A little bereavement

I had a bereavement this week - of the mousy kind. I think the neighbour's new kitten frightened him/her to death. When I found them, they were still warm and soft. It was nearly time for a lesson so I brought them in to lie in wake ( with a candle) while I worked. Later, I had a short ceremony in the garden. Pirate said a few words about how she would have liked to have met the mouse but I am not sure of her intentions. 

As I was holding the mouse, one of my neighbours came up. They looked at my little friend and scrunched up their face. Why care about such creatures? It made me feel sad and also reminded me that not everyone sees the world in the same way. Actually, I rarely find anyone who sees the world like me or lets me see the world my way without diminishing it in some way.

The little mousy reminded me of a bird I once rescued when I lived in Basel. That had a happy ending but mostly I found myself thinking about the person I shared that experience with. Unlike my neighbour, they didn't belittle or question my actions. In fact, they did the opposite. Expressing empathy and compassion  while gently guiding me to the right decision to let the bird go. We had assumed it was dead, and yet when we opened up the box, it flew into the trees. I find it rare that I meet people who just let me be me and this little mousy reminded me of this but also of the beautiful fact that those people do exist.

Run free little mousy, up to the wheel in the sky. 

On a brighter note, the mimosa tree has started flowering. It reminds me of Australia and smells like spring, Happy daze. 

Black eye

Today I got myself a black eye trying to help a randaggio (stray) in my garden.  It wasn't his fault. I handled him wrongly and he punched me ( claws out) in the face. I will not be winning any pageants this week. It caps off a bit of a bleak January, I have to say. 

Pirate has offered to defend me, should it happen again.

Just look at that face. Terrifying.

Pirate X

 It has been a little while but I have a new story out. :-)

click here to read Pirate X

Yay

New year, new blog

 So 2022 has arrived with little fanfare on my part but then I wonder who really felt like celebrating this year. 

My new year gift to me is a new blog. 

https://nopanino.blogspot.com/

My intention with this blog is to write about the more travel-related things I do. You see, last September I began a travel writing course online because what I would really like to do is shift away from teaching or, at the the very least, make a side income so I can improve my standard of living enough to keep the heating on :-) The course is quite intensive but I have an excellent tutor who is an incredible support and an extremely successful travel writer - Dan Scott. I am learning heaps from him but I also fear I am going to run into my old nemesis - confidence ( or the lack thereof) when it comes to actually trying to get paid for the work. I already baulk at the idea of pitching and selling myself but I know if I don't shake this shackle, I will be forever doomed. I know I can write, I just don't know how to tell the people with the money I can. 

Fingers crossed, anyway.

Christmas wishes

This is the view from my school in Pisa. I mostly teach online but once a week I brave the virus-infested public transport to engage in humanity face-to-face. I prefer teaching online, though. My introverted soul finds it less draining and when I finish class in the evening, I no longer have to plod the cold hills home. Right now my students include nuclear physicist and tribunal judges. I always feel intimidated when I start these course, but I often find that the people in these classes warm to me very soon and we have deeply engaging classes. I enjoy teaching smart people. They challenge me and I challenge them. Christmas is coming, though, and I find this a little more difficult. Obviously, I get them to talk about their plans and hopes for Christmas and they talk about their family reunions and parties with friends. I always beam like the sun as they talk, hoping none of them ask me about my plans because I have none. And mostly, I am OK with this. Students see me as gregarious and probably assume I am very social but I am only really alive and engaging with a few people in my life. This is not on purpose. It is just how I function and always have. It is just only in recent years have I accepted this aspect of myself and I appreciate it. I don't waste my energy on small talk anymore and I prefer to give  my light to those I feel most connected with. That said, I feel a little down this Christmas. Last year with lockdown it was easier somehow. I felt more secure/ most at peace than I do now and it is hard to not feel a little sad. I suppose my hopes for this Christmas are less ambitious, too: that I have hot water in my shower ( unlikely); that my mother feels strong ( inshallah)  and that those I care about, care about me in return.

midnight runs

The dark nights have come to San Miniato once more. Sometimes when I wander the empty streets, I can hear an howl hooting. Is it calling my name, I wonder, like in the famous novel by Margaret Craven.  I have only ever seen one owl in this area and it was a beautiful white one. It gleamed like fresh snow on a branch. 

