PLENITUDE

A series of short stories.....

 

 

 

 

Plenitude....A 'Super Moon' Kind of Story

.....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


It's difficult for us to imagine how someone who could give us so much infectious joy throughout a lifetime and career can become so lost within themselves that the same joy is not able to save them from the sadness and helplessness swirling around within their own mind and soul. Like the fatal black mist that it is.....despair and the complete absence of hope has claimed yet another victim, Robin Williams.

Yes, Rest In Peace, Sweet Man!  As God and all of His Angels welcome you into their 'Heavenly Comedy Club' please know that your joyful spirit and generous nature lives on within every earthbound creature you have left behind.

We do not see you as a victim......rather, as an example so that we may become more informed and aware of others around us who suffer from feelings of extreme sadness and hopelessness, as you have.  Your private struggle should become our public format as we consciously educate ourselves to help others find relief from their own personal despair.

Comic Relief ~ Help For The Nation's Homeless
Whoopi Goldberg...Billy Crystal...Robin Williams

We must never take lightly this serious disease labeled depression.  Not one single person should have to suffer its consequences alone.  Unfortunately, it is a 'silent disease' that often evokes a sinister form of embarrassment by those who do recognize its symptoms.  This stigma has always been a grave societal 'faux pas' in the United States and has seriously weakened healthy social development for many decades.  Mental illness in this country can be filed under the heading of Major Taboos right alongside the medicinal value of marijuana (cannabis), nudity, same sex relationships, Civil Rights (after all this time and suffering), sex education and contraception, masturbation and, most regrettably.....rape.  Don't get me started!!

Sorry, too late.  How can such an advanced society such as ours,  comprised of intelligent individuals, still 'giggle' because they feel uncomfortable about their own bodies?  Why, in 2014, do we still hide behind invisible masks when the above topics are brought up within a civil conversation?  Has our own naïveté and unsophistication blinded our radar so badly that we've become oblivious to the presence of understanding and common sense?  Yes.  Quite simply, yes, because we continue to refuse to acknowledge the positive lessons learned by example and apply them to our daily lives.  "It's his problem or her problem, not mine," I hear this all of the time.  No, my friends, it is OUR problem!  I have said this before and will say it again and again.....we are all in this game of life together.  Let's make a valiant effort towards getting it right this time around!  Our children and grandchildren depend on our generation making a positive difference.

I further acknowledge the sinking notion that if a particular scenario does not make quick and copious amounts of revenue for certain individuals or institutions, then it's not worth pursuing.  Our resources are great and we live in a land of abundance with a plenitude of food and natural resources.  And yet.....yet, we squander the opportunity to properly feed and house our own people.  We continue to ignore the fact that our forefathers failed to appropriately apply checks-and-balances with regards to industrial development throughout the years.  Our world is suffering, in part, due to their neglect.  Couple this with our neglect, as well because some of us are still choosing to pretend, either for political reasons or by employing the 'ignorance is bliss' syndrome, that we are not destroying the natural beauty and sustenance that was given to us as our greatest gift of all, Mother Earth!

Perhaps, Robin understood all of this.....  The rich do get richer and the poor, well, the poor are too often forgotten about.  The color of your skin should never determine the value of your intelligence.  Love for your fellow man holds more value than a bulging bank account.  And, laughter can only temporarily hide or distract us from our underlying problems.  Sadly, Robin knew this.



Scene From The Movie Good Morning, Vietnam

Growing up in the same generation as Robin Williams, I often think back on the many reasons why I am who I am today.  I am a product of a strict, Catholic upbringing in the '50's; the '60's and '70's unveiled their complete package consisting of the brutality of war (Good Morning, Vietnam!), the unreasonable death of good people (Kennedy, King and Kennedy), while peace, free love and rock n'roll wound their trailing tentacles of import and significance throughout every fiber of our existence; the '80's and '90's were years spent attempting to cope with everything we'd lived through our first three decades of life.

Despite of or, more than likely, because of all the above, I have learned to be open-minded, verbal and passionate, vulnerable and always choose to believe my cup is half full rather than half empty.  Being an eternal optimist, I trust that mankind will do the right thing, make the best choices for a healthy sustainable earth and provide subsequent generations with a positive footprint for their future growth and development. 
 

