Weekend in Madrid

Madrid was the first city I lived in, in Spain and it is the city I moved back to four times. Now it is the city that I visit when I need to feel sophisticated, urban, in vogue, challenged; perhaps independant and decisive again. I spent the early Dec. long

weekend there with my almost 18 year old daughter, just the two of us. We had planned

on seeing the Prado Friday morning before the shopping district, you know to get at least some culture in before admiring the designer's windows and perhaps buying a thing or two. Then Saturday was to be dedicated to catching up with old friends and family, and Sunday to a photographic session with a cousin for my daughter's modelling book.

All went according to plan except the Prado visit! I haven't seen such lines since....well I think ever! I can't even imagine how long it would have taken, it was 4 or 5 people wide and it ran almost the entire length of the museum and around the corner. Instead we opted to visit the elegant Ritz hotel, take a stroll down memory lane past landmarks that marked my first year in Spain,

pay a visit to the huge nativity scene in the emblematic Cibeles building, have a coffee at Starbucks, which has not yet reached the Costa del Sol (thank goodness!) as we walked our way up to the shopping district.

First stop Mallorca - pastry shop, bakery, delicatassen, caterer - all in one - a gournet's delight...

Second stop Jardin de Serrano elite shopping arcade...I used to aspire to dressing from those

type of boutiques, my times and values have changed - this trip confirmed that - next stops - shops more affordable and attuned to our life style. We acquired a few shopping bags, tired feet, sore backs and a fabulous lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe.

We stayed with long time friends from (our (my husband's and mine) college and early double dating days, who then became our next door neighbors for 4 years in Madrid. It reminded me that some friendships are forever and full of comfort, understanding, comraderie and laughter no matter how much time and distance passes bewteen visits. Our Saturday spent with another friend and her familhy and then my husband's great aunt and cousin continued to fill me with love and laughter and memories of old times and just plain feel good energy.

Sara's (my daughter see above and below) photography session went better than expected by all, I think, and we hope the photos will help her advance her career when she visits the agencies in Madrid in January with her agency rep. from here in Malaga.

Not to mention the great talks that Sara and I shared on the 5 hour drive to and from, in a non aggressive and non-challenging atmosphere and tone. Not always easy to attain in a busy life with two teen agers. I learned things about her, I hope she also learned things about me and life's values too. Those lessons are so hard to communicate but a weekend like this perhaps is a BIG HELP!

So did I feel independant, sophisticated, urban, in vogue, and decisive? To some extent, but in a less invigorating way than I did when I was in my 20's. And I was glad to leave the hustle, bustle, expensive sophistication, noise and cold behind, for my suburban, tranquil, sunny and sometimes indecisive life on the Med.

Fill Your Heart With Thanksgiving

May you count many blessings in your thankfulness today and EVERYDAY.

I found this poem in a book I have been referring to lately for inspiration, meditation and refelction, copyrighted in 1974 that I bought for my Mom around 1998 in a used book store in Reston, Va. It proves that deep truths never get old or go out of fashion. Perhaps we just have to remind ourselves of them more often in this time of harsh media and materialism.

Fill Your Heart With Thanksgiving

Take nothing for granted,
For whatever you do
The joy of enjoying
Is lessened for you –
For we rob our own lives
Much more than we know
When we fail to respond
Or in any way show
Our thanks for the blessings
That daily are ours…
The warmth of the sun,
The fragrance of the flowers,
The beauty of twilight,
The freshness of dawn,
The coolness of dew
On a green velvet lawn,
The kind little deeds
So thoughtfully done,
The favors of friends,
And the love that someone
Unselfishly gives us
In a myriad of ways,
Expecting no payment
And no words of praise-
Oh, great id our loss
When we no longer find
A thankful response
To things of this kind,
For the joy of enjoying
And the fullness of living
Are found in the heart
That is filled with thanks-
Giving.
Helen Steiner Rice

Mind Mapping Results

In one of my workshops, we did an exercise with Mind Mapping or Clustering and below are my resulting poems from this brainstorming, word-association like, technique.

Clustering or Mind Mapping - This is a technique similar to brain storming. A key word or idea (prompt) is written in a circle in the middle of a page. You draw a line form that first circle to the next circle in which you write the first word or image that the prompt triggered, then continue circles outwards with the words and images that this line of thought produces. When a new line of thought starts, draw a second line from the key word and develop that one out until it dries up and start on a third. There may be sub-branches or clusters as you a develop a more complex concept or memory. Continue this process until you have exhausted all the ideas that the prompt word triggers. When you go back and analyze the lines of thought produced you will more than likely find rich material for a personal story, a poem or a developed narrative.

