The Acropolis: The Experience

It has been a week since I was in Greece, and upon my return, I have had sleep deprivation, a very sick daughter, and a son who played in a championship baseball game, so my blog has not been my priority.  But I want to write this one well ... it means so much to me ...

There she is ... the Acropolis in the far distance, and the walk, another life-changing experience. 

Debi and I were off, she in her beautiful pink dress, and as for me, well, I opted for the comfy black sport shorts and tennis shoes.  The day was hot, the sun beaming brighly, so I also am sporting my black hat, a fixture in most of my pictures.  As we walked, I marveled at every step, every building, every bit of nature, wanting to remember the journey, smiling the entire way. 

One of my favorite sites, of course, was the UIndy building, the reason I was able to visit Greece on this adventure.  Other visuals:  graphics (for better or worse, artists leave their marks); doors and windows (symbolically, leading the way, I suppose); ruins (the Market Place), etc.  And with each step, although we walked at a fast pace, antsy with excitement, I paused occasionally, again, just to "take it all in." 

 

Once we had finally arrived, the emotions surged. Thoughts of Greek Philosophy (Socrates), Greek Mythology (Athena), Greek Literature (Sophocles, Aeschylus, Euripides), Greek Architecture... and one of my favorites Lysistrata ... just brilliance.  And I would be walking among this history, a similar feeling to that with the Anne Frank Hiding Place; no museum could be a better experience. 

The site is overwhelming.  Debi even had to sit and come to terms with her emotions.  It's simply beautiful, awe-inspiring, and I was there. 

I was there ...

Although I took many pictures to remember, to show, the stunning remains of this place marked by its details, the sense of being can't be filmed.  I sensed a peace, an acceptance of myself, that stirred in my body; I felt it in my heart, in my limbs, in my blood ... in my breathing ... taking many deep breaths, a sort of cleansing.  It is still with me ...

The experience was highlighted by having shared it with Debi.  We were like two young girls, giddy with passion for where we were, constantly shaking our heads in disbelief.

The Sun was Shining on Krista:  Revived!

Two Dinners Continued: Greece

Still smiling but a little worn, I arrive in Greece after a 4-hour flight (with a short lay-over in Zurich).  Unfortunately, I did have to get up at 6 a.m. to catch the bus to the train station in Hilversum and take the train to the airport ... but I did it all on my own.  I was truly an experience traveler.  Once I arrived at the Greece airport, I just needed to wait for Mary and Debi, not wanting to take a taxi or figure out their metro system.  Looking back, I think I could have done it, but it was a memorable sight seeing those two special ladies looking for me in the airport.   Since it was dinner time, we were off ...

May I add that I, again, am a little worn and like the first dinner in the Netherlands, I was in need of a hairbrush and a bit of make-up, which the picture may show, but this dinner stands as the most entertaining and memorable, thanks to the conversation among these four amazing women ...

The dinner itself was simply the Greeks way of eating progressively ... only appetizers delievered two at a time to the table ... but that was plenty.  If I recall correctly, the delectables consisted of the following:  Greek salad, several cheese dishes, meatballs, pork, and of course, the house wine.  To begin the meal, we had a traditional Greek aperitif Raki, and the cheer:  Yamas!

But it was the conversation that was the highlight.  Dr. Susie Michailidis, a vice president of the UIndy Athens Campus recalled the many fond memories she had of my mother Diane and, of course, my father, who traveled with my mother everywhere.  According to Susie, with Dr. Mary McGann agreeing, my mother was a dominant voice of the University of Indianapolis when she was the Registrar, helping to give respect to the campus ... so proud.  To complete the evening, Susie looked at me and said that she had such fond memories of my mother, but added, "Here's to new memories with you."  (I'm sure you can imagine the overwhelming sense of love I felt right then.)  The conversation continued, the laughter heard, the joy infectious ...

Four strong women.  Four voices.  Love.

