In the Vineyard - pt. 1 - Harvest Time

We are in the heart of grape harvesting season here in Umbria. Last week I had the pleasure of going to Monte Vibiano Vecchio for the first harvest of some of their finest grapes on their ancient farm. We spent a morning relaxing while watching the harvesters at their work. For us it was truly beautiful and calm, for them it was a fast paced venture where we witnessed only one 5 minute break as they worked to finish rapidly in the cool of the morning before the day grew hot and the fruit to warm to pick.

Although the workers worked quickly, they moved so efficiently and smoothly that no movement was wasted. In capturing photos I was surprised at the speed they were moving from row to row. This is not at first sight an easy feat, because they must determine which of the grapes are good for harvesting and which will be cut to drop to the ground to become fertilizer. It was astonishing to me how many were left on the ground, as well as how many tractor wagons were full of grapes, there simply was an abundance.

At first sight it didn’t seem like there were so many grapes because the vines have been carefully groomed leaving only the grapes to mature on the lowest branches, the upper branches and leaves left bare to drink in the sun and do the work of photosynthesis while the grapes mature in warmth, but not extreme heat. The grapes that matured among the most beautiful of autumn colored leaves were often those that weren’t used if they had absorbed too much sun, and were either full on raisins or certainly dry. These were unusable for the delicious wine that would be produced from this day’s harvest.

This all reminded me of Aesop’s fable of the “Fox and the Grapes,” wherein the fox sees beautiful grapes hanging from high branches and is unable to reach them, and as he turns to walk away from those now despised grapes declare that “they are sure to be bitter.” In truth the best metaphors often come from nature, and those grapes probably would have been bitter. So in order to harvest the best grapes, they must be picked carefully, as well as nourished throughout their lives to be their best. When they are out of reach, they are not their best.

The next phase of the harvest was the sorting and preparing of the grapes to be aged to perfection. With modern machinery and a team of men the grapes had their stems removed and were transported from the hopper to the first tanks for the aging process. All very sanitary, all very controlled and at Monte Vibiano Vecchio, all very green and earth friendly at this carbon neutral facility. With great care for the earth, in the care of their harvest, they produce their wines.

What seemed like a short time, just one morning, was a patient and carefully wrought process in order to produce the very best. When reflecting on life’s journey, on scripture, on the essence of breathing the spirit (the word for spirit and breath in Hebrew is the same) being able to work steadily, patiently and carefully is the essence of quality. To live and sort out the best from the sour, to be efficient while not rushing get us through life with more grace and mercy. It is the heart of intentional living. Jesus lived only 33 brief years, and accomplished the greatest work of all. In his life he taught, shared time with friends, and offered the greatest gift of all. What an amazingly good work, we can never do so much, but we can achieve a good life’s work and grace through the Holy Spirit that is within Jesus, God and us. How do you move through life? Efficiently, hurriedly, slowly, or other? Where do you find grace in your work? Where do you find quality in your work?

Oh, Baby, Baby

One of the greatest gifts in life is new life, a baby. My friends Diana and Florin just welcomed their first little gem into the world, Maria. They had wanted a child for a long time, but had to wait 6 longs year for the arrival of their new love. When I asked how he felt it was a mixture of happiness, joy, but mostly contentment. Here in Italy contentment is optimal, to be content is the best thing. I really like how this sounds, it is tamer than happy, but more long-term encompassing.

To produce a child in a world full of problems and be content is to reflect the essence of hope. Today’s world has so many highs and lows, from tragedy to outright giddiness that it seems a rather natural response that so many people are suffering from depression. Rather than expecting to always be happy or joyous, there is a gift in being content with new life before us, content with living out the best we can, content to share our lives with new lives each day. It is the key to calmness and peace.
Tragedy will happen, is happening now for everyone; economic struggles, drought, and violence seem to head up our news sources. Yet you look into the face of a newborn child, see the love reflected in a mother’s eyes, hear the words of contentment and wonder from a devoted father and you experience hope.

A magical thing happens when babies are walked on the streets every day here in Piegaro, in they are greeted by everyone who they pass. Men and women, even children stop to admire and say sweet words to the babes in their strollers. For all people, of all generations this is something to stop and take notice of, this wonderful gift of a child, a gift of hope. If I am sitting working outside my home, it is a gift to me that my friends stop for me to take a break and admire sweet Maria, to talk a bit, to let them talk in Romanian to one another, but all of us sitting together in awe and contentment for this beautiful new life.

