One Wild and Precious Life

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, 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.

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.

Whew!

Well, last Saturday night I got home from our Episcopal General Convention, held every 3 years.  The trip from Tennessee to Anaheim, California, is a big one, on a number of levels.  It was overwhelming, amazing, hard work, but with a bit of time to play.  I didn't expect to go, as I was a 2nd alternate deputy, with only the regular deputies and the first alternate having a paid spot.  But the first alternate had to drop out, and I got an expense-paid trip, with 5 days' notice.  Everything fell into place in the most remarkable way: dog care, supply clergy, kitty care, and all the rest).  This is my fourth General Convention, but the first one where I haven't been a visitor, and actually felt some responsibility to do some work!  There was a lot of work to do, though I had the easiest end of things, being an alternate, and only called into duty when deputies needed to be off the floor of the legislative session.  Still, there was a lot to do, a lot to learn.  I admit, I only got to the health club once, and didn't get to the pool or hot tub a single time.  I went to committee hearings and legislative sessions.  But I was only an alternate -- it was our deputies, who also had committee responsibilities, who worked so very hard.  I loved it, and did also work hard myself, and saw my friend Fran, and we talked and talked and talked.  I haven't seen her in 7-9  years, but I think we had even more to say to each other, more to share about common interests and activities, than we did back when.  Oh, I finally counted and figured it was close to four hours we were together, but it felt like 1/2 hour.  For anyone who thinks folks on the internet are axe-murderers:  neither Fran nor I seem to show any proclivities for that.

But after 2 weeks away, it sure was good to get home.  I've loved being with my dogs again.  I've loved sleeping in my own bed.  I've loved being back in the weekly routine of office hours, services, bible study, and the people I love here in Tennessee.  It was great being with colleagues and our dear bishop in California, but home is always best, isn't it?  I know I won't be here in Crossville for the rest of my life; but right now, right here, it feels absolutely right.

I spent the week debriefing from the time away.  The Convention did enact some controversial resolutions dealing with openly GLBT people in the discernment process for ministry -- ordained or not.  We made the news in those places where people find religious news.  This had to be presented to the people here at home, the people in the pews.  But I didn't really get fully caught up on what happened here while I was gone, both at work and at home, and now I'm heading out again!  I'm going to Buffalo (where, I'm sure you  remember, I lived for 24 years), and will see my best friend's new house.  I will spend a few days by the lake, where I can just unwind and get back to my true self.  I'll see lots of old friends.  I've taken care of all the details I need to take care of, and now can do my laundry and re-pack my bags, and I'm out of here soon.

I'll miss my garden, I confess.  There are beans, cucumbers, and tomatoes (finally!) to pick, weeds to pull, and grapes to watch.  I've recently (finally!) transplanted annuals into pots and containers for my porches.  They need watching and watering.  There's always more to prune and burn and spray.  I don't use a lot of poison, but just today I attacked my bumper crop of poison ivy.  I've watched it uneasily for long enough -- now it needs eradication!

But I will enjoy the cool of Buffalo (I hope  -- it can get hot there, but on average is lovely in the summertime.  And when we go out to the lake, in a camping trailer on the Rez, near Silver Creek, it's bound to be even cooler and more refreshing (though sometimes rainy, right there 100 yards from the lake).  I can't wait.  I need this time to rest and revitalize, before a 6-week return to work, and then my 3-week trip to Italy.  I know I will be nourished by the love of my friends.  My best friend Cheryl and I are truly soul friends.  Despite each of our tendencies for self-preoccupation, we always listen eagerly and offer free, unsolicited advice to one another.  I know Cheryl holds me in her heart always (as I do her), and that kind of acceptance allows for deep rest and re-creation.

How is travel for all of you?

Back Home Again

Okay.  I've had an absolutely lovely time away.  The retreat was great.  All the presentations, including mine, were well-received.  The Mercy Center in St. Louis was probably the loveliest, most gracious retreat center I've ever attended (and I've attended quite a few of them).  I took a couple of pictures of my favorite parts: 

Yes, the Mercy Center has a lovely labyrinth, constructed, as I read the story, over landscape fabric.  It was initially built by a group of women, and mulched with wood chips (wisely salvaged from pruning and trimming on their own property -- oh, that I could get our church to do that!).  Now the dark black mulch is shredded rubber, an excellent choice, I think, and I wish I could get hold of some for my own labyrinth.  It was striking.  It is a 12-circuit, like the large one at Chartres Cathedral in France.  It also seems much like the one at Kanuga Camp and Conference Center, where I actually learned to appreciate the labyrinth.  It does seem longer than the one at Kanuga, though.

