EVEN TREES DO IT!

 

A series of essays….

MOUNTAIN FOREST LOCATED AT BOYD’S MOUNTAIN LODGE
IN THE SMOKY MOUNTAINS OF WESTERN NORTH CAROLINA

….as see through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

A taproot is a large, central, and dominant root from which other roots sprout laterally. Typically a taproot is somewhat straight and very thick, is tapering in shape, and grows directly downward.   —Macmillan Dictionary

Human beings are connected to one another via our roots. Our ancestors established these roots and continually serve as support and nourishment for our mind, body, and soul. Because they are the deep, underground portion of our very selves, we draw sustenance from them; they help to guide us through time and can be a formidable and intimate source of strength and encouragement when we need them the most. 

The current interest in programs such as Finding Your Roots and Who Do You Think You Are? illustrates the fact that, as humans, our desire to discover and explore our roots has become very important to us. 

What exactly are we hoping to find from our past? And, are we always ready to accept what we do find? Having pride in who we are and where we come from seems to be the main object of our search. We’d like to think that all of our ancestors were strong, kind, and philanthropic individuals who were the pillars of the community in which they lived and we derive from. 

Dissatisfaction with our taproot due to blatant cruelty or lack of higher standards may spread laterally, we fear, and influence us via our mutual root structure. If the basis of our own existence crashes in disappointment, how do we expect to find the nourishment and support we need in order to grow stronger and wiser?

Then again, just knowing what it would take to be more competent than those in our past should allow us to make better choices for ourselves in the long run; acting responsibly today in order to establish a better tomorrow.

As I work to establish my portion of the root structure network that may or may not be analyzed by those in the future, the question of character and life giving support for everyone who is touched in one way or another by my own daily journey—arises. Am I good enough, strong enough, and will my character contribute to the strong roots my offspring need to help get them through life’s experiences?

GRANDDAUGHTERS: AMAZING!

I wish to be remembered as a bit wacky but an extremely fun, caring, loving, talented, and artistic person by all of the important people in my life. This would be the richest legacy I could possibly hope for. 

The spark that ignited my current train of thought was fueled by the several bins of photographs I’ve been going through as we continue to weed out, categorize, and re-evaluate our stuff after moving back to Michigan from Florida! If our ancestors are the taproot we plug into for information about ourselves, photographs are the memories that surround us, ground us, and confirm in our minds activities from the past and present. Pleasantly, as one picture is hastily flipped behind another and strips of brown negatives slide to the floor, I realize how important our interaction with close friends throughout the years adds important meaning to the life we lead.

My sweet ‘sister friend’ often reminds me that good friends can become closer and more reliable than our own flesh and blood. There is that special bond within a productive friendship that sweetens through time and produces a caring and loving relationship between those who accept how important it can be to both parties. Since moving up to Kalamazoo, I understand and have experienced how beautiful and important a relationship like this can be. I thank all of my sisters for their acceptance of me and never ending love!

Yes, there are some outstandingly brave people that line my ancestry hall of fame: grandparents who fled the ravages of war in the Ukraine before WWI and found a good life together in the United States, a great aunt who protected my fifteen-year-old father from a wayward life by taking him under her wing, and a loving mother who, even though caught between the chapters of history, knew the importance of raising her children with an abundance of love and kindness.

HARTWICK PINES STATE PARK
SEPTEMBER 15, 2019

 

As we have recently discovered, the lateral roots of all trees work in harmony in the forest and are connected to one another as they reach out for the flow of nutrients from mother trees offering sustenance to their neighbors and offspring. The continued theme of gaining nourishment from our own roots impacts how humans sustain themselves and those around them. Family photos become framed displays of joy and pride with pictures of loved ones spread across the family room wall like ivy along a brick facade; feeler roots clinging to each crevice hoping to thrive throughout time and never be  forgotten.

