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I’ve been mooned by a turkey!

In all innocence, I asked him if he knew that Thanksgiving was coming. I didn’t mean to ruffle his feathers, but when I saw the “end” result, I was secretly happy!

Not wanting to say anything further that might stick in his craw, I went inside to think about Thanksgiving dinner. When suddenly it came to me!

No! Wait! Come back! Don’t you have a sense of humor? I don’t mean YOU!

What I really want for Thanksgiving dinner is to share it with Mike’s beautiful daughter, Elise, and her precious children.

Beautiful Elise & Precious (But Silly!) Children

Elise came to see me from Minnesota last year. She didn’t say so, but she thought I was dying. I didn’t say so, but I thought I was dying, too. She wrapped me in her love as tenderly as a mother wraps her newborn in soft bunting. I let her!

Now she’s coming again. We will share this day of Thanksgiving.  We won’t say so, but we’ll both be glad that I’m not ready to die. She’ll wrap me in her love, and I will let her. I’ll wrap her in mine, and she will let me. Sweet!

May your day be stuffed with sweet love and letting!

And may a turkey one day moon you!

I couldn’t contain myself! I water-colored yesterday. The sky was blue, the air was warm, the reds, yellows and greens were on the trees and life was sweet. Oh sure, I could have stayed home to tackle the laundry that is on the verge of crossing the end zone without me. I could have answered the mail that hasn’t seen the light of day for months. I could have transplanted a houseplant that has grown too big for its britches. I could have written.

I love doing all these things, but did I?

Nooooo!

I did what I couldn’t–and that was to contain myself.

I called my friend Karen, who couldn’t contain herself either. We found a granddaddy tree, set up our portable studios and PAINTED!

My new mantra yesterday turned out to be, “Oh, my God, this feels good!”

My tail was waggin’ and my nose was wet!

As we painted, a sudden movement caught my eye. I glanced up to see a young lady walk by on the sidewalk. She was pushing a gray-haired woman in a wheelchair. The seated woman held her stuffed bunny close to her chest in her left hand. With her right she waved to the world with fervor, unashamed of the pure joy she felt. For an instant, our eyes locked. While there didn’t appear to be any reasoning ability in hers, I knew she didn’t need to understand joy–she was joy! She simply could not contain it!

My smile and wave matched hers.

“Oh, my God, this feels good!”

Cat & Dog

Halloween was fun this year.

I dressed up as a cat.

Lily dressed as a dog.

Oh, sure, my costume looked more realistic than hers. But that’s because I spent more time on mine.

Frankly,  Lily’s looked like she just threw it on and ran out the door. For some reason, hike days do that to her!

Halloween does that to me, too. 

Thank goodness my husband has a playful spirit!

Himself & Cat

He came dressed as Himself.

He mumbled something about the Secret Word being “mouse.”

Who knew!

(For you youngsters who don’t understand the reference, call up Groucho Marx on U-tube; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MXQwXZ0loLo&feature=related)

I was too busy watching the salmon spawn in Clear Creek.

Our friend Tim was too busy wishing he had dressed for the occasion.

So, he did.

We rubbed cheek to cheek, nose to nose, and Voila!  Cat Tas-ro-phe appeared!

Now, I’m not saying anything went wrong. Everything went purr-fectly!

Our group hiked, laughed, inspired each other (thank you, Janice!), and bonded out there in those woods.

That’s what Mother Nature does to those who gather to appreciate Her good looks.

Besides, it doesn’t matter how we’re acting, what we’re saying, or what mask we’re wearing.

Mother Nature always reflects back to us who we truly are–even on Halloween!  

MEOW!

My sister Joan has earned a special place in God’s Garden.

If you take a look at hers, perhaps you’ll understand why.

It’s not her winter hibiscus, which is certainly worthy of consideration.

It’s not her tender-loving care, which buzzes as naturally as the bees.

It’s not the beauty of her garden, which does not compare to hers!

It’s not the furred and feathered friends she grows in her garden.

Rather, it’s her love.

Love deep enough that she spent years loving a lonely friend before helping her transition from this earth.