Courtesy of: The Global Citizen

  
I Do Not believe in the justification of war because of religious ideals, beliefs or doctrine.  War becomes a hypocritical smoke-screen for the general lust for power and the control over others.  The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines a hypocrite as, "A person who puts on a false appearance of virtue or religion and acts in contradiction to his or her stated beliefs or feelings."  Our history books are filled with such hypocrites (The Crusaders, for example) who hid behind their particular 'cross' while seeking power and greed in the name of the Church!  Innocent people died, as they are dying today in Syria, Israel, Iraq and the Ukraine, to name only several places, due to the inability of men and women to see one another as equals along this dusty road called Life.  Who gets to decide that his/her lifestyle and religious beliefs should reign over another human being?

No one.

I don't care what banner you wave or if your 'good intentions' heighten your feeling of superiority over those you feel are less fortunate or living in darkness and must see the light....communication, learning and understanding our differences with the eventuality of accepting them and seeing yourself within others will even out the playing field. Toss out the fear of the unknown and accept the fact that the earth never really was flat after all!

Fear exists when the lack of knowledge prevails.  Understanding, awareness and the appreciation of other cultures, their lifestyles and customs are some of the main reasons why we enjoy traveling.  Walking unfamiliar terrain and witnessing sights you've only imagined while reading a favorite book or enjoyed in a particular movie......what a personal thrill! 

There is nothing quite as invigorating as a misty afternoon hike along a craggy mountain trail or walking hand-in-hand with someone you love on a moon-lit, Caribbean beach as a cool ocean breeze caresses your face.  And, like a refreshing breath of fresh air, Robin Williams inundated our mundane world with an abundance of pure joy, a plenitude of laughter and helped us to understand that life is a series of extemporaneous 
adventures.....totally unscripted and capable of taking us anywhere we want to go.  This is his legacy; this is his gift to all of us. 

Koko and Robin 'Hamming It Up'

"Tickle me, tickle me," signed Koko, the gorilla friend whom Robin had forged a bond with when he visited the Gorilla Foundation in California back in 2001.  Whenever I saw Robin Williams, either on the big screen or television, secretly I was asking the very same thing.  "Tickle me, tickle me and make me laugh......"  He never failed to do so.  I will always remember this brilliant, generous and kind man!  Love.

Courtesy of The 'Love Infinitely Project'
Give...Love...Create...Change

Copyright © 2014 Jacqueline E. Hughes
All rights reserved


 

THE SHAPE OF MEMORIES........

 A series of short stories.......

Traveling The French Coastline To Italy

........as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes





Courtesy of Writers Write

A daily writing prompt from Writers Write encouraged me to produce my story for this week by initiating a simple premise: write about the shape of memories.  Not their color.  Not their sound.  Not their emotional impact.  (Although, you know I'll include them anyway, right?).



I immediately began thinking about our venture into Italy and, more specifically, the 'mountains that flow into the sea' along the coastline from France right into Sanremo, Italy!  Where there is a strip of flatland riding the coast the width of a two-lane road lined by, perhaps, one structure on either side.  As you head into the town of Sanremo, heading east along the coastal road called the SS1, and turn to your right, you will see the magnificent blues of the Mediterranean Sea awash in a shower of golden light provided by the early afternoon sun.  Turning to your left.....dramatically, the earth flows upwards with white houses built into the mountain's base and large stone walls providing a muted gray-toned backdrop.

These vivid memories helped to shape our modest Italian escapade and mark our initial visit to this unbelievably beautiful country and dramatic terrain!!

Earlier that same morning, our memories were in the shape of stone fountains, disappearing rental cars and the heartwarming silhouette of a good friend basked in a halo of warm morning sunlight.  "Let me show you the closest underground parking lot to your hotel," said Claudine,  just before Dan dropped me off at the Hotel de France. Shortly afterwards, Claudine and Dan were walking together over the cobblestones towards the hotel to reclaim me and our luggage.  Making our way together back to the car, all I could think about was after putting hours of research into Aix in the form of its history, best places to stay, best places to eat, as well as exploring the Cours Mirabeau....none of that precious time afforded us an ideal parking scenario for the night.  I will have to rethink my priorities for future overnight stays within metropolitan European cities, especially involving rental cars and parking.

As difficult as it was to say good-bye to Claudine, we were well aware of precious travel time drifting away with each tick of the clock.  Checking the time as we pulled-out of the city proper and, eventually up onto the A8, our 'fast track' to Nice and Italy, we both realized that the adventure we'd just shared could have easily taken a full day to survive under different circumstances.

