Quitting

There is a prelude to it that allows courage to accumulate.
There is no middle ground in quitting. Quitting is not easy, it hurts and liberates, it hurts and it frees, it hurts and it cleans.
Quitting implies leaving behind something that was intrinsically yours, or something to which you had slowly become addicted to.
Quitting is exhilarating, the moment in which rupture is real, when there is a before and an after, this is a moment of excess. One is truer, freer then.
This is not the quitting of giving up. This is the quitting that brings us closer to the idea of us. Quitting that erases the wrongs and opens possibilities.
Quitting opens up room for the things we really want to do.
We should all be quitters.

The future of the planet

There is an old lady I know. She is magnificent in her slow parade, with her white crown and a smile that leaves marks in her face. She is older than I ever imagine myself being. She is beautiful.
When I see her, I imagine the young woman she once was. I imagine her falling in love, having children, keeping track of time in the mirror.
She has thin fingers that struggle to write her own name, yet she plants flowers every day.
She is what is leftover from a life of giving. She gave it all: birth, food, nurture, love, until she was left a shadow of herself.
There is an old lady we all know. She is magnificent. She has given it all.
Would you stop your hurried pace, slow down to look at her, to take care of her, to love her?
Would we recognize ourselves in her gaze?
Would she still be here once we realize how much we love her and need her?

Compose

Images, ideas, colors and stories, they all find room in my mind.
I try to organize the mess, to set piles of the best ones in the open corners, to clear the dust from the old, the good, the unfinished.
I destroy all the empty folders, burn the mistakes and throw away the bad ideas.
Still, when it is time to compose anew, I find the infinite white of the page to much to bear.
I try to go back to the disorganized room, to fetch my last dream, to try and reconstruct the imaginary.
I find myself at a lost... Why is it so difficult to keep a clean house?
The first mark, word, brushstroke finds its way out into reality, and I am successful in my search.
The hard part behind me, I dance into the room and make a newer, better mess.

Fearless

There is a big, ugly monster lurking in the shadows of our minds, its name is fear, and its job is to stop us from trying something new, from breaking the pattern, from tasting the sour along with the sweet.
I learned early in life that living in the moment is all you can do, that I had no control of what happens ahead. I am alive because I was spared. I know what a wonderful gift it is to take chances, to choose the road less traveled, to walk into a dark room, to look down a precipice.
Yet, I sometimes find myself holding my breath, feeling a hole in my stomach, dreading...
Roller-coasters, needles, lightning, roaches, make me feel weak, helpless, little. I cannot help myself, it is a feeling that starts small, almost unnoticeable, and suddenly it has traveled all the way to the top of my head, clouding my judgement, making me afraid.
Fright is primal, it is unavoidable, it is real. It is not easy to get over it, but one must try. I ride roller-coasters and I scream at the top of my lungs all the while. It feels good to face the beast head to head.
It is too beautiful a world to not join in its thrills.

The Photograph

Our prompt this week is: the photograph, so I went downstairs and took a photo of this:


A 1500 piece puzzle that we purchased while visiting Germany. My husband loves puzzles and when we visited the town of Ravensburg, he spent some time at the toy store choosing the right one. He remembers his first puzzle being a Ravensburger, which I have come to understand is the Rolls Royce of puzzles. Every piece is cut with handmade tools to insure that no two pieces are the same! He chose a picture of Neuschwanstein Castle, which we visited a couple days after.

If Neuschwanstein Castle looks familiar, it may be because Walt Disney was inspired by the beauty of King Ludwig's masterpiece to create Cinderella's fantasy castle. Neuschwanstein was a true fairy tale castle before Disney, as It was built by King Ludwig II to look like a medieval castle in the 1800s. The castle looks older than it is, and there were "modern" conveniences like running water, telephone, and forced air heating included at the time of its construction.


This beautiful facade was built to hide a king that could not face reality. Ludwig grew up loving swans, and this became an obsession. At 13 he heard Wagner's Lohengrin, the story of a medieval knight of the Holy Grail who rescues a princess with the aid of a swan, and he was deeply moved by it. When he became king at the age of 18, he became Richard Wagner's patron. Neuschwanstein (new swan stone) was built as an ode to the composer's work, as well as a fantasy realm where the king lived only 11 nights (He slept during the day, and lived at night.) All the rooms of the castle have references to Wagner's operas, the most interesting being the "grotto" or cave. This artificial cave boasts a waterfall and stalactites, all made believe, and it refers to a cave from Wagner's Tannhäuser opera. King Ludwig died in mysterious circumstances at the age of 41, he never saw Neuschwanstein finished, nor is it finished now.