My friends, like me, are immigrants here, not native Italians. Yet the gift of sharing their baby with everyone is a gift to us all. It is yet one more thing that united us all. It is the sign of hope and assurance that our loving God loves each and everyone of us, the diversity of people, in this little town, in our world. There is room for hope, there is room for contentment, there is room for love in the face of a newborn child.

How do you experience the appearance of new life?
How do you welcome the stranger, even the new child in your midst?
How do you experience contentment?

A Little Exercise

When my friend Maria asked where I would be going this morning I told her a walk to the statue of Padre Pio, a favorite saint in the region. I then added that I needed the exercise and the sun. However, for the most of my life I have engaged in daily walks for more than fresh air, cardiac health and muscle development. It is also my greatest time for contemplative prayer. To have as a destination Padre Pio was even more significant.

In learning about Padre Pio I knew he was not an instant favorite choice for sainthood, and many people challenged his candidacy. Yet, it seemed that what questioned was all the ways he varied from the “normal” person, Christian, Catholic. And variance from normal is exactly what distinguishes the named saints, they are extraordinary. And even a bit strange to some, one to be questioned. Exactly the kind of person to pray to in request for mediation when one feels a bit out of sorts. He worked with the poor, was a spiritual director, and was prone to seeing and experiencing the miracles of God…someone I want to be more like “when I grow up.” In times of discernment it is nice to pay him a visit.

So a walk up the mountain to visit Padre Pio and enjoy the beauty of God’s world while walking and praying is just a bit of heaven to me. Just as when I was in Seattle and walking Green Lake at dawn in any season. It is a total mind-body-soul experience. At mid-point in my walk one reflection was that I did not tell Maria that prayer is the main reason I walk, and that was neglectful on my part. When I arrived in town I saw my friend Teresina who also asked what I had been up to and I was sure to point out walking, PRAYING, and we both gave thanks to God for the place and beauty of Piegaro and our lives here.

Sharing the total experience of life always seems to key to exercise to me, how to incorporate mind, but more importantly spirit into physical activity. Today I also had the opportunity to swim at my friend Colleen’s, along with my friend Valentina. Now Valentina likes to sunbathe, and putz around in the water, but the only swimming she knows is how to doggy paddle. For years I have said that I swim like a cat, and my son describes my repeated laps as “mom trying to escape Alcatraz,” and really for years my swimming has been more about function than form. So it surprised me when Valentina asked me to show her how to swim, and for the past 3 days swimming together she has been learning rapidly.

As I slowly swam back and forth, very slowly because Valentina was watching carefully to copy, I reflected that the instructions for swimming I had learned from others while in my childhood that were universal truths. In order to stay afloat you need to stay calm, the more you struggle, the faster you sink. What a great metaphor for all of life, the need for tranquility of mind-body-soul IS essential, yet we are so often encouraged to race through life to “get ahead” all the while missing so much. Taking time to savor the moments, to refresh our bodies, indeed does feel our souls. As I reflected on my expertise of swimming, I realized how much my style and form and improved when I slowed down, how much easier it was to float and watch the sparrows flying overhead. How much every aspect of time in the pool improved. What was essential to this was having another person there to engage with, to talk with, to play with, and to share with. Someone to exchange questions, responses and stories, giving us both an opportunity to grow.

In being asked to teach, I was given the opportunity to learn. In the questions of others, there were answers for me. In asking Valentina questions I grew in awareness of how similar our lives are. In having the time to reflect while engaged in physical activity my soul had space to breathe easier and relax to open sweetly. What kind of activities help you to relax? How do you make time for wholeness of mind-body-spirit/soul? What are the questions that spur deeper reflection for your life?

Culture Clash

As I have grown older, I have come to understand that culture is very important. The culture of a nation, the culture of a region, the culture of a town, even the culture of a neighborhood are very defining. People are shaped by their community and how the people interact with one another. We are shaped by the people and the physical place around us. When I first video skyped my daughter and showed her the street she said, "Damn, it looks like Italy." For many people in America there is now a culture of constant change as the average family moves every 3 years, new communities, new physical environment, and new culture lived out in rapid succession. This certainly was my experience having lived in over 30 homes in less than 45 years.

