Weekend in New England

Like many people, when a three-day-weekend approaches I plan to spend the time with those I love most in this world.  So together with my husband, we took a trip back up north to Rhode Island to visit my parents, my sisters and our friends as well.

Little did we know that the weather would hold us hostage.

Please keep in mind that Dennis loves snow, as do I.  In fact he spoke on more then one occasion of his hopes that it would snow enough for him to shovel because he misses shoveling so much.  Who says that?

So I lay the blame for the Blizzard of December 2010 completely at his hiking/snow weather shoes. All of you thousands of people that were stranded at airports up and down the east coast, you have my endearing yet freakish husband to blame.  He wished for this. With his entire Florida heart and Rhode Island soul.

We arrived without a problem on Friday morning. We immediately began eating and drinking and I personally never came up for air. My mom outdid herself by feeding and watering us without stopping. When faced with extra people and a need for dinner, something the herbivores and carnivores alike would eat, she wiped up a fabulous soup from the storehouse of supplies hidden in the basement. There was a fire blazing and plenty of Hitler historic movies to watch. We mixed many batches of spiced eggnog, watched movies, and laughed about the coming snow storm.

Saturday dawned to the smells of coffee and bacon. Huge breakfast that took all morning to create, consume and then my mother to clean up.  My father worked at wrapping the entire stove top in paper towel to prevent my mother from having to chisel the bacon fat off, but alas he couldn't prevent "KNOBS OFF", the name I lovingly gave to my mother's cleaning of the flat top stove, she takes the knobs off every night after dinner so she can massage the stove till it gleams. We were eating and cooking so much this weekend, she had to knobs off all day long to keep up with us.

We went out to the movies to see Tangled in the afternoon, which gave Jane a break and more time she know doubt used to clean where she couldn't reach while we were in her way and returned to yet another feast, turkey and all that comes with it.  The rest of the family arrived, Jen and Terrence, and soon we were laughing, eating, drinking and watching more Hitler historical movies...(because what is a family dinner without Hitler?)

And then Sunday the snow began. Granted, we mocked at first, even going out to breakfast at Julian's where I stuffed myself with stuffed french toast. Fudge stuffed french toast to be exact. We sent Kerri home to beat the storm and laughed at how the snow is never as bad as foretold... but when it started to come down at 4 inches an hour, I knew our departure would not be as we planned.  Monday there was the great digging out, when Dennis' wish was granted and shoveled for 2 hours.  And still the snow poured down. Flights were canceled all day Monday so we never even tried to attempt the airport.

Tuesday we kissed everyone goodbye and began the long wait  and inevitable gate hopping that is flying non-revenue standby. We ended up spending 12 hours at Logan Airport but never a flight did we board. Many people, who had bought tickets, were experiencing the same pain. Mothers were nursing their babies right at the gates, one flight of 200+ bound for NY waited 12 hours as their flight kept getting delayed until it was finally canceled at 7 PM. The customers could had driven themselves home by then, if there had been cars to drive.  I checked, there were no trains, buses or cars to be found. When Kate dropped us off at the airport she said we were facing the Super Dome when we went inside. She wasn't far from the truth. However,   I found it rather enjoyable because there was no absolute need to return. We could only try to get home and since we couldn't, Dennis and I opted to quit trying at 7 pm or so and we gathered our bags, caught the Silver Line to a nearby hotel where we changed, walked to a lovely Italian restaurant for dinner and the spent a restful night in a comfortable bed overlooking the harbor. What could be better then watching the sunrise over the water the next morning?

We repacked, returned to Logan and we were greeted with hundreds upon hundreds of stranded people all waiting in line for a glimmer of hope.  Somehow we managed to get listed on a little wanted and little known flight to Jacksonville, FL. We boarded and soon were flying somewhat home-ish. I will say that the plane was tiny and filled with a sweatshirt-matching-high-school-cheerleading girls, all giggling, all the time...need I say more? I'm not complaining though....we were getting closer, at least into the state.

Once we landed..out to the rental car we headed and Dennis drove us the remainder four hours home. So we made it back, 3 days later then we intended but happy from the adventure. Everything was perfect. Thank you to my mother and father for working so hard to keep us entertained and well fed, thank you to Kate for giving up her room, thank you to Kerri for the ride and the rubdowns and of course the laughs, thank you to Marty (Kerri's honey) for letting us have her again. And of course, thank you to Jen and T for visiting with us and adding to the memories and the all over good time. Truly, every moment was unforgettable.

Visiting family is always an adventure and mine is no different. I am never bored with them and I am never left hungry.

To my sister Jen, the wind beneath my wings

So, unknown to me, my sister Jen has been following my blog (which makes me really happy) and has become quite jealous that she hasn't been given due mention in it (in her eyes at least).  So in view of that I plan on dedicating this entry to my memories of my older (much much older sister) Jen.

Her full name is Jennifer but I never remember calling her that. She is 5.5 years older than me (that was five and a half, not 55 years) and from my earliest memories she was always loving and protective of me. She wanted me to be well educated so at a very young age she would write out math problems for me on a huge chalkboard and threaten me with a yardstick if I didn't complete them. I may have been 5 years old at the time.  I also remember clearly at the age of four we would play with a Frisbee in our front yard. Jen would throw it for me and I would chase merrily off after it.  I did notice that with each throw she was getting closer and closer toward the forbidden river along the side of our house until finally she threw it into the water. However, our mother stopped me from retrieving it that last time and saved my young life.  Jen just loved to play with me.

For example, when her friend Rachel would come over to play Barbies, Jen would allow me (after I begged enough) to make the Barbie refrigerator out of paper and then allowed me to sit by the open doorway and watch them play in her room.  She was so generous with me, so patient.

Jen was the best crab catcher I have ever heard of. She knew just how to throw the line, what was the best bait and where the best crabs hid. Every summer trip to the beach she would take the lead in crab catching, humanely keeping them in buckets for the day and then their final release.  She was amazing.

Seriously though, once we grew up and she finished taunting me in front of her friends, we became quite close.  All joking aside, I can't imagine our family without Jen.  For years I have battled with consuming jealousy.  Jen was the funny one and the pretty one, which having both always seemed unfair to me. Wasn't one enough? No, she had to be blessed with both. Perfect hair and perfect blue eyes.

Jen makes everything fun or funny.  I mean everything. She can make me laugh like nobody's business.  She just has a way of saying things and looking at life that is without match in anyone I have ever known. No really, I mean it.  I promised Jen that this blog entry would be honest in every detail (even after she threatened me. She may still have that yardstick).

Jen is really great with animals, especially dogs and everything I know about training my dog I learned from her.  She is gifted with them.

I would say that Jen is strongest in her loyalty and her humor, her generous spirit and in her tireless support of those she loves.  Mocking you the whole time and making you laugh at yourself, she would be the first to give you the shirt off her back, the bag in her closet (as long as it isn't the Kate Spade bag or the Gucci.....  any other one yes!), and she would rally around you (me) whenever it was needed. She is a loyal cheerleader and a fierce defender.

