REFLECTIONS OF A TIME TRAVELER

It was a golden autumn afternoon and looking out at our sunlit garden my mind stepped back to an autumn’s day not so long ago when we walked through the gardens of the Villa Carlotta and drank in the richly scented air of Lake Como. Almost all Halloo’s Eve, I stood transfixed at the window of our hotel room for it seemed as if the spirits of ancient Tuscan warriors lingered in the mists surrounding the deep waters. The bonfires of Bellagio across the bay enveloped the village creating a gauze like haze and in the distance the Italian Alps stood as sentinels to ensure the silence of this magical valley. All seemed incredibly well. Quite a contrast to our first Halloween when upon returning from San Francisco we were confronted with what would become the conclusion of our stormy past lives and the beginning of a new and wonderful era. It was there that our Italian odyssey concluded and awoke us once again to the reality of our lives but we were already silently scheming and plotting our return.

We had weathered ten years together and despite the odds had not only survived but prospered for along with the ease of attachment we seemed to have found in each other the pieces missing in ourselves. Exploring the culture rich countryside of Como we could hardly resist the temptation to linger on indefinitely and become part of its secret solitude. From Tremezzo we took the fairy across the lake to Bellagio, a trip that while only lasting twenty minutes transports you from the Napoleonic 18th century to 17th century Baroque. A set of sterling silver salt & pepper shakers, which resides in our dinning room in Chicago, will forever store the seasonings of the sleepy Lombardy town which in turn has added season to our life together.

Being together in Como added richness to the adventure, a richness that can only come with sharing. One of the greatest things about travel has to be the wonderful oneness that two people can feel when alone together in a foreign country. As we traveled into the Italian Alps time seemed to slip away and the crispness of the alpine air gave lightness to our being, beckoning us to stay.

THE ART OF LIVING IN THE MILLENNIUM

Just what in fact is the art of living in the millennium? I have been asked this question many times and my response is always the same and it is always different too. Each one of us has our own way of coping with life’s challenges and each in turn a special place kept safe in their hearts that allows the universe to pass through their lives without grounding that energy and keeping them safe. For me that special place has always been the ability to ride on the tides of time, to embrace every day as a new beginning and to except life’s obstacles for what they are – potential opportunities to grow although this last year has more than tested my ability to coup.

So there you have it “the art of living in the millennium” is merely nothing more than the art of “surviving it" …

A Celebration of Spring

And so it is Easter the moveable feast that occurs in the month named for Ostre the pagan goddess of the dawn. Passover is drawing to an end and with it we have passed over to the season of resurrection and renewal once again. That circle of life so to speak. And as the Sun shines down the Earth awakens and Winter's memory melts. It is time to break out! Feel alive and enter into the dance of life again. Listen to the rhythms of the Earth and connect with our inner exuberance. The Earth is surging with vital energy and in turn so should we.

We are alive on this green planet called Earth and we have every reason to celebrate. What ever we call it - Easter, Passover, Beltane or Ostara - the Spring is within us not merely around us. Listen to the outward signs of the universe and then seek their answering echoes within. Listen to the calm ... Ommmm

Take It Slow

A much needed Spring came early this year to the Midwest. As if sensing the need mother nature anointed us with the miracle of renewal and regeneration. Now mind you I am being a little selfish here, or maybe I should say self indulgent as the rest of the nation has certainly had it's challenges. You see this last year, I feel, was a year that should not have existed and should most definitely be stricken from all records and remembrances. For just as Don McLean's composition "Bye bye, Miss American Pie" expounds on the 60's and 70's I think that the year 2009 must sum up the disappointments of the decades that preceded and perhaps was manifested by them.

A much needed serenity has descended upon me this Vernal Equinox. For as the sun passes over the Earth's equator it gives us the sign that not only will our physical food supplies be restored but also our spiritual essences, much as those of the ancient civilizations before us, become fertile again. As I move forward I feel that I must not only weigh things more judiciously but also will become more prudent in my judgements.

