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Awakening

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Awakening The awakening was signaled by three  bleating alarms and a burst of rain. I definitely did not want to be awake and clutched the comfy comforter for comfort. I certainly am lucky that I could count my blessings wrapped in the warmth of the world of slumber and puffy blankets. I landed softly in the day despite the jarring call of clocks. I lay there a bit, soaking in the pillowy night while gradually accepting the day. How lucky I was, too, to have the time to disregard time and lay there. Then, the rain came like melted butter sliding over the morning hours. It was the (ugh!) too bright light in the kitchen which convinced me to get up. It was too much for my blindfold to bear, the blurriness seeping under my eyelids even with my eyes shut. Still, I waited for the impulse to put my feet on the floor to come. Ironically, I think it was when my partner flicked off the light and I was left in darkness again that turned on something inside. The bathroom door was outlined wit...
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Thanks as a Practice

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Thanks as a Practice I can't believe it's been 5 years since I began this blog! So much has happened since that first entry up to now. I have come out on the good side of some major surgeries, learned a new language, moved in the middle of the sea...And now, here I am full circle at the starting point again: Thanksgiving.  It's a good space to be in...giving thanks. Every year I surprise myself by having new things to be thankful for. I re-read my Thanksgiving entries yesterday to get inspiration for today, and every year the entry was different. What I have been trying to work on for years is realizing what I am grateful for every day. During the holidays I am resolute, and make a conscious effort every day to remember. But as time goes on, my resolve becomes more wishy-washy, until I really need Thanksgiving as I reminder. Why is being grateful such a hard habit to stick to? It is a ritual that only takes a few minutes a day–a journal entry, beginning or ending the day wi...
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Sick Simple

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  Sick  Simple Never are the wants simpler than when one is sick or at the beginning of one's life. The head clears–or rather clouds out–other thoughts. You only see the image of your bed or a couch or your favorite afternoon nap spot. You dream of being surrounded by fluffiness, of cuddling on the couch...and sleep, much invited sleep. All the rest seems trivial. Your throat gets dry so water/gatorade is always essential. But the driving need is to nap and nap again. Not even food interests you. You force something down the hatchet just to keep your strength up, but you gain no pleasure from it. Your taste buds are as numb as your nose. No, you just want to rest. Most of the year you rush around trying to fill your time with diversions or worrying about what it is you truly want to do (in that moment, in your life.) Now, all the extras have been taken out of the equation...just the couch and the tv to pass the time. (You don't even like the tv!) You want nothing more because ...
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Me vs. the Cockroach

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Me vs. the Cockroach   I have to say that cockroaches are a daily occurrence in these parts. You can see them scuttling across the sidewalks or legs-side-up on the stairs. We have tried so many methods to evict them from our apartment, yet they always leave something behind–their exoskeletons, a nest, a lone survivor scampering. I don't doubt that they will far outlive us. They are incredibly resilient and make homes out of anything, anywhere. They are the past and future of this planet. Just recently I found one in my purse. Actually, it was the second time one had taken refuge there, but I'm not sure it was the same roach. I imagine it crawled into my purse because I often leave my bags on the floor. I have to applaud this insect on its ingeniousness. Would I have thought that a pocket in a purse could double as a hiding place? Of course, that wasn't my first thought upon meeting the roach. Wonderment set in after the screaming and tarantella-type dance had died down. As ...
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Considering Rain

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  Considering Rain I never expected my feelings about Rain to change in coming to live on an island. I used to always feel bad for/about Rain, and viewed him as a misunderstood and frustrated character (hence the capital R.) For most of my life the general consensus was that he was an inconvenience at best and dangerous at worst, and of course that affected my view of him as well. I remember once the sky was pummeling down so tremendously in Italy that the authorities announced a public emergency for three days, closing schools and everything possible. Not owning a t.v. meant I had no idea how bad it was outside and faced the downpour with an umbrella which quickly turned into a bunch of  spokes with a canvas dangling off of them. Of course the school where I worked was quite shut. I splashed home with my shoes sopping and followed the motherly advice of taking a hot shower to avoid getting sick. Many streets, basements and stores were flooded for days or even weeks. Rain had ...
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Autumn on the Island

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Autumn on the Island   Autumn has swept in. Not with boughs bending in the wind releasing flames in the form of leaves...that's not part of the nature of palms, the most prevalent plant on this island. Their heads are not so full of fire that they burn their own leaves, leaving them to brown on the grass like a maple. No...it's the air rising on the boardwalk, the walkers beginning to clench clothes to their chests that are signs of Autumn. And honestly there are so few walkers left. The summer strip of restaurants even at 10 or 11 at night were pleasantly clinking large, round pizza plates or dessert dishes drizzled with chocolate left over from a delectable crêpe. Now there is only a select group of people facing the air which sometimes carries some wisps of warmth at 9 or 10. The rains have come, particularly in the morning. The stones lining the roads are often damp. Sometimes this wetness lasts throughout the day, hardly ever a full-fledged rage of a storm: just a light s...
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Animal Compassion

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  Animal Compassion It wasn't the man with the gaping mouth and bulging eyes that drew me in. No, it was the dog shouting, trying to save him. He had the courage the size of a  St. Bernard bursting out of a compact, ivory Benji. You could see that the Benji look-alike was a sweet boy. His owner and his owner's friend bent down often to pet him and convince him that everything was o.k. But he knew that everything was not o.k. There was a man being pulled on a leash, his body and face writhing. The dog, too, was on a leash–albeit held by a loving hand. Maybe he would have run into the scene if he was free–barking at the aggressor, perhaps even biting him. But his owner kept him close, a calming hand on his head or back. But Benji was no fool. He felt the pain of the man being treated like an overworked mule. That's what the amazing thing was: he was trying to stop someone else's pain.  Anyone who says animals are not sentient beings has never truly observed them. Animals ...
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