Beth Cassini: In My Monet

The Grand Scheme

2015-03-16T22:33:00.000-04:00

Quickly, my perspective shifts. In an instant, I feel new sensations that keep me engaged in an exhilarated now. For as long as I want, I can conjure these collected feelings and reap the benefits again and again. I can relate, with more understanding, to others. I can understand with more clarity a variety of topics. I feel expanded and my consciousness feels more explored. I am aware that although nearly everything in the world is presented as finite, within me is an infinite space in which to grow. It sounds like a power trip, right? But, the power is in a feeling of humility and opportunity to create within the grandness. We live in a grand scheme of things we like to say. So, why should we stay still in a finite perspective for a lifetime?

This is all about travel. It’s not a power trip. It’s experiencing the power of a trip.

I saw my mom walk across a pebble beach and put her feet in the Adriatic Sea. I stood above on a sidewalk with my eye pressed to a camera lens and as I situated her on the right side of the shore with a sunset and sea horizon stretching left until my little box of the world went black, I felt like she looked so little while becoming part of something so big. I took the picture and announced in my thoughts, “Mom, In the Grand Scheme of Things.” She was experiencing something more and becoming more and I could feel the privilege of being witness to it. I could feel her being in a powerful now. I could almost feel the water on my skin as I happily watched her be in the sea. She was truly being a part of the grandness, feeling the moment and letting it give her the gift of now… to keep forever. I think I too will keep that moment forever. I have the photo, but it’s nothing like seeing with new vision once a new wonderful thing has happened. It’s a beautiful proof. The beautiful truth is my mind’s eye. I can see it and feel it over and over because I was entirely focused.

Mom- stepping in the Adriatic sea

Mom came to Montenegro ten days ago. Her most used word has been “Wow.” She uses many tones to communicate the different impressions of each view, but instead of searching for a word, she uses the one readily available. This is a “wow” kind of now, I agree.

Porto Montenegro, Old Town Kotor, the ancient Wall of Kotor, the view of Sveti Stefan, Old Town Budva- our nine day demo of Montenegro.

Day ten held the realization of a wish never sent to the stars. She insists that, “never in my wildest dreams did I think I would see these places”. But I believe she must have at least whispered secret wishes of distant travel at some point. Montenegro may not have been on the wish list, it is after all, a secret gem still, but these other cities we’ll be visiting were surely dreamed of at some point in time.

You see, I’ve been scheming. For mom’s first trip to Europe, I thought she might want to explore a little more territory. I carry a teal folder that reveals a travel route that I consider pure bliss. It’s a grand scheme.

To start, Vienna, Austria.

'The City of Dreams': Vienna, Austria

We strolled the streets of Vienna until midnight.

Being oh-so-Baroque!

Week 3: Celebrate Good Times

2014-09-05T11:01:00.001-04:00

1970s

My third week in Porto Montenegro: All About 1974.
First, there was my sister's birthday to consider. Paige is her name. My one and only sibling and adored big sister. Before leaving Atlanta, I knew I would miss any celebration in person, so I gave her a present in advance. This included a cute Kate Spade travel and passport organizer. The message remains very clear. I want her to come see me soon. But, the 23rd of August, her birthday, was approaching and I needed more than a happy birthday long distance call. So, I became the Village's American wish monger and I gathered wishes in various languages from many people here at Porto Montenegro. "Happy birthday, Paige" was captured in Serbian/Montenegrin, Italian, Russian, Arabic, Spanish, and English. Luckily for me, people were happy to help collaborate for a (very amateur) video montage. I even got the birthday song in Italian from my friend Laura, which I've since learned my niece Madeline continues to sing (her birthday followed on the 25th). So many of the contributors have asked me how her birthday was and if she enjoyed the video. I joked with Paige that they know her here- and they know me as Paige's sister. "Who is that?" "Oh, that's Paige's sister." "Who's Paige?" "I don't know, but she just had a birthday."
I had never used the iMovie app before and I can't say I learned a lot, but I learned enough to smash the wishes together and send it. She was thrilled and cried... because that's how we show we're so happy ;)... and my mission was complete. Sister feels loved.
While this was going on, I learned that the weekend's other 1974 celebration was themed. Guests were to dress in 1970s attire. The CEO at Porto Montenegro is turning 40 this year, as well.
The Venetian white theme, I pulled that off because I threw white pants in my suitcase at the last minute. I had ditched them and then put them back. I have several white tanks and tees. I just wore a BCBG white tank and Guess white trousers with a thinnest-of-thin black dashed pinstripe on them. Then, I put a giant jeweled necklace on and metallic heels and passed as all white. A 1970s costume- not as easy to pull off. I am theme party challenged. I rarely get it right even when I have my entire closet, thrift stores, costume stores and overnight delivery from Amazon. I missed the 80s once. How does one miss the 80s? It was a last minute participation, but that's no excuse. I was smack in the 90s, and the 80s is the biggest target ever! Plus, I am an 80s baby. Born 1980. I dig the 80s. And I missed it. It's a signature move that I'm looking to change. So, I was doubtful that I would look at all like 1970s anything.

No costumes, but okay.

I looked up American Hustle's costume design. Great movie. Great costumes, especially for Adams. It was subtle, a real life 70s. The main thing I saw was a plunging neckline- skin, gold jewelry, the evening bags, stilettos, and the iconic red lacquered nail. I did pack a dress with a very low neckline and I thought it could work. I started there and got the rest together. I blazed through downtown Tivat's stores. No luck. When I would say "costume", the store attendants would say "yes!" and take me to a suit fitting room, look at me and repeat "custom." What a difference an 'e' makes. I knew I was better off to smile and leave than try to google translate and image search through my iphone to communicate that I was looking for any angle of what may convey that we were from the 1970s fashion era. Therefore, everything I wore was something I really wear, except the headband, which was a last minute scissor snip of nude pantyhose. Plus, I went sans bra and that's as 70s (and as European) as one can get. Nick wore his own items too.
I wanted to offer up my red nails to sniff by all just to pay homage to Lawrence's character. I did not.

This is when you need your sister's arm to punch bug.

As if by plan, there was a street blocked off in Tivat. Lining each side, vintage punch bugs! It was a VW retro spectacle- and fantastic timing.

The party- probably the best party I can remember.
Dinner was beginning when we arrived because Nick's work event overlapped in timing. Tables were set up at Lido rooftop, an open air restaurant overlooking the Lido pool and the Porto Montenegro marina. Nick and I were seated at a round table, at a 1:00 and 4:00 angle to one another. I met my dining comrades and posed for a photograph for one of them, in which I believe I was utterly cliche' and flashed the peace sign, just in case I wasn't American Hustle enough. Although, I may have missed that mark too, because my friend Tamara exclaimed when seeing me, "Oh!! Pocahontas hippie!!" I thought quickly. This worked. "Okay!" I agreed. That may qualify as an American Hustle story too. Only different and horrible.

Can you dig it?
Meet Mr. Ivan Pekovic

The photographing fellow diner- an interesting one. His name, Rusty Young, and when asked what he does for life, his response was "Well, I'm a writer." Obviously, the next answer he'd provide was what he writes. He writes books. About what? This is the part that is absolutely not obvious. "About my time spent in a Bolivian prison." I don't even think I reacted to this. It was as if he'd said "my garden." He went on to explain that he wasn't sentenced to any sort of time in prison in Bolivia. He convinced authorities to let him stay in a prison in Bolivia. His book's subject matter was in this cell he sought and so, he wanted to be in this prison cell. In case you are wondering the name of the book, as I was, it is named Marching Powder. It has long been published and has since been adapted to a screenplay and the rights, purchased in part by Plan B Entertainment. That production company is owned by Brad Pitt. I'm thinking he may see a bit more success come his way in regards to this story. How about you? A safer bet. Rusty is still writing, he'll publish more, but in the meantime, I'm interested in reading his book. It isn't my typical go-to subject matter, but then again, I don't know what that would be anyway. He was friendly and funny. Nick and I both enjoyed our conversations with him during the night. I'll buy his book based on that alone.
Once at the table, we were immediately served wine and the courses started, so all this talk of Bolivian prisons and planet wandering (that belongs to him too) was over pasta and fish dishes. We were eating our truffle pasta, and due to the outdoor setting and night sky timing, Rusty questioned his taste for the odd pesto that he couldn't see before him. I told him it was truffle and one must like truffles to enjoy the dish. He responded that he did not like truffles. About ten minutes and one trip to the ladies' room later, I returned and he had eaten both his pasta and his wife's and had what could be the fastest taste acquirement for truffles in history. He revised his previous objection. There were others at the table, most from London. Friendly people, all ready for a good laugh and some 1970s dancing worthy of their gold foil dinner jackets.
They got that and more. We finished dinner with a champagne salute and then went to the outdoor pool area downstairs for the party. A dessert table, bar, dj, disco ball, strobe lights, roller girls with candy trays, fire twirlers, neon girls on stilts, and I can't even remember what else was outside. Amusements were flying from every direction. If my eyes weren't met with a neon yellow pant leg, I was being greeted with a rolling candy tray. This display was so fun to me that of all the candy on the tray, I selected one clear gummy bear. One. And I was so tickled over it. I remember this like I was out of body. I was awed and when 'presented tray' reached my selection domain, I reverted into my five year old self, when I had glistening eyes and held my smile until I couldn't anymore and then I said "I'll have this one!" As if I were choosing a Faberge' egg. My out of body self thought I was lame.

The party - best ever.

Exploring what was set up poolside at Lido.

It was eye catching. Beautiful food.

Draping wind chime lights

Look at that magic coming from the Aquarius neck bling.

So serious. Hah!

Peace.
(It's still a good idea, right.)

We've been friends for 40 years now!

Nobody sits. I love it.

I quickly brushed that off and grew up on the dance floor. No five year old self could be identified in my groovin' moves. "It's Raining Men" had never seemed as fantastic as it did on this night. I couldn't contain myself. (p.s. I didn't realize this song was only written in the 70s. It was released 82.) On one occasion someone made their way as if they were passing me, they tapped my shoulder like 'excuse me' and then paused like a still shot right behind me, closer than preferred because I prefer distance in general. I'm very American like that. When it comes to cultural differences one of the most obvious to me is regarding space. I grew up in lots of s p a c e. The personal space invasion isn't an invasion here. They don't take it personally. So, this random poser comes and freeze frames behind me and I get confirmation that this is peculiar from Laura who is seeing this straight ahead. Not that this matters. I just thought it was weird and remember it as well as I remember all the twirling fire daggers.

Fire dancers.

Laura being fab.

Boogie

Can you tell these girls are fun? Why not limbo under the glowing stilt girl?!

Inside Scaramanga night club, the era continued. A balloon pit entrance and record disc decor surrounded a packed dance floor and entertainment included another dj, a performed ceremonial set of dances in the midst of a techno beat, amongst others. Lights flashed and the disco ball twirled, shifting the light to make our dancing seem sexier than it was actually. Let's face it, no one's refusing help at this point in the night.
I thought back to the beginning of the evening, at dinner. The Londoner complimented our decision to move here, to this place he recognized as unique and with such an ideal location, centrally located for snappy travel. "Where else in Europe can you have this?" he asked. I wondered if this question became more and more pronounced in his thoughts. Because the night unfolded more and more of 'this'. I appreciated his statement, that he thought our decision was wise. It wasn't necessary to say. And London, like New York, produces people so proud of their city that they view these places as the only worthy place in the world to have a life. He could see it and feel it though. And kindly, he acknowledged it. The hostess, the CEO / guest of honor's wife, has a little something to do with this. I'll follow suit and not hesitate at throwing acknowledgement toward where it belongs. To arrange a party like this takes so many detailed hours anywhere in the world. This type of party could make plenty of places exciting. But, he meant more than that, beyond our rooftop group. I knew what he meant because I could feel it too.
Week 3, I was reaching, still. As hoped for, I reached home to show my love and I reached backward to move forward into here, this place to embrace in the now. Dancing hard in a dress with a 70s plunging neckline, it's sort of like moving here. It's cutting loose. Doing it and not just trying it out because there's really no in between if you want to feel it like it should be felt. It's the brightest of red nail polishes and daring dresses and bold eyes. Life does have themes and although I don't want to be stuck in a category, I do want to think back on all these days and get the same sort of thrill out of a retrospect.

Pia, this party's coordinator aka the gift giver. Thank you, Pia!!

Even though she's expecting, she was a dancing queen.

Get down!

Disco Decor
This is looking down at the cocktail table.

Celebrate!
The day of the party, August 23rd. The year of the theme, 1974:
My sister's birthday and birth year. One of my life's BIGGEST ever gifts! It's her birthday, but I got the lifetime gift!
My parent's anniversary. Reason why I have the BIGGEST gift ever!
My late grandmother's birthday. Without which I couldn't have my mom, the 1 of 2 possibly BIGGER than BIGGEST gifts ever! (The other being my dad.) Which led to a marriage and then to my sister.
So, this party may as well have been for me!! Because I can celebrate August 23, 1974 like it's my birthday. (omg, it just came too easy. forgive me.)

View from the window - The drive through Croatia.

2014-08-21T10:37:00.002-04:00

(This was back on Monday, August 4th)

Here's a peek through the window. This is the view as we made our way from Austria to Montenegro. I won't claim to have captured it. There's only so much a sleepy head can do working with a window pane and speed.

I fell asleep for about an hour. I couldn't keep my head up.

When I did wake, and was able to manage using my neck, Nick introduced me
to Eastern Europe with full blast techno. I think this caused my brain to stall.

The car had a dvd player and dvd music videos.

Guess what was included as a cruel prank- What Does The Fox Say?

It takes so long to get that song off replay in my head! I still hear it at times.

It was a very green view for the first portion of the trip.

It becomes a rocky view suddenly. It's like a set change minus the velvet curtain.

Pleasant roads to travel.

That's such a fantastic mountain. I feel as if it will jump like a frog.

That is nearly a frog's symmetry and those lower humps are very similar

to hind legs. I animate practically everything.

This photo was taken from fast motion. Super proud that it turned out.

These roadside produce stands were so refreshing to my eyes.

There were many of them. They perched among cliffs

and banked by rivers. Vibrant!

Enter: Water! Another beautiful contrast.

Croatia's coast.

Maybe you can see some topography here.

In actuality, the earth bends a curves and plunges into the sea

and then peaks above into islands like the humpback of a whale.

There is a lot of motion and dimension in the space.

(around the same spot as the one above)

Looks fertile.

Many, many islands along Croatia's coast.

Life along the water's edge.

Bosnia's smaller strip of coast.

I was happy to be viewing and not driving.

Hopscotch islands for days....

From the car seat of Beth and China! xo!

Week 2: Porto Montenegro & Budva

2014-08-17T18:34:00.003-04:00

The Venetian Carnival, last Saturday, seems like so long ago. Before I was here a week, it felt like a month. It may have to do with the amount of people I met right away and see so frequently, the immediately established routines, and the nightly activities. I haven't gone out and been this social in a while. There is a huge part of me that is content to be home, to be simple. I intertwine myself into spaces. My home space is spiritual space. Here, I go out because it is so intriguing and the exploration is spiritual. I'm interested. But, I am so lucky because I don't have to drum up activities or climb walls to become integrated in my new place. Invitations come. My second day here, I was handed a weekly agenda and an invitation to the special events of that week. This is standard practice in destination property of this scale. But, they actually do it. And, having been the person that writes the protocol booklet for similar greetings, I know what it is intended to feel like. When I unexpectedly received such a greeting myself, I know that gesture's thoughtfulness is communicated. I felt like, "ah ha! It does work. I feel so special and included!" And I liked this place before I even went to one event.

A photographer from the event took this shot and it was sent to Nick.

The event! Jetty 1, shining like a Venetian beacon!

