The Traveling Keyboard

Ode To Those Of Us Turning Sixty

 

 

  Like mist rolling into a dream that gently wraps all thoughts, all perspectives within its opaque wisdom~~~life proceeds on a daily basis as we take baby steps along this abstract journey.  We struggle to stand and to walk and to speak and to communicate with others around us…..as we observe their personal creation of the dance of life through every second, minute, hour, day, month, year and decade of breath that escapes between their ruby red lips.

We are infants morphing into adults with so much exotic pain and exquisite joy accompanying our movements that we’ve been known to cry to the heavens either in shock or  ecstasy during any given day.  On quiet days we curl into ourselves and specifically fail to ask the question, “Why?” deeply afraid of the answer and genuinely appreciative of the minute respite, knowing our emotions will attack us, once again, tomorrow…….

All too swiftly we become the adult form of the beautiful infant of our past carrying the trappings of adulthood upon our shoulders like our Father once carried us, high above the snakes that slithered around his shoes…..making us tall and momentarily secure.  Unfortunately, he let us down from that lofty place in so many ways.  On our own , survival is imperative as we hopscotch our way between the serpents and manage  incredible bites of sustenance in the form of hard work,   hard play and profound moments of sweet, enduring love…….lovers, spouse, children, grandchildren line-up to create this undeniable bond of such magnitude and strength….we are blown away by its power.

We become survivors.  Like a flash of lightning in the evening sky, the electricity flows through our earthly bodies with such creative power that we in turn charge the world around us and continue the ebb and flow of eternal life.  Such power and responsibility within us is, simply put, enormous!  Love….     

A Loving Tribute To Corinne and Matt

 
    Just before leaving for France to celebrate our thirtieth wedding anniversary, we learned about the engagement of our youngest daughter.  Driving through the beautiful small villages in Normandy weeks later afforded us the opportunity to find the perfect engagement gift, as well as discover pure human kindness and universal respect.

Chateau de Bouceel, tucked away within the shadows of Mont-Saint-Michel near Vergoncey, was our home for two nights, and the Comte et Comtesse Regis de Roquefeuil-Cahuzac generously opened their home to all their guests.  I was quite impressed by the beautiful linen we slept on and inquired about it to Madame Roquefeuil.  When she explained the history and tradition behind the lush, monogrammed linen, I knew I was on a mission of romantic proportions.  Traditionally, all young couples were presented with hand-made white linen sheets for their wedding night.  The linen was lovingly monogrammed with the couples' married initials by the female members of the household and placed on the marriage bed, and their new life together began.  Madame collected these antique linens for use in her Bed and Breakfast and I, speaking in my basic French, persuaded her to guide us to a second-hand store, vente d'occasion, in Courtils.

   

  Unable to locate the shop, we paraded our lime green Citroen up and down the village main street so often we felt like stalkers.  Parking near the Bar/Cafe at the village center, an apron-clad lady washing vegetables smiled and her deep blue eyes foretold us that no language barrier would inhibit our conversation.  Checking the hastily drawn map provided for us, she walked us over to our shop, bowed graciously as we proclaimed, "Merci beaucoup, Madame!"  and left.

We found the linen for our children that afternoon.  Additionally, we rediscovered that simple kindness has no boundaries or barriers.

25 September 2003  

One Day in Ireland

One Day in Ireland     by: Jacqueline E. Hughes

 

I know I must have sounded like a proverbial “broken record” to Family and Friends during this time period; however, I wanted to experience the joy of being a Grandparent in the worst possible way.  I believe I controlled my “Grandparent Desire” as much as I could while around my two married daughters, mainly because of the intricacies of conceiving that both had been experiencing.  My heart and profound love poured out to them each and every day.