I can remember convincing Jen to accompany me to NY at the crack of dawn to stand outside in the freezing rain for hours in November because I thought there might be a secret U2 concert there.  And there was and we will always have the memory of screaming and dancing and singing with the lucky few who stood and waited.  Amazing.  And then she was the one keeping me awake on the drive home. She talked for 4 hours straight, even singing the alphabet to help me not nod off.  Jen really is the best sport.  It helps that I can pretty much talk her into anything.

And she is the best co-pilot too.  And no matter where we head out too we always end up going the wrong way and having an adventure.  She even makes me laugh when I am stressed and the music has to get turned down because I'm lost. Jen knows that nothing changes on New Year's day and she knows that loving a music man ain't always what it's supposed to be. She also knows when to hold em and knows when to fold em.

She is my support whenever I hatch some crazy plan and want to see a show, a concert, a play, a musical or anything else. She is my party, party girl. The songs are in her eyes. She is my first pick for NY trips and we have had some wild ones. From front row tickets to operas and eating at Russian hide-away restaurants or crazy Polish diners, to shopping everywhere imaginable and walking for miles and miles till our feet bled just so that I could get the perfect picture of the skyline. Who else but Jen would do that for me, with me?

She is the one who chases away my darkness and she keeps me walking on when the rest of the world tries to break my glass heart.  She has had to break some of the worst news to me and she understood without words exactly what I needed and how.  I didn't feel quite so alone that night with her voice on the other end of the phone, sharing in my disbelief and pain. I'll always remember that.

I remember one dark period, right before I moved back in with my parents, when I was the poorest I have ever been.  No money for food or rent poor.  I worked so much, Jen would come to my loft to walk Anna for me. She must have noticed every week that I had less and less food in my cupboard.  I really don't know how I survived. Finally I had to decide between buying dog food or buying me food.  Anna won.  So I scrapped together enough to buy a roasted chicken and I lived off of it for a few days.  Finally it ran low and I took the last leg, literally, the last chicken leg with me to work for lunch. Well, Jen walked Anna and sent me a message on my phone that day...

"Your refrigerator looks like a vulture lives here, just water and the clean picked bones of a chicken"

I had to laugh.  When I got home, I arrived to find the fridge overflowing with food, the pantry closet full and my favorite pastries on the counter. A card from Jen was with the pastry saying that she loved me and that she just thought she would pick me up a few things.  A few things? It was a month's worth of groceries in my world. I proceeded to try one of everything until I was properly sick and lying on the floor of my kitchen, drowning in tears.  It was one of those moments in life, when you are faced with  an absolute dead end and someone opens a door.  That is what Jen did for me that day, and what she continues to do.

At my wedding recently, as hard as it was for both of us to part, she never added to my sadness.  I knew she was happy that I was happy, she knew that it was not goodbye. We laughed and ate and laughed some more.  Jen supported my every crazy idea without judgment.  Jen, I want you to know that you don't need me anymore, but I need you. I want you to know that you don't need anyone or anything at all.  Who's to say where the wind will take you, maybe to Florida??

Yes, for me, hands down, my relationship with Jen really solidified and went to the next level when I survived my divorce and she learned the ugly truth of my marriage.  She quickly, with lightening speed really, jumped into the fray to defend me in anyway she could.  Even looking for ways to run my Ex down with her car. My favorite was her logical plan that if we couldn't kill him, he should be sent to Jupiter because really, what was the point of his existence here on earth? She is the best.   Her love and devotion to me strengthened me in ways she may never fully understand. She helped me get to a better place.  She is my miracle drug, or is it drugs :)

Jen is one of the hardest parts of my new life here in FL. Being away from her. For me she represents the center of my family, the sun we all orbit around.  I can't meet her for lunch or shopping, or car pool with her, or run into her at our parent's house.  I took seeing her every week for granted.  I regret that.  But she never makes me feel badly about my choice, she never guilt's me when I call, or needles me about why she isn't mentioned more in my blog.  No, not Jen, she is too good to sink that low.

So here is to my sister Jen, who almost killed me as a baby, drowned me as a small child and saved me as an adult.  Jen brought music into my life and she still rocks my world, truly.  She brought me Sunday Bloody Sunday and I brought her a true appreciation of Meatloaf. Word!  I would be lost without my older sister and no matter how far apart we are or where we end up, nothing can keep us apart.  I love you Jen.

There really isn't enough room here to even scratch the surface of Jen. Maybe I should start a series?

To the faithful kind followers

I couldn't help but notice that my blog has had some increased traffic lately. Let me say that it is a true honor to write and have someone read it. I know that many of you are family and long time friends and still some others of you may have clicked on my page completely by mistake...perhaps you were searching for places to find hummingbirds in Rhode Island or researching brain surgeons in your area.

Regardless of how you got here, let me say honestly and from the bottom of my heart,

THANK YOU

Just know that each and every time, even if it was only once by mistake, you clicked here and read my foolish words, you are feeding a dreamer and a dream. Right at the top with with poet, painter, dancer and photographer, WRITER is my all time dream to end all dreams.  To write and have others read, to make them laugh and cry and want to read more, that is my dream. To tell you a story that paints the picture so vividly for you, it's as if you stepped right into my mind and you enjoyed the visit.

And to dream, isn't that the best part of life? To hope, to believe huge things of ourselves, of others? I think so. I think to be a dreamer and to encourage one are great achievements.

I hope someday to have the sufficient courage to follow this dream to the end and write a book worthy of each of you. Every time you come here to visit me, you help me believe I could do it. So thank you, each of you and any that may come after this is published. I hope this knowledge won't stem the tide of readers in the hopes that I will shut up but even if that is the case, I am thrilled you came by at all. In fact, I am speechless by your generosity, well...almost speechless....I'd have to stop breathing all together to be speechless.  But close, very very close to speechless because every time I see my reader numbers go up by even one more, I catch my breath.  Thank you everyone. When I started writing here way back in July I never thought anyone would see my words. And yet here you are. Amazing.  What else is possible?

Listen to the lyrics

Everything I ever needed to know about love and life I learned by listening to the lyrics.  It started when I was very young, maybe four or so.  I can clearly remember my mother ironing and I would help by buttoning every single button on my father's dress shirts.  Little did I know that this "helpful" act would cause my father much annoyance when his hand would get stuck in his sleeve.  What music we were listening too? Neil Diamond.

I knew the words off by heart.."Shilo when I was young, I used to call your name"..."You don't bring me flowers anymore" and of course "Love on the rocks, ain't no big surprise" Looking back even though I had no idea what he was talking about, I felt like I understood him...he sounded like he knew all about love. And he did...the flowers do stop, the love songs don't get sung to you forever..and before you know it, you just turn off the light. Sad but true.

A little more forward in my life and I can clearly remember road trips with my parents and my sister, listening to Dylan and Baez.

"Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free

  Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands             

  With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves 

  Let me forget about today until tomorrow"

Those words only grew to resonant deeper with me as time passed.  And of course singing along with my mom to Buffy St. Marie and Barry Manilow..I learned to be angry at the injustice of a nation and at the same time to know a showgirl named Lola.

