somepinkflowers

tourist tuesday and the monestir de montserrat

If you popped in here expecting more shots of an Italian town at sea~level, well, I am sorry.

Stay tuned. I do have more of that up my sleeve. Just not now.

Today I am more in the mood for a Spanish Monastery on a mountain~top.

I feel the need to be tall and on top of things.

In the same way an ocean is difficult to photograph, so is a mountain top.

It is all about scale, about contrast and comparison.

If I were to place the world's largest elephant on top of the mountain you see in the photo above, he would be one wee pixel big.

I did not have  the world's largest elephant with me when I went to the top of this Montserrat last year.

I just had me and one of these and one of these.

If you are ever in Barcelona and have the time, you should hop on the bus, then the train that will take you to this monastery.

Do start early in the day because it can take the best part of the morning to get there.

Very seldom does it rain on me when I am out and about in the world so when it does I take it as a sign.

I am to appreciate the washed clean colors and the wet slickness of things.

I am to look up and notice the clouds when I can not see the sun.

Slowly I am learning how to take the wet with the dry, the rain with the sun.

I am learning that I cannot control Every Little Thing even though I do find planning ahead means I arrive when museums are open and not closed. Which can be useful during a once-in-a-life time visitation.

Some days I feel like the gnat on the back of a flea on the back of a sheep perched on my garden wall in my backyard in a small town in northeast Florida which is in the lower south-east corner of the United States on the planet Earth.

Which is to say I feel insignificant.

Other days I do feel on Top of the World. Everything at my feet stretched out waiting for me to explore at my leisure.

Do you ever have times like that? The insignificant times and then the Top of the World times?

When I am feeling insignificant I usually find food helps put me in balance. If you make the effort to work you way to the top of Montserrat, do take the time to lunch in the cafe there.

I highly recommend the canelons d'espinacs and the escalivada.

I know about such things as I am a connoisseur of finely cooked veggies.

When feeling smallish in the world I find taking a self~photo puts me right with my place in the scheme of things.

See! I am here! Doing fine! With yummy food in my tummy! Click, click, click...

On a the sunny beach near my home I bask and know all the secrets in the universe. Answers are right there floating in on each wave.

On a misty mountain~top the fog seeps into my brain and I do wonder, "somepinkflowers, what ever is the purpose of life? "

Last week my cell phone plum died on me. I had not dropped it or anything. 

It just stopped working out of the blue.

I had to go to the Cell Phone Store and buy a new one. Truthfully the same day I went to the dentist and that was more fun.

There are just to many choices these days.

"Just give me that red one with the rebate," I said hurriedly pointing.

If  I lived on a mountain top things would be so much easier.

No cell phones decisions. No television show choices. No dental implants opportunities.

Time would be spent kneeing in prayer and waiting in line to touch the Black Madonna's Holy Orb.

I am not catholic but even my Methodist heart and Presbyterian brain felt her powerful draw.

Standing by the sea speaks to the spiritualism inside me. I am baptized by the ions from the crashing waves. Washed anew and lifted up to all things being possible.

After a morning spent sea~side I know I can go home and clean the attic. That kind of thing.

I very seldom do go home and clean the attic, of course, but I feel I could. If I were so inclinded.

Standing on a mountain~top puts me in a different holy place. As the fog lifts I expect to see the likeness of a Charlton Heston comforting and encouraging me.

"Go forth, somepinkflowers, and do great things! Save the trees and do not let your HOA place satellite dishes in the commons area."

On this mountain pilgrims come to be made whole again.

Many arrive in wheel~chairs and my heart does melt to see them carrying their hope on their blanket~covered laps, wearing their faith like a shawl around their shoulders.

Able tourist come to hike the steep trails and to wait in the long line to touch the Madonna's Holy Orb.

Some come to eat the canelons d'espinacs and the escalivada, then to listen to the choir boys sing.

I am here because I do not want to miss a thing. I want to look up and out and down and out at the world.

More than anything when I was on this mountain I wanted to see a pile of wheel~chairs rusting in the damp air. No longer needed wheel~chairs. Rusting.

