Mothering

     

     This has been a hell of a week so far.  This was the week of my birthday and there were good parts of the day and there were hard parts of the day.   Yesterday was just as tough.  Why?  

     It has come to our family's attention that my mom is not well.    Without going into a long detailed account, my mom has a type of Dementia / Alzheimer's  that is overwhelming for me to accept and yet I have no choice but to do this.  I don't want it to be, I don't want to accept this.  I want life to be normal.  I want my mom to be like other people's moms and just age gracefully and with all the dignity possible.  Because my mom is a Southern Belle who expects to be treated as Miss Scarlet like in Gone With the Wind.  For right or wrong this has been her way of living.  She has trod on her family at times and she has been wonderful to each of us as well.    I don't always like her but I do love her.  It seems grossly unfair that life should repeat itself as my Nan, her mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease in the late 1970's.  She died in 1991.  These were the women who raised my brother and I. 

     The act of mothering....

     I look at this photo of my mom holding me and I see her eyes looking at me so intently.  I wonder what she is thinking.  It is my Christening day and I am in a dress that I have in a drawer in my bedroom now.  A while batiste dress with lace inserts on the front and on the sleeves,  handmade by someone though I don't know who.   When my mom gave this dress to me some years ago, I didn't realize that it was my Christening dress.  After all, the dress I was told was the family Christening gown, the one my daughters had their photographs taken in, was not in the end the one my brother or I ever wore.  This dress now yellowed with age, it's hem that has been let out and is frayed has been a mystery in it's history as well as the other dress.  When I began transferring old slides to digital I found such wonders of my childhood as well as my brother's.  Images that I have no story of.

     My father is absent from this day.  I don't know where he is but I must assume that it was because of his being in the Military and not able to be there.  I was brought back to my mom's home town of Selma, Alabama to the First Presbyterian Church, the same church my parents were wed in.  I look like I was being a good baby and my mom looks serene.  I wish she was smiling.  I wish she was smiling and hugging me letting that dress wrinkle and not be concerned with keeping me neat and tidy.  Am I fresh from a nap?  Is this before or after my debut in the church?  

     Then there is my Nan holding me.  This is the way I remember her.  Smiling and being cheerful.  My dear Nan who had to mother and father her daughter when her husband died when my mom was a young girl.  Who still had to mother her grandchildren while my mom worked or went out with her friends.  

      It must have been hard to do it all.  To raise a daughter who could be so self-centered and wanting,  always wanting more for her life.  My Nan the stable, calm woman who gave up so much for her daughter and her family.  Did she feel that my mom needed more help since my dad was gone so much when my brother and I were little?  Did she feel that because her husband died while my mom was so young that my mother needed to be always kept happy and spoiled to make up for that loss?  I will never know. My mom was never one to want to tell too many stories of our family.   I know so little about my father's family.  I have no names or addresses of his side of the family.  I only know that he was an only child just like my mom.  There were no other kin for my brother or I to grow up with or get to know.  There are so many stories that are buried in the Live Oak Cemetery in Selma where many of our family lie.  My father, grandparents, my Papa too.  People I wish would tell me their stories of my family so that I may know who they were and what kind of people they were to know more of my story.  Who am I like?  I would like to know....I dearly would like to know.

     My mothering was self taught.  When we brought our first born home I was walking through a door of inexperience.  I would sit up on our waterbed with our beautifully exquisite baby in my arms looking at her with delight but not knowing how to mother.  I didn't know the first thing about newborns except in the books.  Yet I was drawn to her like nothing I could comprehend.  A deep primal desire to not let her out of my sight but to have her as close to me as possible.  I refused to let her go to the nursery after her birth.   My dear mother by marriage taught me without knowing it the way to talk to a baby.  She did  that with her sing song voice so light and loving.  I found myself conjuring up lullabies or nursery songs that would come into my head while I got to know this baby of mine.  She nursed so well and I never had a problem of breastfeeding her.  Every two hours night and day I would arise to bring her to my breast.  The pull of mothering growing stronger with every rhythm of her pull at my breast.  The letdown of my milk tingling me with a pleasure I could not understand but wanted.  My Love lying beside us watching with a love in his eyes that created a new bond to our relationship.  Our being a family. Of being a mother and a father to this helpless babe we conceived.  

