It was just about a year ago that I started writing reflections for my faux-blog on match.com, which is a bit hard to believe – one of those “which end of the telescope am I looking through?” sort of events. It feels like just yesterday – except for when it feels like 5 years ago.

Lots of changes have occurred in the months between then and now, encompassing mind, body and spirit. A few of those things have been captured here, many more have not. But it’s been a nice way to trace my musings and set time aside to ruminate. Even so, I’m moving into a phase of living that requires a different cadence and different attention, and I think blogtime is at an end. Time for a new interval, time to map some new territory. Hope you all get to have similar adventures in your lives (if you want them!).

cheers,
e.

I love the visual mapping of data. This includes your typical maps, but also charts, tables, and all kinds of other tools and visualization methods. If you like that sort of thing, take a look at You Are Here, by Katherine Harmon, a compendium of what the author calls personal geographies. The illustrations are fantastic and wonderful. Another great source for analytical design is Edward Tufte, Professor Emeritus at Yale University. Yesterday I was pointed to a blog called strangemaps and found some really good stuff. And I’ve had Indexed in my blogroll for a while.

My friend Jim Allen has a really great example for the holidays. And the Periodic Table of Visualization Methods puts  it all together in one place.

mississippi riverbed changes

Last night I sat in the dark of the concert hall at UConn, and listened to the wind ensemble play several compositions from minimalist and neoromantic composers from the past century. It was a great performance, really tight and beautifully conducted. This music keeps me alert – the intervals are everything, and the percussionists are fascinating to watch. And one euphoniumist really catches my eye (love seeing that boy play!).

I thought about traffic on the highway, how everything flows in one direction but at varying speeds, all different shapes and colors but all heading down the same pipeline; how that pipeline of road bends and curves and grades and merges with others.

The music made me think about similar patterns in a lifetime of experiences: the continuity of the birth process and how people meet and spend time and then move in different directions, how a life is carried over different geographies but all processed by a mind and heart that somehow creates a continuity.

I thought of Robert Altman soundtracks: dialogue fading in and out, overlapping murmurs and laughter, whispers and clapping and footsteps and and dogs barking and music and background everything funneled together.

I thought of money at the mall, how it flows from pocket to register drawer, through plastic, ATMs, gift certificates; it’s green, it’s shiny, it turns into bags of clothes and perfume and movie tickets, shoes, a pair of candlesticks. How the cash flows with emotion: satisfaction, desperation, contentment, anxiety, excitement. The power behind it.

The final piece was an interpretation of Carlos Casteneda’s account of meeting shaman don Juan Matus. Of course it was magical and riveting.

It was good stuff. A nice way to end my day. Thanks, son.

If the other day was characterized by circles, I think today will be long dashes, lines and slash marks. I’m up to Boston, back to Providence, over to Storrs by the end of the day and then back to Providence to sleep. A few long phone calls and several short staccato ones to accomplish while on the road, punctuated by non-business hellos when I need a break. The clock is driving the day, along with traffic conditions, but at least at the end of it all I can sink back into the concert hall chair and listen to heavenly music as my son performs on stage.

Today is a day of repetition, cycling, and circles. There are no straightaways, no shortcuts, and no distant lands. Everything that I’ve come across today seems to lead inwardly to that which has happened or been experienced before. New context or dimension or detail, but conceptually familiar. I think this is probably always true, always findable – patterns of recognition and subsequent classification of experience are an inescapable part of how we live- but today I have been aware of all of it, and it’s been very interesting though a bit acid-trippish. I’m a little dizzy from it, and think I will stop work a bit early to go have a good dinner and reflect a bit more.

In a few minutes the boys will be getting up and we’ll begin the trek to Logan to fly Henry back to Pittsburgh, the drive to Storrs to send Jack back to UConn…everyone back in their respective places today.

The week was filled with these big tall boy/men, towering over me and saturating the house with deep voices and laughter, music and friends. It’s been a great week. It’s a good feeling to be able to relax from the heavyduty parenting and just enjoy your growing-up children. The best part is, I LIKE these guys. We’ve played games and cooked, played music and talked. I’ll be missing them this week…

We had a good holiday meal with WAY too much food. I haven’t learned to cook small yet. John came up and helped with the cooking and the playing and the talking, and there was a big pie party in the evening with lots of fun. It was a very good day, a happy day.

I ran the Trot Off Your Turkey 5K yesterday morning – it was cold but still, perfect weather for a good run. I came in at 9:50/mi. which is pretty good for me, esp. considering all the pie I ate!!!

Jack turned 20 yesterday, so I had some great reflection about that day years ago when he put in his first appearance. He came home on Thanksgiving Day and we took him to his grandmother’s house for the big family dinner. His cry was very distinctive, a bit like the bleating of a little lamb. Sweet boy.

Henry has me set up with one of his electric guitars because he traded the acoustic to a friend for a big amp. These kids are always pushing me into new realms…We bought new strings and he showed me how to string it and use the small amp he’s leaving behind. I bought a book of christmas music so I can practice some stuff for the next time they come home. ha ha!! In the interest of complete disclosure, I’m not a very good guitar player/student, but I do try! and I do have fun with it! and I will get better! dammit!

This year I am thankful for all the many kinds of love in my life, the beauty I see in my world, the ample chances I have for moving any confusion and inadequacies into opportunities for growth. I appreciate the comfort I enjoy in so many ways, and the freedom I have to express my life as I please. Blessings abound.

just in case you were wondering:

beard – Male turkeys (and a few females) have a bundle of long, thin, dark feather on the chest, called a beard.
bill – Turkeys have a hard, pointed bill (also called the beak) which they use to get food. They eat insects, worms, fruit, seeds, acorns, grains, slugs, snails, and many other foods
caruncle – The reddish-pink fleshy growth on the head and upper neck of the turkey.
eye – Turkeys have two eyes and excellent vision.
snood – The flap of skin that grows from the base of the turkey’s bill and hangs over the bill.
spur on leg – Male turkeys have a spike above each foot.
tail fan – The long, colorful tail feathers of the turkey.
wattle – Bright red skin that hangs from a turkey’s neck.

…work goin’ on.

Tired of hearing me say I’m having a busy week? There is payoff- I’m taking half of tomorrow, and then the rest of the week, off for Thanksgiving. I’ve been enjoying the company of my oldest son since Friday night when he came home from UConn for the break. His birthday is this Saturday – 20 years old! Wow. Can’t believe this tall rangy young man is the same person as the fat baby who rolled instead of crawled because it was more efficient than fighting gravity. He’s got a faux grunge trucker sort of thing going on with his look these days, accented by a nose ring that encircles one nostril. Not bad…he likes his salvation army clothes and I like them too – throwback to punk days in college. But I did buy some Urban Outfitters stuff to wrap since I gave him the accordion a few weeks ago.

Unfortunately I had to yell at him about smoking in my car. I asked him not to on Saturday, and then this morning I opened my car door to drive to a meeting and was greeted with that stale smoke smell. I haven’t gotten pissed off like that in months. It was weird. My throat hurt all afternoon even though I didn’t really belt it out. More the fact that he didn’t respect my wishes – ME, AN EX SMOKER!!!! – than that the car stinks now. But I think he got it. And if he didn’t, he won’t be driving my car anymore and I won’t have to worry about it. At this point in my life, I only go for one transgression. Why draw out the misery?

Snowflakes in Boston today. I was there for a meeting and it was exciting to see them flutter down, so relaxed, so incidental, barely white. Just a get-ready for a real snow later in the season…

This week has been a lesson on numerous levels. I started out with a shamanic healing session last Sunday (a friend is studying these techniques and I volunteered to be her practice victim this month) and moved through an extraordinarily full week battling dragons of all sorts – finances, work relationships, house issues. I’ve felt like St. George slashing my way to Friday, and got a lot of big stuff done this week as a result. That’s liberating! Although I have to say I generally prefer the non-slash approach; gentle disintegration of things in your way are easier on the system.  Having studied shaman practices myself, I know the value in keeping your chakras balanced and straddling the seen and unseen worlds with clarity and perspective. Last weekend’s tuneup certainly got me moving!

My second son left in August for University of Pittsburgh at the tender age of 17 with a headful of groovy hair. Just before Halloween he shaved it off, his shiny white dome forcing him to find alternatives to his planned Jesus costume. Now it’s growing in a bit and I keep tabs by video chat. Can’t wait to see him next week so I can rub it! Here’s a before and after:

This blog may see a bit of a hiatus until after next week’s Thanksgiving holiday; work is cranking up and higher priorities are filling my time. I’m really looking forward to a good turkey dinner and pie party afterwards with my boys, followed by the annual Trot Off Your Turkey 5K on Friday. I’ll keep you posted…

I had the good fortune to be aware of the clock at 11:11 this morning, which is, of course, 11.11.07. By the way, if you add those digits you get another 11.