The outdoor stations of the cross also touched my heart, probably because I saw them so soon in the Easter Season!  I've longed for outdoor stations at our parish.  We have a beautiful and unique set inside our church, and we use them exactly once a year, during Holy Week.  I'd be happy, though, if others wanted to use them more often.  But in the church, to move from one station to another really only requires a shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.  I really wanted stations that you could actually walk a few steps between.  You might be able to see in this photo that the cross sits in the center of a very large circle that contains all 14 Stations of the Cross, each one sheltered in a small wooden "house-shaped" structure, mounted on a pole.  My idea, exactly!  And executed most beautifully, with great love and devotion.

I did not get any pictures of the presenters, but the Hindu woman (a social worker by day) appeared in a sari; the Muslim woman appeared with appropriate head covering, the Jewish woman wore a lovely yarmulke or kippah, and the Zen Buddhist wore traditional Japanese robes.

I didn't get pictures of them all, but I was so very pleased that they were so warmly received by the audience, a Christian religious order (some of whom, I was told, might be fairly conservative).  Everyone there seemed to want to know more about the worship and mystical practices of the world's great religions.  I was also very touched at the warmth with which my talk and my presence were received.  Though I was much too much of a newcomer to share in the rather intense emotional experience of the entire retreat, I certainly felt loved and welcomed, and that was a Good Thing!

During my presentation, I offered this quote, by Bede Griffiths, an English Roman Catholic Monk:  "If you look at religions as they present themselves to us, it is like five separate fingers.  But if you penetrate to their source -- to the palm of the hand -- you will find they all spring from the same source  and instead of being separate entities they are, at their base, sharing in one common, mystical tradition."  This quote was received with many nods and murmurs of assent.  It's what I believe, too.

I left the retreat warmed to my heart.  I was fed by all of the presentations (on interfaith approaches to prayer, worship, and meditation) and the people who were there; I slept a lot, signifying that I had allowed myself to relax into this time of grace and rest.  I was also installed as a Companion in this order, something requiring more of a commitment than my previous status as "Friend."  I wish I had also taken more photos of this gracious location, with its wide, spiral staircase spanning three levels (but also with elevator), its lovely grounds, and the delicious food we were fed with far too great regularity!  I loved this beautiful and holy place, and do hope to return.

And then I drove the three hours back to my family's home in the easternmost part of central Illinois.  Oh, how lovely that was!  I wish I had pictures, but I don't.  But my heart danced in the arms of my family.  I conversed and broke bread daily with the ones I love, and then also had a lovely dinner with my one remaining brother, who generously shared pictures of himself and others in my family.  He lost his wife 7 months ago, but is coping remarkably well.  I was so happy to see my loved ones doing well, and regretted missing the ones who were working in another part of the state.

This afternoon I arrived home.  I was so, so happy to be with my doggies again.  Mr. Buddy, who seemed to have a sore back when I left, is fully recovered.  My kennel lady was kind enough to text me and tell me of Buddy's return to dancing.  The kitty has taken up residency in a windowsill in my study, and I'm delighted that we can finally all be one family down here.  My  youngest dog, Ms. Clementine, has grown far gentler and more respectful, so the kitty need not live in terror any longer.

So I'm so happy to be here.  I was only gone a week, Wednesday-to-Wednesday, actually eight days, if you count them up on your fingers.  But meanwhile, things have gone wild in my garden!  Just look at a few of these!  I've often had the experience of being gone midsummer, and finding my garden gone wild upon my return.  But never have I had this experience so early in the spring.  Things are so much more lush and beautiful than when I left a week ago!

This tree peony never fails to knock my socks off.  I love the vibrancy of it.  This year it has more blooms than it ever has had.  I made the mistake early on in my time here of cutting it back severely, and it has bloomed ever-so-slowly and sparsely in the years since.  I love the blowsy sensuality of these blooms.

