How a Woman Living in Italy Lands in the Storm of the Century in the States

It was just a two week vacation with my Honey to see family and friends in the states ending with my niece's wedding in Ohio. Our departure date, though, coincided with hurricane Sandy, which morphed into superstorm Sandy, smashing the east coast, including our port of exit, Boston. Which means that I'm writing this from an airport hotel in Columbus, Ohio after our flights were cancelled and rescheduled for two days from now providing Boston's Logan Airport is up and running by then. Our flights were among about 11,000 flights that were cancelled. Do you know how many other travelers were attempting to change to alternate routes to miss the 1,000 mile wide storm? Too many, as it turns out.

All other family members made it out (most driving) so I have a stretch of two days to catch up with all the things I've neglected while devoting myself whole- heartedly to visiting. I want to figure out a way to blog and travel/visit at the same time. I miss my blogosphere friends when I'm gone. The TV coverage of the storm is enough to scare the wits out of any watcher that has family or friends in harm's way. Columbus is on the outer edge of this massive storm and still we have rain, cold, winds and emergency contingencies at the ready, but it's the population dense east coast that is feeling the brunt of it. Heart- felt prayers to them.

My Honey started with a cold last night and felt it full- fledged today so he's in bed and I'm out doing email, facebook, blogging, reading, organizing my vacation photos and using the fitness center since I can't go outdoors. With no distractions, it's rather enjoyable. Another advantage of retirement- the ability to roll with what is. I've even played Words-With-Friends real time with my daughter and a friend, got myself caught up with DragonVale as well and made myself some new (young) friends along the way to share DV gems and strategies with. What a fun game with ever- evolving features to keep loyalists like me happy.

Fall in New England, celebrating my father's 96th birthday, seeing friends from where I used to live in Maine, touching base and catching up with old, dear friends, conducting our 9th annual gathering of the women in my family, alone time (four days!) for the first time in ten years to talk with my daughter, and attending my youngest brother's youngest daughter's wedding stand as high points of the trip up to this latest experience of nature's power shared by many millions of my Country people. It's been a rich vacation.

Advice to My Father

What advice could I give you after all? You
who called my mother 'bride'. 'My bride'. Always.
And swirled her around the dance floor of whatever
ballroom you two found. God, how you loved to dance.

You told me after she died (I never told you I thought you
would die first) that you didn't want to live alone and would look
for another although there could be no other, no other bride of 52 years.
I didn't know if you would survive her loss, you who never even made a

sandwich. My mother devoted her life to you, to care of you. Always. And she
told me that was the way of marriage, but had that certain look in her eye that told
me the deeper truth, the one I really held to (I never told you I think she wanted me to
hold onto that deeper truth). So you survived, thrived really, and went off into your next

life. You found another just as devoted to you. How did you do that at 85? Who tells me she
takes care of you. Proud. Tells me this is the way of marriage, but lacks that look in her eye, believes that and holds no deeper truth. God, how you love to dance. Another who
loves to dance and care for you, and devote her life to you (I never told you

I wanted my mother to live, grieved when she died and longed to have
her here longer,to see me know her deeper truth, and her grand-
daughter know her deeper truth, and see her great grands,
and ask about them, about everything they do, know,

learn and want and, well, never mind). You can really
pick them, at any age. I mean that. What advice can
I give such a man? It's just that I miss my mother,
your bride, with a longing that takes my breath

away still. Even as I write this I can't breathe,
I cry for her, and I don't know how to
tell you that, much less give you advice.
I'm not the one to give you advice.
I'm still back there missing her.



This was in response to a post by Chris Galford over at dVerse Poets Pub entitled: Pretzels and Bullfights: Advice to an Old Man and is offered  for Open Link Night hosted by Hedgewitch (Joy Ann Jones) one of my favorite poets in our blogosphere.