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

LOST AND FOUND IN AIX-EN-PROVENCE

A series of short stories........

French Charm At It's Best

       

 

 

 .......as seen through my 

 

 

 By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

Claudine stood tall and strong within her five-foot, three-inch frame as she verbally battled away in her native French language. She was a proud soldier that morning, just on the outskirts of Aix-en-Provence, and we were fortunate enough to have her on our side!

                                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Our saga began, as it occasionally does, when attempting to find your hotel within a city that blossoms out like an ancient, golden flower from the city center (Centreville). And, you must tackle it by peeling it back, layer by layer, pedal by pedal, until you recognize a street name or a fountain or a cathedral that's been etched on your brain through months and months of research and planning. Whew! In addition, we were entering Aix, population over 144,000 (not including tourists), at around five o'clock in the evening on a Friday night in early September......

Picking-Up Our Rental Car In Nice

"This is like looking for a needle in a haystack," Dan shouted, after turning down the same one-way street for the third time.  And, to make matters worse, our little, grey Citroen rental car was literally crawling through a mass of humanity as we navigated the tiny cobbled street again and again.  "I'll try giving the hotel a call.  Maybe they can tell us how close we are."  Dialing our cell, I reached the desk clerk at the Hotel de France on the first try!  Now it was a matter of letting him know approximately where we were and have him tell us our current relationship to 63 Rue Espariat, the address we were looking for.

Our View From Inside

Exhausted and momentarily weary of humanity, our destination for one night loomed in the distance.....like the ancient structure it was, built of grey/black stone and shrouded in variegated dark shadows......we were on the very edge of the old city center and the maddening crowd was pouring in en masse for a lively evening of food, drink and merriment.  Soon, we hoped to be doing the same. 

Dan was delighted to find a small parking lot with one space available adjacent to the hotel.  So, we squeezed in for the night and hauled our luggage back to our hotel to check-in.  We were in such an ideal location, really, with shops, restaurants, night life and the Cours Mirabeau, the famed tree-lined avenue named for Honore Gabriel Riqueti, comte de Mirabeau, a French politician  who was a leader of the early stages of the French revolution, just a few blocks away.  I wish we had been there one day earlier when the vendors lined the Cours Mirabeau with their magnificent wares from homemade cheeses and breads to hand-printed and brightly colored tablecloths making-up one of the largest street markets in Provence.  We had been to several in and around Sablet, the hilltop town in the Rhone valley where we had rented a French gite (rental property) for the week, before leaving for Aix to visit Claudine. 

Fontaine de la Rotonde

 Our little room certainly reflected its age (after all, the building was constructed in the seventeenth-century), but it was brimming with charm like champagne bubbles escaping over the rim of a crystal flute.  The tall French window, outlined with heavy red-velvet draperies, now nearly faded to pink, opened up to the small square below.  If you twisted your head to the right, you were greeted by the aged and glowing two-story neon sign announcing the presence of the Hotel de France in the darkening night shadows.  How we could have utilized this beacon earlier in the evening!!  We looked out of our window right down onto the famous Fontaine de la Rotonde (fountain) surrounded by ancient cobblestones and people as far as the eye could see!

Aix, known for being a college town, constantly reflected its youthful exuberance everywhere we went.  The narrow streets were 'full of life' and the wide avenue and heart of the old city, Cours Mirabeau, was jammed with locals, students, as well as tourists from all around the world!

To satiate an early hunger (brought on by stress, I'm sure), we stopped to watch an Asian couple making enormous crepes in their tiny shop and filling each thin, egg pancake with a variety of treats such as Nutella, peanut butter or several kinds of cheese.  I opted for a whole wheat crepe oozing with melted cheese, folded in half and then folded again creating a perfect 'walk-as-you-eat' delicacy. "This should do the trick until seriously deciding where to eat later tonight," I proclaimed.

Eglise Saint-Jean-de-Malte

Knowing beforehand we had just a short time in Aix, a return visit was placed on our to-do list because it was obvious that such a beautiful, historical city required several days of judicious exploration to even begin to understand how unique and exciting it is.  From the Gothic architecture of Eglise Saint-Jean-de-Malte, a thirteenth-century Roman Catholic church and the first to be built in Provence, to the myriad of elaborate fountains, broad avenues lined with plane trees and cafés, and grand houses built during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.....a time of great prosperity for Aix and it was once the capital of Provence before political disputes and religious wars ended its reign.