My baby sister Kate fit into the clan right away and proved to be a great source of meaningful music. One of my most treasured gifts is a CD she made me with an accompanying book explaining what each song means to her in regards to me.  Every time I listen to it, it's like she is talking to me.

Recently I made the shocking discovery that my husband, the love of my life, the man I married after an amazing whirlwind romance......wait for it...doesn't know the lyrics to anything.

"I never listen to the words of songs" he blithely said to me.

WHAT??!!!

What have I done? How can that be? I could feel the 16-year-old within me cringe and shake her finger with an 'told-you-so' scowl on her face.  How could I?  What was I thinking?  I did mention it was a whirlwind right? Some how I missed the "don't you love the words of this song?" question. 

Needless to say, he wasn't pulling my chain,..... not by any means.  I recently played Diamonds and Rust to him in the car and he just couldn't get it.  He kept asking "what did she say?"

Oh God...

I shared Bono's insights into my soul with the song "Walk On" and my poor husband really tried to get it for my sake, but when you don't feel it you just don't. "What was that last line? I don't understand"

How could I love someone that doesn't take music as seriously as I do? And yet, I do.  Well, maybe I take it seriously enough for the both of us. And as my mother reminded me in an email, my husband hears in the music what I gather from the words. He is musical and I am lyrical.   How true she is.  Still, I speak lyric, for now anyway. The words are what stay with me, they are what I hear. 

"Speaking strictly for me, we both could have died then and there" are words that continue to haunt me.  Along with "I can't take my eyes off of you". Just typing the words give me chills even now, even years and thousands of miles away .  I remember the exact moment I first heard the words and who I heard them with and most importantly, what it all meant to me then.

For me, lyrics are the poetry that touches me on every level. Like the singer was there with me, knows just how I feel or felt.  I'm not ashamed of what happened because I know someone understands.  And I have hope that it will get better, I will heal, this is normal and so forth.

My whole family listens to the lyrics but it started for me with my mother.  She taught me.  Ironing to the Diamond.  My life changed then.  I don't iron but I'll always remember the words and I'll always listen to the lyrics.  Playing certain tunes brings me right back to good places, sad places, turning points and dead ends.  There are some songs I can't even listen to anymore, the memories are too difficult to navigate. 

My sister Jen is the magician in the family that always hears the lyrics correctly.  I make them up when I can't understand the artist or I just skip over but not Jen.  She ALWAYS knows.  We have fought many times. 


Its the old mistake of "You make me feel like a man should a woman" or is it  "You make me feel like a natural woman'" ????
 Yeah...Jen would always know, she's good at the correct lyrics part. And she gets it, we can talk through song lyrics.  It has become a language of sorts to us. 

With my Dad... I can't remember much about him showing me new lyrics but he always knows what Dylan is saying and no matter what I wanted him to hear, he would always patiently listen to me.  And he always showed the proper enthusiasm, which greatly encouraged me. What I loved, he would love and when I explained it, how I saw it, he always agreed with me. From Dave Matthews to Bono...my Dad would always stop to listen.

My close friends too, we always shared in discussing lyrics.  Certain songs will always belong in my mind to them, make me think of them whenever I hear those words.  


So, a successful whirlwind romance without sharing an obsession with song lyrics??? Yes it happened and I don't regret it. Good thing too, otherwise I'd just be "Stuck in a Moment" that I can't get out of. Thankfully instead I'm "Crazy in Love"  

A month of Sundays

The Holiday season has arrived and in a blink of your eye, it will be 2011.  Where does the time go?

People are readying themselves for the giving blitz that is December...and as I look outside my window the sun is bright without a cloud in the sky.  The wind is balmy (coming from the South West according to my national weather advisor Dennis) and it hardly feels cooler then 70.  Yes, it is 70 in the shade (I just looked up at the thermometer) Amazing.  There are Christmas lights on houses and holiday music on the radio but no sign of the ticking off of the days toward Winter, at least not to me, sitting here on the warm balcony.  I'm really liking this living down south.

Recently this past week I had to wear a jacket to work and some of my neighbors were scrapping their windshields in the morning. It was 40 degrees.  Shocking.   Already I am cold beyond words at 40.

Its another Sunday morning.  As anyone who reads this blog will already know, this is my favorite day of the week.  Its the lazy day, the big breakfast day.  Its the first and last morning I get all to myself.  Expect today there was no big breakfast due to the fact that we have been so busy this week our cupboard is literally bare.  I was able to scrape coffee together and Dennis ate cereal.  Somehow it doesn't feel like the Sunday I know and love.  Although I can hear the smooth Jazz coming from the other room so it must be Sunday morning.

Even our dog Anna knows the difference when its Sunday morning.  She spends the morning moving from the sunny spot on the front balcony to the shade inside the house to cool off.  She doesn't demand her walk at 7 AM like she does every other day.  Anna can feel the laziness in the air.

It never ceases to amaze me how dogs just know.  They know when you are too busy to take them for a long walk, they know when you are leaving and its not the normal time to go. They understand your mood and your pain.  They even seem to respond to the feelings between people in the house.  If Dennis and I are calm and happy, Anna is laying in the middle of the floor.  If Dennis and I are late and rushing around, Anna is standing watching us, looking stressed out.  Funny how she can't speak the same language but she always knows what we are saying.

That's another thing I love about Sundays.  Time slows down enough for me to watch and notice the little bits of my life, like how Anna acts in relation to us.  I wouldn't have time to reflect on that on any other day.  I could do with a month of Sundays.  One right after the other.  No requirements, no deadlines, no postal service or bank service, no one expecting anything of you. Just time to watch the dog, feel the sun on your skin and make special breakfast (if your cupboard isn't bare)

How would you spend a month of Sundays?

TORN

"Having edges that are jagged"  "Lacerate"

Maybe "torn" isn't the right word but it's where my mind goes to when I think about putting into words what I feel.  I'm visiting my family and today is the last day, I fly away in a few hours. And I would say I feel torn, between the people and things I love here and the life I have back there.  Torn and even a little guilty.  Guilty for loving a new place and faithless to my home state.

There is something to be said about "coming home".  Everyone is so happy to see you and there is never enough time to see all the people you want to see.  And you end up missing the people you left behind to get here is the first place.  My mother said "You can't have it all"  So true. When you come back home, you fit so well with whatever is going on.  You know where you are, where you are going.  You know everyone and everything.  There is very little surprise.  It is comforting to be where you know the beginning and the ending.

As I reflect back I am struck by how I have been misbehaving.  No one has accused me but its true, I have said mean things about FL and I've been whining even more than usual. I have been rude to her, thoughtless and difficult.  As it turns out, no one place has it all.  Back in FL I have begun to create a life there.  Obviously my husband is there and that's a reason to go back but more than that, I have people I care about and people I miss. I have a routine there. I have a coffee shop I like, finally.  And a really great bagel shop where they know my name.

