haven't. Instead, I sometimes feel uneasy that I don't do enough or don't do that thing that I'm meant to do at this life stage.

These days, I read and study Italian daily, write most days, run three times a week, travel with my husband to explore Europe, talk with him and foster our relationship in new ways, currently by exploring some different ways to enjoy sex at our age. I stay in touch with my daughter, my grandchildren and close friends and plan for the yearly gathering of the young women in our family with me and my sister-in-law. I used to write poetry but the inspiration for poems that I had years ago seems gone. It leaves me bereft.

Well, that popped up unexpectedly! Like my hand knew something my mind didn't. Bereft at losing poetry? Hmmm. But wait, I read "A Year With Rilke" every day. I'm eager for new poems by Ruth at "Synch-ro-ni-zng" and read them again and again to feel her words in my mouth and hear them as she (online) or I read them out loud and they sing around the room while I melt in admiration. I haven't told her that. I'm so envious. I haven't told myself that. Writing poetry is so elusive now. I feel inadequate to the task of crafting such exact descriptions that I say: "Yes, yes, that's how it is; that's what I want to say."

Poetry, where are you? I miss you. You make my heart beat faster. I invite you back. I will listen.

Convergent Evolution

2011-09-07T17:19:00.000+02:00

I thought I was looking at a tiny hummingbird with his long proboscis in our red geranium. (Look where yellow and orange meet about a third of the way down the photo.) I've seen hummingbirds as small as this in Trinidad's Rain Forest. The smallest of the hummingbirds, the Bee Hummingbird, lives there and measures just 5cm. But my neighbor's daughter told me that Italy has no hummingbirds and that instead it was a hummingbird hawk-moth. Who knew there was such a thing?

(image from Wikipedia)

Wikipedia said that the Hummingbird Hawk-moths that are loving my plants are a good example of convergent evolution. Right on my balcony! Ever a sucker for new facts, I skipped to the info about convergent evolution and found that it "describes the acquisition of the same biological trait in unrelated lineages." They cited the example of an owl and a cat which are "distantly related predators that share keen, night-time binocular vision and targetable ears to help their night time hunting."

(both images from Wikipedia)

But back to the Hummingbird Hawk-moths and the hummingbirds. My tiny visitor is distinguished among moths for his rapid, sustained flying ability. In fact he is one of the fastest flying insects clocking in at 50km/h or 30m/h. He and his species hover in midair while they feed on nectar from flowers. Like hummingbirds, they are specialized nectarivores. Imagine!

Anyway, their hovering capability has evolved only three times in nectar feeders: in hummingbirds, certain bats and hawk moths (family: sphingidae). The hummingbird hawk-moth's hovering is similar to, but distinct from, that of hummingbirds. Both have long and mostly straight bills for their specialized nectar feeding and drink it with their trough-like tongues.

It seems the plants that are pollinated by hummingbirds or hummingbird hawk-moths produce flowers in shades of red, orange and bright pink. My geranium is an almost neon orangey-red so that's evidently why I'm seeing so many of these hawk-moths. It's okay with me, nature is an awesome teacher!

Friday Photo- Figs

2011-09-02T22:14:00.000+02:00

Fresh off the tree, warm and sweet.

Grand photos of the grands!

2011-08-31T18:08:00.001+02:00

Click here to view these pictures larger

Happy 95th!

2011-08-30T20:56:00.001+02:00

9 plus 5 ways to age well from an interview with my Dad who is 95 this year:

1. Dance every week to music you like with someone you love.

2. Eat good food moderately, and if they don't serve nutritious food at the senior center get involved in changing the menu so they do.

3. When your sad, have a good cry.

4. Go to classes or groups at the senior center that interest you. I met Helen at an aerobics class when I was 84.

5. Keep reading and keep up with current events.

6. Go to church and sign up to do something for someone else, like reading to an elderly blind person.

7. Volunteer to read to the local kindergarten class. Shel Silverstein and Dr. Suess have some great poems and books for the little ones.

8. Keep in touch with family and remember people still like to get a note. Put a dollar in it.

9. Say thanks to neighbors who help you, who shovel your snow and cut the lawn. Slip them a fiver every now and then for a treat.

The bonuses:

1. Feel grateful each morning you don't find your name in the obituaries.

2. Say prayers every night for family and friends. Mention them by name.

3. Keep active. If you need to use a cane then forget your pride and use one.

4. Love everyone because that's what life's all about.

5. Keep some good jokes or funny little poems handy even if you have to write them down. Share them every chance you get. Guys like fresh ones.

Words to live by with no commentary needed!

Today's Laugh

2011-08-28T18:04:00.000+02:00

Sometimes it's the little daily things that bring the best laughs. Like today. My neighbors for the most part don't speak English or speak very little. However, they get great enjoyment in proudly saying their few words to me or my husband whenever possible. Today, it's the birthday of one such neighbor. "Buon compleanno" we wished him. His face lit up! "Merry Christmas" he said confidently. "Happy birthday" we countered but chuckled throughout the day at his translation.