The events are cultured, full of artistic expression. The classical invites the modern. Mixology is a word that I was struck with in Zagreb and it is prevalent with experiences and people I continue to meet. For instance, The Duke Art Challenge featured an established graffiti artist, the Prince of Montenegro, and exuberant sangria cocktails with a spread of local cheese and fruit. We were on fine gravel in a rock garden surrounding the cherished olive tree, while Russian sage, rosemary, and lavender surrounded us. The Regent Hotel was lit in the settling dusk and its symmetry and regal stature was encased by rotund mountains dwarfing everything but the sky. A mix that worked.

No Amontillado for me.

The Venetian Carnival was masked and the theme, ancient. The masks, modern, with clashing patterns and textures to frame our eyes and expose our mouths. The jetty was draped in red light that bounced from the large crane which seems to mimic the Eiffel Tower for my Paris craved eyes. The band was sultry with jazz, but they covered songs like early Madonna. The waiters presented hors d'oeuvres and cocktails in all black and feature masked men walked around to set the tone for the night. At one point, the red carpet which ran down the center was suddenly pounced on by dancers performing a lyrical expression piece that seemed abstract and bizarre and remarkably appropriate. Guests wore all white to give the event a festive up beat and summery vibe. These contrasting elements collided and excited smiles countered fancy eyes on every face I saw. The unpredictability is fun for every single age and cultural background. I will confess that part of this for me was the strike of fear in my tummy when I first walked to the entrance and saw the cloaked, masked man. "Amontillado?" "Amontillado!" echoed through my head and that damn Poe reached me from a fifth grade classroom! The horror of the walk to the depths of a cavern to be shackled and sealed in an unknown enemy's catacomb. Aaaah! I could practically hear the drunken laughter and feel the frantic realization. The Cask of Amontillado. If someone had tapped my shoulder at that exact moment when I was revisiting this story, I probably would've kicked a sucker down to the ground. I would've reacted involuntarily.

This is not his face. It's a mask.

Nick's blue and gold mask was beautiful. I liked the mask chosen for me too. I kept it and think I will add design to it, hoping for another chance to wear it.

This was a surprise performance. A ballet company bolted onto the runway and told a story. It seemed like a story of conflict, like fire facing elemental demise, and eventually, a triumphant rise. This is the end, shown.

A portion of the party.

A Pool Party was the next day, a hot day. The sun befuddles me here. I feel it and my skin feels the heat, but I don't feel a burn and my skin barely reacts to time spent in direct sunlight. In Georgia, the sun can hit my skin for minutes and I can almost hear it sizzling. I have adaptable skin that tans, but still, if given too much it will burn and is dangerous and people can drop dead, no joke, from heat exhaustion and it doesn't necessarily take long to reach the point of too late. In my hometown neighborhood, as kids, we would use a magnifying glass or mirror to burn holes in our canvas shoes for fun and sometimes fry an egg on the pavement just to show ourselves how hot it was that day. It never bothered us though. It was hot as blazes and humid like a sauna and the gnats would stick to our skin and get in our eyes, but we never went inside. Here, the day can be hot and it can be relatively humid, but my body just bounces it right back into the air or something. The sun feels friendly. Very cozy and bright, but it's peaceful. Maybe the pure air is the difference. Maybe radiating chemicals being absent allows me to feel the love from the sun energy. I don't know... just plopping down thought trails at this point. Anyway, the pool party was well attended. The large pool had families and couples and the dj played mild disco tech that could go two ways. One, nice background beat to play or have great conversation. Two, in my case, lay out on the pool ledge and be hummed to sleep just like a clothes dryer would do, or the noise a blimp makes during a televised golf tournament. It was relaxing and I'm not sure it was supposed to be. The pool is architectural and a giant modern sculpture is silhouetted against the horizon. The cabanas are breezy and they allow a nook of shade from the bright day.

Lido Mar pool event.

Pool side. It was a brilliant sunny day.

It was family day!

Infinity pool, Boka Bay, yachts, Montenegro mountains, clouds, clear skies and sunshine- Divine.

Nick keeping cool in the pool.

From the water. We took a quick zip out on a boat with friends.

Here they are! They are newly engaged. They are so at home in the water and barely make splashes.
Nick and I think they're mermaids. ;)

There was a live band Thursday night that (I think) came in from Belgrade. They could cover everything and well! The only thing the lead singer couldn't hit was one of Adam Levine's high notes. They were exceptional, in my opinion. We all danced, danced and when I sat for a moment and looked over the water I saw a shooting star that felt like a wink from a guardian above. If I had to count the times I shout mentally to the sky, "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" I would never reach the number. It is probably the most infinite thing I do. I concentrate all the love I feel for the gifts, and the happiness I feel to be alive, and I throw it up in the sky with a big beam of my love light. Sometimes, and I tell you this because you're in the game, I concentrate those feelings into an imaginary beach ball and I sprinkle well wishes and hope around it and I open the door and I say a wish or prayer for anybody that wants it and I, with gusto, virtually volley the ball up and out. It is to be bounced around, up and over, just a big giving game. It's good stuff. Very healthy.

Dinner at Porto Montenegro. Love it here!

So, as well as the weekend events, the following week was filled to the brim with mixology. Two nights were spent in Budva, the party center for the area. One of the largest disco techs in the world is there. It is an enormous arena club called Top Hill and we were lucky enough to get the presidential table, thanks to a friend's kind gesture. We were in a center, open box of sorts and had service of appetizers and beverages. Moet champagne came around at whim and other goodies like Ferrero Rocher and cheese and beverage of choice were just there. The crowd was lively and the open air club showcased a serene looking moon against a black sky. Meanwhile a laser beam light show was taking place and girls, suspended in air by cording, floated above the crowd waving their arms and twirling like fallen angels unable to land, unable to fly. The thump carried us until we got home around 4 am. I was told to expect 5 and a sunrise at the club, so I thought it was an early bedtime. It's very unusual for me, but worth it. This is a seasonal establishment and next week it will close. I think that's probably wise. It's like strawberries. It makes sense to have a season and look forward to it and not make a contrived effort to have the sweetness all year and compromise the flavor. Makes sense to me.

Budva, night 1.

Our group, headed to dinner.

Pi. I almost lost my group because I can not resist such gems as random stone Pi statues in courtyards.
I must, at least, take a picture, if I can't stare at it a while.

Our very fun group of friends in Budva, Montenegro.
Behind me is my new friend, the lovely, Italian, Isabel.

In Budva there is an old town area that has 5 or 6 bars set up in one plaza, that share music but attend customers separately. We went to one that is owned by the brother of our new friend. We couldn't have asked for a better time. This preluded the Top Hill action and in itself was a stellar time.

Budva, night 2.

Our friends took us out and it was perfect.

Top Hill Disco tech

Photo Booth

Lights

Our wonderful and hospitable friends, Ivan and Mascha.

Another friend in our group, (who is actually a legitimate Olympian and professional water polo player!) took us out of the box and on a walking tour of the floor, all the way to the stage where the djs go at it.

We're feeling the thump. SO LOUD!!

When on the floor, confetti was dropped on the crowd and this is what my beverage looked like afterward.
Metallic everything for a couple minutes.

Acrobats among us.

One of the 'fallen angels'.

More lights. Very artistic, the constant changes of colors and angles of rays.

They do these stairs to the ladies' room with about 10 inch platform heels on! No joke.

Tell me you don't see that gigantic ghostly purple face!!!

4 AM! We still got it!! UGA training!

Last night, The Duke event: intense classical art met modern rendition. A beautiful, sparkly Russian American classical pianist named Lola Astanova makes entrance to the stage. The stage is at Porto Montenegro, set directly in front of an old gigantic submarine that was apparently part of this development when it was an old Yugoslav naval base. (I love this transformation from negative to positive!) A grande piano is alone on the stage and as this long legged, long haired woman takes her place beside this instrument she turns to the crowd and speaks to us candidly. It is already different than a typical concert. Her dress looks like a costume for figure skating and her shoes are equally sparkle encrusted louboutin stilettos. She proceeds to sit and rock the grande more forte than piano. I wish I could share her performance with you but I felt it would be inappropriate to video or take photograph. There were some around me (no one I recognized) that felt otherwise and it was, indeed, distracting. She deserved full attention. Her skill was full flamed and heart felt, so eccentric and unique. She hails from Palm Beach and no kidding, she's charming, endearing and so pretty. She was the most flamboyant pianist I've ever seen or heard.

Side note:
Between us, in my home town, our high school choral department put on fantastic performances. If anyone in the crowd had continuosly spoken like a few in this audience, our director would've stopped, turned to the one who is speaking and we would've all waited to hear what they thought was so important that they would disrespect the performance and the ability for others to enjoy it. It happened. Never twice. But, I'm so glad this was a demanded behavior because as elegantly as you may dress or as educated as you may be, if you can not show proper appreciation of something precious being displayed, then it goes wasted, and you end up being the annoyance behind someone's right ear.

After the concert, we fled to the Japanese restaurant near our building, Tara. I like the prawn noodle bowl with cabbage and red peppers and oyster sauce. Eating at midnight... yep, not in Atlanta. The restaurants, cafe's and shopping are convenient, no more than a five minute walk away to any of them. The village establishments are open late and early in the summer. I like this a lot so far.

Week One Catch Up - Montenegro

2014-08-11T18:30:00.001-04:00

August 9, 2014

I left Atlanta last Saturday. During this past week, I flew from Atlanta, GA, USA to Frankfurt, Germany to Vienna, Austria. I landed at around 1:30 PM on Sunday. The time difference is 6 hours ahead of Atlanta. After landing, the dogs and I were picked up and Nick drove us from Austria through Slovenia and into Croatia. We stayed overnight in Zagreb, Croatia. We checked in to a friendly hotel, walked the dogs around a park, and then we walked to dinner in a hip district with a lot of street side dining. The next day, we continued the drive through Croatia, including a short segment through Bosnia, back into Croatia, and finally to Montenegro. It is a beautiful drive with a drastic change in scenery that occurs in Croatia. The green tree views turned to stone hills in a blink. Dubrovnik's old city looks stunning and that is one of the first places I want to explore. Split was passed as well, another place I want to see.

After walking around outside the Frankfurt airport, China and I sat by the window and she slept. This may have been the first time she completely relaxed. My chin kept hitting my chest from drifting off.
China got many sweet remarks from workers and passengers, especially the men. It helped me more than her that everyone adored her :)

This is the hotel where we spent the night in Zagreb, capital city of Croatia. The staff here made our stay with the dogs so easy. I was hesitant to walk Selma inside, because that is forbidden in so many places in the States. The doorman gestured largely for me to enter and when I asked "Can I bring her in?" He asked me, genuinely, "Why not?"
A group of Americans were in the hotel and I heard one of the women say, "I love this hotel because I saw someone checking a dog in!" I smiled. I was standing just behind her with Selma when she announced this.

There was a dog bed with a mattress and sheets, plus two dog bowls on the floor beside it. Selma couldn't believe it! She snoozed well.

There are some very cool, trendy spots in Zagreb. This is a view from our restaurant that night. Ancient, old, new, modern, graffiti and vines- it's a mixology there.

If I hadn't craved sleep so much, I would've stopped to sip.

China, being a sweet travel companion. She goes where I go!

The views from the curving, cliffside road are incredible. Croatia's islands look like the play land of Peter Pan. I believe they have more islands than Greece.

The fruit stands we passed were set up very close to the road and the produce looked so colorful, my mouth watered and I yearned to be hungry just so I could stop and eat. But, I wasn't hungry at all because Nick had so may bags of raw nuts and dried fruit in the car. There are many apricots here and that is a happy thing.

When we got to Montenegro, we drove to the ferry that crosses the bay and continued toward Tivat & Porto Montenegro. We were amused by the way everyone gets out of their cars and talks even though the ferry ride is about 5 minutes. Then, they hop in their cars again quickly and skedaddle away. We entered Porto Montenegro at sunset. Unloading was easy for me because I let Nick do it! I had hauled so many heavy things for so many sleepless hours that I felt okay about this. So, all that was left for me to do was eat, unpack some things, shower and sleep. My rest in Zagreb and on my first night here in Porto was deep and far away- as in universal scale type far away. Before leaving Atlanta I didn't get a lot of rest. There was so much to do and I only got 3 hours Friday night. While flying, China was with me and I felt I needed to be up in case she became too restless and chirpy for other passengers to sleep. Otherwise, I would've caught some zzzz's on the ultra quiet plane.

La Piazza for lunch. This is in Porto's Village.

My first day in Porto, Tuesday, included a quick walk-around tour of the Village here, lunch of asparagus risotto at the restaurant La Piazza, introduction to those in the Residence Sales Office, and a cappuccino at Porto Montenegro's Lifestyle Office 'AM/PM', a place I go to almost every day now. I wrote in my journal and took in my view of the marina. This was ideal for me. I sat outside while drinking an illy cappuccino and apricot juice with the sole objective of writing and looking around me. We joined a friend and work colleague of Nick's for a tasting of local white wines. That evening, we strolled the jetty and looked at the yachts. I had everything unpacked and aside from gadgets of communication, I was transplanted.

Ideal.

Cappuccino at Porto Montenegro's Lifestyle Office, AM/PM.

A walk around my new territory. There's a splash of Paris in this.

First day spent in Porto Montenegro.

A yacht lined stroll.

I really like this crane that remains at the end of Jetty 1. Good energy in this.

The sun just dipped away behind those mountains. It was a beautiful view.

Wednesday and Thursday included the usual sunny dog walks, the pool at Tara, getting new cell phones and the logistical things situated, the most divine peach I've ever eaten, the Heidi Klein boutique event, meeting a lot of new people, and dining like best friends with a large group of people I didn't know aside from Nick. That dinner was fun to me because several of the people there were just in Porto from their yacht stop and I doubt I'll ever see them again, but truly enjoyed their company. It was complete with a birthday song and speech and chihuahua calls.

Friday, yesterday, there was an event called The Duke Art Challenge. Acclaimed graffiti artist Jon One has created four "spontaneous" pieces in 24 hours and they are auctioning these off tonight. The kick off to this included drinks by cocktail-ologists and local fruit and cheese. Then we were off to dinner at Lido Rooftop where I had truffle risotto that blew me away. This is a fun spot because it has a killer pool area, night club, and a restaurant that features exquisite meals. I think they have outdoor yoga classes here M, W, and F, which officially makes it a huge asset in my life.

Today, Nick took me on a boat ride to Perast for lunch and a stop at Our Lady of the Rocks which is one of two islands just off of the coast. The other is St. George Islet (a natural island) and it holds an older Orthodox monastery than the Catholic church of its neighbor (legendary man-made island). St. George is also the grave site of many old nobility of Perast and surrounding areas.

Boat ride to Perast for lunch.

My new surroundings astonish me. This is humbling terrain.

Perast, Montenegro

Leaving to see the islands after we had lunch waterside, Perast.

While on Our Lady of the Rocks islet.

Saint George Islet (Sveti Đorđe), viewed from Our Lady of the Rocks. Perast on left in distance. And a wee little swimmer, mid stroke, not too far from the boat.

Saint George Islet. There's something so special about it.

Our Lady of the Rocks islet (Gospa od Škrpjela), viewed from boat.

This boat ride is one I will never forget. I have never felt so still inside. There aren't words to describe a first encounter with this type of Water Meets Earth. It is powerful and calming, a privilege to be within. I felt as though I had never really known the word surreal until then. My reactions weren't even appropriate because my mind wasn't fully comprehending that this surrounding me could be real. It was stunning.

Tonight, there is a Venetian Carnival taking place on Jetty 1. We are to wear all white and will be handed masks upon arrival. I'm expecting it to feel magical and mysterious. I've been excited about this one for days.

From Here: Porto Montenegro - The plunge.