     My mother taught me how to bath my daughter.  I was so afraid I would drop her when she was slippery with baby soap.  She taught me how to give her a sponge bath when she was two days old.   My mother filled a bowl with warm water, soaking a baby wash cloth and applying the baby soap to it creating velvet soft bubbles to gently clean our little one.  Her small body didn't like the sensation of lying naked on her back.   Her little arms out to her side waving them stiffly as she cried out.  I felt awful for bathing her!   Once we rolled her to her tummy she seemed to relax for a minute snuggling into the towel she lay upon and then she cried out again.  But oh she was so lovely.   Her body so perfect!  My mother being a mother to me equally rejoicing in her crying and her sweet little body.   We quickly but efficiently bathed her.  I learned that babies are going to cry but they still will be fine.  Once we wrapped her in a warm towel she relaxed once again and calmed down.  Those days of my mother coming over to help out meant so much to me.  Bringing dinner to us where Papa, Nana (my mom), my Love and I would just dote on this new member of the family.  I hadn't seen my mom this type of happy ever before.  She was so careful not to tell me what to do but to just be there to soak up this special time.

     I wonder about the act of mothering that circles around to our elders.  That circle of life that goes round and round.  How now my care will be towards my mother in the years ahead.  So often when she talks she giggles when she stumbles over names, dates, times and places.  I am grateful she does not get frustrated with the limitations of her language difficulties.  I often wonder if she really grasps the fact she is having trouble or if she is waiting to have me pick out the words she can't find.  I wonder how I even pull these words out for her.  Is it because of the familiarity of our mother daughter relationship?  I have felt like an interpreter for her these past several years as her speech as declined.  Her friends calling me or taking me aside to tell me how hard it is to understand her and hear her as her voice is softer than it use to be.  This was the woman who could reduce me to tears with her sharp words so strongly laid.  Who even with the soft voice and lack of speech can with her tone still stab my heart.  That young girl in me who didn't put her foot down to tell her to back off and except me and her family for the goodness that we are.  Now she is fading.  

     This new path I am about to walk on is uncharted.  I have no map of my own but I will ask for directions so I can keep going.  I know it will get tough and I will need all my patience and positive thoughts to get me through the days ahead.  I will ask for help as hard as that will be but I am ever so grateful that my Papa has left my mom in a position of comfort financially to be well taken care of for the remainder of her life.  I do not look forward to the day my mom does not know her life the way it has been.  I have a lasting memory of my Nan when the Alzheimer's robbed her of the knowledge of who we were.  She would say a mumbling string of words but she looked out of eyes that saw nobody she knew.  I wondered if she even saw me at times when I would bend over to speak to her.  I would bring my daughters along on occasion where I would tell them we were seeing "Nan who is sleeping" because towards the end she seemed always asleep.  They would go along unconcerned with this, looking up at her in her bed.  To them it was normal.  I always had wished they new her as I had but that was not to be as she was already too far gone by the time I had children.  We would speak to the other patients and in my mind pretend that some little lady there in her wheelchair was my Nan.  

     My mom is complicated.  It is a tragedy that she will be robbed of the memories of life as time goes by.  Or is it?  She won't have to say how this friend or that has aged or died.  She won't look back with regrets of her life.  It will almost be like a clean slate at some point.  She will be a different person for all intensive purposes.  It will only be us left behind who will be struggling with this.  I think I will just greet this with an open mind.  I will take this one step at a time.  

     

I am loved...

I am a lucky woman

to have such a loving man

in my life.

Who really cares for me. 

Me...

Who always kisses me in the morning,

kisses me goodbye,

hugs me when I am sad,

mad,

happy,

tearful,

up,

down,

when I don't know what I want

he hugs me.

