One Wild and Precious Life

Travelogue: Genoa -- And More!

I just talked to my best friend Cheryl on the phone, and I could hardly think of a thing to tell her about what I'm doing.  Now, of course I've been doing lots of fun stuff -- I just can't always remember what it is on the spur of the moment (should I make "talking points" for a call to my best friend???).  As a result (and knowing that she reads my blog), I'll summarize some things I've been doing since I got home from Italy:

1.  Still trying to catch up with things at work: phoning to touch base with people I haven't seen in a while, making arrangements for special services, planning for the Advent season, (still) opening mail and responding when necessary.  Trying to work through the piles of papers that seem to grow on my desk like mushrooms.  Sometimes I walk into my office and say to the secretary, "Susan, who made this mess on my desk?"  It's only me, of course.  Trying to re-establish the very good habit of essentially finishing my sermon by the close of work on Thursday, so Friday and Saturday can truly be Sabbath time for me.  I made it this week!  Of course I always do the Sunday morning "last edit," where I read through, make any minor changes I want, and print it both for my own delivery and for distribution to the parish (I make copies available for whoever wants them).

2.  Organizing my materials and pictures from Italy, so that I can do a presentation for my parish next month.  I have three big maps: one of Italy, one of Sicily, and one of Rome, and I've mounted them on foam core board and am using push-pins to mark the sites of the black madonnas: green for the ones I've seen and red for the ones I didn't get to.  I've organized a big notebook with booklets, postcards, and photographs.  I want to do some more background work on the internet.

3.  Hauling and burning brush, raking pine needles for next spring's garden mulch, and today I pulled up fencing and raised bed borders in preparation for reducing my veggie garden by about 1/3.  I loved the little compact backyard "kitchen gardens" that I saw from the train as I rode through Italy.  They managed to feed a family from a lot less space than I'm using.  Mine got too big for me to keep up, and so I'm going to try for a smaller size.

4.  Making cream soups.  I've got excess gallons of raw, whole milk (including thick top milk), and so have had cream of potato soup twice this week, and today I made a big pot of clam chowder.  Yum, yum, comfort food.  It has been warm and sunny during the day, but the nights are cold here, and so a big mug of hot cream soup tastes pretty good.

5.  Getting back to my regular practices of running and yoga, trying to remember to eat a good breakfast and take my vitamins.  The whole summer, with all the travel and illness, played hell with what I call my "foundational practices:"  those things that, if I do them, guarantee that I will feel good.  I really have four "foundational practices:"  running at least 4 times per week, yoga at least twice a week, morning pages every day, and trying to eat right (which means breakfast, vitamins, and avoiding junky foods and fast foods).

Okay, now for Genoa and beyond.

From Biella, I went to Alessandria.  I knew the helpful young man in Milan had said that access to Santuario di Crea was through Alessandria.  Of course, when I arrived, the timing was perfect for me to cool my heels for just a bit until the tourist office opened, so that I could find out information about and transportation to the Santuario.  What I found out was that I could not travel there until the next day, and that I would have to take the bus, which would drop me 1k from the santuario.  The train wouldn't get me closer than 11k, and I had no info about shuttles or other transportation to the sanctuary itself.  On the spur of the moment I decided that access to Santuario di Crea might be easier from Genoa, so I bought a ticket and arrived at Genoa's main station about 5 pm.  Wow.  The tourist office was closed at the train station (which was in a rather unsavory part of town).  There was no information about how to find tourist information.  The railroad information office had a sign that clearly said "No Tourist Information."  Oops.  Sorry.  But I'm in a totally unfamiliar place with no city map and no guidance.  I went into a bookshop at the station and threw myself on the mercy of the clerk, doing my best with phrasebook Italian to convey:  "I know this isn't your job, but I'm desperate.  How can I find a tourist information office?"  She was lovely.  She told me to catch the number 25 bus to Piazza Ferrari, and ask there for directions to the tourist office.  She sold me a bus ticket.

Now this is something I need to address right here.  Nearly every step of my way on this trip, there were angels who helped me get from here to there safely and (relatively) accurately.  I do not think of Italians as "nosy," but rather observant.  If someone gets on the bus who obviously doesn't speak Italian (I ask the driver, "Piazza Ferrari?" but don't go into any long conversation, as an Italian would), and I'm clutching a map or slip of paper in my hand, and hardly know how to validate my ticket, they assume I'm a tourist.  And they help me.  They tell me when to get off the bus, practically shoving me toward the door (thank God).  Or if they get off the bus before I do, they tell the driver to tell me when to get off.  You can't imagine how much these angels helped me.  Every day.

So yes, the lady in the bookshop, who didn't have to help me at all, was one of those.  And the people who nearly shoved me (with my luggage) off the bus at Piazza Ferrari, were angels that day.  So I did as I was told, nearly fell off the bus during rush hour, and asked everyone I encountered where the Tourist Office was.  I was directed to the next piazza over, which was a matter of steps (literally -- there was a wide, shallow staircase), Piazza Matteoti.  At the tourist office I was given a map, a list of cheap hotels, and advised that I wouldn't be helped to get to Santuario di Crea ("We only have information about Genoa."  Sigh.

As evening fell, I knew I would not find a hotel from this list, as I was having trouble getting myself oriented to the map and the streets.  So I went back up to Piazza Ferrari, which seemed to be the "happening place," with a gorgeous fountain (I have a picture that I took at night, is too dark, needs editing) and lots of tourists and locals hanging around.  As I walked the perimeter of the piazza, I saw a simple sign, "Hotel Doria," with an arrow.  It seemed much more of a possibility for me than the grand hotels that surrounded the piazza, with their amazing architecture and obvious four stars.  So I walked the block down to explore "Hotel Doria," went down a steep flight of stairs to an alley, and went inside.  It was a perfectly lovely little family hotel, and I got a room with a bath en suite for 55 euros.

So -- I love Genoa.  I spent 2 nights and about 2.5 days there, and I'm charmed.  I had a failed attempt to use the internet (which my landlord facilitated by calling a friend and getting me permission to buy internet time at another hotel), I found a dark madonna icon at a nearby church (by dint of hard searching and labor), and I had another dinner that was so good that I wanted to cry.  I forgot that Genoa was a seaport (DUH -- where Christopher Columbus is from!) -- and the spaghetti with frutti di mare that I got in a little cafe with NO atmosphere, but other single women eating there) was the best I had my whole trip.  Amazing.  Calamari, which I've always refused/avoided.  Mussels, little clams, Oh. My. God.  What an unexpected gift.

