Magpie Pie Tales-Points of Life



Wheat Field with Rising Sun, Vincent Van Gogh, 1889

Resting on a mountain top
A cool wind moves across
The valley
Revealing a field of color
Alive and moving
A patchwork of light
Memories
Float through my mind
Max jumping over a fence
My nephews laughing 
A first glance from the man I love 
Red hot

Canyonlands

Zion

Bryce

Blue Sky

New Mexico

Dust and grit

Of the trails and life

White cool 

Smooth genius of

Bernini's Apollo and Daphne

Rustling of olive leaves in Tuscany

A gondolier's oar as it moves

Through the Grand Canal

Like a wildfire

Moments of time

Speed through my mind

So many

Points of light

Life

Eagles cry

As I descend

The future before me.

 

C.M. Jackson 2011

 

 

 

 

This is a Magpie Tale----paint your way here for more color!

 

 



Magpie Tales-Il Niente

The leaves of the olive trees glistened silver in the early morning sun as our group of made our way through the hills of Tuscany, the towers of San Gimignano in the distance like an apparition or an oasis in the midst of a desert. Today, we would walk fourteen miles to the medieval tower city. We were a colorful group, a term my grandmother would use in place of eccentric because she thought it polite; nine Americans, four couples, me and two guides.Thirty minutes ago, we stood outside our villa, where we had spent a lovely evening  walking around Siena, shuffling about wondering why we had to leave, slightly sleepy, the smell of wood burning in the hills below. Harry and Ida, in their late seventies and proud Texans, Sarah and Joel, mid-forties from Massachusetts away from their kids for the first time in ten years, Peg and Warren, newly retired, Eliza and Jessie, life partners and investment bankers from San Francisco and me, newly single, greeting 40 and Europe for the first time. Our guides, Maria, a transplant from Queens, New York and Alessandro from Milan, began as they had each morning, explaining the route, handing out snacks and water for our packs.

So we walked, Maria in the front and Alessandro following, the conversation moving through the breeze and the tinkling of olive leaves.

"We started late, got to make up time, Ida. Move it."
"Joel we need to think about the interview into the club, it's important we make the cut."
"Thanks for your help,Warren. Perhaps your wife would like some water too."
"Liz, you hang here with Maria and have your smoke. I'm gonna continue walking with the Jersey girl and the hottie from Milan."

I walked, never catching Harry and Ida, passing as Eliza threw down her pack and declared the smoking light on, insisting that Warren go bring his wife some water and snacks, navigating around Joel as he was unzipping his hiking pants to make them shorts yelling at Sarah, "It's all bullshit!"

As I started up another hill, wondering why I was doing this, I heard a voice, "Lean into the hill. Take slow steps and rest your arms behind you."

Alessandro illustrated as he passed me, tucking his hands behind and under his pack, just as Jessie motored up behind us.

"You have it all under control, don't you?", Jessie said as she reached up and tucked his long hair behind his ear.

He didn't flinch. I was appalled and impressed.

"Come on Jersey Girl! What do you have to say?" Jessie said dancing around the two of us, "Pretty good for having knee surgery a month ago, eh?"

I continued up the hill, leaving Jessie with Alessandro, seeing Harry and Ida ahead moving closer to the mystical towers of San Gimignano. The conversation lost as I put distance between me and the group, thinking only of finishing and the possibility of a shower.

In the quiet, I saw and felt a place that was nothing I had ever experienced except, perhaps northern Arizona, different trees but bright sunshine and great expanses of land and that's when I realized in my soul what I needed.

So I walked until I saw the gate and the towers before me, Harry and Ida were pacing waiting for the group and directions to our hotel. I took pictures as Harry and Ida talked to me about their grandkids. Tourists on day trips parted as the rest of our group climbed the hill, Maria and Alessandro gathering us and pointing us to Hotel L'Antico Pozzo in the midst of a plaza. 