Being back with my parents I realize that I have no definite spot here. No room to go back to and it even smells different here than I remember.  I am a visitor now. It is where I'm from, where my family is but its not my home.  Not anymore. My clothes aren't there, my dog, my shoes, my stuff...nothing is there. When you look from room to room, there is no evidence that I lived there at all.  It feels weird..  I guess I thought I would have left a more indelible mark.

And that's okay,,,even..dare I say..normal?  I am happy to be close to everyone I love up here but I can't stay because there is no place for me here anymore.

Back in FL, besides the obvious things I miss, there are the hooting mad Sandhill cranes in the woods behind our house that I miss listening to and laughing at. I miss the sound of the alligators too.  And I miss the view of the sky..how big it is and how beautiful the clouds look.  I miss the palm trees swaying in the light wind...I miss walking Anna and seeing countless bunny rabbits that she loves to dash after. The air in Florida always smells like flowers, like living growing things.  I have grown accustomed to the face of Florida and I think if I let myself, if I stop feeling bad for myself long enough, I may learn to love her.

I guess I have become rooted.

Rather than feeling torn, perhaps I now have two homes and I'll never have to choose between them.

My husband is out of town for the second week in a row.  I'll admit right here and now that I feel overwhelmingly disappointed in myself for missing him. As if in missing him I'm no longer a strong and independent woman of singleness.  Having been married now for 5 months and living in a foreign country known by some as South Florida, I have slowly become, without my realizing it...a... wife (gasp) Can't I be an independent married woman that doesn't lose her reason every time her husband stays away for a few nights? I mean really! I need a mental slap.

Truly though...I was surprised to find myself more than a little lost without him.  I came home from work, walked Anna, fed Anna, fed myself, curled up to a movie...made cookies and ate too much cookie dough (on the side, why do I always do that each and every time I make cookies? I eat so much dough that I make myself ill and lose interest in the cookies themselves.  I feel like I've used the cookies, taken their youth, their dough, and now that they are baked and ready to be eaten, I'm lying on the kitchen floor in agony, unable to even look at them. Its shameful. I brought them into this world but now I am too gluttonously full to eat them) Anyway....I did all that, including housework and took a long hot bath...and here I am, at 9:30 PM...staring at my phone....checking and rechecking it to see if its working.  Wondering why he isn't calling me.  Funny how much I miss him. I didn't expect this.

It's worse in the morning because he walks Anna.  Without him here, her little face pops over the edge of my side of the bed, with her big sad brown eyes...pleading with me to get up and please  TAKE HER OUT!

She is polite about it ...she never barks or demands in anyway but she doesn't have to.  Her eyes say it all... Still....its 6 in the morning.....Seriously Anna, my eyes are still pig slits.  I stumble out and try to do a good job at making it fun for her but I can tell its not the same as when Dennis takes her.  Then a rabbit darts into view and Anna is off like lightening, with the leash bouncing along behind her and it feels as though most of my right arm is hanging from it's socket after her lunge toward little Cotton Tail...but I could be exaggerating..I've been known to blow things out of proportion..just a tad.

After I catch up with Anna/rabbit killer wanna be and reattach my mangled arm...I'm even more grumpy and poor Anna is not getting the walk she is used to.  Sigh.  It would seem that both girls in this house are suffering since Dennis went away.

At least we have each other. And chocolate chip cookies.

Wait....is that my phone???

With a little help from my friend

A woman was walking along singing to herself with joy in her heart and no fears. She was so carefree she wasn't full paying attention to where she was walking. Suddenly, she tripped up on a huge hole and fell down so deep she was unable to reach the top to pull herself out. She shouted for help, "Help me, can someone please help me?"

A head popped into view, that of the local doctor. "Please help me" she asked the doctor. "Here is a prescription for your fear and anxiety" he said and threw down a piece of paper and then walked off.

 "Help me, is anyone there that can help me?", the trapped woman desperately asked. A voice called back "I am here" and over the edge of the hole came the face of the local politician "This is such a tragedy! This should have never happened to you.  I am going to pass a law to ensure that holes like this are filled in so that no one else falls in again!" and he disappeared.

"Help me please, someone" cried the woman trapped in the hole. Over the hole came a face she knew, a dear friend of hers. "Please help me" she pleaded. Without a word her friend jumped down into the hole with her.

"What are you doing?! No we are both trapped!" said the woman.

"No" replied her dear friend. "I've been down this hole before. I know the way out. I will help you find it"

I knew a girl once who was trapped. She was walking along, without a pain in her heart or a fear in her mind when suddenly she fell down deep into what appeared to be an endless pit without hope of escape. She called but no one could hear her for some time. Finally a few would come to the edge of her pain and watch her suffering, even offering a few tips on how better she could be handling her situation. Yet no one offered her real aid, real help.

Then one night a dear friend, with many troubles and fears of her own, came along and saw what was happening. Saw the fear and the pain and the entrapment. So without a second thought and without hesitation this dear friend jumped right down into that hole and sacrificed her own comfort and her own desires to help pull her friend out. That night, in all honesty, a life was saved and a friendship was bonded closer than it ever could have been.

Never underestimate the good that you can do when you set aside your fears and your own needs to truly jump in and help someone you know that has a need.

You could save their life.

And I also want to add, to that dear friend who acted without hesitation on that dark, cold night.....

Thank you, from the bottom of my very grateful heart

Stranger in a strange land.....

How do you acclimate to new surroundings? How do you make friends?

For me, its just a matter of making people laugh. Once I've managed that I pretty much feel at ease and then the relationship grows easily from there.

It would seem that I am losing my touch. At least down here in Florida. 

I say "seem" because this may just be the frantic ramblings of my own twisted mind.  It seems that my humor isn't appreciated here in Florida as it is back home. I've noticed that I get a lot of "You're not from around here, are you?" and "Are you new here?" along with my personal favorite "You need to slow down and say that again...you're from up North aren't you?".  I am too fast for Florida. I move too fast, I talk to fast and I think too fast, or so I have been told,   daily.

It would seem that although Florida is a great melting pot (or God's waiting room, as some have referred to it) there are 'locals' who can smell a foreigner in 3 seconds flat.  And I stink heavily of North.  I may even have a neon sign hanging from me that says "NOT FROM HERE"....funny thing is that while I was living in France for 6 weeks I felt more at home, more welcome, then I do here in Florida.  Its not just a different state, its a different planet down here.

Maybe its the relentless heat that sets the die-in-the-wool Floridians apart from me.  Right there, I do not fit in,  I complain about the heat, they love it. I long for sweater weather, they get a chill in the shade. I want iced coffee 24/7 and they get a hot coffee and turn the air down to 75. The girls I work with wear long sleeve shirts under their scrubs because "its Fall weather" they tell me.  HAHAHAHAHA! I laugh my crazy-woman-ready-to-be-committed-to-the-nut-house-maniacal-laugh. ITS 85 DEGREES OUT AND HUMID! I don't care what the calender says, its endless summer here. But they look at me like I'M nuts, me...I'm the crazy one.  sigh

So tell me...how do I win them over? How do I get these Floridians to like me? I don't care about golf, I don't like baseball or football.  I am basically handicapped when it comes to playing sports of any kind. I am without an idea. My poor husband just rolls his eyes at me.

