Flashback to eight years ago this week: Beautiful Rome, the first destination of our 3-week trip to Italy and France. We hope to return to Europe within the next few years–the UK this time–and I can hardly wait.
A little verse I wrote in Rome:
The click on terracotta tile a welcoming staccato beat quick-sure heels on cobblestone we join the rhythm on the street.
Mellifluous foreign banter fill sidewalk cafes and bars laughter tinkling, glasses clinking under the Italian stars.
Heady scent of sweet ambrosia lips stained red with deep dark wine swarthy locals’ smiling faces lovers with their arms entwined.
Tastes and smells are all around us food and drink beyond compare warm night air drapes on our shoulders sated, sleepy, not a care.
Street musicians serenade us as we stroll our way back home memories to last a lifetime summer nights in downtown Rome.
What has been your best-loved destination?
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar: I love not man the less, But Nature more.
~ excerpt from Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage
by Lord Byron
Having lived through a number of moves, changes, and upheavals, my transitions often deemed me as a newcomer who will probably always feel a little like someone on the outside, looking in.*
Yet, when I read that poem and let the words sink in, they seem to grant me the freedom to love and experience all the things that mean the most to me. I can now belong in this life I’ve created, just as everyone belongs to the bigger picture that is the universe, to bear witness to a journey filled with joy, sorrow, and exquisite beauty.*
Of course, Mary Oliver said it better than I ever could:
*Excerpts from my blog post: Belonging, March 12, 2015.
Many of the comments on your own feelings of belonging were a real eye-opener for me!
Here’s a throwback to July 2013, when I was in the thick of creating the first draft for Calmer Girls. At the time I was also blogging twice a week, but hey, when your muse is whispering in your ear to pen a poem and she won’t shut up, you pen a poem. There’s no getting out of it.
She wakes tangled in themes
through a cobweb of dreams
with gossamer remnants
that linger and tease,
pushes back dusty curtains
and on a page blank and white
She deletes the clichéd
yesterday she okayed
and contemplates words
like ephemeral and moonglade
they taste like confections
with her tangerine sections
and jolts of black coffee
She’s reminded of chores
she keeps trying to ignore
with the scatter of crumbs
that litter the floor,
shrugs her shoulders and thinks
it will be there tomorrow
The bills wait, unpaid
And the bed’s still not made
There’s this blog post to write
and it can’t be delayed
her novel must wait
it’s a musing or rhyme that
She reaches again
for the manuscript when
her mind can’t break free
from the plot line within
and it makes him uptight
there’s no dinner tonight
but he digests her flaws.
After all, it’s because
Nurse Kelly is a sweetheart of a blogger who is working on her first book.
From her About page:
Nurse Kelly is a registered nurse, health educator, coach, speaker, and writer. She holds a BA in Communications, an AAS in Nursing, and numerous certifications. She resides in northeast Ohio with her husband, daughter, son, and beloved dog, Ruby.
Known for her commitment to functional healthcare, she wished to expand her reach to a larger audience – hence, nursekellyknows.com was born.
In her own words: This blog is authentically me. I write from my heart in a very personal voice, which I hope you will find engaging, enlightening, and entertaining. I can also cause just enough mischief to keep things interesting… so please be aware, as it is never my intention to offend.”
I have chosen the following post because I love finding a poem that makes me smile the way this one does.
I’m too tired from novel writing to come up with anything of my own this week, so I’m sharing a post from Journey Into Poetry. Christine is one of my favorite bloggers for the poems she writes.
Here is one I found especially moving. Love and miss you, Dad. x
Your whole life was wrapped around you
on that day,
propped up on a pillowy white cloud,
a few extra ones, cool, crisp
arranged in a special way,
a privilege for the dying.
How could your tiny fragile frame
have carried so much,
braved storms at sea,
ministered prayers from pulpit.
The swimming lessons you gave me;
you had the patience of Job.
And the turnip faces you carved
for Halloween, they were perfect;
(you would have cringed at pumpkins.)
But then you could do everything in my eyes;
you knew everything too.
I remember you trying to
show me how to use a slide rule;
I still haven’t a clue.
on a warm day, early May
in a special bed for the dying,
lay all of that,
your whole life in a cradle of time,
and it weighed next to nothing –