angels to the rescue...

"All God's angels come to us disguised." - James Russell Lowell

 

I believe in angels and am pretty sure they walk amongst us all the time. Admittedly, I have a vivid imagination, but over the years I've encountered what were most surely angels over and over again. Sometimes they come in the form of a misfit animal, limping down the street or dumped on my doorstep, in need of food and lodging until I find them a new home. Those angels tend to show up at the most inconvenient times, but invariably, before they leave, give back more than they have received.

Other angels show up to provide support or rescue at exactly the right time. One such angel appeared to me in a Piggly Wiggly parking lot on a very rainy day shortly after we moved to Georgia. My groceries were in paper sacks and as I carried them towards the car, the sacks gave way and my food went rolling all over the parking lot. Alone, overwhelmed, homesick, wet and sad, I sat down on the bumper of my car and cried.

Then, I heard a voice, the softest, kindest, gentlest voice I've ever heard, say, "There, there, Sugar - everything's going to be alright." I looked up and there was a brightly dressed woman, with the most lit-up face. She had a scarf on, but the rain didn't seem to even be falling on her and in what seemed like an instant, she had my food gathered up in a canvas shopping bag and loaded in the car. Before she left, she hugged me really tight and whispered again, "I mean it, Sugar, everything's going to be just fine for y'all here." Then she was gone, poof! I have no memory of watching her walk away.  

That was such an inconsequential thing, helping me with my groceries in the rain; but, at the time it seemed like a miracle because what that angel really did was give me hope that things would turn out okay in my new home. And, it's clear, 25 years later, that she was right.  

Another angel came to Mr. Clark and I at a time when we were under a lot of stress, things were going poorly for us financially and our marriage was a mess. It was a hot Sunday morning in August, eight years ago. Our daughter was getting married in a few days and we were trying to spruce things up for a houseful of out-of-town guests. One of the things on our to-do list was repair an old building in the back yard with some barn wood. We had spotted a collapsed barn on what appeared to be a deserted lot out in the country and we were headed that way.

 
As Mr. Clark started to back into what once had been a driveway, he landed our old pickup truck in a ditch so deep there was no way out. In trying to pull out of the ditch, he buried the truck in axle-deep mud. There we were, seething and sweating in the hot sun, pretty much hating each other for a million reasons other than that we were stuck in the middle of nowhere and neither of us had remembered to bring our cell phone. It was a tipping point and the only thing we agreed on was that once we got this wedding pulled off, a divorce would be next.

Then, out of the clear blue, a great big diesel pickup truck pulled up - it was black, a huge dualie with a winch on the front. A tall, fit-looking fellow man dressed in a Sunday suit got out and said, "You look like you could use some help." Then, before we could even respond, he opened a large tool box in the back of the truck, got out some tow cables and other things and had our old truck out of the ditch before we could register what was going on. 

He did this without getting any mud or dirt on his clothes or shoes; his hands weren't even dirty and I don't recall that he wore gloves. "This really wasn't such a big deal," he said, as he stepped back into his truck and prepared to drive away. "You're going to be alright, trust me on this." Then, poof! just like the angel in the Piggly Wiggle parking lot, he was gone. Neither of us could remember seeing him drive away....

"You know that was an angel," Mr. Clark said; this would be Mr. Clark, the computer guy, who doesn't believe in such things. "His message was pretty clear. We can get through this if we just stick together." And, like the other angel, the angel in the black truck was right. 

Luciano de Crescenzo said, "We are each of us angels with only one wing and we can only fly by embracing one another." What a lovely thought. Sometimes, especially during the tough times, it’s hard to reach out and fly a little closer to one another. But if we do – or even if we don’t - the angels are out there, waiting to be seen.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"the disciplined pursuit of less...."

"Beware of the barrenness of a busy life." - Socrates 

 

“Pursue only those things that are truly important and eliminate everything else.” That is the bold challenge Greg McKeown puts forth in his book, Essentialism: the disciplined pursuit of less. I heard about this New York Times best seller on NPR and the notion of “deciding to make due with less” really hit home with me.