I got in on Saturday, and realized on Sunday that nobody I asked had ever heard of a church I heard about on the internet, "Stes. Stefano e Lazaro," but I was within easy walking distance of a church called "Ste. Stefano" (no Lazaro).  So I thought I would explore it.  I got directions -- twice -- but missed the turn straight up a set of steps to the church, but rather walked this roundabout drive which took me an hour longer, but resulted in views like this:

Oh, it was a pretty climb, and my question to passersby "San Stefano?"  left me confident that I was going in the right direction.  So I got to the church, went in, and found some kind of ritual about to begin.  There were flowers, and confessions being said in an adjoining chapel, and I couldn't quite figure out what was happening.  There was a madonna icon that was definitely not European in color, perhaps rather "ruddy," but definitely not black, either.  I got a couple of pictures, but again, they are dark, and need editing.  After some inquiry outside the church from people entering, I was able to gather that this was a Ukranian service -- thus the presence of the icon.

This is the church of San Stefano.  The direct access staircase (for those who prefer not to walk the long, circuitous route that I took) is at the far left of this picture.

Lots and lots of Italian churches, whether cathedrals or this smaller one, are made in stripes from the black and white marble.

The next morning I set out for Livorno and Pisa, on down the coast from Genoa.  I knew I'd get to see some of the beautiful coast.  I was in a dilemma about whether to cut across to Venice, Veneto, Padua, Parma, etc. on the northeast coast, or to travel a bit on down the western coast.   I was seriously considering my options here.  I knew I definitely wanted to go to Rome, Loreto, and Sicily, and also knew by this time that I'd have to omit a whole bunch of sites on my original, tentative itinerary.  But my decision was to head to Livorno (actually, the madonna I wanted to see was in Montenero, very close to Livorno), then probably Pisa, and then I'd decide about the rest.  Once I learned about traveling times, these were only decisions I could have made with experience.

I caught a train from a different station, within walking distance from my hotel.  It was actually a very nice neighborhood, and I wish I had arrived at that station, rather than the grittier main station.  Next time, I'll know!

Travelogue: Milan to Biella to Oropa

In the morning I left my room in Milan and boarded the train to Biella, northwest of Milan, back into the foothills of the Alps.  When I arrived in Biella, about 1:30 pm or so (13:30 European time), I found that since it wasn't a festival season, the next bus to Oropa wouldn't leave for about 4 hours.  So I had to find a way to pass some time in Biella.  Fortunately, it wasn't so difficult; the hardest part is that I arrived in town during that long, 3-4 hour lunch break, and so most shops were closed.  I wandered the town, dragging my luggage (why didn't I remember about leaving my luggage, for a small fee, at the train station?  What was I thinking?), and found a clean little town with lots of cobblestones (and yet not seeming so very medieval), and a grocery store where I could purchase some fruit for lunch and a bottle of wine.  I did so love trying the different regional wines!

This is a view in front of the train station at Biella, where I would also catch my bus:  a pretty fountain, benches to sit on -- but all, unfortunately, in the sun, and the sun was still hot and burning on my poor, sensitive skin.  But next door to the station (on the side opposite my camera angle) was a park, with grass, benches, and peace and quiet.

This stop was an important lesson in Italian travel and my need to adjust my timetable and itinerary.  If I had been willing to arise early, I could have caught an 8 am train to Biella, and there would have been several buses before noon that went to Oropa.  I could have had the four hours I spent wandering aimlessly in Biella to view and pray with the black madonna at the Sanctuary.  But it was a real dilemma:  I was on vacation, as well as a study trip, and really wasn't willing to arise at 6 am to catch an 8 am train.  So I was already beginning to guess that this transportation schedule might be typical of the smaller towns I would be visiting, and that I would have to lower my expectations.  I simply was not going to be able to see 35-40 black madonnas in 21 days.

Once I was on the bus, and we traveled through the city of Biella, which was actually quite large and attractive (I had only seen a tiny radius during my walks from the station), we began our ascent to the Sanctuary: up, up, up.  I could never have walked there, and certainly not have bicycled.  It was a very steep trip up the mountain, through a couple of very small and charming villages, and finally to the large monastery complex near the top of the mountain.  The monastery complex itself was far too large to photograph in one shot, but here's a small piece of it: 

This shows the old church or chapel, where the black madonna was housed, on a gloomy mountain morning.  The cloister area at the left was a gallery on the 2nd floor, accessible, yes, by a lift, but also by sets of stone steps.  My own room was in an identical section in front of the old church, blocked by the church itself.  I could come down the steps near my room and be right next to the old church.

I didn't have a reservation; it was a Friday night, and it was made clear to me that groups of pilgrims were coming in tomorrow, and I could have my room for only one night.  I would like to have stayed longer here.  If you go, make a reservation.  I did get to see the madonna that evening, before they actually closed up her little reliquary.  I know that's not the right word for the small box-type enclosure in which she stood; but I can't think of the correct term just now.  In any event, the doors to the enclosure operated by turning a small wheel near the floor, and I watched one woman turn this wheel and block the madonna from sight until the next morning.  I did not get photos of the madonna that I can show you without extensive editing; if you Google, you can see her, but not, I think, in her little enclosure.

But this was my lovely room, for 30 Euros (pretty cheap): 

This is one wall.  The furniture was pretty old.  I'll post another view, including my bed and a very old pre-dieu, below.  I was enchanted.  I'm also going to show you the stunning view outside my shuttered windows (did I tell you that screens "just aren't done" in Italy?).  My window opened out onto the most stunning scene.

I even had my own bath in the room.  Lovely.  A nice bath, at that -- probably the largest I had throughout my whole trip.  I could actually stand, turn around, and take several steps from the toilet to the sink.  Amazing.  Quite luxurious, actually.  BUT....

But there was just one problem with this absolutely charming room: the bed.  This bed was absolutely lovely, antique, the bedside light assisted my bedtime reading.  I loved it.  But it was the hardest damn bed I've ever slept on.  It was literally like sleeping directly on the floor.  I don't know why I didn't think of taking ibuprofin, both to assist sleep and to kill the pain of the hard bed -- but I didn't give it a thought.  Or maybe I did, and even the ibuprofin didn't kill the pain of this bed.  So all night I tossed and turned, hips and back aching from such a terrible surface.  Later in my trip, I learned about the ibuprofin.  But not yet, I don't think.  I suppose I was a little bleary-eyed and fuzzy-headed when I faced the new day.

But before that new day there was one more experience for me.  I had already begun to recognize the gifts that were granted to me each day during this adventure: the hotel desk clerk in Milan, and the lady (with not one word of English) who helped me find and read the bus schedule in Biella.  There was the helpful desk clerk in Oropa, who helped me with my luggage and had to show me my room (I'd never have found it on my own!).  And now, at 7 pm (the earliest possible minute to get a dinner in Italy), I had a dinner that reminded me of some of the other reasons that I loved Italy.

Before I forget, here is only one shot of the breathtaking view from my window:  Is this lovely, or what?  How did I ever get so lucky?  Another gift.