Fountain of the Rotonde

The following day was going to be one of our 'sweetest' yet 'busiest' days of this particular visit to France!  Sweetest because we were to meet our friend, Claudine, for an early breakfast at one of the cafés lining Cour Mirabeau.  Busiest because upon leaving Aix-en-Provence, we were going to 'fly' down the E80, equivalent to our interstate highways, in our little rental car and cross the boarder into Italy for a short visit before heading back to our hotel near Nice for the night.  Yes, we knew that Sunday would be a (whirlwind) kind of day but with Claudine's company in the morning and tucking ourselves in for a good night's rest in Nice on the evening before flying home......life was looking really good!!

All we had to do now was find a great place to grab a late evening meal before heading back to the Hotel de France.  Tucked neatly off a small side street three blocks from our hotel, we discovered a small, eight-top (perhaps ten) little gem of a restaurant where we plunged into a light and satisfying repast complete with adequate amounts of French baguette et beurre and a bottle of local Rhone Bourboulenc to compliment the meal.  Ah.....heaven on earth!

Claudine and Me

Returning, albeit lethargically, to our hotel, we decided to go via the parking lot to make sure our car was okay and ready for our early departure.  The lot remained completely full and our travel 'lifeline' was happily settled-in for the night.  Now, it was our turn.

The morning brought us sunshine and contentment, much needed after such a rocky adventure into dreamland.  Between the hotel's neon signage just outside our window and the popular nightclub on the other side of the fountain, strobe lights, neon, music and loud conversations swaddled us in their abundance of energy until after four o'clock in the morning!  With the sun playing off the bubbling water in the fountain below our window in the square, Dan and I dressed and made our way down to the lobby to meet Claudine.

Claudine, Ali and Florence

We had been introduced to Claudine the year before by her sister, Florence, who was a neighbor and good friend of our daughter and son-in-law.  Florence was born and raised in the Luberon with her sister and two brothers.  This area of France was inserted into mainstream lifestyle and conversations by the popular books written by author Peter Mayle beginning with A Year in Provence published in 1989.  Two sisters could not be more unlike one another!  While Florence left France at an early age to explore life and work her way around the world, Claudine has remained in Aix most of her adult life and holds a position at one of the local colleges within their Language Department.

Entering the lobby, her bright smile sparkled and warmed our hearts as it had done upon first meeting her a year ago in Florida. "Bonjour mes amies!  Comment ca va?"  With a brief kiss on either cheek for both of us, Dan and I followed her out into the morning sunshine for our brisk walk to an open café along Cours Mirabeau for strong coffee, croissants and warm conversation.  Even though our time together was concise, we caught-up with all the important aspects of our lives and then some.  We told her of our desire to return and she said that she would point-out several much more comfortable places to stay that would guarantee us a better night's sleep....if nothing else!

The Perfect French Breakfast!!

Since she had walked from her apartment to meet us, we all walked back to the hotel before sadly saying our good-byes.  The three of us duly noted the occasional antique car passing by us along the Rue de la Couronne and enjoyed how well restored and maintained the American-made Ford and Chevrolet cars were and wondered if they would be paraded down a main avenue sometime after our departure that morning.  And, with a heartfelt a bientot (until soon, I hope) liberally passed around with Claudine's promise to be our personal guide on our return visit to Aix, we watched her walk out of our lives once again before scurrying upstairs for our luggage and the promise of Italian vistas.

"What the hell is wrong?" was the best I could come up with as I studied the stunned and lost expression glued to my husband's face when he returned to our room carrying the same luggage he'd left with moments ago.  "It's gone, Jackie!  Our car is gone!," Dan repeated.  "What do you mean gone?  Was it stolen?" I asked.  "If you mean by the gendarme, yes!  They towed it away to God only knows where along with every other car in the lot."  Speaking in torrents of pain and panic he continued, "I tried to talk to the officer...in French even, to tell him we are tourists and it is a rental car and ask him how do we get it back and he just pointed to one small paper sign attached to a post and it was written in French. Then, he just turned away from me altogether!"  Evidently, the female gendarme at the scene at least told Dan that the small paper sign informed car owners that this lot was to be evacuated by eight o'clock that morning due to city business.  At eight we were finishing breakfast with Claudine and beginning our walk back to the hotel.

