Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Thursday, November 10, 2011
ATLAN - DUN DO SHUIL (Close Your Eyes).......Hauntingly beautiful, mood music.....
TRANSLATION
Close your eyes, machree
My worldly joy, my treasure
Close your eyes, machree
And you will get a present tomorrow
Your dad is coming from the hills
With game and grouse in plenty
So close your eyes, my love, my joy
And you will get a present tomorrow
Close your eyes, machree
My worldly joy, my treasure
Close your eyes, machree
And you will get a present tomorrow
The summer sun shines bright and warm
And potato stalks grow greener
A bracing breeze blows from the south
And we will have fish tomorrow
Close your eyes, machree
My worldly joy, my treasure
Close your eyes, machree
And you will get a present tomorrow
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Friday, October 28, 2011
Thoughts on a foggy morning
When I was young, I liked to say, "I was born old, and I just keep getting younger." As I have gotten older, that has changed to "Getting older beats the alternative." Cliche, yes, but cliches are cliches for a reason: because they are true. Right?
Anyway: getting older. One thing is for sure: I have always, always thought of myself as a late bloomer. In that sense, I have yet to come into my own. It may not look like it, but to me it seems like I just stumble blindly through life. Maybe a lot of people feel that way. What does it feel like to have a strong sense of purpose? Am I meant to have one, or is this life more about something else entirely? Is a life without a strong, defined purpose just a wasted life? Have I wasted a lot of my life in selfish pursuits, or worse, lethargy and procrastination? What's the sense in getting older if you don't also get wiser?
When I was young, I was told that I was wise beyond my years. I guess I can't really claim that one anymore! Yet, as time passes, I see more and more how little I do know. Or maybe I just accept that there is a lot that I will never know. The vast majority of that is not stuff I feel a burning desire to know. I guess what I desire to know most of all is a sense of accomplishment. I judge myself most cruelly over this one. When I look at my life, my accomplishments are....nebulous. Is practicing virtue really an accomplishment? Whom does it help? Is helping only a few people really enough? If no one knows about it, is it still good? Here is another of my favorite sayings: "Goodness is its own reward." Yeah, my kids just love that one. I say it because I truly mean it. But going deeper, is the reward what any of us is really always after? I suppose so, if you believe the pleasure principle. So you don't have to look it up, the pleasure principle is the psychoanalytical concept that people seek pleasure and avoid pain, in seeking to satisfy their biological and psychological needs. The mark of maturity is the ability to delay gratification. If that is true, then I am sooooooo mature! :-)
Anyway: getting older. One thing is for sure: I have always, always thought of myself as a late bloomer. In that sense, I have yet to come into my own. It may not look like it, but to me it seems like I just stumble blindly through life. Maybe a lot of people feel that way. What does it feel like to have a strong sense of purpose? Am I meant to have one, or is this life more about something else entirely? Is a life without a strong, defined purpose just a wasted life? Have I wasted a lot of my life in selfish pursuits, or worse, lethargy and procrastination? What's the sense in getting older if you don't also get wiser?
When I was young, I was told that I was wise beyond my years. I guess I can't really claim that one anymore! Yet, as time passes, I see more and more how little I do know. Or maybe I just accept that there is a lot that I will never know. The vast majority of that is not stuff I feel a burning desire to know. I guess what I desire to know most of all is a sense of accomplishment. I judge myself most cruelly over this one. When I look at my life, my accomplishments are....nebulous. Is practicing virtue really an accomplishment? Whom does it help? Is helping only a few people really enough? If no one knows about it, is it still good? Here is another of my favorite sayings: "Goodness is its own reward." Yeah, my kids just love that one. I say it because I truly mean it. But going deeper, is the reward what any of us is really always after? I suppose so, if you believe the pleasure principle. So you don't have to look it up, the pleasure principle is the psychoanalytical concept that people seek pleasure and avoid pain, in seeking to satisfy their biological and psychological needs. The mark of maturity is the ability to delay gratification. If that is true, then I am sooooooo mature! :-)
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Healing Thoughts
What inspires me to write can sometimes be something I have read, or sometimes it comes from what I am going through in my life. At times, the topic and, in fact, nearly everything I have to say about it, comes tumbling out effortlessly, and the post is finished before I know it. More often, the ideas roil around in my mind for days, even weeks, before they spring forth into written words.
I am not really sure if one way is better than the other. I do know that when I sit and the words flow easily, it doesn't feel like an effort at all. Rather, it feels like a relief to get the thoughts out! Honestly, I think the best posts are like that. I don't really overthink, I just write whatever comes to mind. Even though the thoughts may have been forming for a while, they appear to me to be spontaneous, not planned.
Bearing that in mind, this morning I read: It is the way of the miracle worker to always see all human behavior as one of two things: love, or a call for love.
Now, I have heard this before. It is actually a guiding principle of my life. (On a side note, I find it curious that I place so much importance on aspiring to live up to my ideals. Funny that I have somehow made it my life's purpose. More to think on that idea. ) So: anything that comes up is either love, or a call for love. How many see the latter more than the former, raise your hands? This is only an indication of how much healing is needed in the world. For those who live to heal, this is not necessarily an issue. The fact of the need for healing is a given. Where healers must be vigilant is in identifying too closely with the call for love. What that means to me is: don't get sucked up into the drama. The price we pay for this is a sense of standing apart, or of being alone. This, when occurring often and to great measure, can drain one's energy. It's important to refuel, of course. But it is also good to be assured that this is all part of the healing process. Healers are also purifiers of energy. It's not meant to be a martyrdom thing. It's simply part of the healing process. It's almost like the old saying: it's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it.