So, the dinner.  You know, it takes a certain amount of energy for a single woman to go into a restaurant, sit down alone, and prepare to have a dinner all by herself.  Maybe I'm old fashioned, but it's not always easy, especially when couples, families, and groups of friends are seated all around me.  Even though I'm an introvert, I prefer to share meals with others.  That's why it's so easy at home to eat alone in front of the television, I think -- at least I don't feel completely alone.  And the dogs begging at my knee at home just aren't the same, somehow, as a human dinner companion.  But I needed to eat, and this was the only remaining restaurant open.  Boy, was I lucky!  I'm only sorry that I forgot to take pictures for you.  First I had a small salad, then a small serving of ravioli.  I'm not sure what was inside that ravioli, but I just held the food in my mouth to savor it.  That became my catchphrase for a good meal:  "You just want to hold the food in your mouth and cry."  This was my first meal like that.  Then I had something (not sure what it was called in Italian) that was sauerbraten.  Oh, my, it was lovely.  Oh.  Another gift at the end of the day.  The waiter was so gracious (as they usually are in Italy), and I felt so very special.  Perhaps I had a glass of wine; I don't even remember.  The food overshadowed whatever beverage I consumed.  I remember Rick Steves said that in the mountains it wasn't about "German" or "Swiss" or "Austrian" or "Italian" food, but it was mountain food.  I had always thought of that marinated, very tender, rather vinegary meat as "German," but here I was, in the mountains of Italy.  It was superb.  Then I had a regional dessert, a "bonnet," they called them, that was essentially an individual custard, turned out on a plate, with a caramel top (a bit like an upside down cake), with a powdered sugar frost on top.  Oh, it was lovely, too.  In the US,  creme caramel is my favorite dessert, and this was similar, though the top was not seared to a crispy crust.  The flavors were the same, though.  Yum yum.  This was my first sit-down meal in Italy, and couldn't have been a better welcome for me.  I went to bed a happy woman.

The next morning I got up, checked out (did remember to leave my rolling knapsack in an anteroom of the office), spent a short time in the chapel with Our Lady, and did a little shopping for a figurine, postcards, and booklets.  Even though I knew everything I bought would be edited and approved by the Roman Catholic Church, I wanted to gather all the local material that I could.  The next time I visit, I'd love to be fluent enough in Italian to ask some of the pilgrims and employees what they think about this particular madonna, and what legends and stories they know about her.

Who has ever heard of Oropa -- especially if you're not Italian?  Who besides the Swiss have ever heard of Einsiedeln?  These sites are not widely known to the world, but they are very popular in their particular locations.  When I left on Saturday morning, I counted (unless I mis-remember) 13 tour buses parked in the lower lot of the sanctuary, all carrying pilgrims to this site.  Amazing.  Very fierce devotion, it seemed, whether the church or the world acknowledges it, or not.

I decided I would go to Genoa, and possibly get better information about and directions to the black madonna at Crea, which was almost directly south of Oropa, but not easily accessible.  More about that another day.

Travelogue, Day 3: Einseideln to Milan

Surely by now you see that these blog entries are as much for me as they are for you.  Of course I want to show my trip to friends and family -- but I am processing, processing, processing exactly what this trip and these madonnas meant to me.  I have bunches of people who are waiting with bated breath to hear about my trip (I'm lucky that way), but I also need to figure out the importance of this trip for me, and for my study of the black madonnas.

One thing that was a common thread, is that it was often an ordeal to get to the madonnas, and this was my first experience of this.  A lovely but tiring day in Zurich, a mistaken train ride, arriving late in a strange place, and having to find my way.  And of course, once I did get to Einsiedeln and the monastery, and get myself a room and some dinner, the whole church site was locked up for the night -- so I had my bath and still had to wait to see the madonna until the next day.  The ordeal to find the madonna began to feel like my "rite of initiation" at each site!

The bulk of the time I spent viewing the madonna, shopping for not only souvenirs, but study materials, was on the following day, on Thursday.  And then, after not enough time in Einsiedeln, I had to board the train to Milan.  It was a short ride, really -- I think I boarded the train about 2:00 pm, and arrived in Milan about 4 (or 16:00, as the Europeans tell time on the 24-hour clock).  Here are just a couple of pictures of my stunning ride through the alps:

My first sight was of peaks enveloped in clouds -- all very beautiful and mysterious.  I couldn't help but think of Mount Sinai, where Moses received the Law from God, and the Mount of Transfiguration, where Jesus was also encased in cloud -- the clouds are so often a sign of God's presence in the bible, and I surely felt God blessing this trip, and my sight of the Alps.

The view from the train was so beautiful -- I encourage any of you setting out for Italy to check the fares to travel through Zurich -- certainly if I had been in a hurry and disinterested in the madonna in Switzerland, I could have taken a train directly from the station,  headed to Italy, and been at least to Milan on my first day in Europe (which was actually the second day of travel, since the trip over the Atlantic was an overnight trip, landing me in Zurich the morning of my second day).

I have to say, I felt like Heidi.  Please ignore all the feedback from shooting through the window (like my hand and camera!) -- and see the cows.  I also saw sheep, and many beautiful little vegetable gardens.  I saw the landscape change from Swiss/Germanic/cold weather to Italian, warmer weather, more gardens still producing.  It was mostly green, lush, and beautiful (this was September 24, keep in mind), even high in the Alps.  I was also alone in my 4-seat "pod" for the trip down to Zurich, midday, mid-week.  My only conflict was between writing in my journal, which I did, madly, and gazing at (and photographing) the scenery.  Mostly I chose to look and photograph, figuring I could always write and reflect later, but I couldn't always attend to the beautiful sights I was seeing as I traveled through the Alps.

When I arrived in Milan, I found that the luxurious tourist offices of 2005, when I was in Italy before, had been reduced to a tiny booth and a plexiglas window, where I was provided with a city map and a photocopied list of local hotels.  That was discouraging!  in 2005, the tourist offices were places where one could come in, sit down, and speak English with a worker who was fluent in English and thrilled to use the internet to locate and reserve a room.  I left the station with my map and list, and proceeded to orient myself to the streets and available hotels.  Since streets are not posted on easy-to-read signs, but rather must be read engraved into the side of buildings, I had to walk, sometimes for blocks in each direction to discover what street I was on.  From the station I could see a good number of chain and 4-star hotels, but I already knew I could not afford to stay in those -- and so my quest for a 1 or 2-star hotel began.  I eventually did find a hotel (I'm sorry that I can't remember how many stars, one or two), with a very friendly  young English speaking (sort of) desk clerk, who not only gave me a room with a bath included, but also searched out Oropa (my next destination) on the internet, and gave me directions about how to get there.