Admiring the Antique Ford

Pins and needles charged through my body at lightening speed leaving me strangely petrified yet energized all at the same time.  "Can you go down there and speak to them in French?" Dan implored.  "I'll do one better," I stammered, as I reached for my cell phone to call Claudine.  I must have sounded like a babbling child as I attempted to quickly explain our scenario over the phone but, she got the gist of it and told us not to move and she'd meet with us up in our room.  Mon Dieu, the French equivalent of OMG, seemed particularly suitable right then. Especially when repeated over and over and over again!

Ten minutes later, the three of us were strategizing, with Claudine, clearly, being the most level-headed.  "I have never before owned a car or felt I needed to," she stated.  "We will go down and find out what's happening and just where your car has been towed and take it from there, okay?"  Leaving our luggage at the desk so that we could check-out of our room, the three of us walked to the parking lot like soldiers  heading into battle.  Claudine found the male officer and he was as evasive with her, a local speaking his own language, as he had been with Dan.  Assuming he'd woken up on the wrong side of the bed, she turned to the female officer and ascertained that our car was towed to the car impound yard on the outskirts of Aix and that we would need cash only to pay the fines and, hopefully, get it back on a Sunday morning.  OMG....here we go again!  Didn't see that one coming!

Not only did we not see the small sign (tacked-up just before the towing festivities began, I'm sure), but we missed the deadline by mere minutes even if we had.  Next, we needed cash and the assurance that someone was working at the impound yard on a Sunday and willing to accept said cash in exchange for the release of our rental car.  As Dan ran over to the nearest ATM, Claudine and I looked around the emptying lot.  Tears welled-up in my eyes as it slowly registered that the antique vehicles we ogled only a short time before were being driven and parked into the newly emptied spaces of the lot to be placed on public display here for the day.  What?  Did the spirits of Detroit just manifest long enough to bite us in the ass?  I do believe they did....

Aix Impound Yard (Fourriere)

Claudine hailed a cab and we rode to the impound yard (fourriere). In order to prove that the rental car was legally ours, they allowed Dan access to the glove box to extract our rental agreement.  Now, we were to conduct business with a gentleman located behind a small, white window.  Claudine, of course, did most of the talking. Occasionally, we saw her expression soften and then tighten-up as her conversation with the man became more emphasized and animated.  She kept us informed of the pertinent details and discovered we would need to pay a cash fine for the towing and related fees that day and then we had ninety days to pay the fine for the actual ticket that had been written.  Total for the two fines was nearly two-hundred Euro with eighty Euro due immediately.

We stood at that window like three Musketeers until paperwork had been typed-up and signed, money exchanged and receipt printed out.....around forty-five minutes to an hour in total.  The man handed us the ticket with instructions for payment and gave us permission to enter our vehicle.  Nice!  As we were driving back into town to park in an underground ramp (our initial mistake), Claudine filled us in on her earlier emotional discussion.  "I asked him if he thought this was any way to treat Americans who came to France to spend their money and invest in our city through tourism. Should we not treat tourists with respect so that they will return and bring others with them?" she declared.  He told her this was not his problem, simple as that.  Claudine told us it was a tact (savoir-faire) that she hoped would soften his heart and make him see reason.  I love her....even if it didn't actually work!

Claudine and a Very Grateful Husband

Oui, bien sur (yes, of course), the BIG question that still haunts us even to this day is, how would we have accomplished all of this without the assistance of Mademoiselle Claudine Usai?  My only answer to this would be: In the best manner we knew how to at the time.  Hopefully, we would have found someone willing to help us, was a local and had the time, and who spoke fluent French and enough English to fill-in-the blanks for us.  Just as we have an abundance of helpful souls here in the United States, there are many good people to be found worldwide!  If you require an example....just think of Claudine.  If you don't believe kindness exists in a large, metropolitan French city, think again!!

***Let me know if you'd like to hear what happened after we finally left Aix-en-Provence that Sunday morning.  If I have enough interested readers, I will make this my next blog.

Cafes and Shops Along The Cours Mirabeau

Copyright © 2014 by Jacqueline E. Hughes
All rights reserved

BY THE SEA, BY THE SEA......

A series of short stories.....

Beach At Cape Canaveral At Dusk

.....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes



.......By the beautiful sea!  This has been my life for the past week or so; Label me a total beach-bum!!  And, I am loving every sandy/sunny minute of it.

I live in Paradise here in Florida, let's face it, and I have few things to complain about.  The past seventeen years, give or take a few months, in Orlando, have provided an entirely new perspective of my life, one that I'll never take for granted.  Just the mere thought of slipping on a pair of capris or flip-flops 365 days out of the year is a gift!  Having the butter yellow sun shine down to help brighten the day and cheer-up your life with its warmth and glow for an average of 236 days each year.....hello!?  As my husband has reiterated more times than I have had the patience  to calculate, "This sure beats shoveling snow!" 

