Rising to Capri

We stayed up late trying ot book charters to Capri, an island off the Napoli Coast.  Corbett and I finally gave up and pronounced to Ted that we had to go in person.

We did and we made it!

But first, we kill an hour in a different part of Napoli.  We have a cappuccino and Corbett has a cheesecake and an orange Fanta.  We watch the students, mothers and business people cross and recross the piazza.  A very nice spot except for the cigarettes.  The outdoors is always full of smokers.

Eleven comes and we are on the fast "jet" to Capri.  It is really a giant catamaran to the island.  Forty Five minutes total.  We get off the boat and try and orient.  Then I see the funicolare.  Love those.  Up and up and Ted not feeling the love so much.  Heights he says.  But aww the view.

I don't have photos of this, but the buses and the trucks and the cars and the anything else traveling on the road of Capri are truly the bravest and most technical people I can think of.  Today, the buses were so close that we felt the breath of the other riders.  Ted said there was an extra three inches, but I did not see it.  And on our right, the cliff straight down.  Look across the photo above and imagine driving around the rocky protrusions.  The drivers inching forward, squeezing busses into fiat size streets, mirrors in, people gasping, and me - I am sure that I tried to suck my belly into my lungs to help the cause.  And even then, with no buses coming, the roads sidle the edge and the lady next to me is doing the sign of the cross (a catholic thing).  Her boyfriend tries to comfort her and I tell Ted, there are worse ways to die.  And then the experience is in the past, as we are out on the streets and taking in the island views.

In case you are wondering, men from America act like men from America even in Italy.  "Do you know where you are going?"  "of course!"  Do you want to look at a map?  "Well that is inconvenient, but if you insist."  Should I ask someone for directions, Ted says?  Well yes.  And then we turn 180 and head up the hill not down the hill.

 Nope, no directions needed at all, why do you ask?

Ana Capri

We walk the top of the island.  One of the tourist offering is a lift up the mountain in single chairs, like a ski lift.   Ted does not want to ride the swinging chairs up the mountain as the clouds are covering the top.  I am sure he just doesn't want to ride the solo swinging chairs.  He is accompanied by a woman from New Hampshire, saying "no way!"  Ted offers to stay and have a beer with her while the rest of us go up.  But we decide to keep walking.  We have to be back at the port by four thirty and Ted is worried about time.  We take a short cut through the town, following the lovely Italian ladies below.  The view is the perfect ending to another day in paradise as we are told boarding our catamaran back to Napoli.  But if I ever come back, the swinging chairs for me!

A perfect end to the day indeed.

Funeral Etiquette, Clothing and The Swing

Rising to meet the world today was a little harder than usual.  My husband and sons had already discussed our morning plans the night before, so when I rose to let the chickens out, I knew what lay ahead.  Today was the funeral of a friend, my brother's father in law Mack.

The day before, my brother had called and told me the obituary was online in the local web version of the paper.  I looked.  It simply said he was born, he died, the funeral will be held at this place.  But below the small lines was a link on funeral etiquette.  I clicked, how could I not.  I was surprised to find several writers talking about how to dress, what not to say, what not to do.  Being raised a southern woman, there were always rules.  Summer black, simple dress, pearls.  Bowed heads, folded hands, modest steps.  Reading through the posts, I realized how uncomfortable this will be for many.  My own husband says, "I don't know what to say."  The advice of the bloggers: tell the truth.  If you say, "our prayers are for you", mean it.  Otherwise, stick with sorry for your loss.

With this back drop, I was proud when both my boys opted for ties and shirts (no they left the jackets off given the 90 degrees and humidity of Tallahassee).  They both asked if they looked okay, clean shaven and khakied up.  My husband, old school, wore the jacket and tie anyway.  I stuck to black skirt and seersucker jacket.  We left together, all dressed on a Saturday morning, headed for the funeral.

We have known Mack and his family almost twenty years.  We met through his lovely daughter, Lisa,who eventually married my brother.  Hence forth, all family gatherings included them or us.  The generosity and kindness of Lisa's family was exemplified by Mack's questions.  He always asked the same ones:

Where is Charles (my husband)? and Where are the children?

Mack was a kind and gentle soul.  And arriving to the funeral home did not seem so hard.  I had fond memories and knew the family and Mack had lived to 89, a full and rich life. I was surrounded by my family and Mack's family.  Then, one of his grandchildren came up to hug me.  I have known him for almost 20 years as well.  I told him that my fondest memory of his grandfather was the swings that he made for all the children, including mine.  Round wooden discs that had holes in the center for the rope to run through and to extend upwards to the sky over a high limb.  All the children had one in their yard.  All the children congregated there, for fun, for talking, for fighting, for crying.  I can still see my teenage daughter sitting on the swing, long legs twirling around and round,  talking on her phone and crying over some awful teenage thing.

The swing sits idle today.  But even now, when the "kids" come home, there can be fights and shouts on whose turn it might be to swing. And I am sure that there will be more joy and happiness and emotion and jousting over that swing.  Mack knew how to relate.  Keep it simple, keep it accessible, keep it fun.

Not a bad way to be remembered, if you think about it.  So here is to you Mack.  Thanks for the lessons in making children happy and funeral etiquette.  You will be remembered warmly.

of becoming your mother's care giver

I have had many challenges in my life, but none so hard as realizing that the last ever care free shopping trip with my mom happened in June.  She is facing heart issues and other stuff and isn’t carefree right now.

But I can tell you, amongst the grief and anger and emotional upheaval, is a group of incredibly strong staid women who face those like me and my mom every day.

I can tell you that the woman named Jackie, that washed my mother while she was in physical rehab, made her happy.  My mother said she had never been so clean and refreshed.  And when I told Jackie, she blushed and said thank you.  Humble, kind and reliable.  Jackie is the true meaning of the everyday elder care hero.

Then of course there is Martha, the stalwart, who knows how care should be and takes it personally and takes pride in her investment of time.  Martha is the queen of "I can get her to eat again" folks.  She has already proven herself with the yogurt that she made mom eat.  Martha makes companies like Hope Well be successful.

And tonight, there is Alma, the night caregiver, who will stay awake in case my mother gets up.  And she will read in her chair and listen and oh by the way, water is fine, I don't need coffee to stay awake.... Alma.

And may I tell you that there are others who helped in this process whose names I don't have down on paper.  The ones who said, "you are amazing for showing up every day and looking out for her".  The ones who came down the hall to tell me they think that there is no hope or all hope or just a hug or just a good bye squeeze.

My father asked what was her name?  I tried to explain.  I don't know Jackie's last name, but I know she has three kids and one has football on Thursday's.  I don't know Janice's last name, but her sister lives in Quitman and her mom is at home for now.

I don't know the night nurse or the day nurse or even the head social worker's name.  But I know they all came down the hall to hug me, to catch my tears or just tell me to go outside for a few moments.   I know the ones who wear red and the one's with matching eyeglasses.  I know the young one that wanted to wear green nail polish and the cranky old one who told me that he should be present to discuss how my mother behaved on medication.

I don't know the outside of them anymore than I know the outside of my mother.

I know the inside of them is warm and loving and wanting and alive.

I know the inside of my mother is still a mess.  And it may never change, it may always change.

What doesn't change is my memory of our last shopping trip and the girls day out.  And I miss her already and I love her forever.  Thank you mom, for every one you have been and everyone you are and for being my rock.  You still are the amazing woman I love.