The last six days were like a good Baba au Rhum: sweet enough to give you cavities and maybe even a little buzz. The airfare prices being sky high around Christmas, we had decided to take what we could, and to celebrate the holiday early. My daughter made her way to Annecy, the French town where her little brother has lived for the past two years, and my job was to get my butt over there last Monday. I was more than happy to follow my marching orders and arrived on the train from Rome ready to hold her tight. She had brought along her new love as well as two friends and very quickly, we all felt like a cozy little family. Followed two and a half days of late mornings where I got to work while they slept in the mornings, late nights talking and playing games, strolls through the fairytale-like small town which was all decked out for Christmas. Hot wine, cheese fondue and croissants. Lots of love and smiles and wow... I recharged my batteries to the max. Somehow I hadn’t known how starved I had been for my family. In some ways, ways for which this trip seems to be gaining a knack, I may not have realized how not fully over this “empty nest” thing I had been. When Tanissa and her friends left, I moved into Costa’s tiny student apartment for a couple of days, slept in his bunk bed and made chili in the crockpot. I walked and worked while he was at school, we met in town for bites to eat, he took me to meet one of his friends who fed us the best homemade Chinese dumplings ever, and we walked home in the falling snow. Yum, yum and super yum. Tomorrow morning, I am taking the train back to Italy to meet Silvana and see what kind of nine day adventure is awaiting me in her little village, next to Asti. I am ready for Community, and I am ready for Contribution. My plan is to do whatever I can while over there to add something good to her life. What that is, I don’t know yet. I am not sure she does either. But I do know that she has planned for us an evening of pizza with her theater group on Monday so my heart is smiling at the thought of meeting new people and letting Life show me what it has in mind. Here’s to love, to family, to the places where we are more tender than we may have known, and to snow falling softly into the night. Last time I was in Rome, Elvis died.
I was thirteen years old, spending a summer in that extraordinarily beautiful city, walking from morning to evening by myself and loving it. When the word arrived that Elvis had died, I remember a strange feeling of having somehow missed something important. This morning, I find out that a few days ago, on my last evening of being back in Rome for the first time, Johnny Hallyday died. Sometimes referred to as "the French Elvis," Johnny rocked my childhood and teenage years. When I was 12, I desperately wanted to go to one of his concerts in the town where my family was vacationing. I was not allowed to go, but found out that he was staying in the same hotel as we were - as well as his room number. That evening, I positioned myself in front of his hotel room door so that I would see him and ask for his autograph when he got back from the concert. I was not able to stay up, and I woke up in the morning, curled up in front of the door. He had come in - stepped over me - slept and left before sun up. I never got that autograph. Today, there will be 500,000 people in Paris, honoring Johnny Hallyday and all he gave to millions of fans. My daughter, who has never heard of him, will be in Paris. Me, once again, I will miss him by just a little bit. |
SCARED OF THE SACRED
HAPPINESS SCHOOL:
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