       During September of 2006, very dear friends of ours joined us on a week-long visit to the west coast of Ireland where we shared a beautiful rental home located in Adrigole, County Cork.  Seated at the French doors of the kitchen eating area each morning, we sipped our pressed morning brew and devoured, what seemed like, and most likely were, pounds of Irish soda bread slathered in butter and Irish whiskey preserves.  This marvelous taste sensation was only equal to our view of the sun-kissed Bantry Bay that was a mere palm tree and ten grazing cows away from us.  But that’s another story and another time……

My story today involves our view from the other side of this comfortable property, just beyond the stacked stone pillars and ornate Iron Gate that separated us from the road into Glengarriff and the misty undulating outline of the ancient Caha Mountain range to the north.  What a spectacular sight they were each day as brilliant rainbows and steel gray clouds adorned their peaks with halos of color like giant ornate headpieces drenched in smoke and tears.  Within that ancient atmosphere of cool, moss covered stone and hidden vortexes is where this tale begins during the morning of our third day on this mystical and beautiful island.

Heading north in our rental car along R574 we knew we were entering a fairy tale land as the mist rose revealing the magnificent depths of the insanely lush, green valleys dotted with tiny, distant houses of unfathomable means of entry as we rose higher and higher toward Healy Pass.  “How on earth do the people get down there?” I asked my husband, Dan, not seeing any roads snaking their way along the valley wall below.  Having spent a lot of time traveling through the Great Smoky Mountains of Western North Carolina, I was more accustomed to seeing the houses literally sprouting from the sides of the mountain with complete communities clustered together deep in the valley rather than individual homes interspersed here and there.  I thought I might be lonely living down there in one of those houses.  But, would that even be possible if I was surrounded by such conscientious beauty?

We did not pass nor did we see another car heading up to Healy Pass from the other side and by now were feeling very possessive of the scenery as we stopped to take pictures.  The four of us did not hear the crunch of tires navigating over the loose stone parking area.  We did not see the other vehicle at all until the blue jean stuffed leather boots approached us bringing with them a compact gentleman who seemingly appeared out of nowhere!  With a twinkle in his eyes, I kid you not, he introduced himself as John, a local sheep farmer and began speaking to us as though the five of us had known one another all our lives.  I sincerely believe he could have been Dan’s spritely Irish Grandfather reincarnated in order to watch over us on our journey.  Looking more like he was in his late sixties, John kidded with my friend Christine and me and said that he was still, at fifty-two, looking for a wife and wanted to know if we were available.  Turning his craggy, weather-worn face towards me while placing his arm securely around my shoulder, he became quite serious and began to ask me questions.  Was I happy?  Did I have children and, if so, how many and boys or girls?  Were my two daughters married?  And, the most poignant question of all…….did I have any grandchildren yet?  Wait a minute.  Was I actually tearing up as his calm blue eyes rimmed by bushy salt and pepper eyebrows looked deeply into my soul?  Yep.  I told him that God had yet to bless us with grandchildren but that we were waiting, hoping and praying for them.

The next series of events will stay with all four of us forever simply because there is no rational explanation for them at all.  Squeezing my shoulder, John said that 2007 would be a very good year and not to worry about grandbabies, they would come.  As a matter of fact, I would have two, both born the following year.  He kissed me on the cheek and slowly began walking back to his beat-up little car parked within inches of our back bumper.  As the back of his deep blue and perforated wool sweater penetrated my vision, I remained speechless until he waved one last time and headed down into the valley below.  He was as mysterious in taking his leave as he was in his arrival only moments before.  Not a single one of us spoke for almost a minute….quite a while considering what had just transpired.  Beyond the most obvious question of what was that all about, the four of us calmly got back into the car only to pursue some rational explanations later…..after we could think more clearly.  Did we believe in Leprechauns?  Maybe we had no choice.

Miss Brenna Elizabeth was born to our eldest daughter, Alexandria, on May 17, 2007.  Miss Lydia Kaprice was born on November 23, 2007, to Corinne, our youngest daughter.  Whenever I see a rainbow now, I think about John and hope he is as happy as we are.             