It was warm there, and I did not have air conditioning in my room; but by evening, it cooled considerably, and I could open my shuttered windows onto a courtyard, and it was fine.  There were other windows looking out onto this courtyard, but they seemed to be mostly offices or rooms under construction/renovation, so no one was home later in the evening.  I went out in the early evening, shortly after dark (the time of the traditional passagiata in Italy, after the day's work (which usually concluded about 7), and before the dinner hour (which began about 8), and found myself in a largely student neighborhood, which was not threatening, and allowed me to explore, finding a shop in which I bought a nice bottle of Italian wine, and a grocery store in which I found a bottle of laundry detergent (I carried lots of synthetic knit clothing, which I could wash out, and which would dry overnight).  I also saw food that I could purchase in the morning for my trip to Oropa, to eat on the train for lunch -- and the usual large bottle of water (with gas, also called frizzante), to drink in my room, and also on the early part of my journey in the morning.

It was in Milan that I had my third kebap.  These were a type of wrap sandwich sold in little shops run by Middle Easterners.  They featured meat that in the US we call "gyro," or a large hunk of meat cooked slowly on a vertical spit, and sliced off thinly.  The difference between the "gyro" that we get in the US and this new "kebap," was that this "kebap" also included a liberal garnish of fresh veggies, so it was a bit like meat and a salad all wrapped up in a tortilla: definitely NOT Italian, but delicious, filling, and cheap.  Yum.  I still had 2 1/2 weeks of time to get some lovely Italian dishes.

I'm sorry I didn't take any shots of Milan.  I'm sorry I didn't get to see the Duomo -- the elaborate, sugar-icing, gothic structure that looks beautiful in any photographs I've seen of it.  I'm even more sorry that I didn't get to see "The Last Supper."  I knew I was taking this trip 6 months or more ago -- why didn't I book a reservation then?  But when I tried it a week or two in advance of my departure, I couldn't get a tour.  I can't believe I didn't take any pictures of Milan.  It reminded me of New York, though -- big and dirty and a bit impersonal.  I enjoyed my mini-walking tour of my own neighborhood, near the station and my motel -- but I left knowing there was so much more to do and see there.  Once again, for the second time now, I had arrived in a strange place, and with minimal help, had managed to find myself to a suitable hotel, and then found dinner and a bottle of wine!  Yay for me!  To be continued, of course, as I head back north and back west in order to get to Oropa....

Travelogue, Continued: Einsiedeln, Switzerland

Now you see, I really shouldn't have been blogging when I was so jet-lagged as when I made the last entry.  My first day was not Zurich to Milan, but rather Zurich to Einsiedeln.  Einsiedeln, while a small town, is a famous pilgrim site, and everyone I encountered had heard of it.  Maybe I just haven't been a great follower of religious pilgrimage sites, but I'd certainly never heard of it until I started to follow the black madonnas.  It's not like Medjagorje, which just about everyone has heard of, or Lourdes, or even Loreto.  But in Switzerland, at least, it was a hugely well-known pilgrimage site.  So after my day in Zurich, Einsiedeln was my destination.  I had been assured (either by the ticket master or the tourist information clerk -- Zurich's was the best tourist information office I used) that I would find lodging easily in Einsiedeln, so I set off.  My second experience of train travel on this trip (the first was from the airport to downtown Zurich) was interesting, to say the least.

First of all, it was not impossible to find people who were fluent in English, but it wasn't completely easy, either; and even when the English was good, the German accent was often quite strong.  Somehow I missed the fact that I had to change trains to get to Einsiedeln.  I had even asked a railroad worker (but not a conductor), and had been emphatically told to "STAY ON THE TRAIN."  So I took a nice, hour-long detour into the Alps before a kind conductor helped me reverse my trip, to get back from Sargans, definitely not my destination point (but beautiful, nevertheless) to Wadenswil, where my change of train was to occur.

Of course I made the mistake of getting the nonstop clear back to Zurich, and had to turn around and head out again.  This got me to Einsiedeln after dark -- and of course I was in a town where most shops were closed, and I had no idea how to get from the train station to any lodging for the night.

A sweet group of teenagers, hanging out near the station and with some English, helped me find the street and a not-too-long uphill trek to the monastery and the lodging that they assured me I would find nearby.

But this wasn't at all a bad view for my mistaken "side trip," was it?  Even the clerk in the tourist office, when I questioned her about my ticket, said that I was fortunate to get that tour!

At random, and with very little difficulty, I located a room.  I shared a bath, choosing that compromise for the 40 francs I saved!  Now we Americans aren't really used to sharing baths when we stay in a hotel, and it wasn't really comfortable for me; but unless you travel 3 or 4 stars all the way, it's common in Europe to share a bath with a few other rooms.  This was my initiation.  And this was my first, comfortable little room: 

You can see that it was plenty for me -- a desk with a lamp and chair are luxuries, as well as a small reading lamp by the bed.  Out the window (my attempt at those shots didn't come out well at all) I had a full view of the monastery and its bells, which rang quite loudly.  At night, the monastery is brightly lit; during the day it carries its own radiance in the bright cleanliness of the stone.  I was enchanted.  Breakfast the next morning was the charming European breakfast I remembered: an assortment of rolls, juices, cereals, and yogurt.  It was all served on tables with real cloths and napkins, and some things were brought by a waiter, on plates with little doilies on them.  I remembered the great care that was given to a simple breakfast, and vowed to return to that when I came back home!

The monastery and grounds were beautiful, as was the church in which the sanctuary of the black madonna was contained.  She was actually in a small shrine or chapel that was fully contained within the larger church.  Her legend is that she was brought up here, to a place that was a simple hermitage, by St. Meinrad.  Many miracles, including protection of the area from the plague in the middle ages, are attributed to her.  Over time the monastery grew, then fell upon hard times during the Protestant Reformation, and then revived.  Here is a fountain outside the monastery:   

Despite the sunlight, you can see the impressive nature of the site.  I was overwhelmed at my first sight of the madonna herself, and could only shoot blurry photos.  I was lucky to find the small sanctuary open -- it seems there was a funeral there on that morning, so all the gates were open, and I could even sit for a few moments inside the small sanctuary.  I was in tears and could hardly get my breath.  I'm sure that the cause of my blurry photos was a combination of relief and being thrilled to finally see my first madonna, after so much anticipation.  When I returned a time later, after the funeral, the gates of the small sanctuary were locked, even though the larger church remained open, and the madonna could only be seen through the grating of the gates.  Here's the best of the photos I could get of her.  I have cards and books, but my own photos were shaky, at best:

This is as people gathered before the funeral or memorial mass that was being held that morning.  You can see the black chapel or sanctuary that is fully contained within the lighter, white church.  You can also see the radiance with which she was displayed.  I did go into that small sanctuary for a time.

Following this is the best photo I was able to get myself, through the grating, after the service was over and the gates were closed.  I'm not sure why I was so shy (especially after the service) about setting up my tripod and getting a steadier shot -- I still wasn't sure about the "rules" for photography in these churches -- I've since learned that for the most part, they simply discourage flash photography during actual church services.  Here's the best shot of the madonna that I was able to get.  It seems that the more I used my telephoto, the more the image was magnified, but so was my movement as I held the camera.

