Of Course

I just knocked over an entire breakfast shake.  Though it might be nice to enjoy a few quiet moments out on my patio, just me and my laptop, no muti-tasking,  no hum of the washing machine or urgent need to hang clothes out in the sun to dry.  No nothing.  Just me, some sensible nourishment and my fingers playing on the keys of my beloved. But, just as I set my plastic container down, it went in its own direction and plopped the contents out, all over the table, which of course, has open slats just wide enough to allow for the beverage to travel down onto the ground. So, out came the hose, back in went the now-almost-empty container and I was foiled again.

"Of course you spilled" were the words I said out loud.

I say those words, "Of course" often.  I have built-in expectations that include lots of spills, slipped stitches, burnt toasts.  I'm not exactly clumsy.  I have agility and flexibility, both of which are a great source of pride and self appreciation. But, I am a multi-tasker.  I mean, just look at how many times I use hyphens when I write.  I can't even settle for one-word-words.  I'm efficient and economical. I'm also 71 and still have a huge amount to learn.

I'm closer to the top of the hill. By no means, over-it.  Looking back at that trail which brought me to this place, I realize that I have come a long way and speed was once an important part of the journey.
Not so much any more.

  Just yesterday, our cousin Helen was here sharing dinner with us.  As the afternoon brought that hint of an early Autumn evening about to burst upon the scene, I said, "didn't the Summer pass quickly?".  Helen, a woman who almost always gets right to the point, replied "welllllll......the Summer was exactly the same amount of time as any other Summer, same amount of days". Amen.  I think she then added something about how we're getting older and everything seems to pass by quicker, probably because we're so much more aware of time than we were as kids.

I don't make New Year's resolutions.  But, I do make New Season intentions.  My intentions for the Autumn are usually way too many, overlapping and weaving through a path that never brings me quite to the place I would wish to be - so much smarter, so much thinner, so much more involved with life. Over-booked and over-whelmed by all the plans and appointments.

It's going to be a full couple of weeks as I prepare for another big trip to Italy. I am promising myself that I will approach it with less multi-tasking, with more awareness of the moment so that I can savor this lovely time of year and not cross it off a list.  Yes, September and October will be exactly the same number of days as they always have been and as full of spunk as ever.  I am going to pour myself a glass of what's-good-for-me and try to not knock it over.

No Obligations Lady

I mean, like, who really cares about my personal stance on a lot of things in life. I'm not a celebrity or a public figure.  I haven't achieved any level of accomplishment which would hold my opinions up as the newest paradigm.  I'm exceptionally average or sub-average, in fact. But, I am a woman and I am over the age of seventy. And that, in itself, is significant.

Recently, while luxuriating in a scented bath, I listened to a podcast as I often allow myself to do.  Honestly, it took me almost all of those seventy one years to "allow" myself this sublime experience a few times a week.  I have never had a great memory for things I have heard, a limited recall of those I have seen, and practically zero recall of things read but once in a while, something grabs me tight enough to seep and stay in.  The title of the talk naturally eludes me but the one bit that I recall is the meeting between the speaker and a woman who gave her age this way...."I'm 92 and i'm just beginning!!" For the next thirty minutes, as I soaked and listened,  the benefits of aging were laid out before me in ravishing beauty and truth. The key point was precise.  The speaker was confident and eloquent as she told of her own desire to represent herself as an older woman with rights and benefits.  High on her list of those was the realization that she did not have to do what she didn't want to do, that she didn't have to associate with those who she chose not to, and that she was able to choose the who's, what's and when's in her life.....now that she was, herself, in her seventies.

After my mother's death, when looking in on my father who was 90 at the time, I often would ask him if he wanted to do various things outside his home.  Lunch or dinner? A ride in the car? A visit here or there?  The answer was always "no".  Why, why, how can he not be bored,  I thought.  What's with this refusal to participate?  When I pressed, he filled me in on his thoughts. "I only do what I want to do and I don't do what I don't want to do" was the lifestyle he had chosen and the guns to which he stuck.  He summarized the life of a person his age quite perfectly. Damn the torpedos.


I have a new dictionary.  It's not Webster.  I am the author.  As the author, I have taken liberties.
In taking liberties, words have been added and subtracted from the "standard" dictionary. One by one, year by year, the dictionary becomes edited.  Words that used to have meaning have been deleted or edited, in some cases, replaced by better words.  The Me-of-My-Younger-Life would never have been so bold.  That woman stuck to the definitions, lived the words and lacked the courage to do otherwise, especially when it came to family, friends, and home.  The Now-me is so much more courageous, sees the world through an entirely different set of eyes, hears the sounds, smells the smells and digs the heels in with resolve.

I used to use the old dictionary word "obligation".  I no longer subscribe to anything that comes close.
There isn't another word that I can bring to mind as quickly when asked about how I define my personal world nowadays.  "Obligation" is one of those that I have stricken from the dictionary.  It has such a negative ring to it as in "Holy Day of Obligation".  Or, "Family Obligation".  Come on, think with me about it.  I don't do either. Ever. Not now. I did, but that was before I only started my own life....at age 70. That was before I realized that so many times, as we go through life, we do what we do, to make other people happy or comfortable.  Mothers have a keen way of accomplishing that. So much, I mean so sickeningly much, time is wasted on pleasing everyone else.  I am soothed by not only bath waters.  I am soothed and comforted by the comfort I derive from the saying of "no", the acting purely on my own volition. The beauty of sailing my own ship, steering away from choppy waters, gliding along on seas of lavender-scented warm epsom salted baths instead as I plot each point and contemplate a future that is in my hands because I've earned it.

