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Open my heart and you will see…

17 Apr

Italy, and the Spring, and first love – all together should suffice to make the gloomiest person happy.
– Bertrand Russell

 

It was late morning on New Year’s eve day as our high speed Trenitalia, which was traveling at over 220 miles per hour, came to a hault.  We had arrived in the romantic and iconic Florence, Italy – also known as Firenze.  It was a cold and sunny winter day, colorful graffiti decorated the walls and tunnels of the train stations, representing the most brusque and modern art that adorns this fine historic city.  I should mention that Kai was completely in awe just from the train ride.   The Tuscan landscape is like none other.  Much delightful Chianti Classico and divine tuscan cuisine also awaited us.

Graffiti in the train station

We exited the train station and made a dash for a taxi to take us to our hotel.  We were determined to make the most out of our first day in Florence, and ensure that we had a chance to find our way through the romantic streets of Florence before the New Year’s celebration began.  After checking-in and getting settled in our hotel, off we went back into the center of Florence.  Our first stop – the Basilica di Santa Maria de Flore – the main church of Firenze.  And was it grand! The exterior is faced with marble panels in varying shades of green and pink. It’s duomo soars above all of the historic buildings and defines the Firenze landscape from all the hillside neighbors that surround city center.

 

Duomo view in Firenze

We spent hours that afternoon walking the streets, getting lost, and simply having the time of our life savoring all Firenze had to offer on New Year’s eve.  Nightfall came alive in this bustling city. Artists painted the streets (literally) while musicians carried on.  Vendors were everywhere, selling all the little light-up gadgets one can imagine.  Eventually we found our way to a great little place for an early New Year’s dinner – Ristorante Toto – and it was amazing.  Course after course of pure Italian indulgence: Antipasta; insalata verde; fried artichoke hearts; calamari; house made ravioli; perfectly grilled t-bone; and of course dessert… traditional profiteroles.  And how can I forget to mention the champagne and bottle of Chianti Classico that we washed it down with.  We spent a couple hours in this quaint little place.  At the table next to ours was a kind Russian couple who were absolutely in love with Kai.  They insisted on playing with him and holding him in between courses of food.  And Kai was of course entertained by their friendliness and new voices.  It was a wonderful dinner that marked the end of 2013, one of the best year’s of our life.

Street artists

T-Bone steak

Antipasta cart

After dinner, we continued to walk the streets of Firenze.  Then we stopped into a small shop, grabbed a bottle of wine, and headed back to our hotel.  From the fifth floor of our hotel we watched the New Year’s eve fireworks that lit-up the Florence skyline at the stroke of midnight while sweet Kai slept peacefully next to us.  It was a New Year’s eve we will remember forever.

Punto Vecchio at dusk

Fireworks over Florence

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Connecting with our Roots

7 Mar

Like many others I have Native American blood running in my veins.  On first appearance I may look to be from one of Europe’s nordic lands but in reality I am as American as one can get with a diversity of blood lines.  The ancestry I’ve connected the most with throughout my life is of the various Native American tribes that make-up my being.  I’ve always felt a deep sense of connection with this part of my ancestry.

I have such fond memories of spending time with my father and Aunt Hunter on the reservations in northern Minnesota in the summers.  We would spend our days fishing in the lakes, building campfires in the evening, and listening the sounds of nature as we slept.  We also spent some of our days walking for miles and miles down dirt paths in search of the Wild Buffalo – and yes they do still exist.  I remember when we ran into a cowbird defending its territory and we sat and watched for what seemed like hours.  And one afternoon we stumbled upon a water moccasin cascading and slithering down the river where we had been fishing.  The list of memories could go on and on.

As a young girl I spent many weekends with my mother, grandparents, and other family members at Native American festivals.   We’d also savor all the delicious traditional cuisine – stew, fry bread, buffalo, and the list goes on.  We’d spend time with the rescued birds of prey, and we would weave baskets and other traditional crafts.  We’d make our own dreamcatchers adorned with beads and feathers, and carefully hung them above our beds or by windows at bedtime.  We would spend the days around the dance circling – watching, listening, feeling, and sometimes joining in.  There will always be something innate in me that will draw me into the song of the drum and flute, and the natural movement of Native American dance.  I still listen to my collection of Native American music regularly.  I found that when I was pregnant and even when Kai was a small baby, I would always play it for him too – reminding me to stay connected with my roots.

When I was in college I remained connected to this part of me through art, music, dance, and regular visits to a colleagues sweat lodge.  I drew and painted the rhythms that I felt as a child and young adult.  I cleansed my soul and being at my colleague’s sweat lodge.  And I still hold close to me a rock that was given to me at my last visit to the lodge before I embarked on my life’s journey down to Central America.