Beach Wind Surfing

My point is this.....Just when you think it doesn't get any better or, when the short thirty-minute drive to be able to walk the Atlantic shoreline and kick-up the beach sand in pure joy and contentment is never underestimated.....something comes along, if you're lucky, and one-ups an already 'good thing.' 

Three years ago a friend of ours introduced us to his rental condo on the beach at Cape Canaveral, a short drive from Orlando.  Cliff told us to relax and enjoy ourselves.  Since it was off-time between his regular renters, we were handed the keys and, with the gods cooperating weather-wise, life has been good to us and we never undervalue this 'special' time together at "Cliff's Condo!"




Brenna.....Our Ukulele Baby

The first year we stayed, our daughter and son-in-law graciously agreed to let us bring Brenna, our three-year-old granddaughter at the time, with us.  The memories created here with her are ample and guaranteed to appease the crustiest of hearts!  With Brenna around, that's pretty much a gimme anyway. 

A trip to Ron Jon Surf Shop in Cocoa Beach provided her with an Hawaiian print dress (complete with matching lei) and her very first ukulele.  I told her about a song I recalled from my childhood entitled Ukulele Baby and downloaded it to my cell phone via iTunes.  I remember her entertaining the luncheon crowd at the Mom & Pop restaurant we stopped at and afterwards, Brenna selected a homemade cupcake to bring back home for her Mommy.

The three of us took long walks on the beach and scoured the sea for signs of dolphin, whales and exotic, scaly sea creatures.  And, if we couldn't spot anything unusual while standing 'Popeyesque'-like with flattened hand above our brow, eyes skimming the undulating horizon.....we would just keep looking harder and harder the next time!

Life is good! 

While swimming in the pool last year, several condo owners who live here full-time were discussing the extreme peacock population, not only within the resort, but throughout Cape Canaveral.  (I felt like I was hanging over a fence listening to the scuttlebutt about the mating habits of this exotic bird.)  Having noticed the inordinate amount of peacocks we were sharing space with here, I drifted even closer and tread water just a few yards away.  "Not long ago, several peacocks were found protecting their unhatched eggs and many residents thought it was adorable to see," said the lady wearing the black-skirted bathing suit.  "Without thinking about the future, the neighbors unanimously decided not to tell anyone or disturb the nest," added the lady in the brown-skirted suit.  Now, the blue-skirted lady added the most poignant information to my eavesdropping conversation by stating the obvious, "We all allowed it to go too far and now they are everywhere, a huge nuisance and protected by the law!!"

One of the Local Residents

I am well aware of their awesome beauty, however, the squeals, squawks and screams emitted by the peacock (24 hours a day) are enough to haunt you for the rest of your life!  We've compared their sounds to cats fighting, a child desperately screaming for help and a B-Movie, Prehistoric Bird swooping down on its unsuspecting prey.  Let's just say, I appreciate the vibrant iridescent plumage of the male's covert feathers......however, please don't find your way to the Orlando area anytime soon!  We'll visit you once a year.  Thank you so much.

With A Dove On Top

I was sipping a cup of tea out on the small back porch late one morning and heard what sounded to me like someone playing the saxophone.  I recognized the tune immediately......and then it stopped!  What?  It didn't take long to realize my 'saxophone player' was actually one of the Disney Cruise ships announcing its departure from port by playing "When You Wish Upon A Star" utilizing its horn signal.

Two years ago Eliane Closset entered my life while she was doing a photo shoot beachside and I was reading in the sun.  She asked if I would keep an eye on her sandals as she barefooted it to the surf for some close-up shots.  When she returned, given her accent, I asked where in France she was from.  "Non.  I live in Belgium," she replied.  The next hour or so we compared cameras, families, countries (France  vs. Belgium) and the benefits of living in Belgium over France.  We exchanged e-mail addresses, phone numbers and continue to communicate to this day.  I am seeing her later this week!

Yes, life is good!

Dan and I walked the beach last Sunday and headed for the fishing jetty that overlooks the cruise ship channel, as well as the launching areas of our many space shuttles that began their missions right here for so many years.  It remains a most amazing sight.  Sporting my Bay Hill visor to protect my face from the sun (something Floridians deem exceptionally important), I soon realized that taking my hand off my visor in the strong cross-breezes should not have been an option.  As if caught in a mini-vortex, my visor swirled up several feet only to plunge sharply down into the water between jetty and stone wall.  I succinctly bid adieu to my favorite visor as it merrily bobbed around in the salty surf.....

