of the immigration to Europe

The other night I had a dream which is haunting me.  Haunting me to ask if this is this is just a dream or a possible reality.  The dream was about a website, life vests, and immigrants.

Few photos are as disturbing as the ones we see of the immigrants landing on the Greek shores of Lesbos or the Italian shores in Palermo.

These people so desperate to leave their homes that they risk their lives in rickety boats and flimsy life vests.  The disbelief on their faces when they realize that they made it.  The joy of seeing their children on a new dry land.

The burden is huge and the number that arrive is incredible, overwhelming.  The discussion in the United States about the Mexican American border pales in reality.  Building a wall may be our discussion, but building a way to cope and accommodate is Angela Merkel 's responsibility and compassionate obligation.  Europe struggles to follow her lead and make room for all.

It is also affecting so many other countries.  refugees-and-life-jackets-fill-the-shops is an article from the New York Times reflecting on the life jacket sales in Turkey.  In Lesbos, it is another matter.  

"Since the beginning of the year, the number of refugees and migrants arriving here and on other Greek islands has surged to full-scale humanitarian-crisis levels. Arrivals by sea have surpassed 107,000 through July, according to United Nations figures, eclipsing even the numbers of people reaching Italy. Most of those who arrive on the shores of Lesbos, a popular tourist destination just off the coast of Turkey in the Aegean Sea, are fleeing the wars in Syria and Afghanistan and hoping to head deeper into Western Europe.  In June, 15,254 migrants and refugees arrived on Lesbos, according to the Greek Coast Guard, compared with 921 the same month last year.  But only squalor awaits them here. They arrive in a country that is deep in its own crisis, with an unemployment rate over 25 percent, banks not fully open and its government all but broke."

I have not seen this with my own eyes, but the photos are real, the photographers living in these moments are seeing it for me.

So, back to my dream.  What if, just what if, the life jackets that are so valuable on one side of the water could be valuable on the other side. 

What if we had an organization that was present when the people landed to take the jackets. What if they wrote a name or a phrase on the jacket that said how they felt making it across the water. The statement could be a brief thanks or a prayer or a name.

My dream was that the persons or organization could photograph the jackets. They could include the name of the person or their hands or a trinket or just a saying. The photo could be put on a website that allowed people to "adopt" the jacket before it is retired. The funds for the adoption could pay volunteers, local communities, and the immigrants.

This mess of jackets doesn't have to be the future.  Many people would be grateful to send $5 or $10 on social media to support the cause.  Families everywhere would gladly use their #VISA or #AMEX cards to pay the adoption fee.  Giant corporations like #VISA and #Mastercard could lend their support to the cause.  And somewhere there are brilliant programmers like #Anonymous that would help build a site for the process.  It was just a dream.  I woke up and it felt so real.  I don't know enough about #internationalrelief or #UNHCR or saving people.  I just know that life jackets are just that.  This pile and every other pile has done their job of protecting the person wearing it.

It just seems like we could make something more of it than an abandoned pile of the most risky event ever. It seems we could help Greece and Italy with the job they are doing. There are a plethora of volunteers on the shores that could also use the help. The WSJ article references many volunteers trying to raise money to go to Lesbos and help. They site that volunteers use is for individuals who want funding to go and help. Kickstarter is one. Very admirable.  I even considered this.  I would love to be a solid contributor.  I am not sure I would be.  I am not sure that getting money to go is the best use of the money.

But, I know that people want to connect.  Adopting something, like a life jacket, makes it yours; and even if it is a life jacket from a person, it will be a single person that risked their life that you can relate to on a one to one basis.

I can show you more pictures, but what I really want to know is if my dream is possible. I want to know if people that know me think it is real enough or if it was just a great dream.  I can find the resources, I can't find the hearts.

Let me know your thoughts.
http://www.nytimes.com/2016/05/29/travel/migrant-crisis-lesbos-greece.html?_r=0



and now the NYTs says this: 

of returning to work and things you wish you didn't have to do and not wanting to think about it too soon

The last day in Palermo brings great angst.  Last night, I dreamt of being back at work and having to tell my boss something he might perceive as unpleasant.  It was intermittently interrupted by loud music and this weird electrical sound outside my window.  But I digress.  (turns out the local primary school is outside my window and the wind instruments are playing.)