Where I live now, in my little town of Piegaro, Italy with less than 1,000 people, the borgo, or ancient part of town is less than a kilometer long, less than ½ kilometer wide. In less than a year here I am now in my third house, third neighborhood, all very different. When I told my daughter I was moving to a new neighborhood she said it was impossible, the town was 3 city blocks.... The first was the tourist hotel, sort of isolated behind the gate, the second was the piazzola (little piazza) with many of the older Italian citizens and families in the surrounding neighborhood, and now I am living at the other end of town in the neighborhood of immigrants. I also spend a good deal of time in the Piazza, the central square of town with friends who are also old Italian families, but a different culture than the piazzola. Then of course there are those who live in the outskirts and the new sections of town, each very different from each other.

What has been interesting in the last few weeks is that the more ingrained into the village I get, it is more apparent the alliances folks have. It has always been my practice to live by the credo of the 1940’s radio detective, Boston Blackie who was “Friend to those who had no friends, and enemy to no one.” But the reality of life is that we always have our circles of friends, our groups, those who we culturally identify most with. For me it became apparent that at some point I would have to choose my preferred circle, and for me that means walking gingerly to keep all the wonderful relationships I have formed in all circles as I have worked diligently to learn the Italian language from the locals, because the relationships are always more important than the words. However, as the norm of any society, we form circles of friends, circles of society.

It is ironic for me that my immigrant friends here in Piegaro for the most part do not live in my neighborhood, they live in other areas. So as a person who grew up poor and lived most of my life in immigrant neighborhoods, these are the folks I least connect with. They are dear and have brought me nuts and fruits of the fields, and their children play in front of my house and are cute as can be, but they mostly speak their native tongues which is actually difficult for me as I try to learn Italian. Instead I find myself similar to them in that people have difficulty understanding my “dialect” but different in that I am not from one of these large immigrant groups, and thus not seen as an immigrant, instead I am “la Americana”. I am a culture all of my own here.

Now, there is one thing common in the culture of all these groups in my life now that I have become Catholic and finished the sacraments of cressima and prima communion, it is now time for my next sacrament, either the life of a nun or get married. This is very different than my American culture, no matter where I was in America. After a few misplaced knee jerk reactions on my part to these ideas, I am resting in the recommendation of my priest at confession, my friend Bruno, and even the words of the women of Mary’s as they sent me on my way: Piano, Piano Lisa (slowly, softy, take it easy). For all the well meaning love of my circle of friends of this village, there is plenty of time to make any next sacramental steps.

It is grace to have daily mass here, to partake in a sacrament every day. To experience with a variety of people in the grace of God, and to know that beyond cultural boundaries there is love and grace that goes deep. Friends here, in America, and in certainly the Spirit of God all speak with a unified voice beyond culture that calls for a life that is led softly and slowly. A life of graceful living.

Where have you experienced different cultures in your life?
Did you find grace or difficulty or both?
How do you live within the call of the Spirit, for you what does this mean? (for me piano, piano)

Shared Tears

My

Crissima and Prima Communione sacrament was full of memories that will stay with me. It was an experience that was a mixture of emotions. I am blessed by friends of a culture that has a great vocabulary to express that this was an emotional time. But I did not expect to feel the range of emotions from sacred joy to feeling out of place. In Protestant tradition there are 2 sacraments, baptism and communion, in Catholicism 10, including the two I partook of in just one day. Which of course meant it would be an emotional day.

As I prepared for the day and arrived in the Piazza it was great to see a mix of people, from different groups, the ladies of the piazza, the church, as well as my sweet friend Martina, the daughter of the waiter at the restaurant. We took pictures and I realized the ladies of the church would not be joining us as we drove to the big city of Perugia for the sacraments during worship at the University Church. I had prepared for the sacraments for 6 weeks under the watchful soul of Don Alio the rector of the church, editor for the Umbrian Catholic newspaper, “La Voce”, and head of the Ecumenical center. But as we drove away from Piegaro and I waved goodbye to the ladies of the church, it felt like a leaving from HOME, where the heart is. Although so moved by the support of my friends, it was hard to leave home for a different church for this auspicious moment.

It was truly a blessing to have many ladies joining us on this spiritual adventure, the ladies of the piazza who have been so wonderfully supportive in my learning of l’italiano and my joining the Catholic faith. Yet, they are not the ladies I attend daily mass with. They are not the familiar faces from Sunday’s noon service with its great group of young people singing, not even the faces of the procesioni of Easter, Holy week, or the Day of Miracles. Beautiful Christian souls, yes, but not part of the group that formed my faith here in Piegaro, yet here they were in this new chapter, on its opening page. My feelings were mixed and confused as we drove away.