Two Dinners to Remember: The Arrivals

Dinner One:  The Netherlands

For most food is a intregal part of one's vacation, eating the local cruisine and drinking the local beverages.  For me, I found it essential to my journey, taking photos of the presentation of my meals and the wine and beer, mostly so I would remember them.   As many of the blogs I follow also center around food, I wanted to make this one worthy of those who cherish food as I do; I also need to add my own literary spin ...

This first dinner was Wednesday evening when I first arrived in The Netherlands.  Worn from the long journey and choosing not to sleep, I spent the evening with Sara and Fiona, the Dutch hostess who would introduce me to my adventure in a classic way ... with laughter and a little orneriness.  Here is the story ...

Three woman:  a Dutch beauty, whose charm could woo many a gentleman; an English au pair, whose youthful loveliness could draw the immediate attention from onlookers; and a weary traveler, an older American woman searching for her identify, for her make-up and hair brush, whose attractiveness was hidden beneath years of sadness and lack of self-esteem and a 8-hour plane ride across the Atlantic.  (I'm certain you've already guessed my identify by now . . .)

The evening dinner is at a beautiful restaurant on the beach, although the cooler temperatures keep us closer to the front where an outdoor heater warms us.  We begin with a buttery Chardonnay and the house appetizer consisting of pickled cucumber, a minature bite of a ham product, and a truffle sauce, placed delicately on a tiny spoon, perfect for one bite. Delightful.  Then the beautiful Dutch woman proceeded to 'force' the ladies to each choose an appetizer; one would surely not be enough ... the choices, Sushi and Sashimi, Spring Rolls, and Carpaccio.  Delicious.  Dinner followed with a second bottle of Chardonnay and Dutch Ribeye, Shrimp Pasta, and Duck Thigh.  Delectable.  A perfect, unforgettable evening meal ...

But the ladies were not alone, thanks to the timing of a large gathering of gentlemen arriving for a boisterous evening of their own type of fun, and as the only females in the establishment, the flocking began.  As some of the gentlemen were smokers, their need to be outside was apparent, a need to gather around the only table of women, one who could speak the Dutch languge with them, just a bonus.

For the young au pair, the gentlemen were typical, annoying, and a disruption of the evening.  At one point, she was caught shaking her head, sending the messages to the gentleman that she should not be approached.  (I loved it.)  For the Dutch beauty and the older American, the gentlemen were entertainment, comic relief, and a boost to the ego.  What a scene.  The Dutch beauty charmed them with her humor, her wit, her smile, and they gathered closer and closer, growing more and more intoxicated.  Of course, the Americans could not understand most of the conversations, only the nonverbal cues that were openly being sent by the gentlemen.  Oh, the language of "the move" apparent. 

So the appropriate dessert for the ladies -- a glass of 40-year-old Port, another extremely kind gift from the Dutch hostess.  Now the American traveler loves her Port, quite a bit actually, so this was the highlight of the meal, at least until the oldest gentleman, who appeared to have ingested the most spirits throughout the evening, kindly asked for a continuation of the evening ... another bar perhaps?  In a laughable moment, the older gentleman kept hugging, and hugging, and hugging the American traveler, finally ending his advances with a kiss to the hand, taking his rejection quite well.

The evening ended with many laughs and stories to be told over and over.  What a start to my adventure ...  the American woman has smiled ever since ...

A City of Love

This short blog is dedicated to me, a lover at heart, an honest sharing ...

I have read it in books and poems; I have watched it in the movies; I have heard it through personal experiences ... Paris is the city of love, of lovers, and I saw it for myself. Even above my bed in my small hotel room hung a picture of two lovers wrapped in each others' arms while lying in bed facing each other, their bodies hidden by a single blanket. It's a beautiful drawing of what the city represents, even as the occupant beneath lies alone ...

 

The streets of Paris are littered with lovers, those holding hands, those embracing one another, and those sharing a kiss (although sometimes for too long or with too much of the French way ...). Most of the scenes are charming, whether a young couple just still in the "can't keep their hands off of each other" stage or an older couple still in love after the years of life. The French couples even put their "lock" on a bridge in the city, a charming visual for all to see.