Love deep enough that she spent months in North Carolina helping to nurse her only daughter’s way-too-young husband through his tortuous demise from a brain tumor.

Love deep enough that she nursed her beloved husband of fifty years through a death that slowly stifled the air in his lungs.

Love deep enough that she cared for her mother every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every month for the last few dementia-ridden years of her “Mother, Dear’s” life.

Love deep enough that last year she offered to give me the ultimate gift–her life.

For she didn’t know that I could live without my pancreas.  But she did know that mine might have to come out on August 2, 2011. On that fateful day, when my surgeon, Dr. Hassoun, would open my body to see if anything could be done to save my life, Joan would do what she could to save me.

I looked into her soft blue-green eyes and felt the tears well up in mine. My God!

Now you see why God has a special place for my sister Joan in his Garden.

And now I see that God has planted His Garden on Earth–in Joan’s heart.

“In a time of deaths and dying and shriekings of change, it may be good in all this noise to come upon the wonder of a still moment, to catch the glimpse of an occasional pool reflecting an eternal sky, and give one’s self over for a time to poets, thinkers and lovers who in the midst of death still listen for the voice of life.”–Whit Burnett.

This excerpt from the forward to The Seas of God: Great Stories of the Human Spirit, a 1944 book of short stories edited by Whit Burnett, illuminates what I try to say in every post.

I’m particularly reminded today of how sweet life is, as tomorrow I travel to San Francisco for my four month cancer check-up, or what I like to consider my cancer-free check-up. I am to have repeat CAT scans and blood tests every 4 months for three years. Each appointment reminds me of how serious my ordeal remains.

It feels as if I’m living my life in four-month segments. For the months after an “all clear” pronouncement, I live with childlike abandon.

Immediately preceding my next check-up, I trade in my innocence for the deeper knowing that my world may once again shatter in one brief moment.

By the time you read this, Dr. Baron will have told me the results. But I don’t know the verdict now, as I’m writing this post.

No matter what the tests say, however, I hope to forever “come upon the wonder of a still moment.”

How about you? What are the times in your precious life that allow you to give yourself over for a time to poets, thinkers and lovers?

Thunderstorms are common and dangerous in the Alps, even in August and September.  Therefore, we planned each of our backpacking trips according to the weather.  If thunderstorms were forecast in four days, we packed for three.  In three days, we went for two.  At first I thought this might detract from our experience, as a few weeks earlier Mike and I had packed into the Trinity Alps for six days, still wanting more.  But these shorter trips enhanced our time in the Swiss Alps.  For each time, we trekked someplace new.

Like the time Dave and Lieve took us on a trail that gets used by approximately six people a year.  I wanted to see edelweiss.  Wouldn’t you?  Since so many people have picked it over the years, the beloved flower has become rare, consequently difficult to find. Add to that the fact that it blooms for only one to two weeks a year, and only in sheltered areas at high elevation.  What are the chances?  If you’re with someone who knows and loves plants and the Alps as much as Lieve and Dave, the chances are pretty high.  So is the edelweiss, which is where we finally found the shy white creatures.

The edelweiss surprised me.  I had expected tiny, snowy white, delicate blossoms.  Instead, they bloom as large as silver dollars, and contain the smallest hint of jade green mixed in the white. Tears of gratitude rolled down my cheeks.  Most surprising of all were their thick fuzzy petals.  Touching them was like stroking a treasured furry pet—love at first stroke.  I could imagine a young Swiss lover picking a bouquet to impress his sweetheart.  First, the white flowers, and then the effort he had gone through to pick them, and lastly, his own glow while giving them to her.  Irresistible!

We did promise not to tell anyone where the edelweiss is located, so I can’t tell you.  But I can tell you this was one of my favorite treks, and I hope you find your own edelweiss one day.

I also hope one day you will venture to Switzerland and share my love for the Swiss people and for the Swiss Alps.  Maybe you’ll even meet Lieve and Dave.  That is, if you are on the blue and white trails.  Or swimming in Lake Zurich.  Or walking the streets of Locarno.  Or savoring the things you have, the people you love.  Maybe you’ve met them already.  In your heart. 

