To Become...

“I am as unfinished as the shoreline along the beach,

meant to transcend myself again and again.” 

- Joan Anderson

It’s been sometime since I sat down to write. I have been waiting for a modicum of creative inspiration to hit me. Nothing of that sort has happened. Either it needs to whack me harder so I can recognize it or it needs to come carrying a label as such. Because lately, my mind has been too scattered to be receptive. Creative thoughts in my head are a rare occurrence to begin with and even if it happens, it vanishes as quickly as it arrives. It is reassuring, nevertheless, to know that it is out there.

For the past few weeks though, it has been completely eluding me. I don’t seem to have anything to say. I read as usual, but everything ricochets off my brain. Even with all that barrage of information, all is quiet on the opinion front. Everything seems either very obvious or very ambiguous. But I am not going to fill this entire post with my woes on creativity. I doubt if it is going to be anything profound or original, but I do have something to share.

I just finished reading ‘A year by the Sea - thoughts of an unfinished woman’ by Joan Anderson. It was recommended to me by my friend a while ago. It stayed in my ‘To read’ list until after a serendipitous second prompt, I dove into it last week. It is a small book and I finished it in two sittings.

The premise of the book is exploration. An exploration of the self, of nature and of life. It all begins when the author surprises herself and those around her when she decides to upend the status quo and spend a year away from everyone - her friends and family. She writes about her experiences living in a small fishing village in Cape Cod. Relishing her solitude, she comes to terms with her past, ponders her future and explores the present.

Her writing is as fluid as the sea that inspires her. She engages your senses describing her experiences with nature - the elements, the sky, the seals, the sea and the shore. Especially the seals. Personally, I have never found them appealing. Dolphins, yes. Seals, no, not really. They are smelly, bulky and when out of the water, they seem physically, a bit awkward. But after reading her perspective, I see them differently now.

The author’s scrutinizing of her life and all the self-analysis might seem indulgent and self-absorbed to some. You could argue that a year living in a cottage by the sea is an idyllic setting that few could afford. And with no responsibilities and obligations to boot. That she should count her blessings instead of focusing on what is purportedly lacking. To many who aren’t as privileged as she is, it might not be all that much that is missing in her life. As her husband reminds her something to the effect of - ‘You have food, warmth and shelter. What more could a person need?’. She herself is aware of it when she laments “When will I ever learn to accept what is given instead of always yearning for more? My lavish expectations too often tarnish my blessings.”

But I get it. I get the longing she feels of coming into her own. The freedom to be herself - to find her true essence buried below layers of posturing. And years of conformity. She is restless and unhappy until she finds the courage to step out of her comfort zone. She revels in her solitude resolutely denying everything that is acceptable and familiar. She makes the little village by the sea her home not because of the community, but because of her affinity to the landscape. I can understand that. I understand that there is nothing that can ground you as much as nature can.

A few takeaways from the book - 

• It is never too late for your dreams.
• Make time for reflection, every day, even if only for a few minutes.
• Experience nature in its own terms.
• Learn to be in solitude.
• Have a personal mentor. This is totally new for me. I never thought of the concept of a mentor outside of my job. To paraphrase the author - You need someone other than your mother who can rally for you and your dreams and who can pick you up when you fall flat on your face’. How wonderful would it be to have someone like that.  
• Have an adventure. Step out into the unknown.

None of these are entirely unfamiliar to us. But maybe when we come across the same advice over and over, albeit from different sources and directions, however inspiring, it stops having an effect on us. It loses its simple wisdom and becomes a cliche. It doesn’t spur us on to create. It doesn’t move us to take action. It doesn’t challenge us to break the cycle. But once in a while, it makes us think and wonder. Maybe there is a start.

One of my favorite quotes from the book is ‘To become you must do’. It is less esoteric than the ‘Don’t do, just be’ mindful slogan that I am used to hearing. So I intend to follow it... for once, at least. Hence this post.