I looked around and around but could not find one single wheel~chair rusting.

I ponder a life time spent here.

I wonder would I be happy without my white~sandy beach and my blue-green ocean and my old~white jeep, without my aging computer and my new cell phone and my too expensive cable TV.

I can be so shallow sometimes.  I have my ways and my things and I like to sleep with lots of downy soft pillows. I like my Earl Grey tea. Would my things  make it to this mountain top?

Would I get into the rhythm of  polishing the silver in the chapel, of changing out the spent candles. What would be my job?

Maybe I would be the cook in the restaurant making the canelons d'espinacs and the escalivada.

I just can not see it. Not for me.

After one week I would be wondering about going here or going there. I would want to ride my beach bike across the hot sand on my way for one of these at Jim's Bar-b-Que on A1A.

Montserrat is one of my favorite places in the whole wide world.

I am overwhelmed in the best sort of way by the centuries-old Benedictine monastery perched there in the unusual-looking mountains, by my being a speck of nothing on this huge, rocky place.

My neck hurt so at the end of the day from looking up.

After a while I realized I was not watching fog lift. Those were cloud passing by.

Clouds on their way to water the grapes in the vineyards down in the valley where they make the wine to serve at Holy Communion.

I love how things interconnect like that. I felt all glowy thinking about how the sameness of this place has gone on and on and on.

Ladies from near-by farms make a little spending money. I wonder about their happiness.

I wonder what they know of large elephants and Johnny Depp and cell phones and beach bike and so on.

Maybe I would be surprised to know what they know.

Do you ever feel the conflict of wanting a simpler life but at the same time you do not want to give up all the helpful things that seem to make life easier?

I do not want to be so busy looking down at my cell phone that it to keeps me from looking up and out at the world. I want to see everything.

Don't you?

 

I want a life with a changing view. But, also, I want a nest with my stuff tucked neatly about. A nest I can safely leave and then fly home when I need to touch base, to hunker down and to recharge.

Then I want to fly out again. I want a changing view.

In the sun. Or in a cloud. At sea~level. Or above.

Changing.

somepinkflowers and the mad tea party

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

  

 

  

 

  

  

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

If you do not want to miss a thing, please drop in over here for the Mad Tea Party.

It does not matter what you wear {{ oh no! }} or who you bring with you as long as your imagination comes along for the ride. Hope to see you there but please do leave a comment here, because, well, you never know...

Last year we had such fun and this kind of Madness only happens once a year. OK, well, maybe only once every other month or maybe every week in some places but I cannot speak for everybody...

Isn't life grand!

♥♥♥for Amazing Alice Wonders click here!

♥♥♥for Mad Tea Party Style click here!

♥♥♥for a Teeny Tea Party click here!

sweets on pine street and an invitation, too

I don't know about over there at your house but over here we believe strongly that enchantment is good for the soul.

In the same way I know that biodiversity is good for the pond, I know that logic and magic hold hands and take turns pushing each other on the swing.

I just know it. For a fact. We should all dip our toes into many different oceans.

Or something like that...

About enchantment. I am not saying that unicorns frolic down by the creek but from my front porch everyday I see dogs walking around smiling to beat the band.

Clearly their eyes twinkle, they look at me and they smile. All dogs just know things.

Do not even get me started on the mystical ways of my cat...

I do not have a fairy~godmother but I do have several friends that are sharp with needle and thread and could whip me up a ball gown in the blink of an eye.

If I should need one. Which I do not.

Those that live among us have their super powers and their wondrous ways...

If you have been out and about over here or over here or over here you might have noticed the invitations to Vanessa's Mad Tea Party.

When Vanessa is not sharing her amazing adventures and painting yummy treats, she gives the best parties, I must say!

All sorts of cutie creatures zoom in from miles around.

Why, even her cupcakes will make you swoooon....

Last year at the Mad Tea Party we had the best time visiting each other. Sharing festive tea~time snacks and colorful sweets. Some folks dressed to high heaven and some did not.

Here is the best part---> You are invited. I know. Isn't it wonderful!