Choose two of the following words, do a mind map for each then try and write a poem from the results.
Bridges, The Moon, Friendship. Mirror

MIRROR
The mirror reflects me
But who am I?
Is the refelction accurate?
Do I like it?
Is it what others see?

The mirror reflects me
But who am I?
Am I what you see?
Am I what I see?

Perhaps I'm what I feel.
Perhaps I'm what you feel.
Perhaps I'm all of these and yet none.
The mirror refelcts me
But who am I?

BRIDGES

Build me a bridge
Hang it over this gap
that separates me from
...from the other me.

Build me a bridge
help me cross it
get over the precipice
to the safety of the distant shore.

Build me a bridge
to other people, other villages
to close the gap
that separates us and keeps us from freedom.

Build me a bridge
to replace fighting lines
to burn away hate
to lead us to the middle common ground.

Grass

The whir of a lawn mower wakes me at 10am on a Saturday morning, the smell of fresh cut grass wafts in with the light breeze through my open window. I don't open my eyes or even admit I'm awake, I just lie here, concentrating on my senses: the crisp cotton sheet caresses my arms, the summer smell of the grass brings images of vast green lawns, lush and inviting, my bare feet walk over the carpet softness, the lawn mower whir stops and the whisper of the breeze makes the wind chime play its familiar tune. The smell of freshly brewed coffee now wanders up stairs to stir me from this dream, the insistant tinkling of my mother's spoon stirring her coffee is the alarm I have been waiting for to pad my way into wakeness and Saturday's summer chores.

A Stranger in a Strange Land

Maggie Rose from marginalviews posted a piece this week about her countdown to going home, how she misses it and her adult children, and the feelings of being a stranger in a strange land. It opened something in me that I seem to have just needed to express, so I share some of the thoughts and musings it awakened in me.

-------------------------------------------------
As a fellow ex pat I go through what you are going through frequently, but my children are not yet adult, they are born and bred Spanish, so it is my parents, my brother and his kids I long to see. But my parents are in a place I will not get to for a long time yet (I hope) and my brother is not in my home town. So I long to go home to a time, place and feeling of love, family camaraderie and security that does not exist anymore. How the question "is it a past time you long to go back to?" stabbed at my heart.

On being a stranger in a strange land, I am that here, but last evening on an outing to a dance event at the local Casa de Cultura in town I kissed in greeting many of my spanish friends, said hello to another handful of faces I know from one facet or other of community life here. But I am the American outsider. When I visit the US after 20 years away, I do not have a community feeling anywhere (no doubt I would if I lived there for awhile...) and with my changed perspective on the US and its values, I am the American from Europe outsider. So I often feel a stranger in a strange land on both sides of the 'puddle' as they say here. I long not to have to explain myself, or traditions and customs, to not have to be careful to say the wrong thing in the wrong way or the right thing in the wrong way.

But this is my path, and mostly I give thanks for it, for it has shown me happiness and offers abundance of many kinds, but I do cross these areas of shadow from time to time. Perhaps it's the approach of Thanksgiving and Christmas, that brings a bit of darkness to the path this month.

On an enthusiastic note, I must tell you that there are about 7 of us American women married to Spaniards, and we get together every month or two and it is with them that I do not feel a stranger nor do I have to explain myself, because they feel the same. SO for the first time in the 6 years we have been meeting we are doing a joint Thanksgiving next Sat. (Nobody can get Thursday off work here, obviously.) And I am so excited about sharing that day in a warm family, group atmosphere, where the traditions need no explanations, the kids are at the kiddy table off to the side, the men talk about sports and the women are a supportive, chatty group in the kitchen and around the table. We will be 32 in all. Thank goodness another woman is hosting it in her huge house, not yet fully furnished.....Truly I can't wait! It reminds of the anticipation I felt when I was young and we joined with our distant cousins and grandparents, or when I'd come from school for big hugs and gatherings at a bountiful table!

Thank you for provoking this Maggie, it feels better now.

The Moon Rises

The moon rises and fills my soul

I watch for it, follow it,

Revel in its free nightly show



Over the water, behind a tree

A slow ascent, changing its hue

Cottony, golden, orange, bright white



It's diamond sparkle on the sea

Bids me goodnight as I admire it from my balcony

The moon rises and fills my soul.

The Jasmine and the Moon

I sit on my porch, drenched with the aroma of jasmine, bathed in moonlight. My notebook, beckoning for so long, sits with joy on my lap, receiving every word with open pages, taking in every detail, to recall the feeling when once again it has been abandoned for the computer and the daily grind of selling, marketing, networking.