I wonder what we're saying that has our neighbors chuckling at us? Reminds me that it's good to not take myself too seriously and to go ahead and make mistakes. It gives the neighbors a good laugh!

The day is fine: the sea from our balcony in our neighborhood in our little corner of the world.

What's making you smile today?

Final Vacation Photos

2011-08-25T23:05:00.002+02:00

It's hard to post about all that went on in a month once it's all over. But here are some favorite photos of special times jockeying for remembrance.

Best friends for 37 years! Imagine our conversations after all these years, first as young wives, mothers, grandmothers and now as elders conscientiously seeking our place in the scheme of things. Such a friendship nourishes and sustains me on my journey. Our children are friends as are our grandchildren. How very special. Thanks for your friendship, Cindy. Here's to many more years of memories and helping each other grow.

Our favorite get away spot in Perkins Cove, Maine.

As is this, tranquil and lovely on this quintessential summer, Maine day.

Speaking of Maine, my favorite lighthouse in my favorite park to run, walk, beach and hang out in - Portland Head Light in Fort Williams Park, Cape Elizabeth. It's 90 acres of beauty across the street from where I used to live.

Also in Cape Elizabeth is the Lobster Shack serving the best lobster rolls ever made in the most glorious setting imaginable on wooden picnic tables surrounded by rocks and ocean. Everyone gets mesmerized.

I visit there with my favorite diva, good friend, great shopping companion and hostess extraordinaire, Margaret and her husband, Malcolm. They opened a whole new world in introducing me to opera when I lived across the street from them. I've seen them perform professionally numerous times including in Dusseldorf, Germany last year. A great example of friends who enrich my life.

Everyones mood is lightened in such a setting, where we get back to the basics of family, friends and sharing food. My daughter and the grands got the giggles while trying to cuddle on a chair made of stone.

Here's the best symbol of the love around my niece's wedding in Florida - the cupcakes! See how each one has a different, personal decoration meant to be meaningful to the loving couple. It was remarkable to watch each be decorated with such attention, care and love.

I love watching friendships develop at our family gatherings, first among my daughter and nieces, and also among my grandchildren and their cousins. Somehow I see this as a shoring up for them against life's vicissitudes. A strengthening of this singularly important ability, the ability to form lasting friendships.

To say nothing of having all those aunties are in your corner, loving, supporting and cheering you on.

Cheering all accomplishments, including my great- nephew, who is on the autistic spectrum, learning to ride a bike by himself, without training wheels, while we were together. Was he proud of himself! Were we proud of him! Way to go, TJ!

There's lots to be grateful for. Sometimes it's good to review the photos and the memories and actually count those blessings. It's a long list...

What's top on your gratitude list?

Only in Italy!

2011-08-22T15:48:00.002+02:00

We had a10K race in our town (Cittá Sant'Angelo) last evening, the first annual "Trophy of the Angels" race. A few background facts will be helpful to understand the ambitiousness of this race. Firstly, we've been having a heatwave lately so last evening at 6:30 it was 86 degrees (30 Celsius). Secondly, my town is at the top of a very steep hill which means most of the surrounding terrain is also hilly. Thirdly, I have never run a race in Italy up to now, only in the USA. And lastly, I didn't know about this race until shortly before it occurred.

Anyway, I was asked to participate by some neighbors at our local street festa three days ago. They've seen me running around town regularly and wanted someone to represent our neighborhood. "Sure" I said before I knew the race route or race particulars and figuring it was a little race for our town. Although the distance listed was 10K (6.2 miles), one of the organizers said it was only 9K (5.59 miles). Okay, that was my fist inkling that races in Italy are different. Also, it was difficult to get a consistent answer to the start time and I kept receiving a time range- "Between 7 and 7:30". Second inkling.

But off I went to the town last evening about 5:45 to be sure I had time to register and learn the route as well as the start time. In one of my many language misunderstandings, the registrar mentioned "il parco" to me and off I went to the park but found nothing was happening there. Hmmm. Turns out that each runner who finished the race received "il pacco" (Hey, I'm from Boston where we don't pronounce our "R's"!). More about "the parcel" later.

This was no little town run! There were 185 runners (33 women) and most were in teams or running clubs. They looked like serious runners. I was one of the few "solo" runners registering at the last minute. But I knew I was in trouble when I heard the route! The first half was down hill which, of course, meant the entire second half of the race was up the aforementioned ~~ridiculously~~ steep hills. I do my shorter twice weekly runs around our town but my long run on the weekend is by the sea on a nice, wide, ~~beautifully~~ flat sidewalk. [Note to self: new mantra: hills are beautiful!] Re: the start time, I kept getting the same answer- between 7 and 7:30. I stayed closeby. Good thing- the race started at 6:35! Third inkling.

Nonetheless, off we went to the starting gun and the front runners were fast! I quickly became what I thought was the last runner, but since my goal was just to finish, I didn't mind. For most of the race I could at least see the two women who were ahead of me. I did become disconcerted, however, when the ambulance drove the whole race behind my left shoulder! Were they worried about me? I was worried too, would I really be able to make it? Did I mention that the hills were unrelentingly STEEP?