When the whole world is healed, then healers will sit back and say: see? It wasn't so hard. Yes, we have a long row to hoe until then. It's important to stand up now and then, stretch and turn towards the sun. It's good to dance a while, under the serious moonlight. It's nice to run away every so often, preferably somewhere that Nature is free and wild. All of these actions restore the soul to its equilibrium. Balance brings clarity. Clarity brings serenity. Serenity brings acceptance. Acceptance brings healing. Healing allows love to answer the call for love.
P.S. We are all healers (or can be).
I am not really sure if one way is better than the other. I do know that when I sit and the words flow easily, it doesn't feel like an effort at all. Rather, it feels like a relief to get the thoughts out! Honestly, I think the best posts are like that. I don't really overthink, I just write whatever comes to mind. Even though the thoughts may have been forming for a while, they appear to me to be spontaneous, not planned.
Bearing that in mind, this morning I read: It is the way of the miracle worker to always see all human behavior as one of two things: love, or a call for love.
Now, I have heard this before. It is actually a guiding principle of my life. (On a side note, I find it curious that I place so much importance on aspiring to live up to my ideals. Funny that I have somehow made it my life's purpose. More to think on that idea. ) So: anything that comes up is either love, or a call for love. How many see the latter more than the former, raise your hands? This is only an indication of how much healing is needed in the world. For those who live to heal, this is not necessarily an issue. The fact of the need for healing is a given. Where healers must be vigilant is in identifying too closely with the call for love. What that means to me is: don't get sucked up into the drama. The price we pay for this is a sense of standing apart, or of being alone. This, when occurring often and to great measure, can drain one's energy. It's important to refuel, of course. But it is also good to be assured that this is all part of the healing process. Healers are also purifiers of energy. It's not meant to be a martyrdom thing. It's simply part of the healing process. It's almost like the old saying: it's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it.
When the whole world is healed, then healers will sit back and say: see? It wasn't so hard. Yes, we have a long row to hoe until then. It's important to stand up now and then, stretch and turn towards the sun. It's good to dance a while, under the serious moonlight. It's nice to run away every so often, preferably somewhere that Nature is free and wild. All of these actions restore the soul to its equilibrium. Balance brings clarity. Clarity brings serenity. Serenity brings acceptance. Acceptance brings healing. Healing allows love to answer the call for love.
P.S. We are all healers (or can be).
Thursday, October 20, 2011
The Road Not Taken
When I go within to restore my self to sanity and peace, I have to be careful not to take the wrong turn, else I could end up in the seemingly bottomless pit of despair and dread. Fortunately, the path before me is lit. Now I only have to pay attention, and mind the gap!
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
The Reed Flute's Song
The Reed Flute's Song
by Jalalu'ddin Rumi, excerpted from Coleman Barks' translation in The Essential Rumi
Listen to the story told by the reed,
of being separated.
"Since I was cut from the reedbed,
I have made this crying sound.
Anyone apart from someone he loves
understands what I say.
Anyone pulled from a source
longs to go back.
At any gathering I am there,
mingling in the laughing and grieving,
a friend to each, but few
will hear the secrets hidden
within the notes. No ears for that.
Body flowing out of spirit,
spirit up from body: no concealing
that mixing. But it's not given us
to see the soul. The reed flute
is fire, not wind. Be that empty."
Hear the love fire tangled
in the reed notes, as bewilderment
melts into wine. The reed is a friend
to all who want the fabric torn
and drawn away. The reed is hurt
and salve combining. Intimacy
and longing for intimacy, one
song. A disastrous surrender
and a fine love, together. The one
who secretly hears this is senseless.
A tongue has one customer, the ear.
A sugarcane flute has such effect
because it was able to make sugar
in the reedbed. The sound it makes
is for everyone. Days full of wanting,
let them go by without worrying
that they do. Stay where you are
inside such a pure, hollow note.
Every thirst gets satisfied except
that of these fish, the mystics,
who swim a vast ocean of grace
still somehow longing for it!
No one lives in that without
being nourished every day.
But if someone doesn't want to hear
the song of the reed flute,
it's best to cut conversation
short, say good-bye, and leave.
by Jalalu'ddin Rumi, excerpted from Coleman Barks' translation in The Essential Rumi
Listen to the story told by the reed,
of being separated.
"Since I was cut from the reedbed,
I have made this crying sound.
Anyone apart from someone he loves
understands what I say.
Anyone pulled from a source
longs to go back.
At any gathering I am there,
mingling in the laughing and grieving,
a friend to each, but few
will hear the secrets hidden
within the notes. No ears for that.
Body flowing out of spirit,
spirit up from body: no concealing
that mixing. But it's not given us
to see the soul. The reed flute
is fire, not wind. Be that empty."
Hear the love fire tangled
in the reed notes, as bewilderment
melts into wine. The reed is a friend
to all who want the fabric torn
and drawn away. The reed is hurt
and salve combining. Intimacy
and longing for intimacy, one
song. A disastrous surrender
and a fine love, together. The one
who secretly hears this is senseless.
