pbj

PBJ in a brand new way

that's the way that I started my day

the very first day of my brand new year





lots of well-wishers yesterday
with words of hope
with words of cheer
with words of love for my brand new year

words for my head
words for my heart
words for my spirit
words to uplift me as i start my brand new year

yesterday i spent alone
getting my new car tag decal
getting my taxes straightened out
getting a thanksgiving turkey rolypoly with cornbread stuffing and cranberry sauce
yum!

yesterday i spent alone
getting my head straight
getting my heart straight
getting well wishes
getting well

today was the first day of my brand new year
pbj in a brand new way 4 breakfast
bread pudding with peanut butter ice cream and raspberry jelly
4 breakfast
yum!

birthday

After blogging my way back to sanity and hope Monday night, i slept well, but late. Still, i had a leisurely breakfast, then showered off the last vestiges of the madness of the day before and donned my "party in my pants" underwear. Yes, yes that IS how i think of them! They have magenta and purple confetti strands randomly strewn on a creamy background: "party in my pants"!
Somehow, just knowing i had them on made me feel like i had this great secret that the world at large was not privy to, and that was an especially good feeling on a day such as this. I felt i could take on the world, armed with the knowledge that i knew something about me that no one else did: i had a party in my pants.
Off i go to wander amongst the unknowing masses...

Just an update before i head off to dinner at a favored seafood ristorante: i accomplished almost all of my desired tasks today, all except getting my hair trimmed. Ah, well, that has waited this long, it can surely wait a bit more! The pressing financial matters are done and THAt is a relief.
One of my tasks on this important day had been to visit Mama's grave and bring her my gift from Italy. At one time, she and i were going to travel the world together after she retired. Her death one year after that milestone precluded our adventures physically together, but she still travels with me in my heart, abroad and everywhere i roam.
Whilst tromping around in the forum of Pompeii, the thought flashed into my mind: get a rock. This wasn't the first time i had gathered a rock in my travels, but it was certainly the most emphatic. And i understood the reason. Here i was, in the shadow of Mount Vesuvius, standing on soil that had once borne a steaming mass of lava, soil with contents as old as the very earth itself. A piece of that site was needed to grace a headstone in Greenwich Cemetary, some rock full of age and old-world charisma for one who had not aged nearly enough and whose charms were sorely missed.
So i purloined a rock from the forum of Pompeii and i stashed it away in my luggage. Arriving home, i transferred it to a pocket in my purse, awaiting the time to transfer it to its new resting place, half a world away from its origin. Today was the day. In between showers, i placed it on the rain-washed grave marker for my mother, then sent the picture through the ether to all who had known and loved her and some who know and love me.

rollercoaster... ooh hoo hoo hoo!