But that was a few years ago.

Sometimes I dream that I go running in the night. Like at 3 a.m. in the morning, I get up from my bed and I disappear. I go different places. Sometimes to cities or remote stretches of road that would scare me if they were real. And then, sometimes I wonder, when I have woken, whether it was real after all. 

Winter feels like a weighted blanket this year. But much colder, of course.

Stone-hearted

 Yesterday I reached for my paintbrush and a stone to paint which should sound like a good thing, but I don’t think it is. I haven’t painted stones since 2013 and I associate this hobby with a period of great hardship and sorrow. That’s not to say that I don’t love the things I painted back then. They were, and still are, beautiful life expressions. I still have a few of them even now and others I have given to people whom I love and trust. But it bothers me that I feel the need to paint now because I know it means I am feeling broken again.  This time, actually, I feel even worse. I feel my peace has been broken. My trust has been destroyed and after I have shown such courage, such vulnerability.

Lockdown, I think, was a better period for me. It protected me from giving too much of myself, of my light and creativity, in the flesh. 

I hope I am wrong.  I am an INFJ - HSP after all. I feel things very deeply. I worry terribly, too. Although, unfortunately, I am also very intuitive.  But yet, perhaps my peace is not gone, perhaps it is just resting and my trust is safely resting, too. I hope so. The idea of that returning darkness, after finally finding my balance, terrifies me.

Rar

 Gosh, it doesn't seem to matter where I live but every year at this time my central heating breaks. Luckily, for my landlord I don't tend to get angry about these things. I mean I get frustrated and my fingers are frozen but I remain pretty zen. Actually, I rarely get angry which means when I do it can be quite fierce. Betrayal of trust is what really makes me angry, I have realised. It makes me quite dangerous. 

RAR 

The Four Seasons

This afternoon I went to a performance of Vivaldi's "Four Seasons" at La Chiesa di San Domenico" in San Miniato. The audience consisted mostly of people over the age of 70 who had miraculously avoided covid although I did get cornered by the mama of a boy I have taught for the past 4 years. Fortunately, I adore him so it was easy to wax lyrical as the musicians strung their bows.  

It was a wonderful performance. "The Four Seasons" is such an exciting and evocative piece. I can only imagine how exhilarating it must have been for the teens in its day. I mean some of the wildly, rhythmic parts are so powerful and thrilling. How the youth of that time weren't forever caught casting aside their corsets and codpieces in a  display of frenzied passion is beyond me. Or perhaps they were. Perhaps Vivaldi performances were just one big "hook up" fest.

Anyway, at the end of the concert I cried a few tears. Partly because the music was so compelling and partly because of my Myers-Briggs Personality type - which is INFJ. ( A story for another time.) The great thing about compulsory masks means the tears could dribble down my face and no one could see them.

Now, of course, I want to start up the violin again. I used to play as a child and if memory serves correctly, I was actually quite decent. My mother was tyrannical though and so I started dreading practice because I hated being watched and then being  forced to perform in front of others ( INFJ anyone?) I guess acquiring a violin as a possession at this point  isn't probably the wisest of investments.

Sigh. In an alternate world I am a classical violinist who rescues baby goats. 

Treasures

 Sometimes I feel like a fire has gone through my life and now all that remains is me, a couple of dresses and box or two of things. I guess in a way it is true, minus the actual fire part.

A month ago, I went back to Basel to go through all my belongings that have been kindly kept by D in all the years since we parted. I was pretty ruthless about what I should keep and only came home with a bulging suitcase filled mostly with cheese (ha ha), photos, stones, a mushroom lamp, a few cherished necklaces, and a scarf.  I am unencumbered by life’s possessions which, on the one hand is quite liberating, but on the other feels very sad. Is that all I have amounted to? Am I really starting my life now with so few possessions?

