I was on antibiotics for four days and every day I took a pill, I felt worse. Finally I returned to the medical clinic and was told that this proves my cough was not bacterial but is viral. And because I was wheezing and coughing to the point of vomiting, the doctor listened to my lungs, pronounced me asmatic, and gave me an inhaler and suggested I sleep with a vaporizer. I followed his instructions. Finally I am beginning to feel better. I hardly cough at all. Each day, I have a little more energy though I am still not up to speed.

People say oh it's good to be sick. It slows you down. Allows you to smell the flowers. But when I feel like hell, I mope. I hate being incapacitated. I can't even read a good book and so sit for hours in front of the television watching stupid mindless crap and feel my life slipping away.

I have been away from home so long and though a sickie, it feels good to be back, good to have Gill here, and felt good to have Brendan over the other night. We are missing Michael and Mackenzie. We're planning a simple feast for Christmas eve , a traditional turkey dinner for Christmas day. (My family love food.) We will give a few gifts but won't go overboard. I like this though worry a little that those I love will be disappointed. I need a little inspiration. It's so hard to find THINGS that express love, that bring delight, let alone fill a need. Is it even possible? I have always thought that it's not really the gift that counts but the thought that goes into the gift. At times this is true (i.e. the slide show for Rob's birthday) and at other times, it is the gift, the thing itself, that gives pleasure.

I wrote a story about gift-giving, as a university assignment, that Western Living nearly bought but didn't... I just found it in my filing cabinet. It's not great but not bad and is giving me ideas. (I'll type it out later into this blog spot.)

HOME SWEET HOME.

I'm so happy to be back except I'm sick. A cold and hacking cough I caught in France kept fading during my travels but never quite left me. After flying from Montreal, it is back with a vengence so I went to a medical clinic and am now on some serious antibiotic that has me weak - no energy - with an upset stomach. I often feel chilled to the bone and am taking hot baths in epsom salts. Sunday night I take my last pill. Hopefully then I can get on with my life and prepare for Christmas.

And Gill arrived home last night from Toronto. And my friend, Helen just dropped in for a visit. So good to sit around the table and talk but I WANT MY OLD ENERGY BACK. Soon, I hope

I am in Montreal with Angela, Helen's cousin. She lives in one of the most beautiful apartment/houses - her daughter and family live upstairs - that I have seen. Her taste is exquisite - paintings and books everywhere. Her table is set with crystal and gold-pattern plates, scrolled silverware and red floral napkins to match the Chinese red walls of the room. Yesterday we wandered downtown streets, visited an extraordinary art gallery (one painting with grapes dripping blood stole my breath), Ogilvy's department store, and Chapters... I am suprised to hear French spoken again - a more twangy French to be sure but French all the same.

Where am I? What am I doing as I wander from place to place? This trip has been an adventure. I have spent much time with family and friends observing, listening to them, in their homes while their everyday lives goes on - except for me. I now feel the need to be quietly at home digesting it all.

Christmas is coming and except for putting together a basket for Michael and Mackenzie, I have done little and feel no compulsion to run to stores and buy things just to have some thing to give. I would like to throw gift-giving out the window though I love giving gifts when I see something that would suit someone I love.

The last week was spent at political functions - quite unlike my usual choice of activity. My sister is a regional counsellor for the district of Peel, town of Brampton, and has just won a local election with a 87% majority. She loves community service and is good at it. Unlike me, she is a real people-person. loves to stand up in public and speak. She works hard and has helped to change the rapidly growing face of Peel, advocating for beautification (flower beds and treed avenues), youth centres, safety and neighbourhood-watch programs. Her baby, at the moment, is the resurrection of a cancer support house, a branch of Well Spring, that she hopes to see built in the coming year. Already a developer has given her a piece of land. A contractor has offered to build for nothing. A lawyer, accountant, oncologist have donated their services. She is astonished and thrilled by the generosity of others. She tells me that of all the things that she has accomplished in this life, this is most dear to her.
And I think she knows but can't quite grasp how much good she is responsible for.

And I suppose that this is the way it is for many people. "It's a wonderful life" though as I move from household to household, I see more struggle, tears of frustration and sorrow, than fun and laughter. C'est la vie.

