The Eve before the Christmas Eve

We're at the end of a few very busy days, filled with joy - yes, and excitement - true,
but also
long hours spent in crazy traffic, long lists of "to do"-s, things that turn out ... their own way (which is not always the right way).

So at the end of the day - before the big day - I find myself under the tree, listening to the soothing sound of two kids sleeping and sipping my African tea.
Yeah, I know that this is a Christmas gift that I'm knitting and it's supposed to be due in a day or so. And I know I've only knitted 2 inches of it (and it's supposed to go around the neck and over the head...), but I take a deep breath.

And the time stops for a moment.

"Tomorrow is only a day away."

The loser takes... the pictures

Rehearsing carols, baking and chatting were the most important things to do around here these days. Oh, yes,  and playing...
Playing chess (not so often) , playing memo (every single day!), playing tangled monkeys (don't even try to imagine what that is), Playing Halli Galli, means that I have to put on hold whatever I'm doing - you know, that grown up stuff that ordinary people do before big celebrations - and pay attention to the game.

Some knitting had to be done, but only possible on slow games. (Ahem...)

Some phone calls were answered but only on speaker because otherwise I couldn't hold my cards right.

Some shopping lists were made  bending low under the Christmas tree. Careful not to write on the back of the game cards!

And at the end of the game...I still loose!
"Don't worry, Mom, you've still got your pictures!"
Right...

Clipe dragi

Spread the joy!

I speak picturish

I speak picturish

I speak picturish

I speak picturish

Fagaras Fortress

I heard about the place years ago, when I was still a student and had a colleague living there. And no matter how many times I drove across the country I never took the time to stop for a while here too.
But since my boy is so much into castles, fortresses and other old buildings, I thought I just had to go there this year.
So I told him the ONE thing I knew it would stay in his mind "We are going to see the fortress that's never been conquered before."
And we arrived at noon in a dazzling light (and I said to myself once again that you can't have them both: happy children AND beautiful pictures taken by the rules of art), hungry and thirsty. But the view behind our car was amazing.

 We followed the trail inside the ramparts and started pouring history bits into the little ones' minds and ears. They started building it in stone somewhere in the middle of the 13th century and they didn't finish it until the middle of the 18th century. Needless to tell you how that sounds when you are 5...
But you can climb the walls and count the swans.

And tell your mom that this work of art looks like Don Quixote. (where and when did they hear about that?!)

And run around the yard playing with your own shadow... 

Then tell the very same mom while entering the dungeon that "it fells so nice" and when the horrified mom tries to make sure that you understand what that place was last used for you tell her "I know all that, but it's too hot outside"...

And when you're out again you pop one more question: how come they restored the whole place, make it look so beautiful and they left out that balcony?!

 And you find by yourself amazing details that grown ups don't seem to appreciate at their true value.

And you stare at the roof  insisting that it's staring back at you .

 And you exit the yard while your older brother is chatting with the dear aunt you share, shacking off any horrifying detail that could cast a shadow over this treasure. After all, words like "dungeon", "torture", "military garrison", "invasion", "Iron Maiden" are just words when you are five.

But the shape of the walls and the towers make you turn your head even as we leave.

And now it's my turn, as a mom and as a route planner to ask myself: what else can still be appealing in a road trip after you see this on your first day?

From dusk to dawn

From dusk to dawn one could imagine a good night of sleep.

Well... I had

:: good ice-cream

:: the sound of waves in my ears

:: the wind in my hair

:: wonderful companion

:: great conversation

:: a very long walk

:: big questions turned into laughter

:: salty water on my dress

...oh, yes, we had some  sleep too.

And all these in just a few hours. As I said:

from dusk

 ... to dawn.

I speak picturish

Camping with the Mole

'Mommy, how old were you when you went camping for the first time?'
'About three ...Why?'
'Do you know I'll be FIVE in September and you never took me camping??!! And I don't mean camping in the backyard, because that's not real.'

The philosopher in me wanted to ask her more about what exactly is "real" and I figured that the accent was on my taking her, and nowhere else. She didn't want to plan a trip, to talk about it, to convince me of anything. She just wanted out of the house (and the yard, for that matter... Ahem.) And while I can very well understand her fascination for tents, backpacks and the rest of the camping gear, I find it hard to squeeze a short trip in the mountains at the moment. Because it was in the mountains that I went camping until not so long ago.

So what do we do? We improvise!

We go camping by the sea. (And what a lovely idea it proved to be.)

A chance for us all to...
... go about pointlessly, but barefoot.

... play with whatever, except for the toys

... taste the coffee with a special flavor of sand

... read or draw for half a day

... stay up late to see the lanterns and the bonfire on the beach

AND to wake up early the next day for a very good reason

 Oh, yes, let's not forget: the Mole was with us once more.

And on our way back, THE question popped: ' When can we go again camping?'

Soon, I hope.

