Pack Your Bags

I read a wonderful article over the last few days about an idyllic place. It was even called, The Island Where People Forgot to Die.

The story it told bordered on mythical. A man, born on a Greek island, forced away from home by war, injured in battle, healed by strangers, and drawn to seek his fortune in the land of opportunity, is struck down by incurable disease in the prime of prosperity. Unwilling to burden his family with the expenses of his illness, he returns home to die quietly, but instead, completely untreated, he slowly regains his health until 30 years later, at the age of 90, he lives on, tending his vineyard and playing dominoes with his nonagenerian friends.

Who wouldn't want to know the secret of this island? Scientists have indeed studied it, but their findings have been illusive. Certainly diet plays a role-- most residents eat very locally, the Mediterranean diet by definition. Most are also active, but not on the treadmill or at the gym. Theirs is physical labor of a different sort-- in pursuit of a crop, or up the hill to worship, or down the road for a glass of wine-- all places worth going.

Time, as we mark it here in the most powerful nation on earth, is almost unknown to them. They rise when they wake, they conduct their business, they nap, and then they spend time with their friends and families until they tire.

Although there is no great wealth, there is no poverty either, and the people there reach the age of 90 at a rate 2 1/2 times that we do in America.

Shoot! They had me at no alarm clocks.

Boo!

It's back to school tomorrow, and although I've enjoyed our unplanned four-day weekend (just slightly more than I'll appreciate the three-day work week), it'll be a treat to see my students and hear their tales of surviving the monster storm.

Embracing the rest of the grind will be tricky, but I guess that's the nature of the day.

Whirlwind Vacation

Or, it's all fun and games until the power goes out.

Which it hasn't, despite howling winds and pelting rains. The trees outside look like a scene from a Gilligan's Island typhoon episode, and then they don't, which makes sense given the bandish nature of such storms as this one.

The worst is supposed to begin in about an hour and last through the night, and so we have spent the day taking advantage of our electricity-- cooking, showering, charging things up-- and thus I remain

optimistic.

Out of the Woods and into the Rain

Since we figured that we probably wouldn't be spending much time outdoors in the next couple of days, we decided to take advantage of the literal calm before the storm and go for a little walk around a nearby lake this afternoon. It was overcast and breezy as we stepped onto the trail but not unpleasantly so, and the fall leaves still showed a lot of color.

We were on the home stretch of the loop when the wind picked up and a shower of leaves, golden and red, twirled down around us, and a bald eagle skimmed the tree tops, wheeling on the airstream. Just as the trail emerged from the woods the rain began, a fine mist, but so persistent that we were drenched within minutes.

I didn't care though. Perhaps it was knowing that this was the leading edge of something so huge, or maybe it was wondering what far-off place these tiny drops had come from, or it could have just been having the day off from school tomorrow, but whatever it was, there was something about the moment that made me want to embrace the storm.

Shenanigans

Every four years the clarion charges of election tomfoolery blare, common and wide. This time the arc of accusations rises from organized campaigns telling folks it's fine to go to the polls on November 7 to voter id laws and the challenges to them in court and then back down to people promising an acquaintance ten bucks if he'll vote their way.

Certainly this election has been polarizing, perhaps more so than most. "I don't think I can even go to work the next day if [my candidate] loses," a swing state voter confided to me today,  "because all those jackasses will think they were right."

The Electoral College is not looking very helpful here. There's a good chance somebody might win the popular vote but lose the election. A better recipe for guaranteed gridlock probably does not exist. I also saw a not-so-far-fetched scenario on the news the other night where the electoral college was tied. I did not know this, but in such a case, the House of Representatives would elect the president and the Senate, the VP.

Romney-Biden anyone?

Happy Returns

It's that day of year when Heidi and I mark an anniversary... fourteen years have come and gone since we joined forces to face the world together. To celebrate, we return to a favorite old movie, The Godfather, along with a simple meal of pasta and sauce, spinach and mushrooms on the side.

And despite Don Corleone's admonition to Sonny to Never tell anyone outside the family what you're thinking, I'll continue.

"What's the first line of the movie, again?" I asked a few minutes ago in anticipation of our big night. "Is it Vito, or is it that guy, what's his name? Buonanotte?"

"Who?" Heidi asked.

"Oh never mind, I'll Google it," I said.

I believe in America. America has made my fortune.

And the speaker? Amerigo Bonasera. (I never knew his first name before, but it really adds to the movie, right?)

I was actually kind of tickled at my error. In Italian, buona notte means good night, and buona sera means good evening. Only someone with some knowledge of the language could make such a mistake.

I learned a little Italian thirty-five years ago when I was in boarding school in Lugano, not in any class, but simply by the necessity of living there.

It pleases me when it comes back.

This is Why We Do It

"This is the best club in the whole school!" one student exclaimed this afternoon before Writing Club had even officially began. Maybe it was the kettle corn or maybe it was the ten other kids who showed up after school to write, but whatever it was was infectious.

"Yeah it is!" her friend agreed.

A little while later, after we had introduced NaNoWriMo and pledged our support should they choose to accept the challenge, that same student was breathless. "I've always wanted to do something like this my whole life, and now I can!" she cried.

Now she can.