Today, we toured the Teatro Massimo, the third largest theatre in all of Europe.  To my great disappointment, it was built in honor of Umberto Primo, who has a statute gracing every harbor everywhere,  His statute here is large and prominent, surrounded by arches of the porto and by the sea.  Imagine my surprise to hear that he is displeased by the great theatre built for him.  He says Palermo is nothing and does not deserve such a theatre, and he never sets foot inside.

you truly have to be here to appreciate the immenseness

this is the ceiling and the painting are window that open to increase accoustics

Poor Umberto Primo.  For such a lucky man of war, he was an unlucky man of taste.  But fortunately, Al Capone did step inside.  Godfather III was filmed in the theatre.  In Spite of either of these two, the theatre is amazing.  Stepping inside is incredible and now that I know the King's box is available ( Umberto made it a public affair), I will not hesitate to try and book the best.  We have missed the opera, ballet, and other performing arts all by a day.  Such a poor planner I am.  And there are no last minute stand up seats in these theatres.  No these are for the noble, or at least those who can pay.

And in the boys will always be boys category, there is this duo who find the visual behind them hilarious.  It doesn't matter, 28 or 68, they all still have boyish humor!  Enough said on that!

We take off to see another piazza, not previously explored.  This is the plebicita, the parliament of yore.  The locals call it the "Champs Elysee " of the island. Regardless, it is a fine building with horses charging as if they would leave the building for the drivers. Hooves above your head, with brass green blazing their legs.  Down below, standard breds (or the Italian equivalent) trot through the street with carts behind.  These horses almost blind with blinders (sorry for the horse take on this) and hats, stupid beyond belief.  The traffic booming around, these horse take of trotting forward, and tour buses beside them.  I told my son, I would rather be a French dish.  I apologize for my perspective.  My horses have acreage and only one rider to respond to.  Theses poor guys, must go forth regardless of traffic, weather, or noise.  These horses are fed.  They have shoes, with wooden plates, I might add.  It is just a luxury in the US and not here.

Shopping.  Well, yes the last day should be about shopping.  We leave the piazza and head to the one wine store that I liked.  It turns out not to be a wine store, but a souvenir store.  Matters not, we buy the limoncello for our friends.  We buy balsalmic vinegar for those who don't drink.  We buy candy for those we aren't sure of.  We are thinking of you, not being here with us. And, while I am happy I can buy this for you, next time, I want you to come with me.

the monument for those who died because of the Mafia

science fair in a church of the 10th century

a pope in front of the cathedralle

our view from the deck

our veiw from the patio

I am thankful for Michele, our host.  He was most kind and most helpful.

I miss my husband, glad my daughter came, glad my one son came and thinking Lindsay could have made it, and the rest of you, we just need to decide to go!  Patrick, you live up to your Saint name. Our next destination is only one year away...

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of the #FSU Valencia Tour and the Torres de Serranos

The last days of Patrick's classes were spent going out with his friends and saying good bye to his Valencia apartment mates.  He said it was emotional for some, and I am sure that it is.  Meeting new friends and then saying goodbye... the way life's memories are built.

We woke bright and early, 9:00 a.m. and slowly headed to the laundromat as the washer here is broken.  The landlord graciously left us 20 euros to do the wash.  It only cost us 5, but then we had to add in the cafe and pastry!  Watching the machine go around was not Charles' thing, so he stepped outside to watch traffic and large trucks maneuvering street designed for donkey carts.  He was asked to help stop traffic which he gladly did.  Charles loves to pitch in and help.  Once the round and round halted, we loaded it up in plastic bags and headed to the apartment to dry our clothes Valencia style.  Carefully leaning out, Charles clipped our clothes to the wires on the outside of our third floor window.  His will dry funny as the cuffs are side up.  He hasn't done this in a while!  I proudly observed our colors hanging out as the neighbors' all were displayed as well.  It is our own little flag in the dirt stake in Valencia.

Then, off to meet Patrick at FSU Valencia!  The sign at the door is very small and not noticeable.  The inside proudly displayed one NOLES logo, but I think for the most part it is quite distinct from the Tallahassee campus displays.  It is much more subdued and less in your face.

The building is completely redone, but as it sits ten yards from the Torres de Serranos,  It has old walls (It is considered one of Valencia's most iconic buildings and is one of the best conserved monuments in the city. The Torres de Serranos were built in the 14th century, 1392, by Pere Balaguer. It was the main entrance of the city and it was originally build with a defensive function. From 1586 until 1887 the towers were used as a prison for nobles. thank you wikipedia) and round rock pools where many eons ago, hides were tanned and cloth was bleached.

drainage system for the Torres

I took the photo of my men on the stairs

Manly men shot arrows through the slots.