Some people attach meaning to these things. i never could grasp their logic – the names assigned to units of measurement are simply bits of language, and differ from culture to culture, right? (One could argue that the units themselves are simply agreed-upon arbitrary assignments, but that’s trickier.) Say the same thing in a different way: if you add up the digits in 11.11.2007, it does NOT make 11. Boo hoo.

Still, I enjoy a congruency of numbers in lots of different ways; it’s a pattern thing. Humans like that in their world. Just the other day I played a great Scrabble game and the combination of the two scores was a perfect 700. That’s just satisfying!

I’ve used repeating numbers on the clock for years as a reminder to tune in to my inner self for a minute. Right then, when I see 2:22, 5:55 or 10:10: deep belly breath, let go of external stimuli, connect with the divine, the universal spirit, earth energy, whatever you want to call it. It’s been a helpful practice for me in so many ways, and I like the surprise quality of it – you never know when it will be in front of your face. Like musical chairs and the music going off. Time to sit down!

If you see the clock at 11:11 this evening, remember to find your spirit before you go to sleep. It’s a very calming way to go to sleep.

i love safari. but firefox keeps creeping in, forcing me to love it. will i have to switch? i’m at a weird place with technology right now – i currently have two cell phones (don’t ask me to explain why) and now i’m straddling 2 browsers (i actually use several more for testing websites, but i’m talking about personal use). it’s so inefficient, and that really bugs me.

Part of my quest for learning this year is a desire to get some expertise with money. Most of my life I’ve observed money: watched it come in, and watched it go out. But I haven’t used it with any sort of creative vision to BUILD something, I never shaped it.

Now (somewhat late, I know, but whatever…) I’m hot to figure this all out. I’m making pretty good money, and I would like to retire some day. Recently I’ve read Suze Orman and David Bach and I’m accumulating a bit of knowledge and vocabulary. I’m trying hard to get rid of some of my old patterns of thinking about money, patterns that have held up my growth in this area. And one of my goals has been to find an independent financial advisor who can help me identify how to manage my money and business, and how to think about the way money grows.

This is a whole industry; you wouldn’t think it would be that hard to find a good person, but I’ve had a really tough time. Recommendations lead to people working for big investment firms who want to sell you their products. Or people new to the field who have no experience but are looking for referrals to start (I know you have to start somewhere, but I’d like someone with a history in this stuff). After one woman quoted me a minimum dollar tag for the year, I asked her what the deliverable was. In other words, I said, what exactly do I receive during the year? She couldn’t answer me. Yikes.

Today I called a woman in Maine who was recommended to me by my dear friend Mary. Mary lives in Cleveland now, and I guess that’s why I hadn’t asked her before about this. As soon as she heard me talk about my discouragement during a phone call the other day, she suggested I call Robin. I was game: first, I’m desperate. Second, Mary’s husband is a minister and if they think someone is good, I tend to believe them. It’s heartening to know your financial advisor is ethical.

When Robin answered the phone, I liked her immediately. I do much of my work on the phone, and I’ve gotten pretty good at knowing a lot just by listening to a voice. She has a good one. And everything she said, including the fact that she charges by the hour and her rate slides with a person’s income…well, that’s just plain smart. Incentive for her to get me to make more! I also liked that she identifies her work as financial educator and advisor. That lets me know she values teaching people how to manage their OWN money. Her work is about empowerment, and that’s what I’ve been trying to find. She’s sending a packet of forms to me and we’ll get started right away.

I’m so excited about the prospect of planning for the future that I’m buying a powerball ticket tomorrow. If I win, Robin’s rate will go up, but I suppose I could live with that…

Early start today for meetings in Boston and plans to get at least three things off the perpetual list of things-hanging-over-my-head. Just found a link to Brian Greene’s contest results (String Theory in Two Minutes or Less) which looks interesting even though I don’t have time to watch it today. If you get a chance to see it, let me know if it’s worth the time…

about wonder.

Sometimes I like to have a word or idea noodling around at the edge of my brain. In the course of a high pressure week like this one — and I know it’s high pressure because my stomach is actually upset today… Me, owner of the cast iron stomach and guts! Twisted insides only happen when the stress is a bit out of control — during weeks like this I like to keep a thought in my head like a piece of candy under my tongue, just slowly melting there, giving me a bit of sweetness through the mind jamming required by the rest of the day. When I have a moment of waiting for a printout or someone to answer the phone, I have a bit of “thought relief” for a few seconds that is relaxing but not distracting.

So, today the word is “wonder,” which came up in a conversation recently. One of the things I found on the thesaurus last night as an antonym is “expectation.” It makes sense that you can’t take something for granted, and still experience it with wonder. Now that’s a good idea to suck on for awhile…

This weekend things started bubbling up that let me know it was going to be a wild week, and on Monday I jumped into action to address the pace, canceling with great disappointment my plans to visit friends in New Hampshire for a few days and creating a schedule to turn my attention full on to the work at hand.

So my entries this week will be written in 5 minutes or less. Maybe mostly in bullet format. Let’s see how this goes. Things that can snarl me up:

• getting caught up in long conversations when 2 minutes will do.
• falling off task because my curiosity takes me on the roundabout
• stopping to give myself a break by doing something in the house, and not coming back out to my office. maybe i’ll set the oven timer when i go in, and that will prompt me that my break time is up.
• feeling overwhelmed becasue the to-do’s are too long, resulting in sleepiness and conking out

so today i’m focusing on a simple breakdown of must-do items and will hopefully stay on track. i’m pretty good with my discipline during my work hours but working alone and from my home do give me privileges that can undermine a weak intention.

so here i go…

my will must be like a bar of steel

I like that phrase. It implies what I think is a truth: that you carry your sense of belonging and acceptance with you wherever you go. That home is a state of being. I can sense when someone is at home with me, regardless of our physical setting. I can tell if someone feels at home in my house, and whether or not they are at home with themselves.

Some time ago, I had an idea that home is where your heart meets the world without fear. Wherever the safe place is for a person to meet the unknown without fear, that’s what home is. Maybe that’s within a certain group of people, a family. Maybe it’s from the security of a specific town or house with a certain familiarity. Maybe it’s being buried between the covers of any good book. Maybe it’s a particular pace or rhythm of life that rocks you with a cadence that echoes in your heart. When I look at the faces of people I love, I feel like I’m home.

I have found that as I get older, the boundaries for what I call home seem to get broader and broader. I thought of this as an artifact of having wider experiences, or somehow knowing more. Lately, though, that train of thought seems to be an illusion. In reality, I think my heart is becoming more at home in itself, and that makes everything I experience part of home in some respect.

Maybe I’m turning into a bit of a turtle, carrying home around with me wherever I go. For the shaman, turtle is a very powerful animal totem, the oldest symbol for the Earth and the personification of eternal Earth energy itself. I like that.

In any case, over the next few months I’ll have lots of family members returning home for holidays. I think this is a good time to think about what that means, how we create meaning about home together, and what we can do to intentionally bring our hearts in harmony to meet the world without fear.

get the t-shirt here

During my Catholic girlhood, I imagined that All Saints’ Day was a nod to the fact that we all are saints. Actually, the day after Halloween is marked for honoring all “known and unknown” saints, so I suppose that encompasses everybody if we want it to…

There are no fewer than 11 Saint Elizabeths, and some of them are quite remarkable, either in the way they lived, or the way they died. In reading about them I uncovered some interesting words, like inedia, the ability to live for years with no nourishment other than Holy Communion hosts, and anchoress, the correct word for a female hermit (this particular one retired from the convent to live in a hollow oak tree. Hmmm. Leaves a pretty grim impression of that convent…). Being very rich or very poor seems to be a help in attaining sainthood. Also having an abusive spouse of some sort, or being a nun. Having visions is a plus, as are ecstatsies or stigmata.

Other than a shared name, another way to connect with a saint is to see who is honored on your birthdate. One of my favorites on August 1 is St. Ethelwold, known as “father of monks” and “benevolent bishop.” He wasn’t rich or poor, had a good upbringing, helped the poor, was a leader in the 10th century monastic revival supporting music and illuminated manuscripts, and best of all, died a natural death. A regular guy, doing a good job. That’s my kind of saint.

Find out about your kind of saint here. Would love to hear back from some of you about what you uncover.

she’s the old one…cousin to jesus’ mother mary

This weekend I’ve stayed underground instead of flying overhead. Yesterday’s grey damp weather was the perfect setting for my scheduled cleaning of the basement, and that’s where I spent most of the day.