"It's ten forty-five and we're on the road.  What do you think?  Can we make it into Italy and explore a bit?" Dan implored, with an enormous smile spreading across his face.  After making eye contact and holding it for a moment, we both erupted with laughter that failed to wane until most of our fear, frustration and pain flowed away in the shape of salty tears that ran recklessly down our cheeks.  Wiping them away, we realized even then that these tear-shaped memories provided us the comfort and realization that life truly is one great adventure after another.  How we choose to individually react to and handle each adventure will be the barometer that measures the amount of happiness and joy we extract from it.  Releasing our fear encouraged us to relish all of the positives surrounding the morning's slight 'hiccup' in Aix-en-Provence and push us towards yet another adventure before flying home!

My memories of the A8 are ones of swiftness and speed as the panoramic French scenery and the Mediterranean Sea cradled us in their beauty with Dan navigating our little Citroen along the smooth stretches of asphalt past the likes of Frejus, Cannes, Cagnes-sur-Mere (that night's destination) and Nice.  Soon after passing the signs for Nice, we approached a rest area entrance that we followed through the tall trees before parking near a stone building neatly nestled in the early autumn foliage.  Evidently, everything in France, even the roadside toilets, were designed around beauty, as well as  functionality!!



Country of Monaco And The City of Monte Carlo

Walking back outside, I found Dan looking over a stone wall out to the sea and, when he turned and saw me, he beckoned me to join him there.  "What do you see?" He asked.  "The Mediterranean," I replied.  "And......what else?" he kept pressing.  Finally, I looked directly below us and recognized a landscape so familiar to me via pictures, videos, Technicolor movies starring Grace Kelly or, more recently, James Bond entering a Casino with the hope of elegantly thwarting his arch nemesis.  I was close enough to follow the twists and turns of streets that hosted Grand Prix racing since 1929 with colorful Formula One cars and drivers navigating them today before flying by the checkered flag.  We were perched like two birds just above the country of Monaco along the French Riviera with all of its 499 acres in plain sight and at least that many yachts docked between her two major ports, the Port of Fontvieille and Port Hercule. 

The midday sun exploded off the white marble-clad buildings, icons of wealth and beauty.  We recognized the breathtaking  Monte Carlo Casino with its jutting towers and ornate roof, as well as the elongated and graceful lines of the Prince's Palace handsomely settled between the two ports and majestically looking out towards the sea.

It was so difficult for us to turn away from this engaging sight, as you can imagine!  Our Italian adventures called and it was time for us to catalog these memories in the shape of romance; a lover's kiss....  Crossing over to Italy was a short drive and several tunnels away but, we had precious little time to do it in. 

Grimaldi, Italy

Like a ping pong ball shot through an air gun, the final tunnel spit us out directly into the industrial world of Grimaldi, Italy.  We'd arrived at last!  We were on Italian soil! Leaving the main road, Dan followed the signage and picked-up the SS1 that closely followed the coastline to Sanremo.  When the flat land between mountains and sea seemed to be  virtually disappearing, we found our 'road to heaven' and began to climb. 

Earlier in the week we had driven up to the summit of Mount Ventoux in the Vaucluse in France and remembered finding comfort in the wide, paved road, switchbacks cushioned on both sides by pine forests and, even when the vegetation ceased to exit as we approached the summit, the road seemed wide, safe, comfortable.  Well, the SP56 right out of Sanremo took me so far out of my 'comfort zone' that I braced myself for what was to be.....a very wild ride!

Sanremo, Italy

The series of tight switchbacks had us climbing at such a pitch that items not held down in the front of the car were now in the back of it.  Our small Citroen began to feel like a 1980 Cadillac Coupe Deville as the road narrowed and the twists became even tighter.  We were, for the most part, hugging the mountain on the inside and I suppose, psychologically speaking, this gave me something to cling to.  Dan's side, well.....let me just say, quite another story!  No guard rails, loose stone and an outer lane so narrow that when another vehicle approached us from the other direction, I would murmur prayers for us all!  Several times, Dan had to drive slightly up the mountainside so that we sat at an angle at a complete stop in order to allow a car to go by on the outside.  To this day I can see the other driver's weathered face as he inched by us, smiling in gratitude, and I realized at that exact moment he was literally sitting closer to Dan than I was!