This is only the second year in my 7 springtimes here that I've seen these clustered purple wisteria blooms.  The wisteria is amazing, when it decides to happen.  The problem is that it doesn't like any severe cutting back, and if I actually trim back what has extended into the little tree next to it (see upper right), then it doesn't bloom again for ages.  Of course, two years ago we had a severe late frost -- but I'm ever so grateful for these blooms that occurred during my absence!  Now if I could only nurture back its twin, which was chopped to shreds -- twice -- by my ever-helpful lawn crew.  This year I will try once again to pick one perfect stem and nurture it into a small tree.

I could post a number of other photos I took today, including some dynamite columbine.  But  all of these sweet flowers do announce spring to me.  I love lilies of the valley.  I remember when I was a young teen my favorite cologne was "Muguet des Bois" (flowers of the woods, as I recall) -- the sweet scent of lilies of the valley.  They are such a pretty addition to my springtime.

I can't believe that I was gone only for a week, with nothing but the barest hints of these things when I left!  Now they are all in full flower.  Besides that, when I took my walk with the dogs tonight, I discovered many, many tiny bunches of grapes on my wild-as-can-be (though of a domestic variety -- only neglected) grapevines.  I have a parishioner of Italian extraction, who knows about these things, who insists that all these tiny buds will produce only tiny, tiny heads of grapes.  But it's too late to prune as he has instructed, this year.  And there are so many little bunches!  The very best I can do is to find ways to repel the deer, so that I can eventually see all that develops for myself.  Then I'll know better what I should do for next year.  I have shiny things to set blowing outside the garden to scare away the deer.  I can get some netting (though this is best in battling birds).  I might even surrender to the terrible prospect of "liquid fence" -- garlic and rotten eggs!  Oh, my.  But I'd love to save the grapes that have budded out (pictures another day).

How lovely to get away!  How lovely to visit a fine facility and also be part of a lovely retreat!  How truly heartwarming to visit old locales (including the gravesites of my parents and daughter), and to enjoy the love of my family for a few days!  And how wonderful to return home, especially to an abundant garden!  Thank you God, for all of this!

Lent

I love Lent.  It's the Church's time of "New Year's Resolutions," a time to examine oneself, and make a plan to address a shortcoming or two.  Shortcomings are those things that stand in the way of our fullest possible relationship with God, of course.  God absolutely longs to be in relationship with all of creation.  We humans erect barrier after barrier to that intimacy that is our true home.  Lent is a chance to live more fully into that relationship between creature and Creator.  It's less about sackcloth and ashes than it is about the mutual longing between Lover and beloved.

We had our usual Shrove Tuesday pancake dinner at church, and it was lovely -- 40 or so people gathered together to eat pancakes, celebrate Mardi Gras in our dignified, Episcopalian way (still with much laughter and fellowship), and just be "family" with this group of people who have chosen to worship and celebrate together on this mountain.  The men's group cooked; the women's group served.  I blessed the food, ate heartily, wandered around socializing (not the easiest thing for someone who's a classic introvert), and went home, satisfied in body and soul.

On Ash Wednesday we had two services, 10 am and 6 pm.  We had 45 people between the 2 services, which is extremely good for a weekday service, even a fairly momentous one, liturgically and ecclesiastically.  It's a big day in the Church, kind of like Good Friday in significance -- but for most of the world, it's really "just another day."  In between our services, I visited two parishioners who were hospitalized with heart problems -- I call these folks, with some humor, but certainly not to trivialize -- "broken hearts."  I've had a fair number of parishioners with broken hearts in the last few months, and it breaks my heart, as well.  Some weather their problems relatively easily, be they bypasses, stents, heart catheterizations, pacemaker implants, defibrillator implants, or whatever.  I see others grow more and more frail, recovering less and less quickly.  My parish is predominantly a retirement parish -- they don't get any younger.  People who were vital and active when I came here six years ago are, in some cases, quite frail, and several have died.  My people face the possibility of death on a regular basis.

But both of these Ash Wednesday hospital visits, one in town and the other in Cookeville (off the Plateau and 30 miles west of here) were delightful and precious, true gifts.  I can't tell details, of course, because of confidentiality -- but I will say that anointing people with oil and laying my hands on their heads for a prayer of healing is one of the greatest privileges I have as a priest.  And as my heart has broken right open in these last few weeks, I'm also privileged to be with people in a way that is holier than I ever could have asked or imagined.