When people move, they often leave behind a mess. Especially if they’re teenagers. This year, all three of my kids moved out to their own lives, and most of their leave-behind mess has been in my basement. It’s been a year of working on the house as well, and tools took up residence all over the house, just never on the toolbench where they belong, it seems. Lately I’ve practically had to put on hiking boots just to get to the ironing board…

So, armed with the shop vac, hefty bags, cleaner, and paper towels I headed down the stairs. The house was built in 1921, and the basement is cement, mostly unfinished. Vacuuming up the streaming cobwebs was sort of fun, and I actually like organizing my hardware and tools. Found a few things I’d forgotten I had, including a new showerhead still in the box. I just bought a new one at Home Depot and installed it. Too bad I didn’t clean first.

I found a box of refrigerator magnets that I had put away in a tupperware container a few years ago when we got a new Maytag. I didn’t want the old magnets to scratch the new surface. Finding them was like taking a trip back in time, because most of them were purchased during family trips or occasions to be marked in some way. I put a few back up on the fridge (which got scratched in a few places anyway) and saved the rest to share with the rest of the fam if they want them. That was fun.

I’ve always liked basements. I like the sound of them: the sounds from the rest of the house, music and voices, are all muffled, and you can hear the hum of the big machines that make the house run. It’s like being in the womb. It’s the engine room. I like the exposed hardware – pipes and pumps and wires and such – and I like the musty smell. I like feeling the connection between the house and the earth it’s nestled into. When I was a kid I was in my basement a lot, in my dad’s dark room developing photos with him, or hanging out while he tapped morse code on his ham radio. Those are really good memories for me.

A basement is the first chakra of the house: foundation, security, the in and out points for the power and plumbing and heat, and laundry, always the laundry. I like how it’s warm there in the winter with the furnace minding its business day and night and the dryer doing its part, and how it’s several degrees cooler down there in the summer. I respect the spiders and the occasional potato bug even while I encourage them to find a different place to play. So my chore yesterday felt good and connected me to my house in a variety of positive ways. I love my basement.

When I got in the plane, my heart was racing, just like it does when you get strapped into a rollercoaster. That “uh oh, there’s no going back” feeling. The moment of commitment… But the ride up to 10,000 feet took some time, and I chatted with the guy who went up with me, looked out the window at the diminishing harbor, and generally calmed down.

The two guys we were strapped to for the tandem jumps said very little; they were busy tightening straps and checking harnesses. The Cessna 182 doesn’t have any seats other than for the pilot, so I sat on the floor, sort of wedged in front of the jumper guy I was getting attached to. Very simple instructions were given: when he opened the door and put his foot on the step, I put my foot out. Then the other. Then he would say 1,2,3, arch, and I was supposed to pitch out of the plane into the sky and arch my back with arms across my chest. When he taps my shoulders I’m supposed to extend my arms. You’ll see in the video that I thought he wanted me to refold, but he didn’t, so I put them back out.

Suddenly, the pilot made a little gesture with his hand, and Jerry (my jumper guy, from the Netherlands – average 20 jumps per day spring summer and fall) threw the door open. The rush of air in that little plane was breathtaking, and loud. We turned, and I was amazed to see what seemed like the whole side of the plane open up. One foot, then the other. I remember thinking I’m doing it! This is it!!!

Then out! It was so easy! And you just fall and roll – for a minute my head was straight down in a typical dive position and then we just came up into the flat. It was very loud because at 120 miles per hour, your ears are getting some real noise. They popped a bit. All this is so fast- I felt incredibly happy and it was like in my dreams!!! There wasn’t any fear at all, there’s nothing near you to bang into or hurt, everything is just free and easy and you are part of the big sky and the whole planet is hanging out below you. By this point, you’ve made the leap of faith that you will land, so there’s no worry in your mind about whether the parachute will open, or will I crash. You just are completely in the moment of being 2 miles up in the air, dropping effortlessly 5,000 feet.

Then, up goes the parachute! And we climb, or it feels like it (haven’t figured that out yet). And sound comes back and I hear myself screaming and laughing. That was weird! And Jerry starts pointing out stuff in the landscape below, including the bright flag that marks our landing spot at the airport, just a dot at this moment. The parachute is a long rectangle that arches over our heads. It has cavities in it that hold air, and it’s very much like hanging onto a kite. The control is quite precise – on the 8 minute ride back to the field, Jerry whirls us around several times in wonderful sweeping curves so I can see the entire region. Ships on the water like little bugs. The harbor filled with activity. Islands rimmed with beaches and waves, all the bridges I know so well, and Newport itself with all the winding streets and huge mansions and the Cliff Walk all getting larger below me.

We practice the landing a couple of times – because I’m hanging lower than Jerry, I have to raise my legs into “toboggan” position so that he bears the brunt of the landing. Basically, he just comes in at the right angle so that he starts running on the field, then he sinks down to his knees and I slide gently onto the grass like I’m on a sled. So easy!!!!

I really loved the entire experience, but the free-fall was THE BEST and I can’t wait to do it again next year. I planned for years in my mind to do this jump over a coastline, in the autumn, and everything I wished for happened, only better. Lucky me.

FYI, I didn’t select the music on the video. Hilarious choice!!

incoming with Jerry from Denmark, skydiving pro and my best friend for ten minutes on 10.20.2007

I did it on Saturday: a 40-second free fall at 120 mph, exit altitude of 10,000 feet (2 miles) from a Cessna above the Newport coastline. Parachute deployed at 5000 feet above the ground followed by approximately 7 minute parachute ride down to the ground.

Now I’ll be doing it every October until I’m too old to get my legs up for landing. I’ll post a full review of my experience with a video of my descent later this week. For now, let me say that it was one of the most extraordinary experiences of my life and I can’t stop smiling.

the celebration margarita

I have a lot going on this week in terms of professional work and deadlines, personal business issues, and social activity, and yet what is foremost in my mind for the last 48 hours has been something that no one can see or guess. I burned the roof of my mouth on a hot piece of pecan pie on Tuesday morning, and it hurts like hell. It’s one of those things that just is constantly there, challenging you not to notice it. It’s like a personal little battle, me and my mouth. When 6 minutes go by without a wince, I feel victorious. My tongue is an unconscious saboteur, just can’t seem to stay away from the injured site, and we’ve had to have several talks about the importance of laying low.

It’s good to have these trials, I think. They remind me that I can never know what’s occupying another person’s mind, and that if I did, I’d probably discover that it has nothing to do with me. That look of discomfort, that shortness of reply, that evasive look, are probably just due to an urge to pee, or a headache, or the lack of skin on the roof of a mouth.

At any rate, I feel some significant healing today which has instilled confidence that the skirmish is coming to an end. Bright skies ahead, and maybe chips and salsa before the week is out!

the offender looked like this

Last night I got a phone call at 5:30 from friend and lover J. Turns out an old friend had 2 tickets to the Red Sox, did I want to go? Never having been to Fenway, I said yes, and off we went to the ballgame. A neighborhood friend zoomed to my house to lend me her pink “B” cap, as I have no fan-dom affiliation myself, and at her prompting I put my camera in my purse, with which I took this photo of the field:

taken with no play on the field, what was I thinking?

In a sort of charmed way that I’m getting used to, we picked up a relative who happens to be a nearby resident, and he drove us to the gate and then took our car back to his house for free parking. We got in just as the game started and I received a wonderful tour of the park, a sausage with peppers and onions, and a cold beer. We viewed the game from different vantage points over the next 5 hours, and I felt like I got the best of the Red Sox, the fans, and the park: Sweet Caroline, back-to-back home runs, great folks in the stands around us, all the famous players (if I’ve heard of them before, that means they’re really famous), guys yelling “pussy!” at the pitcher, and the agony of defeat with extra innings at the end of a tied game. And I saw John Kerry leaving the stands with a cap on.

It was exhilarating, fun, and a complete joy. I feel like I don’t need to go back for another 10 years, but I would anyway just because it was such a blast.

Way back in July, I wrote a list of “things I want to do” in the coming year. This week, I’m thinking it would be good to pull that up and see how I’m doing with it. Here goes:

1. September: hire a full housecleaning crew to purge the house top to bottom. no matter the cost, i will be closer to godliness.

Let’s just say I’m no closer to God. My car needed some major service and wiped out my cleaning budget. But the house does stay remarkably still and clean with just the cat and me, so I’m not that bothered by letting #1 go. no fault failure, appropriate priorities, house is clean: B+

2. Trip #1: Travel to Italy to see Grace settled in, tour St. Stephen’s, and meet the school faculty. On the way home, visit London, meeting my honey at Heathrow for his birthday and staying with my friends Bruce and Andrew.

