It was a rather noisy beginning today—the renovation of the room above me started. I said, to myself, “Self, you need to do penance, so just endure,” but then my selfish self said, “Nope. Not while on vacation!” So, I did something very much unlike me, I asked for a new room. The staff was kind and understanding and understood that I can do penance when I return home, and gave me a new room. Very nice.
Once settled, I did something unusual for someone who is about 5,000 miles from home, I spent the day writing. The mind took an amazing journey and I put down many words (even ran out of ink in my pen and had to go in search of a new one!)
I do believe the next vaca will be a writing retreat. We shall see. The story (have I already mentioned this) is Execution Day. It will be a part of a collection of short stories—nothing like I’ve written/published before—titled Seven Deadly. At this point, they are all a bit weird, but too much fun to write. I’m always killin’ off somebody!
At about 7:30 p.m., I realized that I had only a light breakfast to eat and went in search of ramen. The ones near by were closed, but I found “Asian Soul” and had some delicious Thai food and beer… I think the second beer was actually from China.
Fried shrimp cakes with an onion, garlic, and pepper pickled for dipping.Shrimp in green curry, toned down for me. Perfect amount of spice and so very good.
During and afterward, I stopped to take a few pictures. This first one is called “The Ordinary in Light” (doesn’t he think he is the artiste giving his pictures names!)
On the way back to the hotel, I saw the light playing off the buildings and…
And from the balcony of the new room (sorry, brother, no more garden)…
Tomorrow will be a bit busier. Following breakfast, I will make my way to Adikt Ink where Matteo will give my new adult “sticker.” Something to remember this journey by and inspired by Joan, my hero in Rouen, France. Afterward, I will visit a local bookstore where I can find a Stephen King in some language other than English (I won’t be able to read it, but other than the new “sticker” it will be one of my few souvenirs. FYI: the exchange rate is miserable, so I’ve done little to no shopping.
During my occasional scroll today, I came across this from Fyodor Dostoevsky: “From the outside, you seem mature with a philosopher’s mind. But inside, you’re just a child lost in a sweet delusion.” Don’t be afraid to be a child. They are always curious and poking their little noses in all sorts of interesting places. Along the way, someone is bound to tell you “No!” or “It’s not possible!” Don’t you believe it. Even a sixty-one year old child is finding out those sweet delusions can, in fact, be reality.
May you have a blessed day, may your Grand Marnier always be a long pour, and may Our Lord and God bless you immensely. He does love all His silly children.
For those curious about The Queen, she apparently has a new favorite game at The Cat Resort…
I left the house about 3 p.m. Sunday. I arrived at my hotel in Luxembourg around 9 p.m. on Monday. There is a seven-hour time difference, so it comes to about 23 hours travel time with no sleep (question for the solo-travelers: how do you sleep on a plane? I just can’t seem to fall asleep. Exhausted, but awake.) After arriving at the NH Luxembourg Hotel, I took a nice hot shower, had a lovely glass of wine, and then crawled in for about 9 hours. A good night’s rest for sure.
Today, I moved slowly, but was on the train to Ghent, Belgium at 10:11 a.m. after a nice breakfast at the hotel.
Journaling on the train…
Arrived in Ghent after missing my !!six-minute!! transfer at the Brussels-Nord station. It was okay, another train came along in 11 minutes and I was off again.
After getting to my room, I came back down to the lobby of the Residence Inn by Marriott Ghent (a lovely hotel with very kind and helpful staff) and did the one thing you’re supposed to do while in Belgium…
And, yes, I’m at the White Rabbit bar.