When will the creativity return? When will there again be peace and satisfaction at filling a page? More than that, when will there be that driving need, so that the notebook will not be abandoned for so long? When o when? Soon o soon, whisper the jasmine and the moon.

Quilt

I had a quilt, it was blue and pink,
It was a great quilt I used to think.
My grandma Young made it, who knew when,
I only knew I loved it then.

It covered my bed, matching me,
Not the curtains hung so prettily.
It gave me comfort, warmth, minute fame
Wearing it at the weekly baseball game.

You’ll ruin it Mom used to say, but
I didn’t see the damage day to day.
So it accompanied me in my coming of age
Unniversity, first flat, now I’m engaged.

Tattered and frayed in a trunk it came
To give me warmth at home in Spain.
There it stayed until my daughter was born,
Searching for our roots, I found it too worn.

Unable to part with those golden days
In that trunk it still decays.
My Grandma Young made it, who knows when,
I only know I loved it then.

Details For The Living

Sunday Sept. 9th, 2007, marks the 6th anniversary of my mother's death, and Monday Sept. 11th the anniversary of the unthinkable on the morning of her wake. I publish here a piece I wrote when all of that was still raw in Oct. 2001, because I was drawn to pull it out of old files today. Re-reading it made me realize the strength and depth of those infrequent and life-changing emotions.

September 11th 2001

A burning building filled the screen, Live Action; NBC News, remained unmoving in one corner, 10:32am in another.
“What happened I asked?” concern creeping in.
“It’s the Pentagon, a plane crashed into it,” a voice answered.
“What!” I blurted incredulously, eyes frozen on the screen.
“Yea, didn’t you hear about the twin tours?” another voice asked.
At that instant the screen switched to the shocking images of the previous 90 minutes: a twin tower on fire, a plane crashing into another, the first tumbling impossibly to the ground, then horrifyingly, the second following suit. I don’t know how much time elapsed the first time, but in two minutes of repeated footage I was supposed to assimilate the unimaginable. The bizarre series of events were unfolded for us by the news reporters, the others in the room, a local fireman who came in behind us.
My thoughts scrambled to grasp it, “these are special effects, scenes from Hollywood, someone is pulling a macabre joke like the Orson Wells’ radio hoax in 1939 when Martians were supposedly invading the earth, but who would or could? or why would they? This is too unreal to be unreal”.
The momentary isolation I had built around myself disintegrated and I looked at my brother and step father – unable to speak, we exchanged looks of fear and disbelief.
People were coming and going in the receiving room of the funeral parlor, voices were drowning out the news casters: speculation, confusion, who, how, why, what else? The fireman brought news about the Pentagon, the alert status they received, unconfirmed suspicions of more targets: the missile sight 15 miles up the road, AOL headquarters practically around the corner, Dulles Airport 15 minutes away. We were in one of the hubs, the spokes were spinning around us.
The funeral director showed us the chapel where the wake would be held that evening and took the shoes we had brought for him to put on my mother. The casket would be closed, nobody would see her, why bother with shoes? Because she couldn’t go barefoot in the dress she had said she wanted to be buried in. Another detail for the living, one of many I had questioned in the past 24 hours.
As we pushed ourselves to finish funeral tasks at hand the roads became deserted, cell phones were impossible to use, shopping centers closed and planes ceased to fly. The resulting silence was eerie. I felt like I was floating, the ground seemed to drop out from beneath my feet with each step, my stomach tightened, numbness took over. How could any of this be happening? My mother dead. Fear that any number of nearby sights could be attacked before day’s end. It feels like a dream, I wish it were a dream, it’s not a dream. The NPR news on the car radio confirmed that it was true.


Had everyone arrived from California that morning? Could Monica get out of Virginia Beach with the kids? Surely, as Chief Weapons Officer of the Navy’s East Coast Air Wing, her husband wouldn’t be coming now. Call Jennifer, tell her to avoid the beltway, come on the back roads. What about Todd coming by train from New York?
The California family had arrived safely on one of the last flights allowed to land at Dulles Airport. There they were, glued to the television when we walked in the house. Amazing how eight members of our family could be so quiet all in the same room. We all hugged, then pandemonium broke loose, everyone talking at once; “can you believe it, this is absurd, scary, impossible, I can’t fathom it, where were you when you heard? ”. The reason for the unexpected family reunion was temporarily forgotten, all attention was on the unthinkable.
The estimated number of deaths rose on the TV screen and suddenly it all became clear to me. I understood God’s rush to have my mother with Him. He needed her: her generous love, undying faith, great strength and unparalleled organization (as all of us cousins would later joke) to help so many souls in their passage from this life to the next. It comforted me to know that His next calling for her was of such magnitude. No doubt it pleased her too and she would rise to the occasion.
Then, thinking of the family members of those killed that day, I appreciated our good fortune. We had accompanied her until her peaceful end, we had said our good byes, our I love you’s and our thank you’s. We had shared our reminisces, our remember whens, our laughter and our tears with her. We had a body to dress, a casket to choose, a wake to plan, a burial to attend; We had details for the living.