I pause here to say that my parents fall into the second category -- married for 52 years. {BIG SMILE}


Some are lucky to have the storied one great love; others may have many; others none. Regardless, love, for some and however defined, is a necessary element of happiness, and I am one of those ... and with that, I have found my true love ... Me! (Note: my children are the obvious greatest loves of my life, just in case anyone questioned that *smile*) I am a lover of life, of passion, of experiences, of literature, of human touch. I love romance, even if it is in the form of Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights or Janie in Their Eyes Were Watching God or Clara in The House of the Spirits. As I have shared, I am drawn to the tragic loves in literature, which might be the reason I now have the strength to accept my current status of the single woman.

Appropriately, the theme of love continued on the Greek Island as well ...

So be it! As the Beatles sing, let it be. I love!

Reviving Krista in Pics

 The North Sea at Zandvoort Beach

In Paris in a Crepe shop where I left a message on a Metro ticket ... notice the ironic title of the message below

And Sara's written message in a bathroom in Amsterdam

I left my mark! 

Homeward Bound

Unlike Simon and Garfunkel, I don't have to wish ... I am 45 minutes from boarding my plane for home. What a journey and I have much more to share later. I have lived, and now I am more than excited to return to Maddie and Gavin ... the true loves of my life.

I do see myself, though, as a world traveller now, returning to many more adventures in my lifetime. With so much love in my heart with the experience and with the possibilities that lie ahead .. I am happy ...

Many more stories lie ahead!

Peace

The Rebirth in Greece

For those who have studied Thoreau and recognize the symbolism of his bathing in Walden Pond as his Rebirth, his Awakening each morning, especially come Spring ... then you will understand how my swim in the Aegean Sea felt ... Beautiful, mesmerizing, thrilling...

And my deliberate splashing and, as Whitman voiced, my 'yelping' into the openness was the climax ...

I am living ... laughing ... loving ...

Peace

Anne Frank Part 2

As I expected , the Wifi in the Athens airport caused me to lose part of my blog, so I simply just published it, unedited ... forgive me... but it's a pain in the butt to fix ...

What I wanted to add were the two artifacts that need mentioning. First, in Anne's room you can see pictures of famous movie stars and actors that she would cut out from a cinema magazine;she did this to have hope, as if the decorating her wall kept her a normal teen. The other, picture of her father Otto Frank standing in the apartment years later ... I had to walk away ...

The other painful displays were the copies of the orders to send her family to the camp -- crudely typed on paper and notecards ... all because of hate ... hate that still exists in all forms. (I will save that rant for another blog.)

Again, the power or words, of writing, can change the world, if only people would read and listen.

Peace

My Anne Frank Hiding Place Visit Part 1

As with technology, an IPad, and airport Wifi, sometimes I lose a little work, and this time it was so disheartening since I had written so much about my visit to the house where Anne and her family and others had to hide. So here's to a second attempt to capture the experience.

My mom had recommended this visit so often that I knew I wouldn't miss this opportunity to go. I am forever touched because of it. The visit allows you to walk through the building, up the stairs, and into the rooms where they all lived, in fear yet hope, through the hatred at that time. Although I read her diary when I was younger, I did a re-read in a graduate English course with Dr. Bruce Gentry. At the time I was surprised that this was one of our reads, but after the lesson, I knew why. The power of words by a young girl who had dreams like any other young woman her age were captured in their simplicity but honestly. I so often talk about the need to write, to journal, and she did just that, giving the world a chance to know and to remember at least one girl's experience ... and what impact is has had.

So many of the artifacts left me speechless, and literally shaking my head while covering my mouth, pained. Then tears ... walking into her room, reading the lines from her journal where she simply wished to stop being afraid and live the normal life of a teenage girl: to live, to laugh,to dream. (If I had my copy of the book, I would find the passage.)