I am a lucky woman

to have someone who 

shares his emotions.

He can shed tears over sentimental moments,

truly feel it in his heart.

We were a perfect match...

We are a perfect match...

I knew I loved him the 

moment I first saw him.

Even if I was so young,  my very core

knew he was the one.

My most cherished times

are entwined in his arms..

my head cradled to his chest...

I am surrounded 

and I surrender...

I am safe...

I am loved.

Dreaming of Wildwood

Dreaming of Wildwood

There was a home 

where I was wed ...

A magical home when you

entered it's gates... 

Through rooms that voices still resonated

 from the family who loved it

so dearly

 but whom had to leave.

Where they grew up

with a family that filled each room.

With laughter and tears, 

hide and seek, running up and down

it's gilded stairs. 

To belong now to a family of two

that would fill it's rooms with the 

sound of jazz music, an organ and the

swirling sound of a water color brush

casting images of barns, 

ocean and beaches.

My parents nurtured it's

rebirth to splendor

in time for ...

My wedding to be,

 only months after they bought 

 their dream home, 

in the rear courtyard garden

amongst dear friends and family.

I slept there but only one night 

wondering who's room I might be 

dreaming in....

To gaze out the multi-paned 

rippled glass to see where I would

say my vows to my Love....

I threw my bouquet

of white roses and baby's breath

from the small balcony

above the massive front door.

I felt like Juliet looking down...

My dream come true that day.

This home my children played

and explored in, 

where the doors opened to soft breezes 

and the 

fountains mimicked their

sweet, high voices as they dipped 

there tiny toes in the pool below.

Where taking the narrow, hidden staircase

would lead to a secret room that

was the old wine cellar.  

Where slumber nights at Nana and Papa's 

house was a time of tea parties,

make believe with dolls 

and bubble baths in

 the huge old bathtub off the

room they slept in.

Eva

She who sleeps in beauty....

We were all entranced by her.

She was always there in the garden 

outside the courtyard. 

Through the old wood gate you 

opened on to her boudoir

where she napped unselfconsciously

in her nakedness

for us to admire and touch.

A story was told that one of the young sons

who played in this garden 

once painted her nipples green....

His father was not happy 

and the young boy washed

and rubbed the paint away

till Eva was pure once more.

He became a priest when he grew up.

My heart broke when

my parents sold Wildwood.

I had dreamed of my

daughters three

wedded in the gardens...

Now I can only pause as I

drive by to remember

in my mind the joyful days

spent here.

Eva...

She moved next door

to live in a new garden

where she is loved as

we loved her.

Wildwood's windows

are closed...

as though whoever lives

there now doesn't wish

her to live as she did.

Why?

Her gardens so overgrown

that the yard is shrouded

in bush and growth like

a Sleeping Beauty Castle.

The gazebo is gone...

where my daughters would 

play as they skipped

on the large round steps

that would lead to the 

rose garden their

Papa tended with care.

My heart is there...

 Some homes

always are joyful.

They are full of a spirit

that comes from the happiness

that happened there.

My heart is there...

In a funk....

  

     So I have been in a funk all week.  I have tried to raise myself from the doom and gloom that wants to wallow inside me making me feel like I have weights attached to my mind and my limbs.  My fingers can't type and I spell badly.  The process of communicating with anyone is severely impaired where words don't form and I simply don't want to talk.  I could be quite comfortable not speaking all day.  I have had this before and it has been a waiting it out for it to go away.  Like a storm that comes over and it rains and rains for days on end, where you wonder when will the sun come back and you can go out without an umbrella.  I am waiting for this storm to pass.

     Adding to my mood or part of my mood is our dryer.  It has been ill or dying for a month give or take.  When it is really in pain it sounds like a mouse being slowly killed by a cat with a microphone amplifying the high decibel constant squeak/screech it can till the dang thing turns off by my hand or the dryer timer.  I mean I do have to dry our clothes!   If it is not dying then it is making embarrassing squawk sounds intermittently and sometimes simultaneously with the mouse squeak/screech magnified sounds.  Our pets are hiding and I should wear earplugs.  My Love tried to deal with the dang dryer but basically said he couldn't get to wherever the sounds are coming from.  He used WD40 in various spots, watched it spin but no cure was found.  Then there are the times where it works fine without any noise.  Why?  What inspires it to create mind damaging sounds?

