Pausing

I feel like part of me is dying. The writing part of me is fading away. I would like to blame it on technology and this blippy, ever crashing beast of a computer (and there is some truth to that) but it is also life.

I tire of teaching, I am sick of rushing from bus stop to bus stop, sick of my own ignorance in this language, etc. To put it bluntly, I just want to sleep, not work, and get back to my inner being self. That is going to require some space and time. So, I have decided not to post anything for the next 5 days. In that time I will have my computer (I hope) and can return to normal. Because when I sit down to put something on my little blog, I have to constantly worry when it will be lost due to another crash moment.

Please check back in within a week.

Wish me luck, I get to teach 11-year-olds tomorrow. Yee doggies. And they don’t speak English and I don’t speak Italian. Sniff around and you’ll smell catastrophe in the air.

little treasures

Retrieving luggage I left behind in my hurry to leave last August, I have come across some little treasures. Naturally, I’m thrilled to find a spring time purse, some clothes, and belts. But the other things— photos of trips, pictures of my old home and cats and family, letters from my friends, all of these were abandoned by me.

Reclaiming them is like finding myself all over again.

And that’s what every day is about lately, the pull back into myself and who I am.

Hope everyone is doing some of the same. In the meantime, this poem by Dylan Thomas has been playing in my head. Enjoy.

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever. The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.

The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman’s lime.

The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather’s wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.

And I am dumb to tell the lover’s tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.

Even great lions must fall

Last weekend I heard Kurt Vonnegut died (click here for NYTimes obit), but that isn’t what this is about. This is about Helmut.

Helmut adopted my family’s Virgina Highlands porch in 1995; he was confirmed by the vet to be about 13 years old at that time. This Sunday, on a different adopted porch (my uncle Gerald’s in Florida) he decided it was time to leave this world. So after a quarter century of rambling, fighting, sleeping, purring, hunting and eating, Helmut has gone on.

Gerald’s other cat knew to pay some respect and left a bird at his head after he died. My mother burned sage to send him on and he was laid to rest next to Critter, Messy, and Sophie under a tree near the pond. I can picture the bassets howling for him and one more animal lost. But, naturally, I’m not sad. Like Vonnegut, he outlasted hope and his life was spent doing what he did best — entertaining and ruling. I’d love to know everything that cat saw in his ramblings: the petty crimes of Atlanta streets, couples in a dogwood spring, sinister wild life of the panhandle, the habits of cows, and his removed observation of human behavior. Surely of all of those, the human behavior bored him the most.

Rest easy Helmut, you lived longer than some of the young of Virginia, you may have seen more of life than thousands dying in war and you exited with style and peace. May we all be so lucky. May all this useless violence end.

Blips and b-days

Clearly a stream of consciousness type post is in order. I can’t put together a coherent thought. So, in no particular order, here are a few bits and bobs I’ve been meaning to mention:

Fig and ricotta gelato — yummmm. Eating it over the Arno on the Ponte alla Carraia in the sun watching traffic blow by.

Train rides to Figline where you see Spring happening on the hills. Green, always good. Better as it rolls past a window stilling all the inner rush to a quiet blur.

Impromptu specks shopping. Yes, it was time. These frames are falling off and the lenses are chipped. I’m not exactly impressing anyone with them.

Sunshine in my open bedroom window listening to scooters and Lexie’s cleaning house music — sounds a bit Spanish. Upbeat.

Teaching overload.

Mojito sipped on the steps of Santo Spirito. Guitar plays. Chatting. Bums still looking at me, wondering what I’m doing here. Everyone does.

To much time in the train station traveling and teaching there now. Recognize the regulars, wondering if maybe they think I’m one. Wait, am I suspected of being a treno pervatita?

Still have an interview today that will surely go horribly wrong. Reading phrase books really doesn’t help get a job.

American / Canadian burger eating night where the phrases “back sweat of a hairy Bulgarian” and “interpretive humor” where born. I love the Greek Canadian element of this city.

Secret sins of french fries (yep— McDonald’s at the train station). Forgive me, I’m weak and they’re tasty.

L’autobus, l’autobus, l’autobus — every day, l’autobus. sigh. humanity in the rising heat.

Oh, and soon I’ll be at Angie’s with Angie. Ah, good times ahead.