World Traveler Update

Hello friends. Although I still have many stories to share from Paris and The Netherlands, I am currently awaiting the last leg of my journey. I am about to board the plane for Athens where I will be met by my dear friends Debi and Mary ... and I will, once again, be in awe of my surroundings.

Peace

My Time in Paris Part 2

Continued ...

In desperate need to exchange money, I decide to walk back to my hotel, hoping the handsome Frenchman working the desk would be so kind to give me directions to exchange money. He did, ironically back in the direction I was originally. No problem. I had enough money to take a bus, which he told me how to do. At the bus stop, I am waiting by a typical elderly couple, looking through my purse to find the International numbers my sister Amy gave me in case of an emergency. Her last words to me: "don't lose these because it is just like money.". Yep, the post-note went flying. I have to go behind the bench to retrieve it, and when I do, the bus comes. I'm literally showing my American side by yelling, "hold the bus, hold the bus" with the couple staring at me, not quite sure what to make of this silly woman. But no worries-- I get on! yes! Once seated, I look up to see that the bus is not going in the direction I assumed, so I look around and realize that I am on Bus 92, NOT 80. Yep, insert the line, my friends ...

So with no Euros, I have to get off the bus and hike the very, very, very long journey to Champ Élysées, the famous street, known for its shops, its wealth, its Arc de Triumpe. A year later (deliberate use of exaggeration), I arrive on this street, passing so many places I would have enjoyed seeing, but this gal was still in panic mode, seeing myself eventually begging for a few Euros to eat ... I could surely find a kind couple who would take pity on me. Believe me, I am not exaggerating these thoughts ...

Finally, the Exchange Station! I will be just fine, a little hot and sweaty, my feet aching, but I have money. Damn, I am hungry and thirsty. By now, though, the thought of sitting down to wait for a meal on this avenue of materialism and exploitation just didn't seem right, so I grabbed the American Baseball meal of choice ---a hotdog and an Evian water.

I further didn't feel the desire anymore to climb the Arc, which I had planned to do the next day, so I pulled the Chevey Chase's character in the movie Vacation when Clark Griswold says to his family after stealing money, "Look kids, the Grand Canyon" and then moving them along after a minute. If you haven't seen this classic, this comical moment will be lost, so let's just say that the Arc, a magnificent site, didn't receive its worthy attention from me. Smiling, I took the less tourist-infested streets and found myself truly enjoying my journey ...

My Time In Paris Part 1

I lived. Paris is beautiful, overwhelming, and worthy of the dream. My first day, however, proved a bit more challenging than I would have preferred, but what a story ...

I arrive and find that the Metro Line to my hotel was "closed" due to construction. Now, I need to explain that I had studied the Metro map for days before leaving, memorizing my route, receiving detailed instructions on how to get around from my parents. I was ready. My first line, I get on my train as planned and exit where I need to. At this point was anxiety is not too severe since I made it past the first test. But, and this is a BIG but, when I go to get on the next train, I look up at the information that each train car has ... and I notice that Line 8 has a lovely little X through it ... yes, my thought is very honest here so excuse my language ... "what the fuck" -- I promise to avoid such language in the future but my blog has to be honest and that is what I said. All those hours of studying, of gaining confidence, gone with an X. So I paused, for quite a bit, I'm certain. And I took out the handy, but rather small Metro map that my mom had printed for me, and I had to go to Plan B. I honestly wanted to just give up and take a taxi, but I didn't and that was the best decision I could have made ... my thought then, "You go, Krista ... seize the day." I did ... what an accomplishment for a woman who is claustrophobic and a little afraid of subways!

So once I found my hotel, I was set to see Paris, starting with the Rodin Museum, the one museum I wanted to see: The Thinker, The Kiss, The Gates of Hell ... this is where the story takes on another tragic, but comical twist. I arrive, wait for 30 minutes in line, and when I go to pay with my new credit card, the company I had contacted before I left to tell them I would be traveling to Europe,it is declined, not because of my credit, but because of a fraud alert. [insert reactionary line from above here]. No problem ... I have 300 dollars in my purse ...no, wait, it's American bills, not Euros. In fact, I only have enough Euros to take a bus or Metro, not to pay for the museum, or worse, not to eat. Feel free to imagine the panic I momentarily feel at this time, the overwhelming since of being an Americanin Paris with no means to do anything. (I did have crackers and some nuts in my backpack, so I wouldn't starve.) Once calmed, I knew I had to simply find a place to exchange my money, an easy task in The Netherlands, but it was Sunday, a holiday in Paris, etc. so such is not the case in Paris.