Vanessa is an equal~opportunity, come~one, come~all, kind of hostess...

 

Over here on Pine Street we are getting ready for the party.

Mark your calendar, please. The Mad Tea Party is next Saturday and this social event will not be complete without you {{it never is}} so do join us.

I would find it so enchanting if you did...

open letter to the poison ivy living in my yard.

Dear Positively~Annoying~Poison~Ivy~Family,

Hellllu, there! How you doing? Fine I hope.

Fine enough to pack your bags and move the heck out of Dodge, if you get my drift.

Who invited you into this neck of the woods anyway? I do not see you paying any property tax or pushing out any fragrant blossoms for my benefit.

You with your Leaves of 3, don't touch me!

I have tried my best to stay out of your way. God knows I have tried.

I have left you alone down there by the creek with these digging guys and these slithering ones but no you have to spread out...and move on...surrounding my sweet camp~site of a home here.

Give you an inch and you take a yard.

Mine.

Things have gotten so bad I have to watch Every Little Green Growing Thing I touch.

If it were not for these beauties blooming in mid~winter and these ones blooming up a storm right now {and pictured here in this open letter}, I might never even venture outside except to jump on an airplane or head off to the beach.

Why can't you give off some sort of special vibrating glow or maybe a soft buzzing sound when I come near?

"Warning,  somepinkflowers!You are getting warmer, warmer....STOP!" you might say in your most pleasing, polite voice.

That might give me a chance.

That might give me fair warning to avoid your death~ray sap which drives me plum crazy...

Sometimes I see you, sometimes I do not, but always and without fail, if you touch me it ends up costing me a fortune in $$$.

Do you have any idea how much this costs? Or this?

Good grief, not to mention my much needed rest as I scratch all the night long.

And there was that time I had to go to the doctor and get an Rx for this.

Man! You have no idea how bad~trippy that stuff makes me feel.

Or do you?

Look, evil and itchy ones, just tell me A Single Useful Thing about you. Just. One.

I so strongly believe in peaceful coexistence. I do. But the day you sprang up in a potted plant on my front porch was the last straw.

Now I will have to bring in The Big Guns.

You want aggression?

I'll give you aggresion...

I know I look all mild and gentle like a wee flower, but you haven't seen anything yet, buster brown.

The jig is up and I am giving you One Last Warning.

Hit the road, Jack.

Clearly you were not paying attention last summer when I personally relocated 10 tons of these guys with my own gloved hand .

Threw them way across the creek one by one, I did.  That was that...

Let that be a warning to you, Positively~Annoying~Poison~Ivy~Family.

I am no longer Ms. Nice~Nature~Chick when it comes to you anymore.

If there is one thing I know how to do in this world, besides getting out of town, it is getting rid of pests in my garden.

There is room enough for only one of us and you, innocent~looking weed, have got to go.

Have a nice life somewhere else, Poison Ivy Family. Please.

I remain,

Scratching all the while,

somepinkflowers

tourist tuesday and room #2

 

"How did you get here?" I wonder with alarming regularity.

"How did you get to this place? How ever did you make your way to be right here for me to find?"

 

I wonder this about the girl with the Russian accent who works behind the Lancome counter at the department store near my home in St. Augustine.

I wonder this about the new, red~haired bartender who works Thursday nights at Harry's in my little Florida town.

I wonder this about the yellow seashell that washed upon the public beach on Lido, the shell that jumped into my hand and would not be put down.

 

"What ever happened in your life to bring you right here?" I wonder, thinking of all the places that people and things have been before me, of all the places they will go after.

Who touched the brass handle that opened the window of my little room? The chambermaid, well, yes, but before that?

What traveler closed it last and where was she going next?

 

Did she sleep well in this room, that traveler, and then awake every morning around 8:00--Tuesday through Saturday-- as the produce vendor under the window sang a beautiful aria, never missing a note?

Did she watch him gently polish each apple as he sang? Did she notice how carefully he arranged the white asparagus in hay~stack shapes along one row, propping them up just so to balance?

Did she watch his pride and enjoyment of each loving task?