A tongue has one customer, the ear.
A sugarcane flute has such effect
because it was able to make sugar
in the reedbed. The sound it makes
is for everyone. Days full of wanting,
let them go by without worrying
that they do. Stay where you are
inside such a pure, hollow note.
Every thirst gets satisfied except
that of these fish, the mystics,
who swim a vast ocean of grace
still somehow longing for it!
No one lives in that without
being nourished every day.
But if someone doesn't want to hear
the song of the reed flute,
it's best to cut conversation
short, say good-bye, and leave.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Snap. Change. Enjoy.
Sometimes Life hands you little curveballs (sometimes Life hands you BIG curve balls, but that is a different story. I think.) Perhaps it's, say, an important person in your life, who is going through a difficult time. Perhaps, say, that person takes out their frustrations on you, or doesn't let you in to share or help with the situation. Perhaps, say, it happens over and over again, and you start feeling the weight of this, and start wondering why you are in this particular set of circumstances.
Don't wonder why. Always move forward from the point at which you stand. Asking why constitutes resistance to the experience of your emotions in that situation. What you resist, continues to persist. If, for example, you are feeling anger or anxiety over your current circumstances, asking "why?" (or Heaven forbid, "why me?") only serves to dwell on the negative aspect. I recently read about the concept of "paddling upstream" (resisting the situation and its emotions) and "turning downstream" (accepting the situation as it is, allowing the emotions, and letting go of outcomes). Turning downstream, and, indeed, letting go of the oars, allows you to find the current, to rest in the ease of knowing you are in the hands of the Creator in any situation. This does certainly not mean giving over control of your life to another person, or to the circumstance. It does certainly mean accepting your part in it, if any. It does certainly mean accepting the validity of what you are feeling. It does certainly mean trusting that the (eventual) outcome is in some way contingent on your acceptance. To clarify: your attitude matters. Turning downstream does not absolve you of responsibility. Turning downstream does not mean you don't care about others. Turning downstream means you care most about learning from Life. Turning downstream means you are loving yourself, and being kind to yourself. What you resist will persist.
The curious result of this acceptance is instantaneous relief. When you realize it is okay to feel what you are feeling, you immediately feel some measure of relief! I continue to be amazed by this.
Yesterday morning, I was walking to my yoga class. It is about a half an hour walk, so there is plenty of time for ruminating. I was thinking about the above, as it's been rolling about in my mind for several days. I looked down, and saw a slip of paper on the ground. The words that jumped out at me were: SNAP. CHANGE. ENJOY. I loved it! It was like a little mantra that fit right in with the above ideas! All I need do is...SNAP: turn around, accept my circumstance, go with the flow (in 70's-speak). Then...CHANGE: my attitude changes as I see that what I am feeling is allowable, to myself most of all. My outlook changes as I stop resisting. I feel relief. Finally...ENJOY: actually see what I can learn from this, look forward to Life's mysteries unfolding, and know that no matter what I am safe in the Creator's hands.
SNAP. CHANGE. ENJOY.
(P.S. Later on, walking home from yoga class, I saw another, identical slip of paper on the ground. I could not help picking it up, especially since it was the second time seeing the same thing! I felt like it had to be some sort of sign! Turned out it was a promo for a new cigarette! Hahahaha! We take our messages wherever we may find them.
Don't wonder why. Always move forward from the point at which you stand. Asking why constitutes resistance to the experience of your emotions in that situation. What you resist, continues to persist. If, for example, you are feeling anger or anxiety over your current circumstances, asking "why?" (or Heaven forbid, "why me?") only serves to dwell on the negative aspect. I recently read about the concept of "paddling upstream" (resisting the situation and its emotions) and "turning downstream" (accepting the situation as it is, allowing the emotions, and letting go of outcomes). Turning downstream, and, indeed, letting go of the oars, allows you to find the current, to rest in the ease of knowing you are in the hands of the Creator in any situation. This does certainly not mean giving over control of your life to another person, or to the circumstance. It does certainly mean accepting your part in it, if any. It does certainly mean accepting the validity of what you are feeling. It does certainly mean trusting that the (eventual) outcome is in some way contingent on your acceptance. To clarify: your attitude matters. Turning downstream does not absolve you of responsibility. Turning downstream does not mean you don't care about others. Turning downstream means you care most about learning from Life. Turning downstream means you are loving yourself, and being kind to yourself. What you resist will persist.
The curious result of this acceptance is instantaneous relief. When you realize it is okay to feel what you are feeling, you immediately feel some measure of relief! I continue to be amazed by this.
Yesterday morning, I was walking to my yoga class. It is about a half an hour walk, so there is plenty of time for ruminating. I was thinking about the above, as it's been rolling about in my mind for several days. I looked down, and saw a slip of paper on the ground. The words that jumped out at me were: SNAP. CHANGE. ENJOY. I loved it! It was like a little mantra that fit right in with the above ideas! All I need do is...SNAP: turn around, accept my circumstance, go with the flow (in 70's-speak). Then...CHANGE: my attitude changes as I see that what I am feeling is allowable, to myself most of all. My outlook changes as I stop resisting. I feel relief. Finally...ENJOY: actually see what I can learn from this, look forward to Life's mysteries unfolding, and know that no matter what I am safe in the Creator's hands.
