Salt...

If you don't have a bit of salt in 

your life, you can't enjoy the sweet.

Places...

There are those places I have been, that I have traveled to that have resonated so deeply with me that I have taken a mental picture to dust off and pull out in a future time.  One is seeing the Swiss Alps first thing in the morning.  I and my good friend, Laura, backed packed in Europe before entering college.  We saw many places and had many memorable experiences at that young age. We traveled I a fervor; the way that 18-year old’s do.  We took an overnight train from Austria to Switzerland.  I awoke suddenly in the early morning as the sun was just rising. Our train was slowing down a bit as we climbed up the Swiss Alps. I glanced out our window and saw the sun rising over the mountains.  The sky was a light blue and pink and reflected off the mountains.  There were chalets below this horizon. They seemed to stand as sentries to this postcard picture.

Another picture I have in my travels is of Banff, Canada. I witnessed the beauty of Lake Louise against the backdrop of the Canadian Rockies.  The water was such a bright blue that it didn’t seem real.  I was told that the clearness of the water was due to the glaciers melting the water which poured into Lake Louise.  When I touched the water, it was ice cold despite it being August. I thought once again that this place will be imprinted on my mind forever. I felt light and free; the way that seeing such places feels.

There have been many places I’ve visited since then. I can vividly picture the rain forests of Costa Rica and the Guanacaste coast. The wooden shack on the beach which served pizza al fresco. Enormous lizards scurried in front of our table, chasing the prey they wanted desperately to catch. I heard and saw waves  so enormous that the most experienced surfer would experience trepidation before entering these waters.

Most recently I traveled in Europe for 2 months with my son.  There were numerous places I saw and experienced. That one place that took my breath away was in the town of Vernazza. I had seen photographs of this magical place but despite this was not prepared for the exquisite beauty where the colorful hillside houses met the sea.  Years before I had ever experienced Vernazza I told myself I wanted to see the sunrise and the sunset in this pocket of southern Italy.  I did both by climbing down a steep incline to the edge of the Ligurian Sea. I witnessed the sun setting and the sun rising while setting on a rocky embankment.  The sun was so full of blues, pinks and purples against the water with the Isle of Capri in the distance.  In the harbor there were fishing boats which were silhouetted against the sky and the sea. I began to realize that these rocks on which I sat, the ocean and the sky were here much before I was born. They will exist long after I die.  This beauty is one to be captured in more than a photo.

There was Arles, France.  I decided to change my plans and go to Arles on the spur of moment which was quite unlike my nature. I discovered that this was the town in which Vincent Van Gogh painted prolifically: the yellow house, cafe Van Gogh, Starry Night. The hundreds of year old shutters were a bit askew and the streets were difficult to manage cobblestones. In a word, these things which are the essence of Arles make it achingly beautiful.

There are places I have traveled which have changed me.  Their sights and sounds, their unwavering beauty which I shall never forget. The pictures in my mind of these places I’ve traveled have become a part of me. 

I will soon be traveling to Portugal and southern Spain with a side trip to  Morocco. I know I will again experience these moments that take my breath away. The sights and sounds which will forever be imprinted on my mind. They will continue to change me in that way that  exquisite beauty at a certain time, in a certain place can afford.

travel/a wondrous thing...

I don’t travel to check things off my list, or to collect then wanted mementos which will collect dust in a forgotten drawer.  I travel to find that difficult to navigate, winding road that takes me to places I hadn't imagined. Getting lost on the unbeaten path is a wondrous thing.

 I don’t stay in resorts, safe inside an insulated bubble. I prefer neighborhoods with genuine smells, genuine sights, genuine sounds, genuine food. In a word, people merely living their lives.  Hot sweaty buses, overcrowded trains that creak and moan as they struggle up a steep incline.

travel/a wondrous thing...

Dr. K...

I had my requisite 6 month follow up with my psychiatrist today. The official purpose of these appointments is to ensure that I’m not going off the rails. In bipolar speak, that I’m staying in that middle lane most of the time; not veering too far into the right lane or into the left lane.

