Get Outta Town!

Lisbon.

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Out of the circuit and in the sun for the half-term holiday.

Leave your link, your love and your comments here!

Até a vista!

Where in the world is Jenn?

Vienna.

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Catch you on the flip side with photos. Happy weekend!!

1. Jill 2. Goofball

3. Anneke 4. Flower Child

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Memories Are Made of This

In the first place, it is autumn in Italy. The trees are alight with color; vibrant yellows, golden orange and brilliant reds dot the ends of wily, dark branches. These, the last vestige of the prior season dangle precariously, seemingly reluctant to make departure from their perch, and make way for the season to come. This serves to provide the perfect backdrop to the homes of this area. Multi-tiered villas painted in sunshine yellow, mustard yellow, pale yellow, burnt orange, terracotta, red!, sage, blue, ecru, tan, and muted khaki.. The foliage is a perfect echo of the neighborhood palette.

We are in farmland and the vast fields which just weeks ago must have held startlingly tall corn stalks have been mowed clear, leaving only a trail of broken, dried stems marking the sharp, straight rows planted last spring. Weaving among the rows are scattered the empty cobs of bird consumed corn which remained after harvest. Breathtakingly hopeful, side by side with the decay stand new shoots of green pushing upward from the earth in brave innocence.

In other fields, now empty, the grain sits rolled and ready for transport and the earth is turned and tilled, resting until planting time after the winter.

In the second place, this land is so quiet. Rural Italy has a personality and a timing all its own. Away from the tourist bustle, this seems to be the place to witness Italy the way its lived daily. Having spotted (more than one) 'Nonno' with black fisherman cap tipped forward on his head, cycling down the roadway, trench coat billowing in the breeze, a gathering of villagers engaged in passionate-hand-waving-in-your-face-conversation and dark haired lovers in endless embrace as they wait for the local bus to arrive, I feel like I have been treated to a backstage pass to the quintessential Italian life.


Our "vacation house" is an amazing structure which sits on the estate of Tenuta Castel Venezze in Rovigo, Italy. It is house enough for the five of us and then some. The truth is, I think we all feel this place could work for us in the long term, it would merely require the small sacrifice of chucking out most of our "things" (we have too many anyway!). Imagining a long term life in vacation mode is certainly appealing and I for one, have not excused a single thought along these lines as frivolous or idealistic in the least.

The villa is fully equipped with a lovely sitting room, bedrooms, bathrooms (with bidet!) and a kitchen at least ten times larger than ours at home. We shop in a local supermarket (also ten times larger than what we have at home) and pour over the various pastas, cheeses, meats and breads--making instant menu decisions based on the beautiful things we find on the shelves.

Italian life doesn't seem altogether much different to our own and the kids seem confident that they could adapt to life here without a hiccup, which certainly points to the compelling, romantic, magnetic draw Italy has.

I am snapping hundreds of photographs in the attempt to record the nuance of feeling here. The peaceful residence we share this week, complete with the intoxicating smell of fall flowers on the garden hedge (I desperately wish I knew what it is called. But me and the bees? We adore it!)

Recording by pixel if not by memory I am cataloguing the days in neighboring towns and cities including the epic journey by boat to the city of Venice to walk the streets of that most romantic of destinations.

I understand that I cannot capture all of it on camera nor can I record the thoughts and impressions fast enough to keep them all but I am giving it my best and for what my heart and mind (and my memory card) can't hold I will carry home souvenirs.

Because in the third place? Nothing says Bella Italia like a pair of leather boots.

If You Lived Here, You'd Be Home Now

Our House - Madness

More music at Soccer Mom in Denial. C'mon, get your groove on!

Shooting Italy

Long Awaited; Much Anticipated

Herfstvakantie.

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Catch you at the end of half-term break.

Internet willing, there may be photos betweeen now and then...

Ciao!

1. Anneke

2. Goofball

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On the Road Again

Gelato, pasta,

Copious amounts of wine

Italy awaits.

Headlines

Haiku Junkie Gains Honor
Jenn in Holland quips "Oops! I did it again"

Jenn can't seem to get enough of the haiku madness when it rolls around over at My Mommy's Place and for days, weeks, months (is it only minutes?) she finds herself drumming her fingers against her thigh as she counts out the 5-7-5 syllable rhythm. All that nervous twitching paid off this week as Jenn was awarded an Honorable Mention in the Haiku Buckaroo contest. And folks, you know what that means. Jenn gets more bling for her blog.