Goodbye 'summer'

Hallelujah, September is here! The oppressive humidity of august and its accompanying haze over the sea have lifted leaving us a glorious September day of a clear blue sky and soft breeze. The flow of neighborhood traffic has returned to the manageable levels of the residents from the constant movements of holiday makers. The jubilant (read as loud) vacation noises of pool games and splashes, evening get togethers and barbecues have gone, returning to us the peaceful murmurings of neighbors and resident birds. Supermarkets and shopping malls are once again closed today, Sunday, the most civil practice that ensures rest and a reprise from materialistic purchase frenzies on the Lord's day. I love this time of year, back to school and the routine it offers, long sleeves in the evening and sweaters in October instead of tank tops and shorts or sun dresses, amazing sunsets and sunrises. AAAhhhhh, back to the wonderful life on the Med now that July and August are once again behind us.

Write On!

Well I'm on my way! I've been working all summer on polishing the content of my creative writing workshops I'm now offering for "profit" here on the Costa del Sol. I've also been developing this logo with an internet logo company and a marketing strategy. So here's the logo, what do you think? I've included both languages since two of my workshops I offer in Spanish as well. If you go to http://writeoncostadelsol.blogspot.com/ you can see the workshop summaries.

This morning I was on one of our local radio stations in English for a full 30 minutes talking about why I've developed these particuliar workshops and my objective of awakening people's creativity and encouraging more people to write for pleasure. Plus we talked about the kids' creative writing workshops I did this summer, one in Spanish and one ine English. It was harder than I thought it was going to be to get the kids' imaginations going and ignite their creativity. I think it's because we don't let kids get bored these days, and often creativity comes from boredom! Try letting yourself get bored, then write!

Next objective: get the publicity out in the local English press, and distribute flyers to the local English speaking clubs and social centres. Wish me luck!

Writers at work! A picture from a lunch break at a two day workshop "Winter Write" I did with a few fellow writers last Feb. Keep your eyes out for a new weekend workshop this year in the Mijas hills over loooking the Med!

The Catalba Tree - The Bean Tree

My grandmother had a catalba tree behind her house, near the back door. I always called it the bean tree, and didn't actually know it's name until I re-read Prodigal Summer by Barabra Kingslover this month.

It stands in my memory as the shade and respite from the hot days that often speckled upstate New York (Amsterdam) summers. Under it we snapped beans for freezing, pealed cucumbers for pickles, pealed corn for supper, played aggravation to alleviate the boredom, or simply collapsed on our backs after hard play for rest and coolness. My mind would drift around its rugged bark, up to its hanging bean pods, through its huge heart shaped leaves, to the filtered blue of the sky; not thinking about anything except the intimate details of that tree. Subconsciously the surrounding smells of cut grass, ripened petunias, old wood, freshly turned dirt, roses, imprinted on my mind. The sounds of bees in clover, flies buzzing, a lone car whirring around the curve, the pressure cooker from the open kitchen window, became permanently recorded in my inner senses. When I smell those things, when I hear those sounds, I am once again 11 years old laying under that bean tree dreaming, drifting, feeling, simply just being.

Oh to return to that house, that tree, to those simple summer days when simply just being was just fine.

TEA - Weekend Wordsmith

Tea, a cup of tea, a cuppa: it all reminds me of the differences between the English and the American. Here on the Costa del Sol, which is like the Florida of Europe, the English make up a large part of our local population. Over the past 6 years I have worked side by side with many English at the only privately run Cancer Hospice in Spain, started by an English woman obvously, and I have been introduced to a culture and language quite unlike my American own.

The English drink Tea, most like it quite strong and stick to the standard tea we might call English Breakfast. Some may drink the different varities offered by Twinings in those lovely tins, but most like their plain, but full flavored (excuse me flavoured) PG Tips which come in round packets instead of square bags with a tag on the end. Everyone has an electric kettle that plugs in and boils water in about 25 seconds so they can get their tea fix in record time. As much as those dainty, flowered tea cups and pots are depicted in typically English scenes, it's definitely the mugs, just like our coffee mugs, that people enjoy their tea fix in.