The Jetty

A gentle voice interrupted my sad thoughts as I heard someone say, "Would you like me to snag that for you?"  "Really.....you would do that?" I asked.  A young man to our right cast out and snagged the 'dancing visor' on his second try.  Thanking him profusely as Dan disconnected two small hooks from my hat, the young man admitted that after several hours, my visor was the first substantial thing he'd caught all morning!  I hope things looked-up for him as the day progressed!

There's something about being at the beach that brings out the "Happy" in all of us!  We relax in a way that only fresh sea breezes and warm sand between our toes can make us feel and, it's an experience  that reverberates joy and contentment throughout our bodies and souls and awakes all of the 'positives' within us.  For these reasons, plus so many more.....I, simply, love the beach!




Blue Skies

After working on my writing quite early yesterday morning, I packed a small, canvas bag with water, camera, the current book I'm reading (Citadel by Kate Mosse), sun lotion and a small blanket.  Slinging it over my shoulder, I was beach bound at last.  The sky was cloudless and so alarmingly blue that when it kissed the horizon and blended with the sea you could almost imagine a heavenly vapor form in the distance.  Yes, it was that kind of morning....magical!

The walk back to the condo is brief (five minutes...tops) and guests must unlock a gateway to enter the complex from the beach.  Upon opening the gate I noticed someone coming up the beach ramp behind me so, I waited for the gentleman to pass through before he shut the gate behind both of us.  As we proceeded to walk past the swimming pool together, I heard him politely inquire, "Have you had enough of the beach?"  My mind registered his question and I knew he was just being polite given our close proximity.  But, when I turned to face him in order to properly supply an answer, the only appropriate reply seemed to be in the form of a question, a practice I personally try to avoid.  Looking directly at him I asked, "Is that even a possibility?"  When he smiled back, he slowly moved his head side to side and said, "Never in a million years!"

Do you have a favorite beach that soothes your soul, recharges your energy and makes you.....happy?

.....You and me, you and me...Oh how happy we'll be!!

















Copyright © 2014 by Jacqueline E. Hughes
All rights reserved

BOOK REVIEW: Alarm Clock Dawn

A Book Review.......

Books....Books....Books.....and, Even More Books, Please!!!!!

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

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

Occasionally, within your busy, daily life, you unexpectedly run across something that turns your head, makes you think and helps solidify that what you and many others do is nothing short of......well, impressive!!!

When I began to write many years ago, it was a time decidedly punctuated by a lifestyle rife with reading as many books, classic and modern, fiction and non-fiction, as I could get my hands on.  My passion, my future was 'written in stone' around the age of ten and I have been quite comfortable ever since.  Life (marriage, children and work) intermingled with my writing and time certainly carried me away upon its illusive wings until our youngest, Corinne, began her freshman year of college at Michigan State University in 1997.  We had become 'empty nesters' at the ripe, young age of forty-six and my life changed in so many ways. 

Dan obtained a job with a multi-family building company out of Altamonte Springs, Florida, and moved down to the Orlando area about one year before I followed him.  This allowed me time to tie-up loose ends at my current position, as well as see Corinne through her first year of college....something I felt quite strongly about.

Even though I now 'lived in paradise,' I continued to work outside of our home.  However, my passion for writing, finally, had time and space to blossom into a feasible desire to be published one day.  Becoming a freelance writer afforded me the chance to hone my craft even more and, with a travel article published in the local paper, the Orlando Sentinel, travel writing seriously appealed to me....Big Time!

Social Media soon followed and I was addicted to it as my 'drug of choice.'  Among Facebook, Twitter, Google+ and Tumblr, to name a few, I have not only initiated and shared my weekly blog, Moving On...2014, but the greatest perk through all of this has been the opportunity to meet so many beautiful people throughout the world, become friends and discover their talent and passions, as well.  Hence, my addiction....

Today, I am taking yet another giant leap within this amazing, colorful world via social media.  Because the talent (out there) beyond cyberspace and into the daily life of many gifted people is so prevalent, it deserves recognition on so many levels.  Authors, photographers, painters and sculptors....just to name a few.  People with day jobs, hopes and dreams, families and aspirations of being able to share their talents with others; entertain the masses.