The Arrival

My friends, I have arrived. Au revoir, for now. I must go live ...

The Train to Paris in Real Time

Imagine, again, the train ride in French Kiss if you have seen the movie. I am living that fantasy, minus the male companion of course, but I am writing this blog from the train, still in awe. I'm here. This is yet another reason why I work those extra classes .. to have a dream come true. As I observe the countryside, I wonder if I will know when we enter France ... I hope I do.

Because I had the opportunity to ride first class(and why not), I enjoyed a breakfast consisting of the delicate delights of prosciutto and a slice of cheese, accompanied by fruit, papaya and pear, with a croissant and strawberry jam. Coffee, juice, and Perrier finished the morning meal. What a gorgeous start of the day.

Although we have made a few stops along the way, Rotterdam, Antwerp,and Schipol, the quiet ride has been peaceful, my constant focus on this adventure. So close ...

Here's an honest moment, a truth ... this is the longest time span with no tears. I survived the year, again, one of the most painful of my life. I can say, with all sincerity, that this
past August is just a faint memory, a time that helped me push me here, never forgotten but forgiven. The losses of Jim and Beth and Homer -- reminders to live and love and laugh! And I am!

Time for a little chuckle. In case you think that using the restroom on an airplane is challenging, try a moving train that was... and it only took me 5 minutes to figure out how to flush! Dork is the word that comes to mine.

We just passed Brussels. I found it interesting how many passengers exited. While waiting, I made friends with the couple next to me on the train, a young couple experiencing Paris for the first time too. I let them borrow my map; great conversation. Ironically, I am the one helping them ... oh my! For you young people, start saving now ... it is a must.

Oh my, a mid morning snack just arrived. I'm not even hungry but could I pass up free food, smoked ham wrap, orange slices, and ... yes, I admit, a glass of Chateau Courac from Cotes du Rhone, a Syrah-Grenache ...yum! What can I say, a free glass of wine. Why would I not? And may I add ... I am not the only one enjoying a select beverage.

Did I mention real silverware? Glassware for my wine? The sun is shining, the scenic view of France showing me the its fields and its small towns or villages, its subtle charm already.

Paris Eve

This is my first attempt to blog from an IPad, so forgive my errors ...

Since I last blogged I have been to Haarlem, the home of Corrie ten Boom, a courageous woman who helped hide many Jewish people during WWII, and the story behind the book The Hiding Place. Although it rained while I was there, the town had it's unique charm and history that I enjoyed. But thanks to my mom, who recommended a beach excursion from Haarlem, I took the train to the coast and the sun followed. Zandvoort Beach is on the west coast of the Netherlands, so while standing in the North Sea, I imagined seeing England, creating my own stories. The water was cold, but I still walked in with my arms stretched, yelling into the open air (what I said will remain with me). Then I wrote a little note in the sand, a photo I would love to share, but I'm still unable to download pics, so it will be in another blog. Just know it made smile. I then enjoyed the sun, the cool breeze, the view of the ocean with a glass of 2009 La Baume Syrah Rose, and my journal ... at peace.

Simply in Awe

The Netherlands:  a beautiful region with kind people and so many stories to be told.  My ramblings will be in snipets as my mind continues to process all that I am experiencing . . .