Charles and the King of Bats

 It is an interesting dynamic to an otherwise very American style student center.  We met the Director of the #FSU program who was very pleasant and gave us some tips on the program.  We toured the facility, then off to the Torres (tower) and a walk through the area to see the sights and have a menu de dia (quite a big lunch).

Patrick walked us to the center of his local Plaza, the Plaza of the Virgin,  The Basilica and the Cathedral were both beautiful.  I only took photos of the outside as I find it discomforting to photograph the inside.  There are many photos on line I am sure.

We then walked back to his apartment, picked up his things and headed back to our abode.  With promises of a bus ride to the beach, I relented and let them take a siesta.  Two hours later, I walked to the store alone, afraid darkness would impede even that effort.  The men were still asleep when I returned.  Charles woke up in time to take me to get a glass of wine and a loaf of bread for dinner and then we returned.

I cooked the local crops, using the eggplant, parsley, onion, garlic, and tomatoes of the market.  We had prawns ( not plums) from the pescado mercado, and then the mushrooms sauteed with garlic and the Italian vegetable mix.  It was fabuloso!  Loved it all.  Charles and i slipped out for a last glass of vino tinto on the carrer at gond wana.   It is our little local bistro!  Wish we had such markets and neighborhood spaces back in North Florida.  Can't wait to get to France tomorrow. First, Avignon, then Lyon.  Fare well my friends and write to you from France!

Rising to the Challenge of the new Intimacy

The very nature of the modern world is to be anonymous to most, known to a few, and understood by fewer.  Or at least is what it used to be.  Now, I think intimacy is changing to reflect the technology and the way we communicate.  We can be intimate and outrageously public at the same time.  We can reveal in an un revealing way.  Conversely, some levels of intimacy and its opposite, anonymity are quite the same. 

Recently, I hired a Ted Talks speaker for an event and the speaker requested a car transport from the airport.  I assigned my assistant to be the chauffeur of the day and concluded that we were all set.  Wrong wrong.  The speaker said no, that would not do, as work needed to be done privately, so she would need a hired driver and car.  

(This is an ad with credit to the creator so hope it is fine).

At first I was offended, after all it was my assistant, and she is loyal and dedicated.  And then I started to ponder why this is so critical. On the surface, the speaker knows neither the hired chauffeur or the assistant.  But the assistant has a relationship with me, the one paying the speaker.  So there is an implied intimacy, that might require conversation between them, or more stressful, the assistant hearing conversation that the speaker did not want shared with the payer.  So if true anonymity is the desired affect, the having the implied intimacy of my assistant is not acceptable.

This made me think of the intimate moments on elevators.  You cannot get much closer than a packed elevator, and yet our intimacy is usually shared with silence, heads down, eyes trying to avert.  Touching and trying ever so hard not to touch.  Breathing and hoping not to smell anything or anyone.  We want to be anonymous. Not intimate.  So what makes a moment intimate or anonymous?  How do we look at the communications and tell?  Starting with the traditional definitions, Intimacy conjures up images of mothers and babies, lovers, secrets, secret lovers, pillows, diaries and so much more...

in.ti.ma.cy   is defined as: 1. The condition of being intimate. 2. An instance of being intimate. and then there is intimate, which is a verb and an adjective...  as you will see in the link to the definition.  But for our purposes (this is not a grammar lesson), we shall address intimate as the adjective....

intrinsic, essential belonging to or characterizing one's deepest nature

• marked by very close association, contact, or familiarity
• marked by a warm friendship developing through long association
• suggesting informal warmth or privacy 
• of a very personal or private nature

So the two descriptions work together as one describes time and one describes action or substance.  Intimacy can be a one time car ride (as can anonymity) or intimacy can be a long term sharing or revealing.  I tend to think of intimacy as a revealing of an private or personal matter, one that I hold dear, but that is an old fashioned view of intimacy.  For the moments on the internet and the theatre screens that I have cried over someone's joy or tragedy were just as intimate, but the other party does not know that.  Just I do.  Which brings me to the internet as an intimate forum.

There is much ado about postings on social media and how the "youth" are revealing their inner most secrets on the internet.  And I am sure that there are many moments that one would wish that they had not memorialized on their Facebook pages.  But truthfully, those moments of sharing are not intimate at all.  In fact, I would think they are more intended to be personal, but lose the intimacy in the blatant exaggerated boast.  If the internet didn't exist, these are the kids who would climb the water tower and paint their name, or race loud cars down the road, or wear ultra tight or revealing clothing to announce their presence.