The Journey to Sablet, Part V

The Journey to Sablet, Part V By:  Jacqueline Hughes

Our good neighbors and friends from across the street came over last night to ask if we’d bring in their mail while they were gone on vacation.  Janice is a first grade teacher within the Orlando Public School System and definitely deserves some time away.  Like me, she loves to write and will be attending a writer’s conference in Las Vegas this trip, as well as soaking in the natural beauty and grandeur of our Grand Canyon.  Bill, her husband, travels all over the world in his line of work and, I know, is along for the ride…..  If something makes Janice happy, it will make Bill happy, too!  Gotta love him!

I tell you this little story because I’m aware that all over this world someone is ‘picking-up the mail’ for somebody else that is on their way to enjoy a few days, weeks, whatever, off for ‘good behavior.’  Label it prendre des vacances, or going on holiday, or to take a vacation……it all means the same, and we all deserve them, especially with the punches delivered by the ‘ups and downs’ of our current economic scenario.

Although they won’t return for ten days, I’m already anticipating our one-on-one coffee clutch where Janice “spills the beans” and fills me in on (almost) every nuance of the trip.  Of course I’m interested in the conference, however, give me the sights, sounds, smells and taste that has accumulated in her memory for ten wonderful days and allow me to live vicariously through her vivid descriptions of them all.  I want to taste the red wine she discovered at dinner, and ‘people watch’ through her eyes (one of my favorite past times of all!) as the throngs pass by on their various intimate journeys, and mentally catalog the feeling of the sun and gentle breezes that wash over her face while stirring-up the sweet pine scent from the trees encircling the rim of the canyon. 

Can life get any better?  My answer to this would be, short of being there myself, not really.  The table is set.  Go enjoy the feast.  Not only are you doing yourself a favor by partaking of a delicious ‘meal’ prepared by another, but you have the rare and joyous opportunity of seeing the world through another’s perspective.  Always remember that the Grand Canyon can be nibbled on in many different ways with each bite tasting as unique as the diner himself (herself).

Given this very same reasoning, I am soaking up all of the information I can about Sablet and the many different sights, people and activities to visit within and surrounding the village.  Soon, when we arrive there for our ‘vacation,’ Dan and I will ‘nibble’ from the beauty, knowledge and history that surrounds us and return home with all of the ingredients to make a ‘memorable feast’ for all who want to partake of it.

Traditionally, I have prepared 'Daube de Boeuf a la Provencale' for years for our Family Christmas Eve gatherings.  Soon, I will be stirring the pot with fresh 'seasonings' collected via our visit to the south of France including many stories and pictures.  I will grab Janice, if she hasn't already made a strong, black pot of coffee and nabbed me, and share everything with her.  We'll laugh, cry, talk and experience 'la joie de vie' together until the pot is empty and beyond.  Then, slowly, I will pick-up my stack of mail from her safe keeping, kiss her on each cheek and contentedly walk across the street home.

 

To Be Continued.....    

  

   

 

 

A Tribute to a Hero

 

A Tribute to a Hero   By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

Ever since I was a small child, born into and educated within the realm of the Catholic Church, I can remember having nuns to the left of me and priests to the right of me most every day of my life.  With flowing black robes that rustled with each step and snapped in the breeze like a dark unfurled flag, my tiny being was ensconced by these giant, authoritative bookends and I was made to feel as safe and protected as possible while away from parental guidance.  I was young and impressionable and can even remember in seventh grade hoping to  don the crisp white robes of a Missionary Nun as my future ‘passion’ and desired to travel to remote areas of the world to help those in need. 

Getting way ahead of myself here……..  I want to skip back a few years to a sunny day on the playground with all my friends playing Red Rover as the Kennedy name was flitting around our heads like the winged seed pods of the tall maple trees hovering above.  Pictures of a ‘pretty’ man with an enormous amount of thick blond hair and a pleasant toothy smile greeted us from the pale green cinder block walls as we entered the school after recess and marched in line back to our classes.    The nuns would say his name and unknowingly mimic the charismatic smile that his picture displayed.  Priests would say his name with authority while standing high above us in the pulpit issuing the sermon to the masses on a Sunday morning.  Parents would whisper his name to one another after church and the men would furl their brows while the women discreetly tipped their heads to the side and blew out tiny puffs of air towards one another.    At the young age of ten, was I truly capable of understanding just how important that face, associated with the title of Kennedy, would become to all of us for so many years?  Nevertheless, with tummy still reeling from too much Halloween candy layered with gooey pink cake from my November 4^th birthday, I entered the ‘Kennedy Era’ on Tuesday, November 8, 1960.