I am fortunate in that my psychiatrist has become a close friend and confidant over the 8 years I have seen him. We meet over coffee sometimes; or over a light lunch. He asks me how I have been, and I ask the same of him.

Today we talked about how most people in Texas are not originally from here.  They have relocated to Texas for employment typically, or to be in closer proximity to family members who have done so. I found out today that this was the case with Dr. K. He said that after medical school he had begun his residency in Baltimore.  Late one night while leaving John’s Hopkins he was assaulted by 3 men.  He was mugged then beaten mercilessly. He told me that because of his injuries he came to live with his family in North Texas to convalesce for 6 months.

My psychiatrist, my friend, is a gay man who was born in Pakistan. He suspects that he was targeted that night in Baltimore because he was gay, because he was of Middle Eastern descent, or perhaps a combination of the two.

I told him that I was so sorry, so apologetic and so very saddened that he had experienced this act of brutality and violence. Dr. K. looked away as if slightly embarrassed that he had revealed this intimate part of his history; of his narrative.

He changed the subject, as if to deflect attention away from himself. Dr. K moved on to another topic of conversation. We landed on a neutral subject: travel.  He asked where I was going next, as he knew this was one of my passions.  I told him I was going to spend 3 weeks in Greece toward the end of the year.

I asked him where he liked to travel and about his plans to do so. He said that his partner had become frustrated that they never traveled abroad. When I asked Dr. K. why this was the case he answered, “In spite of what happened to me in Baltimore, I can't fathom ever wanting to leave the U.S. To me, this is Heaven."

real queens fix each others crowns...

i was standing in line at the market today.

a kind woman tucked in the tag on my back on my shirt.

she didn't need a "thank you" yet she just smiled at me.

i realized that real queens fixed each other's crowns.

the lines on our faces...

the lines on our faces tell us where we've been,

but our hearts, our hearts, tell us where we have yet to go.

at least they are talking about me...

My Grandma, Gladys Reed, was a beautiful woman. She was the first in her small Iowa town to don pants and wear red lipstick. When I asked her about this she  replied "I'm not sure what they are saying about it, but at least they are

talking about me."

be still...

be still and

find your truth...

God is within me...

That notion of a God way up in the sky, way past the clouds, has become, for better or worse, a thing of the past for me.  Now in my mid-50’s, I realize that wherever I am, God is. He/She is around me, but more importantly, He/She  is within me. That divinity of pure goodness, of love, of that best part of myself, lies God.  He/she is not a mythical Santa Claus like figure, who I ask for things I want. He/she does not hold a power over me but guides me in that still small voice.  He/she is that intuitive part of myself that knows when I make that higher rather than lower choice I will feel it in my gut, in my inner self if only I listen.

He/she resides in the deepest part of my heart.  Carried here, where only the purest, cleanest, part of myself resides.  God does not need to be shouted nor does He/She have to be on a bumper sticker on the back part of my car.  It is enough to know that wherever I am, God is.

60 Minutes...

Tonight Q & I are watching the 50^th anniversary special of 60 Minutes.  Every Sunday at 6p.m. we have watched this together for over 12 years.  We have our “clean out the ‘fridge night” where we eat anything we can put together: sandwiches from left over deli turkey and cheese; blt’s from a loaf of toasted bread, a few pieces of bacon, leftover salad.

In the beginning we watched Mike Wallace, Ed Bradley, Morley Safer.  These men have all passed away, but still the show continues.  Leslie Stall is still there and is joined by the newer correspondents: Anderson Cooper, Scott Pelley, Laura Logan.

I remember that I had watched this program (my favorite) when I was pregnant with Q. After he was born, at about a month old, I was holding him as I settled in to end my Sunday with it. It was 6p.m. 60 Minutes started with the familiar “tick, tick, tick”. Q turned his head toward the television in recognition of this sound.

I thought tonight how interesting it is how  seemingly familiar routines, these patterns, have such an impact on our lives.