POT POURRI
NB. First of all, many thanks for all the comments and emails. So nice to feel connected. Don't forget to invite your friends to the blog. Secondly, Joel and I are off to our little Tuscan island next Tuesday for 12 days so I will post again upon our return.
For so much of my adult life I awoke to the alarm clock, immediately feeling resentment at having been pulled out of sleep before I was ready. Now I often don’t even know the date; as just now, when I had to look at the phone calendar. And as I did I felt a kind of giddy freedom; the freedom of not having to be anywhere at certain time or date. Although you’d think I would have known today’s date because I certainly knew yesterday’s…and no, not Alzheimer’s…yet. No, yesterday was dental surgery day.
I’ll make it quick. It was more complicated than the dental surgeon had thought. And isn’t life full of irony? The implant had so much bone loss it was literally hanging by a thread and the tooth attached to it refused to budge. So along came the hammer, and the tooth flew down my throat; sitting up to cough it out I managed to pull the IV needle out of my arm. A Hard day and a rough night, but today dawned anew and along with it my spirit rose and the pain left.
The other day, when I was thinking about writing this essay, I thought of doing a sort of pot pourri of little events and happy memories. So excuse the rough beginning, or better still, accept it; beginnings are often rough in life.
I just came in from the garden wearing my hooded raincoat and old gardening boots. It has rained all day, nice and steady, and I wanted to be out in it, the way I loved to walk in the rain as a child, albeit one old enough to be allowed out alone. The garden was bejeweled with raindrops; the rose tree’s blossoms heavy with rain now bowing to the earth. In the Mediterranean border, I stop to pick roses for the mantlepiece and my daughter’s little vase. A small, summer fire chuckles in the hearth, the door open to birdsong. Although my mouth is tender the pain and horror have left and isn’t that how it all comes and goes?
On Sunday, our friends, Gianni and Luana, understanding my anxiety of the next day’s surgery, came and got us in Gianni’s pick-up and drove us through the landscape of our valley, the Val d’Arbia, and on to the next, the Val d’Orcia. At one point we stopped and got out to look at the view. On the other side of the road a flock of newly shorn sheep nibbled at the ground. Just up the hill a mass of broom burst yellow against the grey sky and a sudden waft of wind carried it’s aphrodisiacal perfume to us.
The night before, Saturday, we went up the hill to their house for dinner. Again, an offering of friendship at a moment of much needed distraction. The dinner was superb as it always is when Luana cooks. We started with pan carasau, followed by osso bucco – good for the bones said Gianni, knowing that mine are in dire need. Homemade bread sopped up the gravy and a huge plate of peas was devoured. Yet still we made room for fresh ricotta and plain yogurt drizzled with honey and sprinkled with grated chocolate.
But the real feast was our conversation. Twenty-six years of shared memories from when we first came here to teach. We’ve been to christenings and baptisms, funerals and weddings. We talked of how much has changed in a quarter of a century. When we first came here there were no cell phones. We communicated with walkie-talkies and every evening we’d go into the village where Joel would call the New York studio from the pay phone…long gone. Gianni did have a fax machine in his rustic office and when a fax arrived for us, he’d leave it outside our door, a long-stemmed red rose holding it down.
I forgot to say that Gianni is a horse whisperer, among many other things, and to see him on a horse is still just about the sexiest vision. He used to ride up to the workshop at dinnertime and all the women students would swoon. He drives his pick-up the way he rides a horse, the steering wheel becoming the loosely-held reigns. He drives in a meditative rhythm which allows his peripheral vision to catch things we don’t see, and then he stops and shows us.
Some years ago, riding with him, he made one of those stops and the 3 of us got out and walked across the deserted country road. For a good ten minutes we stood in silence and watched the wind come over a field of wheat turning it into an undulating sea, the wind coming to us, kissing our faces before continuing on its journey. Then, still without a word, we turned back to the pick-up and stayed in that meditative silence all the way home.
Of all this we talked, and so much more. As Joel and I drove back down the hill to our house we felt enormous gratitude; and we felt how our roots have taken hold of this place as it has taken hold of us.
The rain has stopped now, a fresh breeze comes in the open door and stirs the fire. Sparrows are cheeping away in the hedges. In about 15 mins, finally settled into their nests and with nothing left to say, the cheeping will abruptly cease, until dawn. I go out to the pergola in front of the house to say good-night to the nesting mourning dove who is now almost completely invisible amongst the wisteria. I notice she is sitting higher in the nest so the eggs much have been laid.
Mysteries and memories and yes, sometimes miserable moments. It all accrues, even when it fades, it’s all still there. Our lives, filled with hope and strife, fleeting moments of joy, disappointment and pain – for some more than others. I’ve had my share. But as hard as it was at times, I was never fleeing home, put to sea in a leaky raft hoping, hoping, all the while full of fear. For those of us who have never known such suffering, we owe kindness and compassion and where possible a helping hand.
My visit to the dentist may have been a terrifying and painful experience but I am aware of how fortunate I am to be able to afford a dentist, to be with a loving husband, to come home to our little paradise and feel the bounty of friendship. We may not be refugees, but we have been taken in by this community and if I can spread a little love around, you know where to find me.
With love,
Maggie