But, whatever you do, consider yourself warned.  Switzerland is for lovers.  Lovers of beauty.   Lovers of life.  Lovers of grace.  But why wait.  Grace is closer at hand.  Grace is where you are, who you are.  Grace, forever exploding one’s heart with passion.  Grace, forever exploding.  Grace.  Forever.

What are the things in your life that bring you grace? If you’ve never thought about it, this would be the perfect moment! Don’t wait. Grace awaits YOU right now!

A special thanks to Veronique Gray @ www.veroshappytravels.com for the use of her edelweiss photo. Mine was so secret, I thought I’d better not share it. 🙂

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I had no idea the day I wrote the following excerpt about my Switzerland trip that I could ever learn to live more fully. I figured I was doing a pretty dang good job as it was. I was wrong.

Early last year I was diagnosed with advanced pancreatic cancer and was told at one point that I had 3 to 4 months left to live. Before then, I loved living the ordinary day–fully.  After having survived cancer, however, I now love being able to HAVE an ordinary day to live fully. Sounds like a minor change, but for me, it’s BIG.

Even so, I still believe what I wrote in 2009 about living a full life. For you see, an ordinary day to me does not depend on where I am or what I’m doing. Every day is ordinary!

If one ever needs to learn how to live life more fully, go to Italy.  Go where the Italians look you in the eye, twinkle to twinkle, wordlessly teasing, daring you to play.  That’s what we did the days we started our backpack trip in the Swiss Alps, crossed into the Italian Alps, and came out into colorful Italy. 

Italian Alps Via Swiss Alps

Centuries-old stucco buildings faded to pastel greens, golds, and reddish oranges with terra-cotta tiled roofs.  Bright red and pink geraniums grow from window boxes lining shops and inns nestled end to end along the narrow cobblestone streets.  Amber ales and sparkling orangeades sitting on outdoor café tables glowed rich and alluring as the midday sun shone through the glasses and bottles.

Santa Maria Maggorie, Italy

Amber Ales and Sparkling Orangeades!

But the people were the most colorful of all.  Hands waving, everyone, young and old, talking at once, the Italians know how to live.

Is it any wonder how many of the world’s great artists have come from Italy:  artists such as Michelangelo, who have breathed life into flat canvases, stucco ceilings and marble statues?  And cooks, Italian cooks found in everyday homes who breathe life into their meals.  Meals that nourish the body, life that nourishes the soul. 

Mike and I found ourselves returning three times to the quaint village of Santa Maria Maggorie.  I think we will go back to Italy one day—especially if we ever need to learn to live life more fully.

La Dolce Vita!

Mike and I are in Switzerland right now, or who knows, maybe Santa Maria Maggorie. We are living the sweet life. Or, as they would say in Italy, “La Dolce Vita!”

I hope you’re living the Sweet Life today, too!

My husband Michael’s culinary skills are worthy of contemplating—and consuming.  During our last night in Switzerland, he baked an outrageous Roasted Onion and Gruyere Cheese Focaccia for our friends.

A few days earlier, while in Locarno, the Italian part of Switzerland, with this recipe in mind, he had bought red Italian onions.  Small.  Sweet.  Perfect.  He also bought Swiss-made unpasteurized Gruyere cheese. 

He had made the biga, or starter, the night before, allowing it to rise, bubble and develop a pungent, yeasty smell.  He next wove his magic. 

He kneaded, massaged, smelled, and caressed the dough, gently coaxing it into creation until it was just right, silky as a lover’s face; worthy of serving to his wife and friends.  He then added the perfect, sweet, red onion, Gruyere cheese and thyme sprigs before baking to a golden consummation.  Delicious.  What art! 

But, to see Michael truly revealed, let me tell you the rest of the story.

Three days earlier we had gone to Herr Hans’ bakery.  Herr Hans is Dave and Lieve’s neighbor.  He is a semi-retired baker, working only on Fridays.  