Upon meeting Eric Vance Walton via Twitter and Facebook, I  familiarized myself with his writing and decided I had to showcase his work and give more people the chance to become captivated, as I was, by his debut novel.  Eric, you are my first author reviewed but, I guarantee you have set a precedence here at Moving On that I am so proud to be a part of.... and will be for a long, long time!!
  
                       * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

BOOK REVIEW: "Alarm Clock Dawn" by Eric Vance Walton


Alarm Clock Dawn, a brilliant debut novel by author Eric Vance Walton, is a chilling foreshadowing of the possibilities all of us might be facing if our paths continue to lead us through the controlled darkness and corruption of Corporate greed and the continued annihilation of the so-called Middle Class.

Power mixed with Idealism can be a lethal combination when applied to Johann Pfizer.  As CEO of XenTek, a leader in futuristic technology, Johann based his corporate success upon Middle Class consumerism with the constant desire to live competitively on the 'cutting-edge.'  By dictating for decades what he feels the consumer needs and must have, XenTek and Johann Pfizer have locked into the individual greed of mankind while creating depersonalized human robots and declassifying the art of individual thinking.

Adam Harkin, an employee at XenTek, while intelligent and carrying high degrees within his qualified resume, had become just another 'number' as he was plied with material rewards and impressive job titles.  (The more money you made the higher line of credit you enjoyed.)  When Adam left work each night heading for his sterile cubicle called 'home,' he was becoming more aware of his lofty consumer status as his number, based on his credit score, allowed
him privileges well beyond those with much lower scores.  Your status within society was color-coded depending on your credit and displayed on an identification card that must be carried at all times.  Adam knew his 'green' card reflected his exclusive lifestyle, just as he was more aware of the everyday souls whose lower credit line deprived them of looking forward to brighter futures and only allowed them to solely concentrate on maintaining their current lifestyle...as if, even this was possible.

Adam, becoming more disillusioned by the inequality of life around him, realizes that the time required to maintain his own 'green' credit status has left him alone and lonely.  His life is punctuated by routine and habit with little or no time for pleasure or the simple joy of laughter.

With opposition groups forming and others being enlightened by the possibilities of a better, more wholesome life, devoid of corporate control and the rising financial gulf between the world run by XenTek and the majority of people classified by conventional values and conservative attitudes, Adam fears for his own future.  He was growing tired of his puppet-like life of rising at dawn when his alarm dictated he must, in order to begin this charade all over again.  

With Johann Pfizer planning to disrupt the delicate balance of the world once again by introducing his latest scheme to try to control it, Adam's recent promotion within XenTek presents him with the 'dark side' of his company's corporate image along with the absolute disregard for all life, in general, falling below CEO status.  Adam's desire for change opens his heart to the possibilities beyond the walls of the city, to the people and camps continually filling-up with others disillusioned and hampered by greed and power.  He soon learns how these camps are comprised of seekers of freedom and truth!

Even though I, as a reader, quickly realized what a 'page-turner' Alarm Clock Dawn turned out to be and, how fascinated I'd become in finding out the ultimate plight of Adam Harkin and the fate of humanity, so many things about this novel intrigued my imagination and prompted me to savor their many nuances that had become unique segues throughout the book.  Like an intricately decorated, multi-tiered cake, Eric Vance Walton was able to fill each delicious layer with suspense, intrigue, understanding of spirituality, as well as his ideal use of images and indirect suggestions.

Eric Vance Walton, a renowned, published poet in his own right, has astutely enhanced his storyline by supplying us with ample poetry interspersed throughout his novel.  Not only do these wonderful, original poems offer insight and add continuity to the plot, they serve to blend various dimensions of each character into a human, artistic form and balance them within the storyline.

The harsh realty of this brilliant debut novel is uncomfortably familiar to all of us.  By the end of the book I wanted to scream wildly at the greed and stupidity of mankind.  Why do some people enjoy and respect the natural beauty God has lovingly bestowed upon all of us while others treat mankind and nature as expendable commodities?

If you are looking for a poignant read that is well written and includes a monumental "twist" at the very end....then, Alarm Clock Dawn should be placed on your e-book library shelf or personal bookshelf at home as soon as possible.  Is it ever too late to help change the direction our world is headed in for a better one?  This novel may encourage this change before it is too late for all of us.

I have heard that this project is the initial part of a trilogy and, after reading Book I, can only hope that Book II will be just around the corner.

