Last Sunday, in my little hometown in Northern Italy, we were all celebrating Carnevale with a traditional distribution of polenta e salamini - polenta and sauseges - that took place in the main town square called Market Square - Piazza del Mercato. This is only the main of many events taking place during this period of the year. The town will be animated by parades, dances and  the symbolic "marriage" of a young couple in traditional costumes.

I remember going to the Square to buy polenta and sausages with my dad. I sometimes dressed up for the occasion, meaning I usually dressed up like Zorro or a cowboy, or even an American Indian. Never wanted anything to do with those fluffy, pink dresses the other girls were wearing. So I held my father’s hand and ventured among the colorful crowd, a bit afraid of the bad boys going around with their plastic clubs. We paid for our tickets at the yellow, wooden booths, then patiently waited our turn in the long queue, and finally brought home our shares of hot, smoking polenta and sausages.

So many years have passed, but it was beautiful being there again and let such sweet memories gently flooding my mind.

Wonder what you do for Carnevale in your little corners of the world?

I strive to be alone much of the time.  Being alone is so easy.  Being alone is not so easy.

It’s according to the day.  And it depends on my own judgment.

There are days when I soar.  I revel in freedom.  The sun shines.  I stride through the crisp air thinking meditative or creative thoughts or any thoughts that sparkle through my mind.  I am invigorated with the prospects of life and every moment of it.

On these days I smile as I throw the clothes in the dryer.  I snap the sheets and survey my smooth bed with joy and contentment.  I read and my imagination runs with the story.  I write wonderful words of wisdom that will soothe the ills of the world.

And on good days my home is filled with pungent smells that swirl around me in anticipation as I slice and dice and stir up wonderful meals.  Even a fruit smoothie takes on the color and flavor of adventure. 

And then there are days when I should seek company yet I can’t go out the door.  My sluggish mind urges me to take the first step that will raise my spirits and work toward anything that feels like accomplishment.  My straggling garden beckons me through the window, begging for attention that will bless it in the spring.

But how can I move?  My yoga mat lays ready on the floor.   But first, I must watch that recording of Oprah so that I can delete it and make room for some other wonderful, spiritual, uplifting program. Or maybe an old recording of "The Chew".

And how can I leave my computer?  I am constantly checking for some sort of contact: a “Like” on my last post, a continuation of the conversation with my blogger friend in Germany, a Facebook post that will lift me up. 

I keep my phone close.  I want to have a text from my grandson.  He’s been out of touch for too long.  And my ITouch is alight, waiting for the next move from my sister in our battle to “Hang” one another.

What is the decisive factor?  Is it the sunshine?  Is it some hidden thought that has corrupted my spirit, which cannot release me until it is identified and cast aside? Is it whether I feel my solitude is voluntary or whether it seems enforced my some sinister power?

I don’t know.  I only know that I love being alone...most days.  

Xxoo

Winter in Holland….. each time the temperature drops in winter and gets below 0 Celsius/32 Fahrenheit for 5 days in a row, a lot of Dutch get ‘the fever’. Not the normal fever of course; we get the ‘skate-fever’ and no pills to cure. My skates are always waiting patiently for the moment I open the box. I cherish them.  I treat them well. Each time after skating, I put them to rest on an old newspaper.  Later I sharpen them and cover the blades with grease.  Ready for the next time.  My skates are already 27 years old and they will last the rest of my life.

Why do I tell you all this? Well, we had more than two weeks of very low temperatures, like -12.6 C/9.32 F and colder. Every day we checked the weather forecast and the website about ‘where to skate’.

Before I take off on the skates, I will tell you how it all started for me. My dad was a great skater who taught me skating when I was about 5 years old.  We started out at a man-made pond in Hilversum, a few blocks from our house. After a few years the pond was too small for me.  I wanted the ‘real’ thing.  I wanted to go along with my dad to the frozen lakes.  The near-by closest lakes are in Loosdrecht, where we would go by bike.  My dad and I were in heaven each time we were skating the long distances.  This picture was taken by my mom in the winter of ’68.  I was 14.