 

I hope she was not the type who wanted to sleep until 9:00. Or 10:00. Or later.

Well, who would in Venice?

If you are out late, you would just stay up to greet the early morning on the Grand Canal. You would watch the boats bring in the freshest of flowers and fish and apples and asparagus.

Then you would go to bed at noon and no amount of singing would bother you one bit.

 

Well, you know me. I do not want to miss a thing.

I would not complain about one aria or even ten.

I am up with the sun. I am up with the song, leaning out the window trying to spy my apple-of-the-day from way up here on the second floor.

After breakfast I stop for my apple, only dreaming of the asparagus, as I am off for my adventure.

By the fourth day my singing~produce~guy packs up a handful of juicy~ripe cherries for me, "No charge."

Now I am spoiled for life. Ruined. Plus the fruit is delicious.

 

I love my room here and know it will always be mine.

Even when I am home, I will own it. Even if I never see it again, in my heart it is mine.

But know this, I would gladly share it with you.

As I share it with you now...

 

Above my bed is the most wondrous of lights. Venetian glass made not far away, most likely.

somepinkflowers of a light~fixture. Beautiful by day, magical by night.

Like they knew I was coming.

 

Who made this light? That it would shine down on my Italian vacation and make me smile with delight.

I stand on top the bed on tip~toes and still can not reach to touch it. I try on more than one occasion but no.

 

Thank goodness for a zoom lens.

 

I wonder too much maybe about people and other little things. Where they are going and where they have been.

Who sat in this chair and rested? Who looked in this mirror and smiled?

 

Of all the magic powers of invisibility and flight, of super~human~strength and amazing~time~travel, what one magic power would I want?

I cannot say for certain but wouldn't it be lovely to have the power to know the stories of things?

How they came to be where they are...

 

How did I possibly know to pack the blue shoes that would sit so nicely my little rug?

I have so many pairs of shoes, in so many colors and these are the ones that fit my temporary home stylishly without discourse. Harmony all around. Go figure.

The glow of the warm walls, warm wood, warm lights overhead.

Who went before and left me goodness, I do not know, but I thank them all.

And how about you?

"How did you get here?" I wonder.

"How did you get to this place? How ever did you make your way to be right here in room #2?"

I am not certain.

But I think it is grand that you did.

tender is the night when you shower the people you love with love

We both had wandered through this world but I never expected to find him here waiting for me.

He never said a word. People just go where they will. And then he turned up here.

From the moment I arrived his eyes haunted me from every corner.

Between the darkness on the street. He watched.

Always patient. Sightly smiling. Apart. Cool.

Doctor, my eyes have seen the years and, yet, he looked just the same.

Alone in this watery city, I felt safe as he stood guard over me like I was somebody's baby. A sentry from my innocent years. My ever-present protector.

For one week I felt his presence as I jumped on a vaporetto here, popped into a basilica there.

His voice sang in my head. My own rock~&~roll Where~is~Waldo as I crossed the island one canal at a time.

Then one day, just like that, he was gone. Maybe he had better things on his mine. Who can really say?

His smooth face no longer keeping me company, his eyes no longer watching. In my heart I felt certain I would see him later anyway ...

But, I was not alone for very long...

By the second week of vacation I had a friend.

So comforting to know, as I ventured miles and miles from home, all I had to do was call out his name and wherever he was, he would come running to see me again.

All I had to do was call...

tourist tuesday and the public beach on lido

Yes, I do know that you are expecting shots of Venezia with colorful masks and extravagant gondolas  floating down narrow canals but guess what.

Surprise! This is not the place today for that.

In fact, I am not so sure I took any photos of colorful Venetian masks at all as they spook me out sometimes. 

I am a what~you~see~is~what~you~get kind of girl and sometimes masks throw me for a loop. 

Mostly masks make me feel a bit uneasy. ( I have control issues, no doubt. )

Anyway, I left you on an island basking in the sun a few weeks ago.

You should be all tan and relaxed from hanging out here near my house. Maybe you caught some fish.

