Two Week Wonder

Life has been on pause for the last two weeks, as I’ve slowly recovered from the surgery. I’ve had to depend on others to do things for me, accept that time must move slowly these days, and stay awake at nights for my tiny one.

It’s taken a new turn, this twist in adventures—and yet somehow, it doesn’t seem strange; just the natural flow of things.

It was my son who first broke the news to me. “I have a baby sister!” he declared, one sunny day in Lake Como, nine months ago.

“No you don’t,” I half-frowned at him.

But he did, already. I just didn’t know it.

Trusting his instincts, I asked him, shortly before the birth, “What color is your baby sister’s hair? Is it blonde, like yours?”

“No,” he stated matter-of-factly, without looking up from his puzzle. “It’s black. Schwarz. Like yours.”

And so it is.

Now, she’s here, the little lady bug, who sleeps so much I am secretly hoping she stays this quiet and lets me do my work. Her features already take on quite a mature look, though she is just weeks old.

And when she smiles in her sleep, it is the most beautiful thing on earth.

I told you, this is my journey.

Yes, I miss the days of past, of ziplining across gorges while travelling provincial terrains; of backpacking with just my partner, before there were babies; the days of going on a whim, and risking a lot without a second thought.

I know someday, I’ll return to Africa, to the tribal regions of the Philippines, to the vineyards of Tuscany, to intoxicating India. But by then, I’ll have my new travelers with me, little feet marking their own path.

And by then, the journeys—as a family—will be even better.

+++

Now, something for smiles: Tina Fey’s A Mother’s Prayer for Her Daughter

My Girl

Scanning blank pages on this new morning. White space to fill—not mine, but my daughter’s. This new life which has yet to be lived; days and milestones yet to be celebrated.

Moments yet to be realized and treasured.

A brand new start, for something that hasn’t existed yet. How do you capture innocence? How do you celebrate life so pure, so angelic, so vulnerable?

We begin a new journey together, my love. And as we do, I hold your hand, but hope to not hold you back.

Life is for learning, exploring, making mistakes, and trying again.

Life is for love, and loss, and living again.

You must write in the pages of your own book—I can guide you, but not write them for you. You will learn with time, grow with the moments; intuition will guide you, and love will always bring you back home.

You were born into a family of travelers, wanderers, explorers, adventures. We will give you the experiences which will be yours to keep, the boat to set sail and launch out to new horizons. But what you find there and where you decide to anchor will be up to you and your choices.

I can hold you and nurture you only for a little while. I can be your strength just a few years.

When you finally go out on your own, when you finally know what it means to follow your heart, I trust that you will hear it beating in all the right directions.

I trust you will find your way.

Just as you found your way to us.

Alexandra, born March 1, 2013

Seven Ways to Make Room for Magic

I am no coach, no shrink, and no degree-holding professional. I am simply a mother, wife, and lover of life. And life has, in so many ways, taught me—from experience—that there is a force out there, greater than ourselves, which causes amazing things to happen.

As you say hello to all the surprises this New Year has to offer, think about a few conscious things you can CHOOSE TO DO, to make room for the wonders of life’s magic:

1. BE GRATEFUL. Always have words of gratitude in your heart, and on your lips. Wake up and kickstart your day by saying, thank you.
2. BE OPEN. Life takes us by surprise. Go with the flow.
3. SMILE. “Life’s worthwhile, when you just smile,” sang Charlie Chaplin (1887-1977), the famous comedian. Did you know Chaplin was also a troubled soul? Yet he masked his suffering by making others happy. And the world was truly a little bit better because of the “Little Tramp” in his signature bowler hat.
4. GIVE. You don’t have to give money or things at all. Give your time; give your listening ear; give of yourself in little ways and life will give you back so much more.
5. FORGIVE. Holding on to the past hurts no one but our self.
6. LET GO. Renovate and upgrade your life every now and then by doing away with things you don’t need—trinkets, papers, clutter, old clothes, bitterness—all must go.
7. ACCEPT. After you let go, ta da!—there’s incredible SPACE! And yet, we sometimes let ourselves remain empty and lacking. Do you hold love at a distance because you don’t feel deserving of its warmth? Do you keep miracles at bay because you berate yourself for mistakes made in the past? Allow yourself to accept all the goodness that can be yours this year.

Photo by Rabbi Fink

Open your heart wide, and let that love flow in. YOU ARE WORTHY.