 

Admitting that the “choice to pursue less” is a First World problem, McKeown says for those who have the luxury of making this choice, the result can be helpful and liberating. It can also lead to more successful and pleasant personal and professional lives.  

 

One of the first steps in becoming an “essentialist” is to “come back to the reality of trade-offs” and give up “this nonsense that we have been sold…that if we can fit it all in then we can have it all,” McKeown said. 
Then he posed the question, “How do smart capable people get tricked by the trivia?  It’s not just about making a To Do list in the morning. It’s not about time management. It’s much more complex than that.” It’s regaining the ability and will to “negotiate non-essentials.”

 

One example he used was of an executive who became such a “yes man” that he came to hate his job and almost quit because of the stress he created by attending every meeting, participating in every email thread and never saying “No” to anyone or anything. Rather than resign, the executive started practicing essentialism and things went so well that he got a better performance review and bigger bonus than he had in any of the “Yes” years past.

 

Another example was from McKeown’s life. When he chose to attend a work meeting within an hour or two of his daughter’s birth, he realized he needed to examine the choices he was making and change some things – hence essentialism.       

 

Once we give up the belief that we can “do it all” (and that “doing it all” is a good idea) the next step is to “create enough time to think and ask ourselves what is really essential.” With that space and those answers, we are then able to navigate through what we should be saying yes to and what we should be saying no to.

 

McKeown emphasizes the discipline aspect of living as an essentialist. If we are truly pursuing “only those things that are truly important,” that can’t be switched on and off, depending on your schedule week to week.  

 

I’ve wrestled with doing too much and accomplishing too little for years. The harder I work trying to please people and “do it all,” the more stressed out I become. Then, every so often I cycle through reaching the tipping point of no longer being effective because of my lack of ability to “negotiate the essentials.” 

 

Couple this with a series of professions that pay poorly and it becomes clear why essentialism and the pursuit of “only those things that are truly important” are so appealing to me.

 

Thankfully, Mr. Clark is on this bus – in fact, he took the wheel about a year ago and suggested that we would come out ahead both emotionally and financially, if I did many of the things we paid people to do because I was too busy to do them…Novel notion…Makes sense, if I can give up the idea that the world can’t spin without me rushing around in it and settle into a routine of doing what needs doing and a few things I like each week.

 

This has involved dealing with things like expectations – expectations that people of my age without early retirement plans work, that work is central to one’s identity, and that feeling some type of stress gives one a sense of place and purpose. Once all the outside sources of scheduling and stress are gone, the big question I am still learning how to face is, “What is left?”

 

It turns out life as a self-important “doing it all” person was a lot less scary and less challenging than a life that asks me what is truly important and how do I prioritize and accomplish that?     

 

McKeown suggests digital detox as an obvious step down the path to figuring all that out. Don’t reach for your phone first thing in the morning. Instead, “syphon off that first part of the day to anchor on what matters.” Meditating or writing in a journal are his ideas. Mine include sipping coffee on the back porch and listening to the birds sing or taking a walk. The point is, “don’t be pulled immediately into another person’s agenda.”   

 

I like that idea…First World problems, indeed, but if I am, at least for now, blessed with a First World life, I want to do a bang-up job of living it. We don’t know what tomorrow brings and I don’t want to waste these mostly pleasant, not-as-productive-as-I-should-be days on things that aren’t essential, at least to me and Mr. Clark and the people and critters we love.  

 

 

 

What happened to Peter Pan & those Lost Boys?

“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing…” – Peter Pan 

A while ago my daughter gave me a beautiful hand-calligraphed print of Peter Pan’s philosophy: “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.” It features a pirate ship, also beautifully drawn, and is signed, “Love, from your Wendy and the Lost Boys.” It was a particularly special gift because it was a sort of thumbs up to the way I raised my kids and an indication that my daughter was glad things had been that way.