I have two full days here and the agenda is beautifully packed. More to come. This evening, after a nap—the beer was good and, yes, I did have two—I’ll be working on my short story for the Writing Battle. You are given three images and five days to write a 2,500-word short story. My three images…
My inspiration for the story (I referenced it in a sermon a while back) is from…
Darkness
By Lord Byron
I had a dream, which was not all a dream. The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space, Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air; Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day, And men forgot their passions in the dread Of this their desolation; and all hearts Were chill’d into a selfish prayer for light: And they did live by watchfires—and the thrones, The palaces of crowned kings—the huts, The habitations of all things which dwell, Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum’d, And men were gather’d round their blazing homes To look once more into each other’s face; Happy were those who dwelt within the eye Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch: A fearful hope was all the world contain’d; Forests were set on fire—but hour by hour They fell and faded—and the crackling trunks Extinguish’d with a crash—and all was black. The brows of men by the despairing light Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits The flashes fell upon them; some lay down And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil’d; And others hurried to and fro, and fed Their funeral piles with fuel, and look’d up With mad disquietude on the dull sky, The pall of a past world; and then again With curses cast them down upon the dust, And gnash’d their teeth and howl’d: the wild birds shriek’d And, terrified, did flutter on the ground, And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl’d And twin’d themselves among the multitude, Hissing, but stingless—they were slain for food. And War, which for a moment was no more, Did glut himself again: a meal was bought With blood, and each sate sullenly apart Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left; All earth was but one thought—and that was death Immediate and inglorious; and the pang Of famine fed upon all entrails—men Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh; The meagre by the meagre were devour’d, Even dogs assail’d their masters, all save one, And he was faithful to a corse, and kept The birds and beasts and famish’d men at bay, Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead Lur’d their lank jaws; himself sought out no food, But with a piteous and perpetual moan, And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand Which answer’d not with a caress—he died. The crowd was famish’d by degrees; but two Of an enormous city did survive, And they were enemies: they met beside The dying embers of an altar-place Where had been heap’d a mass of holy things For an unholy usage; they rak’d up, And shivering scrap’d with their cold skeleton hands The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath Blew for a little life, and made a flame Which was a mockery; then they lifted up Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld Each other’s aspects—saw, and shriek’d, and died— Even of their mutual hideousness they died, Unknowing who he was upon whose brow Famine had written Fiend. The world was void, The populous and the powerful was a lump, Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless— A lump of death—a chaos of hard clay. The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still, And nothing stirr’d within their silent depths; Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea, And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp’d They slept on the abyss without a surge— The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave, The moon, their mistress, had expir’d before; The winds were wither’d in the stagnant air, And the clouds perish’d; Darkness had no need Of aid from them—She was the Universe.
It all started out with The Queen giving me the stink eye, because she saw the suitcase and that always means trouble, in her pointy little head’s opinion. After the final treat, I headed to OKC and caught my first flight to Atlanta. I remember Drew always referring to it as “Hotlanta.” Somewhere I saw a sign… several years back… that said, Nobody calls it that. We did.
Spent an hour and a few dollars in the Braves Bar during the layover before taking off for RDU–The Raleigh/Durham airport.
That evening, my brother and I spent hours outside talking and drinking. He was hanging something fierce the following day (the whiskey was good but perhaps a tad too much), so we lay low and just hung out.
Truly a very nice evening. We haven’t talked like that since we were kids, and I suppose that is a good thing.
Hangover and a Papilio glaucus
We spent the day just resting and enjoying being outdoors in the beautiful weather. There are several very fat mosquitoes around his house. I had no idea they were feeding on me until the following day. Ate my ass up! After a bit, the brother felt well enough to move around long enough to go to the grocery store. I picked up the fixin’s for a nice chicken curry. When I started to put it together, we discovered that they had no curry powder; however, they had all the ingredients to make their own curry powder… very tasty.
The butterfly was beautiful.
Duke
On this day, we went to Duke University, where my brother received his PhD. A beautiful campus and very rich. I bought a flimsy t-shirt and thought it would cost about $20. Turns out… $56! Almost told the girl she could keep it, but came home with it anyhow. Glad I did.
At the top of my list was the University Chapel. Yeah, they call that a chapel. Truly stunning and I would like to have heard that organ play.
We went to lunch in the refectory at the School of Theology. Should have taken a picture, but had Zimbabwean Beef Stew, Fufu (a doughy African bread used for scooping food), and a curry cabbage dish. Everything was excellent. Afterward, we went over to one of the many libraries, where I saw an exhibit on Indigenous Peoples’ Graphic Novels/Comics.
Had to send several pictures to my friend, Faith. There were several pieces on The Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women (MMIW).
The interesting thing about the exhibit was to see the evolution of the portrayal of Indigenous People in the graphic novels/comics. From Scalphunter to Superhero…
That evening, the brother fixed us all a steak dinner, and I had the opportunity to finally begin to know my sister-in-law, Tori. So great. The conversation was very wide-ranging, and before it was over, I had ordered a specific translation of Dante’s Inferno. Definitely looking forward to the read. I have shied away from it in the past because I did not understand all the historical references to persons and places. Tori says that it is not necessary. Seems it is a bit like Umberto Eco’s Foucault’s Pendulum–read and enjoy the larger story without getting too bogged down in the details.