Now don't get me wrong, they also drink coffee, but after a meal, or mid morning while sitting at an outdoor cafe people watching and usually they accompany it with a brandy. Now that gets me to another English insight. Boy can they drink! At social gatherings they usually out drink me 2 or 3 to one. Most of them don't seem a bit affected either. Now mind you, I do see the weaving, slurring, inebriated tourist on occasion, and am always amazed to see they are often retirement age. Beer and ale by the pints, wine of all colours and origins, gin tonics, scotch, brandies, champagne, boy do they go for champagne, you name it, they consume it in large quantities.

They spell their words differently: colour, organise, realise, favourite,

They use their words differently too: A jumper is a sweater, a lorry is a truck, the bin is the garbage, bin it is throw it out, do the washing up is do the dishes, pudding is desert, car park is parking garage, the boot is the trunk, the bonnet is the hood, brilliant doesn't mean somebody is extremely smart it means someone or something is fantastic, lift is elevator, cue is line, shag means have sex, a biscuit is a cookie, aubergine is eggplant and courgette is zuchinni, have you got? means do you have?, and everyone is darling, love, mate or pet. You get the idea...And don't get me started on pronunciation.....pardon me, could you repeat that please.

So love, go fix yourself a lovely cuppa and have a brilliant time having a go at TEA as the Weekend Wordsmith on your blog. It beats the tele or going to the cinema.

Longings

I've been absent for awhile, longing to get back, but fearing the return to getting lost in this magical world and loosing track of time: time which must be spent motheirng, wifing, (do you like that word I just made up?) developing and marketing my new professional endeavors for the fall, completing the volunteer project I'm involved in, keeping life and a household of four in order, fed and on an even keel.

Oh for those single, selfish days, when the first and mostly only one that mattered was me. I could do what I wanted when I wanted and nobody was waiting for me to hurry up and finish to dedicate some part of me to them; to resolve a problem, prepare or repair something, take them somewhere, or simply spend time and attention on them. I wouldn't change it for the world, but it does bring up these occasional longings to swim into a selfish, single life for a season or two.

LOVE - A Feeling Poem

In my creativity and writing workshop I'm doing with kids this summer, I was preparing the session for tomorrow with the FEELING POEM as shared by Heather at Soulfood Cafe. (A most inspiring creativity and writing sight at http://www.dailywriting.net/ in case you don't know it.)

The idea is to use our senses to describe our feelings like this:

Line one: Name an emotion

Line two: “Smells like. . .”

Line three: “Tastes like. . .”

Line four: “Sounds like. . .”

Line five: Feels like. . . .”

Line six: “Feels like. . .”

Line seven: “Feels like. . .”

Line eight: Name the emotion

On this day of celebrating my love for my husband my sample feeling poem goes like this:

Love
Smells like baking cookies,
Tastes like peach cobbler
Sounds like Mozart
Feels like a cozy chair
Feels like a chill down my spine
Feels like a soaring eagle
Love

Try it! It's a wonderful way to talk about feelings, use your imagination and practice similes and metaphors for all ages! Thanks Heather for sharing your amazing creativity!

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY MY LOVE!

Today is our 20th wedding anniversary, and as we are not together I leave my love this special message by this modern means.
For our 14th anniversary in 2001, I put a little book together for you, with something I love on a page for each year of our marriage. I came across it recently and decided that this year I will fill in a page for each of the six years since. I will post them here day by day until you are back in my arms. HAPPY ANNIVERSARY LOVE!

I LOVE:
1. Sunsets….Starry nights…. Walks on the beach holding your hand.

2. Long leisurely meals…..Good wine….Fireplaces ablaze with you by my side.

3. Love stories….Romantic movies….Happy Endings…and my own Fairytale with you.

4. The cooling days of October…Autumn’s changing colors….Lazy, rainy afternoons wrapped in your arms.

5. Reading a good book….Telling a good story…Adding new chapters to our own novel of life.

6. Country Music…..Slow dancing….Dancing in the kitchen with you.

7. Strong hugs…..Soft kisses…..Your loving, healing touch.

8. Sensual massages….Hot bubble baths….And all they can lead up to.

9. Scrambled eggs….Fluffy omelets……And delicate soufflés.

10. Outdoor cafes…..'Chiringuitos' on the beach….Tabernas and mesones…..Sharing tapas and the passing of time with you.

11. American football…..Real Madrid vs. Barcelona……And all your volleyball games.

12. A hike in the woods…..The smell of rain…..Thunderstorms weathered with you.

13. Halloween parties…Christmas festivities…..Celebrating our love!

14. Innocent kittens turned into calculating cats…..Lively puppies growing into faithful dogs…Our hot passionate youth matured into our loving family of four.

