SEVILLE

We crossed the Guadalquiver River into Seville and I was instantly struck by the beautiful architecture.  It was reminiscent of the buildings we had seen in Guadalarja,, Mexico and of course that was no surprise since it was the Spanish who had conquered the Aztec Empire in the 1500’s. 

Getting off the bus in the Jewish Quarter we could smell the fragrance of orange blossoms and were told the fruits are bitter but the trees were planted simply for their fragrance and hence their name.

Our guide informed us that unemployed people are made to strip the matured oranges from the trees before they start dropping.  The Jewish Quarter was charming with andalusion architecture, narrow streets, small courtyards, and plenty of shops and restaurants.  The guide pointed out the hotel where Don Juan had courted his ladies. 

We toured the Cathedral of Seville, a massive structure adorned with stained glass windows.  The altar at the front is made of 2000 kilos of gold and was roped off from the public.  I think we could feed the world with all that gold.  We climbed up the adjoining tower called Giralda and enjoyed a view of the city below us.  Cruise boats filled with tourists glided slowly by on the river.



In the plaza outside of the Cathedral gypsies hawked postcards and thyme branches.  These ladies are very aggressive.  One lady tapped me hard on the chest when I was inattentive to her sales pitch and was admiring the scenery before me. 

 

 

 

 

 

We stopped for lunch, eating tapas el fresco and enjoying a beer in the warm sun. 

Much too soon we had to return to our bus to continue on to Algeciras where we would be spending the night.  Seville is on a plain and as we headed south the terrain became more hilly to become mountainous near the coast.  I will never forget the feeling I had when cresting a steep hill I saw another continent on the horizon.  I was looking at Africa!

 

A Mindful Way

There is a book I studied entitled “A Mindful Way” Eight Weeks to Happiness.  It is written by Jeanie Seward-Magee, with a foreward by Thich Nhat Hanh,  a Zen Master.  It is a practical guidebook that offers a path toward self-realization and spiritual growth.  It teaches that mindfulness is the foundation of a happy and fulfilling life.  This book has made such an impact on me that I hope others will seek it out. 

One night a week for eight weeks myself and four friends would meet to read chapters aloud from the book, discuss what we had read and during the week do our homework answering questions regarding the chapter that had been studied that week.  One of the big lessons for me from reading this book is to live in a state of gratefulness.  I kept a grateful journal and every evening I wrote 5 things I was grateful for that day.  It can be the simplest of things, a comfortable place to live, a phone call from a friend, food in the fridge, a car to drive; all of the things we tend to take for granted.  I learned to live in the moment and enjoy the moment I am in without looking back with regret or anxiously look into the future.

 

“Being mindfully grateful is a way of allowing our life to flow, rather than letting events get in the way and cause us much grief and unhappiness”

Jeanie Seward-Magee

 

Each chapter had a segment called Mindful Memoirs concerning various decades of one’s life depending the age of the reader ending in questions regarding that period of time.

The questions prompted me to recall my past regressing as far back as age 4 when I still lived in Holland and from those questions and answers I felt compelled to write my memoirs and once I started I couldn’t stop as memories flooded into my consciousness.  I finally stopped writing at thirteen pages (single-spaced) but was reluctant to print them out; every time I edit or revise what I’ve already done so far I want to add more stories.  I intend on presenting my memoirs to each of my four granddaughters but fear they may lose interest if I make it too lengthy.  Slowly I have added another page but I just can’t seem to completely bring my memoirs to a close.

I have written regarding the two chapters that impacted me the most.  The other 6 chapters are also well worth studying.

SLEEPY HOLLOW

We went riding on our motorcycle with Jim and Kim, two retired cops from New York state.  Just south of Inverness we cruised down a picturesque road that meandered along a marshy river.  We stopped for lunch at a place called Sleepy Hollow, a place another motorcycle friend had seen on a former ride.  The windowless building looked like a gigantic chicken coop as the walls and roof were constructed of corrugated steel.  It was situated along the river under huge oak trees, Spanish moss draping from their limbs. 