Our home was much more like the Island of Lost Boys than a well-run British flat. There was no nanny, lots of pets and friends, and plenty of treats. We had two rules and a guideline: Be safe; be kind; and, go do something constructive. My children and the ones that frequented our home followed those and our family lived in a state of constructive chaos, which was just fine with me. Kids, like weeds, thrive with a bit of neglect, which in our case, meant simply not being tended to and scheduled all of the time. 

I grew up in the early ‘60’s, before there were video games, DVD players, iPods, iPads, smart phones, Facebook or (LOL) text messaging. Kids had a lot of free time because the culture of one million scheduled activities for children hadn’t happened yet. Most of our moms stayed home and we spent our afterschool and summer hours roaming the neighborhood, creating our own games and making our own fun. Sugar was okay, sunscreen had not yet been invented and learning to amuse ourselves was a requirement.

My kids grew up in the ‘80’s and I used many of the same techniques my mom had used. There was no TV after school or during meals and no electronics at the table. Avoiding human contact with devices like headphones was not okay and sugar, in moderation, was just fine. Also, my kids were encouraged to play outside – A LOT. They were always in a few activities, but we were never over-scheduled…and, we did use sunscreen.

I wanted my kids to experience life without the buffer the constant use of electronics provides and I wanted them to learn to fill their time with more creativity than chronic over-scheduling allows for. 

On car trips my kids did what my brother and I had done – play games, stare out the window, taunt each other subtly enough our parents didn’t notice, and pass time imagining things. In quiet places, like church or the library, they drew, dreamed, read and/ or sucked on Lifesavers. We left the Game Boys and ear buds at home intentionally, our goal being to learn how to pass stretches of quiet time, together, creatively and constructively.    

 

It’s not that I’m anti-electronics – I’m as fond of my smart phone as anyone else. It’s just that I don’t let it dominate my life because I don’t want to miss what I might miss if I’m constantly scrolling through messages and such. Kids these days miss out because of their addiction to the use of electronic devices. They also miss out as a consequence of their constantly scheduled lives. If every waking minute is spent in a planned activity or plugged in, when is there time for play and imagining things?

It makes me sad to see a kid in church absorbed in his tiny computer game, earbuds in place, oblivious to the wonder of the stained glass windows or the organ’s majestic tones. It makes me sad to see teenagers tied to their iPhones rather than engaged or at least attempting to be social at family events, meals and holidays. It makes me sad to hear that a kid has no free time, ever…

 

What we create, when we schedule children so heavily and allow/encourage them to be constantly in need of entertainment, is a culture devoid of imagination and a bunch of people who can’t amuse themselves during the down time. And, life, once Peter Pan grows up, has its’ share of un-amusing down time.

Something very magical, useful and real gets lost when we no longer encourage, or indeed, expect our children to be able to create their own adventures. The Lost Boys could turn thin soup into a magnificent feast and, back in the day, my kids could become astronauts headed to the moon while riding in the backseat of a car. Too often these days, adventure, spontaneity, surprises and the simple joy of living get scheduled out of or electronically dissected from too many kids’ lives.

“’Pan, who and what art thou?’ Hook cried huskily. ‘I’m youth. I’m joy. I’m a little bird that has broken out of an egg,’ Peter answered.”

 Isn’t that what we want for our kids? If Pan had been plugged into his iPhone or little computer, he wouldn’t have heard Hook, let alone replied. And, if his calendar was too full for adventuring, he’d have grown up instead…I like the story better the way it is.

Parenting is hard and even creative chaos can be loud and annoying, yet the adventures shared are worth it. If we keep kids plugged in and constantly scheduled, magic has no opportunity to enter their lives and as Peter Pan often said, living is (or at least can be) “an awfully big adventure.”      