SNAP. CHANGE. ENJOY.
(P.S. Later on, walking home from yoga class, I saw another, identical slip of paper on the ground. I could not help picking it up, especially since it was the second time seeing the same thing! I felt like it had to be some sort of sign! Turned out it was a promo for a new cigarette! Hahahaha! We take our messages wherever we may find them.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Milano Part II
Having landed in my hotel near the Piazza Lima a wee bit later than expected, I decided to catch a rest instead of wandering around. The hotel room was tiny, but perfect for one. And it was quiet, too, because it overlooked a small courtyard.
Refreshed, I headed out to meet B for dinner. She came to my hotel, as the Metro station was just outside my door! B had the idea to go to the Brera district, a neighborhood of art galleries and design stores, with narrow, winding cobblestone streets and loads of restaurants. The Metro is very easy to navigate, and we were in the Brera before we knew it. I was so happy because it was as if she'd read my mind about where I'd want to go! We wandered up this street and down that one, people watching, window shopping, and perusing a few menus as we went. About every twenty or so feet, there was a card table set up, with a fortune teller or a tarot card reader sitting there. Most simply let us pass by, but one or two tried to entice us. "Lucky, lucky!" We managed to resist....Many of the restaurants looked good, so finally we just chose one at random, sat down at an outdoor table, and enjoyed a lovely meal. In honor of my mother's birthday, I had Osso Bucco, and it was molto, molto bene.
The next morning after breakfast, B and I met up again. We decided to head straight to Castello Sforzesco, which is a castle that used to be the seat and residence of the Duchy of Milan, and one of the biggest citadels in Europe, and now houses several of the city's museums and art collections.
Since we arrived so early, we had the place almost all to ourselves. What a surprise and delight to find room after room of paintings, sculptures and artefacts! One of their prize possessions is Michelangelo's Rondanini Pieta, which he was working on when he died in 1564.
Next we headed to the Duomo, a Gothic Cathedral that is the heart and soul of Milan. Begun in 1564, it took nearly 600 years to complete! It was wonderful to be able to climb up to the roof (okay, with the aid of a lift, at least part of the way) and see the spectacular spires and eerie gargoyles up close.
So much seen, and it wasn't even lunchtime yet! We stopped in at the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele, which is a shopping area under two glass-vaulted arcades near the Piazza del Duomo. It is a popular meeting place. There you can find anything from Prada to McDonald's.
B had read of a good bakery nearby, where we found a long queue in testimony to its popularity! But the service was fast, so we soon found ourselves wandering the streets while snacking on panzerotti (fried dough filled with tomato and mozzarella cheese, and in my case spinach, too).
Suitably nourished, we spent the rest of the afternoon...shopping! We were in Milan, after all. I decided I needed a new handbag, but could not bring myself to spend mucho euro on a designer bag. Even though the prices were dirt cheap compared to Switzerland! I ended up buying a bag at Banana Republic! I also stopped in for a few items at Gap. After that, I laughed at myself for coming to Milan only to shop at American stores! Luckily for the credit card balance, I did not spend all that much money, really only buying a few things that were needed (like socks for Julia, a tee shirt for Daniel, etc.). It felt like a good healthy mix of indulgent and practical, the way a successful shopping trip should feel, in my opinion!
Our feet were exhausted and we were both starting to wilt, so we went for a breather at our hotels. But not for long! We still had a bit more of Corso Buenos Aires to explore! We went as far as Sephora, where I bought a much needed new hairbrush, which I love. On the way back, we came upon an area of street vendors. I spied a vendor with food from Sicily. I dared to hope for, and then I saw tucked in the corner: the holy grail of pasta....malloreddus! This is a particular Sicilian pasta that is part of DH's favorite dish at his favorite restaurant in Connecticut...I always look for it, and was successful only two other times in memory! I was thrilled, and bought 2 bags of it. I would have bought more, but I knew I had no more room in my luggage - I had traveled light to prevent myself from buying too much.
After one more rest, we went to dinner. My hotel's concierge recommended a restaurant a nice stroll away, called Noblesse Oblige. It turned out to be quite pleasant, as the chef came out and helped us choose our meals. We felt welcome there, although our waiter was a bit, shall we say, elusive. At one point, he was away so long, he returned to apologize and admitted he had forgotten about us! At least he was honest. I had a delicious piece of swordfish, which was a real treat. We even splurged on dessert, panna cotta, a sweet ending to a lovely day.
Needless to say, the return train trip home the next day was not nearly so eventful (B and I traveled together this time). Although they did kick a bunch of us off the train in Rotkreuz, Switzerland, as they were running late, so they were not stopping in Zug (sound familiar?? I am on to these people now!!). It all had a happy ending, because the train we caught went to my town, too, so I didn't have to change again in Zug!
A few short hours later, everyone was safely back home:
The next morning after breakfast, B and I met up again. We decided to head straight to Castello Sforzesco, which is a castle that used to be the seat and residence of the Duchy of Milan, and one of the biggest citadels in Europe, and now houses several of the city's museums and art collections.
Since we arrived so early, we had the place almost all to ourselves. What a surprise and delight to find room after room of paintings, sculptures and artefacts! One of their prize possessions is Michelangelo's Rondanini Pieta, which he was working on when he died in 1564.
