End

The Baixar Cross

This is the absolute end of the Camino de Santiago

               The granite posts are route markers and they are lifelines along the entire way.

It's easy these days to allow my brain to select memories of some of the best days of my adult life.  We still remain limited in our choices of new experiences, and "Covid-19 Days"still tend to run on into each other with  few highlights.  So, it seems rather natural for a glance backwards, ruminating  and relishing memories of a delicious past. In Pre-Covid days, I may have simply hurried on my way to newer memories, gathering mental images that time did not allow for expansion.  As I start another day I am feeling the need to take advantage of, instead of damning too much, free time. So I sat myself down with the hope of recapturing some of those backward glances and savoring them for all their worth. After all, isn't that what life is made up of, memories. 

Along the northeast coast of Spain, in the province known as A Coruna, lie two towns considered as  the last of the possible stops  for pilgrims along the way of the Camino de Santiago, Muxia (moo SHEE ah) and Finisterre (AKA Fisterre).  If it was the film "The Way", that first captured your interest in the Camino, you may remember having seen Martin Sheen completing his journey at Finisterre, often referred to as "the End of the World".  It was here that the bereaved father cast the ashes of his son into the majestic sea.

I love every memory of our days on the Camino, doubting that anything else in my life to come could hold a candle to that experience. Our journey, in celebration of my seventieth birthday, was completed in five days of perfect weather, during the last week of April, 2018.  We officially ended our Camino in the city of Santiago de Compostella, feeling exhilarated and happy after long days of hiking the ancient route. We had arrived at our destination and all the "ifs" were past-tense.  We spent the next three days leisurely strolling, no deadlines or destinations. Our Camino passports were full, no more need to get them stamped.  We passed muster at the Pilgrim Office and received our Compostellas, certifying that we had, indeed completed the required 100 kilometers.  Santiago days were for relaxation and celebration, eating tapas and taking it easy after five days of walk, eat, sleep, repeat. So, no, we did not feel guilty when we boarded a luxury bus  two days later and settled into our  comfortable seats for an all-day excursion to the Finisterre.  The sky was blue, the air was perfect and the views were extreme.  Along the way, we saw pilgrims still on their journey. While most end their Way in Santiago, there are a number who chose to stay on foot and travel on to the very, very end. An hour and a half bus ride would have netted out to several more walking days. Had this been a celebration of an earlier birthday, we might have considered this option.

The coastal route was spectacular.  Living near the sea, I still never tire of seascapes.  As our bus twisted and turned through tiny towns that dot the coastline, we were able to sit back and just enjoy. A few short stops at some very scenic locales and then on to Muxia for lunch.  Of course, octopus was part of that meal as it was most of our meals in Galicia. We luxuriated at a seaside cafe and followed it up with a walk through the town, I accompanied by three other American women.  Joe ventured out on his own.  Having been together every moment for the previous two weeks, the time away felt odd, especially when the bus was about to depart and he was nowhere in sight.  Thank God for small favors....a red backpack was spotted by one of our companions and soon we were on our way again.  

The final stop on our bus route was the breathtaking Finisterre. As the bus wound up the hill, the rest of the world slowly slipped away and the beauty of the most Northern tip of Spain was revealed.  The Baixir Cross greets pilgrims who next seek the final marker of the Camino. Beyond that, waves crash against huge rock formations that lead gracefully out to the sea.  The entire point is an observation area, the boundless beauty marked by relentless sprays of ocean against nature. Symphonic. Shade of blue and green, mixed with silvery white show up with each crash, non-stop. Gorgeous. Majestic. Only words. One would have to be there to fully grasp this, this overwhelming feeling and stunning appreciation of Man meeting Sea and, in the end, Sea the greater force. A perfect way to end our Way, or any way, for that matter.

After all is said and done, the Camino de Santiago is a perfect metaphor, one that is completed at the 

End of the World.

Memorial

Eight years ago, last week, my beautiful mother gave up her guard, changing forever the way I personally approached the start of what millions of others in this country refer to as the "Independence Day" holiday.

The months and weeks before her death were sad and trying for us but she faced them with dignity and bravery that set a mark.  An extraordinary woman, a unique mother, and one of the smartest people I have ever known.  If I had half of her intelligence I would be very pleased.

My mom would have been 94 now. My father, still alive, is 98 and has dementia. Most of their generation of relatives are either deceased or very old.  I have no family historians, nobody to whom I can turn for answers so I have gaps in my knowledge and very little information about my family's past, other than the stories that were told over and over during my own childhood.  I have puzzle pieces that oftentimes just don't fit together. I have a maze through which I cannot come and feel left out when my friends recount stories of their parent's heritage. I think my mother's favorite color was blue. I know she loved the water, everything related to the seashore. I know how she and my father met. Her eyes were soft blue. She struggled with her weight all her life and had problems accepting her image. My father was the first and only man she ever dated. They meet in high school. Courtship, engagement, the War, the wedding. I have the photos and tiny bits of stories of young love and devotion. Never once was "sacrifice" mentioned. The word "regret" also never appeared. I am left wondering. It was none of my business. Secrets were part of the success of their marriage.