Well, I finished. And I wasn't last since there were two women way behind me. And even though I was third from the last, I was first for my age group. That's because I was the only woman over 65 running! I finished in 1:04:04. A respectable time considering the challenges. In announcing the winners of the various age groups and awarding prizes, they brought me up on stage for first in the 65 and over group but had no prize since they clearly weren't expecting anyone in that category! I truly didn't care though - the high point for me was receiving the applause of six of my neighbors who came to cheer me on.

Back to "il pacco." I went and received the parcel for finishers and our reward? Inkling number four: a bottle of red wine and a package of pasta. Only in Italy!

What is it that you love about where you live?

Doing What's Right

2011-08-20T20:17:00.002+02:00

"A thing is right when it tends to preserve the integrity, stability and beauty of the biotic community. It is wrong when it tends otherwise." - Aldo Leopold

A simple criteria, not easy but simple.

Some recent photos that show simple ways to preserve the integrity, stability and beauty of the biotic community:

And two new additions of cousin love and cousin love writ large because isn't love what's it's all about?!

What's important to you these days?

Lots Can Happen in a month

2011-08-15T19:23:00.000+02:00

It's a month since my last post and it was a month full of travel and celebrations. Returning to Maine where I lived for 5 1/2 years, I met up with friends, including a couple I've been friends with for 37 years. My daughter and the grands met me there and I basked in the incomparable luxury of time together.

We celebrated my father's 95th birthday in Boston. Dad is 95 but healthy, mentally sharp and still dancing! He's my aging mentor. He's also the one who taught me about the importance of nutritious food and exercise, and this was before that came to the national consciousness. I was the only school kid in the 1950's with whole wheat, pumpernickel or rye instead of white bread, which he wouldn't let in the house. I was also the kid with no added sugar on anything, drinking non-fat milk and walking my little legs off regularly. Guess he was right all along.

He was recognized with proclamations from President Obama, the Massachusetts Governor, his city's Mayor, Senator Kerry, the Boston Fire Department (35 year career) and the US Army for service in WW II. My brother wasn't able to confirm that Dad is the oldest living Boston Fire Fighter, but he might be. His sister and some cousins I hadn't seen in years as well as all six great-grandchildren were there to add to the fun. Good food, music and non-stop gabbing rounded out the party and made it such a joyous day.

Happy birthday, Dad. Keep dancing!

Next was another birthday. My grandson turned 9 and had a big party in Florida. His requests? Ice cream cake, Nerf Guns, pizza and a movie. We got it all in during our 3 1/2 weeks together and more besides. He's a great kid, tender with his younger sister (mostly!), and surprisingly aware of and gentle to the two new babies added to our family's grandchildren generation. He's becoming skilled in games he has downloaded to my iPad and took advantage of wi-fi access that he doesn't have in his rain forest home to get even better.

I love seeing the four "older" cousins (9, 8, 6 1/2, 5 1/2) grow their friendships with one another in these yearly visits despite living so far apart. The two little ones met their cousins this year and the two year old played in the pool with the older ones to her heart's content. The five month old just sat like Budha and received kisses and hugs galore.

Happy birthday, sweet boy.

Love was in the air for the next event intoxicating all within its reach. In a simple and beautiful ceremony, my niece pledged her love to the woman who will be her life partner. They received the good wishes and blessings of their families and just floated around in their love bubble for the week. Blending the two families in this relaxed setting proved to be delightfully easy. We kicked up our heels, talked and enjoyed one another's company as if we had been friends for years. Left me wanting more. I like that feeling and was grateful to my sister-in-law for opening her large, warm home and pool deck to us all. Her hospitality and generosity made it possible. She's my teacher.

Congratulations, Dear Ones.

Our eighth annual Gathering of the young women in our family happened next since everyone was in town for the wedding. I'll write more about this extraordinary event since it lives in my heart as my most important contribution to the well being of my family, my daughter, my grandchildren, my amazing nieces and my beloved sister-in-law.

We celebrate something each year and this year it was our challenges. Sharing them with each other lightened the load of carrying them and inspired admiration for the way each is managing theirs. The common, humbling theme ended up being how to discover who we are and what we're meant to do at all our various life stages. Deeper closeness and friendships follow as we walk this sacred path together. I love these women! I'm so grateful for them in my life.

As if all that wasn't enough, the day after we returned to Italy my husband and I celebrated our 38th anniversary. Bless John's heart, he actually got up on the 11th, looked at me and said: "You really don't know what day today is, do you?". "Oh, is it our anniversary?" said I figuring it had to be something big and it's August so it must be our anniversary. There were just too many places, events and people for the month and I lost track! So we had a very low key celebration of the incredible great grace that is our relationship. He made a lovely salmon meal and we ate on our balcony in the balmy weather of summer in our little corner of the world.

I love life with this sweet man who still makes me laugh out loud. Happy anniversary, my Love.

My heart is full. I'm glad to be home to savor all that has happened. I missed my blog friends and look forward to catching up.

