Venizia! Day 4

Day 4 was amazing. Venice! An island and a culture and a whole world! It's kind of a caricature. A Disneyland of Italy. The 4-hour train ride dropped us at the spectacular station that opened onto a grand staircase that overlooks the Grand Canal. Lovely! And then we waited in line. And waited in line. And waited in line some more for boat tickets, and the boat and this or that. I kind of wanted to wander, to get lost and find myself there in the the winding, angled streets, but I didn't and that's just fine. I saw square orange shutters, grapes over a trellis, and the gorgeous colors of silk scarves waving in the ocean breeze. I didn't actually get to any more of Venice than I could see from the train station or a boat, but wandering through shop after shop full of hunks of glass in every size, shape, and configuration you can imagine was enough. We took the boat through the grand canal and got off at the first stop in Murano- the glass factory island. After the first 3 shops, little was unique- like every other tourist trap in the world. But to see globes of red and orange evoke a frozen sunset or a Picasso masterpiece was wonderful. Please note that I am not complaining, but comparing, and given a chance to examine my jaded reflex thoughts: choosing wonder, amazement and whimsy instead.
After cruising miles of canals around Murano, we found the boat again and started our long journey home. We were delighted to find that the stop we had chosen was only the first, and were treated to a lovely tour of Murano island for the next 5 stops. All the canals, the quaint shuttered apartments, the lovely little patio gardens (everyone grows food here!)... Seeing the different levels where the water rises and falls - the island is sinking!
As our crowded boat ride came to an end, I waited for everyone to get out of the way so we could get back on dry land (on a side note, I still get a little unsettled at going on boats, hoping that I can get off when everyone else does- see my complaints about Mal de Debarquement Syndrome...), and when I realized that the people on this side of the boat weren't getting off, I turned and walked quickly around to follow the crowd off. When we got to the sidewalk, we all patted ourselves and counted heads and realized...
My mother was gone.
Gone? No, she didn't just get off ahead of us... She isn't reading her map around this corner... No, she isn't shopping across the street here... She still isn't reading here map there. No, she isn't on the other end of the dock here.
Are you my mother?
Ok, what are the possibilities here?
A. She got off ahead or behind us and we just haven't seen her yet.
B. She didn't see us get off for some reason and is still on the boat.
C. Italian thugs grabbed her on her way off and are dragging her off to do something untoward with her.
D. She found some Italian hottie, fell in love at first sight and took off with him.
E. She slipped and fell off the other side of the boat.
These being my possibilities, or all that any of us could come up with at the moment, what are our choices for outcomes?
A. We just have to turn around and check around the corner 3 or 4 more times and she will magically appear.
B. She will get off at the next stop or wait until the boat turns around to come back and find her way back to us.
C. She will kick and bite and scratch and fight her way loose and find her way back with an incredible story.
D. She will fail to do so, and we will never see her again...
Lets pause. It is only at this point in my thought process that I begin to worry about my mom. She is an incredibly strong, resourceful, and intelligent woman (where do y'all think I get it from- I'm only half my father's daughter...) and I just kept thinking "She found me in Thailand, she can find her way back here."- if the woman can survive two husbands, a hellion teenager like me, nursing school, and southeast Asia, she can figure this one out. She *my* momma.
E. We will never see her again, but we will get occasional postcards from Peru and Antarctica, but she will be terribly happy.
F. She is on her way to a quick watery grave.

I quickly decided that A or B were the most likely outcomes, and then just put energy into making us easy to find. I figured I'd think about the others if they became even remotely possible at any point.

Ten minutes later, Shannon ran up "I found your mom!" and we were happily reunited. My poor cousin, who was convinced that my mom had been abducted, cried for a minute and then we all left in search of wine. Our adventure for the day over, we enjoyed a lovely dinner next to the canal, laughing over plates of amazing food and innuendo about the waitstaff.

She had indeed accidentally stayed on the boat, but got off at the next stop and ran back to where she had last seen us, holding her funny black and white bag over her head the whole way so that we could find her, too.

Are you my mother?