As for me, I considered my own Lenten practice with due sobriety and reverence.  What I realized was that, rather than the typical season of quiet self-reflection, what I needed to do to honor God best, was to make this season a season of action, rather than inaction.  You can't imagine the amount of time I spend in relative inactivity:  sitting at my desk, meeting with people, reading, studying for church related things, or parked in front of the computer (like now!), the television, the Spider Solitaire game, or other mindless diversions.  I have discerned several very special calls from God (in my own view, at least), and also particular practices that make me the best person and priest that I can be.  I have tons of creative ideas that hardly ever come to fruition.  So I examined (there's the self-examination!) exactly which of all these things and ideas that I felt most passionate about, which things I felt most strongly called to do, which things would restore holy balance to my life.  I came up with six projects that I've dreamed of, written of, spoken of, and neglected to act upon.  Perhaps I'll tell you exactly what those six items are at another time -- just now they seem a little embarrassing in their simplicity.  I made a silly little chart, like we make for our children so they will do their chores.  I painted it Lenten purple and bought silly and pretty litle stickers.  I want to work on each of my six projects for at least 1/2 hour, at least 3 times a week.  That means 18 stickers a week for each of the weeks of Lent.  What fun!  I bought glittery shamrocks and chickies and bunnies and flowers.  I'm actually excited, in a silly sort of way.  I don't want to completely trivialize this -- project boards and progress stickers really seem to work for me.  They helped me do all the tasks I had to do for my spiritual direction program.  Today I did 2 things, and so I  now have 2 stickers on my chart (which is on a piece of poster board, 22x28 inches).  Who knows?  There might even be another sticker before I go to bed!

Today I also met with my spiritual director.  I drive an hour each way to see her -- it's a good thing that  I like to drive!  These monthly meetings are a chance to itemize all the times during the  month that I feel God has touched my life.  By the end of our meeting today, we were laughing, because I found myself saying, "Oh, and just one more thing -- just this one more thing, I promise....!"  There is great abundance in my life right now.  God is touching me often.  Sometimes it's the gift I receive from someone else.  Sometimes it's a creative idea (or two, or two dozen).  Sometimes it's a confluence of things that seem to all come at once, falling together, opening doors, making one or another path seem like it must be the true path for me.  Like another trip to Italy this year.  I haven't yet purchased my ticket, but I think it will happen.  O Happy Day.  O Happy Lent.  I'm so grateful.

O February! O Spring!

What a fabulous couple of days we've had, here on our mountain!  Yesterday, my day off, was about 60 degrees F and sunny.  I had a run with the dogs, went to yoga, and shopped at some of my favorite thrift shops.  I got some pretty candle holders (I've been burning candles and enjoying them a lot in the last few weeks), and then found Martha Stewart candles 50% off at Kmart, so I stocked up on red (which I'm using through Valentine's day or so) and green (which I'll use through St. Patrick's Day and on into springtime).  I also had breakfast and a latte at The Artist's Corner, my favorite little cafe and coffee shop.  I ran into a couple of parishioner-buddies and had the greatest talk about life after death with the woman, who lost both her parents in the last year or so.  I love talking about that stuff -- it's really all speculation, but what fun!

Today, another day off (a mentor of mine says, "Humans need two consecutive days off, Ann -- that's why God made weekends!" -- even though priests only generally get one day off), was about 65 degrees F and also sunny.  Another run with the dogs, long hours for morning pages and journaling, some errands, and an hour's worth of yard work: picking up sticks, uprooting a couple of huge clumps of grass that I've allowed to invade the bed that encircles my front porch, and laying some mulch to delineate that bed (which I'm making narrower, rather than the 4-5 feet that it originally was -- so much work to weed and maintain!).  I also picked up an entire wheelbarrow full of twigs that have fallen from the trees in my yard. 

I feel so good when I work outside!  I keep resolving to work a bit every day, even in the winter (I've got plenty of pruning and mulching that could still be done, even when it's frosty) -- but I never quite make it.  Still, I'll keep trying.  Even 15 minutes or a half-hour in the yard leaves me feeling productive and energized.  I've sure got hours and days and weeks of work that I want to do.  There are perennial beds to weed and mulch and re-shape; there is mulching to do on the paths of the veggie garden; there is planning to do for both perennials and veggies.  I've got a lot of pruning to do on trees that have never been pruned, and shrubs that are completely and horribly overgrown.