But then I meet a New Yorker and I'm in heaven! They talk like me, laugh loud like me, they sweat like me too. Its refreshing and wonderful. A little piece of home when ever I meet someone from the blessed state of NY or NJ...I'll even take a CT if I must. But of course a Massachusetts native is my second favorite...I haven't met anyone from my home state yet.  Still waiting for that moment. Its funny how we feel so comfortable with people that known the streets we know and have eaten at the same resturants as us. Its such a bonding experience to share the memory of the same bakery. And whenever I talk to someone from back home they tell me how much they hate it here. Now I would never go so far to say hate, not yet anyway. I wonder why they came and why they stay?

So back to the original problem. How do I win over these strangers? These people who mean me no harm but just don't understand me at all. And I don't understand them! I want to make nice, I long for acceptance.  I'm sorry I complain about the heat and the humidity. Really, I am trying. Please forgive me, dear Floridians.  I mean you no disrespect. What can I do to gain your approval? I'm sorry I talk fast, and I'm sorry I like snow. Seriously, I do like snow and I am sorry for it.  I just can't help myself.

My mother runs a tight ship. There's no way around it, that's a fact. She is relentless and tireless and she knows how she wants things to be. And tonight I am missing that very much. I am missing her offering to iron my clothes as I'm about to leave the house "because you would look better if they were ironed Sarah". I miss her making me dinner every night. I miss her laughing so hard at something I said that she chokes on her water...she always made me feel really funny when that happened. Why is it that we miss what we can't have anymore?

Its just a quiet Wednesday night. I love Wednesdays. My favorite day of the week. Even the way it's spelled and pronounced is exciting. I just love me some Wednesday. Anyway....I've been reflecting today about my mum. You see, I came home after work and tried my best to make some dinner out of nothing at all. Turns out it's easier to make love that way, dinner on the other hand requires ingredients. At least when I cook it does. But my mum, she is one of those people who can make magic out of canned corn and well, nothing at all. I had the honor of moving back home after a long long absence and not until moments like tonight do I realize just how amazing she is.

Seriously. I'm not scoring points with her by saying this. For one thing, she isn't even a follower of my blog and she will probably not even read this, ever. So this is straight from my heart and my empty stomach. That woman always has dinner ready and there is always something to snack on...and there is always a back up package of eggs downstairs in the extra fridge...and extra cheese...and bread in the freezer...and everything you would need to make a cake or brownies or chili in the cupboard (just in case). She has tons of butter and milk always on hand (in a half vegan home) along with every alternate food you could imagine. The basement shelves look like Stop and Shop and Wholefoods trucks have been unloading their goods for weeks down there. And its not nasty food you don't want to eat. She has it all...ready and on hand.

But its not just food...the woman thinks of everything...the house is perfect every moment..you never catch it looking dishevelled. My house..well, I try but it always looks like a work in progress. And my mother's trash never smells and is NEVER overflowing...ever. It doesn't even get full. I'm in awe of that....more in this moment then ever. When I get home I just want to curl up and die. When she gets home she just keeps going...and going and then she irons something.

All the laundry, all the cleaning, all the food prep and food shopping..and she pays her bills on time. I used to think I would wake up in the middle of the night and find her working away on things in the dark like a crazy elf but nope, she would be sitting in her big green chair, with her socks and slippers on, reading a book until the wee morning hours. How does she do it?

I haven't a clue but I am in awe of her and I miss her. I wish I could walk into that dark room and interrupt her from her reading to tell her about the tiny, unimportant worry I have burrowing away in my mind. I know she would stop what she was doing, place her book mark and calmly listen to whatever I'm saying, without complaining that I was taking away her quiet time. I miss my mum tonight...I guess I miss her every night.

Thank you for making life so much better Jane, with all your crazy tireless work you do every single day without complaint. You are a warrior and I am missing you tonight.

Easy Like Sunday Mornings

Sundays....when, for me at least, laundry isn't so tedious, making elaborate breakfasts are necessary and the only worry I have is how to change the music from my husband's choice of Jazz to something more my taste...anything more my taste. The sound of the fridge making ice would be more my taste. The Sandhill cranes laughing at me from the water behind our house is more soothing to me than the Jazz but for peace's sake, I'll leave it be. After all, its Sunday morning and He walked the dog for me, went food shopping before I even rolled out of bed. The least I can do is make him whole wheat pancakes and suffer with a little Jazziness.

Maybe my magnanimous mood comes also from the weather. Things are cooling down here in Florida and cool air has brought back my sense of humor and my love of life. For a while there I didn't think I was going to survive. The heat was so intense that it made you feel like you were baking from all directions...my spleen was cooked by the time I reached the car in the morning. And forget swimming in the outdoor pool. After one lap I was turned into a boiled carrot. But now I can almost imagine wanting to make soup, rather than BE soup. Almost. It still becomes high 80's by midday and that is still hot in my book. So while my friends and family begin to dress for Fall, pick apples and make pumpkin pie, I am wearing a bathing suit and turning the air on every day. Not a terrible way to live. But I miss the smell of Fall in the air and the leaves dropping all around my car every day. I miss the frosty windshield in the morning and the desire to wrap my hands around my warm coffee in the morning. There is something so normal and natural about the change of seasons. Here it feels a little like endless Summer. Like a woman in her fifties who still shops in the junior department of Macy's. Even if she can fit in the clothes you want to shout "Give it up!!" That's what Florida feels like to me now. Like the Summer should be waning and its not. For me it's something against nature to be so comfortable still with wearing sandals. I mean, its mid-October...I should not be wearing sandals still..it's just wrong. Isn't it?

There is no obvious change here...no change of leaves, no flowers that fade away. I saw a display of pumpkins downtown but with the backdrop of palm trees it just felt false and a little crazy.

But I love the coolness at night and the endless sun during the day. I love how it only seems to rain at night or late afternoon and never for very long. I love the tiny lizards that dart in front of me everywhere I walk outside and the flowers blooming constantly. As it turns out there are many things I have come to love here.. Of course, it is Sunday morning and everything is easier and better on Sundays.

I have been silent for some time. Many people who know me would be grateful for the reprieve. The reason for my uncharacteristic silence? No internet connection in my new home....

Okay, that is the main reason.....there are a few others....as follows..

1. I have suffered a deep heartbreak and the shock of it has knocked my thoughts too far to catch them
2. The internet reason
3. I began a new job and spent every moment of my breathing existence worrying about it.. "Am I doing a good job...do they like me....can they tell that I often talk to myself and even answer myself back which at times results in a heated debate with myself which can at times become violent..." 
4. I am very bewildered by my new situation here in FL. I get lost each and every time I leave the gated driveway. That is with my GPS on. The amazing part is how I try to play it cool every time I have to turn around. I think to myself, "I am bored with going South on 95, I am turning around and heading North now. I am so cool, I can do that on a whim" When really, I got on going the wrong way in the first place. (I always say these things in my head with an English accent. Somehow I feel very clever when I do it that way) Also, I think it wonderful that I feel the need to explain myself, when no one is around to ask me what I am doing. I explain myself to myself. Oh, this is fun, yesterday I dropped my clothes as I was pulling them out of the dryer and I apologized to myself...OUT LOUD. Yep, I'm a certified hot mess.
5. What is this list about again?.....oh yes, where I have been these past few weeks.
6. Grieving. And as it turns out, without any practice, I'm really quite good at it.