The strong interconnection among family, friends, places, and celebrations along the years can be a heady experience. I will put the images away for now hoping my emotions are calmed by their brief absence. How satisfying to know that our taproots dive down deeply, powerfully within us after having sprouted sturdy guidelines and memories available to tap into whenever we feel the need to learn more.

Copyright © 2022 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

THE COOKIE JAR

 

A series of essays....

THE COOKIE JAR PASSES THROUGH
TIME AND GENERATIONS...

....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

There she sits, in all her glory. The apple-shaped outline keeps teasing my thoughts. Each little crack and crevice oozing  memories of a time and place so far away and long ago that they pull me back into my Grandma’s kitchen on the farm. Once again, I’m a small child seeking approval from the adults and trying so hard to fit in with my siblings and cousins that share with me the joys and freedom that farm life provides.

Even after riding on the tractor fender, holding on for dear life, while Grandpa navigated the furrowed fields, we wanted more and more of everything the farm had to offer. We were never disappointed. I remember how the chickens maddeningly clucked while we collected their precious offerings. Some eggs were cooked and eaten for breakfast. The majority of them, after being flame-checked, were placed in cartons to be taken to the local farmer’s market to sell.

The eggs that made it into the farmhouse kitchen on Grandma’s baking days were the ones that most interested us. Grandma was a consummate baker and the magic she weaved within the old coal-fired cook stove and oven, the coiled handles of the metal grates begging to be lifted to expose the heat source below, was woven around us kids like cotton candy on paper sticks at the county fair.

As rich and crisp as a Poilane biscuit in France, my Grandma’s buttery apple tarts, cream puffs, eclairs, cakes, buttermilk biscuits, and breads could rival any pastry chef’s delights found in Paris, today! 

AN EXAMPLE OF GRANDMA’S
FARM STOVE/OVEN

GRANDMA IS ON THE LEFT SIDE, THIRD PERSON BACK.
YOURS TRULY IS SEATED IN THE FOREFRONT, RIGHT SIDE.
GRANDMA’S COAL-FIRED COOK STOVE AND OVEN
CAN BE SEEN IN THE BACK LEFT OF THE PHOTO.

Photo courtesy of Linda McCombs Williams

Her kitchen was gigantic and spanned the entire depth of the farmhouse and was, probably, fourteen feet wide. It was the heart of the house and Grandma kept it beating in a steady rhythm while feeding family in numbers anywhere from the two of them to twenty-two on Christmas Day. The long, wooden table running down the middle of the room served as her prep bench when we weren’t sitting down at it and enjoying one of her meals. 

For us kids, it was the happiest room in the house! After working hard with Grandpa in the old barn, or having enjoyed a long romp in the apple orchard, we would migrate to the warmth of the kitchen where we knew ‘The Cookie Jar’ would be filled with treats meant for wild and playful grandchildren. Again, we were never disappointed.

CHECK-OUT ‘THE COOKIE JAR’
IN THE BACKGROUND

GRANDMA’S COOKIE JAR KEEPING WATCH

BREAK OUT THE ROYAL ICING

ALL OF MY LITTLE HELPERS WORKING
TOGETHER LIKE A FINE OILED MACHINE

Grandma, a smear of flour highlighting her cheek, would make sure we washed our hands. Then came the joyous sound of ceramic gliding over ceramic as the apple-stemmed lid gently slid away exposing sweet goodies she’d recently extracted from the oven. We had no clue if today meant sugar, peanut butter, chocolate chip, molasses, or oatmeal—but our small hands eagerly reached inside the belly of the apple to find out. Large glasses of milk suddenly appeared on the table to dunk with and create frothy white mustaches on our upper lips after  guzzling down the cold, refreshing beverage.

It always amazed me how Grandma could soothe the pain of scraped elbows and knees by merely opening that lid to our exploring hands. The simple presence of that blushing, ceramic vessel championed sudden impulses and often we were caught, literally, with a hand in the cookie jar. 