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our Italian Adventure - Pt. 3

“One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.” – Henry Mille

 

During our time in Italy, la famiglia Clark visited several magical ancient cities, each special in its own way. Civita di Bagnoregio (S. Umbria) is a medieval town so picturesque it looks more like a computer generated image in a movie than a real town.

 

Perched high atop a steep hill and surrounded by cliffs, Civita is accessible only by a long narrow bridge spanning a deep ravine. The path is just wide enough for two donkeys pulling carts to pass and in the morning, when the fog is just right, the town literally looks like it’s floating in the air.   

 

It was a long, hot, sweaty walk to the top of that hill, but well worth it. The views, at the end of each narrow street and from every vantage point over the cliffs, were indescribably beautiful. The town is an example of centuries of history built in layers on top of itself. We visited a Byzantine-style Christian church that was once a Temple of Minerva. It was built by the Romans and we stood near the stone drain holes for blood generated by their sacrifices at the altar.      

 

Assisi, the home of St. Francis, one of my favorite saints, is big and bustling, and even though ancient (and, of course, walled and beautiful) it seems much more modern than I expected. St. Francis’ connection with animals is his appeal to me and it turns out, that connection was part of the radical message of poverty, love for others and spreading God’s word that Francis eventually was sainted for.

 

He believed all God’s creatures were part of his brotherhood – “the sparrow as much as the pope.”  He is said to have preached to a flock of birds who sat rapt in his presence until he told them they could fly away. He also spoke to a wolf who was eating people, told it to stop, then convinced the village to adopt and feed the wolf as a pet.

 

St. Francis’ church was a teaching school where priests from all over Italy came to learn how to communicate his message. Francis also founded a female version of his Franciscan order - the Poor Clares – named after a follower who also gave up her wealth to embrace God’s teachings and a life of poverty.  Francis is credited with staging the first nativity scene and, because of his deep love of nature, is also the patron saint of ecology.

 

Orvieto (also in S. Umbria) is a pretty, festive, flag-filled town with a cathedral so spectacular that popes used it over the years whenever circumstances forced them to flee Rome. Art shops line the streets and most of the tourists are Italian.  

 

Cinque Terre, “the five lands,” is on the coast and each of its five towns, painted in bright colors and dotting the coastline, also look more like CGI than reality. Until the 1920’s, when a rail line went through, the cities, though within walking distance of each other, were extremely isolated. The first trail the railway opened was between Riomaggiore and Manarola. Called Via dell’Amore, the “pathway of love,” it became a meeting place for lovers from the towns and although closed for the past couple of years by a rock slide, still retains its mystique. 

The five towns are now connected by train, boat or hiking trail. Mr. Clark and I hiked between four of the towns and due to multiple trail closures, what was supposed to be a manageable seven miles along the coast turned into an arduous near trudge up and down the steep hills between the towns.    

 

The trail was well-marked with stripes of red and white, painted on walls, fence posts, rocks, buildings, streets and doors. The path wove through terraced gardens and vineyards that covered the hills as far as we could see. Our views were of the steep cliffs overlooking the sea, ferry boats scurrying between the towns, other colorful towns dotting the hillsides, the shoreline and the deep blue sea. The streets in Manarola were filled with parked boats – no cars - just scooters and boats.

 

Meandering through the towns, up and down steps through overgrown brush, and even through some private yards and gardens, we were greeted by locals who didn’t speak English, as well as quite a few German tourists sporting big hiking boots and serious metal walking poles. It was both an exhausting and exhilarating day.   

 

We stayed in Vernazza, another of the five towns, in a tiny, simple room perched on the top of a cliff overlooking to the beach below. We slept with the windows open, to the sounds and scents of the sea. And, from our small rooftop terrace, we felt like we could see the whole world. 

 

We ended our Italian adventure in Florence (Firenze in Italian) and while it is certainly another spectacular place, I didn’t find it to be nearly as magical as our other destinations had been…We’ve been home for nearly a month now and as you can tell, I’m having a hard time letting go of Italy.