B had read of a good bakery nearby, where we found a long queue in testimony to its popularity! But the service was fast, so we soon found ourselves wandering the streets while snacking on panzerotti (fried dough filled with tomato and mozzarella cheese, and in my case spinach, too).
Suitably nourished, we spent the rest of the afternoon...shopping! We were in Milan, after all. I decided I needed a new handbag, but could not bring myself to spend mucho euro on a designer bag. Even though the prices were dirt cheap compared to Switzerland! I ended up buying a bag at Banana Republic! I also stopped in for a few items at Gap. After that, I laughed at myself for coming to Milan only to shop at American stores! Luckily for the credit card balance, I did not spend all that much money, really only buying a few things that were needed (like socks for Julia, a tee shirt for Daniel, etc.). It felt like a good healthy mix of indulgent and practical, the way a successful shopping trip should feel, in my opinion!
Our feet were exhausted and we were both starting to wilt, so we went for a breather at our hotels. But not for long! We still had a bit more of Corso Buenos Aires to explore! We went as far as Sephora, where I bought a much needed new hairbrush, which I love. On the way back, we came upon an area of street vendors. I spied a vendor with food from Sicily. I dared to hope for, and then I saw tucked in the corner: the holy grail of pasta....malloreddus! This is a particular Sicilian pasta that is part of DH's favorite dish at his favorite restaurant in Connecticut...I always look for it, and was successful only two other times in memory! I was thrilled, and bought 2 bags of it. I would have bought more, but I knew I had no more room in my luggage - I had traveled light to prevent myself from buying too much.
After one more rest, we went to dinner. My hotel's concierge recommended a restaurant a nice stroll away, called Noblesse Oblige. It turned out to be quite pleasant, as the chef came out and helped us choose our meals. We felt welcome there, although our waiter was a bit, shall we say, elusive. At one point, he was away so long, he returned to apologize and admitted he had forgotten about us! At least he was honest. I had a delicious piece of swordfish, which was a real treat. We even splurged on dessert, panna cotta, a sweet ending to a lovely day.
Needless to say, the return train trip home the next day was not nearly so eventful (B and I traveled together this time). Although they did kick a bunch of us off the train in Rotkreuz, Switzerland, as they were running late, so they were not stopping in Zug (sound familiar?? I am on to these people now!!). It all had a happy ending, because the train we caught went to my town, too, so I didn't have to change again in Zug!
A few short hours later, everyone was safely back home:
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Milano Part I, or Getting There is Half the Fun
With the entire family away, it seemed like a great idea to do a little traveling myself. An acquaintance, B, invited me to join her on her trip to Milan.
The morning of my departure, I was feeling pretty adventuresome. I posted on my Facebook status update: "I'm going to Milan today, AND NO ONE CAN STOP ME." Playful, yes, but little did I know I had thrown down the gauntlet.
I left in the late morning, toting an overnight bag, for the train station in Baar. A quick train ride took me to the Zug station, where I would catch the 3 1/2 hour train to Milan. Simple, right? As I waited on the platform, I saw that the train was going to be 20 minutes late. Another train pulled in, bound for Lugano. The platform attendant approached me, deducing I was waiting for the Milan train. He proceeded to inform me that, in fact, since the Milan train was late, it might not even stop in Zug, but instead travel down the other side of the lake! This was because there were so many trains on the line, that, in order not to be further delayed, the Milan train could decide to take a longer but less traveled route. Hmmm....well, he said, you should take this train to Lugano, and meet the Milan train later on, down south. But then the on-train employee told me, it's okay, you can take this train or wait for the Milan train, it's up to you. I decided I would rather wait in Zug, where it was familiar, than in some strange station somewhere...strange. So the train left, without me. The nice young man on the platform then informed me that I had made a mistake, that I should have taken the Lugano train, because more than likely the Milan train would not come to Zug. The Milan train stayed on the arrivals board, though. Until it disappeared. Down I trudged to the ticket office. After some consternation on the part of the agent, she consulted her colleague, and her computer screen, and finally - you guessed it - the nice young man from the platform, who was now in the back room. She came out and told me, you should have taken the Lugano train! Duh! All nice and friendly, of course. Next, they told me, you can take a local train to Arth Goldau, and meet the Milan train there. Somehow, I would beat the Milan train to this station! And so I did, and duly boarded the Milan train. I even found my assigned seat in the correct car. Alas, an Italian lady was hogging most of the space of the 4-seat area, so I nicely and quietly settled in to the one remaining seat. All proceeded smoothly for several hours, until we arrived at the Italian border. We were informed, in German and in Italian, that everyone would have to exit the train and board another train. Much confusion ensued, naturally, and we were there quite a while as everyone filed off one train, and reloaded themselves into a shabby, rickety Italian commuter train. Nearly every seat was taken, and aisles were filled with baggage, too. The border patrol came through, doing random checks of people and baggage. Since I deigned to look one of them in the eye as he interrogated the Italian man next me, the agent demanded to see my passport. Luckily, I passed muster, and he handed it back without a word. The nice British couple across from me began to chat me up, relieved that I spoke English. It seems they were en route to Venice, having left London the night before, and travel via Paris and Zürich to this very station on the Italian Swiss border. She was cheerful and up for the