Now that we’ve moved back up to Michigan and close to our own grandchildren, standard traditions dictate Christmas cookie bake-offs and hours spent in my own kitchen. Last Saturday my daughter, grands, and I pulled-off a baking marathon with the scent of ginger, cloves, and cinnamon wafting throughout the house. There she sits, in all of her glory. Dusted with wayward flour and sporting more hairline cracks than ever before, ‘The Cookie Jar’ watches over us. Her splendid apple form and stemmed lid reminding me that what goes around comes around.

I inherited from my Grandparents the one and only item that means so many things to me. As it pleasantly evokes my own childhood memories of long, playful times on the farm, running between the tall corn stalks with my cousin, Vicki, and picking wild raspberries along the one-lane entrance path, I am grateful for the opportunity of showcasing it in my own kitchen. What pure joy to be filling it up with sweet, baked treats with our grandchildren!

Even though I’m not one hundred percent sure that Grandma was turning a blind eye (ear) to our sneak attacks into cookie heaven, I do know that when I hear the faint rubbing sounds of a ceramic lid sliding out of position, life is good and is how it was always meant to be. It is so satisfying to think that ‘The Cookie Jar’ continues to create new memories for the little ones that mean so much to us.

CHRISTMAS MUSIC FOR THE SOUL

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year 2021 to everyone! 

Copyright © 2020 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

MOVING 'TWENTY YEARS' UP NORTH

A series of essays.....

HOMEOWNERS IN ORLANDO

.....as seen through my eyes!



By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

Prior to moving down to Orlando, my husband had to put up with a mad person. 

“People don’t travel down to Florida to live,” is how I would counter his attempts at reasonability. “People travel down there to vacation, right?” We’d, actually, been doing just that for almost twenty-five years with our two, young daughters while we owned a week’s timeshare condominium on Sanibel Island, Florida.

After much kicking and screaming, and abject resistance on my part, and old fashioned wooing on his, I conceded after nearly a year. Our youngest, was just entering her freshman year at Michigan State University and I was bound and determined not to abandon her at this critical time in her life. Also, I was enjoying my job and was hard-pressed to leave it, our daughter, or the state that I had called home for so many years.

The ‘magical’ part (pun intended) was that our oldest daughter had secured a job with Walt Disney World after graduating from MSU and was just beginning a ten-year-long career with the company. Having her near helped me through the depression I’d been feeling about having to relocate.

And so, this journey to the City Beautiful (Orlando’s nickname), Theme Park Alley, and more people from all over the world than you could possibly imagine in one small space, began. It was nineteen hundred and ninety-seven when my husband drove down to begin his new job as Project Manager with Picerne Development. Our oldest daughter followed him down after accepting an Internship with Walt Disney World. I was, happily, up North trying to figure out how it happened to be that I was, suddenly, living all alone with family scattered here and there. And, then....it was time to move and join Dan in Orlando!

Moving itself was a no-brainer. The company moved everything we’d been collecting as a family for over thirty years and we had it divided between our new apartment and an air conditioned storage unit until we had a plan formulated as to where and when we moved into our own home. “Got to learn the lay of the land first,” I would say. “I have no clue which area of this sprawling city I want to live in! And, not knowing a single person down here to help fill us in, this is going to take some time.” Dan did agree with this.

Even as depressed as I was about having to change my life so completely, as well as leaving our youngest in college up in East Lansing, I knew that, eventually, I needed to find a job. The simple act of employment really turned things around. My concentration was not centered around ‘poor me’ anymore; it was about working once again, being with other people, and saving money for our new home. For the first time in many months I felt totally alive!

Two years in and with steady weekly deposits into our savings account, we were ready to take the piano out of storage and become homeowners in Orlando!

As our oldest daughter spread her wings and climbed the corporate ladder, we had two years to figure out where we were going to plant our Floridian roots and chose to build our ‘forever’ home on the East side of the city with convenient highway access to anything and everything of importance to us. 

