Month: October 2015

Transformation

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The doors in both pictures are in the exact location relative to the planet.  But walking through each from the outside were two totally distinct experiences. Whatever took place in the time spent between the former and the latter made all the difference.

I remember the first time I learned of the possibility to change.  What a wonderful day that was!

Here today

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So after living at Pickle Bay for thirteen years, I am now finding myself taking walks all the time.  This is a new activity for me. In the past – in my old home town – it was always important that I live near a bus stop. I needed the comfort of knowing that I could get downtown without a car.  I guess it goes back to being still too young for a driver’s license.  Now I live less than three miles from the city center. Within ten minutes, I can walk and get the best morning glory muffin ever made by a team of father and sons.  Their black currant granola is like crack to me.

Life is full of changes.  Things happen – sometimes quickly, without much warning.  One event can set off a collision not unlike the wave of carefully set up dominoes yielding to the touch of a finger.  We are forced to let go of the status quo.  But within that pile of dotted tiles, there lies something magical: Opportunity.  A new way of seeing: Innovation. Creativity! These phenomena are in all of us and yet often take an earthquake of sorts to release their existence.

One day soon I will be returning to the place of my youth.  It will be a new opportunity – one which will include learning to make my own granola.  I will ask my friends down the road for their recipe.

It is the east and Juliet is the sun…

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Today is the 16th anniversary of my first sunrise at Pickle Bay. When I arrived on October 1, 1999 – after a 350 mile drive – I had no idea what was in store for me.  The house – or “hovel” as it had been referred to – was a small yellow stuccoed cottage – recently purchased and intended to be renovated. It was in very bad condition, but I sensed familiarity.  Walking up to the door I had the feeling I was back in Carovilli – the birthplace of my father in Italy.  A bit ancient by our standards; primitive but inviting; welcoming: Home!  The morning of that sunrise gave opportunity for a passage from Shakespeare that I had memorized in the eighth grade.  He said I learned it for just this occasion.