The first time I went to Europe I was engaged to be married.  I was touring Italy, studying on an Art History trip and Venice was a stopping point along the way – a place to explore more museums and paintings and architecture.  Had I been prepared for the ache that would settle in my inner arena for being in the most romantic city in Europe (as I found myself without the man I loved) I might have planned for him to meet me there.  But something about the stillness of solitude before the great leap and the assurance that his unconditional love had really come into my life gave me a calm. That love was happening right then and there.  And that connection to him made everything I saw in those moments as romantic as if he had been there. The ache would have been the same. Venice gives you this longing.  It is a painter’s city.  An artist cannot help but love being in love here. From Piazza San Marco to the Rialto bridge, textures and light are all orchestrating a grand chiaroscuro that you only have to open your eyes to be a part of.  The shimmering canals and the sea fresh skies are the cymbal crashes in the song that you never want to stop listening to, but you leave knowing that you can only come back on one condition – that you come back with him next time.

Going to Venice without your fiance doesn’t break your wild romantic heart, it assures your strength in being there alone and surrounded by people other than him without being completely swallowed by the events to come and the city that is far more beautiful than you.

This trip being before the time digital cameras were introduced, photographs were counted very carefully as every frame needed to be taken with the greatest thought. Still, I wish I hadn’t been so frugal with my pictures because my memories have faded so much since then.  In this one, I remember clearly… I was thinking of him.

So just don’t click the link if you haven’t yet seen or read the book, but I pretty much agree with this review of Eat, Pray, Love and knew it would be so when I bought tickets – but c’mon, who doesn’t want an excuse to escape the hot summer temps on girl’s night out to vicariously travel through gorgeous shots of Indonesia, India and Italy?  I went with a friend who has a reverence for wanderlust and adventure like I do, assuming that she must have adored the book like everyone else.  Before the lights dimmed, I gathered the guts to admit something… at the height of the book’s popularity I started to read it too but just couldn’t finish it. It fell so flat for me, as someone who was in the middle of living my own adventure outside of the states at the time, I didn’t connect with Gilbert’s way of searching and spirituality.  And because of the book’s utter success I felt my opinion would come across misunderstood, smug even, if I were to actually admit this to anyone.  But then a funny thing happened. She told me she couldn’t finish it either! Kindred spirits I tell you…they don’t come by everyday.

PS, didn’t you love Ketut? And Javier Bardem combined with Bebel Gilberto’s “Samba da Benção” wasn’t too bad either.  Bebel has gotten me through many rainy nights through the years.  (Let me make you a mix tape. No Air Supply and Phil Collins included. Lyrics after the jump.)

Samba da Benção

E melhor ser alegre que ser triste
Alegria e a melhor coisa que existe
E assim como a luz no coracao
Mas pra fazer um samba com beleza
E preciso um bocado de tristeza
Senao nao se faz um samba nao

Fazer samba nao e contar piada
E quem faz samba assim nao e de nada
O bom samba e uma forma de oracao
Porque o samba e a tristeza que balanca
E a tristeza tem sempre uma esperanca
De um dia nao ser mais triste nao

Poe um pouco de amor numa cadencia
E vai ver que ninguem no mundo vence
A beleza que tem um samba nao
Porque o samba nasceu la na Bahia
E se hoje ele e branco na poesia
Ele e negro demais no coracao

Samba Of The Blessing

It’s better to be happy than sad
Happiness is the best thing there is
It is like a light in the heart
But to make a samba with beauty
It’s needed a bit of sadness
If not the samba can’t be made

To make a samba is not like telling a joke
And who makes samba like this is worth nothing
The good samba is a kind of prayer
Because samba is the sadness that sways
And sadness is always hopeful
Of one day not being sad any more

Put a little love in the cadence
And you’ll see that in this world nobody wins
The beauty that a samba have
Because samba was born in Bahia
And if today it is white in it’s poetry
It is very black in it’s heart.

Lavender Festival – We had the chance to go to with someone I’ve been wanting to get to know better.  She may be petite in physical size, but if we walked in this world our spiritual stature instead, we would not have to ride the ferry and lengthy car ride to see the lavender fields – our two families could have rode on Bethany’s back instead, for she would only need to take two steps from the water that separates city and the country and we would be there.

I have been in this lady’s presence when she has been called to help others and she has stunned and humbled me with her enormous spirit.  Sometimes you never know who you are with.  I love this about people and I believe that everyone has something that will surprise me in them.  Everyone has something to teach me.  Sometimes, I struggle with how long it takes for others to reveal their surprise to me.  Sometimes, they aren’t as willing.  (Bethany is one of those whose readiness has always been accessible to all, she is a leader of the women in our church, and does this service of her time without any pay or without asking for anything in return!) She does many things –  I have seen her down the halls at our church when she didn’t know I was watching: holding an obviously poor woman’s hand like a child, maybe someone she has just met.  She has given hundreds of hugs, perhaps thousands.  She is very giving of her knowledge and experiences, especially those things that most people would be too prideful to share with others, but in her wisdom, she shares anyway – knowing it would benefit others.

Perhaps the greatest moment for me with Bethany came when I couldn’t find someone to accompany me to visit a woman who was new to our church, but who had some extreme obstacles in her life and needed some company one night.  I called a few people, and then I found that Bethany was willing to come with me.  I admit I was more cautious when we entered her home the first time, it wasn’t in the safest side of the city and it shocking how sad this woman had to live in such an environment.  But Bethany didn’t have the same reserves.  She didn’t notice the cracks on the walls or the stains on the bed where we were invited to sit and she held onto this woman’s arms, hugged her, and told her profound things to warm her heart through her tears.  I left that night knowing the surprise that Bethany had for me.

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This weekend I realized that I made a grave mistake about someone who I had misjudged.  Maybe this person does not even know, but in my awfulness, I’m swimming in the bittersweet joy of forgiveness.  I’ve realized that so many times, we do not know the whole story about people.  This past year, I have experienced how it is to be on the other side of being wrongly judged more than I ever care to know in life.  It’s been a struggle to feel misjudged and not know why, yet to carry on.  How hard it is when this barriers come into our lives!  I’m not perfect, but I’m always trying to make an effort not to make an arrival at who people are before I truly “see” them, because I know that I will love them if I just take the time, and I’m hoping that goes the other way too. :)

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully around with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket—safe, dark, motionless, airless—it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.” C.S. Lewis

“He always carried a camera around his neck.”

“He liked to take photos?”

“Just for the act of documenting what was happening to him, who he shared moments with. You know, as if interactions with people were rare and out of the ordinary.”

♥♥♥

Isn’t this short film gorgeous? Friday night is movie night for Mars and I – he’s currently in the other room, humming little Eli to sleep, and as soon as that’s done, we’re onto our cozy date on the couch.  We are big film fanatics and can’t watch one without pairing it with some dessert.  Tonight the weather has cooled a bit, so I’m bringing out some hot cocoa and blueberry almond biscotti to dunk in some dutch style hot cocoa, leftovers that I brought to an outdoor concert with my family.

Happy weekend.

I hope that my grandpa doesn’t mind me sharing with you some of his extraordinary photographs.  He was one of the exceedingly blessed ones who survived the horrors of WWII and lived to tell great stories of the men and noble leaders around him who led us to victory. (All photos were taken in the summer of 1945.) Isn’t he handsome?