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

Author Bio provided by Eric Vance Walton:

Eric Vance Walton is a novelist, author and poet with a writing career spanning nearly two decades.  He has published several books in different genres and has won several awards for his work including the "James Thurber Treat Prize".  Alarm Clock Dawn is Eric's debut novel.


Facebook Author Spotlight Link:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Eric-Vance-Walton/320090161436012


 Lulu Author Spotlight Link:

http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/ericvancewalton


 Author Website Link:

http://ericvancewalton.wordpress.com/


 



















 

OPEN TO INTERPRETATION

A series of short stories.....

 

 

 

Grandpa Marion W. Grubbs (Circa 1922)

.....as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes


As a card-holding member of the IrishCentral.Newsletter via my Facebook connection.....whatever the hell that means?!?!......I've recently perused their new post entitled, The Worst Irish Insults and Racial Slurs, etc.  Thanks to Cathy Hayes (author) and The Racial Slurs Database (source), I was able to identify something from my childhood that has haunted, and, possibly, greatly warped me, thus helping to create the 'twisted' adult I am today!  No comments, please.....

I enjoy seeing how the rest of the world perceives this friendly, beautiful and mystical race of human beings with whom I have a great affinity with, along with much love and respect for.  IrishCentral.com, The Galway Advertiser, WorldIrish, Rare Irish Stuff, Burren Perfumery and, Naill O'Dowd himself....the founder of IrishCentral, are among the many sites I look for everyday on Social Media in order to keep-up with the news, views and events happening within the daily 'breathe' and lifestyle of Ireland. 

Let us not forget Ireland's colorful, albeit often sad, history, as well!  I have written many times about the Great Famine in Ireland that changed the easy-going perception of life as the Irish once knew it and forced a simple, loving group of people beyond the brink and into the depths of disparity.

Marion and Hester

My exceedingly proud paternal grandfather, Marion, was tall, handsome and his smile could stop you in your tracks and make you turn around and come back for more.  He often spoke of his Irish heritage but, he never delved deeply enough to afford us tangible insights into his ancestry which could include dates, towns or experiences.  He was also a very private man.  As an adult, I often wonder just how much my Grandpa actually knew of his past or, perhaps, he knew and never wanted to talk about it!!

His oldest son and my Father, Jack, my namesake, occasionally alluded to certain ideas that he must have picked-up on through the years about his beginnings.  Even these are minimal and, at best, convoluted like a seashell washed-up on a sandy Connemara beach in the summertime.  I recall the feeling of negativity, at best, with terms such as 'Shanty Irish' and 'potato eater' coming to mind.

Olga and Jack Grubbs

The Urban Dictionary defines Shanty Irish as, "Irish decent people who live in filthy dwelling slums.  They have a culture that consists of getting drunk until the room spins, surviving off of TV dinners and counting their freckles....."  Well, I suppose certain stereotypical images of the Irish poor have been and will be spread from generation to generation within a colorful offhand manner and my Dad certainly contributed to his own, mild verbal abuse. 

Thinking back on the lines of my Mother's younger siblings in My Ukrainian Connection, I believe my Dad's attitude can be attributed to 'Generational Beliefs.'  Succeeding WWII, the 'twenty something' generation chose to abandon their pasts and consciously embrace a life built upon The American Dream......literally throwing away reminders of what once was for a future of what could be.  What better way to dismiss the past than to trash it and move on?

Grandpa Marion moved-on quite easily becoming a local businessman and revered, upstanding member of the small community of Three Rivers, Michigan, back in the late '50's and early '60's.  He and Grandma purchased the existing American Laundry located on 4th Street across from Dock Foundry and they renamed it Three Rivers Laundry and Dry Cleaning. 

The laundry soon became a multi-generational establishment with my older brother, Ron, initially driving-up from Terre Haute, Indiana, where we lived at the time, to work at the laundry for Grandpa during the summer months.  I remember his second purchased 'set of wheels' was a monumental find when he answered a local ad for the sale of a green and white '57 Chevrolet with one owner and "Priced to sell....!"  Wow....what a classic car!  I often bet how he wishes he could have held onto that stunning vehicle, forever.....

Classic 1957 Chevy

With much debate (I am being very tactful here) and soul searching, my parents decided to follow Ron's lead and move one more time.  Yes, Jack and Olga soon became the 'new' Marion and Hester and proceeded to run the laundry side-by-side, through thick and thin, for many years to come! 

