Do You Realize?

Should I stay or should I go?

"If I go there will be trouble, and if I go it will be double." Boy, The Clash hit it right on the head. I'll get to my major indecision momentarily.

In the meantime, I interrupt this regular blog post to report that the remodel is lumbering slowly and painfully forward. The carpet is gone; the hardwood is in place everywhere except the stairs, which will happen tomorrow. Both bathtubs, both toilets, and varying useless accessories are here, but not installed yet. Useless, you ask? Let's see. The supply elbow and the mounting bracket and the shower hoses have all come in, but the actual low-flow handheld showerheads? No. The temperature-adjusting-on-off-handle-thingy for the kids' bath has arrived, but the faucet itself? Nope. The temperature-adjusting-on-off-handle-thingy for the master shower? Uh-uh. All of this is a long way of reporting that we have no bathing facilities for at least two days, possibly until late Monday. Today I showered at a friend's house; thanks, Kelly! Other days, we'll snag one at Anytime Fitness, but because if I did that, I would feel obligated to, you know, work out first, I'm almost glad I'm about to drive to Memphis to pick up the teenagers. Hotel rooms have showers, yo.

Now. About that prophetic Clash song. My husband has been strongly encouraging (read: nagging) me to take a week and go somewhere, anywhere, just for myself, to reset my sanity. He knows that, between spending all day every with Youngest, physically moving all of our belongings from room to room in a seemingly endless circle, and dealing with the noise and anxious decisions accompanying this remodel, I am physically and mentally spent. He said that it was probably the best birthday and anniversary gift he could give me. Time away from everyone and everything. I've been resisting, both because we're hemorrhaging money for this remodel, and because sometimes I'm uncomfortable being alone, with just myself for company.

He told me last night that I could even go back to Italy if I wanted. Italy. That's playing dirty. Hardball. You see, ever since we went to Italy for our anniversary in 2002, I've had a restless, barely containable urge to go back, particularly to the tiny, medieval town of Varenna, on Lake Como. It's an ache: visceral, almost gut-wrenching. Have you ever felt that way about a place? It's the perfect place to go and do nothing for a week. Just me and my writing and my camera. And yet.

And yet, there's that nagging unrest and doubt in my head. Will I enjoy my own company, or will I collapse with loneliness?  Should I go back to Italy, which I really think of as our place, at the risk of it becoming my place? Or should I go back to Hawaii, which I also loved, just not as deeply and irresistibly? Can I leave my responsibilities to everyone else here and fulfill my obligations to myself for a change?

Photo Hunt Saturday--Water

Yeah, I've been gone. I'll be back. Soon, I hope. In the meantime, here's my Photo Hunt entry for this week, since I missed last week. This week's theme is: Water. One of my favorite things about going to the Smoky Mountains is the water. Creeks, waterfalls, the Ripley's Aquarium in Gatlinburg. All kinds of water to love in Tennessee. Both of these photos were taken on the same hike, to Abram's Falls, in July 2008.

 

Photo Hunt Saturday--High

This week's theme is: HIGH. As I searched through my photos and giggled like a schoolgirl at the possibilities of representations of the theme, I decided against a single photo. Our trip to San Francisco in October 2003 presented so many opportunities to express the word "high." I only wish we'd had our digital SLR at that time. All our digital photos were taken with a little Nikon Coolpix. I want to go back with a "real" camera and shoot it all again; I really did leave my heart in San Francisco.

While we were there, we bicycled with Middle and Youngest across the Golden Gate Bridge, high above San Francisco Bay.

At the Palace of Fine Arts, there are angels high atop the columns.

The columns themselves are impressively high. (Note the people in the photo for size reference.)

We visited Muir Woods, named for John Muir, the preservationist who founded the Sierra Club. The Coastal Redwoods there are so ancient and grow so high, it is awe-inspiring. A quick bit of trivia about Coastal Redwoods: Under ideal conditions, they can grow 2-3 feet annually in height, though under extreme stress may grow a single inch annually.

No trip to San Francisco would be complete without a trip to the infamous Haight-Ashbury district. Although gentrification has taken a big toll (Ben & Jerry's now occupies THE corner), this was once the bohemian heart of San Francisco. I'm sure many a high of an herbal nature has been successfully achieved here.

Photo Hunt Saturday--I Spy

This week's theme is: I Spy. I love finding the extraordinary in the seemingly ordinary things. I took both of these photos in Utah in July 2006. I have used the first one before, but I love it, so I'll share it again!

Look closely. I spy a teeny tiny little red spotted frog. Do you?

In the second photo, I was amazed to realize that I spy a man who looks a little like Jesus to me. See him?

Photo Hunt Saturday--Narrow

Today's theme is: Narrow. This photo was taken in Canyonlands National Park in Horse Canyon. It is one of the park's remote 4-wheel-drive roads. Despite the place being 99%  W I D E  O P E N  S P A C E S , along Horse Canyon there are plenty of these narrow roads that lead to lovely places.