Italy -Day 3

We make coffee here one cup of espresso at a time. We dilute it with hot water and sugar and milk from a box that says "Latte!" and we enjoy it for hours with cigarettes and good company on our small balcony that overlooks the valley.
We laugh constantly.
Yesterday was an adventure in getting more food. We had eaten up most of our expensive italian cartoon groceries and were left with one package of dry pasta, two pears, a diet coke, some Swiss chard and only 2 bottles of wine (!). There's a joke there about inviting a reality cooking show chef next time, but I'm not sure what it is...
Also, the entire country has been closed for Easter. Only the bars are open.
So, we made our way into Montevarchi, which is the next town along the train, as we had heard about a farmer's market there. 5 of us traipsed through the cobbled streets and alleys to find the food market closed, but we came across a few card-table vendors selling ragged antiques- costume jewelry, vinyl records, vintage clothing and the like. We loved sifting through old Italian baubles. The group quickly realized that I have learned enough Italian/ understand enough Spanish to be able to sort of catch every fifth word and get an idea of what is being said to be able to ask directions and haggle over prices. They love this. The Italians were generally as amused by us are we were by them, and we all had fun buying trinkets.
Italians stare at my hair everywhere we go. We all stare back and giggle.
We giggle at everything.
We didn't find food, but we did find a little restaurant on the corner by the train station that had a bottle of wine for us. We told stories, laughed more, and raised our glasses to toast the small vial of my grandmother's ashes that my mom had brought with her (she always does). I love this.
I am so so thankful that I get to continue along and have incredible experiences like this. That the universe sees that I am fit to live and love and laugh one more day.
I am blessed.
We ate a feast, last night, somehow concocted from our bare cupboards, and are off today to Venice! More laughing!

Italy -Day 2

"Seven people with me!" bellowed the villa owner, Fabio.
Seriously, people are actually named 'Fabio'? This isn't something someone just made up? Some of our group were thoroughly enjoying their wine, and less interested in the impromptu tour, so they stayed behind while 5 of us grabbed our cameras and hopped into his van. Also: seriously? The local guy offers a TOUR OF TUSCANY and you aren't beside yourself with excitement? I don't understand these people. Chance. Of. A. Lifetime.
Whatever. Camera in hand, my mom and I grinning and pinching each other in the back seat, Fabio drove us through the winding roads from Bucine to Cennina to Montevarchi. He played the perfect guide, telling the story of that bridge that was built by the Romans before Jesus (!), and this village that was rebuilt after World War 1 by foreign exchange students in a clever scheme by the great-grandfather of the potter who lives there still. He pointed out the castle over on the hill that was lost in a poker game. He told us about the two sisters who own adjacent vineyards but don't get along - on either side of the road lie two fields of grapes: one with perfectly manicured vines, and the other growing wild because the one who has the machine that processes the grapes won't lend it to the other one. He waved and called out to friends. Hours later, we arrived back at the villa armed with hundreds of pictures to share with those who had stayed behind. Tonight, Fabio is cooking Easter dinner for 20-some of his family. We aren't invited (we're cooking our own), but we feel a little like his family all the same.
Molto bene!
I'm off to drink more of this amazing wine that our host gave us- made in the vineyard across the street, eat some more tomatoes and vinegar, and watch the sun set over green hills. 'Till tomorrow!

Italy -Day 1 memories

3 planes brought us to Rome. We wandered to the train station, where it occurred to me my friend had been stabbed last year. This actually doesn't say as much about the sketchiness of the area as it does the mouthiness of my friend, but still, the thought crossed my mind... We had 3 hours to kill, so we left luggage and more exhausted travel companions in search of Italian Beer. We found it easily enough, and made our way giddily back through the tunnels of the train station to the platform where our friends waited. In classic American style, we proceeded to enjoy our tasty adult beverages with gusto and bravado, there in the open platform. The station workers wandered by, chattering to each other in Italian - I'm not sure whether they were rolling their eyes at our brazenness, or eyeing my multicolored hair (it's Easter! My pink-and-purple coiff isn't rebellious, it's festive...) but either way, they made several purposeful orbits around our haggard crew and went on their way without engaging us.
We kept drinking.