I did go to Italy and see my daughter and meet the school. All that was great, but the time shifted and sort of blew up the second part of the plans to visit London. J and I went to the Cape for his birthday instead and visited other friends in Provincetown, so I didn’t miss Big Ben at all, and we’ll just reschedule 50% success, 50% change in plans but still executed: A

3. Birthday present to myself (August 1): Buy a motorcycle. I have the permit, now it’s time to get a bike.

OK, I’m a little sensitive about this one. I really want to get a bike, but the truth is I’m scared. Everyone tells me their horror stories of friends on bikes and I’m just spooked. I wouldn’t be riding it in the winter anyway, so I’m going to readdress this in the spring. chicken factor (or is it common sense?): F

4. Go to the Providence Zen Center for morning meditations.

Haven’t done this yet, but I have gone to the Vedanta Center of Providencefor a talk on Truth and Love and a weekend meditation retreat featuring talks on The Great Illusion of Time. The best part was that at lunch I took a seat at the table with the Swami and got to ask questions and discuss the answers. No sense sitting at the back of the classroom, right?…same stuff: A

5. Sign up for a 5-7 day silent retreat at one of the many good retreat centers in New England. Probably in January.

My friend Tim is doing one of these in November at the place I’m thinking of going, so I’m going to see what he has to say about it before I sign up. still on deck: no score

6. In the fall, go skydiving over the autumn landscape.

Next Saturday, 10.20, I will be floating/plummeting above Newport during the marathon. Can’t wait. My mom and dad got very quiet on the phone when I mentioned this today. Weather permitting. commitment and reservation made: C

7. Learn Italian, and if possible try to bring my French back.

I’m listening to Italian CDs in my car, and have been actively trying to speak French to myself and the cat around the house. It’s the lazy approach, no doubt, but maybe something will sink in. halfassed, but in progress: D+

8. Use my new piano to learn how to improvise. Finally. If an old dog can learn new tricks (and I believe they can).

My son Henry had the very smart idea that breaking free of my decades-long method of playing would happen more easily if I switch instruments completely, so he started giving me guitar lessons this summer. When he went off to college, I took the vacant slot with his guitar teacher, so I’m doing that instead of piano right now…better than the original thought, requires effort and courage, plus time and $$$ commitment: A+

9. Finish the multitude of house projects, most requiring carpentry, wiring, or painting skills within my capability.

Definitely a weak link in the chain of intentions here. Between great weather and fun people, I have not been hanging out at home much to do chores. Oh well. The winter is long up here. dead in the water: F

10. Create a financial plan and start dumping money into investments.

Hitting this with a vengeance, and excited about getting my stuff in order. sheer enthusiasm: B+

11. Related to #10: see how low I can get my utilities with no one in the house but me.

Real low. no heat til november: A

12. Get back to my painting projects.

Another alone-and-indoors type of activity. not happenin’ yet: F

13. Trip #2: cruise with gal pals in the spring. Poss carribean.

I have to say I just don’t think I’m the cruise type of person, even though I know a lot of people who said the same thing, and then loved it. Gals, you will have to drag me, but I know I’d have a great time with you!! tbd: no score

14. Trip #3: Italy in February with Grace’s 2 best neighborhood friends.

One friend may not be able to go now, but the other friend and her mother are going. No hard plans yet, but we should get tickets by Thanksgiving. on deck: no score

15. Trip #4: House exchange somewhere in the world. In fact, I wouldn’t mind having a trip planned for every single month. Maybe I’ll work on that…

I did some exploratory work and that was fun. No firm plans yet until I finish the financial stuff. smart delay: B

16. Before Christmas, have a big party at my own house.

Still want to do this, although I’m considering a trip to Virginia instead to see my parents and family before the holiday starts. We’ll see how everyone is feeling after Thanksgiving. tbd: no score

17. Go skiing for the second time of my life.

Later this winter- tbd: no score
———————-
My gpa is 82.4 – low B. Not too bad, plenty of room for boost. Never a dull moment!

I’ve been reflecting on the flow of things in my life: the way tasks are getting done, the stream of communications, the clustering of objects in my environment…and my assessment is that I’m like the beach at low tide, riddled with tidal pools that are keeping me soaked. Puddles of “things that need to be mailed” and “items to be returned” and “tools to be cleaned and put away.” A waterhole of reading that’s stacked up in the usual places (bedroom, bathroom, next to the stove). A pond of financial sorting and filing that is becoming stagnant. A veritable lake of house projects that should have started last month but are creeping into next month instead.

Frankly, I’ve just been enjoying my many distractions, and seeing what is damming up is actually a good lesson about my character, habits, avoidance points, and interests. I’ve decided today is the day to open the sluice gate and get things moving, and it might be an all-nighter. Tomorrow I’ll let you know if I’m moving downstream.

aimee mann > bachelor #2 Great CD.

There’s a lot that happens in a life. It’s easy to think it’s what happens on the scheduled calendars we keep on our computers, notebooks, phones, and heads. That’s fine, most of the time. Then maybe you have a 24 hour period when time sort of dissolves, and all hell breaks loose, and heaven too, and it’s simultaneous and clear and awesome and you’re along for the ride at the same time you realize you’re still in the driver’s seat.

So that’s the way my day has been. Sorry I can’t share particulars, but let’s just say that it’s been a full day. I recently heard Bill Clinton say “We’re only here for a short time – it doesn’t take long to live a life.” Right on, Bill. Every moment, full or wasted. I’d say today was full up. And that’s good, at the end of the day.

For years, my oldest son has wished for an accordion. I always figured it could be one of those things he would find on his own, later in life, so I wasn’t spending much time looking for one to give him. He’s a music major in college, plays the euphonium and other low brass instruments, as well as piano, ukelele, and almost anything else that makes a sound.

While I was visiting a hospice patient the other day, I talked with her son-in-law who had an accordion to sell, asking price of $100. It’s hard to reconstruct how the conversation evolved to reveal that, but it came out of the blue and before I knew it I had a fine 1958 accordion in a case in the trunk of my car for Jack’s birthday at Thanksgiving.

The first month of school this year has been a bit tough on Jack this time around, and he decided to come home this weekend for some recharging and home cooking. So I decided to give him his gift early as a sort of spirit booster and because I didn’t know if I could hold in my excitement for two more months. It turns out that he’s actually recovered from his blue mood in the last week, is feeling good and happy and healthy. So it was really icing on the cake to watch his face when he took the case and opened it – I think it’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever given in terms of pure joy. Here he is trying it on.

During my qigong class, there is a period of doing a special walking technique. The entire class is quiet as all the students practice this walk around the large studio where the class is held. In the last few weeks, I’ve noticed that I have a substantial amount of clicking in my joints while walking – knee, ankle, foot. I’ve always had some of this, but it seems to have gotten worse lately. It’s dismayingly audible in the quiet environment. I decided to search online to see if there is a name for this condition and maybe something to remedy it.

On one site I found a huge list of inquiries sent in by readers; they are organized under common headers. Taken as a whole, the list is somewhat disturbing as it displays a range of concerns from a sore toe to pretty disgusting descriptions of bodies gone bad. Some not too offensive examples:

A ganglion is making movement difficult
Alternatives to relax on my wedding day?
Can a chiropractor stop my son wetting the bed?
How can i grow taller?
I had pins and needles while playing tuba.
I would love to be able to dance again.
I’ve a lump on my leg the size of a sprout.
Small bones growing from the neck
Back pain is ruining my life.
Stabbing pains in the side of the calves
My calves twitch.
My knees feel hot after cycling.
Are my ribs cracked?
I think i may have broken my nose playing rugby
Travelling with a broken collarbone

And then I saw it. Not the question I thought I was looking for; it turned out to be, instead, an entire CATEGORY on “Clicking, Cracking and Creaking Joints.” The response says that clicking joints are not a cause for concern, that they are caused by relatively lax joint capsules that allow more than a usual amount of movement. Always looking for the good news, I brightened up at the fact that physical activity tends to make this condition more obvious. Guess my workouts are working!

A side note: all my children have extremely lax joints, and Grace, the athlete, has suffered the most from dislocated shoulders requiring surgery, to time in a wheelchair for knee issues. I thought this was from their dad’s genes more than mine (sorry, R!) since he’s always had a lot of flexibility, but maybe mine are a contributing factor too.

I’m fascinated with a tool over at Blogger.com that shows images being uploaded in real time. It’s hard to pull myself away from the flow of images as they pour in from all over the world. Welcome to the global community! My friend at The Daily Jimmy brought this site to my attention – Thanks, Jim.

Last night I fell asleep on the couch at 9 pm after a tough kung fu class. Woke up at 2 am with the computer still balanced on my stomach and the cat on my head. Got up and wondered if I should just start some work (why not?) but after a glass of water decided to try to sleep some more. My bed was so comfy that I went right back to sleep until 7:30 this morning. Wow. Ten hours of sleep for me is usually something to be worried about; it just doesn’t happen unless I’m sick. Luckily, I feel great today, and I’m guessing that this is part of my transition to an empty house – correcting a 20 year sleep deficit.

