Mediterranean Cruise, Log Six: Catacombs

From Tunis, we sailed across the Strait of Sicily and docked at Palermo on the island of Sicily, the largest island in the Mediterranean Sea and belonging to Italy.

I remember how cheerful the Sicilians were, happy to see a shipload of eager tourists arriving at their main seaport.

We were basically left on our own to do what we wanted, because the only tour offered was to the catacombs, and I had zero percent interest in seeing them.

One of my friends went with a group of women who came back later looking green and refusing to talk. Of course. That's why I didn't go.

Catacombs are underground tunnel rooms used as graves by early Christians and as refuges from persecution.

My friend said there were skeletons hanging on walls and mummified shapes, and the whole place went on forever and smelled strange and gave all the women the creeps.

He also said I was smart not to go.

What I did do was walk the streets of Palermo and talk to anyone who could speak a little English.

So I came away with fine memories, while the others who took the tour?

My friend said he never forgot the smell.

I never forgot the Sicilian friendly smiles.

Mitsy's Baby: A Cat's Final Dream

She loved babies, human babies, and would watch them for hours on end.

When new neighbors moved in next-door, they brought with them a six-month old baby boy. They would sit in their backyard with the baby and Mitsy would hide in the bushes by the wire fence, and watch.

So I knew that getting a baby at her ripe old age of seventeen would make her the happiest cat in the world.She curled up next to the newborn and slept the peace of cat heaven. She never got too close to him because she knew that wasn't right.

The first time he focused on her old, sagging face, he couldn't figure out what she was.

When he had hand coordination, he reached out and touched her soft ginger fur, and fell in love.

Mitsy stayed with him when he played and when he ate baby cereal in a carrier on the floor.

He belonged to her, and we all respected that.

She only lived ten months after we got our baby, but she must have died happy, even though she was old and sick, because having a baby was as precious to her as it was to me.

 

American Idol Save

Tonight, the judges used their solo save to keep sixteen year old Jessica Sanchez on the show as a contestant.

The judges were shocked that Elise Testone, Joshua Ledet, and Jessica were all in the bottom three.

Phillip Phillips, Skylar Laine, Holly Cavanagh, and Colton Dixon were all in the saved and safe group.

Add Jessica Sanchez to that group and these are the contestants who will compete next week.

The United States of America: Chapter One

I guess I fell in love with the United States when I was a little kid.

Dad used to take us on Sunday drives across the border and under Lake Erie, so we could experience the feelings of being out of Canada for a few hours.

The thing I liked the best was that I couldn't tell the difference between the two countries. The roads, the grass, the houses and cars, and especially the people, all seemed to be the same.

There was a bit more garbage in the ditches, stuff like pop bottles and papers, and sometimes we'd see a big rig I'd never come across before, but that's about it.

No one in the states ever knows I am Canadian, a foreigner, a legal alien, just by looking at me or talking to me, because we are all so much alike.

When I was young, I loved the concept of Disneyland, and how lucky could you be to be an American kid in California?

Florida was a paradise of dreams, and whenever any of my little classmates came back up from a winter drive to Florida for a couple of weeks, I peppered them with a thousand questions.

Palm trees are my favorite tree.

Sweet rolling towns with American church spires and wide lawns are my favorite towns.

Waitresses in roadside restaurants, that stand on freeway exits in the dawn hours of early morning, are my favorite American people, because they call you honey and always know what you need before you do, with a smile.

And truckers, sitting on bar stools at the long counter eating enormous breakfasts and talking quietly to anyone with earshot, are my favorite blue collar workers in the United States.

I like Washington and the wonder of being a part of the running of such a huge country.

I hate to say it, because sometimes it can get in the way of common sense, but American pride is unique to the world, in my experience, and not a bad asset.

There is no greater country to share a long border with, in my opinion, than the United States, because we are not enemies, never have been, and never will be.

There is a comfort, to both sides, knowing that.

Mediterranean Cruise, Log Five: Tunis and the Sand Caves

I saw the caves on the cliffs of north Africa outside Tunis, standing on the edge of the Mediterranean Sea. The sand of the cliffs was golden and smooth and sweet.

Our ship had slipped into the Gulf of Tunis on the northern tip of Tunisia and docked at a pier in Tunis in the night, so we awoke to the views of a beautiful city belonging to the Arabs and Muslims.

A bus took us along palm-lined wide avenues and tall and slender uniformed men guarding palaces at their gates.

The city was enchanting, modern and old, dark-skinned men dressed in long white gowns and turbans, and some in western and European clothes.

Buildings were white and sandy-colored stone.

There were donkeys pulling carts in the streets, and marketplaces selling nuts and dates and olives.

But the caves...

The water of the sea was a rich blue, not dark and not pale. Different.

Sun splashed light along the cliffs, making the caves black in shadows down below from where I stood, absolutely enthralled, on a high cliff.

Nomads' homes.

Some said Bedouins' homes, but did Bedouins really live there or only in the deserts of countries further west, back in 1975?

A man walked out of one of the black shadowed openings and stood there looking up at the cliffs.

His robe was snow white, his skin almost black in the hot sun.

He was young and strong and tall.

I wanted to wave.

He turned and walked back into the cave, disappearing into the shadows of a life spent wandering, a life he must have chosen, because it was what he knew.

Baby Music

Being a pianist practically all my life meant that my kids would play too. Surely they'd love the piano as much as I did. Surely my enthusiasm would become theirs.

As soon as my son was able to sit, I put him on the piano stool and asked him to play, and he did, a baby fascinated by the sounds he could make, just like his mama did.

He was also fascinated by the height of the stool, and the fact that he could go around and around with my help.