Act with Beauty and Courage

2011-07-16T16:42:00.004+02:00

Let us not forget the ancient myths at the outset of humanity's journey, the myths about dragons that at the last moment transform into princesses. Perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act just once with beauty and courage. Perhaps every terror is, in its deepest essence, something that needs our recognition or help.

Borgeby gärd, Sweden, August 12, 1904

Letters to a Young Poet
Rilke

in The Luxembourg Garden

Excerpt taken from: A Year With Rilke, a wonderful blog by Lorenzo and Ruth, in their July 11 post on Transforming Dragons. Check it out. You'll be glad you did.

Final Favorite Photos of Rome

2011-07-14T18:12:00.000+02:00

It's had to describe the richness that is Rome given its history, architecture and art but here are some of my favorite snapshots of my last visit offered with the exhortation to add it to your "bucket list" if you haven't already.

First of all, you have to love a city that has such beautiful ticket stubs!

Piazza Navona is a magnificent square, one of Rome's showpieces with three fountains and artists' stalls everywhere. It's a great place to sit and people- watch and soak up the vibrant energy and atmosphere.

Here's one of the sculptures in Piazza Navona that's considered a "lesser" fountain to Bernini's marvelous central fountain, the Fountain of the Four Rivers. This is the Fountain of Neptune.

And finally, the church of Sant'Agnese in Agone with the Brazilian Embassy next to it in the same piazza.

The Trevi Fountain with its marvelous sculpture is considered the most beautiful of Italy's many fountains.

I like the whole shabby chic vibe going on here.

The Pantheon is one of the best preserved ancient buildings not just in Italy but in Europe. It's largely unchanged in almost 2000 years and where I found that statue of St. Anne (2 posts ago) that I love so much. It was originally a temple devoted to all the gods and later converted into a Catholic church in AD608.

Just one of the details inside are these gorgeous columns and the various kinds of marble used.

Speaking of columns, I like this sculptural staircase in the Palazzo Barberini which houses the National Gallery of Antique Art.

More columns outside the Palazzo framing it's fountain.

Art can be from the ~~over-the-top unbelievable~~ very ornate school of art like this church ceiling (not even one of the major churches),

to the more ~~whacky~~ down to earth school of art, the gargoyles in hidden places all over the city. This is my favorite and I named her the grandmother gargoyle. Haven't you had days where you felt like this?

Shall we give her a name, too?

The "Little Tibet" of Italy and Spaghetti Westerns

2011-07-12T17:00:00.003+02:00

What do Spaghetti Westerns have to do with Campo Imperatore, sometimes called the "little Tibet" of Italy? That question was answered yesterday on the way to hike in this stunning area with my husband and friends. Campo Imperatore is a large plateau 4921 feet above sea level, 18.6 miles long and 6.2 miles wide and overlooked by the tallest peak in the Apennine Mountains and located in the Gran Sasso National Park.

Turns out that some of the Spaghetti Westerns, so-called in the US (called Italian Westerns in Italy), were filmed here. I could just imagine it as we drove along. Miles and miles of open, uninterrupted land with hills and mountains in the distance. I pictured the cowboys on their horses galloping freely and doing all those things that cowboys do. I imagined the delight of the directors in finding this gem of a location which looks like the old wild west of the US. As if to oblige my musings, we even saw some horses grazing along the way.

But, back to the Italian Westerns; they were a sub-genre of Western films dating from the mid-1960's. Sergio Leone was probably the most famous of the Italian directors and among the best known of his films were: "A Fistful of Dollars", "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly", and "Once Upon a Time in the West". Ironically, they were originally released in Italian by a man who spoke no English and had never visited the US, but nonetheless redefined the image of the cowboy. They further expanded to include other directors in Italy and Europe and were then called European Westerns. Over 600 European Westerns were made between 1960-1980.

We had our first glimpse of Corno Grande, the highest peak (9500 feet) in the Gran Sasso Range of the Apennine Mountains, as we turned a corner near our hike destination in Campo Imperatore:

The rewards for hiking up to 7800, besides the exhilaration of good physical exertion on an absolutely crystal clear, 74 degree day, were these views:

Corno Picolo:

Corno Grande:

Flags of Italy and the European Union put up on top by the Club Alpino Italiano:

A happy hiker at the top:

What is exhilarating you this summer?

A Grandmother in Rome

2011-07-07T16:27:00.001+02:00

While visiting the Pantheon I came across this statue of St. Anne with her young daughter, Mary, who later gave birth to Jesus. The statue with all the pomp and circumstance of this church (as it is now) and the myriad religious doctrines surrounding Anne and Mary, portrays an ordinary and affectionate scene. I found it compelling and it struck me not from a religious point of view but from a grandmother's point of view. Anne became the grandmother of Jesus. I'd never thought of her that way before.

It got me thinking that behind even the holiest or most famous person is a grandmother or two. A grandmother who wants what is best for her grandchild, who cooks for and cuddles that grandchild, plays with, reads to, teaches, laughs with and encourages that grandchild, thinks that her grandchild has rare abilities and gifts and can become a great and important person. Hopes, at least, for her grandchild's full unfolding as a person. We know how her grandson turned out, his pivotal role in history, his enormous influence through the ages. We can only speculate about her role in the early life of Jesus since she isn't mentioned in the gospels and was already older when she had Mary. She was at the very least the model of mothering for Mary.

