Shutters announce arrivals and departures.

This winter my sister and I are “squatting” in a nice condo building overlooking the Atlantic Ocean in south Florida. The building has about 140 apartments—all with a view of the pool and the ocean. Each is equipped with hurricane shutters–big white folding vinyl ’doors’ to protect against storms. Some also may use them to close against the intense tropical sun. Linda and I leave ours open all the time. We’re on the south side of the building and never get direct sunlight on our patio.
We were told that most of the annual snowbirds would begin arriving throughout the month of January and there would be an opening-of-the-shutters potluck dinner to welcome the ‘regulars’ back. As predicted, people began moving in from upstate New York, New Jersey, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, Canada, Ohio, Michigan, Illinois…   

Holiday lights and a full moon.

 On January 8, I began logging how many of the shutters were open, how many were closed. I expected this to be easy….record the number opened up from one count to the next. However, I’ve discovered that some were open through the holidays and closed up afterward. Maybe those were short-term rentals. It is possible that some of the closed ones may actually be occupied, but are closed periodically for one reason or another, though I can’t imagine closing them to our spectacular view. It quickly became easier to count the ones that were closed. January 8 it was 41; January 18-32, and January 26-24. The potluck was on January 21st and about 90 people attended.     

Sunrise over the pool and the Atlantic

I suppose I could do more exhaustive research, but these elements—the continuous rhythm of the waves, a salty ocean breeze, soothing sunshine–are having their way with me. I can’t be bothered with anything too ‘exhaustive’….

My friends Sam and Missy

My friend Sam is senior correspondent in charge of health updates regarding his wife, Missy. They are living a day-to-day dance with serious breast cancer treatment. Sam recently sent several of us this email: “I hope at sometime during all the rushing around and busy-ness of the season you can take time to contemplate the reason we celebrate this holiday in the first place.” He goes on to say, “We recently heard a good sermon regarding the JOY of Christmas and the lack of it sometimes in our daily lives, joy being defined as the good feeling we get when we do something for another person without expecting a reward. I think there are a lot of examples of this particular joy, namely the many times we remember to pray for those dealing with difficulties.”
He closes by thanking us for our prayers and healing thoughts. For me, it is poignant to think of a prayer as a small gift that can bring a measure of joy to both the giver and the receiver. It’s nice to hear that what can seem pitifully inadequate may have value to somebody confronting frightening health challenges.

Tidings of Joy from Judy (by way of my friend Karen)

Joyce Sequichie Hifler, author of “A Cherokee Feast of Days,” writes, “There is something about a Christmas sky when the night is clear and still, and the stars are bright enough to light the way without the help of the moon….Christmas was a gift to us.” She and Sam remind me that we can treasure the gift of this season, as well as each day we ‘receive’ beyond it.
May these holidays and 2012 bring you gifts of joy, both small and large.

Bucket lists are fashionable now; but I think this holiday week merits a gratitude list. My list is topped by a year of good health, followed closely by family and friends and, after that, having work that I love.

My sister's granddaughter Avery Jane.

Probably anything beyond that is gravy. I’ve enjoyed a huge amount of that this year: memory-making travel and hiking, a friendly neighborhood where nobody is a stranger for long, a vibrant faith community that feeds my soul, spending the winter with my sister in warm sunshine by the ocean, writing as a creative outlet, my sweet cat, Ben.

Granddaughter Brylee

Here’s one of my favorite expressions of thanksgiving for this season from A Cherokee Feast of Days by Joyce Sequichie Hifler:

“A midnight sky in November is a sight to behold.

Ben in a reflective moment.

Nothing compares to the clarity of the limitless sky aglitter with so many stars as to appear more like a gossamer scarf thrown across forever. We take so much for granted. The common beauty of everyday life, the sweet sleep and quiet breathing the night offers….Now, while the night sky is so spectacular, it is a gift of the season to look up and know that we are spirit-freed and unlimited. Not even the immense universe and the glittering stars created for us can compare to the stars in our hearts and what has been prepared for us.”

May the night sky surround you with blessings of Thanksgiving.

An intriguing door in San Gimignano

Frankly, the ancient churches at the end of these journeys have not been the point of my hikes. The ‘religious’ component for me has been the exuberance of starting each day, not knowing what I will encounter…the reverence I feel walking in the countryside, between gardens, vineyards, olive groves that have been tended for hundreds of years, often by the same families…. deep gratitude for being able to do these hikes…. fresh perspective gained by being somewhere other than America…. peace that settles in on a shady trail in the woods….the joy of laughing as I walk with my travel companions.

Woodsy trail on the way to Siena

Martin Sheen sums it up in his article, “Road to Santiago” in the AARP magazine, when he describes walking the Camino de Compostela and his recent movie, The Way: “Strange as it seemed, we each came to treasure the time walking alone, and to grasp the importance of the pilgrim’s inner journey of transcendence, which is a hidden mystery and the only lasting reward of any pilgrimage…the destination is the same, but the interior journey makes every experience different.”

Good friends on a beautiful day

As we hurtle toward the holidays and the end of the year, I continue to mull over my interior meandering and am deeply thankful for the opportunity.
Have you taken any interesting journeys lately?

A farmer's work: the stunning precision and design of a hillside.