14 years later I moved to Arkel and I was thrilled that that first winter I was able to skate the canals from town to town, like I was used to in my childhood.  We got lucky with 3 winters in a row, having ice thick enough for skating.  

Recently, on the 11^th of February 2012, I entered the Molentocht, for my second time (the last time was in 1985). The Molentocht (Mill-tour) is skated on canals between 13 villages.  In each village there is a booth on the ice where you get a stamp on your ‘stamp-card’. I only did 25 KM (15.5 miles) of the 75 KM (46.6 miles) total, but it was a good goal for me at age 57 and not having skated for 3 years. 

The chance that it starts raining warm water after the 14^th of February is big, so it was NOW or never.  There I was at 10 o’clock to buy my card, and after 3 hours I returned to receive my medal…… what I’m guessing will be my last medal ever. I ended up telling Ginnie, “I’m too old for this sh**.”  I have to admit that I was more than happy that I made it in one piece.  Some blood was spilled (just on one finger when I fell), but, hey, that is part of the game. I am proud of myself that I did it again, even though I know my limitations.

And as for Hans Brinker……. I never heard of him until I was in the States at age 21.   I think he is still skating somewhere in America.  No one I know here has ever bumped into him.

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

Special returning guest post today by Astrid Wijdekop, from the Netherlands, who blogs over at  'Picturit'.  Thank you for joining us here today, Astrid, and for your wonderful story and image.

"Inanimate objects can be classified scientifically into three major categories; those that don't work, those that break down and those that get lost."

-Russell Baker

This photo of my dad, Johnny Paul, has been around for so long, but I am seeing it in such a different way lately. After being a mom and a grandma, and finally becoming a grown-up, I  can see the very young, very scared boy. A quiet, sweet country boy from Georgia wondering how he came to be on this cold mountain in a far-away land.

And I can see now, too, how it was for him when he finally came home.  He came home to meet Dorothy, a city girl with a pack of sisters, and the two of them married and had three daughters. The man was surrounded by women,  all pretty high  spirited, to say the least.

Thru the years the families grew  - an outrageous amount of cousins who turned into our own crazy, wild pack. And of course, there were all the uncles. I  remember at so many family get-togethers, all of these slim, handsome men gathered to the side, away from all the noise, having serious conversations.
Usually Uncle Melvin, who had lost a leg during a ship battle, could lighten things up with one of his jokes and big laugh.

After knowing war so constantly in our daily lives for so many years now, I hope and pray that those uncles were helping each other deal with things after they were home. I don’t think they talked much about it to the women, I know as girls we did not give it a lot of  thought, as sad as that seems.

But I see that we can have faith in the girls around now, in countries all over, with their sharp minds and deep passions. I truly believe that this next generation, all these young people who want peace and good lives, will not tolerate another decade like we’ve had and that they will nuture a belief in a better way. 

                                               I think they will get it right.

                    Happy Birthday, Daddy, once again ~~ love you, miss you

I am sitting in my hotel room in Venice, Italy, attempting to connect to the world with my somewhat dubious internet service.  I don't have any particular sage or salubrious words to share for this post as my eye lids are drooping, my feet are aching and sleep bekons.
This is my sixth day in Venice and my second day of a photography workshop.  I am exhausted but happy, having spent days meandering around tiny streets filled with glorious art and decorative elements, people who smile and say "Buongiorno" and seem to mean it.
I've walked MILES .... I'm learning to do new things with my camera.  See things as I have never seen them before.  Less point and shoot, more manual exposures, using flash, working with models, learning to use different lighting techniques and oh! so much more!
My brain hurts but in a good way.  My camera is my new best friend.