In Switzerland going to a bakery is literally a daily occurrence.  Even on Sundays when all the other shops are closed, they are open.  You can buy freshly baked breads, rolls, tomato strudels, apricot tarts, apple kuchens, petite fours, butter pretzels, yummy fresh baked pretzels cut in half horizontally with slabs of farm-fresh butter sandwiched in between, my personal favorite, and about a thousand other delectable choices. 

I could easily have spent an hour just looking.  Humans must be born with a fresh-baked bread aroma gene.  One whiff and we are in Nirvana.  Beyond passion.  Beyond control.  Consequently, powerless, Mike and I chose a warm Panetone, two types of rolls, butter pretzels, spinach strudels, and chocolate pastries even though what we really needed were two breakfast rolls.

As we held our bulging bags, readying to pay, Mike introduced us to Frau Hans as Dave and Lieve’s American friends.  The American being obvious, our German being what it is—and isn’t.  Mike’s is sketchy, mine non-existent.  Frau Hans and her daughter understood, however, and were delighted to meet us, consequently, refusing to accept our money.

Now, the Swiss are hardworking people.  And money does not go very far in their country of rapidly escalating prices.  And a baker who had to retire because of a heart attack, not to mention a friend of Dave and Lieve’s is someone we want to support. 

Neither of us knew quite what to do.  At first we said we could not accept.  But, having come to know the Swiss as we have through Dave and Lieve, we know them to be loving, generous, welcoming people who share eagerly, unselfishly.  And looking into their happy faces, we acquiesced, not wanting to disappoint them or appear ungrateful.  We were both inflated and deflated at the same time.  What could we do for them?

That evening at Dave and Lieve’s, my generous husband baked another outrageous Roasted Red Onion and Gruyere Cheese Focaccia and took it to the Hanses the next morning as we left for the airport.

Michael baked for the baker.

If you have read my previous Switzerland posts, you are probably asking yourself why on Earth would anyone WANT to sleep on the ground–anywhere! Good question! I don’t WANT to sleep on the ground–anywhere! So you will understand my under-stated joy at finding a clean, comfortable, off-the-ground bed high up in the Alps:

Another time we hiked up a trail in the Swiss Alps consisting of at least a zillion rock stair-steps. 

After several miles we came to a mountain hut.  These huts are run by volunteers, bless ‘em!, who usually devote a week of their vacation to cook and clean for hikers.  While Dave and Lieve wanted to stay in their tent, Mike and I jumped at the chance to take a hot shower and sleep in a bed.  Of course, we used the excuse of saying it would be good for us to experience hut life, not wanting our friends to think we were soft or undisciplined.  They, of course, wholeheartedly agreed, not showing any signs that they thought we might be lacking.  So, stay, we did.  And the next night, too.

During our stay, we took one of the most awesome day hikes ever.  I won’t bother describing the ups and downs, as that is a given, and having arrived at our highest point on the circular route and looking down at the speck that was our two story alpine hut, I wouldn’t want to dissuade you from trying your own hand at hiking the Alps. 

You probably think I mean that figuratively, but, really, there were times I literally used my hands. But that might really dissuade you, so let me say how cool it was to walk over crystal-specked rocks and through oregano ground cover.  Honest.  You think I’m making the oregano part up, but I’m not. 

One might expect oregano in the Italian Alps, but we were in Switzerland.  I couldn’t imagine why I kept smelling spaghetti sauce until I stooped to investigate.  There it was beneath my feet.  Yum!  Guess what I wanted for dinner that night. 

Also along many of the trails were wild strawberries, raspberries, and blueberries, full of the intense flavors of alpine living.  Yum!  Yum!  Or more like a 5-star Yum!  As a not even recovering fruit-a-holic, I gleefully gleaned my way through the Alps.

Thank you again for joining me in The Sweet Life!

While I miss my good ‘ole California fresh fruit at its ripest when I am away, I will happily substitute it for good ‘ole Swiss Alps fresh fruit!

And while I miss my good ‘old California King bed at its softest, I will happily substitute it for a good ‘ole Swiss Alps Mountain Hut bed!

As long as I can’t have what I want, I might as well want what I have!

How about you? What do you have that you want?

Sweet!

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