feeling... nostalgic.... a little sad, but happy at the same time

My youngest is currently in the magnificent city of Florence with her partner, -walking the streets I once walked many, many years ago.. I'm so so thrilled she and Caro are experiencing Venice (magical)- Rome (not a fan)- and now my favourite Italian city Florence.

It is truly an experience, a bacchanalia for the senses, the old walled city of Florence, in my sandals and my peeling arms (la Rouge Canadienne they called me as my pale, pale skin and freckles were no match for the hot European sun), hair cascading over my shoulders, curly and sweaty with the heat, rubbing the bright copper of the boar's nose in the marketplace, pausing with my cousin in the shade of the looming frescoed buildings for a cool iced coffee (yes a thing way back then).  My heart feels like it might explode thinking, remembering, feeling as if it were yesterday seeing Botticelli's The Birth of Venus, da Vinci's Annunciation... walking through the cobbled narrow streets to suddenly stumble onto a piazza, over which like a kaleidoscope of colour and simple beauty, the Duomo cathedral presides, a medieval masterpiece of terracotta.

That my girl is walking those streets and seeing those selfsame wonders astounds and humbles me and makes my chest hurt and my heart constrict, somewhere between joy that she is doing this to sorrow that once I was that young, carefree woman with my life stretching ahead of me, with horizons to conquer, mountains to climb, experiences to embrace.  Would we see the future when we are young and green and bursting with optimism and hope and belief in self!

D. and I were not together at that point, having had the very worst of breakups (my doing)- as I finished up my BA and struggled through those last few months full of angst and sorrow and an overweening rage that fueled me through bitter nights of alcohol and forgetfulness and to this day, I don't know how I finished up those final papers, passed those last exams....yet each street I walked, each corner I turned, he was there with me and like a ghost, haunted my nights.

Then the penultimate backpacking trip - beloved of the 60s and 70s crowd, a coming of age, a bucket list must, those European quests.  Something planned for, saved for, since my cousin and I decided at 12 we would do it.  Italy was at that juncture, the fourth country on our journey and one of the most beloved.  Pensionnes, hostels (giant circus tents in Munich), sandy, grassy hillsides in Greece with the hot sea pounding surf below and sand so hot that it couldn't be walked during the dog days of that long ago summer.

There was an innocence and a naivety our children do not have the luxury of owning in today's world with its terrible wars and frightened, desperate refugees, a world where terrorists lurk and a happy summer street with strolling people can turn into a blood-soaked reality of small men's hostility.

But life is a circle and goes forward despite everything and I say to my children, go forth and adventure for we have but one life and god knows, we don't want the future holds. In that sense, grasp the present, live the moment, embrace the unknown and take that step into the abyss....

And walk the Bridge of Sighs in Venice with your sweetheart's hand in yours and be in love in the most romantic of cities my beautiful girl.

bloody SICK of the "royal" wedding...

I mean, ENOUGH already - a privileged, white male marrying a mediocre actress - the fawning and the worship and the over-the-top sighing- JUST STOP.

Got reamed on facebook because I said something to that effect with one outraged commentator on a friend's thread saying "we all did stupid shit at 20, I dwell on all the good things he's done" - well fuck off -it's easy to do GOOD things when you're rich and privileged and people are ready to grant you all sorts of outs as well as look at you with a shining eye because you are a 'prince'.

You couldn't help but read some of the crap that came to the surface about MMs family - I felt for her actually - but then that is one of the downsides of marrying 'royalty' - you're going to get people digging for the dirt.  But it's not like her crazy family is any worse - or crazier - than HIS. 

The 'royal' family is about as dysfunctional as they come ... hardly something to celebrate marrying into...

and yes, bless my little Irish Republican heart -there is an ingrained contempt for the family.

While I'm at it - never was a fan of the sainted Diana either - rather, she always struck me as a vindictive, whining thing, not the brightest crayon in the box as it were.  Again, I give her credit for some of the things she accomplished  - kudos to her AIDs work -in today's world where most of us harbour no prejudices against AIDs victims - or myths - she was a warrior in that regard and did a lot to bring the disease out of the shadows and into the light of day.

Truth,I find it hard to get past that picture of Harry in a Nazi uniform merrily enjoying himself at a Halloween party - granted, the last prince to marry a divorcee in that family was an avowed, unrepentant advocate of the Third Reich so perhaps it was Grand-Uncle's uniform?

But to the commentator that frowned on my criticism of the pair -F-U -so he did some good things -the massive privilege, wealth and adoration he commands simply by being born trumps that and simply adds a gloss that, I believe, is undeserved and unearned.

So there.  No more crap about that bloody wedding- thank god real issues can now come to the forefront.

green....

I sit on my deck, surrounded by the delicate breath of spring... a kaleidoscope of greens.... soft, whimsical greens, greens touched by gold, the deep sensuous dark of emerald, the whisper of fairest feathery palest olive... and the flutter of wings and bird cry touch music into the green wash of forest.  Palest lilac breathes a symphony of sweet, spring breathe into the copse of trees swaying and dancing in the spring cacophony of life, the throat of the stream a deeper breath of burbling promise and wash of sound over rocks swept with a green mossy cover.

I glory in my solitude, wallowing in the absence of demand or need or want. 

But being me, I pick at it... and find under the massive relief of a few days with only me, the aching hurt and knowledge of aloneness embraced.

I think most disturbing is the glaring absence of desire.  Not only sexual desire, but desire to achieve, desire to do, desire to explore and embrace and learn.  Rationally, I stand back, aware of the burden lying on my shoulders, yet curiously removed from its weight, accustomed as I am to the once crushing feel.

Part of that is the disconnect from my body.  Once lithe, healthy and limber and flexible, I feel far older than my years - mental and emotional weight combining with my physical reality to tether me to the ground, walking an endless circle under the yoke of resignation and duty.

There is a stirring, slight, insubstantial, a weakness of will and belief in self, yet with a strong if tenuous root... a perhaps.... a maybe.

Time will tell.