My friend Kate sent me the following email:

"Hi everyone,

As most of you know, I write a blog for women
recovering from child birth for B5 Media called
Babylune

To celebrate the first year of blogging and Christmas,
I am buying my readers a Christmas present. I would
really appreciate it if you would help choose the gift
by reading a few posts. The description of how the
system works is here:

A Christmas Gift

All the best,
Kate Baggott
http://www.katebaggott.com"

If you have a few moments, please follow Kate's instructions: the more people who visit her website, the more she will be able to give to World Vision.

The snow is falling furiously this morning - beautiful but I wonder if I dare take the trip out into the country to my parents' house. I decide to wait for a while, pull out my journal and try and recapture the last few days. This is an extraordinary time, full of people, happenings, and conversations - so much so that my head is spinning.

I last wrote about Friday.

Saturday, I spent the morning with Gill, the afternoon with Gill and her roommate - running an errand - and we ended up hungry, on the Danforth, Greek town. The first restaurant we saw, we entered, and were greeted by a kindly older man who told us "Pan" is owned by his daughter and son-in-law. "She's here in the evening and is more fun than me." He ran and brought back a picture of his daughter. Throughout our lunch, he dropped by to chat and I was reminded of the friendliness of Greeks during Rob's birthday expedition. I told George (we are now using first names) that I have just returned from his homeland and he wants to hear more - where I visited, what I did... and at the end of the meal his son-in-law arrived. When I told him that his father-in-law is wonderful. He smiled and said, "You should meet his daughter." We finished our meals, ordered coffee,and the old man brought us a square of cake and three forks. Although the food and service were excellent, it was the man's attitude, his smile, his obvious pleasure that made the experience so pleasurable for us.

The next evening, Gill and I had a similar experience. After she finished work, we drove to the Italian area for dinner. It was snowing lightly. The stores and restaurants along College were decorated extravagantly with lights and glittering ornaments. We walked along the street arm in arm and found an upscale restaurant, done in taupes and beiges with long modern bar and elevated eating area. Gill ordered eggplant parmesan. I had a seafood linguine. The service and food were excellent. When the young woman waiting on us asked if we would like dessert, Gill said that she would love to try the creme brulee but was too full. Minutes later, the waitress returned and said the chef would like us to enjoy a brulee on the house. We accepted thinking we could manage a bite or two. We ate the whole thing.

I am sure that it is Gill's presence that turns heads, brings us gifts. Every time I see her walking toward me, beautifully groomed and dressed - no matter how casually -she always looks fancy - perhaps it's the scarf around her long neck - I think "Paris": my favourite city has changed her, left its mark. She is so much taller, thinner, more confidant than I was at her age, and I wish that I'd had her presence, her worldliness. And though I worry about her restlessness, sleeplessness, I do not worry that she won't find her passion.

She is extraordinary young woman: she likes to spend time with her mother. We can talk for hours. When we are sitting, she curls into me. When we are walking, she links arms with me. She is such a gift.


***

For the past few days, believe it or not, I've been spending much time at political functions, at my sister's request. She wants, at least, one sister to know her life.

More to come

There is magic in the air... it snowed tonight but let me go backwards a little. The last few days have been filled with treasures.

On Friday night, I met a friend - a dream woman - in a small Middle Eastern restaurant for a meal of tiny appetizers - eggplant, lamb and veal on skewers, mushrooms, peppers, yam fries, and red wine. All was shared - food and the highlights of our comings and goings since we last met in Vancouver in June and before that in France. She has a soft voice so I have to lean forward to catch her comments and questions - sometimes hard questions. Her directness forces me to think before I speak and be as open as she is. She also reminded me of where I was not so many months ago. And I realize too , with my answers, that something has shifted inside me. I love when this happens. I thought not so long ago that I had to take some action, make some changes or I would die (not literally) but I was frozen and couldn't decide what to do and so did nothing. I lambasted myself for being so indecisive, and then, because of this conversation, I see that certain issues have resolved themselves without any effort on my part. (Patience has never been my forte.)

We leave the restaurant and she asks if I would like some fun? Her daughter is playing at a lounge downtown - a benefit for the 6 Nations blockade at Caledonia. I agree. She drives down to Church Street and parks (near Ryerson - such a part of my distant past) and we walk: I am freezing. The weather is crazy. One moment it's hot and I shed the fake fur jacket my mother bought me and wear a light denim coat. This evening I am in denim. I slip my arm through hers and snuggle in, asking if she minds. She doesn't. She is so lovely and warm. At one point in the evening, she reminded me that she wanted me to help her choose a new wardrobe. She wants the outside to reflect the inside. This pleases me - not only her confidance in me but because, she is tall, elegant, beautiful and it would be so much fun to do. (Since this evening, I have been thinking about colours and textures, styles that would suit her. I have some ideas.)

