Florence Above the Arno: Mother's Day & Irises

Florence May 09, 2010
On a hill high above the Arno River is a garden. Its gate is almost hidden protecting it from all but the most resourceful.

Terraces that fall for a thousand or so feet are joined together by twisty flagstone paths. The terraces are peppered by ancient olive trees draped by old rugosos. This garden has a single purpose: to be the ode to the bearded iris. Open only 19 days each year during May, it houses over 2000 varieties and colors of this majestic flower.

The air is heady with their scent.

The paths are lined with sage and rosemary plants and friendly benches. Poppies spring up everywhere vying for attention. They don’t stand a chance against the riotous colors and elegant shape of the irises.

My mother loved irises. She would throw them in the ground and they would magically spring up every year, responsive to her cavalier gardening habits. But she wasn’t really, cavalier, that is. She tended them lovingly as she did all of her garden, preening them constantly, and they responded to her, with enthusiastic and lon blooming periods.

Today is mother’s day and it is fitting that I am here, in Italy, looking at irises and thinking of her.

She would have loved this so. But as much as she would hav eloved this garden and hearing all the Italian being spoken around her, she would have been anxious to get back to her real, one and only love. My Dad.

My father would have been 90 years old tomorrow, May 10.  Together they were a pair not to be reckoned with. Seldom apart, they hated any separations from each other, and their last parting only separted them by 90 days. Mother's day and Dad's birthday, like them inseparably joined together.

In Memoriam: Celebrations of adventures completed and those yet to come.

It’s been 18 years. Guess on some levels it doesn’t matter how many days that is, or how many months have gone by, or even if I think about it every day. I don’t – think about it every day, that is.
But today—and a few others, I cannot not think about him. It’s an appropriate piece for today, his birthday and since it's a birth-day of sorts for me, I guess it was inevitable that I think of  him now, as I step off another cliff into the unknown.

So honey, tonight I will drink a shot of gin, and celebrate the unknown adventures that are in store for me, and celebrate you, the most interesting adventure of my life.

4/21/93

I cleaned up another mess today.

It may be the last one. I don't know. He always could hide them so
well, that it may take some time to be really sure.

The pattern was always the same:
"No-it's nothing. Don't look. It will go away. Really. It's nothing.
Sweetheart."
And then, later, sometimes much later, the inevitable:
"Can I come home? Is it ok for me to come home? Do you still love me?"

I hear him now, even as I put this check in the mail to clean up what I
hope is the final mess...just barely a whisper "Do you still love me?"
Yes.

I am so angry I feel like I'm choking. Damn, he still can make me mad.

When he was here, all the messes seemed to be diminished by
his presents [sic]. He could make me feel, oh I don't know, just feel,
something.

For all that he was not, there were all the things he was.

He was the only one to write me poetry.
Today is his birthday, and all I feel is anger
that the only way I can celebrate is to write this check,
and clean up another mess.

It's hard to party with the dead.

Leaving Home

You ever notice how many people say "I am done with _______"?
I wonder if they know the next step is "I'm finished?" It is only when THAT unshakeable realization hits that you can leave the cube, or office or virtual desk or even a relationship. It is a really a great beginning, that “I’m finished”, and always proceeded by the feeling of “I have no control/I need control”.

I have often thought that leaving a job you loved is like leaving a man (or woman) that you loved--and there is an inherent grieving process involved, no matter what the final reason for leaving is.

Both situations are similar, too, in the fact that most of the time is no one single reason for leaving—it is just time. There is, however, for everyone (and don’t let them fool you) one final moment of realization of “finished”.

Finished is the last and final -30- on any relationship, be it work or personal. More likely than not, it is that one bit of realization that hits you with more of a whisper than of a bang.

For work, it might be the one that is seductively whispering in your ear as you sit thru another endlessly fruitless conference call. For that dead end relationship, it is the one that makes you say across the breakfast table without putting the paper down, “I having an affair with_______”. (____) being the one person your husband/partner/lover,  would never think you would have an affair with, and the one they cannot possibly forgive. This method works—I know—and works especially well if you are lying.