Even though people who appeared to be 'locals' were passing by us, we had yet to see where they might live, work or where they were coming from until we finally popped-up into the clouds and were riding the Maritime Alps mountain ridge-line for the first time.  "Where do you think these people live up here?  I can't see anything but rock breaking through the clouds."  Yet, according to our map, we were approaching a small village to our left.  In the blink of an eye, the winds picked-up blowing the clouds apart and we instantly knew why we were brought to this very spot, having overcome numerous obstacles along the way, on that incredible September day in Italy!  No longer obstructed by the mountain itself, we were actually sitting on top of the world! We could feel the 'rush' of adrenaline course through us and relished how alive we felt, how in tuned with God and nature we were and, how we would hold this feeling within us forever.

When I close my eyes today, the shape of my memories of that view, that space in time, encompasses hundreds of dark, solid serrated edges criss-crossing one another and forming the pattern of an ancient, mystical game being played by the giants and gods who resided there.  Opening my eyes, I hold my breath until my mind aligns with my body and, exhaling....I find myself in the present although, not remembering how I got here. 




Walking in the Village of Bajardo

Driving into the village of Bajardo, we parked the car and walked along its narrow streets and tried to imagine calling this home.  Smiling and waving back at several 'locals' going about their daily business, we walked over to a short, stone wall and scanned the area around this village.  Tucked under the mountain's ridge across from us, we saw a farmhouse built into the mountainside and, just below it, furrowed fields of crops were skillfully maintained.  The scene was unbelievable, if not impossible to imagine if we hadn't seen it with our own eyes.  We were waking-up in Aix earlier this morning and now, here we were observing the patterns of life just below the sheltering cap of the enormous, blue Italian sky. 



City Anchored Along The Ridgeline

As though the gods purposely blew the clouds away for us, we now could see other villages that were anchored atop the ridge-lines in the distance.  I did not want to think about the roads that led their inhabitants home and this made me wonder how often some of these people even left the confines of their small village for the world far below.  Certainly, within the tight grip of winter, making such a trip would be close to impossible.  Given another day and much more time, we would have loved to attempt a conversation with anyone who could have supplied us with answers to our wondering questions. 

Farmhouse and Fields Tucked Under the Ridgeline

Time would be our undoing if we didn't utilize it well right now.  We had to continue our drive along the Strada Provenciale 61 (SP61) picking-up the SP62 through the town of Perinaldo and into Apricale da Delio but, not before my life flashed before me once again! Calm, cool and collected.....that's my husband, especially when he feels in complete control of a situation, even though my stress levels were rising into the stratosphere.....a place, at this height, that didn't seem too far away!



The narrow road that circumvented the mountains required artful maneuvering for oh, so many reasons.  With his driving confidence and ability shining brilliantly that day, I decided to call our daughter in Orlando and share this moment....provided there was enough signal.  Come to think about it, what obstacles could possibly be in their way from up there?  The sky?  An ocean?  Ali and Eric had spent their honeymoon in Florence, Italy, and often feel the Italian 'tug' on their heartstrings as we do with France. 

Unfortunately, Ali was grocery shopping and I missed her but, Eric picked-up after a few rings.  "Eric....hallo, Eric?  Hi!  Take a wild guess where Dad and I are calling you from right now?  No, no.  We're on an Italian mountaintop above Sanremo and the sea!  Yes, we're staying along the Cote d'Azure tonight, right near the beach and flying out of Nice early in th........Oh My God!"  My fingers froze around the phone in my hand and I found speech impossible.  The road, navigating the natural contours of the mountain itself, brought us to a tight, hairpin turn with nothing but sky and crumbling rock at its outer edge.  A wall of sheer rock loomed ahead as the road then took a right and climbed steeply up the mountain.  Did I happen to mention our car was a stick shift?  Not until Dan began to slow down in order to calculate the turn did I remember that Eric was, in a fashion, riding this out with us in Florida.

Heading Into Ventimiglia

I explained the scenario to Eric and asked him to hang-on.  "I love you, Dan....and, (gulp) I know you can do this, right?"  I recall him saying something like, "Have faith.  I know what I'm doing."  The only thing I was aware of was if he happened to miss the gear or not coordinate the clutch and gas pedals or, the car we'd saved from a French impound yard decided to go ballistic (relating to general physic's terminology, of course), we would be flying backwards down into the abyss with our son-in-law documenting our final flight!!  Let's just say....it would not be good.

Heading Back Into France

Climbing up the other side of the turn, I looked down to my right while incessantly murmuring new prayers of thankfulness.  "Jackie, is everything okay?"  Prying my fingers away from the cell phone and shifting it to the other hand, I informed Eric that we would live to see another day and we'd all get together shortly.  "Please tell Ali we love her." 