We reach the lounge, small, packed. We stand until a space clears and then sit. The concert is already underway. A young man in overalls and a conductor's cap is playing a guitar and singing heady lyrics about love and loss while, behind him, a film of images and words - made by him - is projected. He reminds me of a young Bob Dylan with his sexy words, blunt comments while the next performer - or his lyrics - reminds me of Leonard Cohen though he is has a better voice and is an amazing guitarist. And the way he sways and moves around the stage - oh la la. I am reminded of my college days when I would, night after night, go to small coffee houses and bars and fall in love with musicians. Once, my friend Penelope and I fell in love with the same musician/man - Ron Nigrini. We attended every performance we could - probably as many as could afford. (Amazing. I just goggled him and he is still performing.)

At last, my friend's daughter, Lila Rose, is introduced. I have never met her. She is a beauty (not surprising). Her fair hair is in dreadlocks, tied back, unruly, springing out here and there like a crown or halo. Her arms are tattooed, and though I'm not keen on tattoos, hers are subtle - an upper arm bracelet of roses (I think) and something I cannot remember on the inside of her wrist. She wears a sleeveless silk short dress over jeans. She is enchanting. Her first song is performed without music though her voice is music, her words poetry. (She writes her own lyrics - and her first song/poem is a protest that fits well with the benefit's protest.) She performs two more songs and the evening is over. I loved every moment of it.

My friend dropped me off at Gill's who was waiting up, so worried about me that she threw her arms around me.

****

more to come

My nights and days disappear here. The only constructive thing that I have done is cook. For the last three nights I've made dinner for my parents and two evenings ago Michael and Mackenzie joined us. I made a family favourite, chicken in cream and white wine sauce over rice, steamed asparagus and baby leaf salad. My mother made a multi-berry trifle for dessert that I think Mackenzie, a vegetarian, enjoyed more than the main course.

I wander a lot. Internet is a problem though I found the past three days, at my parents' home, that Port Hope library has free wireless and what's even better is my emails leave this computer. I don't understand technology well enough to understand why, at Gill's, the wireless cannot send my emails but is able to receive them.

Yesterday, I found a real-time plane tracking site and followed Rob from Toulouse to London to Vancouver. I always feel better knowing that the plane that carries someone I love has landed safely at its destination. And so Rob is home. And I continue to wander.

I left Port Hope at 7:30 this morning and drove to Toronto - back roads as I am too fearful of the super highways here (some have twelve lanes) - and, after three hours in the car, through fog and rain, am now back at Gill's. I agree with Kate: "I would just like it stated that I do not like driving, I hate cars and I resent the forces in my life that demand both." Here my family are spread out hours from each other.

***

For some extraordinary reason, I am blessed. I find it difficult to write about people or events that touch me, make my chest expand, fill my heart...

As much as I love simple clean sentences, without flourishes and without unpronounceable words, I fear sounding like a simpleton. And always always when I feel afraid of exposing myself, I think of Helen Luke and her essay on humility that says something to the effect that instead of becoming defensive when someone calls us/me a fool, an asshole (though she would never have used such a word), a simpleton, the thing to do is to admit to the allegation. But how the old ego struggles to lord and master it over all and not admit flaws or weaknesses.

You have no idea how many times, I've written this damn blog and thought myself pathetic.

And then something happens - as it did the other day - and I realize how blessed I am. A woman who I've met only once in France came to Port Hope and took me out to lunch. She is a whirlwind, a dervish dancer, a body of energy - enthusiastic, excited, exclamatory - and like Christmas, she lights up the space she's in, the people who are in that space. For example, we went into the drug store downtown that was decorated with feather wreathes, feather trees (rather fetishy and unexpected for this conservative town) and bright balls of coloured Italian glass in many sizes hanging from the ceiling. All was so festive and this woman squealed with delight. Heads turned. Two young women, who had been replacing stock, looking bored, ran over to help us. My friend's energy changed that sedate place.

She is a woman of extravagant gesture and I love her for it. And as Colette said somewhere, it's so easy to love someone who loves you. She told me that she loves me, that my blog gives her permission to be, even motivates her to do. If such a "marvellous" person as me who does what I do and still descends into hell and self-doubt, keeps moving, she can. Oh such generous words and I beam like a child who has been praised for some small task.

Though I think her praise over-the-top still it gives me courage.