Charmed - a travel journal (Part 2)

Day two. Sunny day but a bit chilly. And a bit of a rough start for me as we didn’t have time for breakfast before we hopped on a trolley tour of Savannah. My foggy mind was slowly waking up to the sights and sounds of the city. But when Forrest Gump showed up unexpectedly at one of our stops with a box of chocolates, looking for Lieutenant Taylor, I perked up. The tour guide pointed out the landmarks and the layout of the city around 21 squares. He also was my first introduction to the southern drawl. The easy pace of the place reflected in his manner of speech. What he narrated in 90 minutes I could have rattled off in 15 minutes flat. But wouldn’t be nearly as interesting, now would it?

Once the tour ended, we didn’t waste any time looking for a place to eat. 'B Matthews' was another one of those popular, well-recommended restaurants. Busy and a bit hip, the food was excellent. They had vegan friendly items on the menu and for once, it was nice to have a choice. Their black eyed pea cake sandwich tasted good and was filling. That and three cups of coffee and a nice long chat revived me.

After lunch, we took a tour of the ‘Owens-Thomas House’. It's an old Regency style mansion built in the early nineteenth century by an English whiz-kid architect, William Jay, for one of the wealthy residents of Savannah. The docent walked us through the house and explained the history, the structure, the architecture and interesting tidbits about the many residents of the house interspersed by reminders to not lean in or touch anything. Photography was not allowed inside the building, so we had to take it all in and rely on our memory to reminisce. What impressed me most was the huge rainwater cisterns built into the building that provided water for the indoor plumbing. This was about two hundred years ago. Wow!!  The Greek symbols, the eye-pleasing symmetry, faux finishes (none of us could understand why), the large dining room with amber colored glass skylights and the beautiful shades of green, beige and pink in the women’s parlour were the highlights of the house. But the most we talked about after the tour was the ‘haint paint’ in the slave quarters - a shade of blue paint to ward off evil spirits.

Strolling around the many squares, we stepped into SCAD’s art store to browse. The paintings, handmade jewelry and knick-knacks were all a little too abstract and daring, not to mention expensive, for our inartistic eyes. So we walked out the store empty handed. G was on a quest to capture every interesting door we came across for a collage she is working on. Almost every house had them - doors of course, but interesting ones at that. We admired the houses, the iron gates and railings and small gardens in quaint little enclosed alleyways. Walking by the famous Mercer-Williams house, we could picture some of the events that happened there from The Book but none of us felt compelled to take a tour of the interiors. We were content to just walk around and observe everything that caught our eye.

Working our way to Forsyth Park we couldn’t help but appreciate the sunshine and the mild weather. The fountain at the park was spouting off water that was colored green in preparation for the city’s famous St.Patrick’s day celebrations the following weekend. The wide path leading up to the fountain was lined with live oaks and flowering bushes. Azaleas were in bloom everywhere. We did some people-watching from a park bench for a while - tourists clicking pictures, a couple doing yoga in the park, a newly married couple still in their wedding garb and a bunch of scallywags (as E called them) lounging around.



Time for our evening cuppa. We landed at a one-of-a-kind store called ‘The Salt’ that sourced tea from all over the world and sold an unusual product, Himalayan salt. The store owner was doing the rounds answering questions about the tea and the Himalayan-salt cutting boards. An ingenious idea for a cutting board! Talk about an eco-friendly product. I made a mental note to buy myself one in the near future. All quenched and feeling a wee-bit educated about the million flavours of tea, salt and spices, we meandered our way back to our hotel.

E had booked a table for us at 'The Olde Pink House' to celebrate N’s birthday. The restaurant was in an old Georgian mansion with a pink stucco exterior (hence the name) and tables set in rooms and in multiple floors, all still intact. Each room was done in a different color. We were seated in the purple room. A huge portrait of the ex-Lady of the house, Mrs.Habersham, was mounted on one of the walls, her eyes staring down at us. Despite the elegance, the place had somewhat of an eerie air to it. Maybe the spooky feeling came from listening to all those stories about the haunted bathrooms in the mansion. But it was easy to distract ourselves by indulging on the menu.