adventure, and he was grumpy and rather put out by the whole cock up. They were enjoyable to talk to, though, and we chuckled at the situation as the train finally got underway, and lumbered slowly along. We traveled at a snail's pace, stopping at every seedy, rundown no-name station along the way. People who boarded the train clearly were surprised by the crowds, so I think this was not the usual run of events. Finally a voice announced, this time only in Italian, that anyone who wanted to go to Milano Centrale (me! and the nice British couple too) should alight at Monza and wait for another train to take them there. We arrived at Monza, and scads of disoriented tourists with their baggage milled around aimlessly, befuddled and bewildered. It then slowly became clear that the next train going to Milano Centrale would not be for another 90 minutes! Ugh! Of course, there were absolutely no railroad employees anywhere in sight. This was becoming quite the saga. I came upon the British couple, who were listening to a man explain that many people who had stayed on the last train, knew that instead of getting off at Monza, they could go to Garibaldi, and there take a Metro (subway) to Milano Centrale. Oooooh! The man showed us that the next train to Garibaldi was arriving in a few minutes. We three decided to try this new leg together, with the help of our new guide. We boarded an even shabbier train, and traveled about fifteen minutes to Garibaldi, while enduring a beggar who laid a typed (in Italian) plea for money on our seats and returned to silently chide us for not giving him money (and taking back his little slips of paper for further begging later). In the Garibaldi station, the Metro ticket machine was broken, so our guide trotted us (me and the nice British couple) up into the station, out the door, down the street, and into the Metro station. He showed us how to buy tickets, and brought us to the correct subway platform. During this time, I learned that the nice British couple were Ron and Julia, and they were heading to Venice in order to take the Orient Express train! Also, they were worried that they had packed the wrong clothes, as they learned that they would have to 'dress' for dinner. The Metro train came (think New York City subway circa 1977), we got onto the crowded car (by now it is full-on rush hour, so you can imagine the crowd), and traveled 3 or 4 stops. Guess what, we had arrived at Milano Centrale at last! As we said our goodbyes (Ron and Julia had to find a train to Venice), I learned that our wonderful new friend was named Martin. I thanked him, and he just smiled and wished me a a wonderful stay in Milan. I think he was German, and he did not seem to be completely familiar with Milan, but he sure knew a lot more than we three travelers! I will always be grateful for his kindness....Next, I had to find my hotel. I knew roughly how to get there, so I figured if I just wandered around enough, I'd find the street I was looking for. That did not exactly pan out, so I stopped a police officer as he was writing a parking ticket, and he nicely pointed me in the right direction. A ten or fifteen minute walk brought me to the Piazza Lima, the site of my hotel. And there it was! And it only took me six and a half hours to get there. What an adventure. The Italian train system TRIED to STOP me, but I made it to Milan. And I'm all the richer for the experience. In case you lost count, that was six trains, from home to hotel.
The morning of my departure, I was feeling pretty adventuresome. I posted on my Facebook status update: "I'm going to Milan today, AND NO ONE CAN STOP ME." Playful, yes, but little did I know I had thrown down the gauntlet.
I left in the late morning, toting an overnight bag, for the train station in Baar. A quick train ride took me to the Zug station, where I would catch the 3 1/2 hour train to Milan. Simple, right? As I waited on the platform, I saw that the train was going to be 20 minutes late. Another train pulled in, bound for Lugano. The platform attendant approached me, deducing I was waiting for the Milan train. He proceeded to inform me that, in fact, since the Milan train was late, it might not even stop in Zug, but instead travel down the other side of the lake! This was because there were so many trains on the line, that, in order not to be further delayed, the Milan train could decide to take a longer but less traveled route. Hmmm....well, he said, you should take this train to Lugano, and meet the Milan train later on, down south. But then the on-train employee told me, it's okay, you can take this train or wait for the Milan train, it's up to you. I decided I would rather wait in Zug, where it was familiar, than in some strange station somewhere...strange. So the train left, without me. The nice young man on the platform then informed me that I had made a mistake, that I should have taken the Lugano train, because more than likely the Milan train would not come to Zug. The Milan train stayed on the arrivals board, though. Until it disappeared. Down I trudged to the ticket office. After some consternation on the part of the agent, she consulted her colleague, and her computer screen, and finally - you guessed it - the nice young man from the platform, who was now in the back room. She came out and told me, you should have taken the Lugano train! Duh! All nice and friendly, of course. Next, they told me, you can take a local train to Arth Goldau, and meet the Milan train there. Somehow, I would beat the Milan train to this station! And so I did, and duly boarded the Milan train. I even found my assigned seat in the correct car. Alas, an Italian lady was hogging most of the space of the 4-seat area, so I nicely and quietly settled in to the one remaining seat. All proceeded smoothly for several hours, until we arrived at the Italian border. We were informed, in German and in Italian, that everyone would have to exit the train and board another train. Much confusion ensued, naturally, and we were there quite a while as everyone filed off one train, and reloaded themselves into a shabby, rickety Italian commuter train. Nearly every seat was taken, and aisles were filled with baggage, too. The border patrol came through, doing random checks of people and baggage. Since I deigned to look one of them in the eye as he interrogated the Italian man next me, the agent