The castle continues to be an inspiration for many. My teacher and mentor Cynthia Osborne, made this lithograph to conmemorate the bicentennial of the development of lithography. Limestone, which is the stone used to make the plate used in this printmaking process, is still quarried in Solnhofen, Bavaria, not far from where Neuschwanstein castle stands.


"Bavarian Bicentennial Megalithographic Theme Park" by Cynthia Osborne, 1998

Out of this World

When I was younger, I used to look at the stars and wonder where the great bear was. I wanted to find the giraffe, the archer, the winged horse. I spent many hours with my eyes fixed on the dark sky, tracing imaginary lines between the bright dots. I never saw the bear, but I knew it was there. Then I grew up some, the stars were more than dots on a blackboard, and Carl Sagan's Cosmos opened my eyes to other possibilities: "Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence." I never saw the bear, but I knew it was there. I grew up some more, and my questions grew with me. The universe a molecule, my world in a grain of sand.


Then what was foreign was no more. I found other worlds without looking at the stars. I am here, now, I know this much. I was there, then, I know this much. I might never see the bear, but I know it is there.

I just don't get it...

Words that hurt, and pry, and lie.

Love that breaks, and falls and parts.

Minds that sleep, and lie, and die.

Hands that close, and hide, and crash.

Eyes that dim, and shut, and cry.

I carry

I carry my name, which sounds different in other latitudes. I carry the first words I learned, their sound and rythm an intrinsic part of my accent. I carry memories of a happy childhood: playing on our tree-house, catching frogs with Ana, picking wild blackberries with my brother, hiking with mom and dad, green, always green, the color of my memories.
I carry my heritage, the roots of my tree, transplanted to a new land. My grandfather, self-taught scholar, business man and politician -when politics was not a bad word. My father, creator of color, maker of dreams, a man ahead of his time. My brother, a young life lost, always present in my memories, always felt in his absence. My mother, the stronger woman I know, beautiful and smart; my north.
I carry the smiles, the faces, the words of so many of my friends. Climbing mountains, hiking trails, acting in plays, traveling north and south, working together, building a dream. I am a sum of my friends, I am one in a chain.
I carry the flavors and smells of Colombia, guayaba, mango, maracuya, mora, lulo, to mention a few. I crave this flavors in my mouth, I close my eyes and taste the idea of them.
I carry others with me, those I met along the way, teachers, friends, students, in another land. I learned about me by learning about them. I embraced my differences by opening my mind to the new, the other. I am one amongst many, we all carry our baggage.
I carry...

Sleep

I had a dream. I was looking at myself trapped inside a glass bubble. I needed, wanted to get out.
I, on the outside, have a hammer. I won’t use it as it would mean hurting me on the inside. I, on the inside, look at me in wonder… Why won’t I let me out?
The two parts of me looking at each other, will breaking free be worth the pain and the scars?
This is all I remember about this dream. I am awake now, looking everywhere for the hammer in my dream.

Sunday Scribblings

Fridge Space

Myself as a fridge. Open the door, there is some resistance, enough to make you think of the fact that whatever is inside needs to be kept safe. This is an unassuming door, plain will describe it best. Sometimes you can find something colorful and pretty on it, usually handmade. No fabulous stainless steel finish, no baroque medley of pictures and magnets. Simple, practical, clean.
Inside, there is room for many, many different things. There are some leftovers, good enough to keep for a little longer, needing to be consumed before they loose all their freshness. There is a lot of the good stuff, a great aged cheese, a fresh, crisp lettuce. Some of my contents seem regular, unassuming, then there is that spicy sauce here and the sweet syrup there. So many possibilities, so many different combinations, it just requires to open the drawers, search the shelves, spend some time with all the findings until something delicious, different and new happens.
Then, there is all the good nurturing stuff, the stapples of a domestic life; all the things that make my family happy. The comforting flavors of life, the true good, the reminders of home.
Behind all this freshness hides the rotten stuff, you know what I am talking about, the things that once were new and appealing and now after being neglected for a while have become horrid. How do I let them get to this stage? I think it is easy to hide the things that I do not like in the dark corners, let them be, avoid them until their stench gets me back to them.
Once in a while I do clean up the inside of me. I come ready for the task, with all the tools at hand, and when the job is done, the trash thrown out, the shelves organized, the stink of it gone, then I feel light, open, bright. It is then when I feel best about myself. I have nothing to hide and a lot to give. The future a mixture of colors and flavors to discover.