I am definitely drawn to the churches here, the architecture, the history, the beauty.  Yesterday, Sara and I spent a great deal of time at the St. John's Church at Gouda, a church dedicated to John the Baptist, the patron saint of Gouda.  It the longest church of the Netherlands, and it's home to 64 magnificent stained glass windows, all which tell a piece of history.  As we walked around the museum within this church, we were able to see the stories being told in each, stories of the birth of John the Baptist and Jesus, to the beheading of John.   Oh course, I found it tragically ironic to see several scenes of battle and death as the history unfolded in the windows; but Sara and I both were drawn to the image of the dog that appears in so many of the windows.  Since we couldn't read the Dutch language, we finally received the answer to our question:  why is a dog, often lying at the feet of a person, in so many pictures?  Answer:  dogs symbolize faithfulness.  Oh course they do . . .

Beneath our feet in the floor of the church, we realized that we were walking on tombstones.  Yes, people were buried in the church . . . . we both paused a bit on that fact.  Another fact I must share:  the windows of Jesus and the 12 Apostles were taken out and placed in safe keeping during WWII,  and one window is referred to as the Liberation window (interestingly titled: Jesus and the women taken into adultery).  I love history.

The beauty of the rest of the town can be seen later in my pictures.  Of course, I haven't been able to download yet, but I will upon my return.  Two of my favorite pictures will be of Sara standing with a large statue of french fries dripping in mayo.  Yes, I discovered that the Dutch love this treat.  It is pretty darn good.  The other picture is of our beverages of choice: I had a Brugse Zot (a blonde bier), Sara, a dark Kasteel, and 11% alcohol . . .  ) *smirk*

Of course, surrounded by cheese was fun.  The rounds of cheese hang across the streets, in the windows, etc . . . and we found our way to every cheese shop available, trying as many as possible.  Over 15.  Yummy!  I purchases two from the street market, which I used for the evening meal I cook for my hosts, and the other . . . well, Sara, after her 11% beverage, left the pepper cheese on the floor of Goud, the restaurant.  Ok, I need to stop teasing her about that . . .

A special treat that evening, I experienced live Jazz.  The irony, the singer, Lynn Hilton, is from Chicago.  Once we made the connection, she enjoyed using Indiana in a few lines of songs pointing to her "neighbors" -- yes, I was called out in a bar.  Hmmm, lots to chuckle about there . . .

So much more to share.  I'll return soon. . .  I must go live a little more right now . . .

Peace!

Amsterdam: The Adventure Begins . . .

I made it.  After a decent flight, I am here and already experiencing the life in the Netherlands, although I didn't sleep a bit on the plane, so if I do the math correctly (oh, wait, I shouldn't even try), I've been awake a long time.  But my excitement is enough to keep me going.

A brief comment about the flight:  I loved that I was surrounded by people who returning to their homes in the Netherlands, so I found myself just listening to their conversations, just trying to make out anything I could.  And my seat mate was a delightful older woman from Holland who spoke very little English, but when we were flying in, she was telling me all about the views from the plane.  Nice.

Once here, Sara and I decided it best that I not take a nap and just take in the area; we ventured to Utrecht, a university city with such charm.   First up, we had lunch at Oudaen, a local restaurant that brews its own beers and sits quietly by one of the many canals, having its own bit of historical significance.   Sara opted for the Bock while I tried the Wheat . . . nice choice.  We split a Carpaccio sandwich on Ciabatta bread, layered with parmesan cheese, capers, pine nuts, onions, and a truffle mayo.  With that we split the "Mature" Cheese and Mustard appetizer.  Yes, I pointed out mature, simply because we both chuckled at the name.  Perfect combination.  We could have stayed just to people-watch, but we opted for an adventure . . .

