Souvenirs

Polish choinka



Well, the holidays came and went, leaving a path of red wine spots on the white carpet and an expanded waistline.

2007 started off a little less funky now that the Godfather of Soul is dead. And speaking of dead, December has been the bloodiest month for our soldiers in Iraq.

All of this makes it rather petty for me to wallow as I usually do this time of year. Christmas holidays always leave me a bit depressed, no matter how hard I try to make merry. It is the child in me that misses those early Wigilias in
Poland with the family that no longer is here to share it with me.

(photo -Marek and I in Poland)


Those memories have a life of their own and I can't suppress them. I can still smell the glue used on the homemade gold paper chain that we strung over the fresh fir. I can taste the leftover batter from the babka bowl I was allowed to lick. I can hear the steady banter and occasional bursts of laughter from the adults at the table. I can see the faces of all the loved ones, although they are fading with the years...




Peter and I have made Christmas our own - we kept some Polish traditions, added some French ones (from our years spent in Paris) and Americanized it all. But between sharing the oplatek, tasting our canard à l'orange and listening to "White Christmas" I still get this deep longing to go home for the holidays, just one last time...

Early bird...

Please click to enlarge. Great Blue Heron.

...gets the worm, or in this case, a minnow. (Can you see the fish wiggle in the bird's beak and splash and cause circles on the water's surface?)
So, are you up yet? Then I can yell out loud (those of you with a hangover, please cover your ears):

Bonne Anne 2007 - Szczesliwego Nowego Roku - Feliz Ano Nuevo!

"A happy New Year!
Grant that I
May bring no tear to any eye
When this New Year in time shall end
Let it be said I've played the friend,
Have lived and loved and labored here,
And made of it a happy year."
Edgar A. Guest

The movie

our den in Florida

On Christmas Eve, after we banished Peter into the bedroom to witness the Giants getting slaughtered, Justine and I settled in to watch a tape of "The Talented Mr. Ripley".

This was not the first time we saw this movie, but enough time has elapsed for us to have a fairly fresh take on it. Just a few minutes into the movie we started questioning Tom's (played by Matt Damion) motives for his actions. Was it an impulse to assume Dickie's (Jude Law) identity on his passage to Italy or was it a premeditated act? Was Tom corrupted by the moneyed society enough to kill or was he really in love with Dickie and killed him in a fit of passion after being bluntly rejected? Did his homosexuality manifest itself for the first time in Italy or was he always gay? Will he continue his killing spree to protect his double identity indefinitely?

The questions multiplied and we explored several moral dilemmas and the "cause and effect" issue the movie presented. Nothing really was resolved and that night I slept rather fitfully.

The next morning I googled the author of the novel upon which the movie was based - Patricia Highsmith - and the fog lifted drastically. The novelist was herself born into a privileged and dysfunctional family and developed an interest in human psychosis at an early age. She also carried on numerous lesbian affairs. In addition to the murderously "Talented Mr Ripley" whose saga she continued in four other novels, she also penned one of my favorite stories "Strangers on a Train", which was adapted by Hitchcock into a film noir.

Ms. Highsmith fascinates me for her macabre views so vividly expressed ahead of her time, in the early 50's, and I would have loved to pick her (disturbed) brain, alas she passed in 1995.

As it is, I will now visit my local library and check-out as many of her 29 works as they stock.

'Tis the season

downtown Naples

Tree trimming downtown Naples. I know it looks a bit odd - the blooming flowers, the swaying palm trees, the short-sleeved clad pedestrians, but I try to remember:

*

"Christmas is not a time nor a season, but a state of mind. To cherish peace and goodwill, to be plenteous in mercy, is to have the real spirit of Christmas." Calvin Coolidge

A gift from the heart

Habitat for Humanity volunteers raising a house.

To my surprise, Peter enjoys volunteering with the Habitat for Humanity on many levels. Of course he's gratified in the knowledge that in a small way he is building not just a home, but a life for a family who will occupy it. And meeting recently the young couple and their 4 children makes it now a very personal mission for him.

That is not the surprising part. What amazes me is his total commitment and dedication. For someone practically unfamiliar with physical labor and not used to being managed, he took to his duties like duck to water. He ravels in the camaraderie of the volunteers and enjoys learning new skills. He comes home after a long shift on the construction site, exhausted, sore, dirty, sweaty, parched...and absolutely exhilarated. In solidarity with his "peeps", he reaches for a cold beer, rather than his customary glass of wine. He talks studs and plumb lines and joists with a sparkle in his eyes. He feels rejuvenated and appreciated.

Just goes to prove that giving is always better than receiving...

Regrets

our "office" in Paris

Not unlike Sinatra, I've had my share of regrets. One of the more painful ones (because of its far-reaching consequences) was not backing up our laptop when we lived abroad. When it died - and it did not go naturally, I caused its premature demise by spilling wine (we were in Paris, mind you) on the keyboard and watched in horror as it sizzled - it took with it many precious things.

No matter how hard we tried and how many professionals we've consulted, the damage was irreversible.

Gone were the work files, word documents, my writing projects. It took a long time to duplicate our work but by now the scars are barely visible.

Except, for the loss of our pictures...To this day I mourn the hundreds and hundreds of special moments caught on digital camera and transferred onto the laptop, only to have them perish forever.

Peter in his Pollyanna fashion looks at it as an impetus to do it all over again - to travel to foreign countries, to visit old friends and distant relatives, to live in Paris again...But how do you recreate those wondrous first impressions of the bateau-mouche cruise on the Seine, of the original Magna Carta at the British Library in London, of the endless rows of dazzling white crosses at the American Cemetery in Normandy, of the Baltic seaside jazz concert in Sopot or the chaotic energy of the Ramblas in Barcelona?

It will be hard, but we must try ;-)