Where I need to be

My recent trip to Italy was for two weeks, which was glorious. My friend C got to stay for a month. I was jealous. After I left, she spent her mornings happily wandering with her camera and then spent her afternoons and evenings at her computer, working East Coast hours. This made for somewhat upside-down days, but it got her a month in Florence, so who's complaining?

Leading up to the trip, I really thought that re-entry into my regular life would be hard. I had prepared myself for being a bit depressed, as my regular life involves a desk job, lots of meetings, being indoors all day, and then going home to a comfortable apartment yet one that is in an area where cars are a necessity for everything.

To my surprise and relief, that is not how I felt at all. In fact, coming back to work felt even better than before because no matter regular life threw my way, I had just spent two weeks in Italy.

Coming back to a crazy-busy inbox? I just spent two weeks in Italy, so I don't care.

Covering for a coworker while odd situations happen in his area? I got to go to Italy. Bring it on.

Having to drive to get to every single stinking thing I might want or need? At least I had two weeks of wandering in Italy.


Likewise, while I thought I would feel even more jealous of my friend who got to stay, I was happy that she was still there. I enjoyed living vicariously through her. I actually felt a bit more sad when she came back than when I did.

I mentioned this to my friend Tim, and mentioned how perplexed I was by this. "Well," he said

thoughtfully, "as long as she was still there, you were, too."

He was right. Every time C posted a new photo, I could think, I was there.

I understood the cultural references. I was happy she got to eat the food.

Pondering this, I decided to get outside this past weekend and enjoy some of the renowned New England Fall weather. I did have to drive to get to talk my walk, but I didn't go very far. There is a lake only about ten minutes' drive from where I live, and it's an easy spot to go when I have a hankering for the out of doors.

Just as I pulled in to a parking space, I was startled by a shadow overhead. I looked up. There was a bald eagle circling the sky right over my car. He came close. He was gorgeous.

I had never seen a bald eagle that closely before (in the wild). It was magnificent and startling at the same time. I jumped out of my car and grabbed my phone in the hopes of getting a picture. The bird did not disappoint. He spent several minutes swooping and soaring right over the shoreline of the lake. After probably five full minutes of staring at the sky, I looked around. The lake area was crowded with people, and we were all doing the same thing: watching this bird. It was as if time had stopped. We stood there, transfixed.

After the bird went on his way, I grabbed my water bottle and my apple, and set off on the trail. I was happy, even if I wasn't in Florence. There are many things about the European life that I much prefer to American life, but the eagle swooping down for a quick visit reminded me that, for now, I am exactly where I need to be.

Eye to the Ground

Not too long ago, a friend came to visit. On her short list of requests of things to do once here was to go on a “hike.” Her quotes, not mine. What she really wanted was a walk in the woods, not an honest to goodness hike up the side of a mountain that requires hiking shoes and walking poles and a bladder full of water on your back. I knew the perfect place. There is a lake not too far from where I live that has terrific walking paths through the woods. One path in particular is a four mile loop, mostly flat, winding through the woods, with a terrific view of the water at the halfway point. We put on our hats and our bug spray, grabbed some water and snacks, and off we went.

It was a cheerful, uneventful hike. I say uneventful meaning simply that we enjoyed our walk and the weather and each other’s company and nothing untoward happened. No one fell in the lake. No one sprained an ankle. No one got sprayed by a skunk. It was a lovely afternoon in the woods.

When we were about a half mile from the car, we noticed a small group of people huddling over something along the side of the trail. It was a woman and two girls who, judging by their resemblance to the woman, their ages, and how they interacted with one another, I am guessing were her daughters. They were with a young man who we guess may have been the woman’s stepson or perhaps a family friend. He was too old to be her son and too young to be a significant other. But, whatever, the dynamic there is not what is important. What matters is that they were a friendly group who were more than happy to share the purpose of their outing: they were hunting mushrooms.

It turns out that the young man hunts for and collects mushrooms to use as art projects. He will split them in half, dry them on paper, and create art images with them. He also enjoys studying them and was a walking encyclopedia of all things mycology (that’s the study of mushrooms). 

He cheerfully showed us which one will make you vomit for days while you hallucinate at the same time. He showed us the one that smells like butter. He showed us purple mushrooms, red mushrooms, all sorts of funny shaped mushrooms. He suggested which ones you could eat in a pinch, and which ones you really should just leave alone.

After we parted ways, I kept an eye on the ground, a bit more attuned to what might be growing there than I have noticed in the past. Sure enough, little spots of bright purple, red, yellow were more common than I had noticed before. 

What a lovely afternoon to meet some kind strangers who have helped me to look at the woods with new eyes. Do I remember the names of the mushrooms and which one is which? I do not. But I have a general rule of not touching mushrooms when out and about, so I’ll be okay. The important thing is learning to look with new eyes for what has been there all along.