Why?

Yesterday started out in pouring rain.  Buckets fell from the sky.  It was a state holiday here, Patriot's Day.  It was the annual running of the Boston Marathon, a day that has, since 1897, been significant and celebrated. Since 2013, the date has been remembered not only as one of victory and, but for tragedy and horror as the work of two extremists took the lives of four and changed the lives of scores of others who innocently waited at the finish line that day in April. The sun finally did come out and Boston was bathed in the glow as runners completed the course and the Red Sox played at Fenway Park. Victories and submissions to weaknesses, under the same sky.

The day ended with another story.  The Marathon and the Red Sox game faded rapidly into the background as news came, first about a "fire" in one of the world's most iconic places, the Cathedral of Notre Dame, in Paris.  As the minutes and then hours passed, what we thought might be a small fire, easily extinguished, became reports of a huge conflagration, a fire that was out of control and one that was changing history forever.  We watched as Paris burned.  We watched as the superstar of the Christian world, the most beloved of all monuments to the faith, and the most beautiful structure in all of Paris, if not all the world, became engulfed in flames and taken to her knees.  Eight hundred years, gone in a few hours.

As the newscasters each related the stories to us, we heard about the response of the people who were on the scene, some having just exited the cathedral, some simply walking by.  We heard of groups of those people, praying out loud, asking for God's mercy, begging the mother of God, for whom the cathedral is named, for help.  Please. Please. One group broke out in song, together imploring the Our Lady, to intercede and to stop the horror before it was too late.  Before the unthinkable happened as it did, we are told.  The entire interior was totally destroyed.  We still don't know the extent of the loss of artwork and relics.  One can only imagine.

It's not easy to be a person of faith.  It's increasingly difficult when technology begs for logical explanations to every move we make.  Big brains work hard so that we don't have to.  We point and shoot our way through life.  Rarely do we have to think. It's all done for us and neatly packaged.  The words "faith" and "belief" have been replaced by "solid" and "proven".  If we can't see it, it simply does not exist.  If we think differently, we're foolish and obsolete.  It takes real courage to profess faith and stamina to get through a story of faith in action to an audience of modern minds.  If you don't believe me, try explaining the birth of Christ at your next Thanksgiving dinner.

It's so hard to grasp the concept that God "allowed" this (and so many other tragic events) to happen before our eyes.  Why, you may ask, did he not answer prayers, make it stop, end the fire.  Why this huge and symbolic place?  Why not a little chapel such as the tiny wooden structure that is housed on a sleepy little street in my town or yours? It brings to mind the question I ask over and over, about why some people outlive their brains and go on and on, into their hundreds, when children suffer and die.  Why?  For what purpose?  God at work?

I don't propose to have answers.  I only have a handful of tools.  One of those is my blind faith.  It was a gift that I received on the day I was born and as much as I try to ignore it, I can't.  It is my go-to that gets me through. And today, it is causing me to think it through and to calm down, giving God a break and in my meditations, allowing Him to suggest that maybe there is a message here.  That maybe, the loss of a little chapel might not have been noticed, but this one, this centuries-old, magnificent cathedral would not go un-noticed by anyone.  Look!

Technology?  It's the start of Holy Week.  Think about it.  Outside of the Think Tank.

Headaches

Every morning, I wake up with a headache. It seems the longer I linger in bed, the worse it becomes.  It's what I would describe as a "sinus headache" and it feels like bells are ringing in my brain. I'm not at all concerned because it's nothing new and if it were life-threatening, I would have been long-dead.
The headache has been a constant morning occurrence for many years.  I get up, it slowly leaves me.

No, I don't welcome my headaches and yes, I have tried many things to alleviate whatever problem may be their cause but I have accepted them and have my own theory about their persistence.  You see, I think of my little problem as one caused by my Muse.  It's the Muse who gives me a little push, begging me to get up for the day, telling me that it is time for me to start connecting with my creative world, in the serenity and space that it is my own home.  No gym required for my fitness. No yoga class or spinning class to make me "centered".  It all happens right here, in my den or as the British call it my "snug".

I've learned from friends who are also retired, that they sleep a bit later than do I.  They tell me that they appreciated the fact that there is no job to go to, no time schedule or deadlines and that they treasure this and fill the hours that used to be part of their more frantic lives, with more sleep and the luxury of time under the covers and maybe even coffee in bed.  Amen.  There was a time when I had to run for a train, answer the call of a baby, or prepare a child for the arrival of a school bus and I would have given anything for added time under the covers. That was my "then".

This is my "now".  My own brand of wisdom tells me that I need time for putting pieces of my life into place, for fulfilling a need to be creative and it's that time in the morning that I have come to value so very much.  Head pounding, I wrap myself up in my favorite robe and head directly to my kitchen for that blessed first cup of hot coffee.  Yes, I know, worst thing to hit an empty stomach, coffee!  Too old to change.  My favorite mug in hand, I silently make my way to my special chair and begin my next set of rituals.

Each day, I read from Sarah Ban Breathnach's lovely book, Simple Abundance, A Daybook of Comfort and Joy.  I stared the new year with this book in hand as did thousands of women.  It's a little treasure.  Just one page a day.  Her wisdom guides me as I start the creative flow and open up the chanels.  Words about acceptance, honoring ourselves, making plans for life, directing our energies toward personhood, along with a few prayer cards of my own which I have strategically placed in the pages to remind me of my spiritual needs,  and my mind starts to expand.  As my sinuses drain and my coffee does its magic, I go on to another book.