14+1. Lazy mornings in bed with a book.....coffee......And YOU!

14+2. Travelling to new places....Learning about different cultures....Discovering new, wonderful things that make you, you.

14+3. Watching the moon rising over the sea off our balcony....it's white light twinkling like diamonds on the water....the constant light you shine on my life.

Word of the Week Zoo

Zoo days, in Washington or Madrid, when the kids were small and animals still entertained them. The monkey's antics and acrobatics; the gorilla's menacing eyes..so human looking; the huge hippo eating bananas, skin and all; the pandas..will we be lucky and find them awake?..only once, but they were playful and pleasing on that day; the otters-always my favorites, slipping and sliding in their rocky cascades just like they did when I was little; the prarie dogs entertained my dad and daughter for what seemd like an hour - hard to say who had more fun; the giraffes and elephants together in their enormous differences, elegance and playfulness juxtaposed; birds of prey, their regalness sadly hampered by the humiliating cages, I am only now aware of how I was attracted to them. Lions and tigers and bears, Oh my...yes they were there too......Oh for those Zoo days again, when the girls were small, animals still entertained, and I found much joy, insight and calmness in observing such wonderful creatures and in those simple pleasures of our younger family days.

In reponse to Bonnie's Blog Word of the Week idea! http://weekendwordsmith.blogspot.com/

Viva Harley Davidson!

This morning my husband and I witnessed an amazing event. The 16th annual Eurpoean HOG (Harley Owners Group) Rally that was held in Fuengirola, Spain, one town over from ours. The rumor mill told us there were 7000 Harley Davidsons registered. I don’t know if there were that many, but the parade that made its way around the town took well over a half hour to fully pass us by. What a spectacular spectacle! The shine: chrome, polished paint, handlebars, engines, wheels. The black – leather, t-shirts, vests, boots, seats, saddle bags, helmets, bandanas– and orange Harley logo. The noise – rumbling, purring, roaring. The riders: old, young, fat, thin, long haired, bald, grey, blond, bearded, shaven, men, women, rugged, polished, Spanish, English, Irish, Scottish (with kilt and all!) French, Italian, German, Danish, Belgian, Finish, Portuguese, Dutch…and those were just the ones I saw. There was a unique camaraderie and uniting thread, that made thousand of people of all ages, nationalities and walks of life come together to show off, admire, spend money on and enjoy the machine of machines.









This Harley phenomenon is a unique one, and not owning a bike, let alone a Harley, we definitely felt like outsiders who wanted in. I wondered if the marketing plan from the early days had pictured this as their objective or if the clever management of Harley Davidson picked up the phenomenon and built on it through remarkable marketing and branding. It is a sight to see, an example to study!

I compared the morning to a visit to the Prado Museum in Madrid: if you were to see a small collection of the masterpieces you would be impressed by each and every one, and spend a long time admiring each piece. But when you are surrounded by thousands of marvelous works, you become saturated and pass them by without paying more than a few seconds attention to each one. It was a remarkable show of masterpieces in their own right that we thoroughly enjoyed. Not to mention an offering of the best people watching we’ve experienced in years.

I wonder what my father would have thought of his once yuppy, urban-sophisticated daughter, feeling a camaraderie with a bunch of bikers, and wondering what she would look like in black leather and a halter top on the back of a Harley?

From my peaceful mountain, I hear goats bleat in the distance, a strange overlay to the traffic I can now hear. I’ve walked back up from the ravine where mountains on all sides keep out those road noises and where I can still feel isolated, calm, peacefully alone with nature. The goat bleats louder and two baby bleats respond. It is the season, I have seen many shepherds with their goats and sheep on the mountain sides that flank the busy roads I travel. There are cranes and new development all around here on the coast, gradually replacing our natural back drop, so I love seeing these few reamining herds and solitary herders with their dog as only companion, even if between billboards and flags for soon-to-be-built luxury residences. I love the few hillsides left, still Spring green and covered with wildflowers, that nourish these creatures with the mediterranean herbs and grasses that give a special flavor to their milk: milk that gets sent to local co-ops for Manchego, de cabra, mahon, tetilla, Spanish cheeses made from sheep and goats milk in some proportion or another. So bleat mother goat, find your kids, for without them you would not produce milk, and without your milk your commercial reason for being would evaporate and then what become of you?