Revisiting Emergency Room
Andrew quips: "Oops! I did it again"

Because 5-year old Andrew felt that one trip to the Spoedig Erste Hulp Centre whilst his family was away was simply not enough, he and mother Jennifer were found walking through the doors of the urgent care center again late yesterday afternoon. With concussion investigation thoroughly completed, Andrew was released to go home with the strict instructions for his mother to wake him every two hours through the night. We are happy to report that for all purposes Andrew seems to be back to his rambunctious, active self with no obvious repercussions from the fall. His mother on the other hand, is still a bit shaky.

Games People Play
You take it or you leave it.

Considering that Jenn in Holland is a little slow on the uptake with most things in life, including the action in the blogosphere, she is only just now realizing there is a HAIKU HAPPENING every Friday in the neighborhood. It's called Haiku Friday and it is hosted by Christina from A Mommy Story. Jenn considers this fair warning to all her readers that "there will be haiku here". Taking into account that she already hosts and plays Singular Saturday and participates in Wordless Wednesday (usually on a Tuesday) the words on her blog are becoming precious and few. Readers may rejoice in the new found succinct thought rather than the regularly scheduled babbling.

Last Sleep
The countdown is on.

The traveling clan across the ocean will soon board an airplane bound for Holland. Andrew and mother are feverishly working to make things ready for the return of Don, Ian and Emma to their home. Preparations include kicking Andrew out of Daddy's side of the bed and, *ahem*, vacuuming up the cookie crumbs left over from breakfast in front of the TV. In discussion late this afternoon that only one sleep remained before brother, sister, and Dad returned, Andrew was seen to clasp his hands to his heart and exclaim "Oh,I think that really makes me so happy!". This writer concurs.

Signing off as your ever faithful reporter of all things silly,
Jenn

Letters from Home

Sketchy background details before the meat emotion of this post:

1. "M" and I met nearly 15 years ago when I was hugely pregnant with Ian.
2. Immediately after meeting her, I went into pre-term labor and was put on bed rest for 6 weeks.
3. Melissa did all my laundry, loaned me her cordless phone, brought me books to read, visited me daily and made my lunches for that period. She also cleaned behind my refrigerator when we moved from one side of our duplex rental to the other. We've been bonded ever since.
4. We had our second babies, our daughters, within 4 months of each other. I got to be there for the birth of hers. It was an outstanding opportunity and an amazing experience to share.
5. She and her children live in our house in Arizona. I miss her everyday.

These are her emails to me this week, as she has been the host to my traveling family:

I can't stop staring. I can't stop staring. I can't stop staring.

These young adults in my house are so fun to watch, and I really can't stop staring. It's especially surreal to see John and Ian together. Every time I look at them together, I get this very vivid picture in my mind of them playing in your apartment in North Phoenix when Ian was still in diapers. They are all getting along so well. Emma and Megs are upstairs trying on all Megs' give-away clothes and Emma appears to be finding quite a stash. Ian and John are at the video store renting a game so Ian doesn't get totally bored tomorrow while John's at school. Megs is opting to stay home, but John feels like he needs to go.

Emma and Megs were in heaven earlier because my niece brought her 6-month old baby over for them to babysit while they went to a Diamondbacks game. They did a fabulous job -- the girls, that is. He's now sleeping thanks to Emma's bottle feeding expertise. I thought she had gone upstairs with him to put him in the bed, but when I walked into the front room she was lying down on the couch and he was cuddled up asleep next to her. I told Megs to take a picture of it, but I'm not sure she did. If she did, I'll email it to you.

Now the girls are out in the rain (Monsoon) getting soaked and John and Ian just came in, so I'd better run. After all, I need to stare some more!!

xoxox
M.

*****************

I can’t help comparing; I can’t help comparing; I can’t help comparing.