 

Why? I think it’s having truly experienced “la belle vita” which is a very different way to live than our often hectic American lives. The pace is slower in Italia; the people take more time to experience, savor and enjoy things. Country-wide, everything closes from 1 until 4 each day and Sunday is a day of complete rest. The Italian approach is so leisurely that one is not only encouraged, but indeed mandated to stop and smell the roses.

 

One reason Italian food is so good is that it is cooked the way Italians live – painstakingly, lovingly and proudly, with a local focus. The only fast food is the McDonalds near the train station in major cities. Meals are long, have many courses and are shared with friends and family  and, in Italy, friends and family are everything.

 

Italians are an affectionate, passionate people, loud and quick to laugh. Their conversations are animated, punctuated with arm and hand gestures. They hug frequently. They enjoy life and each other. In Italy, one does not see kids on electronic devices at the restaurant tables and no one checks their phone while they eat.

 

Tradition says if you toss a coin “sopra la spalla” (over your shoulder) into the Trevi Fountain, you will return to Rome. We did that and our coins all made it into the fountain. I hope that means we get to return not only to Rome, but to Italia again.  

 

 

 

 

Our Italian Adventure - Pt. 2

“Wherever you go, go with all your heart.” – Confucius

 

 

 

 

 

 

After la famiglia Clark left Rome and drove through the beautiful, rolling hills of the Umbrian countryside, we arrived at our home for the next week – a 400-year-old recently restored farm house, the villa Fondo Le Teglie.

 

It’s a lovely, simple, spacious home surrounded by blooming lavender, rose bushes and jasmine vines. The landscape is dotted with the tall thin pine trees that seem only to grow in Italy and the views were 360-degrees – tan fields, deep green vineyards, grazing animals, peppered with other villas and picturesque walled towns, each with a castle towering above.

Our accommodations included a swimming pool, a vegetable garden, several outdoor dining areas, a chef’s kitchen and an outdoor cooking area complete with a stone wood-fire pizza oven. The air in every room was sweet from vases of white lilies or roses and we even had intermittent WiFi. Heaven, in my mind’s eye, now looks a lot like Fondo Le Teglie…

On our first night, we ate dinner in a castle – outside, at the top of our new world, in a small courtyard . It was a short walk down the road, in the tiny walled town of Sismano. Since it was Sunday evening, we half expected the restaurant to be closed, but no! Even though we were the only diners, we were treated like honored guests. Imagine! Dinner in a castle, prepared just for us, on a perfect summer evening…!    

Each morning we woke to the sound of birds singing and the quiet, low hum of a tractor (a red Lamborghini tractor) working down the hill. The only other noise that floating up to us was the occasional moo of a cow or the clang of her bell, the baa of sheep and the nasal whine of a scooter making its way through the hills. One evening, late, we were outside enjoying the fireflies (“lucciola” in Italian, also a slang term for a “lady of the night”...) and we heard the slow, strains of the Pink Panther theme song, being painstaking practiced by what was clearly a beginner on the saxophone. Oh, Italy, such sights and sounds!  

 We settled quickly into a routine of coffee and breakfast at the villa, sightseeing during the day, then returning “home” for a swim and dinner. With some experimentation, Mr. Clark and our son mastered the outdoor pizza oven. One evening a lovely woman named Senora Dina cooked a five course meal for us almost exclusively using the brick oven outside. She spoke no English and our Italian was sorely lacking, but we communicated just fine over the universal language of good food.  

Early in the week we took a tour of three small local cantinas (wineries.) Our guide, Mark, was a witty, British ex-Pat whose knowledge of Umbria, wine, and Italy made for a fascinating trip. Umbrian wine is from a small, bold, dark skinned grape – the Sagrantino. It was brought from Turkey 900 years ago, is genetically unique and has a rich interesting flavor.    