You say it. And you are committed. Work or Love-same same. In fact, saying “I’m finished” is a lot like saying I love you. YOU CANNOT TAKE BACK THOSE WORDS. They are irrevocable, and once said ping-pong around the universe with consequences that cannot even be imagined at the time they leave your mouth.  Extreme caution must be used. They should carry a warning label. "Use only in an emergency, or if you want to continue to breathe. "

Once said, you feel relief. At first. Don’t get cocky—other feelings are on the fast train right behind relief. Exhilaration. Euphoria. Power. Unlimited potential. Sorrow. Regret. Then, FEAR. Yes, make no mistake: The feeling of “oh shit, what have I done?” is part of this transitory space you have put yourself in. This transitory space can part of the adventure of what is ahead. Don’t dwell in any one of those feelings – you do not have the luxury of that self-indulgence. Speedy acceptance is essential. YOU made the decision, and whatever happens next, YOU have taken back control of your life. So get on with it.

Control of the ending of things. Interesting, we are back at the beginning.

Left anything or anyone lately?

Recycling Heart

It’s interesting on how my mind will take flight—a word or phrase, and ZOOM! Off and running at a million miles an hour—usually off the current topic but so amusing to myself.
Case in point: Today a tweet about recycling Valentines’ cards set me off, and I mean really off. Why recycle a Valentine, and then EEEWWWWW—who would wanna?

Dear Mary, Darlene,
          Be mine forever, Love Doug

I mean REALLY? Really how many of us would get enjoyment out of someone else valentine? Ok, it’s been so long MAYBE I would.

Just kidding.

But the whole thing made me think of things we really shouldn’t recycle…and if you don’t already have a list of them in your head, well I cannot help you without payment in advance.

This is not about those things, those things we all know about and don’t need to discuss OR write about, as fun or nasty as it might be—and it could be nasty, and so much fun.

This is about recycling of the heart because that is where those thoughts led me.

Recycled Heart. We do it all the time. I mean, should I have stamped my first boyfriend with a big DO NOT RECYCLE! and then toss him trussed like a stack of old SF Chronicles to the curb? Nah—no fun unless I could watch others get some of that heartache too.

Recycling of the heart comes in all sorts of forms I think—someone is nice to me on the phone, and I am nicer to the next person I talk to—someone steps back in store line and lets me go first and I am bound to do it the next time that ridiculous banger with one candy bar and the pants to his knees is behind me. I HAVE to—it’s a rule. Recycling that Karma sometimes happens without thinking, but not all of the time. It’s the spirit of pay it forward, or whatever cliché comes to mind.

Look at husband #3—he recycled his heart a lot. Ok, we won’t go there. Let it suffice to say that I learned that self interest can be a virtue, and that "recycling" the heart isn’t all bad.

Think about it: when was the last time you gave some heart away, and why. And really, didn’t it come back to you in a different form? Just like plastic water bottles end up as lawn furniture, when we give a little heart, we get some back. It’s a rule. “The love you take is equal to the love you make”.

And one last thought about heart breakage, ‘cuz that IS part of the recycling circle - you have to break it to remake it. When someone breaks my heart, it only allows me to see inside myself more. It is up to me to see if I can make new heart from all the pieces.

The ultimate recycling machine, the human heart.

A note about the Valentine's artist that set this whole thing in motion, go here and read her story--a very clever idea really, http://bit.ly/azKoog and finally thanks Mike for the suggestion.

What's wrong with this picture?

I mean really. What could I have possibly been doing that I have not updated this? And worse, not even finished the trip?

Things are moving just too fast....2 Christmases, another Thanksgiving, babies being born and weddings celebrated, deaths to mark the real passage of time; and trips: Germany, then France to celebrate a 40th Bday, --(unfortunately not mine--that ship has long sailed!) and a 20th anniversary ... been a busy 16 months. Several of those months spent in other zip codes....

So the answer to the question is: that picture is way too old.

I won't play catch-up--but just continue on.

Sgt Kai & The Excellent Adventure

Wednesday Dec 12

Remember that dotted road on the map----I feel like the cartoon character where there is a big flashing sign saying DON'T GO IN THERE but I can't see it....

