Pinocchio

A Mexican woven decoration to the left. My handmade one to the right.

I bought Pinocchio in Italy where the author of Pinocchio, Carlo Collodi was inspired in 1880.

His first movie was 1940. Easily led astray by con-men, Pinocchio has a problem with right and wrong. Jiminy Cricket is his "official" conscience. He must be brave . Only when he proves himself deserving of the Blue Fairy's trust, and his father's love, will he become a real boy.

Mediterranean Chiavari Hotel so quiet Dali & I called it the "Dead Zone". We later learned Archaeologists were meeting there.

2013 Red Convertible Travel Series

9/11/2009

From my "Vegetarian Pleasures" cookbook I made East Indian red lentil dal, yogurt with fresh orange sections and raisin chutney. Each has a healthy dose of fresh chopped ginger. Delicious! My house smells lived in. On my walls I have four small paintings of Mazatlan, Mexico, three Dutch tiles and Egyptian Papyrus. My home is a reflection of the world, my home.

I've learned to appreciate other cultures. Love is an equalizer. As humans we see in small pieces. Our Creator sees the whole. If we step outside our fear and allow love, I believe we can live together in peace.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

I would rather be in Mexico!

We went to Mazatlan, Mexico, to escape weather like we had last week: below zero and unable to drive under the influence of blizzard. Lake Manawa, Iowa has fifteen inches of ice. That's reassuring for ice fishing, but takes muscle and time to auger through by hand. Today we're in the high thirties (degrees).

Late one Mexican afternoon we went in search of grilled seafood. Our restaurant of choice was packed. Over Mariachi music we asked how long we would have to wait. The server said, "No wait." He grabbed a table and set us up on the curb, literally. The high-backed chairs were so low the distance from plate to mouth was minimal. We ordered Mexican beer and grilled shrimp.

A brown-skinned mountain man walked toward us smiling. His teeth were perfect and blindingly white. He had a cloth bag over his shoulder. I can't help myself. I want to talk to most everyone. I smiled back. He stopped, opened his bag and crowded our table with carved Mexican ironwood reindeer and donkeys. I imagined eight reindeer with my mini-wicker sled on my dining room table. We had to buy. Patrons leaving the restaurant took one look at us and our menagerie and bust out laughing. It was the perfect end to a perfect day.

copyright 2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

Around the World on a Bowl of Stew

It's snowing out. Three to four inches expected. Dunking La Brea Pane Toscano in my homemade stewed tomato, cod and shrimp stew, I looked around my kitchen, the extent of my travels for the moment.

Framed hundred-year-old colored magazine prints from Hay-on-Wye, Wales, feature chickens. A pair of black and whites with hats hang opposite a pair of black and whites with feathered feet. I can hear the hen's gentle voice calling her chicks and the rooster's bellowing crow over his proud family.

The print of an outdoor Paris flower market at the end of the table fills my mind with scents of lillies and daises. I want to sit at the umbrella table, sip coffee and eat chocolate filled croissants - several. The horse drawing the buggy leaves its own aroma. The pigeons are drawn to the beauty and possibility of crumbs.

My Nantucket switchplate lookes like scrimshaw on whale bone. I think it's plastic. The whaling ship is standing still or I might get seasick just looking at it.

Three two-inch square Dutch tiles display windmills, a small sailing boat, typical miniature houses, marshes and water in shades of blue. The sky is musty grey. Nothing dries outside. We collapsed a clothesline trying. I appreciate the contribution the Dutch have made to the world through flowers.

There's a card on the table with Mississippi cardinals. Brandi says when you see a cardinal, make a secret wish.

I met Mae from Ireland in London at Harrod's fresh fish display. We marveled at the fresh fish nailed up in a sunburst pattern. She crocheted the tea cozy and sent it.

There's a miniature Mexican coastline mural on the wall complete with parasail reminding me of winter vacations spent in swim suit and caftan, cliff divers, table dancers, silver jewelry, too much fresh fruit, grilled seafood and lazy days. Aaaaaahhhhh.

The French espresso cups remind me of Paris - again. At every turn I found a warehouse of information. It was like coming home.

There's a Chinese calendar on the wall. I have yet to walk the Great Wall.