Saturday with Mark and Tori
Tori had a meeting with their Quaker group, so Mark and I eased into the day. When we got moving, we headed to the University of North Carolina. Mark’s official title and position: MARK TOLES, PHD, RN, FAAN Professor; Beerstecher-Blackwell Distinguished Term Scholar & Senior Division Chair, Health Systems, Policy and Leadership Innovations. He’s pretty much got his act together.
We began the day at UNC’s botanical garden. Way too many pictures to post here, but it was beautiful, even though late in the season.
Bald CypressTithonia
Also in the garden was the cabin of Paul Green. I knew nothing about him, but I very much enjoyed seeing him. According to Wikipedia:
Paul Eliot Green (March 17, 1894 – May 4, 1981) was an American playwright whose work includes historical dramas of life in North Carolina during the first decades of the twentieth century. He received the Pulitzer Prize for Drama for his 1927 play, In Abraham’s Bosom, which was included in Burns Mantle’s The Best Plays of 1926-1927.
His play The Lost Colony has been regularly produced since 1937 near Manteo, North Carolina, and the historic colony of Roanoke. Its success has resulted in numerous other historical outdoor dramas being produced; his work is still the longest-running.
The plaque behind the desk reads:
WHAT IS THE SOUL OF MAN?
I WALK THROUGH THE WOODS, AND I WALK THROUGH THE HILLS, AND I ASK YOU TO TELL ME IF YOU CAN – YOU KNOW WHAT A TREE IS, YOU KNOW WHAT A ROCK IS, BUT WHAT IS THE SOUL OF MAN?
I SEARCHED THE BROAD EARTH, I BEGGED THE FAR SKY, I QUESTIONED THE RIVERS THAT RAN, BUT NEVER A WHISPER TO TELL THAT THEY KNEW AUGHT OF THE SOUL OF MAN.
I BOWED DOWN AT EVENING, I BOWED LOW AT MORN. I PRAYED FOR SOME SIGN OF LIFE’S PLAN, WHEN LO, THE GLAD ANSWER, THE WORD WITH ITS LIGHT — LOVE IS THE SOUL OF MAN.
FROM YOUR FRIENDS AT WILDERNESS ROAD
MARCH 17, 1979
It’ll probably show up in a sermon someday.
Mark also enjoys water painting. He is much better at it than I am.
We met Tori for lunch at Sutton’s Drug Store, but unless a tasty chili cheeseburger is a drug, then it is now only a restaurant…. but what a burger, and yes, I got the t-shirt.
We continued touring the campus and saw a show at the planetarium (there may have been a nap involved during a portion of it) and then stopped at the Ackland Art Museum. We were all delighted with this visit, and it definitely made the day.
My favorite piece was Saint John the Evangelist by Valentin de Boulogne. He is listening so intently to the Spirit.
Richard Westall’s The Sword of Damocles. The story behind the painting:
The “sword of Damocles” refers to a situation where a person lives under the constant threat of an impending disaster or harm. The idiom comes from an ancient Greek anecdote where a sycophantic courtier named Damocles, who envied the powerful life of King Dionysius II, was offered to trade places with the king for a day. Damocles found himself in the king’s seat, enjoying the luxury, only to look up and see a sharp sword hanging precariously above his head by a single strand of horsehair, symbolizing the ever-present danger and anxiety that comes with power and fortune.
Finally, there was a fine etching by the German artist Albrecht Dürer titled The Babylonian Whore, a depiction of a scene from the Book of Revelation.
Saturday and Home
La Luna, è bellissima. A wonderful few days in North Carolina.
The Queen was always a big help while I was writing. Full of inspiration and love bites to keep we awake. Crazy Cat!
I typed the date and realized that I should probably be journaling about the events of this day twenty-one years ago, but no… there’s been so much of that. Time to find peace even in the horror of it all. Instead, I checked back and saw that it was June 3, 2022, of my last journal entry, and I needed to catch up. (I’ll be off and on with this, so don’t expect one all the time.)
What’ve I been up to? Writing. Writing. Writing. I have finished the third draft of The Marble Finger: a Father Anthony Savel Mystery. What a remarkable process writing a book can be. It seems that every waking moment and available thinking space in the mind can be consumed with something entirely fictitious. I wrapped it up on Saturday, but all those characters are still chatting away in my head, wanting to go off on some new adventure–which, by the way, I’m already plotting… Salt Lake City. A long way from Wisconsin, but… no. No. No. That will have to wait for another time. Must finish up the Finger first. It is presently in the hands of five beta readers. Once they blow holes in it and I attempt to patch them up with bubble gum and ostrich feathers, I’ll get it out. The original deadline was December 1st, but I believe I will be several weeks ahead. Keep you posted–of course, I will! I want to sell a few copies! But… back to that bit where they want to keep chatting.