A simple description of the University Church is that it is a grandiose structure with an unfortunate dome leak that means inside the church there is a large box of compressed wood product, to keep people away from falling water or debris from the roof. But it is huge, and at one time in a point of less faith had been converted into a Masonic Hall. Now it is a mixed bag of imagery, from large statues of law educators looking down from the walls, to paintings depicting royalty with merchants, to smaller beautiful mosaic icons with a sprinkling of religious posters. It feels like a campus ministry building almost anywhere, a building that has functioned for other purposes while maintaining an aura of education and advancement in society about it (and always the undertone of religion, even when serving secular purposes!).

But the greatest surprise of the day was my dear friend Martina’s response to sitting in this church, here in the company of women that she knew, but not well (quite similar to my own experience). She erupted into tears, when I asked why, she said the only time she had been in a church was for her grandmother’s funeral. This all reminded her of the funeral, but more importantly the grandmother she loved and missed. As she poured out her love, tears and words I had the opportunity to tell her that my first time to church was also my grandmother’s funeral, I felt a special bond to this sweet girl. I with her that I had always prayed in my life, even as a small child, but did not know others prayed until the funeral, and how important it was for me, and that I had gone to church ever since. We spent dear and precious time in embrace before the service.

This return to the Catholic faith for me was huge, it was a return to the faith of my family, and here was dear, sweet Martina embodying the importance of this return. Here were the ladies of the piazza, those who I loved, but were not part of my spiritual life, much as my 6 aunts at grandma’s funeral, sharing this sacred moment. It was a blessed coming full circle.

The greatest blessing of all was Martina, reminding me of the faith of my youth, the faith that sustains. Jesus spoke of the faith of children, and it is so beautifully pure that to share tears of joy, tears of remembering, tears of lost love with this sweet, dear girl was the greatest gift in this sacramental day. She was a beautiful reminder of the tears of joys shed for the love of God, love of neighbor, and the reception of love of others….the greatest blessings in life! For all the emotions of this day, the greatest was the gift of love and sharing love, love for grandmas, for God, and for friends.

What stories of childhood faith spill into your life of faith now?
How has your relationship with God changed, and remained the same over the years?
What special people have surprised you with grace in times of emotional and spiritual upheaval?

Preserving or Putting up Fruit

Figs and Blackberries are in Season now, beauty in the fields.

Here in Italy fruit preserves are known as marmalade, yet there is something I like about the idea of juxtaposing the word concepts of "preserving" or "putting up" the fruit. When I think of the notion of preserving I think of a caring aspect of keeping something going for a long time, like historical preservation. However, when I think of putting up, I think of mom saying, “I am not putting up with that anymore!” There is a sense of tolerance, patience and coping that comes with putting up something, even with putting up a guest for the night, which wouldn’t be said if you were thrilled to have them.

I love the first days of making preserves, the picking, cleaning, and slow process that is calming to my soul. After a while though it is good to take a break, otherwise, I would just be putting up the fruit. One of the sweet ways of making it truly a preserving spiritual practice is to remember all the wonderful people who have been part of my history of making marmalade and canning salsa. As I pick the fruit there is time to pray for all who have journeyed with me in this beautiful work. The memories of picking berries with my brother, who always ate more than ended up in bucket, my mom and various relatives who if we were lucky would be visiting us when the blackberries, aunt Judy’s raspberries, or apples were to be harvested.

I remember watching grandma and aunt Judy making their prized jams, and even have a picture of grandma in her kitchen, but boy was I young then. My first teacher of preserves was Kenna Jones, a sweet friend who had nothing but sons who were not inclined to cook, and was happy to teach me her art of making strawberry preserves. She then guided me through the process of apricot preserves from the fruit of our tree in the backyard. As a young adult, my neighbor Pasqualina Verdi would teach me how to make Italian tomato sauce and pesto. Through the years friends from Mexico would show me an array of ways to prepare salsa, depending on where I was living at the time and what was available in the local gardens. My friend Teresa at my last church in Seattle was a great scrounge and creator of preserves as well, we would harvest figs together and swap stories of where we obtained our fruit in the area, always proud of free found food, more for the hunt than for the free. A bounty of God’s good earth!

Here in Piegaro my friend Maria is great to show me where local free fruit can be found, and others will tell me as well. It is a great gift that now Maria doesn’t tell me where to find local wild finds, but instead asks me where I am finding my goodies, then will nod and say she knows the tree, but she has a tree in her yard so needs no fruit from my find. Maria Pia, Peppina, Renata and others have handed me large quantities of freshly harvested fruits of their family gardens, a joy to preserve. There is a common bond between friends who enjoy the harvesting of fruit, preserving foods for the cold days ahead, and swapping recipes. In this town as with so many towns I have lived in over the years, food is the heart of so many stories, something essential in life as an art form.

