Summer Again!

Last night I had a meal out (Flats in Fairhaven) with a good friend who is off on Friday to England, and then perhaps Iran and Afghanistan. It depends on his visa where he will travel to, and since the visa didn't come on time, he will wait for it in England. I have a deep desire inside to be so bold, to muster my courage and fly off--perhaps to London or Paris, perhaps back to Rome. But really, I'm mostly chicken disguised as brave woman. And in the heat of the day yesterday, I was aware of my lack of bravery. Not that I have to be always on, always couragous, but to travel , pop off to some exotic place without a plan, without a partner, isn't for the faint of heart.

I admire all my traveling friends, which means to me that I will be traveling more, because anything I want I move toward, I begin to embrace by biting off bits of fear as I go. Fear transforms, I believe. I used to be afraid of dogs and living alone, teaching, and cayenne pepper. None of these things frighten me now, except living alone is lonely at times--but not frightening.

Lately I've been experiencing an interesting phenomena--a broken heart. I'm only calling it this because grief and the ache it imposes on the heart isn't named much in our society. But it is a real pain, both kinds, and results in a ache the size of a large saucer or small luncheon plate exactly placed over the heart. Now I could imagine a shield going into battle, much larger of course, but perhaps this ache is like a shield, only in my case, it's breaking apart, sort of dissolving under the pressure of loss. Whatever the case, it is a real pain, palpable and curious. Yes, I've decided to be curious about it instead of trying my best to get rid of it--it doesn't go away anyway, although I'm assured that it will with time.

I've sent for a book called Intimate Terrorism after reading an article by the author in Oprah Magazine. He was saying that one must not hope to be friends with the lost lover, because it doesn't work and it does delay the grief. Grief changes a person, for the better. It goes deep inside and empties out pockets of pain and transforms the individual. I'm trusting these words of wisdom. I will let you know more once I get the book what the steps to take are.

From my pathetic little garde I picked broccoli raab that went into my chicken dinner; the spinach became a nest for my breakfast egg yesterday; I had broccoli from the farmers market today in an omelet with goat cheese, and last night with my friend Peter, yams with aoili sauce and omelet of caramelized onions and truffle oil. Ooh wee, all is not painful

Ciao!

PS That's a closeup of my painting "Roots". It goes with the heart thing, I think.