compulsory viewing?

I watched the film "Dolphin Tale". Not important enough an event for a blog post perhaps, but for me it was important.

You see, every time I see something like that I respond... like a teacher! I want to take that wonderful "feel good" family film and share it with classes of young people. I want to pull from it the issues, to look at it from the points of view of the English and Media Studies teacher I once was.

Have I ruined my own enjoyment of films by seeing them through these eyes, or am I getting much more from them as I draw from them on so many different levels?

Or is it just that once a teacher always a teacher applies?

You see, even in Italian it (Dolphin Tale) works for me, so imagine what I could do with it in English!

I am not going to tell more about the film. You choose - follow these links or go to the movies/video hire and watch it first. Click here to read Wikipedia (about the film and the real event it was based on). Click here for the official trailer of the movie on Youtube.

Today I am grateful for socially responsible film makers.

on fads and food

Lately I have been eating differently. I have been trying to eat only what might be called healthy foods and to avoid sugar, flour and preservatives. It's great what wonderful food I can put in its place!

This morning I had smoked salmon with melon and berry fruits for breakfast. Yummmmm...

It might be a passing fad, but it's not a bad hobby to have when you live in a country that makes a feast out of every meal.

Today I am grateful for fresh food.

aaaaah, bliss...

Morning tea with a friend, coffee with an interesting worker, a lesson for a new student, lunch with an adopted "sister", wise council from a wonderful woman, chat with a lovely neighbour, dinner with friends, good wine, good amaro, good conversation in three languages and then home to some interesting emails and a cuppa with another friend staying for a few days.

Who needs Facebook?

(OK, so I understood only two languages...)

Today I am grateful for loyalty.

mad dogs, italian men and pea soup

Forget about mad dogs, Englishmen and the mid-day sun. Yesterday and today have been what my mother would have called "pea-soupers". The fog rolled in, and out, up, and down... and then came to stay for a bit.

Yesterday I watched the fronds of fog licking their way up the village like whisps of smoke from a fire, and then they disappeared, returning in soft blankets from time to time. Mostly I am above the fog, and can see the cloak of dampness that hides the valley below.

I drove to Ceprano in the fog last night, 30 to 40 kilometres per hour all the way there and all the way back. There was no need to pull over to let locals fly past, the few locals out and about were also creeping along wondering where the edge of the road might be.

I usually enjoy the fact that there are no road markings here, but tonight as I came home from the town below I thought about driving in the fog on the Kaimais and remembered how useful centre markings are when you can't see more than a few feet in front of you.

There were a few mad dogs out there, but not many. Mine have opted for their houses, and now at 9.30pm I have remembered that I wanted to put the thicker mats in for them.

But Italian men and cold foggy days? It doesn't matter how cold, how wet, how little visibility there is, there will always be Italian men taking a "passaggiata", an evening walk. Two nights ago I recognised a friend dressed all in black as he exercised. I stopped and "told him off" for being invisible. I don't think he realised that motorists can't see him until they are almost upon him. I only walk where there are lights, he said. But you are all in black, I pointed out. Only your face is visible. I have a yellow jacket, he replied, but I don't like wearing it.

He thought it most odd that I had stopped just to mention it, surprised at my concern, although we enjoyed our chat through the car window. I told him that I wear my safety vest if I walk in the dark, and he agreed it was a good idea but I am sure he wont follow my example. Carry a torch, perhaps? I suggested. His face lit up. Yes, maybe he could do that.

Tonight it was particularly bad, cold, damp, and at a time when all good men should be at home demanding their dinner one was walking along in the dark. I stopped to offer him a lift. Thanks, but I'm just taking a walk, he said. A slow amble in the dark on a dangerous road on a miserable, damp foggy night? No thanks!

...mad dogs and Italian men go out in the damp night air.

Today I am grateful for safe journeys.

the little things that count

A warm fire

A comfortable chair

A cup of tea

A smile from a friend

A wish for a happy future

A book to enjoy

A project to work on

A nourishing meal

A welcome home from a pet

A memory to treasure

A dream for mankind.

When you enjoy the little things of life you are free to dream of the big ones. Unfettered by the need for always more, and the perils of consumerism, this is true freedom.

Enough is enough, in every way.

Today I am grateful for "my daily bread".

book review

When Cancer Hits by Britta Aragon

Published by Cinco Vidas Press, New York 2011
ISBN 978-0-9829175-0-3

How does one begin a review of a book with a title that pulls no punches, the peaceful blue of the cover disrupted by the words "WHEN CANCER HITS" in bold red print? I was a little reluctant to open the large paperback volume.

The subtitle is kinder, "your Complete Guide to taking Care of YOU Through Treatment". In smaller print I was pleased to read "Alleviate side effects* protect from common carcinogens * manage stress & worry * prioritize self-care * prevent recurrence".

When I finally dipped into the book, handling the quality paper and admiring the layout, I liked the feel of it. Almost reluctantly, as though the subject were too risky to handle, I began to read.

Britta Aragon writes with a disarming honesty and charm, and I was pulled immediately in to her story. A cancer survivor, and then a carer for a family member with a different cancer story, Britta is well placed to observe and to advise.

The contents of the book don't disappoint. It is a warmly written, practical guide to coping with cancer. There are valuable snippets of advice on everything from lip balms to coping with chemotherapy changes. The writer's personality comes through, supporting the patient sympathetically with her well researched and good humoured advice. It is clear that she is speaking both from experience and from the heart.

Alongside tips for patient comfort are many words of caution about the products we use today. The author supports her claims with research which is in itself interesting for the cancer-free reader who is seeking to make life-style changes.

I have read the book right through, but still like to dip into it. There is so much information there that I can't remember it all. It is a book I will refer to again and again, simply to choose healthier options for myself. Prevention, after all, is easier than cure. It is most certainly a book I would gift to anyone who has cancer, but would recommend for general reference as well.

But the title? For me, it is too hard-hitting. But then, I guess, so is cancer.
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this morning

(or "When water is thicker than blood")

Once again I have evidence of why I love Italy so much.

Recently I met two elderly Americans who had wished to live here, but did not have the required documentation or accommodation. I was called (informally) to help sort out their problems and explain the intricacies of their unfortunate position to them.

They didn't have a phone, nor did I give them my number.

It transpired that unless they found appropriate accommodation and care (which they were refusing to do), and applied to be legal immigrants with appropriate documentation, they needed to leave. Yesterday they were taken to Rome by taxi.

This morning, most unexpectedly, I received a phone call from Natalia at the Hilton Hotel near Fiumicino airport. They had in their care two 86 year old Americans who had arrived the night before, en route to the airport, and didn't know where they were supposed to be going, or when. Was I the artist from Roccasecca who had called a lawyer on their behalf, and did I know what was happening as the hotel would not leave these two confused people on their own at the airport. (The Americans would not have had my name).

How efficient and caring is that? Somehow, and I suspect very quickly, they had located me. When Italy does things well, it REALLY does them well. It is a country where family and heart are more important to people than la bella figura that they often hide behind.

In times of bad publicity over the terrible tragedy off the Tuscan coast little acts of mercy towards complete strangers are taking place unsung.

Today I am grateful for the carabinieri.