***

TO BE CONTINUED

Saturday, November 26

It is a glorious day in Port Hope. The sun is shining and I'm sitting outside a cafe drinking dark coffee and eating a muffin. Life has a surreal quality these days. On Wednesday, I picked up Gill at school and we drove the back roads - some real country farmland - to my parents who had cooked a turkey in our honour (mostly Gill's as they know she loves turkey)and some Irish bread for the morning. They have been so kind, so accommodating. But before settling in that first night, we drove to Cobourg to see if Michael and Mackenzie were home. I have been so worried about him. No word for ages but M & M are there and well, and seem content. (Kenzie has chopped all her beautiful curly hair off - or a lot of it - and looks like a cherub with dark curls sitting close to her face.) We are introduced to their baby, Ichabod, a lively kitten, who jumps around and performs gymnastics.

Gill can only stay one night and so the next day, my mum and I drive to Oshawa and send her back to Toronto by train. I feel spoiled. I have my own elegant bedroom with adjoining bathroom. My father serves me wine at dinner and after, we retire to his office for brandy. This morning, I joined him in the hot tub - his ritual. He says it keeps his old bones oiled. It's good to see him so relaxed. My mother once said that I am just like my father: Not a peaceful bone in my body. Gill says she too has inherited this trait.

It has been maybe thirty years since I have come "home"(though this was never my home as my parents bought the house after I married.) Yes, I have visited but it has always seemed like I'm just passing through, not really settling down and enjoying their company, seeing them as individuals (not my parents.) I'm not sure but maybe before,visiting them seemed more of a duty than a pleasure. I don't feel that way now. Perhaps it is because I am older and see that time is passing quickly and I won't always have them around - a scary thought. I said to my mum that I want to give them some of my precious time. But that sounds rather arrogant in some way - though is it? I think that anyone who wants to spend time with me is giving me a gift of his or her time. It must work both ways.

And too, I am still in angst about my future. What am I to do with myself. What life shall I create? What excites me? How can I be productive? What can I do that will make me feel good about myself? I need to do something and hopefully something that will give me some financial freedom, or help me feel that I am contributing to the family coffers. Oh I get so mixed up here. I realize that nothing is going to happen unless I put some effort in but I'm still hazy about where to put my energy. I keep reminding myself that I have given myself to the end of the year to wander, to dream.

Saturday afternoon,I drove out to Cobourg and spent the afternoon with M & M. We bought sandwiches and went down to the lake and had a picnic. Later we visited the town's art gallery and thrift shops where I bought half a dozen books (still searching for ideas. I bought "Ulysses" for a quarter. For some reason I have been thinking about this book, wanting to reread it though I think that I never made it all the way through.)

At dusk, I left my parents and returned to Brampton to my sister's as she needs her car. I spent last night by myself - good for soul - as I have had little solitary time since I arrived. And I need this time. Otherwise I get scattered and restless and frustrated and don't know who I am.

YES SIR, THAT'S MY BABY



I'm in Toronto with my baby. (Yes, Ayah, the crazy one, is still crazy.) It's not easy leaving one's love standing naked at a hotel room door in Toulouse at five in the morning and flying to gay Paree, with just enough time to buy several bottles of Beaujolais Nouveau, and then flying again for a tedious eight hours to Toronto. It's the Toronto part that feels strangest as usually I'd be flying home to my little house in the garden. (Though given that Vancouver has had torrential downpours that has dirtied the water, I'm happy to be here.)

I am living in my daughter's apartment with her two roommates. Mon dieu, they are all so beautiful, so industrious - all are either working on an essay or two, or running to their parttime job. And I, in the midst of this industry, have been researching a paper on normative relativism for Gill - just to feel like one of them.

Today, I shall go downtown with Gill and when she goes class, I shall explore this city that I left so long ago. (Still don't know when I'm flying home.)

HOW DO I LOVE THEE?



My friends Susan and David are in the hospital together. Both are recovering well from their operations though they have good days and not-so-good days. On Thursday, both will go into the Rebab wing and are told that they can share a room. Oh la la, the French are so accommodating when it comes to love.

At first, when Susan told me that they were having their operations a day apart, I thought it a dumb idea. How will they look after each other when they return home?

But look at them - they look like they belong together. And when either gets bored or needs to talk, Susan goes down to David's room or David goes up to Susan's room...

Tomorrow evening, I leave Montmiral for I don't know how long. "Parting is such sweet sorrow..." I leave Rob here and my friends... though I join Gillian and Michael, my mother and father, sisters and brother, in Toronto.