     I went online to check out dryers and washers on Best Buys website.  I mean we should just get a matching pair, new at the same time.  I found some even on sale and great financing, those new fancy Energy Star ones because ours are not in that league.  No the dang dryer was bestowed upon us by our neighbor after our previous one died over a  year ago.  With the economy in the dumps we simply couldn't afford to buy one so he had one sitting around in his garage.   And I am really grateful that we didn't have to buy one but going into it being installed we didn't know how much life it had left.  We had already replaced the previous washer the year before as the other one died.

     History of washer and dryers for me has been hand me downs from others.  Every once in awhile we had to buy a new one but they never matched except the last set which came from my parents house when they moved.  They lasted almost 14 years but many repair jobs happened along the way.  If I sound unappreciative of mismatched appliances it is because these are the tools of my trade as a professional home engineer.  Would my Love choose to use second rate tools in his profession of building?  I just figured that once we became Real Adults we could buy Brand New Appliances.  I have never, ever had a brand new refrigerator.  Every one we have ever had came from someone else's house, usually off a job my Love was doing.  I would scrub and clean out someone else's dried up food inside till it looked sort of brand new.  Dents?  What dents, I would just ignore them.  Hey, I looked at it this way that at least I had some appliances.  I didn't need to go to the laundromat using saved up quarters and dimes, while sitting for hours with a newspaper or book, secretly observing the other folks doing their laundry.  I did that while we were first married.  Then it was sweet as we would go together on  Sunday mornings when we lived in San Francisco, buy the Chronicle newspaper and be together.  Young lovers doing laundry together.  I never went alone.  Too bad there were no Starbuck's in those days.  And talk about great people watching.  We lived across the street from Golden Gate Park and our laundromat was just up the street near where the Jefferson Airplane's house was when it was painted all drab black.  Very interesting people came in and out of that laundromat.

     Now the real reason I got into this funk to begin with was over Valentine's.  I sweetly received a card from my brother several days before and then on Valentine's Day my love wished me a Happy Valentine's Day and on my pillow that night was a cute card.  Fair is fair I put mine on his pillow that night too.  So okay he was safe....sort of (?).  My kids said nothing and three of them are grown adults though one is out of the country traveling.  Nothing.  I missed those days when they would make a card with a cute picture with hearts and I love you's written on it.  But my Love didn't even take R. down to pick a card out when he went.  I don't know...I just felt...denied.  I didn't understand their ignoring me.  Is it because they don't have any sweethearts themselves?  Are they feeling it is odd to send mom/dad a card?  I was so excited about Valentine's Day.  We had planned on having the Grandparents over for dinner but  one set came for breakfast instead and my mom for dinner.  I planned out a menu to feed my love ones with choosing to do a Beef Wellington because my dear mother by marriage use to fix The best Beef Wellington ever.   Fresh and peeled Asparagus just like my sister by marriage does (she is a most extraordinary cook and has taught me as much as my mother by marriage).  A big salad and a mixed Brown Rice (though I added too much salt by accident).  For dessert I fixed a fancy Chocolate Ganache Tart with Cocoa Meringues to decorate it with.  My mom brought a lovely bottle of wine to go with our dinner and even though we couldn't understand her we had a good time.  It was the next day that it hit me that the previous day just felt regular except for me.  I mean I know my parents can't get out and buy cards like they use to but really a card from my children?   How hard would that have been.  Or for the Grandparents.   Really.  Didn't I always get into the Valentine's love all their lives?  My Love and I always celebrated with them and didn't go out to dinner just the two of us.  It was Always a family affair.   What went wrong?