demanded to see my passport. Luckily, I passed muster, and he handed it back without a word. The nice British couple across from me began to chat me up, relieved that I spoke English. It seems they were en route to Venice, having left London the night before, and travel via Paris and Zürich to this very station on the Italian Swiss border. She was cheerful and up for the adventure, and he was grumpy and rather put out by the whole cock up. They were enjoyable to talk to, though, and we chuckled at the situation as the train finally got underway, and lumbered slowly along. We traveled at a snail's pace, stopping at every seedy, rundown no-name station along the way. People who boarded the train clearly were surprised by the crowds, so I think this was not the usual run of events. Finally a voice announced, this time only in Italian, that anyone who wanted to go to Milano Centrale (me! and the nice British couple too) should alight at Monza and wait for another train to take them there. We arrived at Monza, and scads of disoriented tourists with their baggage milled around aimlessly, befuddled and bewildered. It then slowly became clear that the next train going to Milano Centrale would not be for another 90 minutes! Ugh! Of course, there were absolutely no railroad employees anywhere in sight. This was becoming quite the saga. I came upon the British couple, who were listening to a man explain that many people who had stayed on the last train, knew that instead of getting off at Monza, they could go to Garibaldi, and there take a Metro (subway) to Milano Centrale. Oooooh! The man showed us that the next train to Garibaldi was arriving in a few minutes. We three decided to try this new leg together, with the help of our new guide. We boarded an even shabbier train, and traveled about fifteen minutes to Garibaldi, while enduring a beggar who laid a typed (in Italian) plea for money on our seats and returned to silently chide us for not giving him money (and taking back his little slips of paper for further begging later). In the Garibaldi station, the Metro ticket machine was broken, so our guide trotted us (me and the nice British couple) up into the station, out the door, down the street, and into the Metro station. He showed us how to buy tickets, and brought us to the correct subway platform. During this time, I learned that the nice British couple were Ron and Julia, and they were heading to Venice in order to take the Orient Express train! Also, they were worried that they had packed the wrong clothes, as they learned that they would have to 'dress' for dinner. The Metro train came (think New York City subway circa 1977), we got onto the crowded car (by now it is full-on rush hour, so you can imagine the crowd), and traveled 3 or 4 stops. Guess what, we had arrived at Milano Centrale at last! As we said our goodbyes (Ron and Julia had to find a train to Venice), I learned that our wonderful new friend was named Martin. I thanked him, and he just smiled and wished me a a wonderful stay in Milan. I think he was German, and he did not seem to be completely familiar with Milan, but he sure knew a lot more than we three travelers! I will always be grateful for his kindness....Next, I had to find my hotel. I knew roughly how to get there, so I figured if I just wandered around enough, I'd find the street I was looking for. That did not exactly pan out, so I stopped a police officer as he was writing a parking ticket, and he nicely pointed me in the right direction. A ten or fifteen minute walk brought me to the Piazza Lima, the site of my hotel. And there it was! And it only took me six and a half hours to get there. What an adventure. The Italian train system TRIED to STOP me, but I made it to Milan. And I'm all the richer for the experience. In case you lost count, that was six trains, from home to hotel.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Leapin' Lizards!
Off we go, into the wild blue yonder! Life is an adventure. To quote a wonderful, wise woman: every day is golden, every moment is sweet and precious, and meant to be lived. Hip, hip, hooray! Hip, hip, hooray! Hip, hip, YAHOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Friday, September 9, 2011
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
9/7 Wednesday Hodgepodge....
There is a link to the wonderful blog whence these questions came, to the left of this column.....
1. What is one piece of advice you would give a 'just turning' 21- year old adult?
Go confidently in the direction of your dreams.
Go confidently in the direction of your dreams.
2. Besides cooler weather (or warmer weather, depending on your hemisphere) what is one thing you are looking forward to this fall?
In general, I am looking forward to seeing what fall is like in my new country.
3. What sound lulls you to sleep?
I love the 'white noise' of my fan. I admit, it is a hard habit to break when the cooler weather comes around!
4. September is National Preparedness Month...does your family have an emergency 'kit' and/or disaster plan in place?
I first built a kit after 9/11. It's around here somewhere....
5. How has your blog changed since you started blogging? Or has it?
It's pretty much the same: usually intermittent, and occasionally insightful!
6. What's something you've recently learned to do on the computer?
I'm trying my hand at Google+.
7. Is a picture worth a thousand words? Elaborate.
8. Insert your own random here.
I was excited to learn today that, not ten minutes' walk from our place, is a lovely hiking trail through the woods...at the end: the Höllgrotten caves..."Amid the wild romanticism of the Lorze ravine, these most beautiful limestone caves are richly adorned with calcareous formations, while miniature lakes, impressive stalagmites and stalactites in a variety of hues give each grotto its special characteristic." I can't wait to go there!!
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
The last day of August
At the school's Welcome Fair today, I found:
a dentist
two German language schools
a hairdresser
two yoga teachers
two spas
a hiking club
a book club
a lunch club
a bowling alley
Afterwards, I went for coffee with a new friend.
A great day!
a dentist
two German language schools
a hairdresser
two yoga teachers
two spas
a hiking club
a book club
a lunch club
a bowling alley
Afterwards, I went for coffee with a new friend.
A great day!