Every night for four months, we would meet at our construction site to see the progress on our new home: “Perfect timing. Thought you were going to be late,” I chided. “You’re the one who had to drive all the way from Celebration to get here. That’s almost forty-five minutes across town on the 417! Let’s go see how much they accomplished in there today,” he said. How excited we were, and to think that building on our dreams within those four, cement block walls (eventually, to be covered in stucco) with the plumbing pipes sticking out of the cement slab on the ground....I felt I was going to be living on the other side of the moon! Pipes were supposed to be stuck somewhere between the wall studs or in the ceiling! And, not being able to have a basement was culture shock for me. 

Our oldest daughter met her future husband here. They were married on the west side of Orlando and gave us two of the most beautiful and brilliant grandchildren here. Having decided to follow an alternate career, however, they moved to Michigan and now thrive not far from where her sister resides. Our youngest, found the ‘love of her life’ in Michigan, married him and produced three adorable and accomplished children......including twins! And, then there were ‘five’ of the most precious reasons to ever reconsider making grand changes in our lives.

Dan retires this year. The pulse of life ebbs and flows with the tides that pull at the vast seas surrounding this semi-tropical peninsula we call home. Changes are coming along the horizon and we either accept them gracefully or remain basking in the Floridian sunshine forever, our family far away in Michigan.

A typical conversation would have gone something like this:

“Did you know this is the longest we’ve been in one home together throughout our married life? We’ve been down here for over twenty years, worked and played hard, and created a ton of memories,” Dan said, continuing the running theme of our Saturday morning coffee-fest while lounging in the room we, lovingly, call our library. 

“I do,” I replied. “But, my question is, haven’t we done all this the opposite way around? Don’t most people retire and then move down here to relax and live? I feel like we’ve been on a perpetual vacation all of this time. I kind of like it, Dan. I don’t know if I can take the Michigan weather anymore.”

“We’ve been very fortunate. But, I think life itself is calling us back up there with all of the kids. Hey, I remember having to convince you that moving down here was a good thing to do. You hated me for pulling you away from up there!”

“My heart was there, Dan. Our ‘baby’ was still there and I felt numb and disoriented when I knew it was time to commit to the disruption of our family by leaving her and making a life down here. 

Looking me square in the eyes, he asked, “Can you make that same commitment to our grandchildren now? Will you pull the ties that bind us here gently apart and help me create a new life surrounded by the people we love?”

“I can do that.” I paused, thinking for a moment. “Do you remember that mad, depressed woman you had to convince that Orlando could be a great place to call home? For nearly a year I would fly down to visit and you’d take me to plays, soft jazz concerts at Leu Gardens Park, with long, sunny drives down the Florida A1A where we’d make stops to walk the beach hand-in-hand and end up hauling tons of sand back into the car before making the trip back to your apartment? I want to feel that warmth again; always keep it alive in my heart.”

“I remember you kicking and screaming all the way down here! You weren’t very happy for quite some time, as I remember.”

“You dropped me in the middle of a fire pit and then flew off to West Virginia and Mississippi for the week for work! Orlando was in a dry spell and fires were flaring up all over the outskirts of the city,” I said, clutching a pillow to my chest as I recalled those frightening, early days.

“I know. You told me it was like I’d left you in the bowels of hell when I flew off to work every Monday.”

“If it hadn’t been for Ali being so close, I would have gone completely crazy! Our daughter helped me keep some semblance of sanity. Then we built this beautiful house together and I, finally, got the chance to decorate a home just the way I wanted to after all these years.”

Smiling at me, “It’s difficult to change. It’s hard to just let go of so many years of memories, isn’t it?”

“Yes. And because of that, you now have another crazy, mad woman on your hands! Only, this time, I’m kicking and screaming in the opposite direction...because, and don’t tell me otherwise, we both feel that Orlando is now our home in so many ways.”

“I agree, wholeheartedly, but after retiring, there isn’t a good enough reason for us not to be up North with all of the kids, my brothers and their families, and all of our good friends. Our lives will be full. Our lives will be complete and we’ll have, definitely, come full circle.”