And if that was not enough, the City is alive with the sights and sounds of Carnivale and it's not yet the weekend - when apparently it all gets crazy!  The costumes are marvellous and their wearers most often so willing to pose for photographs.  They hand out little calling cards so that you can email them pictures back when you get home.  I have pockets FULL of them.

I feel like I have stepped into a dream that I had sometime long ago.  Whipped up into the thrall of it all .... and I am so thankful to be here - achy feet and all!  Oh yes!

...talk. Yes I would love to travel back in time and talk to this young girl you see here. 
I'd tell her only one thing: The secret is very simple: Learn to love yourself.

My dad took this photograph many years ago and I remember making quite a fuss about not wanting to pose for him. I hated strongly disliked being on any photograph, as I felt very awkward. Yet looking at this now, I wish I could have told myself how pretty I was. 

Being confident, assertive and brave are qualities I am still learning about today. I'd like to think I could have saved some time had I known how to love and accept myself, just the way I was. Two days after most of the world celebrated Valentine's Day, I thought it is important to remind ourselves that love begins within each and every one of us.

This window reminds me of friends.  Even though the window is old and dirty, we can look out the window and see them, coming up the walk, when we most need them.  Good friends give us a place to rest our heads and a shoulder to cry on.  They give us encouragement in bad times and direction when we go wrong.  We can laugh with each other and at each other.  We can share secrets.  Sometimes we can even talk politics. 

If we need advice, we call a girlfriend.  If we need to rant, we call her again.  We drink some coffee, take a walk, chat on the phone or say a prayer together.  We give thanks and enjoy our friends, and we know that we bring joy to them too.  While we are looking out the window at those good friends, they are looking in at us.  And that thought brings a smile to our hearts.

Every once in a while, friends are not there. The best friends are simply busy and will appear in the window again, soon.  But sometimes friends go away and we don't know why.  It wasn't even a fight; they just disappeared, leaving us alone.  We look out the window and no longer see them nearby.  Perhaps we see them in the distance as they leave.  Or perhaps we no longer see them at all.  Once in a while those lost friends come back.  Most of the time they don't.  Sometimes, the loss leaves us not even wanting to look out the window anymore.

One day, I looked out the window and did not see my friend anymore, and I was sad.  

Then I looked again and saw new friends, coming up the walk. And I smiled.

Celebrate your friends--they are a lovely gift.

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

Special guest post today comes to us from San Antonio, Texas by Lauren Blackwell. Check out her stunning photographic work at Red Leash Photo.  Thank you for joining us here today - Lauren  - and for sharing your beautiful thoughts.

"All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt." 

-Charles M. Schultz

The doorbell rang.  My husband was in the shower and it was early enough that I was still in my pajamas.  Even so, I quickly ran down the stairs.   I knew by the little sticker left on the storm door glass that the FedEx man had just left a package.  No – not just any package, but THE package I had been anxiously awaiting.  My latest Blurb book!

I have written about this before, but I think it bears repeating.  It is important to collect our thoughts and images in a permanent manner.  Rather than simply giving our thoughts and images a web presence with the uncertainty of longevity, we need to compile them in a book; a book that one can touch, feel, and hold tight to the heart.  Some may choose the scrapbook route but I personally enjoy making self-published books. 

For this latest book I compiled each of my Vision and Verb posts from 2010 into a collection.  My primary purpose for doing this was creating a gift for my grandchildren.  No…I will not give them the book now; at ages 3, 4 ½, and 7 they would not appreciate the book.  But 20 or so years from now, as they reach maturity, I am hoping this book will provide them with something to remember me by; remember how I felt and what was important to me at the time.

In 2010 we were posting approximately every two weeks which lead to my Vision and Verb posts reading much like a journal.  Challenges.  Joys.  Frustration.  Memories.  Each reflected at some point in time in my entries.

As you can imagine, a 2011 book is my next project.

Whether your book is images and quotes, a journal reflecting your thoughts and feelings, or a compilation of family history, please put them in a more permanent format.  Your family will thank you.