2014-08-07T17:05:00.001-04:00

From here: Porto Montenegro

Poolside at Tara

I could begin with the journey to here. But instead, I'm going to begin with the view from here.

Lavender catches my eye from a stone planter across the pool. The pool has tight surface ripples from the breeze blowing from my right and I have no clue what direction that actually is, but in my world it feels like North. The pool water looks more slick than normal water, like mercury, because of the shimmering iridescent tiles that line it. Beyond this, there is the new Regent Hotel Porto Montenegro. It is a sun kissed yellow with balconies hosting potted topiaries and skinny cypress trees. This layer introduces the next and it is the masts of sailboats situated in the marina. Water comes after. The sea water of Boka Kotor. This bay crawls from the Adriatic through the mountains and has been the cause of many medieval villages that remain and charm the eye today. The sea water stretches to a series of mountains. Bulging earth folding and pleating like a braid until they become faint from distance. The clouds mimic their design and I'm left to wonder where the mountains end and where the clouds begin. This, between blinks. I see such harmony from my eyes today.

I hear the children coming to play in the pool and their parents speaking a language unknown to me. I hear words and don't understand them and as frustrating as this is, it can be a nice general tone to include in the moment but not be distracted out of it by thinking their thoughts instead of my own. Because I like my thoughts, especially while sensing this new perspective. There is a bird to hear and occasional voice from the street one level down from this rooftop. But these are sounds and not noise to me.

The sun feels hot but lacks the intensity I felt from it in Georgia. My skin is warm, not burning and in my head I ask for healing light. When I close my eyes, I see something similar to those dark iridescent tiles that make the pool, only more dimension and less gloss. Closing my eyes surrenders my body to feeling. This breeze is like candy. It is just enough to circulate and cool and not rustle.

Three lavender leaves became mine. I picked them and stuck them to my nose to breathe and rubbed my wrists with them, my perfume. Other than this lavender, my favorite single scent, my nose smells an open air. There is nothing to smell in the air, just the fresh vacancy of pollution or strong odor. This was a wish and I appreciate this moment of receiving pure air. I know it climbed a rock wall, rolled over a mountain top and dived down to tinker with sea water waves and now, it is landing on my nose, giving my lungs all that it gathered along the way.

It took a little while to settle into a clarity since my journey. The momentum of doing and completing and not forgetting- and all of that fast- is finally drifting away. I know things will be different and that I will be comparing the things I discover with what I know from home. But, I want to have no limiting expectations of whether one is better than the other. For my tastes, I will recognize what I like best, but I always speak for myself only. I try to, anyway.

The pool water invited me in for a soft dip. As I propped against the edge, noticing the difference between my skin below and above the water, I decided to enjoy so thoroughly what might come. To enjoy aspects of me on both sides of a divider makes me whole. I don't know what will be in the days ahead, but I made a gesture of receiving the brilliance of the possibilities. And then, I plunged. The thoughts vanished under water. The mental chatter gave way to excitement of nothing being set. I was wet, under water, hair weightlessly swarming my head, body limp, like in utero, except my lungs held that pure air. I held this moment. For not so long, because I can't hold my breath very long, but still- I held it as close as anything could be to me.

I'm here. I'm in the plunge.

Whatever

2014-07-11T19:20:00.000-04:00

I knew it was going to happen. I knew there would be a day or night when the question would be posed to Nick, "So, what are you doing?" and the answer would be, "Oh, funny story, I was introduced to this person, so and so, and now we're just on his yacht." Silence.

This just happened. I am speckled with rain drops from those clouds I admired last night, the ones with so much heat and heavy bellies, well, they're outwardly angry now and full of thunder. That doesn't change the amount of dog walks I have to take my pack of dogs on though. So, I get wet, which is cool, whatever, as long as it's not constant, but it's such a contrast! He sent me a picture of the full moon over the water and so I know what it looks like and my imagination is pretty vivid. I can really sculpt this scene of a midnight, full moon lit, cackle filled time spent on a yacht on the water in Montenegro!

This isn't rare. He, not so long ago, texted me from Paris. "Hey! Guess where I am." I don't think I did. I think I just said "where?" and his answer was this -ladies, brace yourself- "I'm with (friend's name) at Kevin Costner's place while he's filming here in Paris. He's hilarious." And then he went on to wish me a good night and such. Silence.

This is all in jest. I'm actually thrilled he's having a great time and an easy transition. He works hard and deserves whatever fun times roll his way. Plus, the yacht belongs to a client, making it a proper thing to do. And, you know me. I find pretty things everywhere. I don't absolutely need a yacht. I can admire a flower for hours. If a creature happens to enter the scene- I'm completely amused. Genuinely.

If Kevin Costner entered the scene I think I'd be genuinely amused…

Anyway, I did the whole cleaning before the cleaners come bit until wee hours of the morning. I've mentioned that to every friend I've spoken to recently and every single one of them relates to me, even in their tone of voice. Infused with sympathy. It sounds unnecessary, to clean before a cleaning, but to get everything clear and neat so that a deeper cleaning can take place is required! And the deeper cleaning is what we want. I didn't get that so much this time. It was more of a wipe. I got a professional wipe down. But, the two girls were sweet and I liked them, so again, whatever.

The massive suitcases that I'm packing, that were sprawled across the floor like lazy lounging cows, those were fun to pick up off the floor as a pre-clean. My (at least) two suitcases, carry on, purse, China in a sleepy pod, and Selma in a small hut may be a heavy load. Do you think I'll be moving much whenever I land wherever I land for the connection? David Blaine? Mastermind that can magically negate gravity and float objects… Skills requested. One suitcase I've had packed since we made the decision. The next is almost done. But, the thing is, I'm postponing my move until mid August instead of the end of July. I can't pack all my swimsuits and summer pieces until mid August! Insane!! So, I can't be completely prepared.

Also, my writing- That's a load. I like pen to paper. I like actually writing. Not typing, although I do that too when I need to, like now, but I most prefer putting my hand on a writing device and watching the tip, the point, stroke the page and spill ink into words that make sentences, that form thought, that evoke feeling and render something along the lines of story worthy. I like the rhythm of the words as they come out. It makes a fluid motion and I connect to the words. Then, they sit before me, proof of me, and not in Helvetica. It's soulful, not sterile. It's writing.

So, somehow I must figure it out. It will work out just fine. I don't need to fret.

and that, amusingly...

sounds like Rhett. I wonder…
If Gone With The Wind were written today, would Scarlett, instead of saying, "After all… tomorrow is another day." have looked up and said, "Whatever."

It's highly probable.
It works.
"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."
Oh yeh? "Whatever." She can grumble on the staircase, "Whatever Rhett. Have fun in Charleston. Be safe. You know the rumors about Charleston. Just saying."
He may have come back. This one word could, if inserted, change literary history.
No small thing.

Friendship

2014-07-11T14:06:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, I spent some time with and talking to friends. They're all so different and in different stages of life as well. Their paths are unique and interesting and I love watching and listening to them as they share the joys of life. That's the easy part of friendship though. The part that requires insight and giving something, like words or thoughts, that might be helpful or relate to an essential growth in their life, that's the part that isn't about ease, but about strength. The strength to take a moment of hardship or heartache and urge it toward a place of ease again. To embrace the moments a friend turns on a faucet that may pour fury or confusion or doubt, and to be the tub that holds the 'water' as it cools into a comfortable temperature, to let them calm down into that transitioned, slightly shifted tone of what was before- this is friendship in balance. When the reflection they see in the mirror isn't clear, the friend wipes the smudge away. The friend props or pushes, holds or harnesses, whichever applies, when it has nothing to do with having a good time. This becomes the friendship full of meaning. When the conversations that are only revealed to the trusted last hours and end in laughter and uplift, a truth is found. The pure connection that time spent together reveals is precious. This is not a virtual idea, but a physical proof of true friendship.

We should see the life in our friends' eyes more. We should feel the air vibrate with their laughter. Or, let their voice resonate in our ears from the other side of the phone line more often.

Facebook and Instagram and texting, these are useful methods of accomplishing a lot of things, but not true, solid, impenetrable friendship. Friendship is personal in the least. The heart and mind, they want the physical back- basic forms of physical, non-virtual life. Putting substance back into communication on a regular basis. It matters.

Yesterday, I spent some real, solid time with my friends. Today, I reap the reward of feeling more than before.

Atlanta, tonight

2014-07-10T22:05:00.001-04:00

From here, in Atlanta, the sky is amazing. At 9:30, daylight lingers in pieces of the sky. Between voluptuous clouds the shade of eggplant, so beguiled by the vision of the night, lurks a stubborn light. Like the flesh of a peach, a ripe and juicy peach, it stays. Perhaps it too wishes to view.

The moon is high and bright, the halo surrounding it mimics the rays of the sun. Moonshine. The clouds near the moon are more jagged and they itch to bring an eery slant to this powerful glow. Not to be confused with a cheerful and direct sun, the shrouded moon remains mysterious and capable. The moon knows something.

The twilight blue subtly merges into a deep indigo and those ever so attentive clouds have a rage about them. They have deep bellies that hang low with a rooted purple. As well, they look to be a delicious bite.

It's an emotional sky that has just put up an enormous fight between a muse of a moonshine and a heroic sunlight.

News!

2014-06-20T12:27:00.001-04:00

I have news to spill!

I will soon be writing:

1. from a newly designed, more stylish blog! The new blog should be way more fun to read.

The time this will take to fully establish is undetermined, but I'm estimating sometime in September for completion. In the meantime, I'll adapt this already functioning blog to suit the writing I have in mind that will be revolving, in part, around…

2. our upcoming move to Montenegro!!!!!

The timing on this is approximately one month away. By the end of July, I will be writing from the Balkan region of the world, from this beautiful place called Porto Montenegro.

The back story on this is a blast, in my view, and I can't wait to tell you more about it. Until then, bear with me and give me mucho feedback so that I can try and incorporate what you say into the new format.

Here are a couple of pictures found online of Montenegro. You can see its dynamic nature and the contrasts that make the landscape so appealing to the human eye. Is it gorgeous, or what?!

City of Kotor

Porto Montenegro

I should get a new camera so that I can take vivid photographs, and share them with you, of all the places I intend to go and explore. In fact, if anyone has a camera in mind that is ideally sized for romping around and being active and that also takes crystal clear images (with no professional skills necessary) please send me the info. The idea of taking readers into some of these places I've looked into is so thrilling! I want to share it all!!

Christmas 2013

2014-01-09T22:28:00.002-05:00

My Christmas Tree on Christmas morning.
That's Te'a, one of my pooches, waiting on
her Christmas bone.

I've had my Christmas tree since at least 4th grade, maybe 2nd or 3rd. I remember my mom seeing it in a boutique and falling in love with it. It was on sale and still pricey, but she showed my dad and he agreed that she should have the tree. Now, this is my Christmas tree. I love this tree. Although it sheds and I'm afraid one day it will be bald and then I may have to be clever and redesign the branches with garland, it still looks like a perfectly joyful O'Christmas Tree. There is something whimsical about the shape that scoops from top to bottom rather than poof from top to bottom.

When I was younger and the science of tree forgery was less sophisticated, it fooled people. One of my friends used to test it year after year, pinching it and joking with my father that she thought it was all a trick and actually alive. We would sit in the floor and she would brush my hair (totally little girlish!) while watching Christmas movies and sipping cocoa with marshmallows. It wouldn't be cold outside- south Georgia only got cold bursts- but we would participate in these holidays as though snowmen could be built if we chose to do so. Her tree was always real and had colored lights and nutcrackers beneath. We would sit in front of her tree watching the same Christmas movies and we'd run into the kitchen to make chocolate chip cookies as soon as we saw the Nestle Toll House commercial of a cookie split in half and chocolate streaming between the pieces like a tightrope between buildings.

With childhood memories like that, and counting the candy canes my mom would hang from the branches, or studying the gifts beneath it until I could guess what was wrapped, and the many other typical childhood Christmas shenanigans, I can't abandon our/my tree. I can't part with it. Even if another is purchased one day, this tree will have a prime piece of real estate within my home. It totes too many wonderful and magical moments on its limbs; I'd miss it. It has been with me for a long, long time. I don't actually remember the Christmas moments before it. I only know them from photos.

Anyway, my take on the Christmas Tree: They aren't just another part of a commercialization of a religious observation. The Christmas Tree is sacred because its lights shine in a sleepy, darkened home when a family is full of appreciation and giving... and because they glimmer, as do the eyes of believers bursting with anticipation, gathered around a perfectly Godly centerpiece- a tree. What is more perfect on Earth than a tree?

I hope for everyone a tree that grants wishes and answers prayers, brings together a giving spirit rooted in love.

The decoration for our entrance is simple, but still festive. The wreaths are of bay leaves with a metal finish and I fastened a heavy ornament of a glittery deer in the center with a bow. I can put these up earlier, around Thanksgiving, and take them down later, before February. I'm sad about taking the lights down off of anything. They make me happy.

The staircase is spiraled with garland and lights and then I almost throw ribbon on top. I try and do it gently but with enough force to let it stay the way it falls on top of the garland. I like the curls and randomness of the loose ribbon. The red velvet with white edging is a favorite two years running.

The wreath that hangs is an older twig wreath I grabbed from my decor heap and glued moss covered balls and red, green, and white beaded holly berry ornamentation to so that it could look like Christmas.

My sweet little bird gets used often. I found it as a tree topper and it isn't brilliant as a tree topper because of its weight and awkward coil spring it sits on, so I put it in different versions of nests and this year I stuck some green accent pieces in to give her extra tail feathers. I think she likes them. She looks at them all the time. ;)wink

The snow flake is a huge ornament that wouldn't stand out many places and I like that it is simple and small and not over bearing for my bird.

Ta da. On Christmas Eve we had family over for cheesecake and other sweet things like chocolate truffles and berries with fresh whipped cream. We had cheese (mostly brie) and truffle honey from Umbria and Chianti. Simple. Many laughs + Monopoly and we could say it was a casual and fun night. My sister-in-law waxed us all. She was a sneaky monopolizer.

Christmas morning, Selma Lu had the 411 on her stocking and that she could finally get inside of it. She stared at it all morning. She guarded it, stood by, sat fixated, pancaked with puppy eyes. She did it all, and the biggest prize of all was a ball dressed like a cow. It was her favorite by far. Te'a loved her stuffed bunny... and Selma's cow ball which wasn't popular with Selma. She doesn't like to share Selma's toys with her. She collects them on her dog bed, carries them around and hugs them. Seriously. China snuggled in her new blankets. She's a pro snuggler. The absolute best. Needless to conclude for you- It was a successful Christmas for these three dogs.

I threw these pretty artificial pomegranates and flowers with a wildlife accent in a pewter vase along with a large fir twig, tied it with a burlap bow and that was that. The most ridiculous center piece arrangement ever. I have this burlap runner my mom made me. There is blanket stitching along the edges and I love the blanket stitch. I topped that with a strip of green moss and some glitter garland that drives everybody but me nuts. There are river rocks and mercury glass votive holders scattered around on top of the runners. Also shown: a rogue red decoration from the mantle and the salt and pepper shakers and parmesan container I didn't put away. oops. Oh well. I wasn't going for perfection.

Now the sad part. I have to de-Christmas tree!

I wrap each ornament and decoration separately and to do that this year, I compromised the use of the breakfast table. I sorted them by theme, because I'm partially insane, and grouped the birds together, Santas, snowmen, reindeer, balls, snowflakes, stars, dogs and wooded creatures, safari wildlife refugees, uncategorized favorites, Christmas trees, fillers, garland, ribbon. That is the gist.

On the right is my Christmas tree down to lights and topper. The cardinal at the top is a new addition and I think it will remain atop this tree 'foreveh'. She's perfect!

China is the only pup not shown sneaking in a shot, so this is 'just because'. I love her.