Tribute to my Dad

With Fathers Day approaching, I no longer have a card or gift to send, weekly phone calls to catch up on, someone to chew over Redskins results with, but I have warm memories of all that and more. In tribute to my Dad, who left this world shortly after a wonderful family Christmas gathering at my brother's two and a half years ago, I copy below his Father's Day gift from me from 1999. He said it was the best gift I could have given him. Wish I could give him another one like it this year...

MY DAD

He's a cool looking guy. Just under six foot and shrinking, a bit heavy around the middle, but that's his trademark. He's always been that way and I couldn't imagine him differently. His salt and pepper beard gives him an intellectual, or perhaps bohemian, look. Both are also accurate descriptions of the man. His dark eyes light up when he smiles and his laugh is contagious. He looks relaxed and unhurried.

He's been lucky in life, able to earn a good living around airplanes, the passion in his life. He and his wife made a decision a few years ago to make flying their priority (before it was "in" to re-evaluate your priorities and get out of the rat race) and readjusted their lives to achieve that goal. They know what they relinquish to fulfill their desire to fly and don't worry about it. I admire them for that! They can't be bothered with what others think or say about them, and I admire them for that too!

His material needs are few although he indulges in some of life's best pleasures, good food, good wine and Jack Daniels. I learned to appreciate the enjoyment of sharing a well-cooked meal with interesting company around the table from him. A wonderful dinner and a fine bottle of wine forever inspire conversation, debate, analysis, or reminiscing when he's at the table. An old Spanish refrain says, "Some eat to live and some live to eat." Happily he taught me how to fit into the second category.

He also taught me about football. I impressed many a guy in high school and college with my knowledge about the rules, strategies, players, statistics, and the like, all thanks to our dedicated Sunday afternoons and Monday nights. (Nobody likes to stay up that late at night on their own on a Monday) I still remember lighting a fire late in the afternoon on crisp fall Sundays, a cup of hot chocolate and the Redskins game. If it were against Dallas, so much the better!

He's a country-western and bluegrass fan, to the core. But don't give him Garth Brooks; give him Hank Williams, Charlie Pride, or classic Willy Nelson, but he'll take Vince Gil and George Straight too. THE CHAIR - one of my favorites, and I'll never forget two stepping to it with him in my living room in Spain. Or, two stepping with him in the bars in Ft. Worth when I lived in Dallas. Of course we laughed over songs by the Oak Ridge Boys, the Bellamy Brothers and Billy Ray Cyrus. Country and western lyrics are often a good source of laughter! They were also a good source of communication when I was in high school.

The best compliment paid to him, as a father, and to me, as a daughter, was something he said a few years back. " I'm lucky. During 18 years I gave you two kids the base on which to build your lives, and now I have two responsible, law abiding, and interesting adult children, who never gave me any serious worries. I couldn't tell you how to live your lives or what to become, you had to find that out on your own." And so we did, and when we're able to come together to share all that it's a wonderful experience.

I sure miss those wonderful experiences Dad...Love You Forever

G8 vs. Grass Roots

If you read my I Believe piece below, you will see that I believe that a grass roots movement i s "threatening" the traditional power brokers of the world as we know it, and will in our lifetime bring about fundamental changes. The news today from the G8 summit in Germany supports my theory. 16,000 security personnel and a 12km (7.5 mile) fence, which I heard this morning cost 25,000,000 Euros, have been employeed to protect 8..EIGHT.. world leaders (and their entourage I assume) from over 10,000 protesters.

What does that say about our world. How many people's lives could those 25,000,000 Euros spent to build a fence significantly improve...and what did that money actually do for those EIGHT lives? Save them????? I wonder......

In latest news reports it seems the protesters have gotten closer than security planned, expected, wanted, and the leaders are surrounded, their wives have had to cancel excursions. Maybe they'll open their windows and listen. Or will they just close their eyes, look the other way and play deaf?

G8 vs. Grass Roots, I root for the underdogs..all 10,000 and counting of them.

Night in the Gardens of the Alcazar of Sevilla

In the glow of twilight the lavender flowers of the jacaranda form a pearly lace against the ink blue sky, like a Sevillana dressed in her mantilla for Semana Santa processions.

A sacrificial cypress has given its trunk in support of a soaring bougainvillea whose wispy branches cascade magnificently to the ground in sprays of magenta.