Once upon a time not so long ago "the music used to make me smile" and now it has the chance to do so again. Maybe this is "the dawning of the Age of Aquarius". Time to "let the sun shine in" again? This time however I have new lyrics. They are inspired by a group called Pink Martini and this is what they say -

"Life is moving oh so fast I think we should take it slow,

rest our heads upon the grass and listen to it grow".

The Incredible Lightness of Being

Have you ever stood on the banks of Lake Como and seen the bonfires of Bellagio envelope the village in a gauze like haze, or immersed yourself in the smells and flavors of a Florentine evening out?

When was the last time you saw San Giorgio transfixed by the fiery sunrise of a Venetian Lagoon, floating on a mist of ether, ablaze with the molten surf of the sun?

I have seen these and much more. I have watched the Joshua Trees bloom in the high desert while floating on a sea of frozen sand and drank brandy at a travertine bar overlooking the Copacabana in Rio. I have played in the redwood forests of the Russian River and have eaten fresh caught Salmon in the villages of Napa Sonoma. But none of these sights, sounds and senses would have been realized in their true depths if it had not been for my other half, my soul mate, my life time friend.

Together we would travel the world and revel in its delights. When storm clouds would appear we would take shelter in each other’s arms. And when all else failed we would find comfort in our togetherness.

At sunset I sit many times transfixed by those lifelong remembrances that were realized in his eyes and gifted through his touch. My life has been so enhanced because of him and is still a testament to him for by myself I am adequate but with him I am great.

Should you ever have the privilege to share in passion this thing called life do not hesitate to embrace it. But rather run towards it for it is sure to make yours a much fuller journey and will most assuredly give wings to your flight.

Desert Spirits

If you have not been to the Mohave desert you must venture there. To be kissed in the morning by a crisp, cool breeze fresh from the mountains purified by pine trees and energized by the mountain itself. To be warmed and tanned at mid day by the same lithe air is an experience that cannot be found anywhere else. There is tranquility in the vastness of its spaces and energy in its awesome presence. To see the Joshua Tree blooming at twilight in the high desert on a sea of sand which has momentarily been glazed by a winter's frost. It is truly "other worldly".

My first time to the desert was with Jack. He was a child of the desert and, in his own way, taught me its magic and charm. Our many trips to this "paradise lost" gave us the peace and serenity needed to comfort our otherwise hectic existence back home in Chicago. While we had made life together in the City of Big Shoulders it was somehow a compilation of the parts and pieces that we had gleaned from out travels. But it took the desert spirit to make the magic for me.

The dream world to the desert people was just as real as the physical world. Through dreams they could travel back to the time of creation and learn the meaning of things. They could learn of gifts they had been given. In its solace the desert has allowed me to travel through my thoughts and even time itself in order to rekindle moment's lost and found. And to embrace a future that is fueled by these remembrances.

According to the ancients in First Times, there was chaos. And from the union of Earth andn Sky was born the Great Spirit of the Desert. I believe that the Great Spirit lives on and is forever watchful. How else could this desert paradise exist?

A Desert Song

My dearest Jack the desert seems emptier without you by my side these days. The purple mountains seem to mourn you as much as I do. Their lofty peaks covered with the snow of a thousand tears that I have shed.

But when I see you in the mountain face and feel your warmth in the noon day sun of February I feel comforted. Your energy is still here in the buzzing of the hummingbirds and your spirit watches over me as the clouds rise above the desert on warm breezes that whisper your name.

Would that we could be one again and play in the pines of Idyllwild venturing ever on together towards the summit; To sit on a precipice in the clouds and stare down at the high desert of Joshua Tree; To be alone as one with nature and time.

Reflections on Perfection

It is now January 10th and the holidays are finally over. The new snow of this new decade has fallen covering that of the last.