The birthday girl chose Malbec for a birthday toast. I had a delicious arugula salad with pecans, walnuts and strawberries with sweet potatoes and grilled mushrooms with balsamic sauce. G’s flounder warranted a mini ‘how-to’ from the waitress. E gave her pan seared salmon ‘the best salmon I had ever had’ award. And N chose a chicken dish. Dessert was rightfully decadent. My cup of fresh, succulent, hand-picked (or so it seemed) berries, wasn’t decadent but I devoured it nevertheless and washed it all down with some excellent coffee.

We rushed to the Savannah theatre just in time to watch ‘Jukebox journey’. The show was a nostalgic musical journey from the 1940s through the 60s. It was not a packed theatre but the audience was engaged and visibly enjoyed the music. Most of the songs were familiar but I could not place some of them. Despite that, I couldn't resist joining the audience in cheering and clapping to the music. It was very entertaining to watch these talented musicians perform on stage. There was a little skit in the show where this young, shy and nerdy couple seated in a restaurant are looking over the menu. The girl, with humongous glasses and a goofy snorty laugh says she is going to have the ‘filet mignon’ pronouncing every letter in those words. The guy, wearing glasses mended with white tape right smack on the bridge of his nose, corrects her, leaving out the ‘t’ in 'filet' but still pronouncing every letter in ‘mignon’. And so the girl, with a dismissive wave of her hand smiles and exclaims ‘Oawhh.. Spanish!’ It served as fodder for humour during our subsequent meals:-) 

When the show ended, we took our time walking back through the lighted squares stopping for a brief pow-wow at Tomochichi’s grave. Focus lights shining on the monument reached up to the trees and made them seem surreal. If only the trees could talk... 

We stopped for a nightcap at the Moon River Brewing company, a haunted (or so the guide books said) micro brewery that was right across from our hotel. The coriander flavored beer was good but an utter waste on me - would they find it ridiculous if I asked for the beer in a shot glass, you know just so I can sample it? I didn't find out. It was some time before we called it a day. And when everyone was in deep slumber and it was all dark and quiet, I was wired and spooked out from all those ghostly stories I'd heard through the course of the day. Now why didn’t they think of using haint paint on these walls?

Charmed - a travel journal (Part 1)

As any bookworm would attest to, books have the magic of transporting us to different worlds. This time though it transpired to be a bit more actual than imaginary. It started with my friend E’s recommendation that I read John Berendt’s  ‘Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil’ (from here on referred to as ‘The Book’). She had skimmed past Savannah, GA during one of her travels and wanted to explore the city and the book happened to piqued her interest even more. She started hatching a plan for a girls-only trip to Savannah.

By the time our cozy group of four had read the book, we were all curious and eager to visit the place and see for ourselves what the book so beautifully described. A non-judgemental narrative about an actual murder trial that took place in the 1980s in downtown Savannah and the colorful characters who lived there at that time. To spin the happenings of a community and weave the characters and their lives as if it were a work of fiction I felt, required great talent. It captured what I understand to be the essence of Savannah - charming, friendly, intriguing, colorful and loaded with history. And so it came about - a trip to Savannah with friends E,G and N.  

And now, a little about my travelling companions:
E : Our trip planner. An energetic, thoughtful person and a travel buff who is my inspiration to get off my rear end and do instead of just dream. In preparation for our journey, she hosted a classy southern style dinner and a movie (based on The Book) at her place a couple of weeks before the trip. She took the time to research and draft a general itinerary.
G : Our funny bone. Her art commentary during museum visits is sidesplitting and will make you appear like a giggly teenager to museum guards. She has an uncanny knack for observing people and their quirks or should I say, spotting quirky people. And don’t let her cute gelasin fool you, I have heard she can have you in a headlock before you can say Jack Robinson.
N: Our navigator. She traveled the world since she was a student, actually experiencing the places in person when I was barely learning about them in books. Her calm and reassuring presence along with her efficient iPhone steered us well and saved us from getting lost whenever I read the map wrong or did not find the sun strategically positioned to orient me.  