Once on the train, we disembarked again in Arezzo, charged with buying a couple of days worth of groceries for the rest of the group. With only 45 minutes to do so, we raced across the square to the supermercado! I adore going grocery shopping in foreign countries- the different arrangements, sizes, groupings and packaging of familiar goods fascinates me. Here, you can only buy tomatoes in shrink-wrapped packages of 6. The myriad varieties of prosciutto are overwhelming, and the pasta..... Oh, the pasta! However, there were only three varieties of cereal. There's a cartoonish, dreamlike quality about foreign supermarkets. Thankfully the money is a little cartoonish as well, so I have no idea what it all cost.

After racing back across to the train station, we shuffled across 4 train platforms and hauled everyone's 50lb bags up the narrow stairs onto the train, we settled into a few seats and waited for the train to depart.
And waited...
And waited.
And a lovely Italian woman leaned over to us and said in a nice accent: "You do know that this train doesn't go to Bucine, don't you?" We all did a double-take of eachother as our brains slowly but collectively registered the sign outside this train that said "7:20" and then the sign outside the next train that said "7:05" and then our watches that said "7:03"... and bolted for the door. We scrambled to unload all of our exhausted bodies, 50lb bags and copious amounts of expensive Italian cartoon groceries and re-load all of the above onto the next train over. We flopped into new seats just as the train doors closed.

And so here I am: sitting in the foyer of an 18th century, 5-story 'villa' (mansion by any american standards). These three tall doors open into a cool Tuscan breeze heavy with old grapes, crumbling brick, fresh bread and laughter. I sit on this couch, thinking: it really, truly doesn't get any better than this.

Italy - Day 1

Italia.
Cigarette-smoking trains huff in their station slots
Drying clothes, trousers and dresses wave at us from their perches on lanai railings
I don't know the Italian word for lanai
Or any other words, for that matter
But I know that this crying child breathes tears in the same language
As every other child on earth.
That this bathroom, with it's frosted-glass, one euro entrance,
Is out of toilet paper, too.
Just like the ones in Seattle and Chicago.

Buildings hoary with TV antennae
And the praying mantis legs of power lines above us
We drift through an insect world, all squeaks and rumbles
Chewing at something, anything, everything.

I ate a cheese and bread breakfast over tulip fields in the Netherlands
And even now, gliding down a steel rail through Rome,
Six colors of spray paint on a tagged wall through a window in my left,
And centuries-old ruin of brick and moss on my right,
Even now, my world,
It grow smaller
And brighter
And closer to home.

What dreams.

I raced the moon further than I intended to go.
We both ran as fast as we could
Toward the horizon
Dodging clouds and rocks
Rivers and lakes and waterfalls of promise
A wink and a challenge and we were off
I knew she would win, but I ran just the same.
Out farther than I thought I could.
And when I stopped, and looked back
I suddenly couldn't see where I had come from.
All the water and stone I had passed was gone
In its place, a wide desert.
And so I sat there, and let the moon fly by me.
Until the sun came up, and swallowed us all in its light.

Nightshift hangover.

Fix my clumsy gate so I can close it.

Want to go home, but don't know which way to turn.

Wonder if you'll read this.

I drove by, just to torture myself.

Squinting into the too-bright morning

Dying shadows of a too-dark night

Left that piece of chewed-up heart on the doorstep again

To be eaten again by the eagles and worms.

Night after night it grows in between the cracks again

And I leave it out to wither

Day after day after.

Squint into the too-bright morning

Breathe in her dewy flesh

I wander tired circles around a stirring city

All beeping and red lights.

I flutter and stumble to my little roost.

The sidewalk all but pushes me through the door

To be done with my whinging.

Labor.

A Bangladeshi woman sighs a stone into her lap
Wave after wave of fear breaking across her brow.
Her gatekeeper husband
Stands at arms before her
Carefully worded cage.
She doesn't make eye contact
But she doesn't need to.
Her rigid body howls all the words she could ever use to say
"I hurt." "I fear."
Words blind to culture or language or custom.
We fold her in our soothing whispers
Rock her with gentle hurried whisking about.
"We know."
The clock ticks it's disdain and doesn't miss a step.
Our hands fly to dab compassion at her wet cheeks
Sopping up her tears before they drown us all.