I'm sure that a Google search will get you far better images than I've got here -- but the blurriness might just convey some of my complete excitement and exhilaration at actually being there and taking the photographs with my own hands.  My heart was pounding!  But as I said, until I figured out my camera settings a little better, the settings themselves may have had an effect on the clarity (or lack thereof) of the photos, too.

After I spent some time with the dark lady, I really did not take time to view the other sights in Einsiedeln.  There is a panorama of Bethlehem (but I've been there, anyway), and a hike one can take further up the mountain to follow the stations of the cross.  I did, during the funeral service, purchase a few souvenirs and clear photos and books.  I also visited a stationery store to buy some envelopes and glue for putting things in my journal.  Here, finally, is a shot of the village, looking out from the peak of the hill on which the monastery sits.  This is as it looked just before I set off back down to the train station.  I had just enough time to purchase a corkscrew at a nearby grocery store.  I knew that if I was heading into Italy, I'd need a corkscrew!

So off I went, stopping for a sandwich and water (with gas, as I prefer it), and then the corkscrew.  Then on to the station and down through the beautiful Alps to Milan.  I had survived my first experience of landing in a town where English was limited, and finding my way to lodging and the sight I came to see.  I had a grand time, and developing that skill for seeking out lodging in a new and foreign place served me well for the rest of the trip.  It not only boosted my confidence, making me feel like the intrepid world traveler, but I truly needed that ability to negotiate in completely strange surroundings for the rest of my journey.

It's too late tonight to show you my pictures of the Alps, and I don't think I took a single shot of Milan, though I do have a thing or two to say about my sojourn there.  But that will be for another entry.  For now, I will bid you goodnight.

Travelogue: Day One

Of  course, travel doesn't really begin on day one, but far, far in advance of that, with the purchase of tickets, the reading of travel guides, the purchase and preparation and anticipation.  So day one, September 22, really wasn't day one at all, even though it's the day that I left the US for Europe.

I was very lucky to get such a cheap ticket from Nashville to Zurich, via Newark.  I've watched the prices of tickets since before I bought mine, and nothing has been within $100 as cheap as the one I bought.  Lesson:  It pays to start looking early, being flexible with regard to dates and destinations (I would have flown into Milan or Rome, probably -- but the ticket to Zurich was not only cheaper, but allowed me to go to Einsiedeln and see one of the famous black madonnas there).  It also allowed me to ride the train through the Alps, both to and from my destinations in Italy.  There were multiple gifts in that simple decision.  One of my hopes for this trip was that I would remain open to the gifts that same to me every day  of the trip.

I had shopped for clothes to take with me, and had five things to wear "on the bottom:"  3 light skirts, a pair of well-worn and much-loved black cotton knit gauchos, and one pair of fairly new, LLBean black cotton knit slacks, and also six nylon t-shirt tops that I knew (from experience in California in July) could be washed out and dried overnight in most situations.  I had only a little underwear that I would also wash out overnight.  I left with one large rolling backpack (the best $25 I ever spent in my life), and one lovely leather bag that could either be a knapsack or large shoulder bag.  I also had a small nylon duffel crushed into the bottom of the not-completely-full rolling bag.  It was all very portable and carry-on, eliminating the question or problem with checked luggage on the trip over.  There was plenty of room to expand as I went along, and then to check a bag on the return trip, as I had done in 2005 when I made this trip).  I also knew that less is better where jumping on and off trains and other transportation is concerned.  Hauling lots of heavy luggage makes any trip more difficult than it needs to be, with a little thought.

I shouldn't have taken my large, telescoping tripod or my mini-notebook computer.  That would have cut down on bulk and weight, and I didn't/couldn't really use them much, anyway.  I took a swimsuit which I didn't use, but that was a good idea anyway.  A parishioner friend, a very gallant retired pilot, used to say, "Never leave home without your passport or swimsuit."  I like that attitude; it's  quite romantic, really.  There were beaches, and on another trip, I might have made excellent use of that swim suit.

So, a parishioner/friend drove me to Nashville.  All flights left on time and seamlessly.  I sat beside a sweet young German couple who sneezed, coughed, and blew their noses for the entire 7-hour flight over the ocean.  I swore.  I prayed that I would not get sick, too.  Yes, I did get sick, but not immediately, so who knows if it was their germs or some other that caught up with me, 5 days or so after arriving.

I arrived in Zurich, Switzerland sometime on Wednesday morning.  At the airport I bought my ticket into Zurich and also to Milan in the late afternoon.  Then I found the tourist information  center in the Zurich train station, as I expected, and received great advice (and a map) about how to walk down either side of the river (the upscale shopping side, and then the charming, infinitely more interesting, "old city" side.  After that long walk, I would take the train to Milan, Italy, riding through the Alps.

Here's a little of what I saw:

This is the station  where I arrived in Zurich.  It's a lovely old structure, and very few of our US cities have retained this sort of train depot.  Of course, the pigeons fly in, especially from the back end, where the trains come in.  It's a lovely combination of outdoors and indoors, and the air never gets close and stale, because there is always the part that is open to the trains.

Around the perimeter of the  interior, there are lots of shops and cafes, and in the front part,   the entry you are seeing and to the right of that, there is a lovely market -- not simply tourist trinkets and other "gift items" such as flowers or candy, but a full-fledged market with stalls that sold meat, breads, cheese, and other household supplies that could be easily picked up after work and taken home.

Switzerland uses the franc, not the Euro, so I had to visit the bank machine to retrieve some Swiss currency.  I thought I withdrew an exorbitant amount, but things are so expensive in Switzerland that I really didn't.

Zurich is also a very gracious city, however.  There was charming old architecture to observe at every step.  There were lots of parks and benches to sit on and relax.  Unlike Italy, where there are often not places for a weary traveler to relax (though I say the monuments of Rome are highly polished by the butts of locals and tourists), Zurich offered lots of benches along the way.

The Swiss are known as clock makers, of course.  This clock, on a street corner near the station, chimes on the hour with a lengthy song.  See all the bells that ring so sweetly?

I walked down to Lake Zurich on this street, mostly past very high-end stores.  When I stopped for lunch, I found a middle eastern place that offered "kebaps," which I'd never had before.  I fully expected them to be some sort of "kabob," as we say in English, some sort of meat skewered, roasted, and eaten from a stick.  On the other hand, what a "kebap" really turned out to be was meat that we in the US would call "gyro," meaning a large chunk of meat roasted n a spit and turned, turned, turned.  It was put into a soft tortilla with a whole bunch of vegetables  as well as a sauce that moistened it -- and it was eaten like a soft-shell taco or a burrito.  It was cheap, fast, and tasty, but in no way local to Swiss cuisine.  Still -- when you're on the run during the day, it was an easy meal.  When I got to the lake (maybe a mile?) this is what I saw:

Ignore those cranes  in the distance.  It was a charming sight, with many swans.  It was a popular local lunch site.  I know these pictures look like cloudy black and white, and am not sure why; but the sun was shining, and people really flooded out of the businesses and came to walk on the many docks, or to sit on the many benches to eat their lunch.  I also saw lots of tourists lining up for ferry tours of the lake.