"Fare thee well... "

(I have no idea what's up with me today. I keep remembering poems: "Oh ye dead poets who are living still... ")

TEMPUS FUGIT

Oh dear, I have less than a week left in the south of France where the sun has been shining magnificently and somehow there is never enough time to answer my correspondance and write this damn journal and, as I was looking over the rolling hills from the attic this morning, the sky streaked with red, I shook a finger at myself and said write, write something, anything, so your friends know that you're alive and then I thought that this journal is like a parent and I am the adult child and all that is required of me is to note that I am still breathing. (One of my children hasn't called for weeks and my imagination was going crazy, dreaming up all kinds of horrible scenarios until my parents called and said that they had heard from him. Big sigh of relief.)

Another big sigh of relief came after I spoke to my friend Susan yesterday. She went into the hospital Tuesday to have a cyst removed and David, her love, went into the same hospital the next day, one floor down, to have a hip replaced. When I called Susan last night, she was laughing, said David was "high": "They don't allow you to experience pain anymore." And so these dear dear friends are alive though drugged and my wish, naturally, is that the worst is over and that they will recuperate well and I, selfish creature that I am, will be able to enjoy their company for many years to come.

I have been reading Hollis' book about creating a life and he notes that our lives are fiction. We write the story. He quotes Thoreau: "... if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unimagined in common hours."

So I have been imaging the life I want to lead...

Yesterday, I crashed badly. But have recovered. I saw, felt, knew, that I had to take time out, be alone, sort myself out and so I did. Rob left me in Gaillac after market and I sat in the beautiful big park, read, walked, wrote in my journal. Another sigh of relief. Rob and I have been having an extraordinary time together - the best, in my opinion, we've had for years - and he has verbalized my thoughts about togetherness and solitary time... we both need a lot of both. We are in harmony.

Today is Rememberance Day and after I go to hospital for my first post- op, visit with Susan and David, I will return for the town's festivities and later today, go to Penn with friends for dinner and music and dancing.

Tempus fugit.

FAILURE BUT THEN AGAIN...

I have been writing and rewriting and editing almost non-stop, since I returned from Greece, trying to expand my travel piece to meet the word count of CBC's annual contest and email it before the deadline. At 2 a.m. on the 31st, 30 words short, I admitted defeat.

Bleary-eyed and depressed that I wasn't able to work faster, I had been working on a section about Dublin, searching the internet for inspiration, when I came across quotes by Beckett and Joyce that made me feel better about my failure to deliver:

"Go on failing. Go on. Only next time, try to fail better." (Samuel Beckett)

"A [wo]man's errors are the portals of discovery." (James Joyce)

"For Love of Literature and Travel" is coming together nicely but I need more time to fine tune it. I also need an editor. The next day, November 1st, I went to see Susan, who is taking a break in Bruniqel - another medieval village, around twenty minutes away from Montmiral - before her operation on Tuesday. For the past dozen or so years, we have been reading each other's work and both (thank goodness) find the other's input helpful. After lunch, she agreed to listen to my story. I read. She interjected when she felt something didn't work and offered good suggestions.

Although, at this point, I realized that the deadline included this day, I knew that there was no way that I - turtoise that I am - could make the necessary changes and finish the piece before midnight (even given that France is six hours ahead of Toronto.)

Nonetheless, in a masochistic kind of way, I see that I have enjoyed the past few days and will finish the piece after a few days rest.

I also felt infinitely better about my slowpoke ways the evening of the 1st when Rob and I went for dinner at another writer's home where I met yet another writer, Homan Potterton, who published an autobiography in 2004. I could have hugged him when he admitted that it took him eleven years to write the account of his first fourteen years and, all the while, his friends badgered him, not believing that he would ever finish it. (I have only begun "Rathcormick: A Childhood Recalled" but I like his style and will review the book when I am finished.) I liked him even more when he said, something to the effect, that who in their right mind would want to writer: it is so exposing.

After this evening at Lyn's, where she served up such a wondrous feast that included a soup with a magic potion, a lamb stew subtly spiced with a sweet chutney aside, baked apples (a la Ruth) and a rich chocolate torte from a fine Patisserie in Gaillac (yes, two desserts); along with the agreeable company, I felt full and content, happy even.

(Please excuse the repetition of photographs in my last entry. Blogger was being temperamental.)

Birthday Party

Birthday Party
Originally uploaded by Barbara Y.