 Our hostess at the first winery was Mayla, a petite woman who spoke flawless English and greeted us in the pressed slacks, low heels and the crisp white blouse which are an Italian countrywoman’s informal wear. Her husband, Francesco Botti’s family worked the vines for generations as peasants before they were able to buy the land, so even though they seemed quite humble, their knowledge was extensive.

The next stop, Cantina Alessandrini Andrea, is a large working farm owned by a large loud family. They don’t speak English and they were busy digging a trench for some type of plumbing project when we arrived. We were late and their work was hard, so they had eaten the bread they’d made to accompany our wine. When they found out we were “Americans from America” the whole family, including a fat little dog named Picachoo, dropped what they were doing and crowded into the tasting room to watch us sample and sip.

We ate a delicious lunch at a formally set table under the trees on the grounds of an “agriturismo” – a working farm that hosts tourists, offers locally grown food and/or  accommodations in the family villa or guest houses. The owner of Agriturismo Camiano Piccolo greeted us enthusiastically in a starched white chef’s coat and served our lunch. His family has owned and worked that farm and lived in that villa for 500 years. His son, our chef, spoke no English, but took great joy in our obvious enjoyment of each dish.    

The third winery, Cantina Peppucci, was on the site of a long working monastery that the owners bought somewhat recently to make their dream of producing superb Sagrantino wine come true. Our host was a young man named Paulo who spoke excellent English. He and his mother are the vintners and even though they are relatively new to the business, their attention to process and detail were evident in their wines.   

So, why so many words about Umbria and our wonderful wine day? Because I was profoundly affected by the place, the people and the experiences and I wish to share the magic.   

The Umbrian Italians work hard and take great pride in what they produce, yet they are humble, eager to make us comfortable and happy when we are pleased. Their lives are lived on a smaller scale; their land has long been finite and they understand how to honor and protect it. There, families live and work together, communities are close knit, and, unlike some of us wandering Americans, they stay put for generations. There is continuity to their pride and effort that our short history cannot offer.

Our wine guide told us that until five years ago there was no word for “realtor” in Umbrian Italian because no one EVER moves. They do what their family has always done, on the land their family has always occupied because they gladly can’t imagine doing anything else - experiencing that, even for a week, captured my heart.

There was a comfortable simplicity and easy pace about our time in Umbria that none of the bigger cities or more spectacular sights offered…La bella vita…Truly, questo e il paradiso…A beautiful life in paradise.  

 

 

 

Good Bye to our dear sweet Lily

“His ears were often the first thing to catch my tears.” – Elizabeth Barrett Browning, her Cocker Spaniel, “Flush”  

We lost our good friend, Lily, yesterday. She wasn’t ready to leave us, but her time had come, and now we are so sad. Lily was a Greyhound, a retired racer who lived the first two years of her life as Octavo. Tall and strong for a female, Octavo was the pick of her litter and had great potential but her race record was all over the map. Sometimes she’d easily power her way into first place, other times she’d barely take third; occasionally she wasn’t in the top five at all.

On what turned out to be her final day of racing, Octavo refused to run. She just stood there, willfully not doing the one thing she was supposed to do – this, it turned out, is what gained her a new life and brought her into ours.

My son and his wife adopted Octavo shortly after she was rescued and quickly changed her name to Lily, which fit her personality much better. Our Lily was a gentle dog with a loving personality, big deep brown eyes and a ready “smile” on her pretty, long-nosed face.

I call her “our” Lily because Mr. Clark and I got to share the pleasure of her company nearly every week. Lily’s parents are teachers who work long hours and have a small yard without a fence. This meant Lily got to spend much of their work week with us, running around our big yard and playing with our dogs, returning to her other life for long walks, dog parks and trips to dog-friendly restaurants on weekends.

Lily came to us seven years ago and during this time, she never, ever did anything wrong. I can’t think of many dogs one can say that about – certainly not the ill-behaved rescues I seem to collect. But as we were reflecting on Lily’s life, we all agreed – she had never done one thing wrong. All she ever did was bring love, light and laughter to those who were lucky enough to know her.   