“Bikers Welcome” read the sign out front but upon entering the restaurant I concluded that we were not the typical bikers that frequented this eatery.  Several tough looking men were perched on stools at the bar.  The woman who took our order had a hard edge to her and was also the cook and bartender.  “We don’t have any coffee” she replied in a cheery tone to my request for one.  Imagine, a restaurant that doesn’t serve coffee.  Our ice water was served in huge, styrofoam cups and lunch was presented in styrofoam takeout containers accompanied by plastic cutlery.  Behind the bar was a sign, “we don’t call 911” and beside it a photo of a gun.  The washrooms doors were designated, “Sows” and “Boars”.  A man at the bar who we surmised to be the owner seemed unconcerned about offending any of the patrons as he repeatedly seasoned his loud conversation with foul words.  Well this sow has to pee,” I said getting up from the table, leaving the others laughing. 

You know the old adage, “don’t judge a book by its cover”.  The food and the service was very good at Sleepy Hollow.

 

Goldfield and the Superstition Mountains

The weather down here has been very chilly, a cold front from Canada

they say.  Yesterday we decided to look for a giant Flea Market that

we had heard about that is located in Mesa, which is about an hour south east of here.  Mesa is considered part of Greater Phoenix and is southeast of Scottsdale that is also part of Phoenix.  Jack and Lauren, the owners of the Black Canyon City KOA had given us a gift certificate for Applebees so first we stopped for lunch.  Despite reading directions on the internet for the Flea Market, somehow we missed it.  I had seen an interesting mountain range (Superstition Mountains) to the east and urged Fred to continue on.  Fred is convinced that I had planned all along to sightsee rather than frequent a Flea Market.  I guess the fact that I had brought along my camera was his rationale but anyone who knows me, knows also that I usually bring it with me.  I never know where we'll end up and I hate seeing something interesting or beautiful and there I am wishing I had brought my camera along.

On the Apache Trail, opposite the Superstition Mountains, is the old mining town of Goldfield.  We wandered through the town, watched cowboys stage a gunfight and mainly people watched.  The town is  your typical tourist stop offering food and drinks in the saloon, a

train ride, tour of the mine and the most visible building at the top of the hill is the "Bordello", now a museum.  Close to Goldfield is Lost Dutchman State Park, named after a fabled gold mine.  This park offers guided hikes as well as self-guided ones.  There are easy hikes, moderate ones, difficult and very difficult ones.  The

one that intrigues me is the 2.5 mile hike where hikers experience the sights and sounds of the desert under the silvery glow of the moon with a marshmallow roast to follow.  We have already experienced full moons in the desert and it is unbelievably bright.  The park also offers astronomy programs one evening a month.
 
We continued northeast along the Apache Trail and the topography here is much different than where our campground is located.  As I was behind the wheel I had to concentrate on staying on the road as

there were many switchbacks and no guard rails.  The scenery in Arizona varies so much that each road trip is an adventure and I look forward to the next one.  I am also anticipating warmer weather so that we can have some great motorcycle rides.

 

 

 

Arizona with Janis and Lloyd....winter of 2007

With Janis and Lloyd here from Ontario we are keeping quite busy.  On Friday we went down to Phoenix to ride our bikes on the canal trail and once again we drove past Camelback Mountain (the one I climbed a few weeks ago).  On Saturday Fred and I drove the motorcycle to Wickenburg to meet up with Janis and Lloyd who had driven there earlier (we were working) for the "Goldrush Days".  Unfortunately we missed the parade that featured 1,000 horses, saloon girls, cowboys etc.  After rendezvousing with the Nelsons we watched a rodeo for an hour or so.  The bleachers were full when we arrived and because the corral is in a valley we were able to watch from the top of a hill without paying admission.  Whenever the announcer introduced any cowboys from the Canadian prairies Janis and I would hoot and holler enthusiastically.

On Sunday we drove down to Tempe as there was a Greek Festival at the Tempe Town Lake.  We tried some Greek beer, Janis sampled Greek wine and we all tried some fried cheese.  We watched the cook saute the cheese in a frying pan and then just before serving it he drizzled it with brandy.  It was delicious but very rich.  Of course one can't attend a Greek Festival without eating a Gyro  (pronounced heeroh) and while we ate were entertained by young dancers attired in colourful costumes.  The Festival was not well attended and after an hour or so there was little else to do so off we drove to a Swap Meet in Apache Junction.  This Swap Meet had about 1600 booths and there was something there for everybody.  We bought a new RV mat that we badly needed.