As I was stumbling up the stairs, still sleepy, I heard the trash truck coming around the corner and realized it’s Thursday, my pickup day. I ran outside to drag the can to the curb, and it was completely empty! I went back into the house and got the few items in the kitchen trashcan, a few tissues at the bottom of the bathroom trash, and that’s all there was after being gone for a long weekend; one person just doesn’t generate much waste. I’m hoping my utilities bills show the same result…

As beautiful as Cape Cod is, and Rome, things aren’t too bad right here in my own seaside town. Here’s a photo from the bikepath about a mile from my house. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that…

I spent a great long weekend on Cape Cod to meet friends and celebrate a birthday, and now I feel like a noodle. I brought back sand samples from a couple of beaches, neatly labeled in ziplock baggies, to remind me of this trip: no time schedules, great inn, lots of fabulous food, beautiful weather, lighthouses, runs, hot tubs, and ocean swims. Conversation and laughter. Does it get much better than this?

Back to the real world…

the lighthouse at truro, celebrating 150 years

As usual, it’s more than just one kind of day today. Not only is it my Memphis friend Gary’s birthday, it is also Talk Like A Pirate Day.

On the official website, there’s a list of pickup lines with a pirate-ish flavor. Here’s a good one:

4. How’d you like to scrape the barnacles off of me rudder?

Hey, wait a minute. I had someone say that to me, and I did, in fact, scrape barnacles off a boat… Was he a real pirate trying to shiver me timbers? Aaarrrrr, blimey, the next time I see the scurvy dog it be time for a keelhaul!

I just found the Universal Leonardo site, and it’s really a pretty great way to explore everything da Vinci. Enjoy!

A few things are in front of me today. First, my heart feels sore, actually sore, not from the king fu but because it was 2 months ago today that my 17-year-old neighbor died. Without anticipating it, I’ve had a swell of emotion this morning about that loss, about time, about children, about my neighbors.

Second, I had a great conversation with my friend Chris, who has lost so much weight in the last year. His school year has started and he says to his eighth grade classes, after giving them the story of this year’s physical transformation, that he doesn’t want to hear any one of them say “I can’t do it…” when he gives an assignment or lays out expectations. I’ve been thinking about that all weekend, and it’s a great whinebuster.

Third, I attended a Vedanta (Hindu) lecture last night titled Love of Truth, and there was a lot of really good stuff in there that I’m mulling over today. There’s one part of my life that is not matching up to my standard of “truth always” and it’s bugging me. It’s been bugging me for awhile, but the talk last night helped me articulate it to myself: I don’t always do what I say I’m going to do. And that’s an aspect of truth – how good is your word? It’s not that I intentionally mislead, more that I miscalculate my capacity. So I’m working on that this week, pulling back on my overly optimistic commitments to do everything immediately. Sort of a commitment to stop making commitments, to admit that sometimes I just can’t do it. I CAN DO IT (thanks, Chris!). Boy, that’s confusing…

Today I had my first kung fu class, and it was really a kick in the ass. I’m going to love this hour and a half, three times a week: it was everything I hoped for in terms of a really stiff workout and lots of sweat, lots of core work and stretching. Some of the movement was very yoga-like, and felt familiar. There were plenty of new moves for me too; punching (the instructor asked me if I had ever hit anyone before, and I said “just my kids”- some people in the class laughed and some didn’t…) was really fun, and took more concentration than I would have thought. I’m pretty weak on kicking, so I know I’ll see good improvement on that over the next 3 months.

The class is for all levels, so the 25 students range from advanced to “first day” like me. It was good to be in a class with the higher level students, just that many more examples to model how to move. I also really enjoyed the mix of students, from a middle-school aged boy to older adults, good mix of men and women (nice because my yoga classes have always been predominently female energy), small and big people, people in perfect shape and people who, like me, are “works in progress.” But the best thing was the laughter! This is a friendly, happy group, lots of good-natured helping and teasing and camaraderie. There is definitely a tone of respect that is firmly in place, but the warmth of the instructors and students was unmistakable.

After the warmups, the class was broken into groups by ability with each group under a different instructor, so you get to work at your own level as well as in the larger group. Today we worked on five basic positions and the movements that flow one into the other. A lot of this work is about balance, and I did pretty well. One of my favorite details was the hand position that looks like a bird’s head, elbow slightly bent behind you, wrist crooked, and fingers touching, pointing to the ground. Very cool.

So I came home exhilerated and exhausted, took two ibuprofen as instructed by the instructor of the beginning group, and thought I would read for a bit in the hammock in the middle of my back yard. I settled in with a pillow and blankie (it was on the cool and breezy side this afternoon) and took a moment to just stare up at the clouds whisking by – the edges of them looked like swirling smoke. Needless to say, I never even opened the book, just my eyes, two hours later! Sweet luxury.

When I visited the Sistine Chapel at the Vatican one week ago today, there were crowds of people flowing through the predetermined route in and out of the space. As the floor filled in with hundreds of people milling around with heads turned up to the ceiling, voices joined together and the volume in the room went from ambient to a dull roar. Two uniformed guards were posted on top of a dias roped off at one end of the Chapel, watching the crowd for misbehavior from that elevated position. As the decibel level rose, a very unexpected thing happened. The guards let out a loud and assertive SSSHHHHH over the heads of the crowd. Instantly, like a well trained kindergarten, voices from around the world dropped to a hushed whisper. Instantly! This happened abou four times while I was in the room. Fascinating!

The frescoes were gorgeous, by the way.

Skin is a large but delicate organ. Still, for every unfortunate attack by the external world, it usually hollers back with admirable alacrity, healing quickly though not always neatly.

Air travel always screws up my skin. The dryness of the air in the plane turns my face into paper, and then after lathering moisturizer on it for 12 hours, I usually have an adolescent-like breakout of middle-aged acne. yikes. This trip to Rome was no different, and today, 3 days after returning home, I’m still healing the vestiges of what looks like hormonal activity but is really just travel side effects.

In addition to facial blemishes, I came home with a bonafide scar: on her first day of school, Grace (my 15 year old daughter) asked me to iron her hair with the clothes iron. Her straightener had crapped out – a victim to electrical current changes in Italy – and the flat iron was her solution. I agreed, with some trepidation and a bad thought of her standing up with half her hair burned off. But it seemed to go pretty well until the moment the inside of my left arm touched the edge of the iron. The burn is up high enough toward my elbow that it doesn’t look like a suicide attempt; still, it’s visible, red and a bit puffy, and today for the first time, scabby. ick. Guess I’ll never be forgetting Grace’s first day of school in Rome. It’s branded onto me, a slash across the arm to remind me that all things move into the next level in due time. And that I should never again use an iron to straighten hair.

OK, let’s face it: my intention was to keep a sort of travelogue on this site, a diary of experiences that would be fresh and descriptive while I was journeying. And I missed the window of opportunity. I didn’t have the discipline, just didn’t feel like it. I was too busy living the experience to take time to write about it. And now, frankly, I have little motivation to lay it all out post-trip.

I have my mementos so that I’ll remember what I did on this adventure to Rome (ticket stubs, brochures, photos) and I feel sure that the trip will bubble up in all sorts of ways in the course of time. Where they bubble up will be the interesting part, I think, a continuation of the threads that started last week. That’s the interweave that makes meaning. It’s just a little overwhelming to even begin to document the whole thing now, after the fact. A bit boring, in fact.

I did have some details I started to write on the plane home that I’ll share (below), about my first day in Rome, but other than that I’m going to just say that it was a great trip, mission (to see my daughter securely settled in her first week at school) accomplished beautifully – she is thrilled with her new school!; that I loved Rome and will be happy to return; and that I am greatly enriched by the history and beauty I explored there.

I must have been exhausted when I wrote the previous entry titled flesh and good fortune - I can’t even remember what the title was supposed to mean now, and I didn’t write far enough into the piece to make it clear to anyone else either. oh well. Here’s the bit I wrote on the plane:

We were just walking down the street a block and a half from the apartment when we came upon the Pantheon from behind, and I was stunned by both its proximity to home and by the sheer size of the dome. The current building dates from 100 a.d. during the Roman Empire, and was dedicated to all the gods (pan theon) as a secular shrine. In 609 a.d. it became the first temple in Rome to be christianized.

The plaza outside is filled with tourists milling about, resting on the fountain, and following tour leaders who hold raised flags or umbrellas or signs. A few street vendors, beggars, and guys dressed up as gladiators are also there at all times of the day and night. You can simply stroll into the massive shrine casually – there’s no entrance fee or line.

Inside, the space is breathtaking. The height and diameter of the space is equal: 43.3m. The dome is the largest masonry vault ever built, and exceeds the dome on St. Peter’s by more than a full meter. The interior is filled with light that comes in the 9m wide opening at the top of the dome. The coffers in the ceiling are thought to have been decorated with gilded bronze rosettes. It is spectacular.