Oh I am so content to be back in the attic of our village house, overlooking the rising hills of the French countryside after two and a half weeks of traveling through Greece.

I am overwhelmed by the Greek culture and people - so much diversity in the land of the gods, as we moved from the urban Athens with the ancient acropolis above the city to the green and, for us, often rainy windy island of Skopelos where Rob's birthday celebration took place, to the southern island of Crete where we wandered the ancient port of Hania and drove along the west coast to a resort near Kissamoo, and finally back to Athens where we met up with Helen and Angela and their cousin Margaret for dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant.

Rob admitted feeling out of place in the company of four women though, in my eyes, he looked quite comfortable during the evening. I must remember that appearances can be deceptive. One can never know what another - even a close other - is feeling or thinking. My first thought was that he would have enjoyed being the sole male but after his admission, I thought what if the shoe was on the other foot, what if it were me dining with four men? I imagine that I would feel similar to Rob.

Earlier in the day, I shopped with Angela and Helen. These two are so much fun and know the city so well that I followed their lead in and out of small shops and one grandiose department store until I felt I would drop though we did stop for lunch at a Taverna where my two Greek friends ordered a simple but delicious meal of appetizers (in Greek) and later, they did take me to their favourite boutique where, with their prompting, I bought myself a pair of turquoise, hand-crafted earrings. (Helen and Angela have a penchant for the beautiful and unusual in jewelery and scarves. I feel like such a plain dresser beside them.)

The next morning, our last full day in Athens, Rob and I went to the Archeological museum. I felt as if I were back at university in an art history class, learning about the origins of western art and civilization. Wandering through the rooms, beginning with many statues of larger-than-life young men, Kouri (most with their penises missing), to the free-standing statues of the gods in motion, to the reliefs on sarophagi, to the... to the... my head was swimming though it was one of the finest musuems that I have ever visited. The passage from room to room, the chronological order of the exhibits, the introductions as one enters each room (in Greek and English) were easily assimilated and gave one (me) an idea of just how smart and artistic these old Greeks were/are. The world as we know it began here... I feel so small and ignorant about all this stuff but I left wanting to know more.

Rob and I parted and I wandered through the old market streets to meet up with Helen and Angela who were as sick of stores as me so we went to the Benaki musuem, ate well in the elegant dining hall, and then wandered through rooms filled with mannequins dressed in authentic Greek costumes (or what were once the everyday clothing) from all the islands. Again the diversity was extraordinary and it was so much richer visiting with my women friends as Angela would shout with glee when she saw outfits from her paternal grandmother's island, Nexos and then another from both their maternal side, and Helen had the same response when she saw a similar dress from Skopelos that she wore to her wedding, making all so much more personal. At the end I bought of portfolio of costumes - fine enough to be framed - to adorn some walls in our French house.

In the evening, Rob and I went to a small Taverna at the foot of the acropolis and the next day, spent most of it on the tedious and tiring trip back to Toulouse.

Today I return to my writing... it's too difficult for me while traveling though I think about it all the time. Sometimes I write stories inside my head, without a pen, and I am more than pleased with the results; but when I pick up pen and try to replicate these or something, anything, I most often become frustrated... they don't flow... I hate what appears... but I can't seem to stop myself... I must stop here. I don't want to bore you once again with my writing angst.

ROB'S BIG FAT GREEK BIRTHDAY ADVENTURE

Crete on Sunday, Internet Cafe

I knew nothing or little about this island before this visit. Rob chose it because it's the furthest isle south in hopes of finding sun. What can I say? On first glance, I was enchanted to discover that the island is unique, especially the architecture because of 400 years of Venetian rule (around 1200 to 1600), then Turkish, and finally a short (around) fifteen years of self-rule until this small island joined Greece in the early twentieth century. (And, of course, there's the early BC civilizations but we've seen few of the artifacts... )

One would think Crete would be wonderfully exotic, spicey even, with the mix of cultures but I find it too touristy, even during this off-season. Summer must be hell. Rob and I spent three days in the ancient port of Hania and yesterday, rented a car and drove west along the coast. At times, I was terrified: the roads were narrow and high (without safety rails on the sides of cliffs)but most of the time, the scenery was breathtaking (and the sun was shining lighting the many silvery olive trees. At several points, billy goat gruffs lazed on the side of roads and boringly looked at us through the windshield.