I’ve been so involved with it for so many weeks now that I’m finding it hard to let go and not want to go back and fiddle with it a bit, to be involved with them and have them fill the mind. That is one of the great aspects of writing: they take over. They do their things and say what they’ve got to say, and you are at their mercy. OH! That does remind me of a movie: Magic. I don’t know that I ever saw it, but I remember it. The movie poster! Such great rhymes 🙄…
Abracadabra, I sit on his knee.
Presto chango, and now he is me.
Hocus pocus, we take her to bed.
Magic is fun; we’re dead.
I promise you it is certainly not all that bad! It is just that the process is very consuming, regardless of whether or not the end result is any good. Anyhow…
I’ll be working on the grammar of The Golden Fistula and reissuing it a few weeks before the Finger comes out. Of the criticism that I received on Fistula via Amazon, it was the grammar. I’ve no idea what to do with any of it, but now I’ve got people who do. haha. I’ve also got new cover art coming for Fistula. The same artist will be doing Finger and the label for the new wine that is currently fermenting: Isabella. Can you say, “Some fava beans and a nice Chianti.”
Preach the Gospel. Write books. Make wine. Hmmm… I haven’t painted for a while.
I arrived back in Oklahoma late in the evening on Tuesday and have been processing all that I was able to see and do while in Italy (Florence/Rome). It was my first time out of the country (other than Canada and I don’t really count that one), so it took me a few days there just to get past the initial travel jitters. Afterward, I settled in and enjoyed it all. Funny, in all the pics and photos that I posted and that generated the most comments, etc, it was The Hat that generated the greatest conversation.
I do like the hat and it has now found a prominent home in my house. A great reminder of a wonderful experience.
I haven’t decided where I’ll go next, although the church has a pilgrimage to Israel in the works for next year, I’m thinking I would really like to visit Sweden/Norway. Not sure why other than to go up to the northern parts of those countries to try and see the trolls (an excellent documentary on the trolls can be found here.) There’s also India and that has been pulling at me for a long time.
For now, I’m working on getting back to normal. Nothing bad on the jetlag issue, but I have been waiting on the plumber to show up for the last three days to fix a leaky main leading into the house. Yep. You can go on vacation for as long as you like but the pipes are still going to break and the world is going to continue to revolve, and that’s OK too. I’ll be back at it for real on Monday but for now, I’m going to continue in vaca mode, which included bottling up the new vintage: Lucrezia (as in Borgia).
A very tasty, bright, and light, Chardonnay.
Finally, this morning, The Queen knocked over half a cup of coffee onto the book/manuscript I’ve been trying to write for the last couple of years: The Marble Finger (the second of the Fr. Anthony Savel mysteries). I figure that it was her way of telling me to get on with it or get it off the desk so that she’ll have more room to lay down. It is time. Actually, it is past time: let the murdering begin!
A few months back I joined the Enid Writers’ Club. It has really provided some motivation and encouragement for the writing of the next Fr. Anthony novel. As part of each meeting, there is a Roll Call where each member reads a piece of 150 words or less based on a given topic prompt. The prompt for this month: Have one of your characters or poems give you writing advice. Everyone reads and everyone votes. This month I tied for the prize and I’m beaming like a little kid who won the hot dog eating contest.
Father Anthony climbed the stairs to the top of the bell tower, more than a hundred feet up. The wall surrounding the uppermost landing was only eighteen inches, so he always stood at a safe distance.
“Hey, what are we doing up here?”
Unbeknownst to Father Anthony, Elvis, the custodian had eaten his lunch on the landing and had accidentally left a banana peel lying directly in Father Anthony’s path. Had Father Anthony been more observant, he would have seen it and been more careful.
“What do you mean, ‘More observant’? I see it. It’s right there.”
Father Anthony took the last step of his life.
“Wait! What do you mean the last step of my life?! Look! Is this about the plot hole in the last chapter? I can fix that. I’m your main character! You can’t kill me.”
He slipped. He fell.
“You son of aaaaaaaa…..”
He died.
Fear not. Fr. Anthony is a bit fluffy these days and simply bounced around, eventually landing on his feet.
Candle in a Cave 