After leaving Apache Junction we drove up to Carefree and Cave Creek that is just north of Scottsdale and is very scenic as the mountains up there are so different from the other mountains in Phoenix.  It is as if a giant tossed humungous boulders from above and large, million dollar homes perch on top of these boulders.  One thinks immediately that one shudder of the earth would bring catastrophic results but Arizona does not experience earthquakes.  We made a quick stop to view a 62 foot sundial that points directly at the North Star.  Solar time is 27.7 minutes different than mountain time so while looking at the shadow of the sundial on the numbers below, you must add those minutes to tell accurate time.

Today we drove to Prescott (locals pronounce it press-kit and know you are a tourist if you say it any other way), a pretty town that houses many retired northerners.  The focal point of Prescott is a massive courthouse that serves all of Yavapai County.  Tall trees line the walkway and these are the first tall trees that we have seen in Arizona south of Flagstaff.  We ambled down Whiskey Row, stopping for a latte and peeked in shop windows at the western-themed merchandising in most.  Prescott is known for its Victorian homes that both Janis and I simply adore, so a walk to find them was on our agenda.  They are not as majestic as most Victorian homes are, a bit more compact but pleasing to the eye nonetheless.  Pretty lace curtains in windows, windows with leaded panes and porches that invited you to sit a while were pleasing to our senses.  While walking past one house we smiled and said hello to a lady just unloading her car in the driveway.  Janis mentioned how pretty her house was and to our utter surprise she asked if we would like a tour.  Would we?  You bet.  Even our hubbies followed in behind us.  The house had been built in the early 1900s and was absolutely charming.  One room led to another and each room had high ceilings, wooden wainscotting, old fashioned lace curtains and beautiful oak furniture that was clearly antique.  The owner uses the house as a halfway house for women with drug and alcohol addictions and this setting must surely be conducive to making one feel at ease.  What used to be the front parlour was the owner's bedroom and the focal point was a beautiful corner fireplace.  She showed us the old fashioned front doorbell that has to be wound up.  When someone rings, it would wake up the dead, it was so loud.

From Prescott we headed toward Jerome and on a hill overlooking a lake we had a tailgate picnic lunch, not aware that just around the corner was a park with an abundance of picnic tables.  After crossing the Mingus Mountains we stopped in Jerome for a while and continued on to Sedona where we did an hour hike surrounded by the red rocks that have made Sedona so renowned.

 

 

I Must Be In Canada

Today while on a daily walk with my husband we encountered a young lady walking towards us on the sidewalk; her head was down, eyes averted, refusing to acknowledge our extremely close presence.“We must be back in Canada”, I muttered wryly.

We have just returned from another winter stay in Florida where a friendly “hello” or “howya doin’ is common.  I am accustomed to people my own age being friendly but in the south it is not only the seniors who acknowledged us and it had nothing to do with being nice to tourists as this time we were house-sitting in a typical working class subdivision.

It is pubescent boys shooting hoops in driveways, others skateboarding down quiet streets and girls of all ages that called out affable greetings leaving us a little startled but appreciative.  While riding our bikes through a neighbouring subdivision we were surprised to hear a friendly “hello” from the dark depths of an open garage.  A young father unloading groceries from the trunk of his car looked up and shouted, “how areya”? 

On another bike outing we had stopped to enjoy an ice cream when three Brighthouse (cable TV) trucks pulled in.  Every one of the young men who emerged and walked past us uttered a pleasant greeting or made an engaging comment.

I guess the term “southern hospitality” must have originated in Florida.

Now please don’t misunderstand me.  I am as Canadian as the next person and proud to be so but I never found Canadians to be as friendly and outgoing as people in the south.  I have spent the last ten winters there so have given this some serious thought.  I have come to the conclusion that we Canadians appear to be less friendly but it is only because we are a bit reserved.  I have decided to be the one to say hello first, the ice will be broken, and I will expect a cheery reply. 

I regret not “breaking the ice” with the aforementioned young lady. 