Greyhounds are a social breed, intelligent and loyal. They are sensitive to what’s going on around them and they enjoy company – dogs, cats, kids, adults, even stuffed toys. Lily loved hanging out with her “Winder Pack” which included three cats; she was always gentle when kids stopped us to pet her and tell her how pretty she was; and in her later years, she most often slept with a stuffed toy nearby.   

When we first met Lily she didn’t run – not at all. But, as she settled in and began to play with the other dogs, she started to remember that running could be fun; then, a bit later, she discovered the sheer joy of her amazing speed again. A racer can reach over 40-miles-per-hour within six strides and in her day, on a good day, Lily was probably almost that fast.

 
It was such a treat to watch her circling our big back yard like a race horse - long neck stretched straight, strong legs pulsing, and what a powerful stride! But, the best was seeing the look of joy on her face. It’s as if once our Lily didn’t have to run anymore, she was free to rediscover that she was, indeed, born to run and run she did, almost every evening.

Lily - like some, but not all dogs - gave more than she took. She was a joyful soul who enthusiastically savored life. She was also goofy and playful and had a mischievous side. Even though her manners were impeccable, she would, at times, stick her long nose up on the counter as if to say, “What’s cooking?” She loved to lick out of nice ice-filled human glasses when no one was looking. And sometimes she’d act like she’d seen something that wasn’t probably there, just to get the other dogs riled up.

A graceful and animated lady, Lily loved to wrestle and toss toys in the air and her downward facing dog (the yoga pose internationally recognized in the canine world as, “Let’s play!”) was frequent and flamboyant.   

As friends go, Lily was low-maintenance, but she did have her opinions and she was comfortable expressing them loud and clear. When Lily thought it was time for the day to begin, she would jump on the bed, put her big horse face near mine and bark excitedly, as if to say, “Wake up! It’s time for breakfast! It’s going to be a great day!”   

If I worked longer than Lily wished in the evening, she would start pacing around my computer desk, howl-howling a bit, to let me know it was time to go play. If I didn’t respond quickly enough, she would use her long nose to knock the computer mouse right out of my hand, repeatedly if necessary, until she got her way and took me outside to make sure I had fun until it was time for her dinner.    

Greyhounds are sight hounds and our Lily was more than great at spotting things. A deer, a cat, a bird, a raccoon, or maybe just a squirrel…Lily’s ears would perk up, her neck would crane, her black nose would start twitching, then standing completely still, she would focus intently. This was followed by a bark, bark, bark! to let her human and dog pack know, “There’s something interesting over there!”

No matter what Lily was doing, she wanted to share – share the excitement, share the joy, share the treat, share the toy, share the sweet smell of the air – just share. She had an energetic, happy-go-lucky personality and her spirit was huge and joy-filled. Even though she was a dog – or maybe because she was such a good dog - Lily lived large and laughed a lot.

“A sweet soul is gone; there is a part of us missing now,” my daughter-in-law said, as we gathered around Lily’s grave in our back yard.   

"Truly great friends are hard to find, difficult to leave and impossible to forget," a man named G. Randolf said.  

 

They both are right. Lily loved us; she loved life; and, she loved to run. She gave more than she ever took. She was a joy to all who knew her.  Rest in peace, dear girl! We will miss you so much!

 

 

Our Italian Holiday - Pt. 1, Roma

 

“To travel is to live.” – Hans Christian Andersen

 

We just got back from 15 days in Italy and it was marvelous. The trip was a serendipitous treat won in a benefit auction, enjoyed by Mr. Clark and I, our grown kids and their spouses. Mr. Clark’s frequent flier miles covered the airfare, so all we had to pay for was food, drink and the sights we saw. And, yes! We saw some wonderful sights! Every day was jam-packed with an adventure or two, as well as so much history and ancient beauty that at times it felt like we really had died and gone to heaven. 