The Artist's Way Every Day, by Julia Cameron gives my creative life a jump start.  Here again, just a page a day.  Julia guides her readers through a year of creative living and when I am getting stale, I always find inspiration in these pages.This morning,  for instance, I read about the need to become willing to listen to a "still, small voice" that becomes louder.  Our heart's desire becomes more of a reality when we listen.  Were I in a crowded room or even in the company of my husband in the morning's early hours, I may not catch on to words such as these.

Finally, I go on to another little book. This time, I become the author. My little "One Year Wiser,  a Gratitude Journal" is the one that beckons me to sit, think and list.  Fairly quickly, I bang out a few lines, always trying to find at least three things for which I am grateful at that moment. It's when I count my blessings that I truly start to feel creative and at peace with my soul.  Little, stupid stuff like being grateful for the nice man at the grocery store who gave me the penny or the woman at the Post Office who wasn't grouchy as she usually is.  Of course, I do list the big "stuff" as well and the words "friends" and "friendship" show up rather often on the pages.

If time allows, I sit and write into another book or on this blog.  My writing oftentimes is the culmination of all that I may have garnered from my readings that morning.  Writing is a creative process.  It takes a bit of strength, and sometimes, even courage.  I know that every word that I write will not be read by anyone other than myself and when I go back and re-read, I am pleased that I have documented so much and hopeful that one day, my family will take the time and use my words to understand more about me.

So, thank you, my dear Muse Person.  You threw me out of bed again and you sat beside me, quietly, moving me in the direction I should be headed.  I love it that you never speak out loud but you say so much.

Bless my headaches.

You, Me and Letizia

It all started when my lovely friend, Letizia Mattiacci took some time from her busy schedule to meet with me for a coffee on a sunny afternoon in Assisi last November.

Letizia and I have been friends and friends of friends since my first solo stay in Umbria, almost eight years ago. No, we don't jog around the park together and no, we don't stay in constant contact, or at least we hadn't, until that latest meeting.  In lieu of face-to-face contact, a note once in a while, an inquiry and a favor or two, kept us in touch.  Her English is almost perfect and my Italian, not so much, so it has been Leti to whom I have turned when I needed help with an arrangement or a meeting with someone in her town.  She's always been gracious and her calls on my behalf have always been fruitful.

So, I asked...."when are you returning to the States? "
Her last visit was two years ago and a snow storm prevented me from getting to Boston.  My timing was perfect this time.  She told me that she had a trip on the horizon and that she would be visiting Providence, Rhode Island and Boston, Massachusetts, with time in-between each city.  Cooking classes and cookbook dinners were in the planning stages.  Naturally, my reply came easily and without hesitation, I said "then you must come to Cape Cod! We can set up a little cooking class."

This past one was a mild Winter, one that flew by quickly.  My life has been uniquely busy with my father's relocation to a nursing facility and the deconstruction of his life and home.  The months flew by and November became March in a heart beat.  Our home is not large and surely does not have the bells and whistles of an agritourismo perched high on a mountain in Assisi, but we do have a guest room with its own bathroom and in simplicity, we prepared for our guest's arrival. In much the same fashion as planning a wedding, plans for a small class for a handful of good friends turned into a large class at the home of a stranger and several other events which would span three days in between Providence and Boston.

Last Sunday, we ventured out early and made the round-trip to Providence to pick Letizia up from her funky Airbnb accommodation and a week of forecasted cloudy weather became instantly sunny and skies, blue as we crossed the bridge for our guest's first visit to Cape Cod.  Many trips to the U.S. and other parts of the world left room for a first and eventually a food first, the simple show-stopping lobster roll. But that's for another time.

As planned for months in advance, a lovely bunch of local residents gathered at the amazing, I mean AAAAhmazing, waterfront home of a highly gracious woman in Bass River for an Umbrian cooking class.  Leti and I arrived at one o'clock in the afternoon to prep for the later arrival and ambitious undertaking that began at four.  Fourteen women, lots of laughter and a bit of wine later, Event Number One ended and high fives designated it as a complete success.

Monday morning brought another kind of gathering. This time, at my own personal favorite spot...my condo's Community Building.  I invited a host of friends to a "Meet and Greet" coffee, asking that if they were feeling brave, they bake and bring an item from Letizia''s cookbook, "A Kitchen With a View".  Friends came, baked goods in hand.  A beautiful visual presentation on the big-screen t.v., and a wonderful time was had by all.  High fives again here.

As if all of that wasn't quite enough......our own little version of "Big Night" unfolded beautifully on Tuesday evening with "A Taste of Umbria", a very special dinner at a local pizza establishment just one mile from home.  Margot and her chef-husband, Geoff simply said "yes" when I approached them right after my return in early December.  I asked if they might be interested in hosting some kind of food event and the result......well, ask any one of the forty one happy diners.  Geoff, who makes THE best pizza anywhere, hit this one right out of the park and not a pizza was in sight.  With exquisite detail, he prepared a wood-fired chicken cacciatore directly from Leti's recipe.  Every single thing that appeared on the plates that evening was from her recipes and she was overwhelmed.  At some point during the evening, she told me that this was a first...that Geoff's interpretations were the most accurate of anyone who has ever attempted to do this.  From the focaccia straight through to the ciambellone cookies, this meal was 100% Umbrian and easily the best meal I have had in the area in many, many years.  Highest fives all the way around.  That man can cook!!!!

With Margaret Clancy, Letizia and Margot Boheme, owner of Firestarters Pizza

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