All of these memories of connecting with my roots hold a special place in my heart.

The first museum we took Kai to was the Smithsonian’s National Museum of the American Indian (by far my favorite!) when he was just a week old.  While I carried him in the ergo, I read him all of the ancient Native American creation stories throughout the museum.  It was a special moment with Kai, his Nanna, and I. This past October marked another special moment for my family and I, as we were able to introduce Kai to his roots by taking him to our local annual Native American festival.  There they played many of the same rhythms and danced similar dances in traditional attire.  Again it reminded me of where I come from – of where we all come from. Kai was mesmerized by the music and of course the traditional attire – feathers, beads, bells, and ornately decorated blankets.  He also tasted venison stew for the first time, was able to see a falcon up close, and even pet a horse.  Then I brought him into the center of the dance circle with all of the other children and together we danced the traditional bunny dance.  He smiled and smiled.  I was able to guide him in connecting with his roots for the very first time.

Baby Watching Traditional Native American Dance

There is a battle of two wolves inside us all.
One is evil. It is anger, jealousy, greed, resentment, lies, inferiority and ego.
The other is good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, humility, kindness, empathy, and truth.
The wolf that wins?  The one you feed.
– Cherokee Proverb


Traditional Native American Dancing and Song

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All Roads Lead to Rome

7 Feb

Many different paths can take one to the same goal.  I think that reasonably sums up our time in Rome.  Tourism abounds and is clearly at the core of the Roman economy.  Somehow Rome retains its mystique amid the chaos of people who flock to iconic city center and wander along its ancient walls in search of secrets from a civilization past.  You can so easily loose yourself in the grandeur of the Roman Forum and the Palatine Hill, and all the legends that are a part of the experience.  My imagination gets the best of me and I am taken back in time.

I wonder… does Kai also slip back in time with me?  Without knowing the history, having read the books, or seen images of what life was like in ancient Rome, is it possible?  Is there something innate within us that gives us the ability to ‘live’ history? One will never know.

Photo of the ancient Roman Colosseum

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We walked and walked.  Explored the ubiquitous Roman Colosseum from the outside in.  We felt the crevices of the cold smooth stone carvings with out fingers.  Kai touched – and felt – everything we did.  I even think he may have found an opportunity (or two) to taste the walls of the Colosseum, after all it is through the sense of taste that babies (and adults) experience the World.  Just as the heavens opened up and brought down the rain, we found ourselves a quaint café for a dry lunch, warmth, and rest.  I had my first real Italian lasagna and it was divine… followed by the most satisfying (and huge!) cappuccino a jet lagged Mama could ask for.  And I got to savor every moment of the cappuccino as Kai decided to take his afternoon nap right there in the café, and my husband and I enjoyed good conversation (in Spanish) with a couple traveling from Germany.

afternoon Roman cappuccino

Roman pizzas

The sun came out.  We walked and walked.  We pondered the half buried ruin throughout the expansive Palatine Hill, temples, and the Roman Forum.  It was magical.  We even took some time to play in a grassy knoll amidst the ruins.  It was a lovely afternoon in Rome.  One breathtaking moment after another.  As the sun went down we walked and we walked.  We continued past down the main roads where people posed in the most bizarre costumes and statue-like positions.  Yogi that “magically” hold themselves cross-legged and floating mid-air.  Perfectly poised people draped in gold spandex looking like the perfect Egyptian mummies.  I can only imagine what is going through Kai’s mind.

photo

We proceeded past the Piazza Venezia adorned in much gold and the intricacies of more modern architecture.   On some small cobblestone side road we found ourselves inside a truly ancient Church and it just happened to be evening mass.  Then we headed to the Pantheon – the structure known as the temple to all of the Gods.  We walked and we walked.  Stopping in a dozen little shops selling everything from Italian spices and olive oil to Absinthe and leather bags.  We walked all the way to Trevi Fountain where we stopped for a while.  Kai was completely mesmerized by the statutes and of course the water all lit up against the night sky.

photo 3

Finally our adrenaline began to wear off and we realized just how exciting the day had been.  We found our way back to the subway and headed towards the hotel.  We had done enough for the day.  On our “home” to the hotel we stopped to see if our favorite family run Italian eatery was open – Osteria Gran Sasso.  Much to our disappointment it was closed, so on we walked some more until we found our selves at the Ristorante Mimosa Fiorita.  Kai loved this place too, and couldn’t get enough of the waiter and the chef.  It was another  r authentic and divine Italian indulgence.  Freshly made cheesy risotto balls.  Pork cheeks cooked in a delicate sauce. Fresh tagliatelle pasta with vegetables in the chef’s special sauce.  And of course a half bottle of Chianti to wash it down.  Another magical day in Rome came to a close.