      I was soon to discover that my name, Jacqueline, was associated with John Kennedy, as well.  I was as proud as a peacock strutting my colors to the world while thanking my parents for this blessing.  And, as the level of my worldly knowledge progressed, I was introduced to the Kennedy brothers, Bobby and Teddy, and tried to understand how intricately the lives of these three Kennedy men were woven together like a piece of fine Irish lace.  It was the assassination of John as President that shot the realization of cruelty and stupidity into my early life and brought all of us to a new level of anxiety that greatly multiplied when we heard the name Martin Luther King, Robert F. Kennedy and, eventually, Kent State University.  On June 6, 1968, two eventful happenings rocked my world: I was graduating high school and hoping that my impending college education would bring me some hope and stability and, Bobby Kennedy was swiftly taken from us by a bullet to the head…..a reminder of John’s death only five years earlier.

We would never forget how our heroes were taken away from us, one by one.  We hoped we were stronger, more loving and free.  We knew there was a better way and, probably, most of my earlier classmates who had intertwined arms in an innocent child’s game of Red Rover one sunny day, were now marching to a field in New York State to prove to everyone, but most of all themselves, that life could be better.  It had to be better because the world around us had reached a new low.  The war in Viet Nam was raging and taking relatives and friends down with it.  So, for a few days anyway, we were transformed from a state of fear to a state of eurhythmic bliss.  Some of us marched to Woodstock while others marched to a military cadence in tune to complete physical and mental devastation.

While we, The Flower Children, danced with hope in our hearts, one man was left shouldering the burden of a Family in crisis; a Family in pain.  This man had to fight his own demons that threatened to rip him apart like the delicate yellowed pages of a long forgotten book.  Teddy Kennedy had a choice to make: Follow a path of personal destruction or move forward into the light.  His choice was made easier by his desire to simply help others.  He didn’t have to travel to the far reaches of the world to help people in need, as I wanted to do as a student.  He became The Lion of the United States Senate.  His voice roared throughout the confines of that venerable building and institution.  Teddy took on the task originally laid out by John, Martin and Bobby and became the final pillar of strength for so many people in this crazy mixed-up world.

      Teddy Kennedy completed my set of “authoritative bookends” that continued to comfort me ever since the Kennedy name was first introduced into my life.  I will travel to pay homage to my fallen hero as I have already done in Atlanta and Arlington National Cemetery before and will stand near the Eternal Flame as my eyes glance over the names John F., Robert F. and Edward M. Kennedy. I will take that moment to sincerely thank each man for his contribution to a better way of life for so many.   And, I will pray that others will continue to pick-up the torch lit by the flame of ‘freedom and justice for all’ and march, if not dance, to the beat for as long as it takes to understand and execute their importance within our lives just as these brothers always did.

My respect and regards to the Kennedy Family during this sad and difficult time.  We’ll be dancing at your wake, Teddy, along with all of those who have admired, loved and appreciated your hard work throughout the years.    Thank you for always being there for us.  

The Journey to Sablet, Part IV

The Journey to Sablet, Part  IV         Jacqueline Hughes

I’ve learned never to take life for granted.  My Mother suddenly passed away at the age of 62 when all of her grandchildren were quite young and impressionable.  Mom believed that ‘to travel’ meant packing our clothes and sandwiches and heading out on the open road with four children, one large dog, husband at the wheel and all of the windows down because we didn’t have AC in the car.  In this manner we tackled Pike’s Peak, maneuvered the narrow streets of New Orleans, viewed the mighty Mackinac Bridge linking the upper and lower peninsulas of Michigan and came back home alive to tell all about each trip to family and friends.