I had gotten so many good recommendations for Sgt Kai that I couldn't resist using him, and the bottom line here is that he is sooooooooooo worth it. BUT....there is that dotted road...He and I traded pages and pages of emails trying to hammer something out for me that would satisfy my real curiosity about northern Thailand and the tribes that live there. I didn't want to see "THE HILL TRIBE VILLAGE: Go here for trinkets."

I know now that my instincts were solid in that regard.

Sgt Kai picked me up at 8:30 on Wednesday in his cute Isuzu SUV and then we picked up his associate Nooy, the lovely women who picked me up at the airport. I am not quite sure why, but I have a hunch he did not feel conformable being the guide and driver on an overnight with a women...or maybe not.

As soon as we started talking I knew this was gonna be fun---he's very relaxed and loves to talk about Thailand , his time in the army ---we started driving out of Chiang Mai and I asked what our plan was---" no plan" just see some villages not on the beaten track, visit the caves at Chian Dao, and end up in Tha Ton for the night---sounded good to me.

Nooy was designated the navigated because she knows the roads much better---we avoided the hiway and were on a two lane blacktop that was wandering north...until we took a right onto a dirt road.

I am sure that if we had a map it would have been a dotted line. I cannot even describe how beautiful this area was---and I so wish I knew where we were!

Climbing ever up, the road narrowed. We saw no one until we passed a moto standing by the road---didn't see the owner but there had to be someone....We came to a slight rise, and ooops. Stuck. We all got out to look. I think he was a bit embarrassed untiI I started to laugh...we were well and good stuck there and we could not get the car out of the mud. But what can you do? I asked for adventure.
Nooy finally went back to where we saw the moto, and found two workers who came to help. I kept saying that we had to push it out, but the "guys" insisted on trying to put rocks and boards under the wheels...that would have been ok had be not be hung up on the running boards too....

Well, we finally had to push. And we did. Having had plenty of time to scope this out, I chose the side where it wasn't muddy and avoided the mud shower that Nooy got.

But we got out...and continued along the road that didn't seem to get anywhere...we were headed to a village of Palong that was NOT supported by the government, then on to a school for the very poor that Sgt Kai wanted me to see. After another 20 minutes on the dirt road, we came upon this very beautiful house in the middle of no where, and were told that we had to go back the way we came.

I don't think so.

Well, we kept going on thru some of the most beautiful country you can imagine---the type of thing seen only in beauty shots from Conde Nast Traveler. Rice paddies with one ox in the middle, purple mountains in the distance, and everything is GREEN. Much was made of Nooy not knowing her right from left, but all of us I think were enjoying the adventure.

And we ended up exactly where we started!! Only this time we turned right instead of left.

We found the first of several villages that morning---and if you are not of the strong of stomach and heart, this kind of adventure is not for you. They were definitely not the “human in a zoo” Hill Tribe village that the Thai government has set aside for tourists. These were the ones that got left behind.

(And before anyone has a moment's thought of OH that’s horrible, let me just remind you of what we did to the American Indian. I had made up my mind that I would not bring my Americanized judgment muscle with me and I do believe that for the most part I was successful. I did not judge the poverty or the life of the villages that we saw—in Thailand or Cambodia. I cannot judge their government lest they turn that mirror on me.

These villages are poor beyond what we can imagine. Or what I would like to describe here.
Whether they were Karen, Palong Lisu, Yao or any of the other hill tribes that have settle in Northern Thailand, Cambodia and Laos, they have a specific culture and a somewhat nomadic lifestyle. It can be said that they have a slash and burn attitude toward farming and when they are done, they move on. So they have been restricted where they can live in Thailand, and with those restrictions come the inevitable lack of education and information. This is passed down like an inheritance from generation to generation.

But I did not come away with a sense of pity for them, but that of resigned resilience. )

We handed out some cookies and such and looked at some weaving—I got my first look close-up of what chewing beetle nuts really does! Not a pretty picture.

From here we moved on to a school for the hill village people—we helped with lunch. A few of the more enterprising older kids had filled balloons with Kool-Aid and frozen it to sell—I bought all they had we had a great time treating everyone.

From there we headed to Chiang Dao---caves used for centuries by meditating monks. This is one instance, of many, that I was glad for doing something touristy---they were magnificent!