I spent more time with this obscure statue than any of the better known others since it seemed so personal and spoke to me of my unique and important role in the lives of my grandchildren. Like Anne in the statue, I'm unaware of my grandchildren's future. They will walk their own paths in response to their own callings. But I love their mother and father, love them and stay involved in their lives telling them stories of their ancestors, cheering them on and believing in their possibilities. Just like St. Anne.

Who's inspiring you these days?

A Neighborhood in Rome

2011-07-04T12:10:00.006+02:00

This week my husband and I swapped homes with friends in Rome. They're at our house with access to the beach and National Parks and we're in the middle of Rome able to walk to sights we want to see. But what I wanted to tell you about is Monti, the neighborhood in Rome where we're staying. Not the tourist spots, although they're all around, but a neighborhood where folks live, work, shop, eat and hang out. This neighborhood, between Via Nationale and Via Cavour, and our street, running between the Colosseum and the Quirinale. It's tucked in among major tourist attractions which we've taken advantage of, but we've been especially exploring and enjoying this neighborhood.

There are small local eateries with tables inside and outside serving delicious local dishes.

Little stores and markets abound (rather than souvenir shops) to pick up necessities: the Alimentari for fruits, vegetables and drinks, the specialty market for meats, cheeses, breads and all kinds of typical Italian foods, the Forno for focacia pizza and the best fresh baked breads, many caffés but one with Rome's best coffee and, of course, many gelaterias but one with the best gelato in the neighborhood.

Some of their breads.

Best coffee in Rome at Caffé Brasile.

One of four cases of home made gelato with unusual flavors (like lemon and basil) and each decorated.

The casalinghi with truly a little bit of everything. I found somethings I needed - with so many choices it's hard to miss. Is this place a trip or what?

Our local church, Church of the Madonna dei Monti, built in the 16th century.

Many streets have an outdoor shrine and this is the one on ours. The lights in the halo light up and someone keeps the flowers fresh.

At the very end of the street is the Colosseum which is amazing to look up and see while out strolling around.

The apartment buildings have such lovely colors.

With some quaint touches on some. See the grapes? Right in the middle of Rome!

And hanging vines, a final delight right around the corner.

My camera ran out of battery power before I could get a photo of our local piazza, the Piazza della Madonna dei Monti, but it's always filled with people, mostly locals, sitting, chatting, visiting, eating and playing. The energy is evident and contagious. What a great way to vacation.

Happy Fourth of July. Hope your vacation surprises and delights you too.

The Luxembourg Gardens

2011-06-30T21:58:00.001+02:00

The Luxembourg Gardens in Paris proved delightful on one of my days in Paris. It's the second largest park in Paris and, on a sunny summer day, it was crowded with people of all ages luxuriating in this gorgeous outdoor space. I thought I would take a walk in a nice park but ended up spending all day in this unique and wonderful place.

The original palace is still there setting the stage. It now houses the French Senate and this is their garden that they generously share with the public.

The pond and fountain in front.

Flowers are everywhere, every color imaginable and bordering all the lawns.

One of the things that impressed me were the amazing statues and sculptures in lovely settings all through the gardens. Benches and chairs were plentiful providing comfortable seats to rest and enjoy.

The close up on this one shows the natural surroundings that enhance all the statues.

This one, embedded in the rocks and plantings, looks so real, like a man being born.

This one is of a couple enjoying their baby in a tender family moment.

These children and their mother are also caught in that spontaneous moment of joy. I love the various pinks in the flowers.

A tribute to Chopin tucked in a wooded grove.

I couldn't find who this was but it looked like Bacchus reveling.

I noticed young children stopping and looking at the many sculptures in between playing their games on the lawns. It's all part of their environment- historical buildings, amazing art, natural beauty, open spaces carefully tended that incorporate it all and is available to them. It's a lovely legacy.

Cemetery of Montparnasse

2011-06-27T15:34:00.000+02:00

One day in Paris while strolling near my hotel, I unexpectedly came across the Montparnasse Cemetery with its many famous residents- writers, sculptors, architects, painters, composers, doctors, historians, comedians, musicians and more.

Jean Paul Sartre, the philosopher, and Simone de Beauvoir, the writer and Sartre's lover, buried together, for instance. Their grave is visited by young couples who kiss the tombstone at the same time for luck in love. Look closely and you'll see the lipstick imprints near their names as well as little mementos left by visitors.

Samuel Beckett, the writer, also receives tiny mementos, even notes. One read: "Still waiting?" and another: "I was here. Godot".

Charles Beaudelaire, the poet, is there as is Porfirio Diaz, a past president of Mexico.

There are so many untold stories in any cemetery and this one was no exception. The stories are hinted at in word or sculpture, by fresh flowers or signs of obvious care. One little girl's grave, with a child dropping a flower onto the grave, had a verse carved into it that ends: "The flower of your memory". My French isn't good enough to translate the rest. Even the juxtaposition of this young one frozen in time in 1817 now silhouetted by a modern skyscraper speaks to the finality of death.