Happy Birthday Shane and Michelle! Here’s to hoping that the couple who celebrates together, stays together. Love and miss you both. Wine will be sipped for Shane tonight and a birra for my lady on Sunday. Baci!

Day begins bright

Anodyne and I had a rapid email exchange last night.

A lot, if not all, of our conversation involved love. She seems to glow from afar and it warms me. The fact that she has remained true to a vision and right now sees potential opening up, is momentous. A patient gardener finds reward in the spring.

I wish that all of you such bright hope. But eventually there are clouds in all relationships, such is the nature of love. Shining, clouds, stormy, rain, repeat.

For me, I’m going to surrender. Surrender myself to the sun, the great force my soul seeks. Surrender to the bright day. Walk in the midst of strangers and contemplate their natures. Be the life sponge I love to be.

Let me know how your natural state is doing.

Netted

Never thought a power drill would be involved. But that’s what it takes to hang mosquito net around here. It wasn’t too bad really. And I even did get to play the part of Arachne when I realized there was a hole to be mended. Thread came out, plaster was drilled, a shelf was hung, and now . . . well, it isn’t exactly the picture of gossamer things from my childhood, but it isn’t so bad. Most importantly, I have a few feet of vampire-less space.

Tomorrow is, of course, Easter. I’d love to scratch the big surface and ponder the significance of it — especially now with war raging on, death, destruction, global alienation and seclusion. But I can’t. Gigione began to the other night sitting in front of Santa Croce, the largest Franciscan church in the word—trying to comprehend some key details about religion and where it has led us, and why all of the violence in its name. It was a discussion I knew was never ending. It is a discussion we all need to have. It is what we should strive to understand every time a bomb explodes and another human being taken. It is also a discussion that needs to occur between people who have studied all aspects, all the different facets of religion, every branch and every leaf. And that is truly beyond me. My patience crumbles easily and my mind cannot hold so much weight. But imagine being a world leader . . . books open every night trolling for information, every day an exercise in compassionate discourse, scholars and diplomats consulted regardless of their politics, gladly spending your life trying to find a solution, and trying desperately to stave off more blood. Can you picture that? I know, it’s hard to imagine now.

Here’s to the resurrection of ideas and dreams.

When dreams become realities

The closest thing I wanted to a bridal veil as a child was a mosquito net. I’d picture the gauzy breezes of a four poster bed. Windows wide open with me sitting in the center of things, book in hand and surrounded by a gentle cloud of white. Or better yet, a circular arrangement on the floor, soft and cushioned, bright exotic pillows (but still with book in hand).

So when I moved into this flat in December I was happy to see a net had been used in the past. In its winter state it was drawn up and a tad grey from the dust of disuse. Recently I rearranged my bedroom, so the bed is in the center and away from the cold walls. Now, after several sleepless nights with the shrill buzzing of unfriendlies wanting my blood, I have decided it is time for that childhood fantasy to become a reality.

Washing it in the tub, I was able to revisit a few stranded night invaders from years past. The dust was more of a grime and it still isn’t exactly a brilliant white, but better, sure. And trying to reconstruct it to its frame is going to be tricky. My friend Ginger, long gone now, would say about the impossible that it was like “nailing jello to a tree”. Yep. I’m no Arachne and handling the thin material is not likely to yield a lovely web. Maybe.

The whole experience has made me wonder about our wishes. How knowledge at times interferes with an imaginative mind. We’ll see, once it’s constructed and hung, maybe it will be everything I dreamed about.

Some frequency

So, my dear friend helped fix my laptop to the point that it at least will work for some stretch of time. How long that time is, I’ve yet to determine, but at least I have some connection again.

Last week was one of the longest weeks of my life. In part due to the fact that I had no chance to email or write, but also just personally a drag. Exhaustion is the only way to put it. Several stones seemed to be placed on all aspects of my life here, but I’ve emerged better for it this week. More focus on the important things is required. Unfortunately I had tons of stuff to tell you all, but now it seems irrelevant.

Anyway, I survived the temperature with a sweater and undershirt and last week that would not have been possible. Hoping that means Spring is really almost here. The thought of the wool coats one more day is making me cranky.

So, I’m sort of back. Sorry to been out of it for so long. Hoping for some surge of creativity or insight to share; but for now, just know I’m more or less here (until the next big crash). Can’t wait until May when I get a new laptop!!