But the internet does offer the true opportunity to be revealing and intimate at the same time.  I have family and friends with real issues such as medical problems or difficult spouses or loneliness who are  truly sharing intimate thoughts and feelings with those they intend to read them, but also 500 of those peoples' closest friends.  The fact that the others see the post does not negate the intimacy of the moment. or the photo. or the feeling of the intended reader.

So does it diminish the experience for the person sharing as long as the intended has read it and responded?  No.  I don't think it does.  And here is why.  Within two seconds of seeing a post, you have figured out if it matters, if it is interesting and if you care enough to look at the whole thing.  the information being intimate and personal for another is gleaned by the reader and they are moving on if it doesn't apply to their life.  Example, my friends could be posting about a funeral of a former co worker, but if my French class buddies see it, they are moving on down the scroll.  They will not dwell where they do not receive the feed back that this pertains to them.

So, announce away your blood test results or your GRE score.  Most people won't care.  Most people, especially if you have "friend-ed" hundreds will not see it.  Algorithms changed all that. Google makes a living knowing and selling that.  Take care and post away.

Rising to the French Attitude

One never feels so dejected as when one is totally ignored.  And the French ignore you better than anyone.  Today presented challenges and not so much of the confrontational kind, but of the non existent kind.  I will give you that proper French etiquette is not followed when you don't know for sure what it is.  But if you stand in a restaurant long enough you should hear, "Je suis désolé, nous avons réservé aujourd'hui" We are booked or come back later, "Je suis désolé, pouvez-vous revenir plus tard?"

And just about when you are ready to starve, you stumble on The Breakfast Club.  Friendly, warm and gracious.  The waitress/hostess is fabulous and I am sure she is part owner.  She switches from Brittish English to French in a second and is comfortable all the way around.  She is so welcoming.  She tells us she has reservations for three of her ten tables.  If we will eat within an hour, she will let us have a table.  We tell her, Americans eat and run all the time and we sit.  The breakfast is fabulous.

And as promised, we were out of her hair in less than an hour and off to tour the streets.

The cold can be a bit piercing when you have just left a warm meal and space.  So the winds told me to not ride bikes, which was our plan.

Skateboards and scooters are considered transportation; bicycles always have right of way.  Pedestrians can cross anytime on their dime, but en masse they can cross anytime.  The preferred way of travel is the less costly.  Better to have good boots and a good coat and ride on the public transport than to have stylish plastic boots and ride a scooter.  Quality is a life thing here. So we walked and stumbled on Notre Dame number two ( the original being in Paris, there are twelve in France).

 Then off to town center and back through the Christmas market. I am scouring the City windows for boots or shoes, surely I cannot leave France without a new pair.  So we are vigorously window shopping for boots when we pass an exclusive leather store for bags and purses.  Oh my.  We duck in and the lady is so friendly and spends 20 minutes telling us how she lived in London and New York, how she hated Miami loved the Keys and how Paris is only a place to visit and it is expensive and crowded.  She explained that Bordeaux is the new Paris.  We talked of the people and the issues that Morgan and I have faced.  She told us the French are secretly jealous of the Americans and their vast country and that is why they are aloof. She said she did not even fit in the the French place even thought she is a French person. She was a lot of fun and her products are fabulous.  I took a moment to be thankful that we met her.  She explained in twenty minutes the culture we had been in for five days.  Ahh to have her as a friend to escort us to restaurants.

We decided to tour the Wine Museum ( Musee du Vin) and Modern Art Museum (Musee Maritime Beaux Arts).  Both were interesting in their own way.  The modern art Musee was really a modern film exposition and it was rather interesting to go through in English.  The Musee du Vin was very interesting as they explain the history of the region, the wines, the labels, the merchants, the fighting.  Money and good wine always brings out the best.

I have never seen wine bottles the size of my body, but I have now.  I understand labels, chateaux and merchant and picture.  I understand blends and regions.  Wow, what a great tour and this is only the musee!

The wine tour tomorrow is the best part of the day.  Morgan and I will strike out early (that has been around 9 or 10) for food and walking before the wine tour.  we are going to Saint-Émilion.

It should be fun and a learning experience. 

Morgan currently has her phone connected to my computer for battery, so I will show you some photos from Saint Michel that I did not include in the last blog.  These cows are at a store in Mont Saint Michel