Another grave documented a family killed in Auschwitz-Birkenau with only the mother surviving for another 14 years and the daughter or son who memorialized them all.

With the number of sculptors buried here, their various depictions of grief were remarkable and conveyed their powerful, poignant message.

Or some of the other headstone sculptures that told their own stories.

The couple separated and searching for one another.

The grandchild clambering for his grandfather.

Or this striking portrayal of palpable sadness.

This statue stands in the center of the cemetery with the word "souvenir" on it exhorting us
"to remember".

I spent a long time in this lovely place meditating on my ultimately short journey on planet earth and struck by the stories shared by my fellow travelers.

What's on your mind as the week starts?

Wordless Wednesday in Paris

2011-06-22T01:32:00.002+02:00

Sights on day one:

Traveling around Europe with my Honey is one of the things I like best about retirement.

What's delighting you?

The Majestic Plastic Bag - A Mockumentary

2011-06-20T08:17:00.001+02:00

From: Body Intelligence (by Rumi)

2011-06-17T23:13:00.001+02:00

There are guides

who can show you the way.

Use them.

But they will not satisfy your longing.

Keep wanting the connection with presence

with all your pulsing energy.

The throbbing vein

will take you further

than any thinking.

Muhammed said, Do not theorize

about essence. All speculations

are just more layers of covering.

Human beings love coverings.

They think the designs on the curtains

are what is being concealed.

Observe the wonders as they occur around you.

Do not claim them. Feel the artistry

moving through, and be silent.

Rumi

What's Happening

2011-06-15T20:37:00.007+02:00

The begonias are pert and sassy strutting their beauty along my balcony railing.

The hot peppers are flourishing as well growing long, full and spicy. Yet they hide.

How many can you find?

I'm eating olives every day from my province of Abruzzo. I never knew olives could taste so fresh. They still carry stories of their tree life and they feed them to me.

The doors are always open now. The colors of new couch cushions' flowers make me smile. Six different coleus plants sit on every available surface with changing colors

to surprise me and keep me alert.

I sleep on summer bright sheets that even brighten my dreams

while the pillow from Antigua makes them hotter.

The days are fine enough to melt mountain snow that tries to hold on. A message?

What's happening in your little corner of the world?

Writers' Week in Ireland

2011-06-13T23:41:00.001+02:00

Here's what I like about the Irish: they're in a full blown economic meltdown and they throw a writers' festival and then flock to it. A whole week to celebrate good writers, good books, good poetry. And this is just one of many across Ireland. I love it. I stumbled on this literary happening on the first day I arrived in County Clare. I was graciously picked up at the airport and on our way to the house, we passed through Listowel towards the end of Writers' Week.

This is the Country of such great writers as James Joyce, Thomas Moore, Jonathan Swift, Oscar Wilde, G.B. Shaw, W.B. Yeats, Bram Stoker and Samuel Beckett, just to name a few. Ireland boasts four winners of the Nobel Prize for Literature: Yeats, Shaw, Beckett and Heaney. During Writers' Week, the Kerry Group Irish Fiction Award is given. There were five short- listed novels for this prize featured in the bookstore with readings and workshops by the authors.

As you can see from the sign, they also have a Seanchai Centre (pronounced shawnakee), named after the traditional Irish lore keepers and tale spinners. It's an ancient form of story telling and passing on lore that was never written down from generation to generation by these custodians of Irish oral tradition. The seanchai were respected, even revered, practitioners who kept track of important information and wisdom then shared it in such a way that it was remembered and cherished down the ages.

I understand why the Irish came to love words and eventually writing those words to tell stories in whole new ways. I understand why welcome signs, fáilte in Irish, are flown for those who want to partake in this tradition. I understand why so many do; to feel this respect, this reverence, this love for the words that help us communicate with one another in ways that touch hearts and change minds. It's a worthy endeavor to improve such a craft. It deserves festivals galore no matter what the economic realities are. Economics will change, our efforts to reach each other remains.

The Kerry Literary and Cultural Centre is named after these, our (yours and mine) fore bearers.

One of the sign posts pointed me to the statue of Bryan McMahon, a favorite son of this town, a writer and a poet who also ran a local bookshop. I picked up his book: The Master and read it while in Ireland. I highly recommend it for the glimpse it gives of Irish country life through the eyes of the school principal who taught the children of the town for 30 years. He instilled in them a love for reading and writing and helped inspire an amazing number of authors and poets in this Kerry area. His views on teaching and awakening the gifts in each child are remarkable given how long ago he taught. I found it to be a treasure.

It was a rare, sunny, warm day in Ireland and I strolled the river walk suggested above. People were stretched out reading, writing, chatting with one another. Made me proud to be part of this grand tradition. These are my people. Writers are my tribe.

An Irish Wake

2011-06-11T19:45:00.000+02:00

Since the relatives that I was visiting in Ireland live in County Clare, a country area, the custom of a home wake still prevails. It was the wife's brother who died unexpectedly at age 64 while I was there. Since many of you asked, I would like to share about this wonderful custom.