She got that dog bed last year. Isn't she so dainty?

Last year's version of tree and mantle. It was more Dr. Suess. The tree is a bit crooked because I put it up by myself and I topped it with a giant gold and green polka dot, sparkled 'C'.

The mantle last year had the curling ribbons I put on the stairs this year and the wreath as well. I like the center. It's a big twig and moss butterfly.

It was a giggly Christmas theme last year. This year, more subdued, more texture than color.

Zur - ich - ola... is that such a lame title? I'm too sleepy to care.

2012-07-12T23:31:00.000-04:00

I sat down to do some work while I had a second and promptly got back up.

The darn television was distracting me. Nick, before leaving to work out, had the channel tuned to The Golf Channel. That's no shocker. Showing was a tournament, The John Deer Classic, and our friend Troy was leading. (Note: As a golfer's wife I say 'was' and not 'is' out of habit, and fear of the jinx, and recognition of the nature of the sport, where leads bounce about... but with hope his lead will continue through Sunday evening.) Even though I loved seeing Troy do so well, I had to change it for a while because the speculation of what's in the golfer's mind and all the hypothetically speaking and predictions that mean squat irritate me when I've got my own thoughts to deal with. (Seriously though!! It's week after week. Can we all agree that Tiger Woods is back in the game?! How many times does he have to win to qualify for the same privilege of being a contender as another player? If I were in the field I would never consider Tiger out of the hunt. But, then, I'm not sure these guys are thinking about other players' games while they manage their own. That's the very psychology that loses. Winners focus on their own momentum.) Anyway... the channel I turned to was no peachy pick either. I sat down in my chair and in one sentence I heard 4 "like"s and one "literally" that was oh-so not literal. In one limited space of a sentence! The "uhms" are not counted. This was also coming from a grown man. I almost got dizzy.

Now I am listening to Zen music. I'm getting back to my basics. Zen or singer/songwriter music, Nag Champa burning, dogs scattered randomly on soft spots, books, maps, dark art, little collections of precious items, birds within view on a tree limb. It feels cozy again.

I am directed to write more of the travels and so- I will oblige. It is no chore at all!

I'll take it Como and back up.
It made a lasting first impression, Zurich. I was smitten, immediately.

I've told about my perspective as we flew in, landed and entered the hotel, leading me to that wonderfully cobalt blue lacquer door. Sliding the key and twisting felt romantic. No card swipe, just a civilized, exercised twist of the wrist. A gentle push- the door graciously gave way, feeling as old and solid as I hoped everything I encountered would feel during this European adventure. I had the internal confusion of a tired body and a curious spirit. Everyone knows which wins. I tucked my bags away and grabbed the dress that was rolled up and stowed in a convenient spot for this predictable occassion. I changed and while doing so enjoyed the room's wooden floor, the details on the walls, the view out of our window, a window that stayed open and welcomed fresh, tingly air inside to charm our senses, and I enjoyed the modern bathroom detailed to a woman's desires. I remember looking in the mirror and smiling. I realized even then how strange this appeared from a third party's point of view. But, it was all surreal and I felt as I did on my wedding day, in my body and above my body. Watching and feeling the events through my eyes and also through the eyes of my wiser, eternal self- the one that allows me to be proud of me, the one that loves me as purely as a mother loves a child- I was in and around the space and time I lived. This must be why I connected with Zurich so intensely. Vibrationally, my energy and its energy were in sync. It was a seamless entrance to a foreign land, but familiar place. I smiled at myself in the mirror because I was happy about everything. I had no criticism and I was engaged completely in the now. Euphoria.

When I came out of the ladies' room (because it was- it was built for a lady), I saw Nick, feet planted on the floor, dressed, seemingly ready to hit the streets, except he was bent at the knee and completely laid flat on the bed. I had to do some tickling, some nose pinching and air restricting, but not too much. He was on board with my desire to discover this city. Let me see!!! I felt like childhood waited outside only better- this is the content of childhood's dreams of adulthood.

It only took a glance left from the hotel's entrance onto the sidewalk to make site seeing worth it. The lake and the landscape looked pristine. I knew what I would find here. Purity and beauty. The natural, unfaltered, unfiltered way. We strolled about three blocks, I took a photograph with a flower my height, we debated whether or not the business gentleman crossing the street was smoking a self-rolled cigarette or a joint, and we too crossed the street to the opposite direction, joining in on the Swiss civilization. Nick suggested we find a spot with street side seating and enjoy a cappucino and chocolate treat. Did I mention he is a dreamy man? He has brought me to Switzerland and suggests that not only should we admire the swan filled lake and majestic Alps, but he wants to prompt our fondue dinner with a cappuccino and chocolate prelude. Oh my delicious life!! So, we do this. We see the red and white striped awnings and watch the business day scuffle, the bikers, the ice cream licking skinnies happily go about their routine. We briefly shared our bench with a resident that tried to take a photo of us using my iphone but had zero idea what I was asking her to do- we smiled a lot at one another though. As we bit into the truffle we both froze and stared at one another, mumbling with mouthfuls of chocolate about how glorious this tiny dollup of perfection tasted. I think Nick's eyes rolled back in his head, if I can recall, mine were entranced and cobra-struck. Our cappuccinos were just right and this was the very first of them and so, the leap across the Atlantic is a fair measure between this coffee and the one before it. We studied the people and movement on the streets for only a little while, we had such a short time to spend here, there was no time to waste, even on dessert.

Walking those cobblestones was significant in my life. I had committed to diving deep into the territory of experience. Guarding my emotions was left off the agenda. Every window seat I saw, I attached a book and reader to in my imagination. For every store owner who situated their sidewalk stands, I created a history of neighborhood relationships. I saw halos around the swans gliding on crystal water. I saw beams of white and golden light streaking upward across the sky from the mountain tops. The grass was vividly green and textured, but soft and plush, inviting us for a nap on a park lawn. The statues seemed hopeful, beautiful. The homes seemed movie set worthy. The people radiated with happiness and pleasure, undirected by ordering entities. The children wore tights and skirts with converse shoes and braided pig tails, which enhanced their innocence as they snacked on self-chosen fruit from bins on the street market, backpack slouched on the ground. How lucky these kids are, I kept thinking. I'd like, if I have a child, to be able to give them this- pure food, pure air, pure water and abounding mutual respect of culture and nature. When I looked at flowers, smelled the aromas drifting out of restaurants, or watched kids play ball at the foot of huge cathedral steps I felt more alive from it. Within the first twenty minutes of our weaving walk through alley ways, I heard the tower bells toll and immediately sprung tears, vision of my feet on the big gray stones was fuzzy, and I had to steady my breath. I felt alive. I didn't want to leave. It was as if I was seeing in color and dimension what was previously seen as two toned and flat.

I could go on about my feelings of this place. The details are in my head, the connection in my heart. I will never forget this encounter with Zurich.

We found a restaurant in a great scene and sat outside. I order red wine. Nick ordered beer. We ordered a dish each and shared fondue. I watched a woman peer out her window to see what was happening below for a while. It was like a modern day scene out of Chocolat. The dog who claimed this plaza as home meandered about and lazily relaxed, while keeping a watchful eye of all around him. He made rounds to say hello to each store owner, peeking in the door to receive a pet on the head, coming over to our restaurant's doorman to gather acknowledgement. This man told us this is his home. He adopted the square. As we dined, a taxi pulled up to deliver a human or two. Nice taxi.

Once, during the meal, I looked to my right, something had caught my attention. It was two red balloons, staggered and slowly creeping by me just as I had seen them in a dream I had on the flight over. Two bright red balloons set against a grey stone backdrop. Here they were. My bright red validation. Fully capable of floating higher, higher, higher - soaring, only remaining on earth because of being tethered to a human body. "Nick, Nick, the balloons from my dream I told you about..." I pointed to them with my head tilt. He nodded. He is accustomed to making sense of what makes sense in my head.

With full tummies and full realization that we were both profoundly in awe of 'our new city' we continued our exploration in leisure, crossing bridges and studying architecture and a vehicle here and there. We climbed stairways and found a park above the city. A gigantic game of people-sized chess was being played by neighbors. A bird was showing off his fountain drinking acrobatics. Music from a lake side concert and bells from the city's towers kept the park visitors quiet and serene. When we peeled away from the park, we headed back toward our hotel on the other side of the water, and walked past after hours cocktail gatherings by men and women dressed in professional wear, laughing and talking over the live indoor music. The bike riders and walkers looked like a melting pot of people, pretty in their distinctiveness. Although we weren't ready, we retired to our hotel room. I had one more thing to do before bed. Nick handed me the key to the rooftop, a ladies only space on top of the spa. I climbed the stairs to the skylight and James Bonded the button to open it. I get nada thrills about ladies only and mens only shinanigans. I really don't care about them at all. I don't care if people dig it, but I don't get a kick out of it. I would have rather had Nick with me on the rooftop. It obviously had nothing to do with men not being able to see women in spa attire- every other rooftop and window had view of this rooftop. I think it was just what most people hope to achieve with exclusivity - desire and demand. Do you know how much I thought about that topic while on the roof? A seconds worth. I was watching a moon situate itself in the night sky above the Swiss Alps that towered over the pristine Lake Zurich. I took about 15 photos of myslef, trying to get an accurate version on what I saw with proof of me being there in the shot. I got proof of me- that's for sure. I did not get the accuracy of the evening. Impossible. Impossible for a professional on a mission. That's the perk of travel. To be there is different than a photo. Some people enjoy that view nightly. I saw them. They were on personal balconies, typing on laptops at desks by a window. It was hard not to peak at people's lives. I was interested. Guilty of the window peak. Nothing naughty in any glimpse.

Day 2 in Zurich was remarkable as well. I yodeled just for the hell of it out of our hotel window. I sang a wee bit from the Sound of Music, even though it was set in Austria, I felt obliged to the Alps. And I ran to the edge of the lake and yelled "Ric - co - la" with all my might. I looked back at Nick and the local lady watching me and decided that I could nix immitating a big horn honk. Those are key memories, no shame. When I call to Nick in the house, I often yell "Ni - cho - las" so it was a must-do. I mean, WHO could resist that temptation?

Speaking of Nicholas and resisiting temptation... Nick is asleep in bed and I'm up still, sitting here, writing. Meanwhile, my eyelids are drooping.

Signing off. Cassini out. Sweet dreams.

Door to Wonderland

Just before I pounced on him to get my way!

Hitting the streets. Met a fantastic flower.

One of each, please.

First cappuccino of the trip.

This was the most intensely glorious bite of our lives.

We were SO happy here. Just being in Zurich.

Watching the people walk by the water.

So romantic.

My love.

Very friendly swans

I think Zurich is named after this guy portrayed in the statue.

One of the pretty towers.

lake side waltz for Nicholas, ooh la la

getting us both in the shot :)

Vibrant flowers for sale

Markets

Lots of pictures of streets, alleys, and doors.

Mutual love

Their version of vandizing property.

Taxi

Fondue

Coolio

I want to jump in the water.

Water fountain for drinking

Wanting to perch here permanently

You and me, babe.

Birdie Slurping Exhibit

Giant chess game

Should I take the stairs?

Cuckoo clock

Whaaaa? Is that what I think it is?

Yes, it IS!!

Showing my affection for the confection

chocolate gremlin

Was this on purpose?

Every single view was spectacular to me.

Heading to the rooftop

It was impossible to capture the definition of the landscape, but I couold see the Alps over the Lake, Fountains, Bell Towers, Cathedrals, Beautiful Buildings and dinners on balconies. It was really great to be up there breathing the fresh air and appreciating the city.

Must Trust

2012-07-12T13:37:00.001-04:00

People and land have such a strong bond, don't they? Look at Pompeii. Look at any turbulent piece of land and those who are from that place refuse to budge even if it means sacrificing their life. You have to respect that choice- their decision. I would say to them, be prepared for the moment when no one is going to come save you- but stay if you want to stay. We are all aware that we sit one massive rumble away from game over. We know there is a chance a solar flare could sizzle us off the slate. We also grasp that there are as many chances as there are stars of us being knocked off orbit, tilted on our axis, electromagnetically altered, graviationally pulled, ... yes, I am just stringing words together at this point- I know nothing about these complicated scientific mysteries of the universe. I could also suggest that maybe none of us do- KNOW. But, my point is that we are living in a state of Must Trust. We must trust it is a safe environment to live. We, by nature, want to trust.

Why? and Why?

We must trust we are safe on Earth because we have no other choice that we are aware of, the universe is a power we don't fully understand (yet, I think we do innately- we just ignore this by discipline) and can not overcome. There are laws of nature the universe abides by and if we were smart we'd continue to look at these in a simple way as well as in a complex way. I think sometimes that everything mimics the universe- from the grandness of space to the single cell and on- the answers, if there are any, are here. The simple truths are here. Everything continues on in some form. When we compromise this push of energy forward, we die. But, like a child holding their breath and passing out, the involuntary nature of what is takes hold and the child breathes still. So, when we die, and the breath is gone, there is still much energy that goes on. Life goes on. Maybe that's why people stay on their land. Because life goes on- what is there really to be so frightened of? Energy created can't really turn into nothing can it?

We want to trust because it is, to an extent, human nature- but mostly because we are taught to trust. "Do this, son." says parent. "Why?" says son. "Because I said so, that's why." says parent, "And I always have your best interests in mind." The son bows his head and slinks- in submission and from having been fed nothing new, just told again to obey.

In religious organizations, children often present wonderful questions. "So, if this Bible is God's word, does that mean God wrote it?" "If these are words Jesus spoke, why didn't he just write them to us himself? Where are his words to read?" "If God is the greatest source of Love, why does the Bible tell me to fear God?" "How is the Earth only 7,000+/- years old?" "Why does Adam have a belly button?" "How did all these people mentioned suddenly come from 2 people?" The questions, if anyone would enjoy them, come in with enthusiasm and abundance. Children are wanting to understand why these are things to devote their lives to and live in accordance with. They are met with on so many occassions, "Just trust. It is the Word of God." To be considered good, obey. Does anyone consider that the children are fresh examples of Godly energy, yearning to understand and think and reason and create? This is the image we were created in- not mimicing a physical form. That's my take away. "Men have souls, women have no souls, oh, alright then, you women can have souls too now... animals have no souls- okay maybe the dog- the dog can have a soul... this just in, God said donkeys can enjoy a soul- cats, rabbits... all animals get souls!! Shoot, we didn't ask about reptiles and bugs." A soul is like the universe- you are in it- you are of it. No man can say what creature has a soul and what creature does not. It is not up to mankind. This is when humility serves us.
So, when the child becomes a grown up and he now looks for answers, the first thing he does is look for someone to obey. Where is my King? Where is my Emperor? I need a father figure- someone who will tell me what to do and how to think- I'm not certain otherwise. This serves government well. Government steps up and now the adult has someone to obey. We insist on loving the idea of a King and Queen. We observe England's royalty with such reverence, gloating in the marriages and ceremonies. We try hard to name an American family as our own royalty. Please! Give us someone to look up to and follow. The President has made strides in becoming an Emperor- with Executive Orders he has arbitrarily endowed the role with Magnificient powers to rule solely. Get ready, obeying is being served.

Information comes to the masses. It doesn't matter. They stay in Pompeii.

Is it the land, is it the idea, the comfort... what is it that is worth a man being willingly shackled?

Are people told it is honorable to sacrifice liberties for freedom? (YES!!! that one was actually successful- can you believe it?) Are people told it is patriotic to not question the Powers? Is the government, like the Universe, a vast, ever expanding super power that no one can grasp, no one can stop, and no one can escape?

Yes.

Except, remember that idea about the small equaling the large? The single cell being of the same energy as the universe? This is where studying the simple comes in handy. We are individually as powerful as that enormous, ambiguous entity. But, they don't preach that. That would make masses harder to control. To find truths, look at the simple things.