Mom vowed never to fly.  Yet her passion was visiting Hawaii some day.  We asked her if she was going to swim there or just wait until they built a bridge over the Pacific Ocean for Dad to navigate.  She would smile at us and say, “I will get there if it’s meant to be.”  I believe that in her heart and vivid imagination she had visited the islands every day because that is exactly where she would go to ‘breathe.’  There she could bask in the sun and forget about her cares for the time being.  That’s what trips are all about anyway…..taking a small break from reality whether real or imagined.  I now know how much Mom loved her Hawaiian visits.

I do fly, and I love it. I even attempted to become a “stewardess” back in the day.  There’s something so extraordinary about spending a mere few hours aloft and landing in spectacular new places.  Sometimes we fly to reconnect with people and places we’ve visited before such as ‘loved ones’ and France!  And, that’s exactly how I feel about flying to Sablet this coming September; I’ll be saying “hello” to a place I now know only in my heart and imagination.  And soon……..very, very soon, it will all become a reality.  Less than seventeen weeks to go!

     Is it possible for someone to be able to visit a certain place that makes them feel whole even if they’ve never actually been there before?  And to know in their heart that this place exists for them to return to again and again?  I know we feel that way about Sablet already.  Just as my Mother experienced the warmth of the Hawaiian sun on her face and the sensation of a sandy beach beneath her feet whenever she felt like it, Dan and I will return to Sablet over and over again.

 To Be Continued…..          

           

The Journey to Sablet, Part III

The Journey to Sablet, Part III        Jacqueline Hughes

Imagine someone speaking into a ‘curb-side’ intercom in a major metropolitan city, say, Paris, speaking in English with a very heavy ‘American/French’ accent while his nine-year-old daughter is running the video camera from the back seat of the rental car…….

This scenario conjures up all sorts of sit-com like images and instant jokes to be shared by family and friends for years to come.  And, believe me, it does and they are….especially from a back-seat perspective.  Of course, the nine-year-old has since turned thirty and has a daughter of her own who has her Mother’s,  shall we say, unique personality and we can only hope that one day she will capture her Mother in an interesting circumstance for the enjoyment and entertainment of the entire Family.  Oh, it will happen!

In the meantime, we shared with her the magnificent view from the upper level of the Tour Eiffel,  sauntered down the Avenue des Champs Elysees as if we were in a Wizard of Oz production with the Arc De Triomphe as our destination, and greeted at least a hundred Parisians with, “Bonjour!” and  huge smiles each day by lunchtime.  We all brought back to Michigan such wonderful memories.

Now, Dan and I are looking forward to our new memories to be made in Sablet together.  I want to be up by six each day inhaling the morning breezes, jotting down my notes from the day before with a cup of strong, black coffee warming my hands.  I want to kiss my husband on the terrace in bare feet in the morning hours and do it again as the sun disappears and we gently shiver against one another as shadows blanket us in the Sablet twilight. 

No, we will not have the witticisms of our nine-year-old taunting us from the back seat this trip……those days have their place in our heart and soul, tucked away for safe keeping.  This time around is for us alone.  Isn’t it?   I know deep down that someday, soon, sharing Sablet, its people and the beautiful old homes we are fortunate enough to inhabit, will be discussed around, perhaps, a future Thanksgiving table.  And, we’ll be making plans to create future memories with our children and their children in Provence.  For now, Dan and I have one another and, today, that is what’s important.

  To Be Continued…….        

    

 

 

 

    . 

 

The Journey to Sablet, Part II

 

 

 

 

The Journey to Sablet, Part  II       Jacqueline Hughes

The countdown until our visit to the village of Sablet in the Northern Vaucluse continues with eighteen weeks, give or take an hour or two, and counting, to go.  Our deposit is secured and we are now working on the transportation arrangements.  Being very independent, Dan and I enjoy renting a car wherever we travel and in keeping a close profile with the local residents, learn so much about the region, as well as the interesting personalities we meet along the way.