I will be honest. It was hard to see my old writing desk and my glorious full-length mirror now the assumed property of Damien’s wife. I have no problem with her as a person but seeing my things just taken over was hard, especially when I would love to write at something instead of a bony kitchen table with the world’s worst seats. And my bed, O my bed. Such a beautiful, comfortable thing that held me and my dreams so tightly.  Such a place of joy and comfort. The bed I have now is actually nauseating. I can only sleep on the far-right side because the mattress and frame are so bad it makes me physically unwell to lie in the middle. But I couldn’t afford to bring those things back with me and I am at peace with it, mostly.

There are just two things that have been dwelling on my mind over this past month. My great-grandfather’s wooden chest that he made probably a hundred years ago. I noticed that it has been commandeered by someone in the building complex where D lives to hold Christmas decorations so at least it has meaningful purpose. The other thing is my crazy, blue chandelier. I am sad not to have that. I am sad not to have things that feel like an expression of myself.

But, you know, my poor mother has spent her life collecting lovely things and in the past month she was taken from her home to a hospital and now a nursing home and all her treasures are separated from her now anyway. So what is really the point of possessions in the end? Perhaps my treasures are what I carry in my heart and my mind. My memories, my experiences, my adventures, my love, my dreams, my hopes. I can take them anywhere and I can keep building on them, can’t I?

Mind you, it would be nice to have a bed comfortable enough to dream in again 😊

80 trips around the sun

 Today is my mother's 80th birthday. She is not in a good place right now and it is very hard to be so far from her. This morning though we managed to connect early on whatsapp and talk about happy things like past trips to Italy, rogue cats and cake. The time difference makes things tough, too, so I have felt like a zombie for most of that day but this is a small price to pay to be able to talk to my mama.

La Rocca

 

My life, if little else, is always an adventure.

La Rocca

Today I decided to climb up to La Rocca (the tower of Federico II) which is the highest point in San Miniato so I could watch dusk settle over the Tuscan hills with Three Paw’s ashes. I don’t visit La Rocca enough but if I am honest, I hardly ever think “why don’t I climb to the highest point in the land” after a long day of verb conjugation online. Anyway, I got there just as the blue was morphing into orange and then whoosh an enormous wind blew through. Fortunately, it did not take Three Paw (let’s not even contemplate that potential disaster) but it blew my bag right off the ledge into an olive grove below and unfortunately that bag had my wallet and keys and all things a lady living on her own might need to fight the demons of the night. I briefly considered jumping from the wall down to retrieve it, but I would surely have broken an ankle, so I am glad common sense prevailed. I hunted around the whole wall looking for an easy way down but this medieval fortress, designed to repel enemies, was not forthcoming. Eventually,

Sunset

I decided to go down the side of the tower and see if I could find a way in. Luckily I saw a family was just leaving their home so I started yelling, ”Aiuta mi.” A very nice lady came over, so I reported my tragic tale (the ashes of Three Paw tucked under my arm) and she agreed to let me into the lower garden. Then this young man came over expressing concern that perhaps the upper garden might be locked, and I was like “yes, maybe, but you have to let me at least try.” He seemed defeated by the very idea of trying but fortunately I am an optimist deep down and I was able to persuade him that I would be one doing all the trying. (I never understand why people give up before exhausting every possible option. For example, you have just eaten a huge meal, and someone brings out the most amazing looking chocolate pudding you have ever seen.  The pessimist would decline “O, I have no room left” but me, I am thinking “surely, I can fill up just one lung.”)

Spot the bag - the drop from the top was higher than it looks

Anyway, I left Three paw with the lady and clambered up the hill, untwisted the metal gate and found a way to squeeze into the upper grove. I got my bag and returned a dizzy mess of mud and baggage.  I thanked the woman profusely and then returned to La Rocca where Three Paw and I sat to watch the orange glow descend beneath the trees.

Three Paw enjoying her view

Watching the sunset over San Miniato tonight was important. Not just to honour Three Paw on the anniversary of her death but also because of the many times in the past I had watched the same sun set when my parents have visited over the years. Sunsets don’t need to mean the end. They can mean another day is coming.