The walk down the other side of the river, for this was the great crossing point for traffic, was through a very medieval-Europe-type area, with winding roads, beautiful churches, and lots of charming shops.  I stopped into the church where Zwingli preached some of the more radical Protestant doctrine of the time (which actually sounds very moderate, compared to the radical evangelical preachings and teachings I hear daily here in Tennessee).  I bought myself another journal, which I had decided would be my  own souvenirs of a place.

After some time spend lingering in a park close to the station, I caught my late-afternoon train through the Alps to Milan.  Lessons and reflections for that first day:  Try to have a little German, or at least familiarity with a phrasebook, when traveling in what is essentially a German-speaking country.  It's a bit arrogant and rude to do otherwise.  I was careful to have a tiny bit of Italian and some facility with my phrasebook for Italy -- but completely, thoughtlessly ignorant, where Zurich was concerned.  I'll do better next time.

No Place Like Home

I have been home approximately one hour.  It's raining here, the first rain I've actually been in for 3 weeks (did ride the train through some precipitation yesterday).  I've heard that the Plateau is waterlogged, but I have to say I don't mind it.  Cool and wet feels okay, and I don't know if I've ever been so happy to be in my beloved little rectory.

Tomorrow I will start with pictures and the real travelogue, I promise.  It is just 11:30 pm here, but the time clock I've been on for the last 3 weeks says it is actually 6:30 am, and I've had very little sleep in the last 24 hours.  I'm still pretty wound up from the trip home, but I have to work tomorrow beginning at 9:30, and so will have to turn in very shortly.  Also -- tomorrow I get my doggies back from the kennel!

But tonight I'm just rushing in for a moment to say that I've learned so very much -- about the black madonnas, about Italy, about myself -- all for better and for worse.  There were moments that were thrilling and that made me proud and amazed at myself, and only one emotional meltdown.  But as far as I'm concerned, all lessons are good lessons, whether they're pleasant or unpleasant.  It sure is good to be home, even with this cat I'm not sure I like very well, even with a bag full of dirty clothes (I just put the first load in the washer), even with literally hundreds of pictures from the sublime to the ridiculous, in my camera.

I'll also say that it was cool in Milan yesterday, cold in Zurich this morning (when I rode the train back through the Alps from Milan to Zurich, there was snow on the tops of the Alps, and we even rode through just a lick of it), and also cool here on my beloved Plateau.  It was amazing yesterday to go within 24 hours from palm trees (in Palermo, Sicily) to snow!

I can't tell you how good it feels to be surrounded by English again -- the spoken language, the printed material, the internet (I haven't even had the TV on yet).  I know it sounds a bit chauvinistic, except that I truly don't particularly think English is the best language, only that it's the one I'm fluent in.  Italian is a beautiful, melodic language, but it's not mine, and I could understand only the tiniest bit of it.  It's lovely to hear words I can understand again, and read headlines in my native tongue.  That being said, I'm determined to improve my Italian.  On the train from Palermo to Milan (yes, the whole train came across the Straits of Messina (location of the famed Scylla & Charibdys, and the Sirens) on a ferry), I heard a German speaking woman talking in fairly methodical "schoolgirl Italian," much slower and clearer (to me) than native speakers, and it was amazing.  She was perfectly and delightfully understood by Italians, but also (almost) by me, and I thought, "I could learn to do this."  I do know one native Italian speaker here in Tennessee, and I intend to try to arrange sessions where we can speak English part of the time (she really needs to improve her English), and Italian part of the time (for my practice).

Two days ago I would have said that I was so sick of Italy that I never would return.  And two days before that I was fantasizing about spending half the year in my retirement at a lovely little place outside Palermo (more about that magic pranza -- lunch -- another day).  And today I fantasize about speaking more fluently, for those places (and there are many, many) where English is not spoken at all.  Go figure.  I'll have to sleep on the whole thing before I have a single clue about what I may want in the future!

So do be patient one more day.  I will delight you with some shots of Zurich, taken the day I arrived, and perhaps even some of Milan (if I took any!).  The travelogue begins!

Drat!

I will try and post with pictures tonight, but just now I'm discouraged that a mega-post from Rome didn't get auto-saved by typepad.  It seems to auto-save when I don't need it, but that night I really needed it, it has disappeared!

At any rate, I'm here in Napoli, at 3:20 pm, whatever my time stamp says on my post.  It's gorgeous, and I'm headed off to the Museo Archaelogico (everything here's open till at least 7).  I've got pre-historic and Greco-Roman stuff I want to see today, and a day trip 20 miles out of town tomorrow to see another madonna.  Then I head off to Sicily tomorrow afternoon.  Today's dilemma is whether to go by water the long way, or by rail to the very tip of the toe and cross the short way by water (maybe even a hydrofoil?).

My 4 days in Roma was very productive -- I discovered two that I haven't found documented yet, right in the Pantheon.  I love Rome.  She is such a gracious, all-embracing lady.

I'm forming some very firm ideas about these black madonnas, too!

Oh, and I'm learning about travel, and picking up more Italian, and hoping I'll find a nice beach in Sicily to chill out for a couple of days.  I've got lots and lots of pictures, but my battery's waning now and I haven't had lunch, and I've got a date with a black Diana carving....

Italia!

Oh, I am having so many adventures, have taken hundreds of pictures, but I find that internet connections are spotty at best, especially for posting pictures; so that will have to wait.  Perhaps if I were in one place for more than a day or two, or if I weren't sick (yes, I've come to Italy to get a cold!), I could figure it all out more efficiently.  In a couple of days I will be in Roma, and plan to be there 3-4 days; that may give me a chance to show you just a bit of what I've seen and done.  But yes, I've seen black madonnas, for sure!  I've seen the dark icons, but the ones that fascinate me most are t he carved wooden figures, all very dark and strange to our eyes.

It's all taking me much longer than I anticipated.  When one relies on public transportation (and my poor, abused, but ever-faithful feet) and the vagaries of the 12-3 pm lunch "hour" that is almost universally observed in the places I've been, I just don't get to all the places I want to.  There was one Madonna outside Genoa and Milan (about equidistant) that I just couldn't get to, because I needed to rent a car, and could only do that at the airport.  If I see one Madonna a day, I'm doing well.  I know now that I was greatly overreaching myself when I thought I would see all of them in this trip.

Every day I re-think and re-plan.  Since I know I can't see them all, I've decided to concentrate on Rome and Sicily, which have the greatest concerntrations in the smallest space.  If I have time, I'll double back to Naples, Venice, and that one I missed near Milan.

And I've discovered new loves that I never expected.  Genoa:  what a great city!  Very gracious, right on the ocean.  Beautiful architecture, lots of old churches, and plenty of beautiful places for a tourist to park her weary self.  And Zurich!  Who'd have guessed that Switzerland would also have flowerboxes overflowing with blooms?