     Needless to say I was an unhappy woman and that was the beginning of my foul mood.  I even swore which I NEVER do.  My Love asked if I was okay (like he couldn't tell that I was in a sad way) and I didn't say anything at first and then it just popped out!  I said I felt like s**t!   I couldn't believe I said it myself.  I mean you have to know me...I may have sworn a lot as a teenager but that was it.  So he got the message I was not in a sweet mood.  I didn't mean to be mean or uncivil towards him, I know, but when you are married you tend to do these nasty deeds from time to time because of "Heaven knows what came over me!" insanity.   Can I use the Hormone excuse at all?

     Today I laughed for the first time in five days.  It was the dang dryer.  I was alone and had turned it on to dry the towels and I just came unglued with laughter.  The dogs came out wondering what had happened to me.  Was I okay?  They wagged their tails, licked my hands, and then thought "maybe she is happy finally and will give us a biscuit".  Every time the dang dryer made the dying mouse sounds I gleefully laughed.  It felt good and I might even be able to talk this weekend and smile and be happy.  I will be REAL happy if we go looking at washers and dryers and BUY them as well.  Maybe see a movie that I want to see.  Valentine's isn't just one day to let a love one know...everyday we should let each other know that.

     Hormones in a woman who is newly menopausal is the b***h!  Ooops!  I did it again!!!!

Honeymoon Part 2 ~ Corfu ~

   




  By the time we got off the ferry and gone through Customs dawn had past and the morning light filled the sky.  Birds were singing and the people of Corfu were starting to appear.  The group of us that got off the ferry had dispersed  and our ferry had already left for the mainland of Greece.  


     Our plans to meet A. we had set up many months before when he was getting ready to go on his first trip to Greece.  He would check the ferries that came in each morning for a window of days to look out for our arrival.  As we looked around where we figured we would see him we thought about how hungry we were and that we had no Greek currencies.  The exchange office wasn't open yet so we couldn't buy any food.  We found a place to sit and wait for A.


     Our first image of A. coming towards us was who is this guy?  He came walking in his determined saunter, with his hair flowing and combed back like Jesus, quite blonde, wearing cut off jean shorts, flip flops, and a gauzy shirt half unbuttoned.  He was quite tan and talking in Greek to anybody that he saw  and then we noticed they were talking to him back as though he lived here.  My Love and I thought he looked like some Greek God the way he came towards us in slow motion for all to see.  He came up to us very excited that we had made this ferry.  A. didn't mess around with a long talk about what we had been doing since we came to Europe, he was ready to show us Kerkyra (Corfu). 


      So off we started walking towards the old town.  He was talking the whole time of everything he had been doing since arriving in Corfu.  We butted in that we were a tad hungry and could we find an exchange office to get some Greek currency.  "No" and adamant no to the money.  He would pay for everything we would need while we were here and that was that.  This was our wedding gift from him.  All during our walk as he talked he would be yelling out to people walking by "Kalimera!" which is Greek for "Good morning" and everyone would respond back to him the same way  but with an addition of "Kalimera Andreas!".  It felt like we were with a celebrity of sorts.  We walked the quaint town streets till he stopped in front of a shop and started saying this place had the best yogurt.   As you came inside there were a few tables with chairs and in the back a counter.  All felt cool and clean inside.  He started spouting out in Greek what he wanted which all sounded Greek to me.   Quickly the man behind the counter brought out white bowls that had a pale layer which turned out to be honey on top.  Carrying it to a table I noticed the bowls were warm.   I had not eaten much yogurt in my life so I was thinking right off the bat I wasn't sure if this was my idea of breakfast but I was so hungry I figured it had to be better than nothing.  That first bite sealed my love of fresh warm yogurt.  I have never had it quite the same even when I made my own.   Between the warmth and the flavorful honey it was the food of Greek Gods!   He told us they also made really delicious rice pudding served warm and creamy as well.   Now that I had food in my belly I could start to enjoy where we were.  We left with him saying "Efharisto" which means "thank you".  