Now, may I add that, again, I'm going on very little sleep and a bit of a long plane ride.  But what the hell . . . why rest.  We choose to climb a beautiful  Catholic Cathedral in Utrecht, one of the oldest and definitely the highest church tower in the Netherlands.  Magnificent!  It's beauty can't be described here.  I will add pictures in the future . . .  Each step was made of stone, the walls, brick.  The vaulted ceilings were hauntingly beautiful, and on each level we stopped, the guide shared the history behind the artifacts.  I couldn't help by imagine the many lives, the many ghosts, the many stories that were surrounding me at that time, the organs, the belfry, the bells, the gargoyles, etc.  But let me pause here again.  Did I mention that there are 465 steps?  Did I mention that these steps are all in a spiral formation?  Did I mention that two people could not be on a step at the same time, making the staircase and the steps very, very, very small?  Now, picture these spiral steps following along the dust-covered brick walls and being unable to see the next landing point.  (Mom -- picture Nanny's basement but much more frightening . . .)  Oh, did I mention that I'm claustrophobic?)  But I did it.  Every step.  Every fear.  Thankfully I did . . . the view from the top (367 feet high) . . . breathtaking.  (Again, pictures will be coming).  I could see all of Utrecht and beyond: the canals, the people, the roof tops, etc.  (I didn't realize that Sara had a fear of heights, so we both faced our fears.)

So, not too bad for day one . . . and I'm still going to dinner this evening.  What a wonderful life  . . .   I am blessed!

The Packing: The Panicking

I leave tomorrow at noon, yet I have felt the anxiety for days -- all worth it, of course.  Now if I can just organize my thoughts to share with you the panic-feeling, I may actually finish this blog.  (Note:  I didn’t know how to continue a draft, so I posted it, copied/pasted it, and deleted.)  A bit frustrating, but it’s a learning experience.  And I know my friends will forgive my errors . . .

My biggest fear is the obvious, but I hate to say it, but what is this blog for but to be honest (and I could use 'but' one more time I'm certain).  The take-off and not making it to the destination.  There . . . I said it.  And with no companion by my side, at least one I know, whose hand will I hold if I have a bit of panic consume me?  Sure, I could hope for a handsome gentleman, or at least one who would tolerate my silliness (think French Kiss -- oh I love that movie), but I won't be counting on that scenario. 

Speaking of companion, what a long flight with a complete stranger next to me. Images rummage through my mind . . . it could go many different ways.  I may have to bury my head in my Kindle for most of the trip.  Or maybe not, the "bright side" hope.

And I had to count my Celexa, double check my Xanax; need I say more . . .

May I add, I hate technology.  Yes, I love what it gives me, music, connections, but when I don't know how to use it, I hate it!  All I wanted was to add Mumford and Sons and Strand of Oaks to listen to, but I couldn’t complete the download.  Two hours later, I gave up.  (My patience when I’m anxious is rather crappy, so I had to walk away, still angry that I couldn’t figure it out.)  Thankfully dear friend Katie loaned me an Ipod, so I do have music, and my mother is loaning me her Ipad, so I have a connection to the world, if I need it.   

On a positive note, I officially have my ticket to Amsterdam.  I printed it, a beautiful object to be able to hold. In approximately 10 hours I will be on the plane . . . taking many deep breaths.

It’s now 9:30 p.m. Monday evening.  I shall put this to rest.  I’m not proud of the writing, but it’s honest.  Anxiety-ridden rambling . . .  {big smile}

Here's to tomorrow.  This, a gift from a dear friend, is what will help me relax:

Embracing My Madness

I didn't sleep well last night, the snipets of chaos invading my mind. Yes, my excitement and my anxiety for my upcoming trip to Europe has my mind in over-drive, of sorts.  I woke up thinking "everything is connected"; that seemed to be the theme of the night's dreaming.  Isn't that obvious?  Now if only I could write a poem, creating images to match my own . . . or at least a few blogs . . .

These are the times I'm envious (minus the tragic outcomes) of Virginia Woolf and Sylvia Plath and their ability to express their 'madness':  (Yes, there are levels of madness, and yes, I am linking to Wikipedia as a starting point.  As I explain to my students, scroll down for the References and Bibliography for more potentially academic resources.)

"All extremes of feeling are allied with madness" (Woolf). 

"I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart:  I am, I am, I am" (Plath).

"The beauty of the world . . . has two edges, one of laughter, one of anquish, cutting the heart asunder" (Woolf).

"The silence depressed me. It was the silence of silence.  It was my own silence" (Plath).