 

We started with a few days in Rome, then spent a week in a small villa in Umbria (just south of that famous Tuscan sun)…After that came a few days in Cinque Terre (a series of five small ancient villages connected by hiking trails, trains and boats – no roads), then two final days in Florence. It was a whirlwind feast of new sights, sounds, smells, tastes and treats. Our family has always enjoyed traveling, but this was, indeed, the trip of a lifetime.

 

Rome (or Roma in Italian) is busy, loud and frantic – racing scooters, like swarms of angry wasps, don’t have to obey traffic laws and aggressive drivers in tiny cars are allowed to stop, turn, honk and swerve at their own discretion. In the summer, Rome is hot and the narrow cobblestone streets are full of tourists. All of this is punctuated by amazing food, delicious wine, gelato on every corner, and more huge, ancient, spectacular sights than can be imagined…I mean literally, than can be imagined.

 

The thing that struck me most about Rome is how very long it’s been there. Roma (the first small settlement) came to be in 750 B.C. The city (and the Empire) reached its’ zenith in about 120 A.D. and then took another 300 years to fall. During that time, people walked many of the same streets and saw many of the same sights we did…It’s unfathomable, even as you gaze at it all and pinch yourself to be sure you’re really there…If you want to get in touch with just how fleeting life is and how insignificant one life can be, stand on the top steps of the Colosseum or look out on the city from a point high in the Forum…And then, reconnect with the meaning of just one life, by standing in the middle of the Pantheon , a place of worship since 25 B.C., and feel your soul awaken again…

 

We stayed in a small apartment within walking distance of everything. It was listed through Air B&B and the Trip Advisor ratings were good. (Trip Advisor is THE source for what one needs/wants in Italy…The vendors themselves swear by it.) The night we arrived, we opened the wood shutters covering our large windows to hear a man singing opera at the top of his lungs, filling our shabby courtyard with what felt like (especially at the end of a nine hour flight) the essence of Roma.  

 

After eating and drinking and hiking our way through Rome, seeing every sight in our travel books and sampling every delight anyone we know had recommended, we entrusted our lives to “the old gods and the new,” rented a van and navigated our way out of the city and into the Italian countryside.

 

Umbria is a land of hills, long devoted to agriculture and by long, I mean centuries and centuries of farmers farming the same piece of land. Because of marauders from all directions, the towns are located in walled cities - ancient, beautiful walled cities - each guarded over by a castle. The entire region looks like a postcard – rolling hills, verdant vineyards, well-tended fields, lush productive gardens, quaint villages and castles, everywhere.

 

The people in Umbria speak little or no English, but are very warm, accommodating and friendly. The food is delicious, all freshly prepared with local ingredients, and the wine is to die for. It’s made from theSangrantino grape which only grows in Umbria – brought from Turkey centuries ago by immigrants. To top this heavenly scenario off, one experiences everything one has read about in Tuscany (Umbria’s wealthy, more well-known sister) for a fraction of the price.  

 

Our villa, Fondo Le Teglie, is a recently remodeled version of a 400-year-old farm house. It’s one of the Il Gusto del Paese properties owned by a woman from Georgia who relocated and started living her Italian dream some years ago. Thankfully this woman is a friend of BB Webb who owns The Carl House and since both are animal lovers, BB convinced our host to donate a week at her villa to Barrow’s own Pup & Cat Co., which is how la famiglia Clark landed there. This place, as well as all of Umbria, is as quiet and idyllic as Rome is loud and busy.

 

The Italians have an expression for what we did at the villa - il dolce far niente, the sweetness of doing nothing – and I can assure you, nothing is sweeter…Next week, more about our Umbrian adventures and the rest of the trip.

 

(I am slightly embarrassed to share this, but friends and family back home seemed to genuinely enjoy vicariously experiencing the joys of Italia through our posts and pictures. Hence, these next few travel oriented columns…Enjoy!)