“You’re right,” I said. “Of course, you are. What I need to do is get over the huge hurdle of retirement, selling this home, and dealing with the intricacies of packing up twenty years of memories. Twenty years of happiness.“

“Yes? And......?” he inquired with a quizzical looking grin on his handsome face.

“If I believe enough in ‘us’ and understand that being a family once again is our highest priority....then, and only then, will it be easy for me to fill up boxes and bins with all of our amazing Florida memories and begin moving ‘twenty years’ of our lives up North.”

“At the end of all our hard work will be the ultimate prize,” he explained. “Those five shining faces accompanied by a million kisses and hugs will surely warm us both up every day of the year!”

“I know. Their love for us and our love for them will always be far greater and much more meaningful than having the Floridian sun shining down like every day is a golden summer’s day. Hey, I love you, too, Papa! Let's get some boxes and I'll start packing some books...."

Copyright © 2018 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved  

NOSTALGIA

A series of essays.....

Photo Credit Naked Authors        A WALK DOWN MEMORY LANE......                                   

 

.....as seen through my eyes!



By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


Nostalgia, my old friend, why must I always find you lurking in the vast recesses of my mind...waiting, waiting for my vulnerability to emerge?  Wrap me in your rose-tinted vail so that I may see all that I long for once more.  Seduce me with your false promises but drown this present feeling of 'hope lost' so that I may smile and feel whole again, if only for a short while.

NOSTALGIA

John Larkins, author and one of New Zealand's founding fathers, once wrote, "Nostalgia is the intimate refuge of every man and every woman in a world seemingly gone mad."  If this statement holds credence, this may explain why so many of us choose to escape into a recent past that's been softened and gently shaped by our own good intentions.

My love affair with nostalgia has been a lengthy one and often reveals my true nature as a 'Hopeless Romantic' which includes everything from classic novels to ancient architecture and places that sweep you away to another place...another time.  Nostalgia has always encouraged my love for travel, foreign languages and the embracing of history in all of its myriad forms.  It would be impossible to see Paris without a lengthy visit to at least a portion of her many museums.  Housing some of the world's most important and rich collections, these museums are outstanding for their breadth, accessibility to all and historic importance.

THE LOUVRE MUSEUM IN PARIS

Whether we are seeking to enjoy masterpieces in painting, sculpture, drawings, art objects, and the history of a particular area itself, a museum is arguably the first place to visit in order to flood your senses with a healthy dose of beauty and nostalgia all in one!

The word nostalgia is a strange one.  And, when you say it out loud, it begs to be analyzed.  It feels funny as it vibrates through the nose, dribbles into the mouth and is imprisoned between the teeth.  In the end, it is released from between the lips like an exotic caged bird that's been given its freedom.  With exaggerated expression, speaking it can give the lower half of the face a good workout!  Go ahead....try it for yourself.  And that's just the physicality of this word. 

Nostalgia, as defined by the New Oxford American Dictionary, is a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past; acute homesickness.  For me, impactive emotions radiate from it like laser light beams strobing the atmosphere during a major rock concert and its affect on human nature can be measured by a thousand different points!

There is no intention on my part to debate the positive and negative aspects of nostalgia here, especially since, as stated above, I have  embraced it for all of my own personal reasons.  David Guterson, an American novelist and author of the book, Snow Falling on Cedars, was quoted as saying, "There's a certain nostalgia and romance in a place you left."  This idea has guided me through the small villages of Provence and the wide, organized boulevards of Paris.  A bit of yourself, your own spirit, remains behind in each new location you visit and that place will remember you if and when you ever decide to return! In the meantime, I capture each space, romanticize about it and write down exactly how it made me feel then....how it makes me feel today.