It was getting closer to our vacation and though I was very excited about it, I could not shake off the feeling of guilt I had about taking time off from work and family for the trip with friends. But everyone at home was fine with me being away for four days and so I decided I will enjoy myself, learn a thing or two from my travel savvy friends and soak in some Savannah culture.

Day one. Our journey to Savannah was painless even with a two hour delay due to a ‘hydraulic leak’ when switching planes after a layover. Sounded ominous but mattered little as we were asked to hop on a hydraulically sealed one:-) The airport angst I usually feel when traveling was nearly non-existent. Must be the company.

It was still sunny when we landed in Savannah. The airport’s taxi stand with its brick facade, palm trees and a fountain framed with colorful pansies was a refreshing sight to our foliage starved Ohio eyes. A graceful sculpture of an angel in the centre holding a globe with tiny airplanes orbiting around it seemed fitting. Our taxi driver doubled as an introductory guide to Savannah, talking a mile-a-minute about the place, The Book and the people. Except me, everyone else knew how to engage a local in conversation. I was in awe. Note to adult self - it’s okay to talk to strangers. Soon after we dropped our bags in the hotel, we were out the door all fired up to explore the city and scout for a good restaurant for dinner.

The first thing that captured my attention were the trees that lined the streets - live oaks with spanish moss (which as one tour guide put it, is neither spanish nor moss) hanging on them. To actually see these trees with big gnarly branches that lent Savannah so much of its character in The Book was like going back in time. N navigated us to ‘Vic’s on the river’, a restaurant suggested by a local writer whom E had reached out to for recommendations. We spent the 40 minute wait for our table by strolling down the cobbled ballast stone ramps to the riverwalk nearby. Remnants of a bustling port city now refurbished to house elegant riverfront restaurants, shops and hotels. Didn’t realize until after our city tour the next day that we had walked through old facilities were cotton was loaded, unloaded and graded. What was obvious to us though were the riverboats gliding down the Savannah river, the Talmadge bridge and the lights from Hutchinson Island, from across the river.

We spent about three hours enjoying the food, the ambiance and our open, honest and sometimes hilarious conversations. Even the loud stomping from a wedding party upstairs added to the atmosphere of fun elegance, if there indeed is such a thing. In the soft lights and candlelit tables, every dish on the menu looked appetizing. E, our connoisseur, chose the wine, a cabernet sauvignon that we didn’t have to pay a month’s salary for. Fried green tomatoes with goat cheese and tomato chutney seemed to be a southern staple and a must-try. Hmmm... now what’s this haricot vert? Sounds french. When the waitress explained that it was a fancy word for thin green beans, we decided to skip it, french allure notwithstanding. 

The seafood was fresh off of Savannah’s waters, except of course G’s salmon. It found it’s way to her plate all the way from Chile, if I remember right. My cooked salad greens with fingerling sweet potatoes tasted delicious. E and N’s delectable grouper left no room for dessert, however tempting the choices were. I, on the other hand was glad I did not have a choice. I can always make room for dessert. While we lingered over dinner, the crowd thinned towards closing time. The noise level died down and we could now actually hear the live music well enough to appreciate it. The dinner set the tone for our trip - great camaraderie in a wonderful southern setting.

Book Review

The elegance of the hedgehog : Muriel Barbery

You know how some books are a ‘read’ and some are a ‘study’. Well, this book for me was a study. Next to Thoreau's Walden, this was a book that while reading, I felt like taking ardent notes and highlighting almost every single line. There is so much depth of thought and philosophy but unfortunately for me, many of them went over my head. This books requires much more intelligence than I possess to understand its nuances. When the author expounds on art, music, books and movies, though some of the works, philosophers and artists are familiar and some vaguely so and some that I actually read, I can’t say I remember much about them to grasp her analysis.