We are soulful energy, yearning to feel, understand, think,reason and create. Creating productive systems isn't about obeying. It's about chosing to participate in something you like and bringing your energy and insight to contribute.

Forward. Better. Progress. Creation. Dare I say, Happiness.

This is not gained from obedience. It comes from decision.

Decision is the Power of the Universe.

I decided two and a half years ago (or so) that I am patriotic not to any piece of land, not to any government - any institutionalized group of men and laws, not to any individual, not to any symbol, but to the principles and beliefs and philosophies I choose to live my life by, that I believe are good, and wise, and endorse creation and freedom and understanding. I am patriotic. I am very patriotic. Whose ideals have changed? What are we patriotic to? We should decide.

I opened my manuscript with this: "It all balances on belief."

It applies to so much.

Do you believe in what you Must Trust?

The art of doing nothing

2012-07-11T22:17:00.002-04:00

One year ago, I was sipping a delicate cappucino and toasting Lake Como. I was sitting on an iron cafe chair with my husband beside me, having just loudly drained every ounce of elegance from the Italian language by trying to roll my Rs (that instead skidded into the back of my teeth), and together we took a long moment to appreciate our surroundings. The lake was mysteriously foggy, the air was moist, birds and waterfalls and waiters filled our ears with carefree melody, soothing rhythms, and the romanticism of a well spoken word. "Are you finished, Miss?" sounded like "Let me tell you about passion." to me. To Nick, it sounded like "Let me take your plate." Luckily for me, Nick answered for the group the majority of the time and therefore my imagination could go wild, equating his Italian words to my English wishes, leaving me pretty satisfied and freshly in love.

Today, I am sipping ridiculously strong coffee whisked with French Vanilla Soy Creamer in a mug the size of a crater. Its side kick is a 1.5 liter bottle of water. My view is of tree tops outside of shutters. Being indoors is a sweet escape from the sweltering heat and humidity. I don't mind it right now, but I succumb to the fact that every inch of my body will be dripping with sweat and my lungs will feel as though the breath isn't bringing air- 100 degree and humid air often makes me feel that I've just walked into a steamed wet wash cloth and tried to inhale. As unpleasant as that sounds, that is my upbringing. South Georgia is hot; it's humid; it's buggy; and it is where I was born and raised. Atlanta is easier. I hear children yelling and playing outside in the neighborhood pool and a narrarator on television is telling me about Indian elephants and their habitat- the Secrets of Wild India.

The difference in a moment a year's distance apart is no small thing.

I am happy just the same. :)

My mom's dad supplied her with a valuable currency in life. Decision. "You're as happy as you want to be." It is the saying I most remember from childhood. The next, "Everything happens for a reason." The latter, I find, depends on the one before. A happy person can find a positive meaning in anything.

So, the next best thing to having known a grandfather is having the words they choose to leave behind. And the few pieces he brought back from his time in WW2 aren't so shabby either. Somehow he supplied my mom, Paige and me with pearl necklaces that are as different as our personalities. He never knew his grandchildren, so this feels supernatural. Mine, for instance, is a shorter length necklace with a larger, dynamic pearl in the center, with the rest only gradually tapering in size to the back of my neck. My sister's is a beautifully traditional strand, longer and showcasing an obvious gradient to the center and back. The difference between the two fits us. My grandfather had elegant taste in artistic matters. He possessed creative skills like playing the violin, banjo and guitar. He carved and welded, and he appreciated wilderness. When his family tells my mom they see him in me, I like that. Because aside from favoring him physically in this way or that, I appreciate knowing he was an individual and did things the way he wanted instead of conforming. A Michigan man stuck in Mississippi- he didn't implode. Withstanding the sort of pressure that can come in regional displacement, especially in that era, oooohweee! He must have had a strong sense of his spiritual self and the confidence to follow through. "Give me some of that!"... and the pearl necklace. Thank you, sir!

My Nicholas must feel that displacement sometimes. When I sit here and think back to a year ago, wandering the stone paths in Como and breathing in the Renaissance air of Florence, imagining my view of the moon in the midnight sky being similiar to the view of those who are now likened in the statues towering above the city streets. I can understand why he would miss that authenticity. I miss it and I only glimpse it for slivers of time. It is weaved into his character like cotton fields are weaved into mine. Italy has this culture that is so favored and so natural that its essence is man's essence and it never leaves. That could all be bullshit too. I'm going with it tonight, though. Considering my life revolves around garlic, tomatoes, and olive oil it resonates with me. Olive oil, for goodness sake, is consumed as quickly as water in this home. Basil- well, basil is my love affair. I'm the one sprinkling a basil leaf on everything.

My mom is super pissed that I haven't posted my photos from last year's trip after all this time. I think that it's time I do that. She has been wanting to savor them. I could use a refresher too. Can one see David too many times? Can one really tire of the Tuscan country side, ancient stone villages, or an Italian dish? Probably not. Not this Georgia girl.

l'arte di non fare niente. The art of doing nothing.

Does this have to be practiced? Yes. I think so. Because it is an art, indeed. It isn't about doing, it is about being. Take an action away from a person and see what happens. Discomfort. Fidgeting. It looks like people are trying to escape something or avoid something- and we probably are. We are trying to escape ourselves, trying to avoid life. Just being is something Italy allows and it feels so light. I think maybe this is why enlightenment landed in Italy's lap. To just be feels like discovery of the infinite. When I plopped back into The Land of Doing, the energy felt encapsulating. In a way it invigorates and in a way it feels like regression. It actually feels like a waste of energy because what we are searching for in doing is what is found by just being.

yada yada.

That should be my blog's name- yada yada, blab blab.

The art of blabbing.

Here are some pictures:
Our first day in Como~

Lake Como

Nick

Beth

to dinner

On the boat

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Meeting locals

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My cocktail

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Gelato

yum

A food fight I'm up for!

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our friendly cab man

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our hotel

We watched the entire eclipse

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pucker up

The Long And The Short Of It

2012-05-08T13:31:00.003-04:00

My nails are short. I like them long. I like them short. Nick tends to like them long because they become a useful tool for back scratches. I'm in a short mood. This crisp and sassy mood alternates frequently with a sensual and earthy mood. Both can be mysterious. I've yet to cut my hair, but I did paint my nails a vivid red. 'I Red a Good Book/ Ballon rouge' is the name of the color. They should've kept their name short. I've been flirting with the idea of chopping my hair off since 2008 and I can't pull the trigger. There are a lot of reasons why. One: As soon as I got serious about it and announced it one of Nick's friends almost jumped through the window of the car. We had not seen this friend in a while. He's super nice and evidently likes long hair on girls. That reaction made me hesitate. Two: You can make long hair look short but can't make short hair look long. Three: I like wearing it straight back off my face and twisting into a chignon- impossible for short hair. Four: It's really easy. My hair dries fast and even if it is wet I can wrap it back and it looks fine. Long hair is great for lazy days. I don't want to style my hair every day, there's a life to be lived!! Five: I like hiding behind it sometimes. Six: It's been pointed out to me that I twirl a strand over and over my forefinger when I'm lost in thought. What will my forefinger think if I take away her friend? Seven: If I commit to short hair then I have to be spunky, high style me instead of spiritual, roll-in-the-grass me all the time. No can do.

I've had long, dark hair most of my life. Once in college I went to a salon with a friend and had them cut it really short. When we got back to our dorms I was frustrated that my cut looked like a half ass attempt to be short, so I grabbed scissors and continued, judging it all in a full length mirror stuck to our door. My friend Brett was there and she told me later that she was pretty worried as she watched me. But she was a great friend and didn't let me know that at the time. The short hair wasn't so bad. I wish I'd had access to the best hairstylists, then it may have been really fun. With short hair, it seems to me, the cut becomes more important. Once, I was brave and decided to try a hair stylist in Moultrie, my home town, to give me a trim. Mistake. Huge Mistake. I remember her cutting one side of my hair and becoming enthralled with the beauty shop conversation about husbands and boxers and drawers. Something about them never ending up in the drawer. Well, I should've voiced my thoughts which were "What the hell, lady!! Who cares? Focus on my hair." I was so baffled by the accents (Because believe it or not, not every Southerner sounds like a hick- these Southerners did.) and the content of the drama (underwear? really?). Add that to the fact that I was 19 and you have the reason for my meekness. Well, you probably guessed it. She cut the same side of my hair twice and left the other pretty much untouched. I went home, showed my mom the haircut, and cried. I ended up going back and making her fix it. What a disaster. It has taken me a long, long time to say what I really think about my hair to the stylist. In that moment of the reveal I feel that it's more about their work than my hair. I never want to hurt their feelings.

In St. Simons Island I went to lunch with a friend that had changed her hair from blonde to brunette. She asked me a question about how I felt with dark hair. She said that she felt she had to be serious with dark hair and wanted to know if I felt that way. But, I've always felt serious. So, I was of no help. She was comparing the two hair colors and the moods she associated with them and the effect it had on her. I thought it was an interesting subject. I've never been blonde. I've never put any chemical treatment on my hair. I've liked it and so I've never changed the color. I can imagine feeling light and whimsical with blonde hair. I like seeing the golden colors like Jennifer Aniston's and also the platinum versions that Scarlet Johansson and Rachel McAdams wear nicely. The truth is that I do agree with her to the extent that I feel very attached to my hair and it's a big representation of who I think I am. I have this unchanged hair, long, the same as I had when I was a little girl picking blackberries in the woods behind my house or trying to do back handsprings without my ponytail flopping under my hands, in which case my scalp got a yank. I'm tempted to get a wig and be blonde for a day. Just to see. I'd never abandon my dark hair though. I like the depth of dark hair and if I colored my hair I'd most likely go darker not lighter. Fits my personality.

This thought thread started with me looking at the keyboard and being pleased with the red flash of my finger tips. Somehow my hair pulled rank.

I saw a Yahoo news flash that Cameron Diaz cried over a haircut gone awry. The article seemed to have a tone of mild condescension, like this- "Oh, poor, poor you... you got a bad hair cut... oh I feel so sorry for your heart ache and bad day. Don't you realize there are people who have real reasons to cry?" I don't agree with that tone. Here's why. The journalist is the one who is writing about it as if it is news. Yahoo is the outlet featuring it as if it is newsworthy. So, it's not Cameron Diaz asking for public attention regarding her hair, it's the writer and publisher. Also, when you get a hair whacking when you wanted your layers trimmed, it often leads to an emotional response whether you want it to or not. People do a lot of things around their hair- they don't cut it for religious reasons or they sleep upright to prevent, I don't know, mashing it against the pillow I suppose. So, it's not totally off the charts that she cry over her hair being on the floor and not rooted to her head. I've seen her interviewed and others talk about her and she seems pretty down to earth and cool. For instance, it was said that she broke her nose snow boarding and she just popped up out of the snow laughing. That's no priss pot if you ask me. And she respects aging, welcoming it and announcing her age with no signs of shame or dread. That's refreshing. Regarding the attempt to compare hardships, that's always a losing battle. Everything is relative. Everything. Try telling my niece Madeline that taking her blankie away from her and throwing it in a fire is no big loss in the world. It's not true for her. It's a big loss from her perspective. Earth shattering.

Relative. It's not fair to judge it. Fair. Woooooh, that's a whole other word and writing day.

I'm done for now.

I'll go blend my moods, long hair and short nails. It seems that contradictions are always a part of the human's self characterization. That's a good thing. How boring if not.

sortied it out

2012-05-03T15:17:00.002-04:00


Pom Pom Entrance. I like to walk this way.

I have a couple of really dear friends that I've gone so long without talking to that the idea of the phone call that catches us up to speed with both of our lives is so overwhelming that it is avoided on both sides. I know that's what my friend is thinking and she knows that is what I'm thinking. The long conversation and attention it deserves is more difficult to carve out of the day than we want to admit. Because we are such good friends we know this is mutual and don't feel unloved, but rather joined in unfulfilled intent. Some say you wouldn't treat a great friend like that- at times I am that person telling myself that- but it's also true that certain friendships remain unbreakable and strong despite distance and silence. I have several friendships that are founded on a deep connection and soulful understanding. A bit of guilt remains.

My theory is that we feel over exposed these days. We have phone calls and text messages and emails that bounce in our lap where our phone is resting. We have Facebook and shared photo accounts and then there are tweeting reminders that even more social space is waiting to be filled by those without a one-liner advising the world of their whereabouts and thought-abouts. All of the messages and voice mails and emails are added to the snail mail that we find in the box outside our house. It's now only a box of coupons and random communication that we can't imagine sitting down to sort through, but we do. And the $1.00 off offers cause a bit of anxiety on whether or not we should be one of those coupon clipping, high energy ladies that race around CVS buzzed out on how much free stuff they raked into their carts- no matter that it's all Aqua Fresh toothpaste and Degree deodorant. After one quick glance through a coupon catalog, I see that Jason's toothpaste and Tom's deodorant aren't listed and I'm relieved that I can look away from pages clustered with Buy One, Get Ones. Right when we think we're home and can throw the junk mail away and get on with walking the dog or sitting down with family, we realize that each and every message we received on this day is expecting an immediate reply. If one of the 4,000 bits of correspondence goes more than 12 hours without attention, someone somewhere is labeling us as negligent, irresponsible or unconcerned. Welcome to this wonderful technological world. -sneer-

This is when we get pissed about it and start pushing back by ignoring some of these constant demands by trying to clear our thoughts. Maybe we sit down to watch a movie. Maybe it's set in a time period when you only had a home phone and if you made plans, you had to mean it. You had to arrive at the right place and at the right time or else, you missed the date. Or even worse, you happened to see someone and talk and had a connection and then when you left, you realize you have no number or address to link to this person which makes them pretty much gone forever. Then the movie comes on when men left their wives at home to go fight a war and well... that's the end of the story. There is no way of knowing what happens to this loved one unless a letter happens to be handled physically all the way to your door. Even though this wasn't that long ago it is a jaw dropping idea and the fear of not being able to know what every friend and family member is doing at any moment is now more overwhelming than being clobbered with information overload. Welcome back.

I guess we accept that it is bittersweet. I see kids on phones and hear a lot of complaints about the changes in the world and I can see that point of view. But then I think about how it would be resisting change to prevent young people from using the technology the world depends on, and that never works. And what if your 9 year old was lost or missing or kidnapped? A phone would be a lifesaver. A quick text would be the one thing that could prevent a real change- an unwelcome one- from happening. Agreeable navigation is what we need, not resistance, I guess. Balance.

Speaking of avoiding communication, I've avoided writing on this blog for the same reason as friendships remain strong but silent. There has been so much going on that I can't find a place to enter conversation. That's why I picked this excuse of a topic to come back.

Ring, ring, ring...

Hello?

Hello.

Yes?

Yes.

Who's this?

It's I.

Who?

I'm sorry?

I am too.

I've got a lot of things going on that I want to 'talk' about. And since this is sometimes my journal and I pretend like no one else can read it, it's tempting to spill all my secrets. It feels good to focus my thoughts. I'm almost in a groove again. It is balance of everything, not just techno evolution's grasp on my time, that I've been searching everywhere for. Yet, I know where it is. It's not in the boxes that needed unpacking and breaking down flat. It's not in my closet that exploded with clothes like a powder burst. It's not under my chair that I keep zigzagging around the floor as I try and find just the right place for it. It's in my head, on a yoga mat, in a dimly lit studio that is filled with Native American melodies which sound like wind flying through the Grand Canyon. It's in a steamy bath as I close my eyes and focus on dark mass until my imagination flashes pretty images for me to smile about. It's in the neighborhood gardens. It's here at my desk as my fingers find words, letter by letter. Why do I keep reversing the order of my pleasures as I search for balance? I keep saying, when my house is organized I will then have time to do this fun thing I want to do. Or, I will start yoga and meditating again when I finish all the To-do items on my ever growing list. And this rationalization is making me anxious. I know what comes first and in turn brings ease to the order of mandatory tasks in life. If I could only learn from myself every now and then.