  Simply because we desire to experience the TGV, French National Railroad, we’re thinking of flying into Charles De Gaulle Airport in Paris and connecting with the train there that will take us smoothly into Avignon, leaving us a short car drive to Sablet.  Somehow even speeding swiftly through the French countryside via rail seems romantic to me.  I’m hopeless and incurable and can’t possibly imagine myself any other way.  Fortunately, neither can Dan.

That’s what you get for waking up in Paris…..!  Did Dan say this to me oh, those so many years ago on our first morning in France?  I remember standing out on our narrow balcony watching the sun rise with its brilliant glow shining through the half-moon filigree of wrought iron that separated us from our neighbors.  I must have seemed trans-like to him as the morning breeze cleansed my soul and gently sifted through my hair and clothes at 6:03 A.M.  Sitting at petit dejeuner later I knew what he’d meant; my life would never be the same and, it never has been.

That is why planning this trip to Provence is so exhilarating for me over twenty years and several European trips later.  It’s as though I were actually coming home.  Certainly having met  Marianne, Michel and Pippa over the Internet, owners of beautiful homes in Sablet who choose to share their ‘joie de vivre’ with all of us by renting these homes, a new facet of my ‘French Experience’ comes into play.  Dan and I will enjoy the luxury of being able to return to our home, at least it will be ours for the duration, each evening to cook, eat, drink, socialize and enjoy everything that the village of Sablet has to offer while protecting us within her cool, ancient stone walls.  In essence, I will be ‘coming home.’

To Be Continued…….

Journey to Sablet

The Journey to Sablet    

Today is the day!  Yes, today we officially reserve our beautiful home snuggled within the hilltop village of Sablet, France.  Between ‘surfing the Net’ and meeting delightful homeowners there, talking with a friend who was born in Aix-en-Provence and reading, reading, reading………my husband and I believe we’ve discovered a perfect anniversary celebration week in Provence.  Mid-September is such a wonderful time to travel and that is when our exciting journey will begin.  Or, has it already begun?

In my mind, at least, I began this journey many years ago while falling in love with France in my eighth grade French class.  The Eiffel Tower, Mont Saint Michel and the Pont du Gard loomed large within my expectations of perfect photo opportunities and all the while falling in love with the idea of kissing a French boyfriend as we glided arm-in-arm across the Pont Neuf in Paris.  Ahhh…….!

Then reality sets in, life and maintaining that life by making a living becomes priority and our dreams are relegated to the ‘sleeping’ portion of our existence and resurface every now and then when something sparks their importance within our daily routine.

When I think back now, amazingly enough, everything I did that included color choices, decorating and furniture choices, right down to the landscaping of every home we lived in, represented a pseudo French lifestyle complete with terra cotta and bright blue pots overflowing with colorful flowers and fragrant herbs for cooking.  This was my ‘petite jardin.’ I would delight in the sound made by the crushed stone beneath my feet as I walked to the garden bench, really a plank of wood elevated by leftover bricks from a home project, and nestle in my sunny spot surrounded by my petite garden with a good book in hand.

Francophile……I really was not familiar with that term for many, many years because I was living within my heart as opposed to a label.  To this day I usually do not use it to describe my behavior toward French culture and lifestyle.  My emotions travel within a much deeper vein.

Did I plan this to happen?; truthfully, no.  You fall in love with someone for so many reasons.  I consider myself fortunate to be living with a person for over thirty-five years of marriage, two beautiful daughters and now, two delightful granddaughters later, who shares……for the most part……my passion for discovering French culture, the French people and their lifestyle.  Learning about the history of an area is Dan’s true passion.  Ah, yes….two halves that truly do create a whole.

Thus our journey to Sablet began together.  Okay, perhaps our initial journey to France did, that is.  I remember it well….5 August, 1990.  Crisp blue skies and the warmth of an August sunrise greeted us through the bedroom curtains……!