"A light here required a shadow there" (Woolf). -- Krista is drawn to shadow imagery in literature.

Only Virginia could create such profound thinking by staring at a mark on the wall or a dead moth -- my students just shake their heads -- but I understand those moments -- and I just shake my head.  But I am forever thankful that their words were written and published, so that others may gain strength, knowing that madness is not to be feared or hidden, but embraced and shared.

So I find myself quoting them, to avoid disappointing myself with my lack of words.  I have written poetry, some decent, I think; tragically, however, much of it lost due to technology and faith (long story).  So for now I'll blog, just ramble . . .

Speaking of madness, my obsessions, I am overjoyed to see that two of my favorites from different genres are coming together:  Mumford and Sons (music) and Wuthering Heights (literature).

http://www.wordandfilm.com/2011/05/new-wuthering-heights-adaptation-scores-a-fall-release-and-songs-by-mumford-sons/

Some things just make sense.  And may I add that Heathcliff, a character of madness, was my first literary love.  I see a need to re-read . . .

My Gardening

This always makes me happy:  just made my first Caprese salad this summer with my basil.  It will only be better with my own tomatoes. With all of the rain, at least my herbs and peppers plants are thriving.  Who needs to plant flowers; I just simply stare of this:

The Truth Behind the Photo

It begins with a new hair style.  I add this to be honest about one of my biggest challenges: I hate to have my picture taken. (I haven't always felt this way.)  In recent years, all I see are the wrinkles, the aging eyes (a hereditary trait out of my control), the roundness of my face that seems to have taken on a life of its own, and, as many women know, the look-at-my-hair reality.  Sadly, I also see the stress, the tinge of unhappiness, the insecurity ...

But that is about to change. (Remember my title.)  So I give you the new Krista.   I do think the top I'm wearing might be considered Parisan style, or at least I can hope.  I added the long bangs in hopes of hiding the slight bald spots along my temples that appear everytime I experience a great deal of stress. (It's ok to giggle a bit ... I do.)  And I have to chuckle, knowing that I will never be able to style my hair quite this nicely on my own, but at least I have a picture to remind me ...

Is is a bit ironic that my Lightbox appears in the background?

Europe awaits ...

Why Blog?

So why did I decide to enter this endeavor in the first place?  I like to talk, to share, to converse with others.   But as so many may understand, sometimes we are kept silent, made silent, by experiences.  (I will be deliberately vague at this point in my thinking.) We know we should "talk about our feelings" to be healthy individuals, but do we?  Not always.  So this woman is choosing to revive, or if you prefer, reinvent, herself after struggling with some silence.  Thus, the deliberate reference to Reviving Ophelia  (a book exploring the struggles of young girls by Mary Pipher) and Hamlet's Ophelia, I give you this: 

http://faculty.pittstate.edu/~knichols/ophelia.html

I then discovered three amazing bloggers who inspired me.  (See my profile to follow them).  Debi (my dear friend) survived breast cancer.  Isabelle loves to cook (as do I).  Danielle (Dizzy Swallows) shared this on her blog about Strand of Oaks (one of my new favorite singer/songwriters):  "Tim introduced himself as an ex-second grade teacher and bus driver who would educate his students with music by Sigur Rós and Mogwai on the way to school. Respect. He then proceeded to drop several J.R.R. Tolkien references. Needless to say, it was love. Sweet nerdy love " (http://dizzyswallo.ws/musings/strand-of-oaks).  Oh my . . .

Yes, I enjoy the use of the ellipsis and parentheses!

Inspired, I knew I could start my blog by sharing my experiences about my adventure this summer.  Amsterdam, Paris, and Athens -- a perfect springboard --  a two-week adventure I am taking alone to heal after one of the most difficult years of my life, truly, including several deaths near to my heart (again), a painful break-up (again), and another challenging year professionally (again).  And I hate to fly; I fear it.  But . . .

So here I am, willing to share my experience along the path of revival . . . deep breath, Krista . . .