It has been 2 months now that my world came crashing down and taking with it my beloved friend and life partner Jack. The terrible pain of that moment still lives in my thoughts and no doubt always will. But as the new year and new decade begins it's life I have found that I too have begun to live again. Slowly, as if looking out from a bomb shelter after a nuclear blast, I begin again to build a new life, but one that will now be missing a key ingredient which made my past one so purposeful.

How does one begin again after experiencing such perfection?

Just as the snows and cold of the Winter anesthetize and encapsulate, the Spring will soon gently revitalize and rejuvenate. The rich soil that was created from that past perfect blend can most surely nurture and grow something new. It is not that the past energy is gone but rather that it lives on in the new growth and therefore makes it stronger and more determined. I tell myself this as a general might do to rally his troops but with some trepidation since I cannot be sure of where the road might lead. The one thing of which I am sure is that it will take me forward and that is a good thing. The alternative is to stand stagnant and become part of the past.

Visions of Venice

It is usually this time of the year that Jack & I would plan our trips to Europe. October when the temperatures are cool and crisp and that time when the plague of tourists becomes diminished.











Driving through the hills of Tuscany on our way to Venice we streaked past so many hillside towns all beckoning us to stop awhile and rest our hurried heads. But time once again our enemy was in pursuit and we needed to get to the city of water before the evening shades were drawn.

Water to water and sunlight to dusk Venice stood proudly as we penetrated her veil of silence. It was a dank and pouting day when we entered into the magic of this solemn city. Our gondola parted the restless waters as we stepped out from the safety of the sheltering small tributaries and plunged into the vastness of the Grand Canal. I was taken by surprise at the greatness of this watery way for what had appeared to me to be a miniature maze had become colossal. It seemed only fitting that our welcome be a wet one since our hostess was the daughter of Neptune.

Our first morning arose like fire from the sea and steamed across the horizon. Framed in the ancient window of our hotel room San Giorgio stood transfixed by the fiery sunrise and floated on a mist of ether. Whether morning or evening, the skies over the lagoon were always ablaze with the molten surf of the sun. We wandered through our first day in Venice and, stopping only for brief bits of sustenance, explored our new world in wonderment. The city like a serpent ever winding enticed us on. If indeed Venice is sinking into the lagoon I’m sure that it will arise again for such a marvel could never be contained. Ignoring the rush of the rest of the world Venice floats serenely on a tapestry of renaissance splendor. Every brick and stone sang a song of past glories, every sight and smell a reminder of its mortality. A city of many seasons this Dowager sits on her tarnished throne and remembers moments of romance that have all but vanished in the dust of a new day, yet are easily distilled by the touch of her hand.

Following the Fall to Florence

In our garden a small bronze fountain spurts a gentle reminder of our wanderings throughout the ancient streets of Florence. I have never been much of a collector unless you count experience an object. But now in my middle years I find pleasure in reflections and my possessions have become the vessels in which they live. Coming to Florence from the lazy tranquility of Santa Marguarita Ligouri was the perfect way to begin this quest as the coastal retreat had bathed us in the Mediterranean sun and had healed our worn psyches preparing us perfectly for the fantastic feelings of a city steeped in the sensuality of timeless beauty. The winding streets of Florence are paved with the stones of centuries past, and their essence seemed to seep through the leather of our souls. Strolling through this maze of masterfully rendered architecture every door sang of its secrets while protecting the privacy of its dwellers. Upon our not so triumphant arrival the city at first kept us at bay, as though needing to know us better before giving up its splendid treasures. It confounded and confused us playing hide and seek until satisfied that we were worthy. Then embracing us long lost family bade us enter. Jack had been waiting for me at our appointed residence while I tried to find a resting place for the car. I had, disregarding all warnings, driven unabashedly into the teaming heart of a renaissance city suited mainly for motor bicycles and horses.

That evening the city opened its arms and offered up a sampling of its culinary delights. Entering a nearby bistro we immersed ourselves in the smells and flavors of a Florentine evening out. At the next table two bawdy women sat clouded in the smoke of too many cigarettes and spouting forth oaths of unrequited loves they played out their scene. A play that seemed adapted from a dusty paper back novel whose pages though yellowed by time would not give up its place on the shelf.