I speak picturish

Let the siblings be

Weekends are busy times for us here, but in the good way. So the perspective of reading a book (or some of it) could be very appealing for me. It's then that I could indulge myself in longer periods of time spent close to my children but so far away in the same time.

So I get my book and sink low in the armchair as I hear somewhere around me the tweeting of my kids playing. I hear them playing for a long time. Staging stories they know, making up new ones, he's teaching her how to draw I-don't know-what and she's showing him how to heal this or that stuffed animal.

And all of a sudden nothing fits anymore. There's shouting and I can hear things going in all directions.
It's never the one who's crying's  fault.
 It's not the other one's fault either.
It's always the other one who starts the fight.
And personal experience tells me that if I end up punishing only one of them, I always get the innocent one. Well...almost always. (and the degree of innocence is highly debatable at that point)
The injustice is spelled out even louder, but soon enough I hear one of them giggling.

And then a new game starts...

I'm not sure what they'll remember of this part (and these moments) of their lives, but as long as they're taking turns in winning the upper hand over the other one, I'm pretty sure I should let my siblings be...

And read my book.

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Busy day

Extended family trips bring a lot of joy both to little ones and grown ups. This time the place didn't involve grass and playing hide - and-seek behind the trees. And strangely enough, as I was to discover, the beach is still full of wonders even when you have it 50 m outside your front door the whole year round.

Following a good habit I insist that going out shouldn't always involve sandwiches and biscuits. I can promise you that, even the chat is better around the baking dish. And I have also noticed my kids kept coming back without being called...hmmm

 Well, some worked harder...

and others hardly worked at all,

but at the end of the day I was listening to the plea: "We can't go now. There are so many things we HAVE TO do..."

And so I've seen once more that wide spaces have that strange power of bringing people closer and taming the siblings issues.

We did get back.

But only late in the night.

I speak picturish

"I am..."

"Ich bin eine Prinzessin..." she said when she left the classroom at noon.

And that was it. Everything she did that day required a royal attitude, the little finger raised occasionally and the paper crown on her head - all the time.

And so dinner time found me with a very select company in my kitchen, working for her meal (rolling pancakes) and singing: Backe, Backe Kuchen...

Storytime in real lifetime.

I speak picturish

I speak picturish

Quiet morning

My mornings are usually a rush. I'm not an early riser. I've never been, but lately I really had  to wake up early and start checking my list of "to do"s of that day.

Not to mention that charming habit that I got during the last winter: to squeeeeze a few pages read just before the whole thing starts. That pushes my waking hour just a wee bit earlier, but I just don't have the heart (or the head) to let it go.

So today I was caught by surprise. Both kids asleep, the house was quiet. There was no list, I had plans for the day but they were very loose, so I got my book and went out on the terrace.

And for minutes the only noise I could hear was that coming from turning the pages. It must have been too late for the roosters, too early for the donkeys, too far away from any hens, too good-of-a-book to hear the buzzing of the insects.

And then I heard it loud and clear: purrrr-purrrr...

Happiness may come in many ways. I've just found a new one. (...or a meow one)

I speak picturish

Ischia by heart: the Aragonese Castle

 

Going to the castle was not a choice of mine, really: I just HAD TO go.

The medieval castle has a long story and full of events(it's incredibly old), but what I wanted to see was the inside of the ramparts. The traces of real life left inside the walls. And I did get to see them...for better or worse (sometimes). The torture museum I could have skipped, for instance, but these are the risks when you travel with a thick guide you don't check before leaving the hotel room.

It's been an alternation of light and darkness from the very beginning, starting with the tunnel that guided me in. Needless to say they have an elevator there that I didn't take and went up hill on that path that most people were getting downhill. (Ahem...)

A spot that stayed in my heart was the church built inside the castle, or at least, what's left of it.

Full of light and charming details, the crumbling stone makes peace with time in such a graceful way.

I haven't seen a castle that maintained so much of its original history, including mini farms and wineries. Oh, yes, I've even seen the chicken coop.

 They don't grow vegetables anymore, but there are orange trees and lemon trees at every corner and vineyard on the slopes around the island.

 Interesting: the interiors were wide and open, you could see all around

 and the outside trailers were narrow

 and some of them even ended surprisingly soon...

But the pathways inside the walls can take you anywhere you want: you can still see where they were making the wine, the oil and where they were storing everything. All this at a small scale.

 The Clarisses convent is still neat and full of flowers, but after enjoying the outside...

... I ended up in the nun's cemetery. Probably the most peculiar one I've seen so far, with its chairs  carved in stone and (not enough) room for the living nuns to meditate in such a company - their deceased sisters.

When I got out I was happy to see the sun again, feel the wind, smell the sea and look at the boats.

And think how well they managed to balance all in such a small spot: humans, plants, live stock, wine and oil, churches and torture chambers, cellars of many kinds, life and death in a self sufficient blending pot.