Large, fluffy clouds morphing from a 'fiendish' perspective to form a huge Valentine's heart would be the shape of this memory.  I'm sure it has everything to do with my grateful heart and the pure joy of placing my trust, my life, in the hands of someone who will always be there for me.  I did doubt Dan that afternoon along the crazy mountain road and I know that mad devil called 'fear' was sitting right there between us in the front seat. 

Cote d'Azur As Seen From Our Hotel Balcony

My Happy Dance!!!

We made it down off the mountains to the city of Ventimiglia.  It was nice and flat and right above sea level.  I remember doing a 'happy dance' after purchasing Italian candy for our two granddaughters.  We shot back up onto the A8 and were both a bit relieved to be back in France.  Making it to our hotel in Cagnes-sur-Mer before dark, we discovered we could walk to several restaurants and savored a delicious meal, alfresco, just off the Promenade de la Plage.  Enjoying a bottle of French wine together with our food, we discussed this wild and crazy final day of our trip and mutually decided it had been one of the most interesting ones we'd ever experienced.  Making a toast with a gentle 'ping' of French crystal vibrating in the dusk, we sat back in our chairs to watch the beautiful city of Nice light-up in the distance.  The golden light began to fill-in the darkness and the soft curvature of this famous coastline became more pronounced as the shimmering jewel of the Riviera burst into life across the darkening bay!

Dinner With Wine Along The Riviera

The shape of my memories from that languid and pleasurable evening would be in the form of jetliners converging over the sea and landing at the Nice Côte d'Azur Airport.  Next year?  Perhaps....

Nice Bursting Into Life

JAMES THURBER....WHERE ARE YOU NOW?

Series of short stories...

The Secret Life of Walter Mitty

 Through My Eyes....

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


Yesterday I had the privilege of watching the new release of The Secret Life of Walter Mitty starring Ben Stiller, Kristin Wiig and Sean Penn. Today I will be searching everywhere for the 1947 version with Danny Kaye and Virginia Mayo......you know, just for comparison/research!?!

I have long been a fan of Mr. James Grover Thurber: Cartoonist, author, journalist and playwright. A man with many hats but, he may be best known for his publication of cartoons and short stories in The New Yorker magazine in the 1930's. Along with his witty humor that highlighted the eccentricities of ordinary people, I would call him and his work the forerunners of today's Blogger and Blog sites and can only imagine the amount of wit and humor we have missed out on due to his placement in history! Can you imagine his productivity on a computer?

NBC's 1969 sitcom entitled My World and Welcome to It was based on stories and things that go bump in the night....by James Thurber. We were simply 'glued to the set' each week and could never get enough of the wild imagination of the main character, John Monroe (William Windom), and his interaction with wife, Ellen (Joan Hotchkis), and precocious daughter, Lydia (Lisa Gerritsen), who at ten was more interested in world and historical affairs than playing with toys.

To best illustrate and explain these events to his daughter, John relied on his imagination. Being a cartoonist, he often utilized the use of animation (based on Thurber cartoons) in his explanations. It was much like witnessing a public 'frontal lobotomy' for the sake of extracting the complete depth of John's imagination and placing it on the 'little screen' rather than to relieve any signs of depression. Although, this extraction often resulted in marked personality changes.

Twenty years later Ally McBeal's use of cartoon fantasies promoted a similar technique that helped her describe her co-workers and acquaintances. Loved that show, too! I'm a sucker for cartoons and lots of humor! Who will ever forget the dancing diapered baby, right?

Returning to Walter Mitty for just a moment....

As a writer, I have every reason in the world to identify with, encourage and promote 'Walter Mitty,' as well as enthusiastically remind all of us that without mental creative ability (imagination) in our lives, the world, as we know it, would be severely restricted, if not non-existent. The mind is the incubator for all things imagined and, ultimately, produced.....good or evil; right or wrong! It would be like taking away all adjectives from our spoken and written existence. Would it be, let's say, interesting to stand alone...black...white, with absolutely no color in between them? A world without the visual joy or colorful interpretation of Claude Monet's Water Lilies or the lack of descriptive character and flourish in the words utilized by a favorite author in his/her novel? A city lacking the indisputable distinguishing landmarks offered by its architecture that allow us to identify it via a single photograph. Cameras......no; a world without photography? Absolutely preposterous!