The protagonist, Madam Michel, is a concierge, in her 50s and is brutally honest about herself and those around her. She values great minds and is confidently aware of her acute intelligence and is in many ways a victim of her impoverished circumstances and society’s prejudices. She tries her best to hide her brilliant mind and tries to conform to people’s opinion of how a lowly concierge should appear, think, talk and behave. The author doesn’t give away, almost till the end, the reason for Madam Michel’s fear and insecurity of moving upwards to society’s upper strata which her keen intelligence and wit would have easily allowed.

The other equally important narrative voice is of Paloma, an intelligent, rich, 12 year old brat who is misunderstood by every one around her, including her family. She has an inquisitive mind and is in a constant quest for something profound and meaningful in everyday life that would help her find answers to existential questions. The third character is the new Japanese tenant Kakuro Ozu, a kind, wise and wealthy man. How this trio form an unlikely friendship is the crux of the story.

Initially, I found both Madam Michel and Paloma to be arrogant and prejudiced with an unforgiving attitude towards the rich and their mores, kind of like inverse snobbery. But as the book progresses, you can understand their reasoning. Their enlightened mindset brings light to the fact that richness isn’t about material possessions but is rather about one’s ability to take the time to appreciate and savor the simple things in life and to realize the beauty in them. They reiterate the importance of creativity and originality of human thought. And the value of being true to oneself without conforming to expectations - self-imposed or otherwise.

The author, through Madam Michel’s and Paloma’s musings, touches everything that adds beauty to life - language, art, music, literature, movies, aesthetics, culture and philosophy. There were many statements that moved me so much that I had the urge to commit them to memory forever and recite them every day. Especially this one... “..if you dread tomorrow, it's because you don't know how to build the present, you tell yourself you can deal with it tomorrow, and it's a lost cause anyway because tomorrow always ends up becoming today, don't you see?”  .   

In spite of the book tackling some serious and intense topics, there are many instances of humour throughout the book, like Madam Michel’s horrified reaction to the improper use of a comma in a note left to her by a rich and supposedly educated lady ; Madam Michel’s consternation when using Kakuros’ elegant and luxurious bathroom; Madam Michel’s efforts to dress up for dinner; Paloma’s opinion of her sister’s manic cleanliness; Paloma’s narration of her mom’s shopping adventure... and many more..

Though I finished reading this book, it is not something that I can cross off from my list of ‘must-reads’ as I was only able to comprehend some of the author’s expostulations on living. It is definitely a re-read or should I say a ‘re-study’ so I understand it better the next time around and more importantly, for the beautiful reminders of the moments of beauty one encounters in life if one is present.

Book Review

A time to keep silence - by Patrick Leigh Fermor 

It is a book about the observations of travel writer Patrick Leigh Fermor of monastic life during his brief sojourn in 4 different monasteries. Three of the monasteries are in France and the last one is in Turkey. The first 2 are Benedictine - St.Wandrille & Solesmus, the third is a Trappist monastery - La Grande Trappe and the last one is in Cappadocia.

The introduction by Karen Armstrong sets the stage for being open minded about religious traditions and the common pursuit of spirituality across religions.

The author’s description of the landscape, architecture, the history of the monastery, the monks and their philosophy is erudite. There is a lot of theology covered in such a short book.

It was difficult to read some of the conversations the author had with the monks as they were in French and I don’t know the language. Also, it took a lot of effort to follow some of the theosophical history narrated in the book. A lot of historical names were unfamiliar to me. I could only recognize a few names of canonical Saints and political figures. It helped to look up some of them in Wikipedia.

Of all the monasteries, St.Wandrille was the most appealing to me. I could easily picture myself there. Their peaceful quietude, benevolence and self-sufficiency is every one's quest - within or without the monastic walls. I am as baffled by the Trappist monastery as the author in trying to understand the reasoning behind the following of this branch of the Rule of St.Benedict. Though I can attempt to understand their vow of silence, their physical austerity is too exacting and to me incomprehensible. The Cappadocian monasteries, though not inhabited, are a must see place in my mind, if not for the amazing architecture by the earliest monks in Christendom, then at least for the surreal landscape and the cave paintings that transport one to a different epoch.