Neighbor's Pretty Doorway

A Favorite Corner

It sounds like a bird sanctuary here in my new neighborhood and I love that. All different sorts of birds fly everywhere. Chipmunks tease Te'a and Selma is underway in her annual battle against the bumblebee. China learned a new skill called putting the skids on. She has decided that she gets to pick the routes we take and they are always the short one circling right back to the front door. Nick is working hard, because he is what he has always been and that is a hard worker. He is smart. I'm so glad about that. I'm thinking right now, "What if I'd fallen in love with a dummy? What would I do?" Because we were young when we met and there wasn't too much time wasted between meeting and making it serious for Nick and me. All of this is hinged, of course, on the fact that I'm taking for granted: that I'm not a dummy in denial. I'm assuming that I'm not an idiot, in which case none of this would make a difference because Nick would still appear smart to me and I'd still look at him adoringly as he impresses me with his automatic knowledge of exactly what countries are where and in relation to what and whether or not they have political tensions with whatever other country I asked about. It could just be the difference of a person who grew up in Europe and one who grew up in South Georgia, dreaming about what Europe was like. I've always wanted to travel everywhere and see what the world looks like. He did. Sometimes we are still in that pattern. I think about things. He does them. I can fly around in my head like a jet-setter, never tire and always have fresh currency of ideas. Nick's dad coined the term jet-setter and so he instinctively books a ticket. He's been going and doing and moving his whole life. I'm trying to push my ideas out of my head and into the world and navigating my way out is sortie tough. It's fun though. I have to say, making my dreams and ideas come into a physical place is exciting. Leaves me wanting more...

It's interesting knowing what I know about myself and about Nick and thinking about the fact that we are still in Georgia. My love for this state must subconsciously override my desire for those old European stone walls. When I dropped Nick off at a golf course last weekend I headed back to the house and as I did, I said, "I'm going to learn French and move to France for a while." Then, I kept driving and did as I sometimes do; I let my car steer me. I don't ever stop controlling the car, but I let it and the moment of an impulse pick my stopping point. I made a left, didn't know why, and I parked right in front of a French bakery found inside an alley of a shopping center. I thought, "Well, they'll have a cappuccino. I'll get one." Starbucks is directly across the alley from this bakery so I hoped it would make it and not be squished by the coffee tycoon as I locked my car door. I walked inside and entered France.

Matignon

The owners are from France and their accent is beautiful! Their pastries are colorful and I ordered a Matignon, flourless chocolate cake and chocolate mousse, which was so exquisite that I exclaimed, "Wow." and looked at the lady seated near me with stunned but delighted eyes. She laughed and then we talked for nearly two hours. My new friend turned out to be from Holland and we discussed cultural differences and light politics and our ambitions and experiences. It was the fastest turn around time I've ever had on a wish coming true. I got the essence of exactly what I wanted. I would have preferred the sights of the French countryside instead of asphalt and Starbucks out a window, but I really did get what I wanted, a cultural experience. My friend shared her perspective of America with me and we noticed that proverbial grass is greener taking root. I drove home feeling refreshed at having held a conversation that surrounded these thoughts- ones that didn't revolve around American Idol contestants and media rhetoric. I keep hinting to people that I really don't watch the show and don't enjoy talking for hours about these contestants I don't know, but people keep trying really hard to make me become interested. It's infuriating and I can't say anything about it anymore without saying it so bluntly that I sound rude. So, I'm going to avoid those conversations in all. At some point, I have to gravitate toward topics I like to talk about too and not always settle on being the one who is bored. At some point I have to realize that there are two options of conversation and me always being the one who has to shut up because what I want to talk about is too much, or boring, or whatever, is not compromising. It's starting to make me resentful of never being able to talk about what I feel is interesting or be heard. Those last words felt odd coming 'out loud', but I guess they are true. I don't mind finding common interests- maybe a separate topic. But, having to sit through hour after hour of passionate exchanges of what Scotty Mcreery is up to now is too much. Hey, by the way, did you guys hear about that kid locked for 5 days in a holding cell without food or water? Isn't that insane!? Or, don't you think it's odd that Bashar and Asma look like normal people but are actually guilty of mass genocide? Just goes to show you that you can't judge a book by its cover. They look educated. They look decent. But, they are scum, in fact, so very far away from enlightenment. What do you guys think? Nope. I lose every time.

Movies. I should bring up movies as conversation. Everyone loves talking about movies. And then we can all be happy. The scales tip to balanced.

I saw 'Ides of March' not too long ago. Nick and I watched it. I thought it was really good. Ryan Gosling is really subtle in his emotional evolution through characters and I like that. And the story itself seemed to be a bit more realistic than most on politics. "No heroes." That's what I said to Nick as I got up from the sofa and went to get water. He agreed.

'In Time', I liked that one too. It wasn't exactly what I expected, but it was a thought prompter and I wondered about the writer's initial idea. Justin Timberlake is a ball full of talent, isn't he? Amanda Seyfried is gorgeous. No losers in that cast.

Or the weather is a good go-to for a talk. Overcast. It seems to be overcast today. Maybe it won't be so hot on my afternoon dog walk, which I need to do soon.

I'll go stare at some flower petals and let Selma sniff for bumblebees. Te'a has had enough of watching chipmunks scamper freely without dread of her possibly breaking off leash and sinking her inch long canine teeth in their cute little tushes. She can see them from the deck. China, well, she needs to go out and boss us all back indoors. It's important for her to maintain her leadership role. The balance on the dog walks is all about leaning. I lean backward as three pooches charge ahead, or I lean the grip of their leashes to the left and they turn left, where I want them to go. I lean my shin against their rump and they sit. It creates a balance allowing us to actually get somewhere. I relate this to my French wish and wonder where else I can lean a thought and what might follow. Maybe it's not as much about me finding the exit from idea to result as it is about me allowing the pathway in. Let life steer a while.

Camoufroge...
clever little guy.

Trading Mugs

2012-01-23T09:16:00.000-05:00

Trading mugs.

I have ten minutes to throw something on this page. And I'll take it!

James Morrison just said from my speaker, "If it's gonna be a rainy day, there's nothing we can do to make it change. We can pray for sunny weather, but that won't stop the rain." So, I looked outside my window that has been revealing only gray, misty skies and water drops falling in slow motion for days now and I agreed out loud. "James Morrison, that is true." But, whether rain or shine is the weather out my window, inside my forecast is bright beaming light. The sun is coming through smiles. Nick and I are quite happy to be home. China, Selma Lu Mela, and Te'a are curled into their same old positions, listening to the same old playlist, in brand new spots. And that glow warms me. Cold, damp day- not here.

I unloaded the dishwasher earlier and all the white foggy glasses and water-spotted colanders came out and as I decided what needed a new home and what should stay, I smiled at this particular reminder of Edenton, NC. If I hadn't loved that little village and the certain people it holds, I would've cussed (just ask Nick what kind of crazy comes out when my dishes are damaged... not so pretty), but it made me smile instead. The water there was my rival. It was horrible water. For people and for dishes. But, I laughed and remembered all the frustration I had unloading my different pieces for a year and half there and how tempting it was to want to take long baths but not be able to soak in the blasted water. Then, I grabbed my big North Carolina Starbucks mug and walked to my coffee station (yes!!! another wonderful part of my new home :) and instead of putting it up in the cabinet by the Atlanta Starbucks mug... I kept it down. I filled up my mug. I traded mugs. It's much like trading spaces, but tastes better and is instant gratification- no heavy hauling required.

I sat in Edenton, had many quality, "this is what life is REALLY all about", meaningful moments and drank out of my Atlanta skyline mug- missing it with a tear in my eye.

I sit in Atlanta (Roswell, actually), having a quality, "this is what life-learning, in-progress looks like", meaningful moment and am sipping from my North Carolina mug- missing it with a smile on my face.

And the constants remain.

My love, Nick.

My pups.

My music.

My pieces that together make a home.

And coffee.

This is a morning of rain and water spots; music and moving; trading spaces and trading mugs. I'm home.

Ten minutes are up.

Worldwide Wish

2012-01-01T11:33:00.001-05:00

My New Year's Wish to the World we live in:

To be mindful in actions and wishful in thought

To believe in what the soul speaks of from within and step forward confidently in that belief

To critically listen to words of others and reason independently siting motive more and finesse less

To reach for clarity, to aim for truth, to land in integrity

To realize reality is not so much real as it is anticipated and projected

To be- by releasing conformity and expectation of sameness

To allow difference with a smile

To trust; not a speech, not a handshake, but a life's exhibition

To look in creatures' eyes because what you see there matters most

To pray with imagination and not fear and fall asleep with childlike security

To rise each day as the sun with simple gifts of light and life

To become the person you wish to be alone that makes the world we all wish to share

2012.

At the intersection of Wills and Wells Fargo

2011-12-27T17:02:00.006-05:00

Do you know when it's hard to write? When you don't feel like yourself. It's hard to write when you can't put words on a page that reflect who you are in your heart. And since August there have been very few moments when I actually felt I could write. (In stark contrast, June and July contained some of my life's most amazing moments, which perhaps makes this all the more intolerable.) That is why I have been keeping myself so far away. I'm estranged from my life and to write only makes it that much clearer to me. There's a throb, a heavy thud of a tug in my chest that makes that cavity where my heart sits seem vacant and hollow and the word hurt keeps coming to mind. I believe in a combination of Destiny and Free Will and the older I get the more I see that Free Will is Destiny's gift. I used to say, "One has to embrace Destiny for Destiny to get a part in one's life." And to me that meant that I had to make space for Destiny in my life. I had to decide that I wouldn't make every choice and I would leave room for Destiny to lead me. My role was to follow signs and wish and release. That is still a large part of my belief system. I sometimes think that I had certain topics figured out early on in life and it makes me happy to realize that this heavy thought I indulged in has served me well. It has served me happiness. So, here I sit now- on 12.26- wondering what the hell I did, or rather, did not do, that has led me to a perfect storm of chance and limbo and uncertainty. The very things and moments in my life that I gave thanks for so many times are beyond vanished, they are so out of sight that I feel my spirit clawing from the inside of me. I feel fingernails scratching with desperation, trying to shred this new skin I have on and reclaim my life's peace- my life's place.

On my way to work this morning (there will be many topics I owe explanation on, and will get to in time, but it will take quite a bit of time. Many things have changed.) I was struck by a song I've heard hundreds of times but it sounded new to me and the reason why is because I connected with its main projected thought. It was in the form of a question and the question is relevant in so many ways. "What's going on?" I usually, as you know, would be asking the question directed to the world at large. But, not now. Even though I have many people, places and systems to ask that question, I am bringing it in to my microcosm and asking in a loud voice "What's going on?" I'm asking myself, yes. I'm asking the Universe. I'm asking God- although, my tone sweetens as I do. And I want to know, what was my thought pattern that has served me with such chaos. Was it the fact that I moved so quickly? (We are back in Atlanta, GA.) Was it because I moved so quickly and in that short time of packing we experienced 4 natural disasters, producing a feeling of chaos that has yet to expire- and in turn keeps giving what feels like a perfect storm of a scenario to live in day in and day out for the 4 months since? Did I really opt so far out of the peace zone that I'm projected into this much muck?

Most of all though, I ask "What's going on?" to one particular entity: Wells Fargo.

In August, we entered contract with Wells Fargo on a bank owned town home with a 9.18 Closing Date. It's pretty humorous considering that this listing advertised "Must Close by 9.30.2011" and after we entered contract and set our Closing Date for 9.18 Wells Fargo very authoritatively issued a prospective penalty fee to us for each and every day we went past deadline. Nick and I immediately wrapped up our life in Edenton, NC. He got all things in order at work for his departure. We secured our finances to meet our end of this arrangement in a perfunctory manner. We got Mayflower Movers from Athens, GA , our trusted moving company, in line and ready to haul our belongings and store them for the two weeks between our move and the Closing Date. We packed EVERYTHING ourselves. I wrapped every item, taped every box, labeled thoroughly our possessions in as fast of a manner conceivable. Meanwhile, an earthquake rattled our state randomly. My china was shaking behind me in the china cabinet as I wrapped the Waterford goblet in my hand and I thought "Why, it's the strangest thing, but I think the Earth is moving." I turned and asked mom, who drove 13 hours with my father to come help us meet this very definite deadline of a date, "Mom, is the Earth moving?" Indeed. We experienced an earthquake. It was all okay at that point. No harm done and we actually got to ask ourselves that question which ranks pretty high on a "Can You Believe This?!" story-telling list. Days later, as we continued to haul ass packing up our entire life, a hurricane came knocking on Edenton, NC's door. It was a doozie. Mayor Bloomers issued a mandatory evacuation for the humongous city of NYC (Which is a really dominating move if you ask me. What if you are 80 and have no car and no where to go? Mayor Bloomy gets to kick you out on the street for your own welfare? Wouldn't an indoor facility be safer than that?) Our own neighbors were leaving in droves. I wasn't so sure. Unless told where this gigantic storm was going exactly, I preferred the 100+ year old brick, steel, and beamed building to hide in as opposed to my Audi A4 on an open road sitting in the middle of other scurrying souls. So, we continued to pack. Well into the storm, we wrapped, and taped and smooshed and categorized. The hurricane hit and I laid still in bed watching the silhouettes of trees swaying on my wall in front of me. I listened to the high pitched whistle and howls of the wind. Our pooch Tea' came up to my bed and issued a wolf-howl to me and touched my leg so I followed her downstairs to a hallway, where she sat with me until finally two hours later, she left me and went back to her resting spot. Not so surprisingly, my phone alerted me of several tornadoes that had touched down in that exact time frame. The last one occurred moments before Tea' finally left my side. She sensed the chaos. She sensed it perfectly. As the wind sprayed the rain and the hurricane raged, the tornadoes touched down, spinning off from the funnels, and the waters rose flooding Edenton's streets. The Sound came across the street. Queen Anne's Creek was now in our parking lot. All this time, we packed. We risked a pretty good bit to meet this deadline in our contract with Wells Fargo. I can't come close to saying they treated our agreement with the same respect. Where were my senses in all this? I could learn from sweet Tea'.

We got to Atlanta safely. And we have appreciated our generous friends and family who have let us stay with them in their homes during our wait. Our Closing Date came and went. Over 6 times. It is the day after Christmas Day and I am now beginning a new search for homes. Our town home is still waiting on us. We are still waiting on it. And we are still waiting on Wells Fargo. They haven't communicated. They haven't honored one portion of our agreement. They haven't resembled a respectable institution with which I would ever recommend doing business. They have created a perfect storm that has affected my life in a much more dramatic fashion than the hurricane, tornadoes, flood or earthquake did. Comparing Mother Nature and Wells Fargo is a disrespect to our Earth. There is no rhyme or reason, no purpose served, no higher sense or logic to Wells Fargo and this company's actions. Do they deserve the high quantities of mortgages they are stuck paying with foreclosures? Why yes. I think they do. Because I've been begging them to take one in particular off their hands. They would rather be negligent; lie to keep lives in limbo as they continue to ignore their responsibility, their business. And for every answer I do happen to get this is what is said "It's just the process." No. It is not a process that is to blame. And yes. I am blaming at this point. I am pointing my finger and I am blaming Wells Fargo for being a sorry establishment that fails at its job. But a process? Don't get yourself off the hook so easily. A process is a string of actions that people put in place. A process is an inanimate thing. People are the problem. The people that put this string of nonsense actions in place is to blame. And the people who choose to not perform those nonsense actions and just GET IT DONE are to blame. Wells Fargo. You suck.