Today, I woke up in a mood and vowed to do "something" about it.
I checked fb and found some of my travelmates had posted pictures, so I spent several hours going through them. I tagged those I had taken, when I was given a camera to make merry with. I tagged those featuring my new buttefly tote bag, my old pastel-rainbow windbreaker, my yellow poppy umbrella. I especially tagged those in which I wore my fuchsia henley-style top, or my purple shirt with the mid-length sleeves; those are shirts which never left Italy, making room in my suitcase, and my closet, for new blouses and tops.
And I found myself feeling blue. I missed my travelmates.
So I sent out a request in three directions: whatcha doin'? I was hoping for an invite to a barbeque somewhere, some grilled hotdogs, some ribs, some corn on the cob. Right?
Nothing doing. Not one of my parties responded with a "hey, Faustina, we were wondering why you weren't here yet!" or "hey, Faustina, come on and bring some pictures over!" Not one.
So, I told them I was having a pasta taste test. And then I did so. I carefully cooked the same amount of each dry rotina/fusilla pasta from the three different companies in its own pot, with its own spoon for stirring, to make sure there would be no cross-contamination of the flavors. I cooked each for the same amount of time, then drained each separately, again being careful to maintain individual flavor. Then I tasted sevral pieces from each plate, rinsing my mouth after each taste. And you know what I found? For these three imported pastas, there wasn't much difference in taste, but there was some difference in texture. Alma's had the closest texture to the fresh pasta we had made in Siena; Da Vinci was close, but not quite as good. Both were better that Barilla, which was billed as the "#1 pasta in Italy", but had an internal doughiness which was offputting.
By the time I was done with my experiments, my first niece had called to say they were going to a barbeque joint, would I like to come along? I did, as a matter of fact. I wanted ribs - but the guy in front of me in line got the last order. From a place that calls itself a "rib shack". Hmmffph.
After we ate, they headed to their baby girl at the hospital and I headed home to pout. Yeah, pout, that's right.
Trying to clear my mood, I returned to fb, mining the newly-posted pictures for more to tag. One of the great things about traveling with a group is this: they all took photos. With cell phones, with cameras, with iMachines. I used my phone sparingly to take photos, relying on others to document my holidays and, I must say, they certainly did a fabulous job of it. Through their eyes, I saw things I had missed, images at day AND at night, sights both common to the world and specific to Italy. Very nice!
Then an old Brit prof called to see if I was coming to philosophize tonight. Or, if not, perhaps to an old favorite locale for some friendly libations afterward? I thought about it and thought about it and finally threw myself out of my house to go be around people.
Good decision! I saw not one but two of my old profs, as well as a fellow Earthling, and NONE OF THEM KNEW OF MY TRIP. And i didn't bring it up. And that gave me a nice break and a healthy shot of my usual life.
I also dined on some juicy, finger-lickin', fallin'-off-the-bone ribs, Memphis dry rub slathered on. So good! And a right fine ear of corn to go along with those lip-smackin' ribs! I think I may have used at least five napkins, but it topped my night off quite nicely.
Thanks to the Brit!

loss adjustment... say what?

Hard to believe, I know, but I have been barely coping since my return. I guess I need to make sure I have someone to come home TO the next time I take off with a crowd, even a crowd I don't know. I was absolutely not prepared to feel this disconnected.
True, when immersed in a different culture for a while, there is a period of adjustment to be expected afterward. I remember when my hugging buddy returned from a Study Abroad trip to the Czech republic - last year? year before? - he went through a period of ... well, mourning is the only word that comes to mind. I don't know if he has roommates, or if he returned to an empty home, as I did, but he went through a fairly rough patch for a week or so, adjusting back into the rhythm of his life here in the States.
I know what my loss is. While on the European continent, I had at least 3 or 4 or more folks around me all the time. I mean, truly, ALL the time. Well, not when I went to bed, as I had paid to have a solo berth. I'm glad I did, or I might have an even rougher go of it right now.
I miss my travelmates. I miss hearing "Faustina, do you want to go..." and "Faustina, come with us to..." and "Faustina, let's go...". I miss their laughter and their conversation and their energy. I miss the pure pleasure of their company.
And I didn't even know anything about them before this trip.