Many insightful factors play important roles as to how nostalgia can and does touch all of us.  They may include age, gender, geographical location, religious background, education, and so on.  Whether it's a certain circumstance, fact or influence that contributes to a particular result in our lives.....we can sift all of these elements together in a vintage mining pan and the odds are that finding the 'golden nugget' at the bottom will be determined by the measure of our desire and time!

NOSTALGIA IN A VINTAGE
MINING PAN

I sift through these elements to help summon all of the great memories I have stored-up in my mind or written down in journals in order to recall the many places I have 'left my spirit' after visiting there.  I reflect upon the beautiful people I've met who have influenced me along the way and graciously shared their spirit, as well as the numerous circumstances revolving around my travels that have generously impacted my life.  From the aged and softened heights of the Twelve Bens, part of the Maumturks Mountains of Connemara in Ireland to the water-smoothed, white speckled rocks found along the Côte d'Azur near Nice in France, and everything in-between.....I draw upon the memories of you each and every day.

ROCK COLLECTION

In an article written by Kacey Culliney for Datamonitor, "Consumers want that trip down memory lane, too, and evoking memories through packaging and marketing falls under the nostalgia and comfort trend. It is about inducing a positive emotional response as they, an aging population, anchor their emotions to another time and place where things were simpler and happier."  A prime example of this would be the annual sales of Girl Scout cookies.  A lucrative business that utilizes this trend fervently....  After all, it's all about triggering memories!!

MY PARENT'S TYPEWRITER

The terminology of 'Retro Style' has been around since the 1970's and the concept of nostalgia is linked to retro.  Wikipedia describes retro as forms of 'technological obsolescence' including manual typewriters, cash registers and bulky hand-held cellphones.  It suggests a fundamental shift in the way we relate to the past.  "Retro suggests a half ironic, half longing consideration of the recent past; recalling 'modern' forms that are no longer current."  As ladies, we may refer to this trend as 'vintage' and flock to upgraded second-hand stores in order to find original designer pieces at a lower cost.  Shopping connoisseurs in Paris have taken advantage of this concept for many years and American woman have returned home with vintage clothes, jewelry and shoes that dot their closets like the sparkling gems their original designers always meant for them to be.....

AHH!! PARIS......!

Yes, I freely admit to being a member of the aging population.  Memories are being triggered by so many sources and Facebook has definitely contributed to this 'overwhelming at times' trend.  If we have reconnected with childhood and school friends, and most of us have, we can literally be bombarded by a timeline of products, music, clothing styles, habits, and so much more every time we connect online.  The true advantage of this trend, I believe, is having the opportunity to share with and analyze early friendships that may have contributed to and helped shape our life as it is today.  Generally, this knowledge can be most enlightening!  And, good for the soul!

Think about how many of our waking moments are spent thinking about our children when they were young and how good it felt to be, well....needed.  Even though the pride we take in raising such strong and independent children is evident and we really wouldn't have it any other way, it is human nature to want to be needed and to be able to pass on to those you love all the life experiences and knowledge you've acquired throughout the years.  And, if so blessed, hallelujah, we have been afforded new chances with new opportunities and they are affectionately entitled.....Grandchildren!!

Have you ever wondered if living in the present might be more liberating for us than evoking our 'old friend' nostalgia to seduce us with false promises?  If you meditate as I do, then you have.  If you are indeed a spiritual being who is constantly enlightened by this beautiful world and people that surround you....then you have.  Who wouldn't welcome improved concentration, increased relaxation and a minimizing of the continuous chatter of thoughts about the future, the past or judgments about what is, which distract us from what's going on in the here and now? 

The blending of these two concepts, living in the present while embracing the past, has been working quite well for me even though I realize this could offer-up contradictions of basic beliefs.  However, I find it liberating to be able to clear my mind of unnecessary chatter through meditation in order to write.  But, to be able to write, it is necessary to fill my mind with facts, ideas and experiences that have been collected from my past. 

Sounds crazy, I know.  But it works for me.  So, they teamed up, discovered that they could make sweet music together and, as they say......the rest is history!

Copyright © 2015 By 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