The kissing branches of the colonial palms and native eucalyptus form a portal to the stars. The moon slowly nudges into it, hesitating in a golden mist. Then, more confident, she moves into her full glory, shimmering white and bold as she fills the whole portal. Her diamond light becomes a fleeting canvas for the lace of the flowering jacaranda.
I watch her continuing climb in awe of the performance I am sure she has orchestrated just for me. A moment of intimate admiration passes between us before her non-relenting ascent allows the stars to re-appear through the portal, seemingly fainter and more distant under her brilliant light.

The palms, cypresses and eucalyptus dance homage to this rising moon in all her fullness, carrying the heady scent of jasmine and lavender on the breeze.

The golden lights of the Giralda – majestic and powerful in the distant night sky – convert hungry bats into magical bronzed creatures, seemingly protecting the sacred tower from evil invaders as if in a fairytale.

I am enchanted and under the spell of these Moorish gardens that connect me with a place in a past I somehow know but cannot remember. Another life, another palace, I cannot quite describe, but these gardens and these scents, I know they have been in my soul forever.

I Believe

I’ve been writing form different prompts lately and just wanted to share what came from:

I Believe….

I believe in God.
I believe people want to be generally good but for fear and criticism they don’t allow themselves to be.
I believe happiness is possible - as a way of being content with and accepting of oneself.
I believe in love and forgiveness - of oneself and others.
I believe God has given us all special gifts…and positive things to do with them.
I believe in the Law if Attraction: You get what you give - What goes around comes around - Positive generates positive - Clear vision of what you want helps it become reality

I believe in my husband and children.
I believe I have the ability to do what I need to.
I believe in life after death, heaven, reincarnation in the soul’s journey towards God’s precious light.
I believe we have to learn all the time - about ourselves, others, the world.
I believe I can help others feel good about themselves.
I believe in their inner beauty and want to help them find it.
I believe we on Earth are in a process of change.
I believe the power holders have taken us too far away from the natural balance of things and that from a grass roots movement we are struggling to pull it back.
I believe it will be hard and scary, as all major power shifts have been, but..
I believe our survival depends on it and we will be better off on the other side of the hardships.
I believe in enjoying life - its simple pleasures: sunrises and sunsets; moonshine twinkling on the sea; birdsong and green light swaying among the trees.
I believe in giving before taking.
I believe in laughing a lot.
I believe we’re happy because we sing and dance vs. we sing and dance because we’re happy.
I believe God loves me and blesses me.
I believe in Love.

My soul whispers

The birds are talking to each other, offering their morning greetings. Swallows, sparrows, mourning doves, and the black bird like species whose name I do not know, but whose cawing I've come to recognize. A mist covers the sea I contemplate from my terrace and a cool breeze comes from levante - the East - and tickles my face.

A rare morning with no school runs to make, appointments to get to, exercise class to attend, errands to tend to. It is glorious, this

quiet morning to myself for writing and reflection. Silence, stillness allows me to finally hear the birds and hear my soul. It is aching to talk to me but lately the ringing in my ears drowns out my soul's whispers. Now I feel them stirring, the ringing has disappeared, I can close my eyes, calm my breathing and listen. I want to hear my soul, hear God's inner voice, feel His wisdom, recognize His blessings. My soul knows it already, I just have to listen.

Life Moves On the Sea

Life moves on. It’s almost the end of May and what have I done since I left my “real job” in February in a leap of blind faith? Re-established my old writing group – not too successfully so far; created a children’s creative writing program - still trying to sell it to children’s summer day camps; joined a new writing group for better feedback; reduced my daily stress; gone back to fixing healthy family meals; put exercise back in my routine: I’ve gone back to creativity and nurturing, but it isn’t close to generating the income I need – or think I need. So I tell myself focus on it and do it, why am I hesitating? I come back to this ALL THE TIME, so just get on with it and do it – focus, organize your time, create and go for it!

What about the Creativity Center project? Yeah what about it? Win the lottery, put it off, borrow money, find a partner, what to do? What can’t I move forward with both ideas? Organize my time and put in the blocks to make it happen – schedule, schedule, organize, organize.

But I want to become poetic and insightful – inspirational and embracing. Don’t push life, let it push me. Like the current at the sea’s edge, I shall allow myself to be gently taken to and fro in directions I do not choose. Is my faith strong enough to allow it to happen without turning over and swimming myself towards one direction and then another? Float and be buoyed by the embracing water, relax and let its gentle in and out of the tide take me to where it may, enjoy the rocking, the easy pulling; there is no storm raging, no dangerous rocks nearby. Float on His sea, trust God to take me where He may, He will not let me sink while relaxed in His warm waters. He knows where He wants me to go. Relax, relax, enjoy, enjoy. Life moves on the sea.