Rhinie Status

And, that's how I made it to Three Rivers and began my eighth grade year at Three Rivers High School with Rhinie status, "....babes slung into changing classes and memorizing locker combinations."  Big Brother, Ron, was making a mark for himself as a Junior.  We were both the 'new kids on the block' at a very vulnerable time in our young lives and we had so much to prove, especially to ourselves.  At least he could drive.  And, he owned a cool car, too!!!

Grandpa remained the patriarch of our clan and to this day I can still visualize him walking into the laundry's back room just to see how things were progressing.  Of course, we always knew of his presence before actually seeing him due to the ever present lit cigarillo cigar, Tiparillo, complete with white, plastic filter, he held snugly clamped between his teeth, lips and a smile.  Its sweet aroma preceded him.....always.  And, that was my memory of 'working' Grandpa.


Grandpa Marion at his home on 7th Street with its totally fenced-in, manicured green lawn, two-story, white clapboard house complete with glassed-in, three-seasonal front porch and two humongous cherry trees in the backyard, was pretty much the same as 'working' Grandpa to me.  He always dressed to impress even while doing yard work, carving the turkey at Thanksgiving or loading his small boat with gear for a fishing day-trip on one of the surrounding lakes.  Once a year, he would trade-in his magnificently groomed appearance for a padded, red velvet look, including snow-white hair and trimmings, and saunter onto the chilly front porch (the only room large enough for all of us to be together) and distribute wrapped presents he'd pull from the large black bag he had slung over his shoulder.  Everybody received a gift from Santa, including the adults, and we older grandchildren were not about to break the spell he had on us by "spilling the beans!"

Now, thinking about The Urban Dictionary's definition of Shanty Irish, the one thing in particular that stands out to me is the 'informal' times surrounding Grandpa's life.  For example, when he was playing 'horseshoes' with all of his brothers at a Family Reunion or backyard barbecue; League bowling nights and Mom and us kids would sit on tall stools, sipping a Coke, watching Dad and Grandpa bowl; A foursome sitting around the kitchen table playing game after game of euchre on a warm and sticky weekend night........  All of these occasions, memories, if you will, are intertwined with the sight of long-necked beer bottles (Drewrys and Stroh's) and clear, jelly-jar glasses filled with liquid gold poured over cubes of ice. 

I don't think Grandpa or Dad drank any more than anyone else did back then.  When your chin barely makes it over the kitchen counter top, you're at an age when everything is exaggerated and larger than life itself.  Drinking and smoking back in the 1950's was a huge part of the 'social norm' and both activities were actively encouraged as a form of stress relief and relaxation.  The well-stocked home bar and coffee table, replete with a 'candy jar' like receptacle filled with fresh smokes for guests, exemplified the social climber or 'host with the most' who cared about the people who visited their home. 

The article in The Irish Central.Newsletter entitled The Worst Irish Insults and Racial Slurs somehow reignited a burning verbal onslaught that I loathed hearing as a child, especially when it came from my stylish Grandfather!!  He would inevitably employ the term "Pot-Licker" when making negative references to people, outside the company that surrounded him.  I was appalled by his unsavory attack which usually was repeated loudly and often, especially when more alcohol was consumed.  My mind conjured-up so many nasty impressions which included a chamber pot like the one kept under our beds when we spent the night at the old farmstead in South Bend, Indiana, before the indoor bathroom was installed.  Maybe he was in reference to another pot, the toilet, and that conjured images of unmentionable germs and impossible scenarios.  What was a young girl to think?




Drewry/ Muessel Brewing Company Located In South Bend, Indiana  (Between 1936-1947)

 

Instead of asking my poor Mother for an explanation, I preferred to allow my fertile imagination to run rampant and never, not once, did I exchange my misguided thoughts for the truth.  I can see some of this happening now with my own six-year-old granddaughters......I smile.  Will they enjoy placing their own thoughts down on paper one day for the world to read?  Who am I kidding?  They've already begun.

Pot-Licker: During the potato famine, the Irish people would lick their cooking pots clean to get every last morsel of food.

Gratefully, my Grandfather has been vindicated of a portion of my haunted childhood beliefs.  However, his racial slur still leaves me a bit angry and confused considering his own Irish heritage coupled with my love and understanding of the Irish people today.   In retrospect, I am certain that Grandpa believed there was 'no harm-no foul' if insulting his own people at a time of their most dire despair.  I must be satisfied with this explanation considering how much worse it could have been....especially on young, tender ears such as my own. 

Do you hold onto any distant childhood memories that still haunt you today?

My Childhood Memories.....Open To Interpretation