The whole experience reminded me of my years in the Navy. You made friends quickly, so you would have time to get to know each other before one or the other of you pcs'ed to a new locale. That was simply the way it worked, especially if you were single. The married folks had it easier, as they always traveled with someone they knew, i.e., their spouse and kids, so there was less urgency to form a support network. Not that we thought of it in those terms, of course; we were making friends, not some psychological entity.
I think most of the students on this trip knew each other, at least from a classroom setting, if naught else. Some knew each other longer and better than that, but not all, as they were at different stages of the nursing program. Oddly, none had been former students of mine, as they were mostly transfer students, having completed part of their core requirements elsewhere.
I had wondered if I might have taught any, but I had not. That made it quite easy for me to become friends with them, as I was not THEIR teacher, either past, present, or future. For the first day or so, most of the students didn't know how to regard me, but after a while I became just another one of the "girls" and that was wonderful! The older students, those who had already been married and had children, were the first to accept me into the group, then the others did, in Siena, the second city in which we stayed.
Our first night there, our well-traveled leader had shown us the lay of the town, ending up at a ristorante he highly recommended. He then took off with a couple of his friends who, like me, were simply tag-alongs on this trip; the other two teachers and their roommates followed suit. That left me to dine with all the others - and that was a turning point. We were wined and dined by an utterly charming pair of young men (Mario, a soccer player retired from the game at age 20, and Eddie, a future dental hygienist) at Papei Trattorio, in a private room, allowing us to be as boisterous as we wanted. By the end of the second course, we were all snapping pictures and cracking wise and, when someone asked if we knew everyone, we each stood and let our names ring out! What a grand time!
And so began eight days of traveling TOGETHER. "And we're walking!" became our anthem, as walking everywhere, up and down hills, up and down stairs, up and down Italy, is what we did. Together. Going to lectures on nutrition and the medical system, going to the sights in town, going to meals - together. Handling the dough to make focaccia and pici and ravioli, learning the finer points of tiramisu and pannecotta, cooking sauces and roasting zucchini and creating orange caramel - together.
And now I'm home again, where everyone has their own busy lives, continuing on while mine went on holiday. Work schedules still had to be maintained, home life still had to be maintained. I have no work schedule and I live alone. Whatever schedule I have, I must create for myself.
Fortunately, my ex happened to be in town for his daughter's high school graduation. He picked me up on Wednesday when the bus returned us to town from the Atlanta airport. We went out for cheeseburgers - which I don't usually eat - and talked mostly of Rome, where we had journeyed together ten years ago. I was amazed, as always, at the details he was able to recall, and thankful that I had someone to talk to who KNEW what I was talking about. The experience allowed me to be debriefed, to start putting my recollections in context.
Fortunately, my first niece and her dear husband wanted to hear about my trip and we met for dinner the next night. I chose Hibachi Grill, wanting lots of veggies, of which I had surprisingly few on the trip. We had good company and good food, but I didn't get to talk much about Italy and my adventures there. They are expecting a baby and that was THE big news.
Fortunately, my dear copper friend was excited to hear that I was back and wanted to hear DETAILS!!! So she and I went for Mexican and I delighted her with stories mostly of Positano and Salerno and Pompeii, but also some of my doings in Siena. We had much laughter and good food and wonderful conversation, as we always do.
Fortunately, the vampire called the next day to invite me to hear others breathe and sing and spit fire, and, as he did so, he said he wanted "to hear about Italy but we would save that for another time." Okay, time to start stepping back into my usual life, then, a break from the excitement. I chose to wear one of my new shirts, a lovely blue patterned number, and that may have been too soon to show. I was trying to merge my adventure with my usual life... maybe too soon.
Yesterday, I went to the birthday party for one of my great-nieces. I got lost going there and a speeding ticket on the way home. In between, the party was fun: we opened presents (she loved the red bracelet and blue bracelet from Italy), we ate cake, and we talked about the kids. Later, I went to "RENT" and was SO glad to have been there! So uplifting and emotional and life-affirming! And it was a musical, which I love. With songs I glancingly knew. And I was in the company of the vampire and the movie/music guy and my copper friend and others I know and love.