Welcome it, just as you welcome everything that is NEW and FRESH, and BEAUTIFUL in 2013. Have a magical New Year!

Love,

Nyx

Making Childhood Memories

 

As soon as we got into Manila, we couldn’t wait to get out.

This week presented our first chance, so the son and I hopped on a bus and found ourselves in Subic Bay Freeport, enjoying sand, sun, and simple pleasures.

 

Fiery Colors of Fall

October came so quickly, and is slipping away…

But not before I shot some fiery photos of Fall. We hunted for steinpilz mushrooms, crunched our way through the forest, baked Apfelstrudel and Quittenkuchen—after picking the fruit straight from our garden.

Soon, November will be here, and bring wintry changes. But we will be seeing an eternal Summer then—on the other side of the world, where the sun sets last.

What sights excited you this Autumn?

Goodbye, Summer–Hello, Sweet Surprises!

The sun rises a little later on this cool September day. just past 8, I wash up and throw on a pullover, then nip across the street to the local Café, where my daily creamy cappuccino is served—along with free WiFi.

But today, its window shutters are down and the Café is closed, quiet and empty. I hadn’t seen the door sign yesterday, that they would be closed once a week now—now that the busy summer is over.

In Europe, where the change of seasons mean a constant transformation of environment, experiences, moods and weather, I’m reminded how fast time flies, and how little of it I manage to fill.

Meandering in Menaggio

This year’s summer season on Lake Como was a beautiful one, tucked between the Alpine mountains that tower over its waters. Now, those peaks are tipped with the first snowfall, and while sunbeams down here are still fairly warm, those white caps crown our tiny village, reminding us that an icy winter is coming.

So we have more travel plans next month, and the month after—crossing countries, continents, and resuming new adventures, where summer never sets. We are dictated by the wind. Here, on the tranquil lake, I did mostly house chore duties, looked after my boys, and enjoyed the open space which lent inspiration to paint and create in a different way.

Bellagio stroll in August

Fun with friends in Gera Lario, North of the lake

Now, I am looking forward to getting back to work—even if it means the bustle of the city, with its vibrations of people, chaos and crowds. I do miss the stimulation, the nightlife and somehow, a bit of the speed. And so, I welcome the shifting winds.

And, I’ve enjoyed every day here in this magical place—the people I have encountered, the time that passed. It brought me lasting memories, and many gifts. And now, I keep a small, three-inch secret tucked away.

…Can you guess what I’ve got?

Tears on the Lake

A few weeks ago, this paradise we call our home for now, turned into the picture of horror. Two rescue helicopters, several ambulances and many rescue workers scurried around the harbor, while we could only guess what had happened.

The news spread quickly: a young boy had disappeared.

The search operation continued until early morning, and resumed the next day. I didn’t realize it had gone on so late, till Karsten and I took a walk to the far side of beach where we love to go, where a little waterfall runs down into a river, and swans bathe below. It usually looks this serene, and I shot this photograph just the day before:

They hadn’t given up their search, and a little crowd of onlookers had gathered at the now cordoned-off bank. The silence was foreboding. It seemed like no one breathed, as men worked silently from a boat, still scanning the shore. I led Karsten away just as the worst sound ever—the mother’s final cry—pierced the silent, eerie air. And I knew then that the search was over.

I’ll never forget that sound…a parent’s grief; desperation; hope lost.

How do you live after sudden tragedy? How do you go on without your greatest love? It’s hard to imagine how people cope after disasters, tragedies, or immense loss.

The next week, a sense of sadness hung in the air, but my spirits were lifted a little when I continued to meet the people who had come to the lake to celebrate life—to continue journeying on.

I met a Dutch mother whose first child, a sweet blonde boy, had Down’s Syndrome. She had two more kids afterwards, and, “would love a fourth!” she exclaimed. As she tended to her little ones, with the strength that only a mother knows, she bore a certain aura of happiness, one that I am sure comes from living with that much love.

I met a pregnant woman, about to give birth for the third time. She and her other two children, had travelled from China, where they lived, to visit her parents here. She told me about growing up on Lake Como; about life as it once was; about good memories.

I met—and continue to meet—fascinating people in this place. They come and go, spending their holidays on the lake and never wanting to leave. But when they do, it reminds me too, that all good things must come to an end.

We are also nearing the end of our time here—one more month, and then it may be on to a new place, somewhere else to call home. Summer took forever to come, and now it is sailing by fast.