Post-adventure - you can't see me puffing but I am

Four years

Today four years ago I said goodbye to this amazing soul but we never really leave the ones we love, do we?

Finding your feet

This picture of my Turkish beauty Three Paw came up in my google memories today. It is almost the four year anniversary since I lost my Melek and now I am watching my mama struggle to walk as the effects of Parkinson's Disease start to severely ravage her body. I think of Three Paw's courage as he became a bi-pawed and how her zest for life and exploration remained with her until the end. I hope my mama can find this courage, too.

Happy birthday Pirate

 It's been a while, hasn't it?

Time to get back on the horse, don't you think?

8th birthday of Pirate seems like as good a start as any.

In the Wild

 Yesterday when I got out of bed, I heard a plop and the scuttle of eight feet. In Australia, this would be normal but I have to say I was surprised to find I had been sharing my bed with a spider of reasonable diameter. I have never seen one as big as it in Italy before and can't help wondering if it hitched a ride in my backpack from the Aeolian islands from which I have just returned. (Stay tuned for some adjective-laden posts about that amazing journey.) Anyway we parted company and I went about my dzay.

My next animal encounter was sadly of the deceased variety. A young, red squirrel dead on the road. He didn't have any noticeable injuries except one of his eyes had popped out but I presume he had been hit by a car. I couldn't leave him on the road to be smashed into the bitumen so I dug a grave by the road with a view of the trees. I sat with him for a while first and gave him lots of hugs. His body was still warm so it must have only happened recently. If only I had come earlier. I also played him some James Blunt because if anyone is going to make an animal suddenly wake up and run, it is probably him. I say that with love, of course. I am JB's one fan.

Finally, in the afternoon I noticed Pirate was being quiet. Tooooooo quiet. So I went outside to look for her and found her staring at the back of lizard which was sticking out of a brick hole, its legs spinning like demented windmills. "Oh, Pirate," I said. "Let the lizard be." Anyway, I then looked more closely at the lizard and noticed that its head seemed to be twisted around, and its large black eye was staring at me. I thought it looked odd and it took me a minute to realise that it was actually a snake slowly devouring the lizard headfirst. Well, I know the snake was probably hungry but I couldn't just crouch there and watch this slow, tortuous death so I pulled the lizard out of the snake's mouth. The lizard promptly shed its tails as a thank you gift for me and scampered behind the brick. 'O, lizard,' I said. 'That's very silly. The snake is behind there, too.' So I moved the brick so the lizard ran away properly and then I saw the snake. It was quite young I think, very long with green and greyish scales. I am fairly confident it wasn't a viper but I still didn't like it having lunch right by my door so I gently invited it with a broom to head for the hills. To be honest, I don't think it went very far and is probably planning to empty my fridge and leave a note saying - See, how do you like having your lunch taken away!

 Never a dull moment in this Tuscan valley, I can tell you.

Pirate on snake patrol.

Begin Again

 When I travel solo, I feel a great peace settle over my bones.  It's strange because in my everyday life I am racked with insecurities. I hate making decisions. I always fear a wrong choice and yet somehow when I become unshackled from daily life, I suddenly find myself becoming formidable and completely fearless. There are never any mistakes, only new directions.

Travelling makes sense to me in a way day-to-day life does not. And I'm not talking about flitting from one five star to another. I'm talking ramshackle hostels, broken-down buses, one dollar lunches, toilet paper in my back pocket, reading maps upside down. Everything that can make one day on the road feel like a lifetime. 

I don't travel much these days.  Mostly I can't afford it but Covid-19 has also added a plot twist. But I have realised that I need to try and find a way to bring it back into my life. 

Syria - 2008 - Palmyra. Before ISIS destruction

  

lockdown

loneliness setting in

Covid 19

Not a fan.

The Button-seller's Tongue

https://syntaxandsalt.com/2020/01/01/the-button-sellers-tongue-by-joanna-galbraith/

I wish I had his gift.

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