I flip them off every time I see one of their ugly yellow and red signs. I cuss at them every time I see one of their ugly bank buildings. And I smile whenever someone tells me they've left Wells Fargo because Wachovia was so much better and they aren't happy since the take-over. I embrace this immature streak because they deserve every bit of loss they get. They aren't good at business. This behavior is unacceptable. Since when do contracts mean nothing to one side of the deal only? Since when do you get to ignore an agreement to the point of non-communication and blatant, knowing lies?

So, 4 months of Wells Fargo is enough. I'm not giving any more of my precious time in life over to an irresponsible bank. It's a great town home, but ultimately- I don't care about that. I care about my peaceful life that I want back. I care about my family: Nick, me, my 3 pups. I care about our music and stories and conversations, our quiet moments together. I do not care about any set of walls enough to postpone my time with the above a moment longer.

So, the hunt is on again. Nick found one fantastic option in a better location, but I found out it sold this morning. It closed in 3 days. So, apparently the process works for some agreements. I choose to put myself in an honored contract such as that. If I had anything to do with this set of circumstances, then okay, I accept that maybe chaos breeds chaos and that is what happened here and I obliged. But, I grasp serenity and order in this moment. I will rely on my Free Will. I will myself to let go of Wells Fargo and not consume myself with their toxicity of a business. I will myself to allow Destiny to take me down a calmer path.

I mentioned signs earlier as one of my life's responsibilities. Back in November, I was in a state of worry and struggle with my lack of the life I had worked to create and I was driving my car. I heard a song that came on and this song reminds me of my angels every time I hear it. I said aloud, "Thank you. I so needed this song right now." I stopped at the light. As the light turned green and the car in front of me eased forward, I was smacked forward. I got rear-ended for the first time ever. The car in front of me was gone so I didn't hit it. I wasn't hurt. The guy who hit me looked genuinely startled when I asked him "You didn't see me?" He blinked hard and deliberately as if he were checking his eye sight. "No. I didn't." he said with confusion. As I got in my car to drive out of the intersection, I looked up to see where I was for the traffic report. I was at the intersection of Wills Rd.. I had been screaming for help. I had a sign from an angel sound loud and clear. Then, I was thrust forward into the intersection of Wills.

I ask myself now, "Which way will I go?" "Do I choose Will Power (never been a favorite)? Free Will? Destiny?"

It's something I will consider, but for now I can say that I will probably go with what has served me best my entire life before this storm of a mess. I'll resort to my hard thought and philosophy from childhood and I'll intersect two. My life's Free Will chooses to include Destiny and I'll read the signs along the way. Did I need to be reminded about signs and the collision of causation? My new direction will begin with this choice and the additional choice to release a negative catalyst- the oddly placed enemy of mine: Wells Fargo. I will make my wish again for a beautiful and perfectly suited home for me and my family. And I will let Destiny help run my course. Take me home.

It's true I had a calm before the storm. I had a great summer. I've since had the mother load of the Perfect Storm. What has it felt like? A rebirth. A difficult renewal. Now, I wait for New Life. I'm here in this location- a decision that seemed to evolve naturally by means of uncanny opportunities. Since then, an immensely unnatural set of results has occurred month after month. There is no more energy for the storm. I am brewed out. So, I wait for the sun to peak through. I say the words I opened my prized possession of a book with: "Lord, Let the Sun Shine on Me." It is the end of 2011. This special year that represents my birth to me, 2.11, is nearly over. And my wish is similar to the story my mother told me of how I was born. She said there was a dark, cold, windy winter outside, the coming Winter Olympics and all the heroic stories of athletic triumph were on the television when I decided to come into Earth. She said she delivered me (naturally- drug free I'll add, bravo mama!!) at 1:55 AM (= 11 :) on February 11, 1980 and when she held me in her arms the very first morning of mine that a tiny slit of sunshine beamed through the blinds of the window on a grey, cloudy day and that it showered my face and nothing else in the room. She told me that she gasped and put her finger on the tip of my nose and told me then and there as an infant that I was special. I visualize this with such detail that I can see myself as a baby in my mother's arms, fresh to the world- just having made it through a Perfect Storm of sorts. (A story like that will get you through anything in life. If you don't have one, promise me you'll make one up for yourself.) It snowed in South Georgia that winter. Unheard of. Since that story, I always walk into the fresh day and say to the sky, "Lord, Let the Sun Shine on Me." or I say it when I feel a sunbeam of light upon my face- but I've forgotten to lately. I've been in a whirlwind.

Free Will, meet Destiny.

This is my fresh day.

He Means Ways of words.

2011-08-23T23:29:00.002-04:00

He steeps like tea over the page. The words that would flow like water have evaporated to steam.

Why can I not think?
Why am I at loss?
When my mind was mine I came across sharp from the tongue. But now all I can think about is the trigger on my gun.
When they came calling, I answered back. And my enemy's wrath has a strong lash.
Where did the time go?
Where did my mind go?
I'm shocked my mind turned to mush. I'm shocked my life has amounted to such.
And if I do not finish the deed what will be done?
Will they come and claim me and worse than my own be shown?
My name is my face now. I will live on- and in that name is what will see and what will be seen.
Time can come to show my love of all that I do.
With time's ticket I gain entry to the demise of my enemy. When the clock goes tock and the day is done- my enemy's deeds will unravel him until he's undone.

These words are stuck within him. They don't fall down to the page. The plug is pulled and cold steel is felt between his finger and his thumb.
He and all his words fall down onto the page.

(~a small tribute to a literary great.)

Show, not Tell

2011-07-30T10:57:00.001-04:00

Today I thought, since I'm limited on time, that I'd post some photos and keep the writing to a bare minimum. That way I can show and not tell and you can come up with your own impressions of this (my) city named Zurich. It's a real gem, a beauty, and part of me wants to keep it a secret. I think, "Oh no, what if I'm not the only one who thinks of Zurich as ideal and everyone rushes in and the madness that has enveloped the world at large pounces on Zurich too?" Then I think, "Oh yeh, Switzerland already thought of that and they aren't taking new citizens very easily." I think that a person seeking Swiss citizenship must live in Switzerland for 13 years before they become eligible for citizenship. (I'll fact check that later and get back to you.) That's a long time. I guess they figure if you have lived in and contributed to Switzerland for 13 years, then you deserve her recognition. I don't blame them for that. In fact, I'd like to learn more about how they have collaborated and created this place I witnessed and revere.

Here are some pictures... enjoy Zurich!

Looking up at the elegant balconies.
In the balcony world, these are roses.

Outdoor Seating.

Nick and I walked by the water before weaving through alleys.
He has told me how much he loved Switzerland since childhood and now I see why.

I'm so happy here in this shot.

Nick and I watched the swans and the water is very clear so their cute webbed feet put on quite a different show than the smooth gliding happening on the skin of the water.

One of MANY pretty structures.

I hold strong affection for birds.
I could watch them and talk to them all day.

I did a lakeside waltz for Nico. I think he's beyond being embarrassed when I do these things.

Passion!

Majestic.

Life happening in the alleys.

I love YOU too! What a happy city!

I wonder what lucky kid gets to sit in that window seat?

Landing in Swiss in Bliss

2011-07-29T17:35:00.006-04:00

Deboarding the plane-getting through customs-exchanging currency-catching the train-waiting on the tram street side. It was all as seamless as the marble floor that I admired as I strolled my bag through the Zurich airport. I made sure my admiring scope of the floor fit Nick's feet in too. I do this cop-out of a thing when I am traveling with him- I follow. It's just so easy. I know it's horrible that I'm not more of an upfront thinking, directing, commanding co-traveler... but, then again... is it after all?? Nick is a seasoned globe trotter. I exit any building or vehicle and just head right, thinking I'll sort all kinks out along the way. Do you see the difference? I am presented with this option: Be a leader. Be an individual traveler. Be lost. OR Be... behind Nicholas. & Hey. That's not a bad position to be in if you get my drift. I lead in some areas, but this area is his forte. I can do it by myself, domestically or internationally, I'm not a moron, but he leads us effortlessly and allows me to marvel and ooh and aah. I love that about our relationship!

Sheep. Check. Marble. Check.
Happy to be in Zurich. Check.

Did you notice my city? Did you catch that or did you skim right past it? ZuRiCh! zUrIcH! ZURICH!! ...oooh... aaah... Zurich has wrapped me around her little alp.

So, the first impression of Zurich was from the air, out the window, over my Portuguese friend's shoulder. Crisp is what it looked. Someone has ironed beautiful sheets of grass in all different shades up and around and smoothly down the Swiss landscape. Meeting this pressed patchwork pattern is a silky greenish blue swirl of water winding along the way rivers like to do. It has come from the most dynamic of zigzags, the Swiss Alps, and this silky river borrowed the ice from the zig and snow from the zag and breathed on it like a pane of glass until that steamy breath made one trickle, then two, then three and then from the fourth flowed a river as pure and crystal as the ice from which it melted. And this I saw from the air and how the clarity of its own character fed and nourished the earth and its people and animal life. Life. This place radiated in a beautiful and vibrant way and that looked like the word Life. And that was just my impression from the air.

The best shot I could get out the window.
I was practically hovering over the neck of the man in the actual window seat!

Entering the society that has flourished in this setting was remarkable easy and comforting. Like I already mentioned, the airport was pretty darn awesome with its shining marble floor and modern EVERYTHING. The only odd thing I remember seeing is a Starbuck's. I thought, "for real?" But, it was limited to the airport.

Waiting on Nick in Zurich's
airport, people watching.

Most everywhere we went during the entire trip, these chains were given assigned seating and it was the Stations. Train, plane... that's where they think their market is and they are right. Americans will be at these locations and so their food is too. (I say their instead of our here because I'm not claiming that sad, sorry, pathetic habit. In Zurich someone wants a Whopper? Give me an effing break! In Italy, someone requests Burger King because they "don't trust foreign food"? First of all, I want to say to them, "You're stupid, go home." Italians KNOW food. And then I want to say to them, "Did the potato and cow you are devouring come from Kansas? Are you in Rome and eating an American cow or an Italian one? And if you want frozen, shipped, old food... you deserve all the yuck that's in your mouth." That's what I want to say to that person, but I don't because that's really mean.) But, Starbuck's is in the airport and it's okay because it's coffee. Not the best coffee in the world, but it is not a terrible cultural trademark. I got to observe these things as I waited on Nick to get whatever he was getting and then come back to me. I stood in the middle of the floor with my suitcase and his and watched all these really good looking people walk around. And, one cute girl stuck out. She had a southern accent and was dressed like a Polo ad. She was marching around looking at signs and telling her husband what she was reading. I thought, "Do I look like that? Do I sound like that? I don't think I do, but do I?" She was precious and I was happy to see someone repping America without a fanny pack, but I wondered if I looked neon in the black and white photo too. By the time Nick came back I had already decided I loved this place I was in. It was just Marble-ous!

Nick waiting with me to get on the train.

Who cares that I got zero sleep?
Not me!
Let's go see the city!

Now, how do we get to our hotel?

Oh! Look! Right outside the airport is an electric tram system that you simply purchase a token for from a conveniently located machine (On the honor system btw! What? No one shoots you in the back five times here like they do in San Francisco because you don't have a ticket and that must, well, be considered the most criminal, death-deserving thing in the modern day world!? No, they don't do barbaric things like that over this tram. You may live... and board the tram.) and then you just get on it and ride on it until it stops at the location nearest your destination. So simple it made our heads spin. Brand new and up to date was everything in this city. I watched the floor of the tram pivot and swivel under my left foot while the floor under my right foot remained still. I was half in the bend of the tram and half out of it. So cool.

This city is full of clever ideas like electric trams
and diesel cars!

When we got off this tram we walked over a block and then down a block and checked into our hotel with an English speaking desk manager. Note: Switzerland has three different language speaking regions. French, think Geneva. Italian, think Lugano. And German, think Zurich. But, all of those regions have one language in common and that is English. Everyone I met spoke English like a professor.

Just one clipping of the pretty streets we walked
to make our way to our hotel
in Zurich, Switzerland.

Happy already and yearning to explore, I voted nada to nap time and yes to getting changed and walking the streets to find dinner beats. Check in. Change. Check this place out.

As I took my awesome key and inserted it into my deep cobalt blue lacquer door, I felt like I was unlocking the one item left in Pandora's box, the good one, the one called Hope, and fairies and gnomes were waiting to poof magical dust on me and shout "Surprise!!" "You're here!" "You made it!" I sigh as I write this and remember the instant pleasure I had in Zurich over just being alive and able to see it. I was thankful to just BE THERE. (I see my name in that. neato.) I was finding treasure. I was in the treasure. And in Zurich I felt I was treasure too. Which makes this sentence round out like this... In Zurich I found myself.

Portugal's Portion

2011-07-28T13:55:00.003-04:00

Is it any secret that I look for signs in all things and like to follow life like a scavenger hunt? Nope. This trip, especially this segment, was no different.

When I sacrificed my own seat and my own leggy joy for my husband and sat in the very middle of the entire airplane, I assumed it might be a discomfort that would pass before I knew it. I assumed I would be asleep. That didn't happen. Even when the captain turned the lights off so that all his little duckies could catch a wink as he flew threw the night and over the Atlantic Ocean, even when all those around me snored in unison after their Ambien released its comatose inducing substances into their tummies simultaneously, even when the elegant flight attendant cocked her head in a way that said "Really????" when I handed my red wine glass back to her after declining a refill and then reconsidered based on her professional opinion that I should partake in at least one more drowsy glass of red wine, even after all of that I could not fall into a slumber. I was uncomfortable and staring into a mini television screen a foot away from my face that revolved from a map and flashing, moving airplane (that's us) to Vince Vaughn shouting in Portuguese to a cartoon and so on.

My view

I managed to pass the state of tired into the state of bodily auto-control. Nick reminded me that "At least you're not flying to Australia. You'd still have 15 hours left. Imagine that with a reclined granny on your lap." (His last trip to Australia- and probably the reason it was his last- was disastrous. The seat in front of him had a witchy old lady in it and she lucked up getting a broken seat that reclined REALLY far. Nick was the unlucky passenger. He was seated directly behind her. And what can you do? You can't get snappy on a granny no matter what, right?) He was right. That was a good point. I only had to stay up a little longer. I closed my eyes anyway- hoping sleep would sneak upon me. Instead I got subconscious picture shows of things like two red balloons positioned in a staggered way floating up and past me. Other things that were vivid at the time but more cluttered than the balloons entertained me, but I can't remember them. The balloons were simple. And I saw them again later...

This is the deal. I find that almost my entire adult life the following question has loomed above me: "Where is it in this world that I want to be?" I want to find my perfect place. Ideally, see it ALL and find my place along the way. I have found some that are perfect already, I adore what I have seen of France. And who in the world doesn't think Italy is perfetto? I love certain parts of California. New York City makes me feel alive. And Georgia is "home"- my roots, South Georgia pines to Atlanta's tree top canvas to the Coast's haunting mossy oaks- "home." There's more to see, obviously. But those are my favorites so far.

from our seats at
Portugal's Airport

Nick and I sat at the gate looking out the airport windows and we both knew we were flying to that spot. We sat down on the smaller plane that was going to zip us right over to Switzerland from Portugal and we buckled our seat belts. I said "I hope we love it. Because I have that feeling this is it." I was all-senses-go. I was ready. I didn't know what to expect because I hadn't been to Switzerland, only over it, but I knew I was on my way to my wish come true. Finding my desired home.

This is melodramatic... it may seem I am exaggerating a lot, but I'm not. To me, this was big.