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Lens of a Riverstone

13 Sep

Past and present are one again

Soul now smooth like a stone that has been tumbling in the sea

Fresh eyes and a crisp mind taken back in time

Its the lens of a new age

Listening to stories of an ancient humanity’s stones

Captivated by the elegance of a new mother

Struck by the natural sophistication of a spider

Engulfed by the power of migration – changing seasons and times

Strengthened by the rapture of a vine

Morning mind is placid with fallen flowers

Heart now convival like a riverstone flows to the sea

New Life Bounds the Old

Perspective unrestrained

Beauty in all

I am in awe

– Reflections from Guatemala (circa 2003)

Tikal in Grandour

Stature of a New Mother

Complex Weavings of a Golden Orb Spider

Migrating Birds over Lake Tikal

New Life Bounds Old

Fallen Flowers in Streets of Antigua

Vocanic Perspective

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Finding New Strength

10 Jan

Color painting of mother and child with gunBeing a mother is learning about strengths you didn’t know you had, and dealing with fears you didn’t know exist.
– Linda Wooten

It’s 2013, a new year.  A time to start off fresh.  Far too much time has lapsed since I’ve last written.  I once again find myself inspired to write, in fact I’ve been missing writing.  It’s a kind of creative sounding board for me personally, and I really enjoy reading the feedback I receive from my friends and readers.

The past seven months have been quite a whirlwind.  So much evolution and change in such a short time.  And the most significant of those changes has yet to be revealed.  I could rehash all that has come about in my life, and the world, in the past year but it wouldn’t accomplish much.  At this moment, my mind is occupied with all the change that is about to unfold in my life and how I will manage to “fit” it all in to the measly 24 hours we get in a day.  And then I start to think about how all the women that came before me did it.  *Sigh*

It brings me back to one of the many grounding experiences of my life – Esteli, Nicaraguaga.  It is the third largest city in all of Nicaragua.  It’s an eclectic place that really doesn’t see many foreigners or tourists, or at least that was Esteli 10 years ago when I was there.  The town’s motto pretty much sums it up – “Lover of the present. Builder of the future.”  But what really brings me back to Esteli is how it’s history has redefined life, and despite the bloodshed has brought forth a new found strength and resilience in the people.  Esteli was the scene of perilous fighting during the Somoza regime and again during the U.S.-backed Contra War.  The lands outside of the city boundary are still riddled with land mines and the ghosts of wars past regrettably live on.

As we made our way through the city’s gritty streets and alley ways, we gleaned nuggets of hope and strength.  We played soccer with a group of kids playing on a field of dirt with a ball that was made of plastic bags tightly packed together & wrapped with string and tape.  We found beauty in the paintings and graffiti that adorned cement walls throughout the city, the very cement walls that served as a fortress for people’s homes during the recent wars.  And then one day we wound-up at a local women’s organization where we were given a “tour” of the center and learned through the testimony of one woman – how women survived and  even thrived in the war.  In Esteli, unlike in many parts of Latin America and the world, women are seen a bit differently.  They are respected for their strength and perseverance at a kind of unspoken kind of higher level.  Why?  What makes Esteli’s perspective of women different?  The difference lies in the impact that its history has had on shaping daily life.  During both recent wars in Esteli, most often the men went off to war in the rural areas and the women remained at home with the children to defend their homes & children while the war raged on right in the city boundaries.  Women, mothers, were armed with AK-47s – just as the men were.  There was very little that differentiated the roles of men and women during a decade and a half of bloodshed.   Women grew stronger than ever before – not just in fighting – but in standing-up for their rights.  In owning their individual personal power.

Days like today when I feel overwhelmed and wonder how on earth am I going to “do it all” in just a couple of months.  I stop and think about the women of Esteli.  They have endured far more than I will likely ever have to – or maybe its similar but just in a different time, place and form.  I think of these women, mothers, that came before me.  Many that had to face the blood of their children, husbands, and family members right before their eyes.  Many that endured the other ugly parts of war like rape, lost limbs, and hunger.  While I may not be from Nicaragua, I am forever grateful to these women.  The examples they have set for me, and all of us, are invaluable – especially now as I take this next giant leap in my life.  Their strength and resilience is simply inspiring.

Below is a visual “tour” through some of the streets of Esteli and the wall artwork that gives the city a most unique identity and essence.  Start with the painting at the top of the blog and slowly work your eyes through the images.  Enjoy!