Oh, about that "obligation" word.  You may wonder what I have replaced it with.  "Desire".

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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Abundance and Gratitude

I found it so easy to write every morning while in Assisi.  There were so many new ideas, so many thoughts and discoveries to document.  But since my return, I find myself coming up dry, feeling blocked and un-interesting.  There aren't as many stories here at home, or so I might excuse myself with that belief.  Today is the first day of an entirely new year.  Problem is, last year was an incredible one. Problem is, this year can be too but at this moment, I am faced with an abundance of choices and as usual, on New Year's Day, I feel pressured into thinking that I have to make instant decisions regarding those choices and how I want to reshape my entire life and become a new person for the next twelve months.  Oh, that I would or could.

While it is challenging, I have to stop and think about the last year in a capsule, one that I started to fill this time, exactly, one year ago.  I'm sure that I sat myself down on January first and enjoyed the quiet of the morning, just after sunrise, sitting next to a still alive Christmas tree, almost in the dark but for the lights on the tree and the glow of a candle.  Coffee and books piled next to my chair, I probably thought about the year before and swore to myself that things would be different in the coming year.  I'm sure that I did that. A year younger.  A little less wise.  Was I happier?  Was I more or less confident?  Was I ready for the uncertainties of the future?  Did I care more, or less, about that future?  I honestly don't recall what I was thinking, feeling or planning on that day and am relatively certain that one year from now, I will not have a clue about what I was dreaming of on this day.

So, no instant decisions. 

One small one, however.   I'm going to focus on two words this new year.  Those two words have been staring me in the face for years in fact.  In our den hang two framed prints.  Each says one word.
One says 'Abundance" and the other, "Gratitude".  Simple.  How easy is that?  They are there as constant reminders, coaches.  Hanging right there on the wall, in their own quiet way, are the two most important words for my future. 

My life, with all its twists and turns, goods and bads, weaks and strongs, is one of abundance. I have very few gaps. I have choices, so many. Too many.

And for this, and so much more, I am filled with gratitude.

"Abundance" and "Gratitude".  They're next-door neighbors on the wall.  They're blood relatives in life.  Each fulfills the other, like the partners in a good marriage.  Like the one we celebrated for the forty ninth time only a few days ago.  Now, there's a starter if ever there was one. 

Today

Today is my favorite day of the year.  The day after Christmas.

It used to be a least favorite.  Remember that feeling, after the last gift was opened, the last relative left the house in the evening?  I used to have that feeling as a kid, even as an adult, once upon a time. Heck, I even did something as outrageous as getting married two days after Christmas, 49 years ago. It was bad timing but it was super-magic because of the timing,and it remains my only lasting gift.

Remember the magic that the arrival of Christmas music on the car radio, one week before the day, brought?  The thrill that came with the stores, all finally decorated and ready for shoppers, maybe six whole weeks before?  Not in October, maybe right after Thanksgiving, not before.  Slowly (or so we thought it at the time), things would lead to the big celebration and we were happy and joyful and filled with anticipation as the holiday of all holidays approached.  We weren't sick to death of it.

For that sick to death feeling and for a few others, I have replaced my feelings of joy and profound happiness with gnashing of teeth and pulling of hair as the day approaches.  Yes, I can join the bandwagon and complain about the commercialism of Christmas.  It's there and it's real and it's a damned shame.  We literally start the commotion right after Halloween and the horror show continues to pick up speed as November approaches, with an intense air of dread starting on December the first.
I am sure I am not flying solo on this one.  I'm just glad that I was in Italy for the month of November where it isn't quite as blinding.  There, at least they wait until December the 7th or 8th to really crank it up and, I can assure you, it is so much sweeter and real, so much more tolerable.  I don't think I heard Mariah Carey one single time.....until I re-entered and lost so much of the sweetness and real meaning of the holiday ahead.

So, today, is my real, honest holiday of Christmas.  I don't have to compare my festivities to those of other family and friends.  I don't have to cry all day, thinking of past Christmases, when I had hopes and dreams of Christmas-in-the-future, one in which I would be gathering with children, grandchildren and enjoying a day of all days.  One filled with laughter and lights.  I don't have to be sad all day, realizing that those days, those precious days, are gone forever.  That the family is non-existent.  That grandchildren are not around to light up the day,  divorce leaving grandparents as the biggest losers. I don't have to go to the nursing home, to visit a depressed parent who used to be my Santa Claus but now won't even open his card, never mind a few simple gifts.

So, to all who enjoyed yesterday, I am very happy for you.  If you are feeling let down today, I understand and feel sorry for you.  It will pass.  As for next Christmas,  I have twelve months to brace myself. Each year, I say to my husband...."this is the last time" and I mean it at the time.  He's always happy, or so he appears to be, so he always just agrees but....I think this year even he's had it and is ready to throw in the towel.  So, here's to next year and to living today, every day.  The real gift is that of having a life to live, of being free to choose how to live it and confident in the knowledge that we only have to do it one day at a time.