Sunday Scribblings

Fellow Traveler

My dad.
I remember our journey together through the most incredible landscapes, those of the imagination.
My dad was everything and then more. He tought me about color and shape, about rhyme and joy. I miss him every single day, but I also know that I am so much like he was.
He is, in the now, with me. He guides my pencil when I draw, my hand when I paint, my fingers when I write, my eyes when I search.
He is, we are, I am.

Sunday Scribblings

Date

You are late.
I wait, I wait, I will wait for you.
The date comes and the date goes.
We wait.
Why won't you come?
I love you, I want to hold you, I want to see you.
And I wonder.
Will you be happy?
Will the future be gentle to you?
Will the sun shine where you are?
Will you look like me, will you look like him?

Questions to my boy before he was born.

Sunday Scribblings

New

My prompt from Sunday Scribblings today is new. Good word, new, like the blank screen in front of me, all new and waiting for my words to come out and play.
So many things come to mind, since everyday brings a new discovery about Italy and its culture. I would like to tell you about "La Befana" as it is a tradition celebrated today, January 6th, all over Italy.

La Befana is and old ugly woman that looks a lot like a witch. She wears old black clothes and a black shawl. She is a beloved figure whose visit is awaited by all children. She is said to come on the eve of the Epiphany to leave gifts for the good children and coal for the bad ones (rock candy dyed to look like a very realistic piece of coal.) La Befana usually flies on her broom and comes down the chimney (hence the black outfit) to leave her presents on the stockings left there for this purpose. The family leaves some wine and bits of food for her.... this is Italy so you better leave wine!
I had never heard of La Befana before moving to Italy, and the first hint I got of her presence was at the post office. Yes, the post office! I was there to pay my bills in December, when I noticed that each of the clerks in the office had placed a brightly decorated little broom at their window. I looked at the brooms closely to see if they were some kind of post office merchandise, but the three of them were different, and they seemed to be decorated with "Christmas" ribbons and paraphernalia. I asked my friend Pien about it, and she told me about the gentle Befana.

Tradition tells that the Befana (actually a misspronuntiation of Epiphany in Italian) was approached by the three Wise Men asking for directions to Bethlehem. She had not heard of the baby Jesus, so she couldn't help them, but she provided shelter for the night for the three kings. The Befana then was invited to join them in their search, but she declined (she had housework to do, they say!!!) After the Wise Men left, she changed her mind and decided to bring some candy and gifts for the baby, but she did not find the Wise Men. She then gave away all her gifts to all the children she encountered, in the hopes that one of them would be Jesus. Isn't it a beautiful story?
I just love the tale and the echoes of many of my own traditions in it. To celebrate, today we dressed in our Sunday best and headed for Varese for breakfast. We went to one of our favorite places, and Nicolas ordered a camel, a pastry camel filled with chocolate. Sooooo good! There were camels of all sizes and with all kinds of fillings. I wanted to take a picture of the display, but the owner stopped me from doing it. I guess they were afraid I would steal their idea! There were pastry camels in every single cafe in the city! We then walked around the downtown area and went to mass. It was a solemn affair, and a beautiful one. Of course, after mass we had to go have a festive lunch! We stopped at a nice little restaurant that got really crowded soon after we got there. There was so much o eat, lots and lots of aperitifs (on the house) and great food. We ate "just" a secondo, but everyone around us had much more. As to not feel left behind, we ordered dessert, and coffee, and a nice grappa. There were big tables of ten or more, families with babies and grandmas, and every single one of them was enjoying the last drop of the holidays. We enjoyed the fact that we were there amongst them. I just love Italians!
I should have come back to take down all my holiday decorations, instead I am writing this post. I will do it tomorrow and let the Befana worry about all the cleaning today.