The Peak of Doi Chiang Dao Mountain is 2225 meters above sea level making it one of Thailand’s highest mountains. The caves extend around twelve kilometers into the mountain and but only 5 areas are designated for visits (Tham Maa, Tham Kaew, Tham Phra Nawn, Tham Seua Dao, and Tham Naam). And only two of these have lights—the rest are lit by lanterns that are carried by guides. I opted out of this part of the adventure as some of those “dark” caves are VERY tight and you have to crawl.

The caves contain crystals that have formed through dripping water – these are extremely impressive formations and make the visit well worth it. The two I visited the two main caves (Tham Phra Nawn and Tham Seua Dao) that have electric lighting and can be visited without a guide. But I had Nooy to tell me all about it. (Sgt Kai---well he “meditated for this part”.) The caves contain a number of sacred Buddha images, as well as resting monk images, but as they are lit only by sporadic florescent lighting it was hard to shoot pictures.
The caves are mainly visited by Thai, as they are difficult to get to, so they were virtually empty. Outside there are vendors selling herbs and such. Sgt Kai and I discussed the efficacy of herbal healing and we both agreed that there are things that herbs do that we cannot explain. I bought beautiful saffron here for pennies.

We ate a late lunch in a Chiang Dao village local eatery, where I ate noodle soup (what else?) and watched as a papaya salad was being prepared. We headed a long to Tha Ton where we were to spend the night. The drive to ThaTon was uneventful—we made a few more village stops, and around 6pm arrived at ThaTon.

ThaTon, and the ThaTon River View Hotel (sic) sits so close to the Burma border that Sgt Kai jokes that the border guards can look into your room any time.

The immediate area has attracted many of the displaced hill tribe groups to inhabit its verdant hills and lush valleys. Yao, Lisu, Lahu, Karen and Akha peoples have all made their homes here spreading out among the foothills and along the river. They were closely followed by Chinese Haw and the remnants of a Nationalist Chinese (Kuomingtang) army that fled China in 1949 to Burma, and arrived in the area in 1960, having been expelled from Burma following political changes there.

The ThaTon River View Hotel sits right on the Mae Kok River and is set amongst some of the most beautiful scenery imaginable. But we are in the north, and the weather started to chill as soon as the sun went down…and I mean CHILL.

Nooy and Kai checked me and went to another guest house where they were staying. I was there alone. ALONE means VERY VERY freaking alone as everyone at the “hotel” was Thai and NO ONE spoke any English. It gave me a moment’s pause. (Does anyone else remember the very forgettable Debra Winger movie, The Sheltering Sky?)

The rooms are Spartan in the extreme but would have been OK during a warmer time. They have no heat. The room are much like the auto courts that sprang up in the 50’s across the US—2 room connected, then a space, then two more. All spread out so every single one had a view of the river. It was really lovely, but cold. I had nothing but a thin sweater since we had been in 80 degree weather for almost 2 weeks, I was good, So I thought. WRONG.

I tried asking for a small heater but they showed me how to turn on the air conditioning. Nope that won’t do. I gave up and decided to have some food---dinner was passable but not memorable. I ate, went back to the room, put on all the clothes I had with me, got down all the extra blankets, and looked at all the pictures I shot that day. I had twelve hours to last.
I could do this.

I was so cold I took a scarf and wrapped my head Khmer style, and NO YOU DO NOT GET TO SEE IT.

Eventually the Thai version of American Idol put me to sleep ---the morning could not come soon enuf.

If it's Tuesday it must be Yui.

Yui and her husband Kwan picked me up for my cooking lesson in a 1972 Volkswagen bus. BOY! Did that bring back memories.

As soon as I go in the car I found that no one else was going to be in their class today because of some scheduling error…I immediately volunteered to come another day, but after some discussion we decided to continue as scheduled, and am I glad we did.

Those of you who have been to Thailand have probably seen the schedules for this fantastic cooking school, but for those of you who would like to drool, go to http://www.alotofthai.com/ I went on a Tuesday so I was going to see and learn the Popular Dishes menu: Pad Thai, Hot & Sour Soup. Spring Rolls, Green Curry, Sir Fried Chicken and Sweet Sticky Rice with Mango. YUMMY!!