When he was a year old, he had it down. Good hand placement on the keys, curled up toes, and a master's fat ego on his face.

My old Toronto-made Gerhard Heintzman had an incredible rich sound that brought pianists to our door when I was a kid. My father bought me the piano because he got the message after two years of begging and me playing the tabletop at mealtimes. My piano teacher in the village would come over just to have "the privilege of playing this piano," and so my love for my piano grew even stronger.When my daughter was a year old, I no longer owned the Gerhard Heintzman, because the soundboard was broken from a long-distance move. So I gave it to two men who practically drooled over it, because they knew pianos and desperately wanted this one.My daughter played on an electric Technics piano I bought in central Florida, a much smaller and more manageable instrument, albeit not a real piano. But it does have a decent sound.

She learned to play by watching me. My son learned to play by my instruction.When he was three years old, he sang along with his own chording, his own creation and lyrics.

My daughter knew the beauty of the arms and fingers of a concert pianist running through her as she played, with baby-like concentration.

I think my fun moment was when I handed my son my violin when he was only two and a half, and told him to be very gentle with it.

He picked up the violin with awe on his face and in his hands, and very carefully held it lengthwise, anchoring it with his feet, then he held the bow in his left hand and began to play.There was no screech of horsehairs on string, just sweet strokes of baby music coming off the beautiful instrument.

Small Town Diner, Small Town Teenaged Girl

Remembering last Saturday night and how much she hated it, Theresa called her one best friend to meet her at the diner at eight o'clock.

She walked the six blocks to the local hangout wearing jeans and a sassy red blouse and sandals, and mumbling the whole way to herself.

She was sixteen and nobody could tell her what to do in 1960.

Jerry was pumping gas in his black Chev. His latest girlfriend was primping in his rear-view mirror, leaning her face into it.

Theresa saw her and sneered. Who'd go out with that loser guy but a dope like her, she thought miserably.

Jerry looked over at Theresa.

"Hi," he said.

"Yeah," was what he got back, a sullen look accompanying the droll word.

"Who're you mad at?" he asked.

Theresa shook her head, rolled her eyes, slouched her already round shoulders, and walked into the diner.

June was perched on a stool at the counter, smoking and looking righteously bored. Theresa's best friend, still wearing a beehive and long dangling earrings.

A ring of red lipstick stuck to the filter on the cigarette where June laid her lips every few seconds. She never inhaled. She just smoked to look cool.

Theresa slid down beside June and grunted.

June said, "Yeah, me too."

"Did you see Jerry's latest, in the car?"

"Yeah. She's from the bad side of town."

"Wrong side of the tracks," Theresa agreed, and held out her hand. "Give me a smoke."

"Try asking, huh?"

Theresa rolled her eyes.

June passed her the package, slid it across the counter with the lighter.

"So, what's up?" she asked, watching the cool way Theresa held the cigarette and lighter. She wished she could look that sophisticated.

"Marcus dumped me."

Someone stuffed a quarter into the jukebox and played Conway Twitty, making Theresa's bold statement ache inside June's chest.

"Why?" she whispered.

"You know why."

"Another girl?"

"Shhh. Here comes that nosy waitress."

"Hi, Theresa. What would you like?" The nosy waitress gave out her best smile to the girls, and Theresa sneered, knowing all she did it for was to get a bigger tip.

"A coke," she snarled.

"Sure. Be right back."

"Witch," Theresa mumbled.

June laughed.

Neither of them saw the waitress's back stiffen a few feet away at the work station.

"So, who's the girl?" June leaned in close to whisper.

"Virginia."

"Yuck!"

"Sleaze girl."

"Yuck."

A tear dropped onto Theresa's left cheek in full view of her best friend's eyes.

"Oh, Theresa."

"I love him."

The nosy waitress set a glass of coke down in front of the crying teenager, making the ice cubes tinkle against the glass.

She leaned down and whispered, "I may be thirty-four, honey, but it still hurts when a guy dumps me."

Her voice was so kind that Theresa looked up and met her eyes.

The nosy waitress said, "I just lost my boyfriend of two years and four months...to my cousin. I even have my wedding dress."

Two pairs of sixteen year old eyes widened in shock.

The nosy waitress nodded solemnly.

June said, "Stupid men."

"Sometimes they are," the nosy waitress agreed, "But then, so are we. How be you have an ice cream sundae on me, both of you. That'll make you feel better."

Her smile was encouraging, as if life can look better, just like that, when somebody cares.

Theresa nodded.

June said, "Thanks."

As soon as the nosy waitress walked away, the teenagers looked at each other.

"Who'd have thought," June said.

"Two years and four months," Theresa whispered.

"That's like a lifetime."

"Me and Marcus only had three weeks."

"That's still a lifetime, Theresa."

"Yeah, but..."

They both turned to stare at the nosy waitress preparing the sundaes over at the work station.

"A wedding dress," Theresa said in awe.

"I'm swearing off boys."

"Yeah."

The doorbell dinged and in walked the bad guy, alone. He sauntered straight over to the girls and laid his arms across their shoulders as he leaned down between them.

"Ladies. How about a double date with Dew and me?"

The teenaged girls' hearts just up and melted, right then and there.

Pete and Dew, two really hot guys, asking Theresa and June out on a double-date, right now, right here in the town diner.

They looked at each other, wide-eyed and grinning.

They both eased their jeans off the stools and let the bad guy walk them to the door, and the mean waitress smiled, watching them go.

That story works every time, she thought, knowing she really shouldn't lie like that, her being an old married woman and all, but...

Theresa's just a teenaged girl, in a small town.