This is one of the last photos of Grace she allowed me to take. Both she and Robert share an extreme aversion to having their photos taken, which means that most of my photos are not populated by anyone I know, except for me in a couple instances. Out of 230 photos, I think I got them in maybe 5 or so, enough to prove that I really was visiting them!

I haven’t seen so many nuns in full dress since I was in parochial grade school. It was interesting to see them all over the city, in many cases walking hand in hand, sometimes riding bikes, sometimes running to their destination. There were nuns from all over the world. I had sort of forgotten they still existed, and it brought to mind lots of good memories from my catholic girlhood.

We walked to the Trevi Fountain, an immense 18th century work that features Neptune on a winged chariot pulled by marine horses (hippocampi) – you’ve seen this fountain a million times in different movies, and it was interesting to see it in person because the square is actually quite small. The aquaduct that feeds this fountain also feeds several others in town, and was built by Agrippa in 19 b.c. to bring water to his baths near the Pantheon. The water comes from a spring 20 km east of the city. Interestingly, the central hall of the Baths of Agrippa was characterized by a huge curved wall, and Robert’s apartment was built nestled in the curve of the ancient remains of that wall. From his terrace, you can clearly see the curved structure embedded in the walls. Cool.

We saw the Spanish Steps, and then came upon a modern building that houses the Ara Pacis, a monumental altar from 13 b.c. that commemorates the era of peace and prosperity won by the emperor Augustus. Every year on his birthday, September 23, they held a huge celebration with animals used for sacrificial rites. Drains at the base of the structure allowed the blood, and the water used to rinse it, to run off. The carvings around the altar are beautiful, and I especially like the way they used drawings to unobtrusively convey the parts of the bas relief that are missing.

In a strange juxtaposition, another exhibit housed in this building is a celebration of the life work of fashion designer Valentino: beautiful textiles and innovative design. Mmmmmm. His work is fabulous, and the display did it justice. The dresses hang like butterflies in a case, or paintings in a gallery, and every one is different and beautiful.

Tomorrow I return from my trip to Rome, but I’ve only told about my arrival a week ago. Hmm. Maybe in-between doesn’t need to be told in the tiny detail I had envisioned. I would sorely love (I love that expression) to give it all up before my return, and so, with 8.5 hours to go before departure, here I go, with no photos at all unitl later:

Sunday, after arrival: weary and jetlagged, and determined to stay awake until a decent sleeping hour, we set out on foot (as one usually goes) across Rome. An obelisk atop an elephant by the amazing Bernini (a fitting start), followed by the Pantheon, ancient architectural wonder just a block and a half down the street; street walkers in Gladiator costumes; the famous Trevi fountain; and a really interesting juxtaposition of the current and ancient at the Ara Pacis (Altar of Peace). The museum is currently featuring a retro show of fashion designer Valentino’s amazing life’s work -as much sculpture as clothing- and the sacrificial altar dating from 13 b.c. that celebrated the peace brought to the Roman people by Roman emperor Augustus. Every year on September 23, his birthday, a huge ceremony was held to celebrate peace and prosperity.

I love that quote from Gertrude Stein. It’s so Gertrude Steinish.

I’ve had a harder time sitting down to write a post during this week in Rome than I imagined I might have. Things have been happening fast and furiously on so many different levels, and here in the ancient city they seem to twist and intertwine so that trying to verbalize the experience in any meaningful way falls short, flat, and winds up in the “draft” bin with a slim hope for salvation later (next week? next year?).

But as Gertrude suggests, I believe I should simply dig in and start somewhere, anywhere. The beginning might be nice. The internet is a packet-oriented place, so I’ll do these in little packets, short bits, single threads. I’ll think of it as serving up snacks instead of intimidating meals. A sandwich ziplock is so much easier to fill than a gallon freezer bag…And then I can leave the delicate process of intertwining to later, maybe in my dreams.

out the window en route: mountains poke through the clouds

So, to begin, I arrived on Sunday morning and Robert and Grace greeted me. The flight was fine. Two babies screamed in concert nearly the entire way, but I had my iPod, and besides, that sound doesn’t really bother me when I know I’m not the responsible party. My seat partner was a wonderful 78 year old woman named Grace, coincidentally, who is from Providence RI too. Her story is interesting and lovely. Nine years ago a friend convinced her to sign up for a discounted tour to Italy. She’d never been, and thought it would be nice to see the country of her grandparents. She left the tour with her friend for a day to go to the small village in Sicily where they had lived, and inquired about the family at the local police department. The officer got on the phone, and dialed a number, speaking to a man named Paolo. Grace said “That’s my cousin! Tell him that our grandfather fell out of a cherry tree and broke his neck. He’ll know it’s the right family…” In 5 minutes, a car pulled up and the entire family was there to take them back to the family home. Paolo told her they were heartbroken to lose contact with the American family after the grandfather died. And now she goes to stay for an entire month every year, and they just love each other, all these people in their 70’s. Of course I love reading it from all different angles- a story like this is sure to have its twists and turns. But this is the way she told it to me. After nursing her husband and then her son through cancer, she became a hospice worker, so that was another source of common experience. Quite a vibrant woman, and wonderful to share the ride with.

Grace and Robert and I took a cab back to the apartment, and the ride into the city was wonderful. My immediate impression was that there was more space than I thought there would be – the wide avenues were unexpected. And the trees were very Dr. Seussish. Photos of them later…

clearly she’s happy to see me!

The apartment is on a tiny side street, cobblestoned like the rest of the city in basalt squares. On the front of the building is a strange sort of altar thing with a beautiful image of the blessed virgin and child, candles, flowers, and it does feel like a blessing upon the place.

sampietrini, the cobblestones made of basalt, the commonest type of solidified lava. the material came from caves on the appian way, in the city’s southeast outskirts, where lava had arrived from craters in the nearby castelli area about 280,000 years earlier. ancient roads used much larger stones, but these small versions were used in the 16th century to pave st. peter’s square. the name means “small st. peter’s”, and the smaller stones were favored for use throughout the rest of the city.

I made it! After a fairly simple journey here, I arrived at 8:15 on Sunday morning. Robert and Grace were at the airport to meet me, and I had my first glimpse of Rome as a sort of blur from the back seat of the taxi. I expected small, winding, cobblestoned streets, and was surprised at the width of some of the big avenues, with their huge expanse of roadway, tall trees, and sunny atmosphere. The weather is fabulous, hot sun, fairly strong breeze keeping temps down, and clear as a bell. We got to the house, which is fabulous. It was wonderful to see my girl again, and her dad. I’ll let the photos do some talking tonight as I’m so sleepy right now, and later in the week I’ll fill in with specific stories.

Today is cleaning and chaos and closure as I get ready for my departure tomorrow. I’ll arrive on Sunday morning to hug my Grace and her dad who is still my close friend. Her adventure this week will be to start school, mine will be to discover Rome and the surrounding areas. On Friday, Grace and I will hop on the train after school and head to Umbria, to a small town called Orvieto. I have a one night reservation at a nice hotel in the heart of the old city, and we’ll have some mom and daughter time together which will be really nice, I think. I may write more entries during my travels, or I may not. I’m just going to do whatever the heck I feel like doing, so there! Ciao, cari lettori!

orvieto, 60 miles north of rome

OMG. That was hilarious, sweaty, and fun. It’s hard to believe that playing two chords alternately for the duration of a song could make one perspire profusely, but when the teacher is leading with a bunch of other musical stuff and singing at the same time (Horse with No Name) in your living room and it’s 80 some degrees with no AC, the pressure is on to keep up and the sweat begins to flow. Then I had to lead with some improvisational notes while he played chords in the background, and dang, at moments (maybe 2) it sounded pretty good! I have to thank my Henry for getting me ready with a month of lessons over the summer. And for certain family members who might mock my sense of rhythm, Mr. Jimmy mentioned that it was a strong point and applauded my strumming efforts. This week’s practice song: House of The Rising Sun. Now off to Qigong class with Master Wu.

The smell of grape jelly kept wafting across the bikepath during my run today. Big purple grapes in the undergrowth just off the path were hanging ripe and full and just filling the air with that sweet and familiar smell. It reminded me of unwrapping the plastic wrap on my PB&J when I was a little kid and getting a whiff of the Welch’s. yum.

I’m sure it would be nice for my readers if I gave an eloquent chronological reflection of the past week, but somehow time just doesn’t seem to be the organizing factor in these thoughts. So I’ll be jumping around a bit, and just hoping that there’s some sense to all of it.

On Saturday Jack and I drove a loaded car to UConn and carried all his stuff up 6 flights of stairs. Here’s a picture of him and his roommate, a really nice nursing student named Larry:

The grimace on Jack’s face sort of sums up the morning – though everything went well, and in fact the big guys carried the really heavy stuff, it was hotter than a sauna and Jack hates that. Shirts were off after the first climb up the stairs (their shirts, not mine…), and I said my goodbyes at about noon after the sherpas had reached the summit with all the bags, lamps, stereos, etc.