I have, since being unemployed this past week, baked, cooked, swam, walked, beached myself (I discovered..after going the wrong way the first time..that I live 14 miles from the loveliest beach)...walked my dog..talked to my dog and generally moped about the house..crying one moment and smiling the next (both emotions coming from blurbs of memory flashing across my mind)

Recently I bought a package of M&Ms to cheer myself and once I opened the package and began to pour them into a dish, I burst out crying. So that didn't work, did it?

I think what I have really been doing is hiding. Hiding from reality. If I don't go on with my life, time won't pass, and if I don't stare my pain in the face, it will go away. I just have to stay very still......and quiet....shhhhhhh!....here it comes...I see it...I can hear it breathing...I'll just hide here a little longer and it will move on...

But it doesn't work that way, does it? No...pain and heartbreak find you, no matter how far you bury your head in the sand. So I am writing this as therapy. I am sticking my toe in the water again, as it were. ....

Please pass the pamplemousse

One of the greatest loves of my love is food. Simple. I need it every day and I love it. That being said, I didn't really anticipate that this journey would revolve around food but it has.

In looking through my pictures today I realized just how much food I have photographed and consumed while being here in France.

Right from the start the trouble or pleasure began. We flew Delta on their business class and let me tell you, I can't imagine going back to coach. The moment you sit down they hand you glass (not plastic cup) of champagne. So instead of getting yelled at to put my purse under the seat in front of me, I am sipping champagne. Next they give you the menu FOR YOU TO CHOOSE YOUR DINNER. Have I mentioned that we are still attached by the jetway and not even moving yet? Naturally I chose cheese for my dessert and it hasn't stopped since then.

Now that's not to say that we ate out every night but the food everywhere we did go was unbelievable. Maybe it was the surroundings that made it so. Like this sandwich I had at a tiny restaurant that sits along the olive grove park in town. Just ham and swiss cheese, on the best bread ever baked. Some pink wine and I'm stuffing my face. Wonderful! Plus the knife they give you is fun.

Here, staying with my mother-in-law, food is a 3 meal a day event. Although breakfast is a easy, coffee (2 lumps of sugar please) bread

(cut into small pieces and toasted in the oven, thank

you) and assorted jams (blueberry, strawberry and fig)

However, lunch is at 1 and requires a full out meat and veggie along with a paired wine, fruit and dessert. Here I learned that my mother-in-law loves my potato salad and that celery greens are edible.

Here I just smashed some garlic spuds and put it with an amazing salad (amazing because of the cheese on top and Dennis makes the salad dressing in his lab) and this is added to the turkey breast. Notice my bitten piece of bread..sitting there as a testimony that I couldn't wait until I had taken the photo before devouring it. Bread glutton.

We did purchase along the way pieces to add to our meals. Cheese in Italy, desserts from Nice.

Actually, desserts by a general rule were always bought. I did absolutely no baking while in France. There was simply no point. Even the boxed cookies were amazing with hazelnuts or lemon bits in them. We found a particularly heavenly

coconut macaroon, soft, sweet and

wonderful at the grocery store. They even come enrobed in dark chocolate. I contrived many reasons that we needed to head down to the store but my real drive was for more coconut cookies. Even before we had the car, I would willingly trek the 3 miles in the hot sun of mid day so that I could have a supply in the fridge. Dennis got wise to that and soon put an end to my tomfoolery. So I spent my time and energy making meals, Dennis focused on buying the wine and we let France herself make the dessert.

Here we have the stove I managed to do all the cooking on during our stay in France. I found the knobs to be very disconcerting as well as the temp dial. Rather then try my hand at the math, I just guessed.

Some how though, everything worked fine. It must have been the wine.

The salads tasted better here....some how the daily fresh veggies just melted in your mouth. Biggest decisions of the meal were back balcony or front? Usually we chose the rear facing balcony that gave you the view of Monaco and the mountains. It was hot at mid-day so we tried to eat by 1PM and avoid too much sun.

And a word about the ice cream....it is worth

walking 3 miles for. Whether you get the frozen yogurt and enjoy in its lemon/citrus tartness or you combine the coconut with the dark chocolate... you won't come up for air until the entire cup is GONE. They serve it to you with this tiny plastic shovel-like spoon, I think it's to slow you down. But I was still able to stuff my face with every cool morsel, I just had to work quickly.

Almost every restaurant has something called "The Menu" which is their meal plan for you. It usually includes the starter (including a house drink) main meat choice, salad or pasta choice, dessert of choice, wine and bread and coffee. It ranges anywhere from 18 Euro to 200 Euro and up depending on where you eat it. I like the Menu because it takes the decision of what to order out of the problem and I can just sit back and enjoy every lovely surprise they bring me. Here is one menu we did in a restaurant at the Castle village before the concert in Monaco. Every bite was incredible.

We have also been able to enjoy the local flavor of friends that Dennis has known for years who have invited us to eat with them. Always an event and the flavors are unforgettable. The

highlight of this meal was shelling the little guys myself. It made me feel like I worked for the food. And the addition of the pink grapefruit (pamplemousse) in my salad was a summery surprise that paired so well with my white wine, my berry iced tea and the sweetness of the glaze on the fish. YUMMY!

Truly a wonderful experience, with something delicious to eat every single day. For 6 weeks I sat for every meal at a table, with a view and a tablecloth. Never once did I "take something to go" nor did I eat while getting dressed, driving or standing. It was a treat to enjoy the food, every single bite. I had to learn to relax and allow the time to float by. Getting your check here is almost insulting to the wait staff. You have to flag them down and beg for it. Once they have you in their restaurant they never want you to leave. But there is no iced coffee. That's my only suggestion. Other then that.....perfect. And for the record, if there was bread placed on the table, I ate every piece. I had to. It would have been a disgrace not too. I mean, look at it!!!

Thank you France, for feeding me so well. If you ever come to stay with me, I promise I will try just as hard to make you as happy as you have made me.

Last Concert in Monaco

Every summer, The Prince of Monaco hosts a series of classical concerts held in the evening to about 1,000 people gathered in the courtyard of The Palace. The seats range from 18 Euro and up. It is a "tie and jacket" affair that the armed guards are very serious about. They literally search the crowd for, no...not weapons or dangerous liquids or even cameras, though the later are strictly forbidden...no, the guards stop any man trying to gain entrance without a jacket and tie. They even have several on hand that you can rent, should you fail to read the boldface type on the ticket itself. But gain entrance you will not if there is no tie and jacket. I found this to be very charming.