Here are a few things I found when I was working today:

Aren't these just the most cunning little baby iris?  Just when I'm amazed at the length and coldness of the winter, I clear away a few leaves, and this is what I find!  Of course, you can see the poor little tops have been frostbitten since they started growing -- but aren't they brave little soldiers?  I wish I were better about growing iris.  I can't seem to get them to bloom.  The ones I sorely neglect bloom under the edge of other shrubs, etc.  But when I try to dig, divide, re-plant so they'll be the healthiest, I end up with nothing -- or lovely foliage and absolutely not a sign of a bloom.  I seem to have some kind of "reverse green thumb:"  the things that people say, "It'll grow anywhere, you can't kill it!" -- those are the things that I kill with great regularity.  I've been trying to get an old fashioned hydrangea -- the "snowball bush" that grows huge and hearty around here -- to grow -- I've been given two healthy, vigorous starts by my neighbor -- and they die off.  Sigh.  On the other hand, many of the weird, exotic specimens I have in my yard (thanks to my predecessor) seem to flourish.  Go figure.  Here's a little something else:

These are little bitty baby flowers -- I think maybe last spring (after 5+ years here) I figured out what they really are -- but I've completely forgotten that.  So I just call them buttercups.  I think they're so sweet, and they grow over in my west yard, back behind the house near the fence line, where I seldom see them.  I only noticed them today because I brought my wheelbarrow this way to haul mulch.  I also found a piece of trim that fell off the house up near the roofline.  I'm going to have to find someone to replace it for me.  The guy who usually does this kind of repair -- the one who made my lovely little blue garden gate -- just had double heart bypass surgery, and he's not really up to hauling and climbing ladders and pounding nails yet.  Here's something else that's pretty sweet:

I have little snowdrops blooming and budding in several places in my yard, including beneath the ornamental cherry tree (which is badly in need of pruning) and in the bed where I have hostas and much-overgrown and invasive bamboo.  But these little sweeties were hidden away beneath some privet that has run wild and rampant (couldn't cut it without a chain saw), and as you can see, amid some sort of vine that I think is oriental bittersweet run amok.  All these little emerging flowers are like gifts, or like God's grace for me -- a sign of hope and the inevitable rolling round of seasons of growth and light.

Here's the final one for today, I promise:   These little baby daffodils brought a smile to my face, for sure.  I truly have been enjoying the winter weather.  We've had more snow and cold weather than we have in all the six years I've been here.  And even our snow on Wednesday was sweet, because I did know that by Friday it would be at least in the 50s, and the snow would be gone again.  But I must admit that these little signs that spring is truly around the corner are most welcome!  One thing I love about living on this Tennessee plateau is that I am truly delighted to see every single season come and go.  They are each long enough that I can enjoy them to the fullest, and then enjoy the advent of the one that follows.

Yesterday I had a truly "springtime experience":  when I brought the dogs out for their evening walk about 5 pm, I slipped in the mud and went straight down on hands and knees beneath the bird feeder!  Mud all over feet and knees, of course.  I was so mad at first, then I realized how much worse it could have been, had I fallen backward and hit my head or spine on cement.  Talk about "mud season!"  But the lack of damage (the mud was quickly undone in the washing machine) was truly foremost among my gratitudes last night.

I suppose there's one more sign of spring in my life: I've begun reading "Simple Abundance" again, and am enjoying the short daily readings.  I've also undertaken several new books.  One reading group is doing "Start Where You Are" by Pema Chodron; another is beginning "Our Endangered Values" by Jimmy Carter.  I'm reading a large tome on "Celtic Spirituality" (the Classics of Western Spirituality series), as well as "Vision Boards" and Julia Cameron's "The Writing Diet."  In March, I'll be doing a Lenten quiet day on "Women in the Bible," and in April I will be a presenter in the spring for a religious conference whose theme is interfaith approaches to prayer and meditation.  The book they've selected to study is "Five Voices Five Faiths: An Interfaith Primer."  So I'm reading that one, too.  New projects and study and books feels like a new start, and that feels like spring!  Tomorrow is also forecast to be sunny and in the 60s.  If I have the energy after church, I may try to burn my brush pile.  Happy earliest spring to all!