After leaving my big guy, I drove on down through Connecticut for a rendezvous at a hotdog stand. The highlight of the drive, besides the AC in my car, was going over the Frog Bridge in Willamantic. I felt like I was in The Wind in the Willows, or a Beatrix Potter illustration.

Look at that dangling leg! Very cool. Here’s the history:

The “Battle of Frog Pond” was an incident in 1756 around the time of the French and Indian War. The citizens of Windham (Willimantic is located in Windham township) were awakened in the middle of the night by a tremendously frightening racket just outside of town. Assuming the worst, they seized their arms and prepared for the impending Indian attack. When morning arrived, the armed villagers marched in the direction of the noise only to discover that the nearby pond had dried up, and the area was littered with hundreds of dead bullfrogs. The frogs that still lived were heading to the Willimantic River in search of water. Thus, the fearsome sounds that had plagued the citizenry the previous night had not been Indians but rather bullfrogs “fighting” for water. The pond was renamed Frog Pond, the story spread throughout the towns and colonies, and the legend was born. The story is apocryphal, and most likely well embellished by local color. Nevertheless, the town has recently erected a Frog Bridge to commemorate the incident, featuring frogs atop spools of thread. Giant sculptures of frogs atop spools of thread adorn a bridge next to the mill. The thread spools are included in the bridge’s design because Willimantic was, at one time, known as “Thread City.” The American Thread Company had a mill in Willimantic on the banks of the Willimantic River, and was at one time the largest employer in the state as well as one of the largest producers of thread in the world.

The town of Willimantic has now given the four frogs official names. They are now Willy, Manny, Windy and Swifty. The names Willy and Manny combine for Willimantic. Windy is for Windham. Swifty is a reference to Willimantic, which is Algonquin for “the land of the swift running water.

After a hotdog break, John and I went to the Mark Twain House in Hartford, where I forgot to take any photos at all. Great story of life there, great stories about life written there. I enjoyed it thoroughly. One of the best things was the way Twain reflected on the spirit of the house, words that express what I want to feel in my home:

“To us our house was not unsentient matter—it had a heart & a soul & eyes to see us with, & approvals & solicitudes & deep sympathies; it was of us, & we were in its confidence, & lived in its grace & in the peace of its benediction. We never came home from an absence that its face did not light up & speak out its eloquent welcome—& we could not enter it unmoved.”

I love that…

Now I’ll jump over the ocean to comment on daughter Gracie. She’s been hot, bored, and lonely, but roused herself from lassitude to get to the AC in the local museums. I can only hope their heat breaks by Sunday morning when I arrive at the aeroporto di Fiumicino because I don’t think the appartemento needs another heat source (me) when it’s already 100.

classic! thanks for the great photo, r.

Not too badly out of sequence after all, not too reflective either. Some days, it’s “nothing but the facts, ma’am” with a web of thinking and feeling to follow. My house is quiet like a well trained dog this week, patiently waiting for the next command. I have that feeling you get when you dive into cool clear water and find yourself relatively weightless. There’s no resistance here, very little friction, with just one body moving through the last 24 hours. It’s peaceful, smooth, clear. Mmmmh.

I was There, and now I’m Here. Last month was Grace and Henry and Jack getting ready for departure to life adventures; today is me, back at the empty house with those three packed off successfully, facing my own adventure and a dirty house. It’s magical, exciting for them and for me, and full of possibility. Grace’s adventures are perking up, and next weekend I’m off to Rome to be with her during her first week of school. Henry is mesmerized at Pitt – first day of classes have immersed him in the world that he’s been waiting for most of his life. Jack has auditions tomorrow and is already under pressure, but his roommate is a good friend and the weather is supposed to cool this week. I had the best of companionship this weekend, visited the Mark Twain House in Hartford and had a boating tour of the Thames River in Connecticut. Sometimes I feel like the luckiest woman in the world. Hallelujah.

Honestly, I’m too damn tired to write much of anything today, so I’m putting some music on, cleaning my house, taking a bubble bath and putting myself to bed with a great book and clean sheets. Amen to that. I’m happy, content, loving my life, and fully satisfied. Look for lots of pics and stories tomorrow. It’s all a prayer.

Speaking of friends from first grade, Chris isn’t the only one who has that status: my childhood playmate and lifetime friend Kathy was also part of our neighborhood and school gang. Now she lives in Maine with her partner Lenora in a rambling old home that’s got everything from chickens to door pulleys, and their lives follow the same un-patterned architecture of work and relationships. These women put their time and money where their hearts are, and I love their creative energy. Instead of experiencing the feeling of compassion for people in need, these two take them into their home and shelter them. They feed them. They find them jobs. They are love in action.

kathy and lenora

Now that they’ve got an empty nest (their son left for school a few years ago) like I do this year, they’ve had interesting stories to tell that make me realize that parenting doesn’t end when kids leave home.

Here are some little details about Kathy from when we were kids:
-skinny and freckled
-walking down the sidewalk one day, she told me about a great book called The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. Thanks for opening the world of Narnia for me, Kath-
-we tried to write a book together one summer in her cool basement. We made an illustration of a bloody finger beckoning from the window of an old house. I know we talked about it a while back, but I still can’t remember the plot.
-her mom was young and wore a bikini. This was very cool to me.
-Kathy was always can-do. You could talk about any topic, and she could jump right in.
-She would fix you with those blue eyes and ask the piercing question, the hard question. For a pleasant, well-mannered, tiny child, you still just knew not to mess with her.
-Kathy is a great listener, and remembers everything, and she’s been like that since she was a kid. The term steel trap comes to mind…

Of course, there’s so much more, but that’s enough for here.

A few months ago, Kathy asked me if we could get together so she could see Grace before she left for Italy. It had been some years since Kathy had actually seen my daughter just through flukes of scheduling. So we made one plan that fell through, and another, and finally, the week before Grace was to leave, I decided to just drive all the way up there for a visit. Grace and I left early in the morning and met the gals for breakfast at this interesting restaurant that’s all about eggs. An artist friend of theirs was having a yard sale, so we went there and picked up some great stuff, including an old set of highball glasses that sported gold rims and the names of different international cities, including, of course, Rome. And then Lenora gave us a great driving tour of Portland, while Kathy did the narration. It was a perfect morning. Thanks, old friends! Can’t wait to see you in November!

kathy and lenora with grace and me

I started first grade with one of my best friends 40 years ago. Last summer I saw Chris one week before he started his training and diet regime to get fit and stay alive (top photo, at Faneuil Hall in Boston). The next time I saw him was last Friday, 2 days after hitting his goal weight (bottom photo, with my boys). I almost died when I saw him, he looks so great. His face looks the way it did in 5th grade (ok, a bit older). This man left a longtime career to go back to school and now teaches geography to 8th graders. He jokes about having lost a whole 8th grader this year in weight. I think he’s a hero, not just to me but to all those students who witnessed the changing of a life. Thanks, Christopher. You are ever an inspiration, dear friend.

One to go. I have safely deposited Henry at University of Pittsburgh, and just returned from that adventure a couple of hours ago. Grace is still in Rome, wishing she could escape her father’s watchful eye, no doubt. Now it’s Jan’s (oldest son) turn to head out to University of Connecticut on Saturday for year 2 of his college career. The house is quiet but I’m feeling pretty turbulent with the whirlwind of packing and unpacking, buying, buying, buying, air travel and goodbyes.

Short term plan: focus on hour by hour needs over the next couple of days. Get Jack to Uconn. Sleep the rest of the weekend. Wake up on Monday fully refreshed and ready for new adventures and perspective. More soon…

in the airport to pittsburgh, making the all-important shopping list

one of the newest dorms on campus, great view from the 7th floor

typical henry outreach…

almost like home…

taking a break to make some music

Mom and Dad renewed their marriage vows during a Catholic mass on Saturday when we all gathered to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary in northern VA. It was very moving – Here’s a photo of the bride and groom with Father Joe. Had a great time seeing my sisters and brother. I’ll fill in the details and post some photos later.

Tomorrow morning Henry and I fly to Pittsburgh to get him situated at Pitt. Let the adventure begin! More later, when I have time to tell some stories. This weekend is likely to be a crash and burn after the week I’m having. I can’t wait.

groom and bride with father joe

5 out of 6 siblings, at an irish pub the night before (where else?!)

the other one (sorry you couldn’t join us, sis!)