avventura!

Dearest Mama,
I'm off to a new adventure! Italy beckons, booted heel kicking up in a dance of welcome and off I go to twirl! I know Mother's Day is Sunday, but I shall be airplane bound and out of pocket that day.
I'd had some concerns earlier today about the trip, working myself to a fever pitch of jangled nerves. How so? Well, my head was laying out the scenario thusly. I'm traveling to another country, where I know no one, and I'm traveling with a group of people, of whom I know not a single one, and of this group of people, almost all are women.
You know full well where I'm going with this, don't you? As I have done all of my life, I don't usually hang out with a bunch of women, as I don't seem to have that much in common with them. I don't want children, I don't have children. I don't like shopping, and I primarily shop guerilla-style when I need something. I don't do the whole "battle of the sexes" thing and object to being subjected to such nonsense. I don't go to events as part of a group and think it odd that some folks would rather sit home alone than go stag.
Of course, that's been changing, too, these past few years. I now have some friends, female friends, who include me in their outings to movies and dinners and high teas. I've especially enjoyed the Evening Sans Beaus and the spontaneous Girls' Night Out to Ruby Tuesday this year. Maybe I'm becoming more girly??? No, I don't believe that's true. Maybe the women I've been meeting in my new social circles are simply more mature mentally than many I've known in the past.
So, here I am, preparing to go across the Atlantic with a group of more than twenty women. On Mother's day, no less.
However, I think I have my head wrapped around it nicely now. I had a very long talk - maybe three hours!- with una cresta di un onda dell'oceano and found myself calming down, especially after one of my favorite words was uttered: adventure.
Of course. This will be, most certainly, an adventure, una avventura! I had heard the word earlier today when I talked with a teller about euros and was surprised I had not already thought it to myself.
Instead, I had been talking to myself in circles collapsing upon themselves. Besides the concern of not knowing anyone - like THAT had ever stopped me from going anywhere - I was also putting too much pressure on the trip. I had started viewing the trip as an opportunity to reboot my life, much as I had done in 2004.
The first, and only other, time I traveled to Italy was as a wife on our tenth anniversary. I was my brother's Gal Friday for his hardwood flooring business, which had been granted the Mediterranean cruise for two as a sales promotion. Instead of a raise or more vacation, I asked for, and received, the cruise. Joy! You know how much I had dreamt of traveling to Italy since I was a girl, immersed in tales of Roman mythology. As you may recall, the cruise began in Barcelona, Spain, then made a stop in Nice, France (which was very nice and we went to Monte Carlo and saw Princess Grace's tomb). There followed three stops in Italy (Livorno, in the heart of Tuscan wine country; Civitavecchia [near Rome]; and Naples, with the ferry to Capri and sipping Limonello by the sea), then a final landfall in Malta before returning to Spain. Fabulous! And it was Jeff who noticed, when I was tromping around in the Forum, that my name was carved in marble, above marble columns, right there near Ceasar's tomb. My name. Wow!
So, now I am returning to Italy, much as I had returned to Okinawa in 2004 and had the good fortune to see the sights for only MY eyes, not yours. To visit the beaches and memorials and restaurants to make new memories for ME, not memories made real for me by the sharing of them with you. To take pictures and savor the food and smell the salt air for me alone. I was so blessed to be granted that opportunity to learn how to become the center of my universe.
I don't think that's quite where I am now. The full reboot and restructuring of my core is not necessary. It's been almost five years since the divorce. Time has done what time does best - the blurred edges have become nearly smooth, words have been softened and muted to nearly unintelligible mumblings. I am able to enjoy again the thoughts of the many good times we had shared for fifteen years, the good memories captured in photo albums, both mental and physical.
I've already begun regarding this European vacation as my birthday present to myself. You know how I've maintained for years that no one needed to get me a present because I was taking care of that myself? Well, still true! For this birthday, I'm taking clothes which no longer fit, clothes to be worn one last time and discarded. Clothes to be replaced with new ones to be worn the first time there, imbuing them with the olive-scented air and wine-soaked countryside. Mementos for me to wear and enjoy and, one day, discard for new clothes to wear whilst making new happy memories.
Thanks for the coin earlier...
with much love always,
ykw

baseball with Ronnie!

Today was mostly trapped inside with Lab Final Exams - now all graded! - but I did go out to the Gnats' game with my brother Ronnie.  

Good time!  

(He's in the lower left getting Gnate T. Gnat to sign his cap.)
 

(NOTE: This was actually published here on May 8, 2024, after it popped up on fb as one of my "memories".)

I could have talked, talked, TALKED all night!

(You have to sing it, to the tune of "I Could Have Danced All Night".)

Last night, I went to a play at Muse Arts with my new physicist friend.
For the past few months, I've been trying to get to know him better by getting him more involved in the things I like, such as No Kidding!. We had already gone to three of those events, in March and April (dinners at Crystal Beer Parlor and Toucan Cafe, high tea at The Gryphon Tea Room). Honestly, I think I was trying to let him meet some folks who were not employed at Armstrong, maybe find a new girlfriend along the way.
During our frequent talks in his office or mine, between outings, I had picked up on his liking of finer culture and had suggested earlier in the week that he might be interested in seeing this Jean-Paul Sartre play, "No Exit". He had agreed and so we had gone, with me picking him up for the trip across town and down Louisville Road.
We sat in the very front row and were able to watch ourselves watching the play, thanks to the video monitors. Rather a different experience, one which really accentuated the voyeuristic bent of the play. Afterward, we stood in the parking lot, decompressing and talking... and talking... and talking... as the other audience members and the actors and the staff of Muse all eventually left, while we stood in the grass, looking at the size of the full moon with our thumbnails and talking.
I didn't want it to stop. That moment in the moonlight, talking to him - I didn't want it to stop.
As my car became the last one parked, I said, "I am having so much fun talking to you! Can we go somewhere and keep doing this?" And, to my surpise and delight, he enthusiastically agreed! To the IHOP? Waffle House? The Diner? No, we weren't hungry - except for words - so off to the beach we went!
And the talking went on and on, as we drove out there, as we walked and stood and sat on the pier. While the waves rolled beneath us and the full moon beamed and the jellyfish lightning jumped horizontally from cloud to cloud before our eyes. Talked and talked for hours, until we were both so very thirsty but reluctant to leave the pier, reluctant to lose the magical spell cast by the moon and the surf and the charged air.
But we relented to our thirst and found a nearby bar still open and sat knee to knee on the barstools, talking with faces so close, so close... I thought several times that we might kiss and then I was afraid we would not... then it was closing time and the generous barkeep ushered us back out into the moonlight.
I drove him home, with both of us talking still, not wanting the night to end, so tired I could hardly keep my eyes open.
Then we hugged good night and I came home.
Oh, my.
What an incredible night.
Now I hope he doesn't find a new girlfriend.