Sunday Scribblings

Holiday Memories

Not too bad for a beginer... My word today for Sunday Scribblings is Holiday Memories. I should have some of those stored someplace in my brain... let's start digging them out!
Kidding aside, I do have great memories of Decembers past. My birthday is in December -the 11th- and my mom would always make my birthday party around a holiday theme: Christmas tree cake, little stockings filled with party favors, red and green tableware, and so on an so forth. When I was little, I used to hate the fact that I had to wait a WHOLE year to get my presents, but as I got older I changed my mind. My birthday was my own personal beginning of the holiday season, then on the 16th the "Novena" would begin.
Here I have to stop and explain what a Novena is for those of you who are not Colombian. The "Novena de Aguinaldos" is a catholic tradition exclusive to Colombia. The 9 days before Christmas are celebrated by reading from a book of prayers. This book is written in old fashioned spanish, and it is the same all over the country. There have been attempts to modernize the language of the book, but they have been unsuccessful (thankfully, as I do appreciate the original text). The book includes some prayers for everyday, as well as a narration of Joseph and Mary's journey to Bethlehem. Additionally there are traditional songs or "villancicos" that are a fundamental part of the novena - this is what kids really enjoy, playing the maracas, panderetas, drums, etc with gusto! You can hear a Novena from a block away. You DO NOT celebrate the Novena on your own, ever! (unless you just moved to Italy, and you do not know of any Colombians in the vicinity) So, you always invite your friends and family to your Novena, and they will host their Novena another night. Only 9 nights and so many friends... Sometimes one must "sacrifice" and go to more than one house, and eat until stuffed. As in any part of the world, all main celebrations revolve around food, and what great food!
OK, everyone still with me? So far we have birthday cake, followed by nine days of music, friends and good food! What else is there? Well, in my hometown Popayan, people make a beautiful dish called "Nochebuena" or goodnight. This dish includes some fried dough with sugar- hojaldra, a kind of plain donut -rosquilla, a fried cheese bread -buñuelo, an assortment of fruits cooked with sugar -desamargados, and dulce de leche -manjarblanco , Every family used to create a beautiful display with all these elements and send it on their best china to their neighbors! Can you imagine? When I was little only really good friends would exchange "Nochebuenas". It was a pleasure to know that there was going to be plenty of delicious sweets on the 24th.
Traditionally Colombians celebrate Christmas eve, with the last novena usually taking place at grandma's house. There would be a nice dinner, followed by the opening of presents. At midnight some people go to mass, and that night is when "baby Jesus" comes and brings the presents for the children. It was so exciting! We would dress up, sit down at a beautiful table, try a sip of wine, open some presents, and then try and stay awake to see baby Jesus... I was never able to stay up for long!
From Christmas on, one would focus on the creation of the "taitapuro", or "año viejo" which is a giant stuffed doll. It represents the old year, and it is filled with firecrackers and fireworks. In order to buy all this "special effects" one needed to collect money, and the most common way to do so was to create a toll gate of sorts on the neighborhood street. We would have a long rope, a tin can. and two children keeping guard. The rope was stretched across the road as a means to stop traffic, once we have accomplished this task, one child would approach the driver with the tin can and ask for money... easy piecy...
I realize that this was not the safest of traditions, but to see a "taitapuro" burn was something-else. Some people would get a little creative with the dummy, and they would make it look like their boss, or a disliked politician, or any other public figure that looked better when lit on fire!
As a counterbalance to all this fire, we would play with water (lots of it) on January 5th and 6th, or the Epiphany. My whole town would come out to the streets, water balloons in hand, and get everyone in sight wet! It was not really the whole town, but all the young people from the town, for sure! I am not sure where this tradition comes from, but it is sure a lot of fun.
It is midnight now, so it is officially Sunday, and I am taking a bow and retiring to my quarters. I have not edited, and I hope I won't regret it. The exercise was successful as far as getting me to write, I will have to read this post tomorrow and see if it is worth it. Good night!

While reading other blogs, I have found that the majority of the people writing them seem to know what they are doing. I, on the other hand, write when I feel like it, and sometimes there is a lot of time in between posts. I want to be a better blogger, so I have decided to follow in the footsteps of Sognatrice from Bleeding Espresso; She used to do Sunday Scribblings for a while. I enjoyed her posts and liked the idea for my own blog. This is a writing exercise, but a creative one. The writers behind this idea define it like this: "Sunday Scribblings was set up to provide inspiration and motivation for anyone who enjoys writing and would like a weekly challenge".
The premise of this challenge is that they will provide a new word on Saturday, and I will write about, around, after, inspired by this particular word on Sunday.
I hope I am up to the challenge!
See you on Sunday then...