We were rising higher and higher into the hills until, unexpectedly turning round a bend, we looked downwards to see water, almost turquoise in colour, lapping up onto a long sandy beach with rows of chaise lounges and umbrellas. We drove into the rsort area, found a hotel complex that is sparkling white and clean with dining area and swimming pool and much cheaper than city accommodation and so booked ourselves in. Breakfast is served at 9 but when I said "oh dear" to the owner, he said he could offer me coffee at 7:30 (and he did - in a silver flask with warm milk. This was pure luxury, sitting early morning, reading, writing, all by myself. We have decided to stay our last night on Crete here.)

Late afternoon, Rob and I walked along the beach, sandals in hand (the first time I've had sandals on this trip) and watched the sun set - just like a commercial. It was undeniably glorious but where are we, I ask Rob. We could be in any resort area in the world. Much of Greece, Crete rather, reminds me of Mexico though it is more modern, more touristy, less picturesque (oh I think I want the Crete of yesteryear - how selfish of me - do not think that I don't feel priviledged to be here.)

Yesterday, sitting out on the balcony of our room, I felt warmed and content - and so lucky to be able to travel the way I do. But I want to think about this traveling business more and try to streamline it, especially the hard part where one is in transition, on the way, hasn't quite arrived at one's destination.

Still, I think travel, all of it, is good for anyone, being somewhere where one doesn't know the rules, can't read the signs, feels the same panic a child does when he or she is lost. I often have to try to communicate my needs while at the same time fight my desire to scream and run back home where all is comfortable.

Greece has been especially frustrating for travel - time consuming and expensive - but there have been moments that make all the trouble worthwhile. I know too that as time goes by more moments will stand out and I will forget the tedious all together...

We leave for Athens tomorrow evening and the sun today is the best yet so I must leave... more soon.

Twenty Years Ago Today

Twenty Years Ago Today
Originally uploaded by Barbara Y.

Happy Birthday, dear Gill

I love you - you twenty year old.

Hope you didn't mind the early morning wake-up call and that your day has been special... more than special as you leave your teens behind... I hope it has been fucking fantastic.

We are now on Skiathos - a neighbouring island to Skopelos but larger with an airport. Tomorrow we fly to Crete. (Life has been crazy wonderful but with little time to alight and write. Soon. Now that our partying is ending. And yours is beginning. )

As I promised, we will toast you this evening, sweet baby girl.

HAPPY SIXTIETH BIRTHDAY ROB

I will be short as I'm sitting in a small internet cafe on the island of Skopelos. All is well though it was quite an adventure getting here but will elaborate later.

Helen and her cousin Angela are here, so is Thomas (Helen's ex who is so damn sweet we're hoping that they'll have a fling) and Susan and David who seem madly in love - this is where they met.

We're having a party Greek-style. Helen says I have to relax and go with the flow. The party will start around two in the afternoon and go on forever. Everyone will dress up and eat and drink and toast Rob and so on and so on. Everything goes... I've created a slideshow of Rob's life that we will flash on the white wall of the house that stands on a cliff and looks for miles over water and white-washed houses and oh it is so gorgeous and I think, hope that Rob will see what a wonderful life he has lived so far. I have to admit that putting it together has made me fall in love with him all over again.

Athens was amazing and I will comment further on all when I can but I find it difficult to concentrate in public places. If I don't answer emails right away, forgive me. There are no wireless cafes... and I will respond as soon as I'm back in France. We don't know where we're going for the rest of our stay: it's a mystery.

And for all of you who tried to come and celebrate but couldn't for numerous reasons, thank you with all my heart. (Rob says we should have chosen Las Vegas - much easier to get to.) (But it so glorious here and I have been laughing since I arrived but that's another story that I'll tell later.)

COMPANIONSHIP

For the first time since arriving the second time this summer, I sit at Les Arcades sipping a morning cafe creme. I have been reading, writing, talking to Rob who arrived late Monday. He is still having difficulty with jet-lag and, most likely, work-lag. Though, at times, his work seems more hellish than hollywood glamour, especially the last film, there are benefits. He can now take three months off and write and read and do what he pleases, including escaping to the small island of Skopelos to celebrate his sixtieth birthday.

We drove Susan and David to the airport on Thursday. They will have explored Athens and probably be wandering Evia at this moment and will meet up with us most likely on the ferry to Glossa to be met by Helen and Angela, her cousin from Montreal. I had so hoped a number of friends and family could join us for the celebration but unfortunately timing is bad for most. So though the number will most likely be small, I still hope it will be a joyous rite of passage for Rob. I have a trick or two up my sleeve to help make this happen.