Salty, sandy and tired, I heard my room number and bid the group 'adieu' and staggered into the hotel. I was greeted like majesty and led to a room that was nothing like I'd had ever seen ---a huge bed, curtains billowing in the breeze and a shower that was palatial.

After a blissful thirty minutes, I emerged onto the plaza, sans hiking gear dressed for dinner to meet my group who was already positioned in a prime spot  on the plaza and garnering the attention of the wait staff, laughing and toasting the day.

I joined the group in the midst of a toast and Alessandro handed me a glass of grappa, tucking my hair behind my ear as he whispered, "You did well."

I smiled and  said "Il Niente" the scents of verbena, rosemary, lavender and citrus enveloping me as I looked into his eyes for the first time.

C.M. Jackson 2010

This is just another Magpie Tale---travel here for more scents or sense...

Theme Thursday-Lunch

After walking for hours, seeing amazing sights, Mr. Jackson and I began to feel hungry and as luck would have it, we were given a choice..

or

this lovely establishment... guess which one we chose? Here's a hint... thin crust pizza piled with fresh tomatoes and fresh mozzarella isn't served at Mickey D's even in Venice...lovely place where the gondoliers stopped for a break and then ventured forth into the Grand Canal, singing ---O Sole Mio ...now that's lunch!

Are you hungry? Lunch is served here! Happy Theme Thursday!

Theme Thursday-Polka Dots

One dot...



Two dots...



Three dots...



so many dots, so little time....

Theme Thursday-Roof

"The very least you can do in your life is to figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance but live right in it, under its roof." -– Barbara Kingsolver

This was one of the first views I had when Mr. Jackson and I climbed the stairs into the upper reaches of the Duomo in Siena Italy. What inspires and amazes me about Italian architecture is the commitment to the past and the ability to add new to the old. What would our cities be like if we aspired to the same commitment?

These boots are made for walking...

What I love about travel is the unknown. It is a perfect excuse to buy many books and read about the places never seen, plan and dream. I know, you are thinking, "What's the big deal? It's Italy."

In 1999, this was a big deal for me, a major step outside of the comfort zone and I was doing it on my own. In fact, many of my friends wondered if it was safe for me to be traveling in a foreign country and whether I was fit enough to 'hike'.

Go figure.

Here's a bit more nostalgia for you. My flight to Italy was not quite full and we were able to walk the length of the plane and remain standing if we wished. I even had a seat between me and a very chatty gent, who kept me from sleeping. Oh the luxury of traveling in coach with a few extra seats and the ability to stretch your legs!

When I arrived in Rome, I was sleep deprived but somehow, jazzed by the possibilities of the journey. On landing, I navigated through Fiumicino to the train that would take me to Termini Station. It was six am and there were a few people milling about, signs in Italian and I made it to the terminal without a hitch. That's when I noticed the ache in my feet. You see planning a trip involves devising a wardrobe that needed to travel for two weeks. I had shoes for walking and hiking. I was wearing what were to be my walking shoes which as I stood waiting for the train seemed two sizes too small.

Knowing that check-in at any hotel would be in the afternoon, I booked my room at the Hotel Locarno a night before so I could arrive and check-in early.(http://www.hotellocarno.com/inglese/monumenti/piazza_popolo.htm)

This is where experience pays off. What I learned as I stood waiting for the train, then for the taxi with all of the foreigners asking me for directions because they thought I was Italian and finally getting to the hotel at ten, with the manager looking at me as if I was crazy, there is no need to book a day ahead because they will just let you into your room. Luckily, this was pre-euro so my pocketbook suffered minor damage.

My feet really hurt as I followed him to the tiny elevator leading to my room which overlooked the intersection of the via del Corso, via del Babuino and via di Ripetta. I thanked him, closed the door and sat on a very little but comfortable bed. This was the first time I could survey my feet and really understand the problem.

Looking about the room, happy to be starting my journey, I proceeded to remove my lovely, not inexpensive walking shoes, and felt pain and horror, as the back of the heel on not one but both of my feet proceeded to leave my body and become one with my, now, very expensive walking shoes. Not a good start to a trip that included hiking many miles.