 

 

 

THE CONCERT

 

The sweet smell of marijuana wafts across my face, strobe lights slice through the air fragmenting the bodies that surround me.  My entire being vibrates to the throb of massive speakers strategically placed at the edge of the stage.  Blink 182, one of the hottest pop-punk bands in North America is performing at the Molson Amphitheatre in Toronto and I find myself amid 16,000 screaming fans, most of who are three or four decades younger than me.  Instead of holding the traditional lighters during the show the throng of devotees brandish cell phones high in the air and neon blues and greens sway to and fro in the darkness of the theatre. 

Directly in front of the stage is the mosh pit where the standing audience passes people who are in a reclining position over top of the crowd to the front of the stage.  Arms and legs project over top of shoulders en masse and I wonder uneasily if anyone has landed straight on their head but it appears no one does.  I watch the security guards repeatedly pick the bodies off the crowd as if on an assembly line.    

You may wonder what on earth a pair of well over 50 but no-grey-hairs- on –our- heads-yet -seniors are doing at a rock concert.  Unlike other people my age that think Blink 182 is a radio station, I am familiar with their music and even like their songs that I’ve heard on a Toronto alternative radio station.  A word to seniors:  Edge 102.1 radio does not play Frank Sinatra or Tony Bennett oldies.  For the past few years I have been keenly interested in the music industry as my youngest son is in a pop-punk band that is ambitiously writing, singing and playing their way to the top in a very competitive and cut-throat industry.  His band was invited to play the side stage at the Blink concert and having attended other much smaller venues we just could not stay away from this show.

After picking up our tickets at the box office earlier in the day two scalpers called us over to their jeep and as we approached them they stated in disbelief, “oh, you can’t be going to the concert”.  I skipped over to them and happily replied, “we certainly are”.  I then opened my jacket to proudly display the band’s name on my Tee-shirt and explained to them that we had come to hear our son and his band perform on the side stage.  “That’s cool”, was their response and “enjoy the show”. 

We found the band in the parking lot next to their Hertz van schmoozing the crowd of mainly young girls and passing out stickers and signing autographs.  The excited teenyboppers had never heard of them but it didn’t matter; they were “a band” and that was all that mattered.

Once inside the gate we watched vehicles with various band members enter the back stage area.  Girls were squealing excitedly because they had seen Travis, the drummer for Blink come down the ramp in his wheel chair.  His broken leg was in a cast and some of the girls had been lucky enough to be invited to write their name on it.   In the back stage parking area we could see a number of Prevost buses and we marvelled that bands earned enough money to own a Prevost.  Little did we then know that the headliners own a few successful companies.  I had seen many kids wearing Atticus T-shirts but I thought it was another rock group, not a clothing company owned by a pop-punk musician.  I also discovered later that many artists and bands lease motor homes and coaches for a road tour.

Standing in line for three hours is likely easier and a lot more fun when you are young. You’re hanging with your friends and occasionally your cell phone rings for a diversion but standing in one place for such a long while has little appeal for me.  My cell phone seldom rings so I occupied my time by observing the people in line and I noticed the young people, mostly girls, observed us too, accompanied by some occasional whispering and side long glances and do I dare admit this, some giggling.  But as we have attended many of our son’s shows during the past three years I am quite accustomed to the double takes but I really don’t understand them.  Remember all the over forty “deadheads” there used to be.  Many of them followed Jerry Garcia and the Grateful Dead all over the country and age didn’t seem to matter to them.  And what about Rolling Stones fans?

My son’s band played two sets to an enthusiastic crowd at the side stage.  During the first set two high-spirited young men, assuming I was the mother to someone in the band (what was their first clue?) asked me to pose with them for a photo.  I obliged and stood between them; they raised their shirts to display the band’s name written in red marker across their chests.  Somewhere out there a sobered concertgoer wonders who the hell the older woman in his photos is.  After the second set ended the boys in the band were mobbed by newly acquired fans that enthusiastically scrambled for autographs, CDs, and T-shirts.  By the remarks heard at the show and the many comments posted on their website the boys in the band have increased their popularity as talented pop-punk artists.

That night I went to bed with a muted buzzing noise in my left ear and while I was pondering the wisdom of not wearing the ear plugs I had brought to the concert, I fell into a deep, entertaining slumber.