     Walking outside I looked around and noticed I couldn't read any of the signs.  The Greek letters aren't like Spanish or Italian where you can maybe figure out the word because of similarity to some English words.  He continued showing us around the town pointing out different places that had really good this and really good that all the while saying "Kalimera!" and talking to people he came across.  We knew A. had taken Greek before he came but we couldn't believe how he seemed so fluent in it.  He had picked up the street Greek while on mainland Greece with friends he had made on his travels.  The locals really liked this crazy American who spoke like they did.   It felt like the whole town new him.  


     He attempted to teach me some Greek words to use while we were here and my Love and he laughed about it all knowing how shy I was.  Me speaking Greek to a Greek.  So there was "Yasa" for "hello", "Andio" for "goodbye", "Ne" for "yes" and "Ohi" for "no".  I felt so silly but enlightened to a new culture with my celebrity brother in law to show us around his new island.  




*I wish I could take credit for this photo but I don't have many photos from Corfu.  So thanks to a travel site where I saw this of Corfu  

When Mother Isn't Who She Use To Be

   My mother has dementia of some kind.  I know it and my family knows it but I'll be darn if there are some leeches out there who won't admit it and continue to use her.  I can do nothing about it sadly, not a thing.  All I can do is be who I have always been, an honest, caring daughter.

     My mother had a stroke over five years ago that left her with Aphasia.  Aphasia is a disorder that is a result of damage to the brain that is where our speech comes from.  It is usually caused from a stroke or from an injury to the head.  It impairs the ability to understand and express the use of language as well as reading and writing.  At the time her prognosis was good and she was expected to regain much of her speech.  She took it in good stride and initially did therapy for her speech.  Of course like she always does she stopped doing it because she had better things to do like shop, have lunch out with her friends and keep up appearances.  She wouldn't do the follow ups with the Aphasia Center and would lie to me that she did. She did this for years but I knew.

     My mom is all about control.  Her control and how she attempts to control her family and really the control she did with the amazing contributions she has done in her community.  She was quite a speech maker and could get almost anyone to donate to an organization or fundraiser she endorsed.  She would come across elegantly, looking straight into everyone's eyes and using her Southern charm persuade a whole room to jump on her bandwagon right then even if later they changed their minds, which most didn't.  She would have been good as a politician or even a preacher.  So it is very sad to see the woman who could walk up to a podium, without a note or prompter, speak out to a room full of people without a bit of nervousness, who now is unable to have the ability to have a simple conversation.  That was the woman they all saw in her glory days.  That was not really the mom at home with her son, daughter and our spouses or her grandchildren.

     I don't mean to speak badly of my mom but before the stroke she was not an easy woman to be around.  We have had good times but there have been one to many times where she has been an awful mom.  How many moms question the trust of their children without any justification?  How many moms tell their children that they don't love her or care about her?  How many mothers would turn an icy shoulder to her children because they didn't do as she wanted?   I am speaking of grown adult children.  None of us wished to be disrespectful towards her and held our tongues.  I eventually couldn't take it anymore when it became an attack on my daughter.  That was enough and I let her know it.  Pick on me but don't ever speak that way towards my daughter when she has done nothing to deserve the attack.  

     The best part of the stroke, as awful as this sounds, is that she became nicer to all of us.  It was like the nasty ways had been purged from her!  She became a pleasure to have around which was a nice change from wondering who she would be when we talked to her or saw her in the past.  Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde was my mom.  There is more to her than one can point a finger at and she is an Oscar worthy winning actress to friends and acquaintances.

     Sadly her speech did the opposite and she began to regress.  This regression should have been a flag to her doctors but that is another story altogether.  I could somehow figure out what she was saying and translate for her.  Most people just nodded and acted like they knew what she was saying. At present she is almost unable to speak where anyone can understand her.  A word here and there that one tries to piece together in a sentence or phrase but the overall meaning is lost.  Most of it doesn't make sense because she contradicts herself constantly.  Yes is no, up is down, over is under, red is blue, Monday is Friday and we are all wrong and she is right.  Most times she has this new little laugh or a cough when she is having a hard time speaking.  I tell her to take her time and try again.  The second time may be easier or it may not.