Tears in my eyes, I crawled into the little bed and thought of my really comfy shoes very far away in America. I woke up six hours later, the roman sun finding its way into my window, hungry and wondering just how I was going to walk about Rome, get to Florence and then hike through Tuscany.

Hunger always wins. The fact I was in Italy and the food was there waiting, gave me strength. I knew I could find a way. Here's another piece of nostalgia--moleskin. For years, hikers relied on this amazing skin/fabric to cover blisters. Given my research I had packed a first aid kit that today would have kept me at airport security for at least two days.

I set up triage, pulling out of my suitcase, scissors, antibiotics, ointments, pain killers, moleskin and my relatively new hiking boots. My immediate thought was if I was going to dinner there was no way I could put on my walking shoes. So after applying the moleskin to each heel, I proceeded to put each foot into my hiking boots not without pain but with the knowledge that really good food and Rome was outside my room.

Here's the most amazing thing--once I got my feet into those boots, I could walk not just to dinner,but for miles. I felt no pain and it wasn't because I had great pain killers, they were great boots. I had an amazing dinner and proceeded to walk Rome in my hiking pants and boots for the next four days surrounded by high heels and armani suits. It didn't manner because I was knew that I could explore Rome and Florence knowing that the following week I would be walking 6-14 miles each day in Tuscany.

My salomons walked the Via del corso, the Vatican and hiked another 200 miles before I had to retire them.

Salomon stopped making hiking boots about four years ago. On our first hiking trip together, I bought Mr. Jackson a pair and he called them, "Marshmallows for the feet." So true and so sad because we can't get them anymore.

Take a Hike

People always ask me how I started hiking.

First, I was tired of sitting on the beach covered in layers, under an umbrella and constantly worrying if my 50 SPF was wearing off. On one of those perfect early summer days, a boy laughed at me, “By the time you get any color, it will be September.”

At the pool, the sight of my lily white legs brought gasps, causing parents to grab their children and reapply their sun-block.

I was always hot, but not in a manner to which I aspired. I was literally boiling under the layers covering my ‘simonized’ body. You see, despite having a bit of Italian and American Indian heritage, the English, French and whatever else, the genetic pool gave me really pale skin. After many beaches, most of the Caribbean and Florida, the reality is, “If I am very careful, I get beige.“

Then there was the thing about sitting still for hours on end, taking a break for lunch or cocktails but understanding the main focus is being 'one' with the sand, the chaise lounge and looking cool. It’s very difficult to look cool when you are being parboiled.

Swimming, as I learned from observing the really accomplished beautiful beach people, was only necessary when one became too warm and or perhaps, to get someone’s attention you ran to the sea and emerged like a god or goddess returning home from Atlantis.

I love to swim and am known to spend hours in the water---two problems, sun-block washes off and at 5’ 4” and well, being me, the image of running along the beach like Bo Derek or Cindy Crawford or Elle MacPherson was not happening.

So, here I was working hard to go on vacation, to sit under really well made beach towels from some very nice hotels, drinking very expensive cocktails, wondering, “WTF.”

Yes, I caught up on my reading, but somehow I always went home feeling, ‘eh’.

Lastly, I work in a very stressful and competitive male-oriented environment. Hence, the idea that beaches with balmy breezes and palm trees will rest the weary bones. Given the chronology of beauties running along the beach, you can see that I wrestled with this conundrum for many years. The reality was that I needed to get away and rid myself of the hoodoos of my work place.
It took some major life lessons and the approach of my fortieth birthday, to make me think.

I had never been to Europe, so I decided that even though the Italian part of me wasn’t enough to get a tan, I would spend two weeks in Italy. Learning from my experience on the beach and knowing that I was a freak for museums, art and architecture, I decided that one week would be spent in Rome and the next hiking through Tuscany so I wouldn’t be by myself ‘on the beach’.

So that’s how it began, one small step, many stories.