The lowest part of the photo above is a picture the kids drew on the wall of a pizzeria, depicting our origin and way of getting to
Cefalu. But let me fast forward and be a bit more specific. From Palermo, we took an hour-long
train ride along the coast and came to the last destination of our
trip.
It was perfect! You see that little ball of density right under the word "Citta"
on the map? That's the heart of the town, 12 narrow lanes
dropping down to the sea from the main road, each filled with various shops, art
stores, homes or apartments, and wonderful restaurants. And it's always under the watchful
gaze of a lime-stone mountain fortress called La Rocca (--the empty dark space in
the center). That blue line dancing around the top? Looks like a river? The Tyrrhenian Sea, Italy's own
especial gift to itself.
Okay, feeling oriented? Now, as I said in the last post, the Williams, Suzy's
sister's family--they were biking in from the other direction to meet us here.
(Isn't that something? That's everything I just described. Suzy and I managed that picture during a morning run on the last day.) And let me tell you,
when I say this fall break trip might be the best vacation of my life, I am
chiefly talking about this spot, to which everything else we did added up; and
the Williams were a BIG part of our experience.
First, we attacked the sea. Or maybe it is more correct to say the sea attacked
us (--in retrospect, none of us can believe we went into it that first day). It
was crazy--and fun!!! No pictures, but suffice it to say, it completely
disabused me of my previous sense of not being able to catch a good wave in the
Mediterranean. Ha! Disabused me of that, and almost of my back, and of a kid or
two. It was great. And it was Halloween, which Scout helped us remember.
The next morning, we hiked up La Rocca, the back-drop cliffs of the city.
Aside from some good exercise, it afforded us some great vistas.
The city we stayed in, and the backside of the city, where the Williams rode in from.
But the sea was calling.
This beach day and the one following it were epic! Long, great waves carried us
hundreds of yards through the water. Each kid, including Carmen and Leopold,
figured out how to catch waves, and, by the following day, we were having
contests of who could body-surf the furthest (--I think we all agree Leo was the
best, but Scout was probably the most consistent, and Kiefer, the most
inventive: right at the perfect moment in the sweep of a wave, he would draw his
arms powerfully down to his sides, boosting his speed, and gaining the full
sense of being like a rocket, often crashing head first into the shore at the
end). Katy and Suzy both gave it a go, too, and Bob created a brand new activity
we called, appropriately, "The Bob," which consists of floating on your back, eyes
facing the shore, over the tops of oncoming waves. And these were some big
waves. Sometimes, Bob would raise up into almost a standing position before
disappearing quickly, dropping steeply, blindly, into the node before the
next wave. "Activity" describes "The Bob" in the conscious choice to let
go--in the ability to give yourself completely to your fate by the hands of the
sea, and Bob was certainly the best at it... And we built sand castles,
and talked, read, ate (great little pizzas, focaccia, pasta, arancini cheese
balls);
and we even went cappello shopping (--check out Carmen's new cappello--hat--oh, fine, and also his aunt and mother);
and the kids had a Ninjago night in between; and, of course, we played a lot of Picigin.
Those days were the great climax of both of our two families' trips. But it wan't until late on that third beach
day, sitting on my own, "watching" our stuff, that it occurred to me: this is
it!--this is the best time I've ever had on vacation! And I'm not talking about
Picigin (--I think the kids got 48 touches!, those show-offs). No, I was thoroughly content,
watching the evening sky rise, and looking at everyone playing in
the ocean--wathcing all five kids "catching" waves, watching Suzy and her sister
laughing like kids again with each other and playing just as hard, and the notion of a
comparison with my previous greatest beach experience (--Suzy and I alone in the
water in Thailand) entered my head. That moment, 17 years ago, when Suzy and I were first
venturing out together--into the world and into a renewed and endlessly wonderful future is
mine completely, and I'll never give it away; but this moment with our
14-year-old triplets--my own dear Charlie walking toward me with the
brightest smile on his face--right then, I knew I was luckier than I could ever
have imagined being, and I glowed, myself, with gratefulness.
Yeah, sure, not my best picture. Look at those puffy, bloodshot eyes--that's from
playing in the sea so long. Seriously, I wasn't crying, but, man, I was happy, and I knew it... The next day,
the Williams left, and, though we tried to keep the fun going (--went to a
different beach, snorkled,
jumped off a big rock, ate a delicious fresh croissant, read (while Scout was getting kicked out of the sea),
ate a
top-fiver gelato),
we had what now strikes me as a necessary or perfectly
fitting humdrum day. Paradise needs them. Not even an Italian army brass band with an amazing trumpeter could restore the cheer.
The next morning, though, Suzy
and I went on the aforementioned run and saw a rainbow over the sea.
(Do you see it?) We rushed back to get the kids to share with them what we saw. Here, let's try
that picture again.
(Ah, much better. You see what a grin might follow a let down.) And then we
played Picigin. Just the five of us again. "Come on, we have to get over 50." We
tried and tried, and we tried again, always, somehow thwarted once we got over 40.
Some silly mistake. But, this time, we were encouraged by each failure, and with great focus
and greater belief, we did it! No, not 50, not 60 or 70, not even 80. No, 122 touches!!!
Suzy even exclaimed once it seemed like we'd never stop counting, "What is
happening?!" 122. Oh, Cefalu. Oh, Sicily. Oh, my favorite team!
And, literally while rushing to catch the train, we went one more time for that
top-fiver gelato
--it opened mintues before our train left.
"Decisions?" What choice did we really have? And what kind of parents are we?!) But we made it, to the train, to the airport, back to Berlin; and here we are now, ready for the
new semester, and for the lasts of our European adventure. Six little months left, people, and a whole slate of
other things booked already. I am pretty sure Italy falls now securely into the
memory column. But we all love her--love that country--each of us, no doubt, in our
own way, but also and always together.
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