Beside me was a Portuguese man. He was of medium build, had strong and useful hands, and a simple, quiet, friendly demeanor. He ate his meal served to the passengers methodically and carefully, not making a mess with crumbs. He was invisibly chewing... eating like a cat drinks milk. When he turned to us to speak to Nick, after hearing some of our conversation about me being the language dummy, he had almost-hidden passion in his eyes. This tidy man was probably a physical labor worker, one of a trade that takes care but is demanding- like the person that makes a perfect stone wall. This man that so many would look right past spoke 5 languages. Common. Not common for me, not common for my country, but common for those living in countries that aren't gigantic and isolated and forgetful that others have languages too. I wished I retained those languages. He and Nick conversed in Italian, laughing some. And then, this man included me with a separate, universal language. When the plane landed and we rolled down the pavement in our new location he started humming a song that means a very specific thing to me. Fur Elise. Do men normally hum Fur Elise when their plane taxis? Honestly, I didn't think they did and hearing it sent tingles down my spine. This song means one thing. I have an angel. And I think she brought Nick and me together. Her portrait hangs over my (our) bed and I see her and smile everyday. I never met her, but I feel much from her. I think of her when I hear this song. (And after a chilling instance in my house, my friend Arin does too!) Considering the number of times I have looked at that portrait and asked, "Where do I want to be?" this hum was more like 'dong'. I gasped a little meek gasp and looked at him with childlike curiosity and tried to find mutual understanding of what that meant. Silly, because he didn't pay mind to me and kept humming away. But this meant I was getting a sign. This meant "I'm here. I'm giving you sweet signs. You might be right..."

Gotta Go Keep Urban Village. Didn't proof. Don't be mad. I'll tell you where I've landed tomorrow.

City Sights and Late Night Flights

2011-07-27T13:25:00.008-04:00

Trip continued...

New York City- fantastic! We walked the streets, checked out a few stores, ate picture-perfect food, and we sat and absorbed Battery Park on a perfectly temperate and sunny day. Delightful is the word.

Enjoying Battery Park on a perfect NYC day.

Balthazar

To recap- We woke up feeling perky and we got dressed and concluded that my choice of a brunch spot was the winner. Balthazar on Spring Street. I love the atmosphere... and the food is notable too! We caught a cab there because my feet said "no" to that many blocks of walking and in ten minutes we were sitting and observing the cozy, yet bustling energy that really special city restaurants claim. The feeling of walking in off a busy street and being sucked into a comfortable setting of pleasing light, toasty aromas, and the clinking of flatware and glasses is one of my first memories of New York City and I have really held that feeling close to me. I captured it so well that I revisit it frequently. Balthazar grants me that feeling.

We sat at a table that was positioned so that we could see the SoHo streets and its walkers and riders. We could see the booths filled with intriguing socialite type people eating eggs in 'silver cups' with mini spoons, something I adore seeing and refuse to do. I am uber particular about eggs. And I am not fooled by calling something fancy or a delicacy... foie gras is not appealing to me considering that someone force-fed a duck until its liver exploded and they decided to serve it on a porcelain plate and label it special. That's nasty and cruel and shameful. The egg in a cup thing started from people copying English royalty's preferred manner of putting an egg in a cup and "beheading the egg" before eating it with trinket spoons. Louis XV should have recognized he was focused on beheading too much and creating a bit of bad karma. (Actually they found egg cups in the ruins of Pompeii so it must have made sense to them also.) The mirror above these socialite-esque, delicate egg eaters was aged and enormous and tilted downward so that the floor and action of waiters' feet, the daylight streaming through the windows, and even the people like us sitting at tables across the floor were reflected. Nick immediately noted that this effect made him feel dizzy and like he was sitting on a ship. Our waiter, who had only recently started working at the restaurant agreed and said he hadn't yet adjusted to that detail.

Nick and the bread rack.

Not only was that feature of the restaurant worthy of talking about... there was a tall rack of bread on the other side of Nick's head and it was quite difficult for me to focus on his eyes as we were chatting about this and that. It was crusty bread that begged to be clinched and broken and stuffed into a watering mouth to satisfy a starving tummy. Fangs were forming- I was transforming and had to concentrate on remaining seated. Deep down I wanted to hurdle Nick Olympic style and full body thrust myself into the bread rack. I was imagining the loaves falling on me and me tossing them around like movie characters do so annoyingly with money. (I hate that. Who tosses money around on hotel beds? Count that shit and stash it! That's what I'm sayin'.) Luckily for me, and Nick, the waiter returned with cappuccinos and our order was filled and placed at our table soon after. Nick's choice: Omelette with Gruyere and Potatoes. My choice: Roasted Pepper and Caramelized Onion Quiche with Mixed Greens. It was an appropriate start to the day and to our adventure that was going to be jammed full of deliciousness and ambiance.

For me!

For Nick!

For both!

After shopping in the standards like Banana Republic and Anthropologie (where I found the cutest journal- leather free!) we moseyed through Dean & Deluca to admire things like olives, chocolates, and the largest assortment of salt I've seen to date.

Nick perched while I shopped.

Even Aveda made our shopping list as we thought it very important to not discriminate genres- mainstream retail to one of a kind boutique, clothes to food to shampoo. We are equal opportunity shoppers. Hey, we even eyed a SoHo Psychic offering a 10 dollah special and considered it! I took a peek in the door and there she was (the psychic) giving her reading at a round table draped in fabric (she was draped and so was the table) looking exactly as you imagine she would look- sans the crystal ball. I walked out and giggled and we passed the offer. Tempting, but no thanks. I'll stick to John Edwards. Who knows though... she probably has a 100% accuracy rate considering the real estate she keeps! But, I could have told her my future and been correct. I was beginning my trip of dreams and it was going to rock my world! I was going to meet the city I want to live in. I was going to cry happy tears simply because my body, my mind, and my soul was in a location on Earth that offered what they craved. I was going to feed myself, all of myself, all of my senses and relish in every aspect of information I was bringing in being beyond my expectations of what I considered beautiful in life. (That will be 10 dollah please.)

Salt selection at Dean&Deluca.

Later in the afternoon, when we decided it was time to dine again, I sat next to some children eating sushi with chopsticks and enjoyed my mixture of greens and sprouts and all sorts of raw, probiotic goodies I didn't know how to pronounce. It felt like life-giving richness with every bite. Honestly, it was better than chocolate. It met a need for organic, natural foods in my body. The day was going to continue into the next without sleep and I was fueling up on the good stuff. I admired the children by me too. Their habits and healthiness was refreshing compared to so many kids filling up on fast, fried food. I nearly hugged them from pride, but realized how inappropriate that would be and smiled at them instead.

loving life!

After our day on the streets in SoHo and TriBeCa (where we tend to spend our days in NYC and usually stay) we headed back toward our hotel, Marriott Downtown in the financial district and right by the World Trade Center Buildings past and present, stopping to hang out in Battery Park first. Here we yacht gazed, watched frolicking people, playful children, many runners, many dogs and lots of financial people going about their business. We laid on the ground to absorb the weather like the New Yorkers and I played with a flirty butterfly. Who outgrows that? Nobody. When they come a dancin'... join. The butterfly's wing beat is like the human's heart beat. Just ask Deepak Chopra.

Butterfly!

To the hotel. Talk to this one, tip this one. Talk to that one, tip that one. Sit. Retrieve bags, tip for bags. Bag man hands bags to doorman, tip doorman. Doorman hands bags to driver, tip, tip, tip. Better have cash in the USA. Jobs based on tips exist everywhere. And I am a sucker and feel like a grade A ass if I have no cash. That's my rap. Eminem, you can have that paragraph.
(But, I shouldn't have to write these words in a rhythm for him to know it's a rap, right? haha. I'm not afraid. (Hopefully you know I'm semi-quoting him.)

The nicest man drove us to the airport from our hotel. It's often easier to take a car, in this case it was a suv, rather than a taxi to the airport. Especially depending on the time of day. I've experienced the taxi shift change exactly when I needed to get to the airport. Not a good feeling. I finally found an empty cab and the driver broke his rules and took me all the way out to the airport any way. Wouldn't you know that on that occasion my flight was late, then later, then finally cancelled and I had to get another taxi to a hotel. I went back to the SoHo Grand and they presented me with champagne (I think it's standard) since I was checking in so late and getting up so early and had that look on my face. But, I gulped that sucker and walked the streets... they're always awake. I also shared my table during that delay in the airport lounge with a Ford agency make-up artist that was trying to get to Miami. He gave me the scoop on Oil of Olay's huge transformation prior to the marketing campaign. It was interesting. He also told me that jump roping was his biggest beauty secret. All in all, it wasn't a terrible evening. Anyway, we chatted with this driver about how he lived in New Jersey and how he knew no one wanted to live in New Jersey, but the difference in real estate prices isn't a matter of wants for him. He was pleasant and our commute was swift. We exited the vehicle curbside and we were so early we cruised through to the security scare tactic area that I so vocally find absolutely wasteful seeing as it doesn't work- statistically- and only causes paranoia and cancer. Get a couple of dogs and use metal detectors. That will do the job better than these expensive and toxic machines that only fill orders for some Washington homeboy and his company. They use K9s anyway on planes and when they are serious about finding anything. In war they use them, in emergencies they use them. They are the best. They do not discriminate. And they are intimidating. A criminal cannot fool a dog because they sense and reason and use their intuition like a laser beam. Like I said in the entry prior to this that story-line-wise backs up to this one, the lad next to me at the gate found his kitchen knife in his backpack and almost threw up. It was a mistake and here he was, dressed like a gothic punk, sitting on the other side of mostly uneducated, unreasonable, power-tripped-out "officials" that would lock him up for days and probably ruin his entire life with secret asterisks next to his name on his passport. What was he supposed to do now? He went to a police man, not the security man. He tried to find someone who was hopefully trained in dealing with citizens in a respectful and peaceful way. I should've kept up with him to see if he made it to his plane, but I got sidetracked with my own attempt at noise control from airport chaos. Later I will give my international airport/customs review report. Now, I'd like to remain positive, so I'll promptly board the plane with you.

Air Portugal! It was splendid.
The stewardesses and stewards were over-the-top nice. I had forgotten what that felt like on an airplane. They used words like please and thank you very much and welcome. We boarded when our zone was called and I watched Nick's seat-finding anticipation fizzle as we located our row and found.... the middle three seats of the plane... and he has the middle seat! Hahaha. I told him I'd win the aisle seat and I did. I totally made him suffer too. He sat down trying to invent room for his body and trying his best to laugh and not scowl at me. He looked uncomfortable (understatement). Then came the kicker. Another Nick-like, young guy came to our row and confirmed his seat was the one on the other side of Nick's elbow. You should have seen Nick's face when he turned to look at me. He mocked what this guy was thinking aloud to me, "Really? Really? You're going to do that? It's going to be you I sit by and not her? Nice." His sarcastic tone is one of perfection, by the way. I just shook my head as a reply saying, "Yeh, that sucks. I hope you don't fall asleep on him." Both of the guys formed a DaVinci 'V', leaning away from the other so obviously. It was priceless and I made him sweat it out past take off and until I needed to use the restroom. His glee over my offer to sit in the middle was cute. The other guy on my left was nice too. I gave him my chocolate bars that came with our dinner and we were friends from then on.

More distinctions about this flight. Europeans, from my experience in observing them, stand up and socialize on airplanes. They do this and walk around for exercise and laugh and make friends. No one tries to tackle them and demand they sit or else. And not only are the plane employees kind, but they give you wine and encourage many refills at no charge. Then, they give you edible food! I am a fan of Air Portugal. Even though I did not sleep a wink and my feet had stingers in them (something I had never experienced before. ouch!) I liked the flight. Their instructional videos were funny and instead of avoiding cliché's of certain personality types they poked fun at them and exaggerated them to make points while being funny and light hearted. I got the impression that no one was going to file a law suit too- that's a plus.

Sneaking sips from Nico's wine glass.

Fast forward to landing.
Smooth Easy. Clapping all around.
Porto's airport was modern, clean, and hassle-free with pure water dispensers for your enjoyment. Little things like pure water go a long way, don't they?!

This is as far as I got in Portugal, unfortunately. It was a connector.
I sat looking out at the runway and the docked planes with Nick by my side. Neither of us had sleep and neither of us felt really tired. The next stop was our most anticipated of all. I was prepared to fall in love.

First stop- New York City

2011-06-13T20:16:00.002-04:00

All signs point to a perfect journey!

I stood in the line, zeroed in on the cute female "agent" on the other side of the normal scanner. My belongings were on the belt, all rules followed- and barefoot I stood hoping to not be felt up and instead be allowed to simply get to my terminal.
I sit now, safely away from the hazard and non-radiated, non-fondled. The wishing worked. I made it through the check-in and scanning and did so in a time friendly way. Cheerful me.
We have oodles of time before we board the plane. We decided to head out early to avoid any frantic racing to make a flight. Our driver was pleasant and was speedy with delivering us curb side. And gentleman have been helpful by toting my bag for me when they didn't really have to. I tell ya, every single time I've been to New York City I have had the same reaction. I hit the street and my breath draws deep. I feel an internal buzz and sweet vibration. And the love greets me like I have come home. New Yorkers are nice, very nice. And New York is like living in an imagination.

When we got off the train at Penn Station it was still an underground world- far away. I told Nick I felt like we were all little maggots swarming around and making our way around one another in formations that curve and wind. Somehow we all remained mildly courteous as we slowly found holes in the crowd and then sped ahead as if it would matter. When we stepped to the street though, "Hello, New York City!" we walked a few blocks with our baggage to get our legs in motion again.

Coming out of Penn Station.

Can you believe I got out of there with this honkin' bag?

Hailing a cab is an art. I always do it, but it makes me feel dumb and rejected. They pass with passengers already in tow and there I am waving to nobody after all. Then one swoops up and saves me from embarrassment. I feel like friends with the driver immediately because he didn't leave ms hanging. He actually high-5ed me.
Marriott downtown was our spot to relax. I hadn't stayed in this district yet, so it was great. We were right next to the World Trade Center construction/memorial/wreckage site. The new tower is partially up. And there is a lot of anticipation surrounding this unique piece of land. I walked past this once before in January of 2002. I never saw the real deal. Only the aftermath.

I can't say I was prepared for this picture.

New World Trade Center Building well under way.

Dinner was at The Odeum. We were starving! Nicks tuna burger was a success with his belly and I had a goat cheese and greens salad that was incredible.

Odeon for dinner.

We were both set on dessert so after eating real food we walked and found the perfect place. Their apple cobbler and ice cream was served up and devoured in a flash.

Ever since we arrived in New York City we appreciated the weather. Strolling back down the streets of TriBeCa was a perfect way to spend the first night of our much anticipated trip.

Snooze.
6 am... Yeh right.
Snooze.
Up and at 'em for bag check and another day to enjoy NYC. Balthazar is the opening act.
The enormous tilted mirrors on the walls made Nick a tad dizzy at first and the bread stacked above his head made me not only dizzy but I had to retract my fangs and impulse to hurdle him and attack the bread rack. It is a beautiful sight.
Quiche with peppers and caramelized onion and Gruyere cheese and fresh greens for me, cappuccino please. Omelette with herbs and potato home fries for the gentleman. Cappuccino due.
SoHo shop shop.
Ooh, Soho Psychic? Ten dollah?
Pass.
We walked until I had to resort to the havaianas.
Battery Park was pure delight. More later on all of that. I am side-tracked by the slightly gothic lad who is calling his mommy to tell her he just went back to security and turned in a kitchen knife he had found in his bag and when he realized it he freaked out. He was so scared he didn't know whether to go back of not. It's really hard not to eavesdrop.

Journey tracking will continue... I am at airport and am suddenly overcome by all the noise. Crying, talking, ringing, beeping, loud speaker blaring, horn sounding from something. I have to go. I need my hands back. I need to insert my forefingers into my eardrums.

Hugs and smooches.

Here we go, on the move, again!