Note to self: REALLY, when they say don’t eat they mean it.

After 5 minutes in the car, I knew I had made the right decision. Yui is absolutely passionate about food, and loves to share her thoughts and visions about cooking. She asked me what interested me and I told her that although I had taught myself some Thai cooking skills, I wanted to learn some specific dishes and techniques—because it was just us and I said I was interested in the Stuffed cucumber soup and the Panang Curry—she made those changes for the day.
Usually she stops at the market during a break in the menu, but we stopped on the way. A very local market where she is well known and obviously loved. We went thru the separate stalls and vendors with her buying certain small things. We talked a lot about the sameness of good cooks and about the differences of produce, the fun of experimenting, and the inevitable oops that result and the occasional Ahhs!!!

One vendor was cooking a very translucent discs over a small charcoal grate ( see picture) ---this is a delicacy that will forever elude me: cowhide. And yes, it tastes like warm glue---Yui could not give it away to other vendors who replied to her offer with a sure “Are you nuts? “ No one wanted to avail themselves of her generosity!
She told me that the real organic and home farmers are the ones on the skirts of the markets—try them for unusual things you might want--the others buy from wholesalers.

Marketing done, we go to her house where she lives with her husband, two children and in laws. It was lovely and cool. She employs a helper to keep things moving along, and keep things moving we did.

Pad Thai has never been one of my favorite dishes, but after tasting this one and seeing how she cooks it, I might try this at home---a very light touch is required here.

Next we tacked the stuffed cucumber soup—amazing, light and extremely flavorful, any one with a deft hand at cleaning out cucumbers can make this. We had some fun her with Yui trying to teach me to carve vegetables—not gonna happen. I can dig out a cuke with the best of the but making a carrot flower. NOT.

After the soup it becomes abundantly clear to me that there is a lot of food that will be wasted because I can only eat so much…I ask her to teach me about the dishes—show me the proper way to cook them and talk to me about Thai cooking in general and how she does it in particular---this she did.

We talked a lot—about food, her mother (a chef that has traveled from Thailand), her desire to learn about the food of other cultures. We did some impromptu recipe exchanges, and remarked how even thought let’s say the dance of Italian cooking was vastly different in ingredients from Thai cooking, certain steps remain the same. And I was still STUFFED when I left …

We did finish early, but it didn’t matter to me because I felt that I had a great experience with a genuine cook who loves food as much as I do. I highly recommend this school and will go back again.

They dropped me off at Baan Orapin and I dropped like a stone onto the cool bed and slept for 3 hours---

Another dotted road:

I swear that I never learn… after my long nap I needed to stretch my legs. I was running out of SD card room, having shot close to 1000 photos so I was on the hunt for an SD card. Remember that “PhotoBug” store that as next to the spa that got me lost the first night? Well not to be cowed I went on the hunt for that store, and retraced my path of Sunday night. Walking Walking and more walking---but I did not get lost at all. Found the store, bought the card, and felt very proud –so proud I decided I deserved a good dinner and a massage. I went back to the Gallery and order some HUMONGUS prawns that are sold by the gram, a glass of wine and some French fries. Yum Yum---perfect.

Later I tried an foot and leg massage at Chiang Mai Massage, right on Tha Pae Rd, (23/1 Thaepae Plaza, Tha Pae Rd) about a mile from the bridge but a great after dinner walk. I loved this place—doesn’t look like too much from the outside but great massage and fair prices. Also, it is registered with the city which is one of the things I started looking for when looking at massage places.

This city has many MANY massage parlors---put out a chair and a stool and you are in business—in fact many people do that…but I although I have had massages all of the world, I am kinda funny about the “hey soldier, wanna have a good time “ attitude of some of the places I saw. Cheap does not mean good—in all senses of the word.

Anyway, I digress...massage over I walk back to the gas station—OH, I never mentioned that is where I would get my Cornettos? Hmm, must have been an oversight.

The BBC lulls me to sleep and its Sgt Kai in the am.

Don't forget to check out www.wired2theworld.com. My dd is still working on finsihing her side of the trip. And more to come form me later.