Feels like every bit of my life is caught up in small eddies that are swirling across the next two weeks. Easy to see how one can lose sight of the ground during a period of activity this intense as I fly to anniversary parties, deliver one child then another to college, and, ahem, work full time. But I’m keeping my feet firmly planted, and most of the vortices are small, light, and even delightful in their own way, more like the potential for a storm than the real thing. Trying hard to stay in the present moment so nothing slips by me unnoticed. I’m hopeful I can find a signal during my travels to DC and Pittsburgh over the next 6 days so I can report on my family party. I’ll keep you posted. Or rather: I’ll keep posting, maybe. Or something like that…

I think she’s starting to get that sophisticated euro look. What a gal, my daughter Grace. It’s been an up and down week for her as she adjusts to the time, the climate, the language, and the urban environment of Rome, but when in Rome, do as the Romans do – looks like she’s got that down at the ristorante.

Yesterday I was roundly beaten in a game of afternoon Scrabble, but I learned about something lovely that made it worth the game: the ha-ha fence.

The ha-ha was a fence designed in the eighteenth century to keep livestock and wild critters off landscaped gardens. It is basically a ditch with one interior side held back by a wall. Sometimes the wall is quite down in the ditch. Sometimes the ground on the wall side is higher than the ground on the opposite side, creating a stepped effect in the landscape. The illusion if you are standing on the walled side is that you can see no fence at all, just an ongoing vista of land. It’s a great innovation, simple and elegant. Good lord, I love a good design.

Next week at this time, I’ll be in Virginia watching my Mom and Dad renew their marriage vows in a Catholic mass, 50 years after they made them the first time. After the mass, we’ll head over to my brother’s house for a family party. We five sisters decided to get it catered so no one is burdened with prep or cleanup- that’s a treat for us becasue we’re do-it-yourselfers. It will be a nice day, I think.

As far back as I can remember, Mom and Dad have always celebrated their anniversary with a private home-cooked meal. They would dress up for each other, and the table was always beautiful. We kids were not invited; that was a night we would get to have an early dinner and watch a tv show. Sometimes Mom would set the table in the dining room, sometimes in the backyard, and sometimes (we kids thought this was really crazy and special) in their bedroom on a little round table that sat next to mom’s armchair. Usually the menu was steak, I think.

So even though all six of us siblings were willing to have a glam party at a downtown hotel, it really is so consistent for Mom and Dad to have this occasion with just the family, and a meal at home. Congratulations, Mom and Dad!

Forty-eight years ago, in Mandan, North Dakota

I won this handmade blue-black bowl at a silent auction to support the summer theatre program in our town. My bid was $5. It’s a beginner’s bowl, all crooked and lumpy, but I like it filled with oranges.

It’s cool today, and grey, and I get to wear jeans and a sweater and my slippers with socks. I love my slippers. They are worn to hug my feet, these forest green felt clog-style slip-ons with rubber soles that I can wear outside to walk to my office. Some people have comfort food. I have my slippers.

For the last few nights (yes, the same nights I camped, caught poison ivy, and missed my daughter – just some basic multitasking) I’ve been going in for press checks on a sizeable print project I’ve been working on for one of the universities here in New England. It’s going great, thanks to an expert designer and a printing facility that’s doing everything right. A press check is when you go into the printing plant to approve the sheet that they are printing BEFORE they run 85,000 copies of it for the next 10 hours, usually more. You are at the mercy of the printer in terms of schedule. If you are anxious to get the piece in the mail, as we are, you want them to run those machines 24/7, so you have to go in to do these checks in the middle of the night sometimes.

The press guys are THE BEST. They are the gurus of ink on paper. They run huge presses like a lion tamer runs his cats. I love these guys (have never seen a press woman, not sure any exist…why is that???) and they can make or break any job. They are true craftsmen, and I honor the work they do.

Today I woke up a bit out of sorts. I’m sure that my erratic sleep schedule hasn’t helped; this miserable jungle-like weather surely didn’t help; the fact that 3 weeks ago they pulled Patrick’s body out of the water after it was missing all night, and tomorrow is his birthday didn’t help; and the poison ivy really didn’t help.

Luckily, by midafternoon I was in a bit of fatigue-induced delirium, and an old story came to mind, a story about my big sister, that has kept me laughing since 3 pm. My mother tells the story that when Mary Estelle was about 4 she was asked what she thought of Lassie. Mary Estelle replied “I hate that Lassie. She thinks she’s so great!” On an intellectual level I know this is not hilariously funny, but in my fragmented state of mind it has hit a funny bone and seems hysterical. Just thought I’d share it in case anyone else needed the same poke.

Time for another press check.

It sounds like the name of one of the archangels – Raphael, Gabriel, Sariel, Raguel, Uriel, Remiel, etc.- even though it ends in “ol,” not “el.” Instead of blessings, however, this oily skin irritant produced by the woody vine of poison ivy has covered my arm in a red bumpy rash. It’s my first ever case of it. The other night while camping I hardly even brushed the woods at all (one short walk on a path to the lake, two quick pee breaks at the edge of the trees), so I’m a bit mystified about why this happened after years of seeming immunity. Drag. Thank god for Tecnu, which, by the way, sounds like a Hindu deity.

In a previous post, I listed things that I want to do during this year of empty nestedness. In eighth position was this item:

8. Use my new piano to learn how to improvise. Finally. If an old dog can learn new tricks (and I believe they can).

I talked about this with my middle son, Henry. Henry is on his way off to college this year: University of Pittsburgh, physics and theater double major. He’s a quirky kind of guy, and an excellent guitar player.

Henry suggested that I NOT start back into my Hanon piano exercises, that maybe my fingers would fall into their native memory of previous learning and performance patterns, blocking me from staying loose and working the improv mojo. I thought his comment had a lot of merit. And then he said something really interesting. “In fact, I think it would be better for you to switch instruments altogether, and then go back to the piano. If you want, I’ll give you guitar lessons.”

Hmm. This was an intriguing twist. I decided to do it. So for the past month, I’ve been getting a lesson every week from Henry, and I am completely amazed that I can actually pull a few things out of that guitar.

Today when Jimmy Brunelle (Henry’s current guitar teacher) called the house, I asked him how he would feel about taking me as a student when Henry leaves for college. He said sure, and now I’m committed. I asked Jack (my oldest son, a classical musician in his second year of college) and Henry if they wanted to start a family band. Surprisingly, they both declined, but I think there could be a future there. In fact, it’s starting to look like a year full of new tricks to me.

Since Grace left on Sunday, I haven’t slept at home. Instead, I’ve been with Henry at a campground in the southern part of the state. Because he’s in his last week of summer theatre, and he’s a paid intern, AND the big musical is this weekend, I’ve had to drive him home each morning at 6 am to work. So the story for two days has been: get to camp at dinnertime, sit around the campfire with Mike and Cindy (the other parents accompanying the 6 teens), climb into my little tent to sleep, and then wake up at 5:15 to leave with Henry. He’s had a good time with his friends and the weather held up in spite of predicted storms.

My tent is a remarkable little design gem. In the bag, it is a 2-foot wide disc. Unzip the bag, pull out the disk and toss it in the air, and POOF!, like magic, it transforms into a fully assembled, ready-to-sleep-in, two-man (depending on the size of the man) tent. A few contortions and the thing is easily pushed back into circular disks for re-sheathing in its package. It’s what I would call nifty. Elegant in its simplicity. Every time I take it out, I feel curiously excited and happy just to watch it spontaneously take shape.

The campground is in a huge state park, laid out in interconnecting loops, each one spawning 7 or 8 or 20 sites with fire rings and picnic tables. Some of the sites are next to the road, others in the middle of fields, not many are nestled into woods. This is not your private sort of campground. The park office is open 24/7, and there are a couple of camp stores with all kinds of necessary (and unnecessary) items. On Sunday night I bought a hooded pullover that looks like it’s made from a mexican blanket, with big red stripes that give me a “Where’s Waldo” sort of look (yet another fashion high for me). And I got a big bag of Cracker Jack, and a flashlight that worked for one night.

The park is down the road from the ocean beach, and sits next to a big lake, so lots of visitors have boats. This is not wilderness camping, where it’s just you and the trees and whatever might come out of them. My friend laughed when I said it looked like a refugee camp, but some visitors stay for weeks and build what look like tent cities: 6 or more tents; eating shelters; an RV; at least one truck, and several cars; the boat and trailer; kayaks; bike rack with 8 bikes WITH covers; wood piles 6 feet high; TVs; stereo systems.

The hard core folks actually decorate their complex with string lights that look like peppers, or huge colorful whirligigs suspended like chandeliers over the center of the common area. I hoped I would catch a glimpse of a washing machine or other large appliance sitting out there on the grass, but none materialized. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were in the RV somewhere, though. At the end of the vacation, all this stuff magically goes back into the vehicles and off they all go – sort of like my tent. I’m assuming they go back to a house somewhere, but who really knows? Maybe they just move on to the next campground…