What else can I say? For the last few days the weather has been glorious - sun shining on the red stones of buildings, making me happy to be here, content with my lot. Yesterday, Rob and I went down to the small store at the foot of the village and bought a new wood stove that will be installed during our absence. The owner, Medina, has promised that it will deliver seven times the heat of an electric heater - plenty warm enough to heat one floor of the house and perhaps even two. Thank goodness. We nearly froze last winter though Rob and I agree that this is really not a place to live year round. Without a shining sun, the villagers close their shutters and all appears grey and lifeless for the winter months.

I am reading my second novel about the region (or close enough) and the Cathar religion. This one is interesting in that the main character is a historian who has written a book about famous or rather, infamous, females (i.e. Marie Antoinette, Mary Magdalen, Salome) whose actions have been misinterpreted by recorders of history - most often by men who have their own agenda, sometimes sinister, and sometimes anti-women. I feel a little stupid, perhaps naive would be a better word, especially since I write, and know that events are often rearranged and exaggerated for the sake of a story, thinking that historical texts are always accurate and written with integrity...

(Oops, it's a little difficult to read my birthday message so I'll repeat in larger type.)

Happy Birthday to an extraordinary woman,

writer, listener, teacher, singer, dancer

who is always intelligent, loving, generous, sometimes a mite bossy; who can cook up a storm, eat chocolate like it's no one's business; who appears, at different times, as gypsy, angel of mercy, goddess, cowgirl; who has held me while I cry my eyes out and joined me on tabletops. Though her repetoire of faces may shock some, none would deny her beauty and wisdom. I can't help but be extravagant with this friend as she has been such a positive force in my life. I am more than grateful. I am so glad that she was born. Happy, happy birthday, dear Marlene. May this year be everything you want it to be. Love Yvonne

Sorry, again I am finding it difficult to continue with this blog. Other projects take over - other passions besides writing. This reminds of Stella Bowen as described in Stravinsky's lunch who, though an artist like her writer husband, Ford Maddox Ford, took time away from her art to look after their child, run the household, hold conversations with friends... and thought these activities well worth the effort and the hours away from painting. (I see I'm trying to justify my absence.)

I will quote a section from my journal as I can't seem to gather my thoughts. I'm going to lunch with three good women in a couple of hours and later this evening driving to the airport to pick up Rob. He's somewhere in the sky at this moment - probably over the Atlantic. He told me yesterday that he plans to write up a storm here and I'm hoping some of his concentration will rub off on me.

September 29

A strange sleeping night. I had Rachel and Alice, mother and daughter, for dinner last night. After, we sat easily talking about, amongst other subjects, the queen. (Oops, Gill - I served roast chicken, cooked with garlic and herbs on top; and surrounded the bird with onions, whole gloves of garlic, potatoes and carrots - and basted often with wine.) They left just before midnight and I crawled into bed, ignoring the dishes, only to find myself wide awake at 3 a.m. I tried to get back to sleep but my head keep conjuring up images of an old stone wall that instead of rising to some great height, like some walls in this village, went downwards. I started descending though more like a feather than a solid being, but as I went deeper and deeper always facing the wall, I became frightened - though I could see the ground, I never reached it. I was awake enough to make the decision to stop and rise into the sky but when there, I felt my position more precarious than I had felt below.

I had been reading Cixous earlier, before my guests arrived, and had written down several questions to play when time was freer - pertaining to the worst and best in me - and wondered if this had something to do with my imagination working overtime.

Time is moving so quickly. Earlier this week, I welcomed two couples into our home for several days. Although they did interrupt my writing schedule, I didn't mind. I am too much of a recluse when alone and these friends were so considerate in the house and so enthusiastic about the village and Cordes and Albi, that it was a pleasure to show them round, and talk and laugh and live outside my head.

It was especially good to have time with Nita because, though we live less than 15 minutes apart in WV, we never seem to be able to find time to get together. I don't understand this. Nita is an angel. She is one of three women I've known in my life who own a special softness, a kindness that exceeds kind, and who appear, to me, to bear no malice toward any other person in the universe. Furthermore, all three have an almost child-like innocence and delight in all - even the most mundane everyday occurence or object. I asked one's husband once how could his wife be so good and he responded that nothing bad had ever happened to her. She had never been given cause to doubt anything or anybody. Wow.

More observations later - I must check Rob's progress and dress for lunch.