Wisdom beyond the stratosphere. World-class speller and mathematician. She knew diddly-squat about history, American or World.  She wasn't allowed to learn the language of her parents and knew little about their lives before their immigration. They made it to America from a life of poverty and they were not turning back; they instead, moved proudly forward and it was through their actions that my mother learned the customs and culture of her ancestors in their homeland. She was an Italian Woman. We never missed a family vacation but we never ventured across the ocean as a family. She had a work ethic and, from the time I was two years old, she held a full-time job.                                                                                           

 Being home all day with children was not fulfilling and I wonder now, had she been like all the
"other moms", how my life might have turned out. I try very hard to wipe away thoughts of having been deprived as a young child, of a full-time mom, and to realize that she sacrificed a field of flowers for a mountain peak of great memories. My childhood experiences and memories included some very special moments of quality time. It took me years to appreciate that and now, I accept it as a gift that only she could have imparted. How very fortunate my brother and I were.

It's true that oftentimes we only realize what we have, after we lose it.  It's also a sad realization that we miss opportunities in our lives to speak our hearts with those closest to us.  I wish my children could embrace that knowledge. Alas, they probably won't. They are humans too. They are busy and productive, the generation that rides on the tails of generations before, the culmination of all that their grandparents dreamed possible, genetically capable of doing great things, just as we were before them. After all, is it not the greatest wish of a parent, to see their own children enjoying the fruits of their own years of labor in the garden of life? I wish I had taken the time to discuss life, to find out more about the lives that shaped mine, to know more about my mother than what I saw. To know more than what I perceived.

We can't go back and re-live our lives.  How very trite that sounds. Mine has been, and forever will be, missing a part, an integral piece of who I am.  Trite. True. 

 

False Gods Before You

All will be well, all will be well, all will be well. I've been given that mantra by a friend who finds it useful.  It's not new to me.  I've tried it, and a thousand other mental exercises, but none really do the trick, none bring relief or any resolution to my increasing fear of doom and my giving up of the guard. I don't buy it. I don't really believe that all, or anything for that matter, will be well.

At first, I welcomed the changes that the arrival of a global pandemic brought. After all, we thought it was going to be a short shot, that in a few weeks, Covid will have come and gone and we would have been well over it and all of its consequences by early Spring.  I distinctly recall our nation's "leader" giving his opinion and he stated that "by Easter" this "thing" would be gone.  He was surrounded by people who, we assumed were giving him scientific advice on an hourly basis.  He had resources, brilliant and trusted resources. He had an assigned place on the leadership team of the world's most influential country. And, he blew it.  He blew it so badly that instead of taking pride in my American residency, I hang my head in shame and shake my head in disbelief and wonder each and every day about how this person has not been taken out of the White House and into a mental health facility for treatment.  But, that's his problem.  Mine, the result of his lack of leadership, his racist, sexist, immoral and downright ignorant missives during a time when he should have been upright, honest, empathetic and moral, isn't going away. I don't play golf, I can't escape to a bunker, I can't ignore what is around me. I can't lie and tell people that I am not an American.  I don't believe in mantras. I don't believe in America and I would be happy to take the advice of those people who are still foolish enough to enjoy the leadership of a madman and yell to people like myself...."America! Love it or leave it!".  I don't love it and I can't even leave it now.  He's spun a new web around us. We're on a list. A short and embarrassing assortment of countries who, God knows how long,will not be allowed to enter Europe or even Canada.  

This man, this insane person in the White House, this Trump, has totally taken us down with him. This evil monster who duped people into thinking that he had a plan to "make America great again", has done what so many (thank you God), others had predicted he would.  He's made America the laughing stock of the entire world. No, America is not great. America is weak and Americans have suffered more than their share during the Pandemic and will continue to suffer from the effects of a virus that won't quit and  a weak and ignorant president who has destroyed more lives than any pathogen could possibly have.

So, go Mr President, go play golf, go shoot off your large and un-attractive mouth. Go about your business of looking at yourself in your mirror of deception and go about your business of insulting people of intelligence and belittling people who are smart enough to know how smart you are not.  Go ahead and destroy any glimmer of hope that we may have while you continue to hope for re-election instead of humbling yourself and getting the job of uniting your country.  Go ahead and alienate world leaders, call them names, deny your involvement in their evil deeds.  Go ahead and think you're God.  I have news for you.  You're not.  But, I will give you credit for something.  THE God did speak about you. In fact, you are a fairly popular guy.  If you don't believe me, look it up. I've provided you with a list of references. the Bible, by the way, is not simply a prop for a photo-op, a bad photo at that.

 Or just google false gods.

• Leviticus
• Numbers
• Judges
• 1 Samuel
• 1 Kings
• 2 Kings
• 1 Chronicles
• 2 Chronicles
• Isaiah
• Jeremiah
• Hosea
• Zephaniah
• Acts
• Romans