And so I will close today, reporting in from Livorno (saw the Madonna of Montenero, the patron of Tuscany, today).  I need to check my mail, and I'm having one of those marathon sneezing fits.  Pray for my improved health, okay?

The State of Things

No pictures today, but some talk about gardening and travel.

I'm just about ready for my upcoming trip to Italy.  It's hard to believe that I depart in a little more than 2 weeks!  I'll fly into Zurich and see the black madonna in Einsiedeln.  You can google this and see her.  Than I ride the train down through the Alps to Milan, and go see the black Madonna in Oropa.  Then it's on, on, on to all the black madonna sites I can reach in about 2 1/2 weeks.  I've got a tentative itinerary done.  I've got my map.  The main book I'm using is Lucia Chiavola Birnbaum's book, Black Madonnas: Feminism, religion, & politics in Italy.  She includes a great map with what she says are the "25 significant sites" of black madonnas in Italy.  It was a great starting point.  I've discovered maybe 5-10 others that I want to see; I'm sure there are more.  Her book is still available, if anyone's interested.  I'll admit that I'm not all that interested in the political movements in Italy, but that's really only one chapter of 11.  What I'm really interested in is the map, and her theories about the origins and popularity of the black madonnas, most particularly in Italy.

I chose Italy because I was there in 2005, so I know Italy a teeny bit, love it passionately, and have the tiniest bit of Italian to work with.  The number of madonnas there seems manageable, unlike southern France, where there are dozens, if not hundreds (see Ian Begg's book, The Cult of the Black Virgin, which includes maps of France).  Sorry, I'm not even doing hyperlinks tonight -- how lazy is that?  Google is your friend.

I'm going alone.  This is not a "store bought" pilgrimage or study trip, though it will be both for me.  I'm making it up as I go.  When I get back, I'll share what I saw and learned, and you can do it yourself -- or I might just lead a pilgrimage myself!  The climax of the trip will be Sicily, where there are 10 sites.  I intend to spend 6 days.  But my plans are very fluid.  I've been sick, and due to allergies, am still not 100% well.  I will do what I can do.  If I get slowed down and only have 2-4 days in Sicily, so be it.  If I get there and am not happy there, I'll come back to the mainland and spend more time in Naples, or Rome, or Florence.  Win/win.  I'm not one of those people who has to be locked into a schedule and reservations, being a certain place on a certain date.  In fact, that seems really distasteful to me.  I want to be able to stay in the places that call to me, stay with the madonnas that call to me.  And then move on.  I'm so excited I can barely stand it.  It's like Christmas Eve as a little kid, multiplied by about 12, till I'm actually leaving for the airport.  I know what clothes I'm taking and wearing.  I do not think my rolling, carry-on knapsack will be nearly full.  Plenty of room for souvenirs and icons and pictures, even though I've also packed an extra duffel if I buy too much.

But as I said, I've been sick.  I'm over the bronchitis that I came home with a month ago, but I'm still working on managing allergies.  I never had allergies till I came to Tennessee.  Now I do.  In previous years they took the form of stuffed up nose and sneezing marathons that could go on for 15-20 sneezes.  Occasionally I had to take an antihistamine to calm them down.  This year, they've decided to live at the back of my head -- in the form of post-nasal drip and a tendency to cough.  I have to talk a lot in my job, so the coughing has got to be managed, somehow.  Antihistamines and decongestants seem to do the trick, but working out the right combination is no mean feat.  But by George, I think I've almost got it.  But it has left me tired and drained, and still with a pain in my side (from a pulled muscle, people tell me) that responds to ibuprofen.  So my energy has been low.  I've learned something about not being 25 again, when I recovered from anything in about 5 minutes (or 5 days).  I've learned about just submitting to the time it takes for my body to heal, and to be gentle with myself (even though part of me feels I should be at least back to 100% now, if not more).  I've learned about accepting the kindness of others to bring me stuff, or just to give me permission to be sick for a while.

My spiritual director is also a reiki practitioner, and Friday she gave me a treatment.  I don't know exactly what happened, but by yesterday I felt so good that I did 2 hours worth of gardening (which was, of course, like stuffing pollen directly up my nose).  My back walk looks fabulous, and I learned some stuff about what I want to do back there with the runaway, invasive bamboo that my predecessor planted.  The answer to that is: nothing.  Cut it back a couple of times per season, transplant any other things I want to save, and just give the bed over to (trimmed) bamboo.  It's hopeless.  I've heard that burning and digging out and herbicides are powerless against bamboo.  Resistance is futile.  But it actually looks nice if I keep it cut back off the sidewalk, out of the boxwood, and from around the hosta.  So even though I was all choked up for most of the day (not a good thing on Sunday, with 2 services), I've learned some stuff.  And there's such great satisfaction in seeing the difference my two hours' labor made.  I've decided to do just a bit each week that pleases my eye, and I'm slowly encroaching on the borders of the big beds that my predecessor planted (with the help of 3 assistants -- I have NO gardening assistants), making them just a bit smaller on all sides.  Six inches or a foot smaller on each side can make them easier to maintain.  Just when I get the jungle of yard conquered, it will be time to retire, or to leave this parish!

I've also been enjoying my tiny back porch.  I sit out there in the morning when I can to enjoy the birds and plants, and to write my morning pages.  Yesterday I went around looking for leftover perennials, but could not find the coreopsis I was seeking for a pot.  So I bought a big pot of yellow mums at Walmart.  Not bad for 5 bucks.  Five dollars for a pot of pure sunshine.  Yellow-gold mums (not the eye-shocking bright yellow, but a golden color), big pot, beautiful with my gold marigolds with the deep red edging.  Sunshine every morning.

So that's my last couple of weeks.  I hope to post daily or so when I'm traveling -- I'm taking my mini-notebook with me, which has a card-reader for photos, and wireless capability.  So if I can access wi-fi, I'll be able to show you what I'm doing and seeing.

Long Time Gone

Well,  now that I check back, it has been a really long time -- more than a month -- since I've posted here.  Unlike lots of you whom I read, it isn't about spending more time on Facebook.  For me, it's about summer, travel, and being sick.  This could be fairly long, and I have lots of pictures.  Be prepared.  Here are only a couple that were from General Convention in California:

The convention center was huge, though I'll admit I didn't venture above the ground floor.  There was a huge escalator that looked four stories high, but I admit I was halfway intimidated by a recent television show I watched when a large escalator fell, a woman was trapped in a mob of falling people, and nearly had herself shredded.  Think giant, multi-story shredder of humans.  Now I'm sure I would have ridden it, or found an elevator, if I had been sufficiently motivated.  But it seemed there was more than I could handle on the  first floor.  I loved our sign, though -- so typical of the Episcopal Church -- our shield, which is recognized by all Episcopalians, and the words, "welcomes you," which embodies what we're about as Episcopalians, I hope.  Then there was this shot: 

This was the Hilton, immediately perpendicular to one end of the Convention Center, where we were lucky enough to get to stay.  It was a very good place to stay, even though I was glad to get home to breathing real, outdoor air after two weeks of very little of that.  Still, I'm grateful for such luxurious and convenient accommodations, since most of the rest of our deputation were also in the Hilton, and most especially the Bishop, in whose suite we met each day for lunch.