So our visit here in the South of France has entered its Zenith with one week left. Dennis and I drove into Monaco last night arriving in the underground parking facility at around 8 PM. We found a staircase on the outside of the Palace grounds and began winding our way upward.

We surfaced near the Museum that is currently having a Damien Hirst exhibit of his art that includes such things as a great white shark under glass and full size model of a unicorn with half it's body dissected. Very

interesting, especially at dusk. The building itself is a work of art, surrounded by gardens and built right to the edge of the crashing seas and stone fortress walls.

I very much want to return and enjoy the museum itself, if not this trip than perhaps in the Fall.

We continued through the clear, cool night, walking upwards among the ancient government buildings and stopped by the church that witnessed the last wedding in Monaco when its crown Prince married little Miss Grace.

Just as we rounded the bend, and the darkness fell just a little more, tiny lights appeared in every nook and

cranny of the building, highlighting its beauty and all the many carvings. It was breathtaking. Almost everyone that walked past, stopped to admire it and photograph it.

As you make your slow walk through the village and stone buildings around you, there is a restaurant every few feet with scents to entice you to stop and spend a few hours enjoying what they have conjured up for your senses.

Dennis and I find it hard to resist them so we stop many times to read the menu posted on the outside wall and talk about what we would order if we were eating there.

The cobblestone pathways and narrow roads all run like rivers to the castle and there we soon find ourselves, at the very back of the fortress of Monaco with the grounds of the castle before us, lovely women and well dressed men walking towards the open doors, between the white uniformed guards of the Palace. The ancient doors are thrown open to welcome us but before we enter, we veered to the right and walked over toward the edge of the city walls to enjoy the view of the harbor below us as the evening sky darkened completely and the stars winked down at us.

Its hard to imagine a lovelier place when you are standing there and yet the camera cannot really capture what we can with our eyes. All the twinkling lights of the city together with the boats make on continuous diamond necklace draped on the shoulders of the sea.

Much like Cinderella, we looked up at the castle clock and saw that we only had a few minutes to find our seats. Off we went to join the gathering crowd at the doors. Very polite and well mannered, except for some loud British women asking the guards to take their picture, which the guard refused with an air of the highly insulted, we walked quietly inside. After your ticket is taken, an uniformed usher personally takes you to your assigned seat. Every single blue cushioned seat was taken by a jeweled lady or polished man. The night air was cool with the lights of the Palace around us glimmering over the marble and artwork all around us. The roof of the courtyard was the black cloudless sky with a few stars relieving the darkness. You could hear the irregular sounds of the musicians tuning their instruments, although they remained hidden from our sight.

I noticed the time had arrived to begin and the audience was quietly seated but still nothing happened. For several minutes we waited, with no one speaking. And then the Royal Family

arrived and were seated in the box directly opposite the stage. Prince Albert and his fiance' sat in front. The very moment they took their seats the musicians came out followed soon after by the conductor, to a great deal of cheering. The three pieces they place for us included one piece by Debussy, La Mer, that has always been a favorite of Dennis. But for me, the second piece we heard was the highlight of the concert, not because I knew it well but because of Dennis. His father had been a professional violinist and for his college graduation and thesis he chose to play the violin solo from Max Bruch and we were able to hear it played last night. Dennis told me that he never hears that music without seeing in his mind his father playing with such passion and abandon. Dennis' father John died in 1975. It was a very moving piece to hear. Fast, very fast, the concert ended and we were walking again through the night to our car.

But we had decided to spend some time in town so we made our way to the Cafe de Paris and the Hotel and Casino that sit side by side with it.

When Dennis was living in France years ago he worked at the hotel for some time. The amount of marble and the artwork overwhelms you quickly.

At the Cafe we secured a roadside table and were able to enjoy people watching and car watching as we ate a club sandwich and Dennis drank a beer while I devoured a berry berry and vodka frozen delight. Even the clocks at the Cafe are Rolex. Although you are not allowed to photograph the inside of anything, you can freely walk in and out of the hotel.....

the Casino and the grounds themselves. It quickly became 3 Am, and neither of us felt tired. Everyone is milling around and eating, laughing or drinking so it doesn't feel like very late at night or, in this case, very early on a Monday morning.

Even the cars parked outside the Casino are works of art in themselves.

We walked all along the cars and the gardens until we found our way back to the beginning and within minutes we were off towards home. ~ The end.

In memory of the Emperor

I am sitting, drinking my evening tea (caramel tea to which I add sugar making it what Dennis disapprovingly calls "liquid candy") and I am thinking back on our day today. We had no plans when we started this morning. After the usual quiet breakfast on the western facing balcony, Dennis started writing out his daily to-do list and I began doing my usual, the dishes. We decided to take advantage of the cool morning air and we loaded Denise into the car to drive out to the "Roman ruin" nearby. Dennis has a love of all things Roman and ruined. Now, getting ready to leave once the decision has been made is no small feat for us mostly because Captain Hook (our lovingly, affectionate name for Denise because of the noise she makes with her cane as she walks through the house) requires many different things before she feels ready to leave. Like her bag, her sunglasses, her sweater and sweatshirt (yes, both.....just in case) and all the doors in the house must be closed...and then we need to recheck the doors, and then the cushions have to be brought in from the balcony, and "do we have my sweater? Do we have gas in the car? Where is my bag?" followed by..."are the doors closed? I don't want animals to come in" (she lives on the 3rd floor). But finally we have her loaded into the lift...and we are riding down and walking to the car and she asks me, "Do we have gas for the car? Where is the car? I can't remembur anything anymore" Such a cute sweet French woman.

We head out toward The Trophy. This monument celebrates the victory of the Roman Emperor Augustus over the people of the Alps. He subjugated (killed, enslaved, ruined their lives in general) these tribes between 25 and 14
B.C. In 7-6 B.C., the senate of Rome dedicated this trophy to Him. It is standing at the highest point of the road on the Via Julia which Augustus built to facilitate exchanges with Gaul. So we are about to walk up Roman roads (built by slaves), among the original Roman gardens (planted by slaves) to view something that was built (by slaves) before Christ was born.

Along the walk we come across beautiful views of Monaco and the surrounding areas including Italy in the distance. It was sunny and cool where we were yet ahead there was a quickly gathering storm. It hasn't rained here in France during our entire visit. The cactus in the photo (this is some info on the side) blossoms this huge flower only once every 100 years. Amazing...

We first reach the museum that shows a completed replica of the Trophy as it would have looked before it was dismantled in 1705 and much of the stone used to build the nearby village.

Throughout the room are original pieces found at the site that were used to reconstruct the trophy to its current state. There were once many of these standing as a proclamation of the power and glory of the Romans. Only two survive to this day. The other is in Romania.

It is something poetic to stand among pieces of stone and carvings that were made so long ago. To stand where these long dead and mostly forgotten men once stood.

The first thing that strikes you is the sheer size of this monument. And then you remind yourself that this is a ruin, just a portion of what it looked like when it was complete.