We were encouraged to walk in silence on this six-mile hike. It was an opportunity to reflect on why we so often fill silence with chitchat and other noise. And, it was a chance to hear what we so often miss in the world. Once we got down the hill from Montefalco, the trail leveled out through gently rolling countryside, eventually turning onto a bike trail that followed the Teverone River.
About two hours into the silence, I could no longer avoid admitting how competitive I am, wanting to keep up with Rob on the walk, to plan my next wise or clever remark. Besides this personal epiphany, I became much more aware of the sounds of work happening…dogs doing their job barking and keeping watch, songbirds singing, tractors tilling, trucks traveling on a highway, and the sight of butterflies fluttering, olives ripening, grape vines heavy with fruit, and river water trilling over rocks. At one point, I was stopped in my tracks by the precision and design of an entire hillside.
We passed by pomegranate, fig, apple, and orange trees, and a herd of sheep being cajoled to move on. Taller trees were beginning to show some yellow color in their top leaves. Along the river, I noticed cottonwoods, a clump of silver maples down in the river bed, evergreens, bamboo, and wildflowers of blue, yellow, purple, pink, white.
Near the end of the bike path, I found a shady spot to sit down and write, eat a snack, and relax a bit, realizing we would be in Bevagna easily by noon. Before long, six of my favorite women joined me in the shade for a brief respite, still in silence. Our background music was a farmer tilling his field beyond the trees to the north of us.
I loved the silence–three hours wasn’t enough! It sharpened my view of how I handle anxiety—filling the air with chatter, telling clever stories, passing on ‘invaluable’ words of advice. Ironic that I was annoyed by others on the trip who avoided the silence by talking anyway.
Now I understand how cultivating silence is an opportunity to ponder what my life is really all about. To quote Ezra Bayda in his book At Home in the Muddy Water*, “the essence of spiritual practice is about cultivating awareness of our True Nature…all of it.”

*May we exist like a lotus
At home in the muddy water.
Thus we bow to life as it is.
(a Zen meditation verse)

See cone display on left above the gelato choices (in Assisi)

Besides their superb wines, olive oils, pastas, and other elements of a Mediterranean diet, Italians have also brought the world gelato. Gelato is Italy’s version of ice cream, with three critical differences—it has far less butterfat than ice cream (really!), is less solidly frozen, and does not have air in it (manufacturers add air to ice cream to increase the quantity).
There are almost as many gelaterias as churches in Italy. And there is serious competition between these establishments. My hiking friends and I were lucky enough to sample the “Gelato World Champion 2006-2007 and 2008-2009,” the Pluripremiata Gelateria in San Gimignano, one in a string of charming hilltop towns in Tuscany.
But there is also “Perche No?” (Why Not?), reported to be the best gelateria in Florence. What’s a girl to do except check them all out?! We are like bees drawn to sweet nectar.
Part of gelato’s fascination is the flavor combinations they come up with: orange cream with surprising little chocolate chunks in it, champagne/grapefruit, chocolate/rum (called Cuba di Rhum in Orvieto).
Besides its smooth texture and the delight to your taste buds, another compelling feature is the way the gelaterias display what they have.
Most have two rows of flavors, like you’d see in a standard ice cream shop in the states. 

Less extravagant display, but still delicious!

But in Siena and Florence, they arrange it in artful mounds with a citrus slice, a handful of raspberries or pistachios sprinkled over it.
While hiking in Italy, our Mediterranean diet consisted of wine or Prosecco, three to four courses (pasta always one) at dinner, then a short walk to find a gelateria and indulge. It’s a stretch to think this is the healthy diet spoken of so often.

It’s a good thing we were hiking every day. I would’ve had to request a seatbelt extender on the plane coming home…

The building on the right is the St. Francis Church in Volterra.

I love the way Italians dry their laundry. Since most people live in small apartments, they use clotheslines strung on a pulley system, either out the windows or off their balconies. Sometimes even across their streets or alleys. Sheets, shirts, socks, underwear, and towels provide color and softness to the dark Medieval or Roman era walls of their villages. For a tourist, it is an oddly intimate look at how Italians live.
I can’t imagine District of Columbia officials accepting laundry hanging out the apartment windows across the street from the National Cathedral. There’s probably an ordinance against it. Somebody would complain. We’re too puritanical to let our underwear fly outside.
Instead, we are spoiled by our clothes dryers, so laundry loses the benefit of fresh air and sunshine. We use “Mountain Fresh” Bounce sheets instead. I won’t even go into the energy expended using our big rotating tubs of hot air.
For me, laundry is as much a part of the Italian landscape as the spectacular olive groves and vineyards in which the clothes flutter and wave.
Another aspect of Bella Italia!

Claudia on a strada bianca

Today we left in two shifts, being taken by bus to Fabbio and dropped off in front of a church from which we started our hike through breathtaking countryside. For a long, long time we followed a strada bianca, first between grape vineyards that had not yet been harvested, and then through olive groves with lots of olives in varying stages of ripeness. It was sunny and warm, a day of hiking in Italy as I remembered it. I loved every minute of it…barking dogs, birds in flight, warm sunshine, mountains surrounding us, evidence of this country’s fertility everywhere.

I was walking with five low-key, compatible women with a pace similar to mine….Claudia, Phyllis and her sister Tricia, Shirley, and Mary Rojas. We found an olive grove off the trail where we plopped down under a tree for lunch, which was a shared feast—cheese, salami, bread, apples.

Sweet grapes about to become delicious wine

After lunch and a shady uphill hike we came to the Convento di San Fortunato, nestled on the hillside, overlooking the Umbrian valley and the mountain beyond. There were astonishing frescos in the church and in a side chapel. Both were built in the 15th century. Again, I’m reminded about what a young country the USA is.

It was a sun-dappled day on a mostly strada bianca (white gravel road) walking from Spoleto to Montefalco. Italy endlessly fascinates with its combination of antiquity and modernity in its villages and towns, surrounded by land that produces wine and olive oil for the world.

This was a lovely day and an important corrective experience after the treacherous trail and Hally’s injury yesterday. I breathe deeply in gratitude and appreciation.