Monday, August 29, 2011
Eindrücke, Part 1
There is an elaborate set of foot and bike paths that weave their way between, behind and around all the homes and apartment buildings around here. It is a great system, providing both shortcuts, and pleasant, quiet ways of getting from one place to another, or even just a lovely stroll.
Every day, a man rides down the path behind my building. In the front basket of his bicycle, he has a boombox.The boombox is always playing Swiss accordian music, for lack of a better description.
He wends his way past, heading somewhere, I know not where. A little while later, here he comes, headed back. His pace is always the same: slow and steady.
There are rules against any loud noises between 10 PM and 7 AM, and all day on Sunday. You must not offend anyone by making loud noises. Except if you are a church, in which case you can ring all the bells you want, whenever you want, for as long as you want. So it seems.
If you ask a Swiss person if they can speak English, they almost always say, "A little." Then they proceed to speak it quite well, at least enough for us to get the business at hand done. I am appreciative of this.
Zug is kind of like the Greenwich of Switzerland. A very wealthy community. The chasm between the rich and the poor is wide. The middle class is getting squeezed out by all the changes that have taken place in the last few decades. Picture this: a town of 26,000 that supports both a Maserati and a Ferrari dealership. And all around are farms, cows and barns.
Every day, a man rides down the path behind my building. In the front basket of his bicycle, he has a boombox.The boombox is always playing Swiss accordian music, for lack of a better description.
He wends his way past, heading somewhere, I know not where. A little while later, here he comes, headed back. His pace is always the same: slow and steady.
There are rules against any loud noises between 10 PM and 7 AM, and all day on Sunday. You must not offend anyone by making loud noises. Except if you are a church, in which case you can ring all the bells you want, whenever you want, for as long as you want. So it seems.
If you ask a Swiss person if they can speak English, they almost always say, "A little." Then they proceed to speak it quite well, at least enough for us to get the business at hand done. I am appreciative of this.
Zug is kind of like the Greenwich of Switzerland. A very wealthy community. The chasm between the rich and the poor is wide. The middle class is getting squeezed out by all the changes that have taken place in the last few decades. Picture this: a town of 26,000 that supports both a Maserati and a Ferrari dealership. And all around are farms, cows and barns.
Monday, August 1, 2011
How great?
I found a discarded fortune cookie slip, which said, "What great things would you attempt if you knew you could not fail." (sic)
My first thought was the saying, "With God, all things are possible." Then the enormity of that statement dawned on me. With God, all things are possible, INCLUDING FAILURE. God does not prevent us from failing, if that might be helpful to our growth.
So, the question as to what we might attempt if failure were not an option is unanswerable. It follows, too, that we need not wait for failure to not be an option in order to attempt great things.
Of course, then it comes down to fear, which is at the core of the whole failure concept.
And we all know the answer to that! LOVE! Now that's a great thing!
My first thought was the saying, "With God, all things are possible." Then the enormity of that statement dawned on me. With God, all things are possible, INCLUDING FAILURE. God does not prevent us from failing, if that might be helpful to our growth.
So, the question as to what we might attempt if failure were not an option is unanswerable. It follows, too, that we need not wait for failure to not be an option in order to attempt great things.
Of course, then it comes down to fear, which is at the core of the whole failure concept.
And we all know the answer to that! LOVE! Now that's a great thing!
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Hope's so....
The marvelous thing about hope is...that it is ever-replenishing. "Hope springs eternal" may be a cliche, but it is an apt aphorism. Hope has a way of renewing and sustaining faith. Perhaps they are cut from the same cloth? Hope is rooted more in desire and faith is rooted more in commitment. Hope looks for a certain outcome, faith accepts any outcome. It may seem, then, like we should favor faith over hope. Yet hope has its place in our lives. We are human, and we are prone to desiring...outcomes, mostly. So maybe hope is a stepping stone to faith. When we hope, we open ourselves to the possibility of faith. Surely we can arrive to faith without going through hope. Many times, though, hope helps us get through the moment. We cling to hope, because we have not let go of desire, of a certain outcome. Hope helps us survive our humanness. When we have hope, we can know that we are alive. Faith sees our hope , and calls out to it. Does hope answer, saying, yes, I am coming to you, faith? Does hope carry us to the faith that brings us home? Is that why, even when faith seems impossible, there is always hope?
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Fireworks in the Distance
We watched fireworks from the condo window last night. They were in the distance, so their impact was...muted somewhat. They were beautiful, and some were breathtaking.
It seemed appropriate, somehow, given our life circumstances. We've taken a step back from our ongoing lives, living in a bubble of slow time and quiet activities. We are in our native country, but we don't reside here. As the celebrations went on around us, we were observers more than participants.
So, fireworks...in the distance... were perfect. We sat in the darkness, each with our own perspective on the event. It was memorable not for the excitement of the near, but for the peacefulness of the faraway.
It seemed appropriate, somehow, given our life circumstances. We've taken a step back from our ongoing lives, living in a bubble of slow time and quiet activities. We are in our native country, but we don't reside here. As the celebrations went on around us, we were observers more than participants.
So, fireworks...in the distance... were perfect. We sat in the darkness, each with our own perspective on the event. It was memorable not for the excitement of the near, but for the peacefulness of the faraway.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Goodbye to Chiswick
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