It actually wasn't very hard to adjust to seeing palm trees everywhere -- I guess at home, here on the Cumberland Plateau, I'm not that far from South Carolina, where I also get to see palm trees.  The weather, though, was delightful.

Now I came home from Anaheim, and tried to catch up on all I missed in the 14 days I was gone.  I also had a sermon to write on the Saturday night I arrived home.  The sermon part wasn't hard, though, because I knew I could talk about what happened at General Convention.  People like to hear about the larger church, and also what I've been up to while I was gone from them.  But then there was (were?) two weeks' of mail and business to accomplish in a week, before I left again for a vacation in Buffalo.

Then I went to see my friend Cheryl's new house.  Well, it's new to her, but it was actually built right near the turn of the century.  It's a lovely double, with a luxurious first-floor flat (with reliable tenants), an even more beautiful second-floor flat, where Cheryl lives, after considerable work, and an unfinished third floor "servants' quarters" residence with plumbing already installed, where it's my fantasy that I'll live out the summers of my retirement.  It's a true classic, great neighborhood, well-preserved woodwork and fireplace, etc.  There's a huge front porch, wide as the house, and with sturdy awning framework in place (no canvas awning yet).  Here's a beautiful shot or two of the front porch:

  The leaves on the awning framework are fake -- and interspersed with tiny white lights.  When Cheryl explained it all to me, she said, "It reminded me of the rooftop patio in Naples, where we drank that bottle of wine and talked.  And yes, I could see it clearly.  I don't care what they look like to others (though my stubborn Sicilian friend, Cheryl's partner Tom, did grudgingly admit they were "nice"), darn it, when I sat out there with her, I could remember being in Naples (where I'll be again in 4 weeks!).  You see the three beautiful flower boxes -- this photo shows only half of the beautiful front deck.  We were aiming, in late Buffalo Summer, for the effect of Venice, where the flowerboxes were abundantly overflowing wherever we went.  I planted one, to help Cheryl get started, then she planted another FIVE all by herself, and they were all beautiful.  I am grateful for this vacation.  I loved seeing Cheryl, and her beautiful new house.  We even had a few days at the lake, which I also love.  What I didn't love was coming down with bronchitis while I was there.  I got to sit at that lovely table you see every morning, drinking coffee, writing in my journal, just enjoying the great outdoors of a city I love.  But within two days I had developed a cough (allergies, they said), and before long, I was awake at night, coughing my lungs out.  Whatever caused it, I managed to let it get bad enough to make me really sick.  The vacation was a disappointment to both of us, I think, because usually I'm eager to go and see and do, or at least to stay up late enjoying one another's company.  But I spent a lot of this week in bed, or on the sofa.

The drive home was also miserable, and I'm a great lover of driving.  I was so sick that I felt absolutely unsafe.  When I came home I encountered a whole series of disappointments in a minor scale, and when I finally saw my doctor on the following Monday, she thought I had pneumonia.  Thank God she could see me.  Thank God I could get antibiotics and a cough syrup.  But here's where I've spent a goodly portion of the month of August:

Yeah.  Sigh.  I got home on the 8th,  saw the doc on the 10th, and have spent a goodly amount of time here.  Propped up, just like in the pic.  I finally realized (with the help of some parishioners) that if I prop myself up, I'm less likely to drown in mucous (sorry).  Even this past week, 2 weeks after I saw the doctor, I was still coughing and had post-nasal drip, which threatened to progress into more of the same.  And I have a trip to Italy in 3.5 weeks!  I have to be well.  My activity practices (running each morning with the dog, yoga 2-3 times a week) also ceased, so I'm more out of shape than I've been in 4 years.  But after a re-consultation with the doctor and some self-medication as well (I think I need a drying-up decongestant, as well as an allergy-treating antihistamine), I'm finally resembling something akin to health.  I've taken several 20-minute brisk walks (as opposed to my prior 30-40 minute runs), and today  I actually got some yard work done.

When I visited Buffalo, I also spent some time with my friend Janet, who is a gardener of great gifts.  She showed me and talked to me about her gardens, and I was re-inspired to attend to my own yard.  I won't even show you to gone-to-pot (not literally!) veggie garden, but here's what my front walk and steps have looked like for several weeks now:

Notice the overgrown condition of the spiderwort, especially.  Not only is it encroaching onto (and has rooted into) the front steps, but it has completely overgrown the two beds on either side.  I feel like I'm wading through a sea of weeds and chiggers each time I approach my house.  Yuck.

So I've been sick.  Which not only has let my weeds grow unimpeded, but makes me feel like a pile of crap, besides.  I spend time lying on the sofa, torn between episodes of "American Justice" and "Dr. Phil/Oprah" (aren't they really the same show?), and berating myself for all I'm not doing -- at the church, around the house, and everywhere else.  Anyway, as I began to feel better, and this entryway became the source of great annoyance to me, I decided to follow some good advice to set a timer for 15 minutes, and then again and again, if I felt like it, and see how much I could get done.  As always, we surprise ourselves; I surprised myself.  Here's what all that mess looked like after 15 minutes:

You see that the steps have been mostly cleared up.  The bushes to the right and left of the sidewalk are more clearly defined (by the removal of overgrowth).  There's still some growth on the steps themselves, and lots of scrap and debris on the sidewalk.  I set my timer for 15 minutes again, and of course, the timer went off, and I hadn't accomplished all I wanted.  So I kept going.  I didn't time myself, but I suspect the time I spent was about 45 minutes total.  Not bad for an old gal with residual allergies and/or bronchitis.  Here's what it looked like at the end:

All cleaned up, and 45-60 minutes total.  In this particular shot, I've even removed the HUGE pile of clippings and pullings -- enough to pile a wheelbarrow higher than is prudent.  Oh, I think it looks lovely.  I needed to spend a little time making things look nice out front again.  When I walked the dogs at 6:00, I enjoyed every second of approaching the porch.  I had also pulled the poison ivy that was growing over the front sidewalk.  When the men of the church had a workday, they didn't get it  out, so I finally had to, despite my fears of contamination.  But I don't seem to have contracted anything as yet, so I'm pretty sure I've got it made.

Anyway, I wanted to fill you all in on my comings and goings, my  ups and downs (mostly downs, unfortunately).  And why I haven't talked to you in ever so long.  But perhaps between now and when I leave for Italy, I can fill you in more about my trip, my preparations, and my expectations.  Love you all.