All of the above simply would not exist without our imagination!

Yes, unfortunately, the bad does mirror the good and we experience war, hunger, poverty, hate and the 'green eyed' monster called jealousy.

In the nearly two hours of immersing myself within scene after scene of Walter Mitty, I was able to temporarily forget about the negative and concentrate on the rugged and isolated beauty of both Greenland and Iceland. I followed Walter Mitty on water, land and in the air on his quest to find the most important piece of the puzzle; the one piece that, when inserted into its proper slot, would allow him to understand the true simplicity of his journey. His mission: To discover himself!  To rediscover Joy and Love!  To be Happy! 

He did.....and, along the way, Walter Mitty learned to love himself and with his newfound knowledge he was better able to understand his raisin d'être...the reason for his existence. Through the use of humor and a common goal, James Thurber's published short story, The Secret World of Walter Mitty, in The New Yorker so many years ago, spawned an amazing variety of entertainment for the masses with 'imagination' conducting the symphony that builds and builds to the crescendo of personal enlightenment!

Thurber, born in Columbus, Ohio in 1894, attended University at Ohio State.......a 'Buckeye.' I will try not to hold that against him! He lived and worked in Paris, France, as a freelance writer and reporter until he was hired by The New Yorker in 1927 as an editor upon the recommendation of E .B. White (of Charlotte's Web and Stuart Little fame). Thurber eventually concentrated on writing humorous short stories and his many cartoons and both he and White are credited with establishing The New Yorker's sophisticated tone. Both served on the staff of the magazine, according to The Early Shapers of The New Yorker, until Thurber resigned in 1933 but, he continued to contribute to the magazine.

I totally became a huge fan of The New Yorker while attending Michigan State University working at the Pesticide Research Center on a Work Study program. The science field has never been 'my thing' so please don't ask me how I secured that job other than I was a warm body who always showed-up for work. Anyway, within the freezing grip of a blustery winter term, the girls in the lab would take shelter in the woman's lounge for breaks. Stacked high on the table there I soon discovered nirvana in the form of weekly copies of The New Yorker that dated back several months and would keep me happy and occupied for hours. Dr. Zabik, the head of our department, would always find me harboring a copy or two by my side as I went about performing my daily lab duties.

To see one's byline and short story printed in The New Yorker meant that you had attained your goal and then far exceeded it in the same breath, if being a published author was your dream and desire. From that astronomical height, there would be few if any rejections of a future book deal. And, monetary reward and fame were imminent.

Oh, James Thurber, where are you now?

That starry-eyed young woman with ambition and hope still exists today.  Okay....the package is a bit crumpled and wrinkled now but, oh!, the life experience she's tucked away for future reference is absolutely amazing!  The places she's travelled to and the people she's met, gotten to know and still calls.....friend, speaks volumes.  Mr. Thurber....that young woman has done pretty well for herself in this world so far.  The great thing is, she knows her journey isn't even close to being completed.  Got a ways to go, for sure.  Got a few more mountains to climb and the trail up to their peaks is lined with adventure and discovery.  But, all-in-all, it's looking bright and shiny from where she stands right now......

If I could speak with you face-to-face, Mr. Thurber, I would thank you for so many things: Making us laugh, giving us hope, translating that hope into Joy and Love and, for challenging us every step of the way....making us stronger and more worthy.



And, I would thank you for that enormous stack of The New Yorker magazines that helped me discover, as a freshman in college, just who and what I wished to become one day.    





E. B. White and James Thurber on staff at The New Yorker

                                                                                                                                                                                                           

My Collections

Fifth in a series.......

 

 

Natural Beauty

A Series of Short Stories

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


I always bring back a stone or good sized rock from all of my travels.....as long as it doesn't weigh down the suitcase too much!  In a way, I feel as though just a tiny piece of the place comes home to live with us.  We can touch it, hold it in the palm of our hands or, just look at it and we are instantly swept back in time; living within our memories.

Down the Lane

I remember doing this as a kid on all of our family vacations with a stone from the Blue Ridge Mountains, Lake of the Ozark's, Upper Peninsula of Michigan and the foothills of Pikes Peak in Colorado.  I say foothills because once out there, my Dad refused to ruin the brakes on our car by climbing and descending this rocky behemoth with an elevation of over 14,000 feet!  Eventually, each 'unmarked' rock was put in a small box to mingle together throughout time and space.