I haven’t blogged in quite a few weeks, because of some personal changes that come with many emotions, thoughts that are sometimes better left un-penned. But I will write this:

Where there is life, there is always hope. After the tears come to wash our spirits and soothe our hearts, the road may be bittersweet, but it’s always worth the journey.

Smile, though your heart is aching

Smile, even though it’s breaking

When there are clouds

In the sky

You’ll get by

If you smile

Through your pain and sorrow

Smile

And maybe, tomorrow

You’ll see the sun come shining through

For you.

–Charlie Chaplain

More on Life in Lake Como

Let me tell you a little more about life here in Como:

We live just a couple steps from the town piazza, behind the local church, the bakery, and Gelateria. Across the street are two café bars, my husband’s work place (watersports school) and a giant, grassy playground with a tennis court, basketball court, trampoline and swimming pool.

The atmosphere here is a typically relaxed one, where people stroll unhurried, and whole families play together—or sometimes with total strangers, and children learn to love Nature. Out on the beachfront, kitesurfers pump up their kites to air out, while parachuters glide down the mountain side’s cool air, the wind powering them just enough for an early morning sail.

It’s a place where locals greet you by name, and always a smile. Unlike Germany (our previous home), where the conversation ends at “Good day”, before walking quickly on one’s way, here they will continue chatting—regardless of long queues at the checkout, schedules, or working hours. You learn to not get impatient, but rather, appreciate the fact that people are taking the time to listen, and converse, and communicate—face to face.

Besides, siesta will come soon, and then it will last at least three hours.

And when you live in Italy, you learn to embrace this laidback style. You sip cappuccino, eat gelato, and have a midday Prosecco—as you please. You take your time. You smile more. You stay up late, and sleep in long hours. You chat long minutes because you bask in the presence of another human being, you share life stories as the sun sets in front of you, and you swim naked in the lake, because water is for nurturing.

After a long day’s work (and yes, sometimes just being a stay-at-home-mom is quite a lot of plain hard work with no paycheck at the end of the month) if you get to kiss your son goodnight and say, “I love you, and when you wake up, we’ll go swimming together at the beach,” that’s something to not take for granted.

So you can manage those disputes that sometimes happen in the shadows of your home; those misunderstandings, the trivialities of life. You can look forward to greeting the next Summer day, because as long as there is someone to share it with, and good health to enjoy it a little bit longer, then life is quite delicious.

Postcards From Como

Yesterday, we finally bought an Internet stick device so that we can finally have some connection in our little apartment. It’s painfully slow (I have loaded about four pages in 30 minutes) but at least I finally feel a little more in tune with the planet.

Not that being out of cyber-touch is so terrible at all, though. Whereas before, I would wake up to check emails, news and updates, now I wake up to quiet mornings by the lake where I can run in peace while the boys are still snoring. Whereas before, I would stay up past midnight, staring at my computer screen, now I am back at the canvas. Good old aquarelle paint, an ink pen, and many glasses of shared red wine.

Recently I have painted a series of postcards inspired by the views on Lake Como, from the Northern tip where we live. When I tried to buy some postcards at the only department store in town, there were none to be found, and even in the bigger towns, there were no postcards from our small town that could accurately depict life as it is here.

I decided to paint the scenery I’ve captured, both through my eyes and my camera lens, to paint stills of life in motion, and to bring color to where it is mostly a thousand blue hues. Already, there has been some local interest in my art, and even the town priest has requested postcards of our simple chapel and bell-tower that stands by a river cascading down to the beach—just a short walk from our alleyway house.  A few other local cafes and hotels are also displaying my art for sale, and that makes me quite happy.

Ours is a tiny town, but so charming. You know it’s small when you go out to the corner cafe, and run into your only upstairs neighbor jogging, your landlord going for cappuccino, and the mayor’s bunch just leaving the bar.

I feel strangely at home, and “home” is where my heart feels alive.

Thankful That We Have Today

One month has passed, and every day has been a blessing.

I wake up in the morning and think, “What will today bring?” It seems anything is possible. We live so close to Nature and have  the blessing of waking up to the banks of Lake Como.

A couple weeks ago, I suffered from a few different light sicknesses, but all at the same time, affecting my sight, breathing, and general strength. Getting back to normal has made me appreciate everything that a new day brings, and being surrounded by beauty in our new/temporary home has made me even more grateful to be alive, in this place, at this special time.

What are you most grateful for today?