Our kids have all grown up so nicely. I can’t help comparing the people that they are now with the little people over the past 14 plus years. From my observation, they have not skipped a beat with each other. My John, who is sooooo completely enthralled with spending time with his high school friends right now, was not one bit distracted by them over the weekend. He opted to stay home from school on Friday after all, and enjoyed being with Ian so much. I can’t help notice how much he and Ian have matured. But all in all, when they get together they laugh and do stupid stuff and have a lot of fun. Now the girls – how much they’ve matured. Alas, even girls who live thousands of miles apart get tired of each other after a couple of days, but the way they handled it speaks to how much they’ve grown up. There was no pouting involved (okay, maybe there was pouting for a couple of seconds) and they just took some deep breaths and went on with the day.

Anyway, what’s not great about comparing the here and now to the there and then when it’s all good?

Finally, thank you so very much for being brave enough to let them come. I’ve done that with my children several times; I know it’s not an easy thing. I know the longing that comes with also wanting to be there and feeling like you’re missing out on so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you for letting me bask in their presence, delight in their laughter, be brushed by their kisses, and be enveloped by their hugs. You are remarkable – something I hope you truly know deep down inside. I’m so blessed to call you friend.

xoxoxM.

My personal postscript:
I am blessed.
I miss my kids.

Shooting Alkmaar

Shooting Croatia

Be Still

It is quiet in Croatia.

I don't mean quiet in that reverent hush that fills the great hall of a Gothic cathedral, nor the silence of a sleeping house. The sensation is more akin to a cleansing breath at the end of a long day, the peaceful stillness that enters your brain after a lingering hug, the kind of quiet that subdues the chaos and noise of the everyday stress.

Quiet that fills you with sound.

The home we rented for our stay sits about 100 meters from the ocean. The walk to the water takes only 3 minutes (5 if you are walking with Andrew who tends to move at the speed of his own drum) and even before you arrive you can hear the noises of the beachfront. Waves slapping the boardwalk. Laughter of children playing in the blue, blue water. Low engine noises of jet ski or small boats. Conversation happening en masse in multiple tongues--it is impossible to distinguish the sounds of our own familiar language, let alone differentiate the various dialects and languages being spoken on this beach. And still, it's my own world I am in as we stake out a place on the pebbled shore, lay out blankets, open air rafts, slather sunscreen and join the throng worshipping the sun and enjoying the gifts of the ocean.

And it is quiet.

The evening air is filled with the cacophony of cicadas singing out their woes. It's a sound which fascinates Andrew and he is continually craning his neck to cast his gaze upward to spot what he believes must be an airplane flying low. We talk about the sound they make and the way their skins crack open and get left behind. He thinks that's hilarious and he laughs maniacally at the end of the day over that and almost every random event. He's tired, and his laughter loudly reverberates off the walls of our apartment. Laughter so deep and so contagious it leads to a group effort guffaw, a snort or two, and hilarity induced tears.

Yet, still, this place is quiet.

The village we inhabit is unsullied. There is no commercialism here. No mall, no supermarket sprawl, no Starbucks, and *gasp* not even a McDonald's anywhere nearby. Instead the fields are full of produce planted, cultivated and harvested by local hands. Fresh everything--tomatoes, garlic, onion, peppers, cucumbers, zucchini, potatoes, corn, watermelon, plums, peaches, apples--is sold in small roadside stands along the one paved road in the town. Cars travel this path as do pedestrians. Those on their way to the ocean and those on their way home stop to shop or chat or linger in conversation with others.

The small market, a single street away, holds sundry treasures and grocery staples which make the cooking convenient. I am seized by the desire to instantaneously have the know-how to make local cuisine and follow custom in Croatian tastes and smells. It doesn't come, but still I do what I can to make pasta sauces from the fresh vegetables at hand and open a bottle of wine made from local grapes. That will have to do.

I watch the people of this country, talking to a few as opportunity presents itself, and I am over and again struck by the quiet of this people. The stillness of this life here. It's possible that it's my illusion, my projection of vacation mentality to all those I see, but I am not certain that would explain it all. In truth this country and this people have certainly known tumultuous times. Things I cannot imagine and experiences which have never touched my life have invaded the lives of these people and it has marked them forever. By rights this could be a place of chaos and stress and overwhelming reality. It isn't. In fact it is just the opposite.

It is quiet in Croatia.

Today there is peace and in spite of everything past, this land is unspoiled and these inhabitants are alive and living. Really living.

In the quiet.