     Today....ah today....she is bent out of shape with me because I am not doing what she wants me to.  She hates, simply hates to be told NO.  To say no is to commit Seppuku by not honoring her demands  Oddly when she is miffed her speech slightly improves which isn't good for the reason that I am subjected to her nasty side.  On one level, the level that I feel first, is that she is so selfish to think I have no other purpose in this world than to be here to always say yes to every request she bids.  The next level is the humor in the request.  I have to remind myself to see the humor because otherwise I would surely go crazy.  She sounds like a spoiled four year old who doesn't get what she wants.   The dementia part is that she won't let go of it till the request date has past.  Today's request will not happen for two weeks.  This will be a long two weeks of her calling to repeat her demands and be irritated at me for not doing what she wants. I am polite,  keep my chin up and move on in the conversation.  This is when she will say silly things like the friend we need to see is dying (they aren't), they are very, very ill (they aren't),  she is dying (she is not), she has three months or five years left  to live (she isn't dying) and how can I not do as she asks?   There is the line that we never see her, but she is the one who cancels out due to rain, clouds, sun, friends, you name it she has an excuse and then accuses me of not seeing her.  I am polite and try to hard to stay calm...because there is no use in arguing with someone who doesn't see the world like the rest of us.  She sees herself as being just fine.  In fact that is the phrase she uses multiple times "Everything's fine, I'm fine".

     This too shall pass, a favorite saying that I utter as a mantra in my head.  My mom is not herself any longer.  Life goes on and I just keep holding my chin up.  My heart aches for her loss and our loss as a family.  I choose to see the glass half full and she will always see it as half empty.  I will not let her bring me down.  I know my mom loves us and she does tell us she does.  There is so much about my mom I will never know or understand.  Ever.  But my chin is up.

Honeymoon Part 1 ~ Corfu

    

              The wind is in from Africa

             Last night I couldn't sleep

             Oh, you know it sure is hard to leave here Carey

             But it's really not my home

             My fingernails are filthy, I got beach tar on my feet

             And I miss my clean white linen and my fancy French cologne

                                          

     I was driving on the freeway today listening to Joni Mitchell on my iPod when a song came on that took me back to our honeymoon.  Carey.  Almost all old Joni Mitchell music has some special meaning to our relationship but this song brought the memories of our honeymoon, specifically Corfu, to come meandering into my thoughts.  My Love and I had decided to take a 6 week trip to Europe backpacking and using a Eurail Pass to get around.  I had never been out of the country whereas he had been six years before after he graduated from High School.  I was a wide-eyed 19 year old bride on a huge adventure.  He had our trip all in his mind of where and what we should see and off we went two days after we were married in 1977.  At this point in the trip we had been away for five weeks and were on our way to meet his brother A. who was on the island of Corfu.  His wedding gift to us was to take care of everything while we stayed with him there.  We didn't know what to expect and when it comes to memories this part of our trip was an experience we would never forget.  




                                                  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

   We had arrived in Brindisi, Italy via the train at long last.  I was elated to be off the train because of the cramped conditions we had been in from Rome to where we would catch the ferry to Corfu.  When we got on the train it was already full of young northern European's leaving for holidays to sunny beaches in Italy or like us to Greece.  My love and I managed to find a place to stand or sit on the floor in the area where you would embark or disembark, right outside a toilet as all the compartments were full.  How convenient if it wasn't for the hours I would have to smell that awful aroma. Of course the other smells were just as bad.  Cigarette smoke and B.O.   I had decided men in Europe don't wear deodorant since anytime I am in close contact with them I smell the pungent stench of their pits and bodies.  The windows in the corridors next to the compartments open half way but somehow with all the tourists on board and the heat I felt like I couldn't breathe.  We had boarded the train at 12:35 A.M. after sitting at the train station since 6:30 P.M. the previous evening.  We had eaten an okay meal at the Train Terminal Ristorante earlier and would hopefully not be hungry till we got to Brindisi the next morning.  That is hoping that the train kept moving and didn't stop like they did in Spain while in the middle of nowhere.  Spain's train system ran on an always late schedule, seemed to have odd break downs or just stop and start whenever.   So far the Italian trains had been running on time.


