tamarjacobson

Quote of the day:

The hard part is showing up for it [writing] over and over again. Natalie Goldberg, Villa Lina. October 3, 2012.

Am I all written out? Writing from dawn till dusk each day at the retreat with Natalie Goldberg seems to have written me out. Or was it the return to an empty house without my beloved cat? Her ashes lie in a small wooden box on the mantelpiece. I wait to plant a large rust-colored chrysanthemum atop her grave today, when we bury those ashes in our garden. I miss the early morning silence and meditation with Wendy and Natalie at Villa Lina last week. At times, when I am home from work, I find myself pacing through the house searching for my cat, unable to focus on anything clearly. At others, I seem to sit and stare into space for extended periods. Writing by hand for ten minutes at a time was a different experience, because it has been so long since I did that concentratedly. Many years ago, I kept hand-written journals, but that was way before I learned about blogging – probably ten years ago or more. When I write by hand as Natalie required us to do last week, I feel as if I am writing a private journal instead of a piece I might like to publish sometime. It was effective. It helped squeeze out of my brain, memories from childhood that were long forgotten.

Part II of October 2012 memories.

Quote of the day:

Continue under all circumstances; Don't be tossed away; Positive effort for the good. Natalie Goldberg, Villa Lina. October 2, 2012

I arrived at Villa Lina�in a large red bus. It rambled slowly out of Rome along a highway, and as it rocked and rolled its way along the pavement, I stared out of the windows. My body ached with fatigue. The plane ride had been uneventful but sleep was fitful of thoughts and feelings about Ada. How I held her soft, sweet body in my arms, and how she laid her little head on my wrist, finally receiving some peace from the pain in her pancreas, the fear in her eyes from the stark, sterile, cold, linoleum floor of the emergency unit in the hospital. I slept for a few moments as the bus rumbled along, and felt relief from my pain at the loss of my darling companion only two mornings earlier. As I opened my eyes I realized the bus was driving through what looked like a narrow lane. "It is Italy," I thought to myself. "I am in Italy." I could tell by the olive trees in the distance, the pink blossoms of the oleander bushes, and tall Cyprus trees. "Are those Cyprus trees?" I almost wondered out loud. Ada slipped from my mind as the bus continued along the way. It felt like Israel – the narrow road and large, rambling bus – oleander blooming everywhere my eyes wandered. "I could be in Israel," I thought. And then we reached the small town of Ronciglioni, and I knew it was Italy, from the small, winding streets and signs in Italian. Of course I wasn't in Israel! The wall and gates of Villa Lina suddenly appeared right there in front of us right out of the blue of my ruminations. I listened. My aching heart had stopped weeping. The tall iron, grated gate greeted my anticipation, and I smiled to myself because no sooner had it opened, so it shut again. And then, it opened once more. We walked out of the bus and I could smell the air. It was warm, with a slight breeze in the trees fanning my face with humidity as I walked up the rocky path towards the barn and restaurant for lunch at Villa Lina. It felt like Israel again.

Last year this month – reminiscing – brings up all kinds of memories and emotions.