The wake is a grand send-off for the loved one who has died, a time when the body of the deceased rests in the family home with family and close friends keeping vigil through the days and nights before the burial. It ends when the body is taken from the home for the last time and moved to the local Church for the funeral. People come from near and far to take part in celebrating the life of the departed and providing comfort to the family. There's laughter as people tell their favorite stories and share their best memories. There are tears for the loss of a family, friend or community member or in sorrow for those left behind.

The deceased is dressed in their best clothes, taken home, surrounded by candles, never left alone, remembered, celebrated and cherished. Food is dropped off by neighbors and friends for those who gather. Family, friends, relatives, neighbors and acquaintances come, offer their condolences, sit together, eat, drink and talk together. Music is played, the mirrors in the house are covered and the clocks are stopped at the time of the death. Close friends and neighbors volunteer to fix food and clean up in the kitchen, care for children if needed or run errands. The family is supported, the deceased is honored, it's done in company.

It seems like such a good way to grieve.

Loss

2011-06-08T14:29:00.000+02:00

Pema Chodron:
"When you open yourself to the continually changing, impermanent, dying nature of your own being and of reality, you increase your capacity to love and care about other people and your capacity to not be afraid."

This trip to Ireland has turned into something very different than how it was planned. I'm staying with my husband's cousins who have become good friends over the 13 years since we met them. There has been an unexpected death in the family throwing every day life up in the air, the way death does. Thoughts and feelings are swirling, tears and stories are shared. I'm learning more family history. A home wake, the custom here in Count Clare, will be tomorrow and I'll attend. I'm letting it all in, being present, helping where possible. It's all I can do for now.

Locally Grown - Making a Difference

2011-06-02T15:47:00.003+02:00

‎"If every U.S. citizen ate just one meal a week composed of locally and organically raised meats and produce, we would reduce our country’s oil consumption by over 1.1 million barrels of oil every week. Small changes in buying habits can make big differences. Becoming a less energy-dependent nation may just need to start with a good breakfast.”

— Steven L. Hopf in Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver

I highly recommend this wonderful book by one of my favorite authors. Kingsolver's husband and daughter also contribute chapters on this internationally important topic.

I'm headed to Ireland tomorrow for a week and may not have access to computers while there. If I don't, I'll catch you later!

Roses in the Vineyards

2011-05-31T21:52:00.001+02:00

This past weekend, in our little corner of the world, we had "Cantine Aperte" or Open Wineries to enjoy. About 40 wineries in our province of Abruzzo opened their doors for folks to come and sample their wines, their food and their hospitality. I went with my husband and some friends to see our beautiful countryside on glorious, clear, warm days and get to know the wines in our region better.

Many of these wineries are family owned and handed father to son or daughter down the generations. Wines were shared proudly and information was given so that we could appreciate the subtleties we might miss otherwise. This grandfather, in business with his two daughters, posed with obvious pride with his granddaughter who gave us the tour of their winery and has decided to pursue their business as well. She was a delight.

They had items showcasing their hands - on approach to wine making and aging in bottles rather than casks. Their label is added at the end by the 80 year old grandmother who first decants the wine to another bottle to eliminate any sediment. Now that's a family affair. I thought about how wonderful it is to have a business that the next generation can get excited about and work alongside elders while developing their own passion and expertise.

One of the things I noticed as we went from winery to winery were the roses planted either at the end of each row of grapevines or, at least, in the vicinity. Do you know why these roses are planted in or near vineyards? It turns out that roses are susceptible, but more so, to the same type of fungus (powdery mildew and downy mildew) as the grapevines. If the roses show signs of disease, the vines are quickly treated (with sulfur or copper sulphate) lest they become infected, too. An elegant early warning system. Roses also attract beneficial insects that prey upon the insects that are harmful to the grapevines. Plus, of course, they're beautiful in their own right.

The soil and grapevines are monitored scientifically, nowadays, making the roses probably unnecessary and there are some who say that this tradition is based on a myth. But the tradition persists in some vineyards and certainly adds an extra touch of beauty. What a lovely tradition.

What a lovely weekend.

Sun Tea with Mint

2011-05-30T21:33:00.001+02:00

To continue under the category of simple pleasures, I've been brewing sun tea in jars and adding fresh mint to it.

It's easy: fill the jar with cold water and add tea of your choice. I make mine with 5 black tea bags, 3 fruit tea bags and a good handful of fresh cut mint. My husband uses 6 green tea bags, 2 fruit tea bags and a handful of mint.

Then, simply sit it in the sun for a couple to a few hours.

Next, remove all the bags and mint (they can go into the compost) and refrigerate.

To serve, add a slice of lemon, a sprig of mint, some sugar or honey, or nothing at all. It's a delicious and refreshing drink for spring and summer. Enjoy!

Do you have any favorite variations?