tall ships

There are tall ships from far-off lands in the harbor, tall ships with white sails billowing and spilling light. In honor of those travelers, I present a favorite poem from my teen years, a poem which still thrills me.


Sea-Fever

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
and all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
and the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
and a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again,
for the call of the running tide
is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
and all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
and the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
to the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife'
and all I ask
is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
and quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

--- John Masefield

therapy

Sometimes, it's good to get out and about and try something new. Today, I danced with an Aztec, ran my hands all over a butterfly, and was treated to a free cold drink when I found my credit card was not, alas, in my pocket.
All of it was therapy for my body, my mind, and my spirit.
I almost missed every bit of it, too.
I had worked all morning on updating my gradebooks, even posting the grades online for my students. I had graded post-lab reports, odious things that they are. I had a rough draft written of the final exams for next week and was waiting on 2 PM, a time promised to a student who needed an early exam. I was feeling rather wrung out from too much time in my cold office.
It was just past noon so I headed into the sunshine, toward the proposed site of an early Cinco de Mayo festivity. I had already missed the first dance, but I caught the next one. Then there was a slight break and I took advantage of the time to go grab a drink.
On my way, I was distracted by a stunningly beautiful dog. Yes, indeed, a dog in the building, along with others, there to provide an opportunity for relaxation during this stressful week. She was mostly snow white, but with tiny dark splashes, like freckles. Her cheeks, ears, and part of her throat were encased in mottled butterly wings of dark brown, black, and gray, with the butterly body represented by a midpoint mottled circle between strips of the snow white fur. Her brown eyes blended into the wings, maintaining the imagery. She graciously allowed me to caress her ears and head and back for several moments, allowing me to relax and breathe again. Then another in need of her warmth and giving spirit arrived, freeing me from her spell.
I resumed my mission for liquid nourishment and found the lemonade I enjoyed. I also grabbed a package of pretzels, then headed for the register. The cashier rang up the tab and, when I reached into my pocket, I found my school ID, my driver's license, and... my blood donor card. No credit card, though. The woman behind me announced "Let this be my treat as a random act of kindness." W o w. Just that fast, my spirit again lifted. I thanked her and put the pretzels back on the shelf, as the beverage was all I had originally wanted. After thanking her again, I walked back toward the dance area; my therapy dog had left the building and it was time for me to do the same.
The dancer was giving us a background talk on his upcoming homage to the sunlight. He encouraged crowd participation, asking for us to hold the ancient words in our mouths and offer them anew to the air. The dance was graceful and colorful and rather serene. Afterward, the dancer (John from aztecatlanta.com) invited us to come dance with him, in front of the Student Union, and I could swear he was talking directly to ME. Why not!!! I had been tapping my bare feet to the music already and this WAS a celebration and I was feeling rather rejuvenated ... so I came on up to join him. And as soon as I did, several young folks joined in! And so we all danced, kicking our feet, holding hands, shouting!!!
Afterward, I thanked the dancer and he admitted that he had, deliberately, been looking at me when he issued the invitaion to dance. He had done so because he could tell I wanted to dance and he thought it very likely that I would come up, opening the door for others to join in. Nice compliment for me!
Therapy dance, therapy dog, therapy drink. Therapy.