Wall painting on finghting for freedom

Corner in bloom with graffiti

Wall painting of children building a new future

 

wall art of children coming together

Wall painting in color on human rights

Wall painting of women's strength rising

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Learning and Living – The Land of Vive y Deja Vivir

24 Jun

I’ve been thinking about the life “value” that is interwoven into every post throughout this blog – Vive y Deja Vivir.  I come back to it time and time again – and am still figuring out what it means to me.  And well, I’ll probably be attempting to figure it out for the rest of my life.  🙂   It is forever evolving.   Then I realized, I haven’t actually shared with everyone the place where this lesson came to be known… Bocas del Toro, Panama.  Isla Solarte, Isla Colon, Isla Bastimentos, Isla Popa, and Cayos Zapatillo.

Color map of Bocas del Toro Panama

Over many trips, many moments, over many years, and with many different people, I came to build a special sense of place for these wonderous island “nations”.  Words don’t give justice to their beauty.

Enjoy this photo excursion!   And think about what Vive y Deja Vivir is all about.

Surreal paradise in color

Mangrove forest in color

Starfish in Coral and Sea Grass

Bastimentos Island

Lush Green forested path

Sunrise over the Caribe

Fishing Village

Children in a Fishing Village

Caribe Vibes Playing in the Sea

“People can only live fully by helping others to live.  When you give life to friends you truly live.  Cultures can only realize their further richness by honoring other traditions.  And only by respecting natural life can humanity continue to exist.”
–  Daisaku Ikeda

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Vietnam Vicareously

17 Jun

Vietnam is another place I’ve had many many daydreams about since I was a child.  There is something I find awe inspiring about the gracious grittiness of countries (their people and environment) that have rebuilt themselves, with relative grace, after enduring major deadly conflict.  And in some unknown way, retain purity.  There is also something special about a land that is a melting pot of religious philosophies – Buddhism, Confuscionism, Taoism, and (of course) Animism.

Streets of Vietnam with bikes and motos

Over the years I have painted a landscape of Vietnam in the figments of my imagination.  I envision a country with rich fertile land, where strong sharp mountains, meet rolling hills and then marry the land with the warm waters of the South China Sea.  I’ve dreamt about the people (lots of people) of this marvelous land, the oldest civilization of Southeastern Asia, and their passion for living from the land.  Hillsides dotted with little villages (or langs) dedicated to rice farming, and subsistence agriculture.  Warm people, with brilliant smiles underneath the cobwebs of war and dust of daily life on a farm.

Fresh fruits and vegetables in a Vietnamese market

And then there are the cities.  Oh how I love cities as much as I love rural farming villages.  Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City… I have yet to explore them.  I have fleeting images of them in mind…. streets filled with bycicles and motorcycles.  A thousand pungent aromas intermixed into one.  The thrashing of pots and pans and raspy grating sound from fresh coconut.  Bartering in the open air market as beads of sweat pour down a man’s face.  Young babies carefully wrapped in fabric and tied to their mothers as they walk to the market.  Young men walking around with stubbed legs from land mines and missing limbs from leprosy.  Dog barking and roosters crowing.  Endearing smiles and honest eyes.  Crisp and delicious bean sprouts, basil, mint, and happiness.  This is how I envision the people of Vietnam and its landscape.

Traditional cooking stoves in VietnamSo lets go back to why I titled this blog… Vietnam Vicareously…  At this very moment two of my good friends are en route to Southeast Asia where they will meet-up in Singapore with one of my lifelong best friends and travel to Vietnam.  I must admit, I am slightly envious and very excited for them.  It will be an incredible trip.  It has inspired me to share my Vietnamese daydreams that will someday be fulfilled.  Vietnam has a special place in my heart.  Most of these daydreams came from the stories my father told me growing-up from his years in Vietnam during the war.  Most of the stories he shared were not about bombshells, grenades, or land mines.  Rather they were about the people, the culture, the food, and his fond memories.  I appreciate that amidst the violence, he was able to garner a sense of place of the fine ancient land and all it encumbers.  There are stories he would share with me at bedtime as a young girl that I’ll cherish forever.  Its the little things.  The Vietnamese teaching him how to eat with chopsticks using hot oily peanuts.  The rice fields and terraces, lush and green.  Authentic Vietnamese dinners on floating rivers in the Saigon river.  Devine Vietnamese coffees.  Little anecdotes of daily life in Vietnam.  Its through these stories growing-up, the travels of my best friend Dani, and many years and many daydreams that I’ve “traveled” vicareously to Vietnam.  I am forever grateful to both of them and hope that someday I may know this gracious land and all its people.

Life on the Mekong river delta

A sage lets go of

extremism

lets go of luxury

lets go of

apathy.

– Lao Tzu

Photos courtesy of Dani Carrier, 2012.

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