A Simple Pleasure

2011-05-28T13:03:00.001+02:00

My variation on caprese panini:

To the usual fresh mozzarella, fresh, sweet, juicy tomatoes and fresh basil (middle shelf),

add fresh arugula liberally on open faced Italian bread lightly toasted and drizzled with olive oil:

Then, simply enjoy. Follow with fresh cherries (it's cherry season here):

Ahh, life's simple pleasures.

What's pleasurable in your life these days?

My Top Twenty from Two Years in Italy

2011-05-25T14:01:00.003+02:00

Two years ago I moved to Italy with my Honey. My life has changed in both subtle and dramatic ways as a result. It has been a grand adventure.

The top 20 things I've learned:

1. Making friends is the glue that holds life together and international friends are fun.

2. To think globally rather than nationally is not just a good idea, it's vital.

3. Italy challenges me in every way possible. If I don't understand, I need to dig deeper. Still don't understand, dig deeper. Give up my preconceptions - see in a new way. Learn a new language to make understanding possible.

4. Learning a new language for the first time in my 60's is difficult. Finding a good teacher makes it possible. Finding a kind and encouraging one is golden. Thank you, Marcello.

5. Clothes can be dried outside without a clothes dryer and smell better, too.

6. Fresh, locally grown food tastes better, costs less and is better for me and the planet.

7. Bidets are great sinks for 4 year olds.

8. Growing basil, rosemary, hot peppers, celery, chive, mint, parsley, oregano and arugula on my balcony tastes better, saves money and is better for me and the planet.

9. Growing lavender helps the beleaguered honey bees, smells good and gives me fresh potpourri.

10. Natural rising is one of life's great pleasures.

11. Discovering more about my natural rhythms and having more relaxed time makes for better sex in my 60's. Afternoon delights are just that.

12. Good neighbors are a gift of pure grace.

13. Italy delights me in every way possible- the people, the food, the national parks, the sea and mountains, Rome, Venice, Assisi, Florence, Sienna, Sardinia, the sweep of history, the ancient architecture, the amazing art and so much more...

14. Locally grown wines from our region of Abruzzo - Montepulciano (red) and Trebiano (white), are delicious.

15. Fresh, local olive oil is surely a gift from the goddess.

16. A good woman's club is a great way to integrate into an area.

17. Having easy access to Europe for travel to Ireland, France, Germany, Switzerland, and The Netherlands (so far) is a wonderful way to expand my mind, deepen my understanding, and bond me to fellow travelers on this journey of ours.

18. Exposing grandchildren to all this expands their world and minds as well.

19. Running three times a week keeps me healthy and lets me eat more of this uniquely scrumptious food while maintaining my weight.

20. Blogging keeps me more aware of the blessings I have. It forces me to put this journey into words and share it. For the responses I have received and the relationships I have developed, I am truly grateful.

The Gift of Kindness

2011-05-22T15:19:00.002+02:00

Kindness, I've discovered, is everything in life.

Isaac Bashevis Singer

Today, in small separate acts of kindness, two of our neighbors came to our door with sweet gifts. Some beautiful white iris and delicious red wine. One to nourish the body, both to nourish the spirit. Kindness gives pleasure and connects us gracefully one to another. I'm grateful for these friends, their gifts and this reminder.

Vestals

2011-05-20T09:17:00.002+02:00

Have you ever been in an area with an energy that is palpable if inexplicable? While touring the Palatine Hill on a recent visit to Rome I came across ruins of the Vestals or Vestal Virgins of ancient Rome and had that experience. I knew nothing of these women but felt their presence, like echos calling me. I spent time among their remnants and then decided to learn more about them.

In ancient Rome, Vesta was the goddess of the hearth and home and the Vestals were the priestesses of Vesta. They tended the sacred fire inside the Temple of Vesta that was never allowed to go out and from which all Romans could draw fire for their hearths. They existed from about 700 BC to 394 AD "to devote themselves to the study and correct observance of state rituals that were off- limits to the male college of priests." (Wikipedia) Besides conducting sacred ceremonies, they were included in state decision making and became an influential force in Rome even serving on College of Pontiffs, made up of the highest ranking priests, as their only female members.

The girls were chosen for this role between the ages of 6 - 10 and served for 30 years; ten years to learn, ten years to serve, and ten years to teach. Unlike Roman women of their time, they had extraordinary freedom, safety and respect and lived independently in luxury. They enjoyed a place of honor at public ceremonies and were free to own property, make a will and vote. Vestals could give evidence without taking an oath because their word was trusted absolutely. Although they were allowed to marry after their 30 years, few did as they would lose their status and independence and be subject to their husbands.

Artist rendering of the house of the Vestals (from Wikipedia):

As Christianity gained prominence and promoted the idea of one, as opposed to many gods, the Vestals were disbanded. There role in protecting Rome for 1000 years and being seen as fundamental to the continuance of Rome was over.

There's something about reading of women in history who had unique and essential roles and respect that breaks my heart when they lose it. Reading The Mists of Avalon was like that for me, too. Maybe that's what I experienced in this place of the Vestals history. This trace of their energy now gone. I felt it. I grieve this lack of recognition of the feminine contribution in our current culture. How long will it take? How many girls and women silenced or ignored when their voices are so important?