Wild Woman Cafe

I had an Eagles flashback today. Not the majestic, bald, feathered kind, but a shake-your-bootie, pass-the-doobie 70's band consisting of guys with afro's, handlebar moustaches, and bell-bottom denims. And along with all these images of hair and denim flashing before me, are memories of my childhood aboard my stepfather's commercial fishing boat. In my patchwork of memories, there he is at the boat's helm: my stepfather. His own curly 'fro having taken on a life of its own and his month long facial overgrowth providing the finishing touches of what appears to be the grisly portrait of a madman. Cigarette hanging out one side of his mouth, the  Eagles blaring "Take it Easy", he swings the wheel a little to the right, then a little to the left, eyes scanning the horizon as we cruise the high seas in search of the big catch.  Don't ask me what we were fishing for. Salmon? Cod? I do remember some pickled herring sitting out on the balcony at h...

According to the Celts, October 31st marks the end of the calendar year. The harvest is reaped and stored, and the cycle of death descends on us as we make the transition into the cold dark clutches of winter. The transition between the old and new on the eve of the 31st is, as the Celts believed, when the boundaries between the living and the dead are blurred, and communication between the two worlds is possible. The Celts celebrated this time as 'Samhain', translated from Gaelic as "end of summer". * Though the veil between the worlds is said to be thin during this time, allowing for easy cross-over, I have never personally seen any ghosts or received any messages from them. Not on Samhain. * But I have indeed received my fair share of visitations. * One day in the early autumn of 1999 I was treeplanting on an old cutblock on Vancouver Island. The long, tiring season had left me bruised and listless, and I plodded along amidst the last remaining heat of the season i...

I was blessed today to spend a few hours with a good friend over chai lattes, sitting behind the glass of the coffee shop window watching the first snow of autumn. We watched hooded people come and go along the sidewalk while the wind twisted and twirled in jackets of white flakes like a thousand invisible dancers. I don't know what it is about snow that I love so much, but it feels so final and concilatory, like nature tucking you in under the blanket, lulling everything into a peaceful white silence. Soft and forgiving as feathers. Good memories from my childhood are blanketed in snow. Many of them involve visiting my grandparents in their home on Vancouver Island at Christmas, amidst the farms and forests. Excitement would mount as we pulled up the steep wooded driveway of their property under the thick canopy of cedar and fir, the view of chimney smoke puffing away on a whispy wind while warm lights shone like beacons from within. As we climbed the wooden steps to the house,...

The past days of our visit to Florence have added the finishing touches to what I would likely call a maximum saturation point. We have spent nearly a month viewing thousands of years old art and ruins, digesting all forms of pasta and its accoutrement, climbed to the top of St. Peter's Basilica at the Vatican (which deserves a whole Blog to itself, such a journey it was), drifted through oceans of tourists through ancient cobbled streets, taken almost 1,000 pictures, wet our feet in the Mediterranean, ridden water taxis through Venice, baked in the Tuscan Sun, and on it goes. There is nothing more that I can see or do that can impress me more than I have been impressed. * This morning's visit to the Galleria dell'Accademia actually revealed to me that there was one thing that could actually blow my mind after all the grandiose visions of our journey. As we slowly trickled into the museum with the thickening morning crowd, there stood glowing at the end of the gallery Miche...

Well folks, here I am in the Tuscan Chianti region, living a virtual Italian version of the Martha Stewart Wonderland. We have arrived to a three-story villa restored from a 16th century castle, overlooking vineyards and surrounded by Romanesque lounging pools and pathways bordered with giant lavender and rosemary. It is incredibly peaceful and serene. I have pinched myself several times in disbelief, but appear to be conscious. * Tomorrow we look forward to a little exploration. But today, so far, we have holed up in our little piece of paradise, doing laundry, cooking for ourselves, and journeying from marbled shower to bed, and back again. We have had a pretty active vacation so far and I welcome some solace. After our bustling tours of Paris, Venice, and Rome, we spent some time on the West coast, visiting Positano and Pompeii, then bounced back up to Florence where we picked up our car. Since Florence we have taken our excursion into the Tuscan countryside at an easier pace, visit...

Well it has been a while between blogs, but what can I say. I have spent the past couple weeks hopping trains and probing the Italian landscape and culture. Oh, and sampling Italian cuisine to the point of bursting (no exaggeration there: I ate so much pesto pasta in Rome last week that half of it came back up through my nose while waddling away from the trattoria). Since Venice, we saw every major attraction in Rome, including the opulent galleries of the Vatican, then took off down to the Bay of Naples to the oceanside town of Sorrento - which is justly named 'land of the Sirens', with excursions to Pompei and Positano. Though we are on vacation, I will admit that we are both amply blistered and exhausted. We have done so much walking that, judging from the fit of our clothes, we are actually losing weight despite the 'carbo-licious' meals. I am eating nutella-slathered bread and sugary cappuccinos in the morning, followed by at least one gelato as a snack during the...

I have spent most of today wandering over the narrow, winding canals of Venice and through the mice maze that is this mythical city. Venice is not just a place; it is a holy experience. It is a journey through all things beautiful and strange that somehow culminates in a euphoric symphony of the senses. Like a dirvish, one goes in circles until a state of transcendence and surrender is acheived. Being lost every five minutes is all part of the experience, while one is endlessly inundated with a cocophany of stimuli. Perfume, cigarettes, and salty air from the Adriatic sea converge with never ending narrow passages, wisteria-draped balconies, and crumbling brick buildings as one wanders lost through the labyrinth. Around every corner is yet another narrow passage, with tiny stone bridges that lead over the endlesss waterways. Closer to the heart of Saint Marcs Basilica are countless shops selling everything from cream-filled pastries, olive oil, gelato, and Venician masks to Fendi, Va...

Well the last day of home life is wrapping up for a while. The cats sniff open suitcases suspiciously as I pace around the house leaving nothing undone. Plane to Paris tomorrow, a couple days to loitter under the Eiffel Tower and through the Louvre, then on to Italy for a month. The excitement is mounting. For some reason when I travel out of country, I always feel slightly apprehensive about the plane ride. I suppose this comes from a deep-seated primal fear of the intrinsic vulnerability that accompanies spending ten hours in the air, contained in something that takes half an hour to land (that is, without oxygen masks and shitty pants). I am generally fine for the trip though. To assure my utmost equanimity for tomorrow's ride, I have asked my partner to turn off the documentary he was watching on airplane crashes. My experiences on planes have generally been good. The only time that warranted any concern occurred during the flight back from Nepal in '92. My frie...