God gives us a bounty of food, so often forgotten in the fields, alleys, and even city neighborhoods that enrich our lives in many ways. To see this rich bounty not as something trivial, as something to Put Up, but as a treasure to preserve is a joy and gift for me. It takes me to precious memories of loved ones, to new relationships around this sweet topic, and will be a joy to partake of in the future…a gift of hope from the kitchen!

How do you most enjoy the bounty of God’s food?
What is your perspective on the preparation of food, what memories does it provoke?

Tutto a posto?

Tutto a posto, it is all okay, it is all in place. It was a simple question I was asked repeatedly as I worked to move into my new home. There were two big reasons for moving, one was that my previous house was too grand, the other was it was too expensive. When I say too grand that has two meanings that were both quite true, it was large and it was of a style that was elegant. With a large salon, a huge master bedroom and luxurious bath that all reflected a fashion of opulence, it wasn’t quite me. The tiny kitchen and the second bedroom with a window that faced a wall also noted that those things that weren’t luxuries, weren’t important did not fit well with my soul, it felt very out of place for me. To top it off it was out of my price range for living there for any length of time.

The joy of the place was my amazing neighbors, who are so fun, I still visit them almost daily, it is thank God a small town. Another joy was playing with the luxuries, such as rendering fabulous bubble baths in the opulent bath complete with music and singing, and my fave, camping on the terrazzo. The rooftop terrace was fairly private with an amazing view of the valley, quite, quite grand, and for me a perfect place to camp. On hot days in the top floor apartment, I could always rest assured that sleeping under the stars was a possibility, with a tent that would make any 5 year old proud, a blanket for a roof and drag up an extra mattress and I was good to go.

It was an apartment that didn’t quite fit me, but it worked well with the sweet people around me, but it was time to move on. In previous writing I spoke of the difficulty for me to move from house to house, I end up a nervous wreck, and was touched in the midst of this move when a friend asked how I was, because I looked nervous. The moving seemed to drag on, partly due to a cleaning process that was unusually long due to the fact that the home had been empty for years, and that there was additional maintenance such as paint and plumbing that needed to be attended to by people other than myself, it was both a work and wait process, thus came the question, “tutto a posto?” my friends wanting to know if all was in place yet, but even deeper, was I okay.

As eager as I was to be done, so were my friends, who could see my stress in the face of moving. Once it was finished I took some time to look back on the process, and be thankful for friends who took the time to notice how my face reflected my feelings, and my neighbors who were so amazingly supportive and giving, literally giving me housewarming gifts or providing me with things I needed such as a bed and dishes. I had plenty of food and support to make the move just that much easier and the ever present cheer: tutto a posto?

All during the time leading up to the move, to the moving process itself and in the 2 weeks following I was preparing for my cressima and first communion in the Catholic church. It is only now that I have really had time to rest and think about the space of being tutto a posto, with these two big things behind me. Yesterday when our priest asked how I was, I said tired, it was a busy 6 weeks and I suddenly found myself tired. I realized in the reflection that there never is a time of tutto a posto, when all is okay, when all is in place, for in the follow up to the moving there is now time for canning of fruits and vegetables, of preparing my new home for winter.

Following the cressima and first communion comes the preparing for the wholeness of life within this new culture of church I have chosen to embrace. Within this small town there are neighborhoods and I have moved to a new neighborhood, it will take time to settle in, the knowing that it is a small town and I will see my old neighbors daily comforts me in this time of change. In the new church commitment I find new expectations, and new opportunities, and for me I am leaning on the wisdom of the priest who heard my first confession and offered these words: “You have done much, lived much in a very short life, it is time to slow down. Don’t rush, just pray and live.”

My new home is a good place to do this, it is more than economical, it is cozy with the great heart of the home being a fabulous kitchen, that one reaches through the sweet entry room. For me a great metaphor for life; a welcoming entry into a warm heart and all else will fall into place, in time. My sitting room is not quite ready yet, or my closet in the bedroom, there is work yet to be done. Tutto a posto, by definition no, it is not all in place, but all is okay, all is right with the world, Thanks Be to God!

When or How do you feel all is okay, or in place?
How do you feel knowing and being in life when things seem out of place?
How can you rest with God in all times when things seem in or out of place?