Photo Hunt Saturday--Old-Fashioned

This week's theme was tough for me; there aren't many old-fashioned things in my photographic library. But eventually, I found these two. Both of these were taken in 1995 at Citricos restaurant at Walt Disney World.

This old-fashioned car is out front of the hotel.

I loved this gorgeous old-fashioned ferris wheel that was part of the indoor decor.

Photo Hunt Saturday--Delicious

I'm back and will post a more detailed post later, but first, today is Photo Hunt day.

This week's theme is: Delicious. Both of my photos are definitely tongue-in-cheek and are actually a series of photos; facial expressions are key in these (you can click on any of the photos and get a larger view). Each is of one of my kiddos trying a new and exotic food. (Disclaimer: The photo of Eldest was taken by another teen in her travel group to Europe, but I could not resist including it.)

The first photos are of Middle after trying escargot for the first time. He is the child who is most open to trying new foods. I took these photos at Epcot (in France, of course), in July 2005.

 

This is Eldest this past summer in Belgium after trying "some gross fish." (I never figured out what that "gross fish" was, but it looked pretty tasty to me.) She promised me she would try a new food in each of the six countries she visited, and this was one of them. Her greatest culinary experience abroad was discovering, for the first time after 16 years on this planet, that she liked ketchup on her fries.

Photo Hunt--Small

This week's theme is:  Small. These shots were taken in July 2006 in the Canyonlands in Utah. I think my husband may have actually shot the first one, because I think I am the one holding this little guy. I can't remember, since we all became friends with these guys during that week.

I took the second, and I believe it was Eldest who found him & picked him up...

...which was amazing, since this is where he was found. Look very, very hard, because he is very, very small, and he blends in quite well. (Clicking on the image to enlarge it may help.)

Woofday Wednesday---Poogan

We have six dogs. All of them are rescues of some brand or another. Each of them has their own sad story & their own baggage that they carry with them, but I love each of them dearly. For a while Wednesdays will be dedicated to our canine friends and others' canine friends who were adopted.

Buying a dog from a breeder is like buying a T-shirt from Saks Fifth Avenue. You're paying way too much to find a designer dog, when a pound puppy will likely fit better and be happier to serve your needs.

Without further ado, this is Poogan. She was named after hubby's & my favorite restaurant in Charleston:  Poogan's Porch. We were so taken by the story of this restaurant we decided it would be the name of our first dog.

Some may say Poogan doesn't qualify as a rescue, because she came from a pet store. After one meets Poogan, your mind will change. If anyone but us or another 0.00001% of the population had ended up with Poogan, she would have been dropped out in the country to fend for herself, used for a bait dog, or euthanized. This dog is truly NUTS! She is a fear biter, and she is afraid of a whole plethora of evils: the vacuum, aluminum foil, brooms & mops, shadows on the wall, reflections on the ceiling. The list goes on. And when she's afraid, she yaps... in a high-pitched, little dog yap... a lot.

Despite all this, we love her. She was our first dog. She was supposed to be a Pomeranian, but having come from a disreputable puppy mill, we really can't pinpoint exactly what she is, since she weighs about 15 pounds. (She weighs more like what original Pomeranians weighed when Queen Victoria loved them so.) She's fiercely loyal to hubby & me. She has a heaping helping of neuroses that might otherwise get her kicked off another family's island, but we run the Island of Misfit Animals, so she's Queen Bitch here.
She's getting on up in years (almost 11), getting kind of blind (that really helps her neurotic state of mind, I assure you), and when she gets really anxious about something, she starts panting & does the greatest Jack Nicholson "The Shining" impression I've ever seen.

Love a stray;
neuter & spay!
AAAARRRRRRRGH!

Walk Like an Italian

The most (and most enjoyable) walking I've ever done was in Italy. Walking there is much more common than here in the States.

In Varenna, my favorite place on Earth, my husband & I would start our morning walking down the side of the mountain from our hotel overlooking Lake Como into the medieval town itself. We would wander to a pasticcerie to buy freshly baked breakfast pastries with real butter and milk. Then we would walk to the same spot to sit and eat this colazione ("first meal") while we watched the sailboats and the ducks.  This is the spot: 

Then we would wander the tiny town for the rest of the day, trying out limited Italian (and the locals trying out limited English), then walking back to the hotel for a nap at some point during the day.

If I had an extra $10 million lying around, I'd love to buy up one of the gorgeous villas on Lake Como, there since Pliny the Elder's days. But I'd also take a tiny, two-bedroom cottage and be very, very happy. But since history is more important  to native Italians, people don't tend to move often; they stay in a house their entire lives, and in the case of the villas, for centuries. And they walk.

(The image contained in this post was taken by one Marco Mayer, and is not copyrighted.)