I lift my cup of Chai tea to travels of the past and those to come.

copyright 2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

Mother's Christmas Choir

...and the Angels sang, Glory to God in the Highest, and on earth Peace and Goodwill toward man. We too celebrate the "Good News" of our Saviour's birth.

Mother is immortalized in pasta. Her angels bodies are what I call "garden hose" pasta. The wings are "bow-ties" with arms of macaroni. A small wooden ball, chip off the old block, is the head. I can still see her delicately painting the faces, gluing on the tiniest pieces of pasta for hair and a small piece of colored paper for the songbook. Her timeless, delicate, works of art are part of our tradition along with our Williamsburg wish box, Pinocchios from Italy, ornaments from Mexico, pairs of birds, angels made from hankies, crocheted, porcelain and a variety of other materials, and small ornamental pillows I created by tieing french knots in patterns. In the attic there's a small tree we don't put out because the cats undecorate it's tiny wooden German ornaments. We could do "tree under glass."

Kitchen activity is a constant. We are preparing travel food for friends flying Christmas Day: Bruchetta, stuffed mushrooms, crab dip with water crackers, and dried figs and dates stuffed with cream cheese and roasted CA almonds. I tried making chocolate truffles, just as I had other years. All four batches failed to set up. Basically whipping cream, cocoa, flavoring and Suzanne Somers sweetener, they are non-fattening. I converted them to mousse. Awesome! A couple of plastic spoons and they will still have chocolate dessert.

My gratitude list is longer this year. My daughter is seeing her second Christmas. Medical statistics said she wouldn't see last year's. By the Grace of God she soldiers on toward complete healing. Praise the Lord!

One of my dreams is to visit other parts of the world over the Holidays to see how it is celebrated, or not. Whatever works. May your Holidays be filled with love and joy. Best wishes for a healthy, happy, prosperous New Year. God Bless.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Less than a dollar

On a bus tour of Mexico City, Mexico, our driver stopped at a curbside flower stand. Papa got up and got off.  He returned handing me a single long-stemmed red rose. I felt loved, cherished. Its scent floated through the bus stimulating women’s desires. What followed was a study in relationships. Men who understood they could have the world by the tail for the small price of a rose got right up and bought one. Their women were delighted. Some men were elbowed to buy one, and did. A few women bought their own when their man wouldn't budge. Across the aisle a woman elbowed, begged, and offered her own money, but he still refused. They didn’t speak to each other the rest of the bus tour. Cost of the rose, less than a dollar. Feeling cherished, priceless.

Copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

No flag, no parade, no hotdogs

As American citizens we didn't know what was involved with clearing customs, until we returned from Mexico. Before computerization, US agents looked through a huge, worn book. If the passport name was found, the person could not enter the US.

As I stood in line in Texas, I raced through my past. I had nothing to report. Still, I broke out in a sweat. We couldn't leave to eat or use the restroom. What will we do if we can't get in? What will happen to our kids? Where will we go? I understood kissing home ground.

While the agent searched, I held my breath. Satisfied we weren't felons, he stamped our passports, and said, "Next." Thank God.

Minnie and I were in Germany one July 4th without a small American flag, and didn't see one anywhere. We felt "foreign," out of place, but we would make the best of the day.

Our childhood holidays meant picnics and celebrations with extended family and community unless the wheat needed to be harvested. Ripe, it was too fragile to leave in the field. We wrote our names with sparklers and lit black caps on the sidewalk to make messy worms. Until July 4th summer was up and coming. After, it was downhill to school and winter.

White asparagus with hollandaise replaced hotdogs. For that I could give up hotdogs. A quiet walk in the country replaced a noisey parade, but without people to watch. Wild red poppies looked like a sea of onlookers waving flags at passing floats. That put some life into it. We waved back.

A quiet game of Rummy replaced yelling at a ballgame. We missed Mom's after-the-game root beer floats and malts with the homemade rich, creamy ice cream we'd worked all afternoon taking turns cranking. I love the taste of malt powder. The texture reminds me of sawdust.

From a hilltop after dark we saw a few fireworks from an American base. We couldn't smell them, and no children or dogs complained about the noise.

Our low-key, lonely celebration put into perspective that the rest of the world does not revolve around the US. It did deepen our pride in America, and strengthen our love and loyalty to home and country.

copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series