Swept up.

Eyes wild, drawn sky-fire bright in the wilderness between

You and me.

Tick-tock to-and-fro

In this moment there's a quickstep left

I watch your pupils dance here and there

I'm swept up in the motion.

A student of sweet Desire.

It's a vast desert, here.

Lit with the last tendril vines of dreaming sleep.

Held captive in your gaze, there's a whole journey

A sun and moon and yawning horizon on the water

Children skip, then grow old and weary

Flowers explode in a whirling field of green and shimmering summer gold.

A whole age passes through my view before

I finally take a breath,

A sidle slide right back into this room, this restaurant

This reality of you and I and dinner.

Forget-Me-Not

Your orange-squeeze
Smash-grin faces shine at me from a box
And I smell sherbet, mint-chip and
Sticky ice-cream summers.
Chewy candy springtime
Hats on your bouncing little heads.
I feel a pang of concern for the icy night tonight.
But I walk on past, thankful for this moment
This memory.

Full circle.

Ocean salt hangs icicles in my hair

My coat on the needled rack

And my heart on hold.

I spent a day and night rolling in circles

Slept through the dawn and into afternoon

I shivered and shook in my isolation

Self-imposed exile to my sheets.

I hover over a little kitchen garden I've made.

Wring my hands and pick my clothes

Chatter my teeth waiting for a sign of life.

For some divine assurance that it's not my fault.

That it was simply circumstance,

That brought my twisted proxies to their end.

That now that I'm happier, more free

I'll be able to grow pansies again.

Overhang.

Hit with a sudden loneliness
As I'm finally not surrounded
For the first time in a week
This hangover, it feels like heartbreak
Like a deep hollow lined with sharp things
I must keep from slipping on the edges
Back against a wall
Hanging from a ledge
But proud to stand here,
All 8 clubs in the air
Happy to be overwhelmed and not have to
Feel guilty about it
This is who I am
This is the way I like to live my life.
Take me or leave me,
But in this moment maybe give me
I'll take anything you've got.

Every wednesday.

Wish you were here.

Sandy summer shoes,

A lesson in each step.

That time we built a car,

A house,

A boat.

That space between the lines that always read

"I love you"

Wish I could remember

Every word ever said

Every laugh and joke and quiet moment

Listening to the radio in the car.

Clock ticks louder every day in the silence between phone calls.

And I feel a tug in my chest.

Two feet.

And am I ever worthy enough to ever forgive

Myself, and you and him and

Can I ever be enough and will you ever be there again

For me.

Live and love and learn from your mistakes, girl.

This the only life I've got ahold of.

Eve.

Ask me.

Ask and I'll tell it again

Where I go, where I escape to

Where, so far away from here, from you and me and

Ocean waves of salty regret.

Pendulum swings two and four with a force

Of God or Nature.

Never felt so holy, there.

Or ever so much a sinner.

I'm sorry I...

I wish that I...

If only I...

I have only now

"Only this, only tonight"

To make things right here.

Only love,

If only.

Giving in and giving up to a poisonous temptation

Eve's apple never tasted to sweet.

Lifting up, but pushing down with every stinking breath.

Echo.

Go ahead. Leave me again.

Run ahead, leave me burning in my head.

Again.

Want to take a walk?

How about wanting to run, "gotta hide, gotta go.

And it's beginning to, and it's beginning to..."

Left to my own devices and vices, left to yours what would you do, princess?

What would you do, darling girl, with the whole world on your platter in front of you?

Would you give it all up?

Eat it whole?

Would you sing its praise and love to the skies and then

Who would listen?

Who would sing back?

Of course you're left with only an echo to breathe back in:

Take care of yourself

Take care of yourself

Take care of yourself.

NaPoWriMo

Participating in NaPoWriMo, modeled after NaNoWriMo - 30 poems in 30 days.

Not sure that what I write could be construed as poetry, but I guess it might.

That, and writing helps me see through my thoughts more clearly, so if I have some external pressure to write every day, maybe I'll be able to sort through everything a little better.

So, for better or worse, for poem or prose:

Here goes.