Summer Time

Long lazy afternoons

Trips to the country

The smell of wheat warming in the mid day sun

A picnic in the park

Cool dips in the lake

Warm rain showers in the afternoon

Grandma's Rhubarb pie

Lemonade

Summer Time

Old Glory & Never, Neverland

Something occurred to me last night as I sat immobile in my reclining chair curiously watching the HD, 3-D, digitized celebrations of the 4th. There seemed to be a kind of emptiness in this year’s festivities and I couldn’t help but wonder why. With a rather non-descript Jimmy Smits as host the show began with an anorexic Barry Manilow sporting a new toupee and belting out show tones. This was followed by the morbidly obese Aretha coughing out songs of past glory which then lead to the Jersey Boys? And what was that with the Muppets of Sesame Street being cuddled in the blossoms of Natasha Bedingfield. Of course there was the ubiquitous Erich Kunsel leading the National Symphony Orchestra, the Choral Arts Society of Washington and so on – but even they seemed sadly flat this year. The headlines of Michael, Fara, Ed, and Billy seemed to out shine our nation’s birthday.

Is this all that we could muster to welcome in a new year of triumph and victory? Where were the icons of the day and the energy of the past decades? Maybe we are all a little tired after the two year battle that has lead us to our newly anointed society. Or could it be that this new world with all its turmoil and passion is just resting for a moment and savoring a brief victory before putting on its new day robes and readying for the next conquest? I really hope so because now is not the time to stand still. There is too much yet to do. As Gore Vidal once said “our steadily proliferating species will either end in time or, with luck, become something else, since change is the nature of time and its hope” …

Time Travel

Yesterday was my best friend's birthday. The big "60"! The day was spent quietly with friends, eating and drinking, and just hanging out. It was a nice time to just kick back and enjoy the day. And since we both believe in extending the celebration into birthday "weeks" and "months" you can believe that we will be doing a lot more of the same!

For some reason most people dread birthdays. They seem to evoke feelings of melancholy or remorse. Melancholy for the loss of youth I guess or remorse that they have not used the time more productively. However not my friend nor I for that matter. Both of us have strangely enough enjoyed each and every birthday and milestone and have celebrated them with much joy and enthusiasm.

I remember my 20th year. I couldn't wait to be, officially, a young man, no longer a teenager with all of the baggage attached to that stigma. My 30th was a signal that I had become "mature" and that from then on I would be respected for my accomplishments. No longer a trainee in the game of life. 40 brought with it the freedom that comes with experience of the last 40 years. The seasoning of the life that I had endeavoured to create. 50 was a signal that I had arrived at the pinnacle of my career and could therefore take the time to enjoy more fully the fruits of my accomplishments. All that was fine but it took 60 to make me realize just how wonderful my previous 60 had been.

With 60 came the wrath of the downsizing, outsourcing and decontenting of a world rampant in it's greed and lust for wealth and power. But you know what else 60 brought? It brought us both the peace and security that we had so closely nurtured for those past 60 wonderful years. Because we had used the lessons of those years to build a safe port - a secure place to weather the storms.

So what do I like about being 60? Well, if nothing else, I don't have to go though my 50's again ...

Light comes to the forest

May 2009. I thought that it would never come. After a year of campaigning, a very emotional election and a recession rivaled only by the depression of 1929 there was little hope in my heart.

But then came May and with it a glimmer of hope. Hope that we had finally found our footings and are maybe ready to pick ourselves up and begin again. The long winter of discontent seems over for now and the stormy winds of change, both climate and politics, have cleared the way for a new and better day.

Perhaps the reason for all this change is more obvious than we can see. Doesn't it make sense that the large and sickly trees of the forest must in the end fall to make way for the young and new saplings to grow? And does it not seem possible that maybe, finally we might be on the right track again after our long journey into the forest of fear?