Now I plop you down gently on another island. A segue before canals and such.

I think I told you how much I love a good island--and I do--but what I love more is to collect oceans and seas.

Caribbean, Ligurian, Sea of Okhotsk, Gulf of Mexico. The names roll out of my mouth fat and full of salty mystery and geographic wonder.

I want to see all the seas in the world. I want to stick my toe in each and every one.

I am working on it.

Several times I have shown you my ocean. The one I have played next to all my life thus far.

For the longest time I thought all bodies of water were they same but I am here to tell you they are not. They are not all dressed like my Atlantic.

When I first saw this very flat one I said "No way is that a real sea!" and, of course, I was correct as it was only a gulf which is way different from an ocean.

There were no crashing waves to speak of. You can walk forever before the water flows over your head! More like a flood plain, really, until you get way out there. ( Or unless there is a hurricane brewing but that is another story.  )

Under normal conditions the Gulf of Mexico is not like the pushy and somewhat bossy Atlantic Ocean.

Then I saw the Caribbean so clear and blue and friendly.

"Such a friendly sea," I thought to myself.

Until the day I saw one of these under my john~boat feeding on one of these!

Yikes! With oceans and seas you never know what could be there just under the surface.

When I finally saw this churning ocean I was beside myself with disbelief.

The wave action was so immense and powerful, like the wildest thing in the whole wide world and always moving, never still. Seemingly angry at California, for some reason. Cold and standoffish.

I have respect for that powerful water~body monster , a king among the seas, the president of all the oceans, if they ever take a vote.

I was so sick crossing this rough sea twice that I prayed to die both times but fortunately I did not.

Either time.

I have photographed ugly oil tankers perched on the edge of this Russian sea.

At night I slept in a teeny blue cot under a pile of blankets in an unheated room in a small fishing camp. At night I had to pee in a bucket and in the morning I brushed my teeth with vodka for lack of water.

It wasn't so bad. I do like sleeping next to a sea.

I have hiked high into the lemon~tree~covered mountains by the Ligurian Sea.

Steep, steep trails where Germans walked by me singing songs and laughing like this hike was a piece of cake and all the while I knew one miss step would be all she wrote.

I met a nice old man who shared his drink with me. We sat and smiled and nodded and drank and could not even talk the same language.

It was a good hike near a lovely sea.

Last summer I tried to take photos of the sea near Barcelona but when the beaches are full of naked people I always feel awkward playing with my camera.

Does that ever happen to you?

The thing about oceans and sea is that all the good stuff to see and photograph is either underneath the water or on the edge where the water meets the sand.

So I am giving you the edge of the Adriatic Sea.

Here. Take it. Take this edge and look around.

Now you are wondering where are all the people?

A beautiful day, lovely weather and no folks--naked or otherwise-- sitting on this beach.

What gives?

Oh, here is one...

A tourist like me with a camera. I think he is looking for some informazioni.

So. This is the public beach on the far side of the island Lido off the coast of Venice.

Anyone can come to this beach and rent the little play~houses by the day or week or season.

It was quiet and still the day I visited. Neat and tidy in May.

There are hundreds of these little attached cabanas and I fell in love with them all.

Maybe you have such treasures on your beach but we do not have them on mine. We drive to the beach wearing our swim suits underneath t~shirts and shorts or clandestinely change in the car.

The white and cyan changing rooms on Lido are the best. I want one badly. I want to hang up a damp beach towel to dry in the breeze.

And a pink polka~dot, string bikini to be my national flag waving. As long as I do not have to wear it.

Wouldn't that be fun?

The sand here is not as white as the sand on my beach and the seaweed is different.

That is what I enjoy about the edges of my collected oceans. They are all so different and each is wonderful in its own briny way.

Do you want me to tell you why the public beach is so empty on a warm and sunny day? Why this side of the island is so bare? Why I have the entire thing almost to myself?

Well, I will give you one hint...

Something else was happening on the Other Side of the island.

Can you figure it out?  It was all over the sports page in every newspaper all around the world. ESPN was there. Tons of handsome Italian men were there, too.

And so was I...