     Getting off the train, while a relief, made us realize how exhausted we were from not being able to sleep or be comfortable for any length of time.  But how could we?  Bodies trying to get to the bathroom, bodies stepping over you or on you if your were sitting down, talking, smoking, talking, laughter every now and then, voices of other languages I couldn't understand that became a drone in my tired mind. 


      I really wasn't a very good traveler when it came to roughing it, yet at last here we were in a crowded area near the ferries, waiting to board a ferry to Corfu.  My Love and I found the place to  buy our ferry tickets and we were able to get our own compartment on board to sleep in as it was to be an all night trip for 10 hours.  We had to hang around the port area from the morning till near 10:00 at night before we were to leave.  It was entertaining that much I can say.  There was guitar music playing, singing, and a young woman dancing near a fountain where we waited.  I started to  people watch which helped the time pass by.  I noticed that a lot of the girls had on long skirts, or sundresses  and I looked down at my outfit and felt very unfeminine.  I was wearing my Levi jeans, one of the two I brought, and a t-shirt.  I was feeling grimy from the train ride as well as from the past several days without a shower.   I had brought only one sundress and at this point I was sick and tired of the clothes I had brought.  I wanted a shower badly but that wasn't going to happen for at least another day.  I couldn't wait to be at our next destination.  




     It got hot during the day and we had to wear our backpacks if we walked around so we tried to just stay in one place rather than do any sightseeing.  There was a row of little cafes in the area and we read the menu's placed outside each one deciding where we would eat for dinner.  All overpriced for the captive audience here.  During the day we nibbled on bread we had bought at a panetteria and we bought a couple of liter bottled waters to drink from and bring on the ferry.  Carrying the bottled water is a pain because they are heavy yet we need them.  Amidst all these travelers I felt like we were in a crowd at Disneyland.   Everyone happy and excited to be going on holiday.  All day whenever a train arrived more people would flood the area.  I kept wondering if everyone was going to be on our ferry or were there other ferries departing to take some of the crowd away.   

     Finally we were able to board the ferry!  My Love and I waded through the crowd of still jubilant people hoping to find our cabin to leave our backpacks and walk around above deck before settling in for the night.  Our cabin was pretty bland.   A queasy mint green paint with two single bunks of black vinyl mattresses.  No sheets so we would use our sleeping bags to sleep on.  Nothing else in the space not even a porthole to look out.   I was feeling a little claustrophobic and was more than happy to leave and walk around the ship.  My Love was feeling a bit nauseous with the ship heading out into the Adriatic Sea.  The engines were loud and the whole ferry felt the vibrations  with every bounce over the water.   It was going to be a long night.  The main level was a large enclosed open area with hard bench seats around the perimeter and in the middle single seats bolted to the floor in rows.  My Love wasn't feeling any better in there so we headed out on the foredeck which had more open room than the aft deck.  It wasn't sheltered from the oncoming breeze but it was fresh air!   We ended up sleeping out there huddled and cuddled together against the side of ferry sheltered from the wind before heading down into our cabin to reclaim our packs.  The toilets didn't seem to be working on board so you just used them with your nose held, hovering over the seat and getting the heck out of there.  I was getting pretty good at this but wishing I was a guy who didn't need to squat to pee.  To bad they didn't have antibacterial lotions back then as I would have brought a lot along.  


     Our first view of Corfu was of the silhouette of the island against a blue black sky just before dawn.   The sounds of our fellow travelers were like us, stirring and gathering belongings for our disembarking off the ferry.    


  
                                           But let's not talk about fare-thee-wells now
                                                     the night is a starry dome.
                                     And they're playing' that scratchy rock and roll
                                                    Beneath the Matala moon