Our handsome gentleman tour guide informed us that the huge columns we see surrounded the entire structure, totaling 24 columns. Very little is known about the structure because the Romans were not very good at keeping records and because there wasn't much love for them coming from the tribes that they enslaved, so all records were destroyed. On the very top of the entire structure was a huge statue of the Emperor Augustus himself, making the height of the entire Trophy at about 50 meters. This structure was simply built to honor the Emperor like a god. The Trophy itself is placed to mark the end (or beginning, depending on how you like to look at things) of the Alps. Augustus was deified and assimilated to Hercules because he opened roads through the Alps. The subjugation of the Alpine tribes was therefore just a pretext to legitimise the hero-worship of the Emperor: the celebration of his exploits highlighted his divine nature. MMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmm.....I guess its clear why the locals tore as much of it down as they could. No one wants to be reminded of the 'god' who came through and subjugated you...I'm just stating the facts

But it sure was HUGE!!! Along the side of the Trophy is this massive inscription in marble dedicating it to the Emperor and naming all 45 tribes that he slaughtered to get there in the first place. But the marble was lovely....Italian marble

The structure is made almost entirely of limestone that was dug up (guess who did the digging?) in the nearby quarry and dragged up the mountainside.

After walking all around it, standing next to it and putting my hands where ancient Romans and subjugated tribes (I couldn't help myself) put there hands, we found a staircase and start climbing. Dennis says to me "just think, this was built before Joseph and Mary were even married" And I swear to you, I stopped on the stairs and thought..."Who do we know named Joseph and Mary?" ...... Well, he said it like they were a couple we hang out with. I didn't know he meant THE Joseph and Mary.

So we reach the top, without railings or any safety equipment (as if the monument itself is saying "Go ahead, hurt yourself...mere mortal whom I would easily subjugate if I could just find me some Romans) and this is the view we drink in. The wind was blowing and you could see lightening in the distance. Its quickly obvious that this thing was built to remind everyone that Roman was driving this train. This must have been fearsome to behold.

The more you look, the more amazed you feel. In the left hand edge of the picture above you can see the remains of the quarry used to gather and haul the limestone (carried and gathered by the subjugated tribes, naturally)

It was really hard to pull ourselves away but it had been over an hour since we left The Captain waiting in the car so be began our climb down.

Along the way we edge over to enjoy the views of Monaco and I notice that there is a goat, no..wait.....two goats on the other side of the fence, just hanging. Ahhh...France, with Roman ruins, Monaco in the distance....and.............goats. Of course!

We make it back to the car and then the 15 minutes home...but before we can even arrive we are totally swallowed by the rain storm crawling up the mountain. Fat, bloated rain drops hit us, and cause rivers all along the roads. Everywhere we see scooters pulled over waiting it out but the storm ends up lasting 3 hours. And the wind was fierce and the rain icy. 2 days ago it was 90 degrees in the shade of the balcony.....while now its raining and it has dropped to 63. I love this place. Its crazy!

Of course we had to wrap Denise in two sweaters and a fleece blanket but I was in a tank top, soaking up the cold as I cooked us lunch (more on that later)......

I will say this, its a good thing the Captain had us lock down the castle before we left...the wind and rain was everywhere! Smart lady!

Start the day out right. Strong coffee and a chocolate croissant. Or two.

I have always thought glass blowing to be an amazing thing but I have never actually seen it happening. There is an ancient glass blowing factory in the town of Biot, which happens to be very close by. So we made a day of it, starting with breakfast. Cousin Bernard was our pilot again and off we went, first to watch the magic in Biot. A picturesque medieval village that dates back 2,500 years, situated 4 km from the Mediterranean Sea and nestled between Antibes and Nice, it was only about 30 minutes worth of driving.

We found the little factory with out much trouble and leaving Bernard and Denise

in the shade, we made our way inside.

There was a crowd of people watching several men of various ages, all dressed in shorts and sandals, working with long, hollow rods each with a molten piece of glass on the end. It made me wonder

where their work safety poster was hanging. Maybe in the lunch room? Without much fuss or fanfare, you could watch these men heat up and shape their glass into all sorts of different pieces. There was no fuss and little conversation but after a few

moments you become entranced by the dance they

perform. Afterwards, you can walk through the gallery and admire beautiful works of glass art from around the world. And each piece has a price tag, just in case you want to take some artwork home.

Back into the car, we are quickly off again. This time bound for a candy factory sitting along a river that bubbles under the remains of an ancient bridge that was destroyed by German invaders. All that's left to testify are the huge stone supports.

We had lunch in a restaurant a few steps from the candy factory. It would seem that the more you are willing to eat and drink, the more popular you become here. So I am thinking I may as well run for Mayor next week. After eating huge salads, drinking beer, wine and coffee and enjoying the local ice cream we made our way over to watch some candy being made and sampled their famous rose jelly. I was forced to buy some dark chocolate too.

The candy tour was fun. Although I had to wrap my mind around the fact that there are no screens on the factory windows and the workers don't wear gloves..of any kind..... Dennis says I need to live outside my American box, so I am rolling with it. No easy task for me, especially when we had to drive around for 30 minutes looking for a handicap friendly bathroom for my mother-in-law because the glass factory and the candy factory bathrooms were up 18 flights of stairs. Ok, only 2 flights, but the woman is 94 and in a wheelchair. Dennis says that change comes slow here and the people are accustomed to being uncomfortable. I can see that now. I guess I want to stay un-accustomed to that.

Off we go again, headed into more mountain passes. Suddenly Bernard stops the car and tells us to walk back to the "Cascade" because it is "varry beautiful and famous".

I don't stop to question but grab my camera and run to where he pointed. We were almost pushed off the tiny road by oncoming cars including a huge flatbed that became stuck going through the tunnel and almost caused a 3 car pile-up but the waterfall we found was worth certain death. Breathtaking. Of course, I learn a few minutes later, when we have literally run for safety back in the car, that for a single Euro you can walk on stone pathways carved along the waterfall...but who needs the easy way? Not us! Anyway, the life risking pictures look better in my opinion. We did decide to splurge and pay the Euro so we could view it from above.

Onward and upward, Bernard takes us to another medieval village, this one high on the mountain edge giving

you breathtaking panoramic views.

The Chateau

Gourdon awaited us with tiny shops selling all sorts of candy and cakes, soaps and perfumes. Another shop sold glass jewelry and another oil paintings of the local beauties. Several restaurants tempted us but we were too full from the salad and all that came with it earlier. Everywhere you look you drink in the spectacular scenery.

With so much to feast your eye on you start to feel full. Your eyes become overwhelmed by seeing so many things in one place.

This is the view from the Chateau and of the village from below.

At this point my camera battery dies :( We started heading down to the coast again and soon we are in Cannes, driving through the downtown area, right where to film festival is held every year. The buildings are a mix of modern and ancient with many famous hotels facing the ocean. We continue on through Nice, then Monaco and finally we are home again. All totaled we spend 12 hours enjoying the changing scene outside the windows of our borrowed car. The air was breezy and cool, especially in the mountains. But then a few minutes later you are by the sea and you can feel the warm sun on your skin. It felt good to be full. Full of the food and drink and full of the scenery.

Thank you cousin Bernard~