This is the same way I feel about the images, usually in the hundreds (thank you digital cameras), brought home and uploaded to the computer.  Should I dare to wonder why the PC is so slow?  Note to Self: Finally use that 'external hard drive' to store your pics, OK?

One year, on a trip to Normandy in the north of France, I smuggled home a few scoops of soil.  I'm outed now!!  Having purchased flower seeds from a small nursery and garden shop along the Right Bank of the Seine in Paris, I nurtured those seeds in the Normandy soil within a pretty cobalt blue pot and witnessed the beauty of the seedlings as they matured into a profusion of color and fragrance on our lanai.

During that same visit to France, we went over knowing that our youngest daughter was engaged to be married.  Seeking what we believed to be a perfect engagement gift, led us on a series of interesting adventures among the locals of a small village near Mont-St.-Michel.  We came home with the prize: antique, monogrammed French linen sheets.  Sheets that only improve with time.  However, the unique stories we returned home with while looking for the sheets were nothing short of priceless.

People, places, fantastic memories and a few natural things.....these are the souvenirs of Joy and Happiness that constantly feed us until our next adventure begins.  This is what life is all about whether the experience is a shopping trip to the local Publix store for groceries or a pre-planned excursion to parts unknown.  Life itself is the adventure.....!

Once again I sit at my desk going through the pictures from Galway and Connemara thinking about the story behind each one.  The stories come seeping out around the edges of a picture like the bubbling juices of an apple pie recently extracted from a hot oven.  Yummy, delicious stories made from many letters and emotions mixed and infused to create a whole, at least, in my mind.

It is so enjoyable sharing these sweet thoughts with you, in story and picture form.  I am uncertain as to whether my goal is to entice you to visit where we've been or, create the essence of you having already been there via my stories.  Whichever works for you, my readers.  My stories and pictures are combined with you in mind.  Also, I really enjoy the travel, writing and photography!!

Today I am introducing 'My Collections' segment.  Before leaving for places yet to be discovered by my camera's lens, I create a list of ideas to focus on.  It may be a collection of 'lace curtain' windows, colorful Dublin Georgian doors, or children in Paris walking home from school.  Opening my imagination to any and all suggestions, it's amazing what collections are added to the list once we arrive at our destination.  This is a major part of the excitement of travel for me.  The photos that come home with us are the basis for all of the stories I write and they serve to remind me of things leading up to, as well as what transpired after each was taken.

In addition to my photo collection, potential rock-garden from around the world and agricultural transgression (singular, I might add!), the books by French and Irish authors brought back to fill our minds and spirits with great stories have become an essential part of my life.  Eason's Bookstore and WH Smith Books, my Irish counterparts to Barnes and Noble, are a must stop each trip.  My husband and I never wonder why our check-in luggage sports a bright red tag for 'excessive weight' on returning flights!

I made my virgin visit to the Eason's, located at Lower O'Connell Street, Dublin City, back in 1990, bringing home books by Michael Farrell, Brinsley MacNamara, J. G. Farrell and a 1988 paperback edition of a book entitled The Lilac Bus by Maeve Binchy.  This was still quite early in her career and she had yet to be picked-up by her U.S. publisher, Anchor Books.  Consequently, I had no earthly clue as to the future importance of this little gem of a book or the brilliant impact this author would soon have on the literary world.

Today I bring home talented U.K. authors the likes of Cathy Kelly, Edna O'Brien and the talented Kate Mosse who, with her well written trilogy that revolves around Carcassonne, a fortified French town in the province of Languedoc-Roussillon, has one foot in the U.K. publishing market and the other in the U.S.  She lives between England and France.  And, yes, I may covet her life to a certain degree.....

Anyway, the point is that as I've been writing this piece, my initial 'Collection' has been following me down the page.  Have you noticed?  Ever since checking into our sweet little cottage in Oughterard that was surrounded by the most charming dry-stacked stone wall, I've been captivated by them.  Of course, they are everywhere you look in Ireland.  They were stacked with hard work, pain and absolute attention to detail and some remain totally naked of vegetation while others are tenderly wrapped like exquisite Christmas packages in tendrils of ivy and soft, soft moss.  Everywhere we turned these beautiful dividers of working fields, homes and barns, and emerald green pastures provided a local art form passed down from one generation to another.  I felt so privileged to have had an opportunity to preserve them in my own way.

What feeds your desire to travel to a certain place and then, perhaps, return there again and again and again......?