Tasting the Senses.

There are some things that the senses just can't capture enough to fully absorb in.  Like eating a jambon and fromage crepe at the base of the Eiffel Tower on a bench over looking the Seine basking in the intensity of Paris with the one that you love. Then mooring down the river with the cooling mid-spring air, after listening to the celestial sounds of choirs singing Ave Marie with clarity, echoing through the Notre Dame.  Or evoking violin and cello, oboe, flute, and base while all bursting through the scene, casting glory over the gardens, an orchestra playing through Versailles, growing with green.

Then catching the first, second, and third glimpse of the Alps from the back of a steamliner with the colors of spring assaulting in the foreground, the sound of water and motors mixing in the air, and hot tea steaming in your hand.  Stark beauty taking breath away, Lake Geneva in background and bright poppys bursting in the fore, swimming beneath the Swiss Alps, fullness abounding more.  A thousand years of castle, encroached by only cameras and crowds, still it proclaims dignity against the Alps of majesty.

To gathering the goodness and intensity of so many sights, sounds, smells, colors, people, and joy as you guide your little "half-pint" car through winding roads of the Lubernon in France... this is the excruciating burst of the fullness of frolicking France.  Munching on slices of baguettes with cheesed meat amidst the side of flowing rivers and years-greened waterwheels, with antiques and motorcycles and window boxes filled with pinks and purples and yellows all the while sitting stationary in Isle de Surge, now this is abundance.  Or stick-shifting up screaming roads to Gorge, at that clenching first sight of the city amidst the mountainside, proclaiming for years its history and strength, then finding sweetly soft shops of feminine nestled within the walls like caverns.  Then the senses collide with gnarled and smooth red clay, like canyons formed in earthy valleys to contrast the length and rows of green after green, Roussallain shocks the valley of to-be lavender with its terra cotta display.

From the quaint and quiet of the Provence to the bursting streets of Cannes, life swarming like bees of riches and wealth, the drips of honey marked in sails and yachts and little white-peaked tents filling the harbor -- the film festival alive and moving, rushing with black-clad men wearing Ray-bans, peons snapping red-carpet photos, and flags from every nation finding wind to slap against the sky.  The hustle is a constant load of pushing and pulling, traffic yanking at streets and waves swiftly drawing at sand as the Sea grasps it own attention to strike against furry.  Matched with boats bobbling in the harbor is Monte Carlo, bolted together to prepare for the Grand Prix, Rolls Royce parked at the marina,  pit crew prepped for speed. Then Lamborghini and Ferrari and Alfa Romeo and Bentley march up the landscape, valeted at the Casino and money displayed for all to see.

Nice is pebbled beaches, rocky with ankle-cracking wanderers skipping rocks and kissing, and ducking from the anxiousness of trains and tall structures and traffic lights like a delta to the Sea.  It's small lights at the dusk of day in Old Town, the protection of the harbor and taste of red wine blurred with salmon and crustini, the basil and pasta with bacon and cheese. Nice wakes morning with sunlight gliding through curtains to white blankets and soft linens and a warm cup of tea, nestled in quiet with love and  breakfast, served eggs and granola and jams and coffee.  Pool-side conversations, mandarine and oranges and lemons growing, delight springing forward, captive by viewing the Mediterranean Sea.

Then ocean finds blue, fierce with tension, fullness to capture angst against rocks; there old fishing boats loiter and all senses crash at the whole of the Sea.  The oranges find yellow and arches find floral and five little towns spring like joy, splashing along the Sea.  The buildings boast hope in color, bright paint shouting like children at play.  Then terraced cobbled pathways link the entrys, displaying oils and lemons and hydrangeas and tourist, the city crowds during the day.  Rockied pathways rope the Cinque Terras, mountains sharp to ocean, colors and vines intertwine contrast with latte and gelatto and pizza and calzone, all enraptured by the great abundance of the day. Then night calms with beach-watching and waves crashing, house wine toasted to gnocci and shrimp to the end of a perfect day.

Venice finds quaint meeting water, romance with orchestras yielding its display.  Frothing with people and cappichino, it's alleys alive during day.  Masks form and glitter marking, flowered window boxes mark the way, Murano glass and Prada windows, a jubilee for all to see.  Long boats troll through Venice, ongoers enchanted by, eating sliced pizza and gelato, bridges and canals pictures taken by. Thin boats slice the sidewalks and grand churchs grow from the Sea, the Hilton Stuckly glimmers with prawns on plates to eat.

Europe tastes the senses -- from France to Swiss to Italy.  Brilliant poppys to bacon pesto to morning near the Sea.  Beyond the music singing, from mountains to the cities, is love filling thee.

Europe: Funny Things.

I would be remiss if I only captured the art of Europe, and not the funny things on this twelve day Europe adventure on the marraige train...  Like the fact we ate a meal of randomness like potato salad at a truck stop got stuck in our little car on the sixth story of a parking garage, only 5 minutes from where we picked the little half-pint car up, unable to get out or get the ticket to let us free!  Lol!  Or the time we saw this crazy old guy peeing in the middle of the busiest park in Cannes because half-way through his business, the door slide wide up, and there he stood, with nothing between him, and us, and the whole public!  Or the old couple half-naked on the beach, him dressed like he could go to our church, but then standing in a collar and sweater with a foot tucked ready to put on his jeans and only whittie-tighties and tall man-legs with too many inches between!  Then add our nasty picnic on the train, meant to be in Luxumeberg park but throwing on our train trays and everything rotting the worst smell ever -- so embarrassing is Muenster cheese!  Then there's the fact we at a place called Milwaukee  seriously -- a burger and fries for Mark and ground chicken lump for me, not exactly what we'd plan for lake-side Geneva, but it was the only place open before seven, so in went we!  And the time we hid like stowaways one leg of the train, simultaneously sending a wink and a prayer and holding our air for Levanto air -- not to mention the fine from the train before!  We laugh about stupid Foxity bus tour, where I fell asleep from so many boring circles and stuck on an open bus just wishing I could pee.  And how heavy our frick'n packs are and the fact that we wake up with a waddle from sore legs and backs and ankles toes. Dang it.  Or the B&B with separate side bed remotes to lift our legs or backs or both, propped up in hilarity.  And that we are sure we are the only backpackers who have hiked through Venice and stayed at the Hilton Stuckly, not to mention I was wearing a dress and ballet shoes with my 30 pound pack and two hands full...   Its pretty hilarious, and ridiculously fun and funny traveling with your life partner, gathering silly and stupid memories, like mementos along our marriage train.  :-)

A Spare Key.

"I can’t fold my arms 
and simultaneously reach out 
for my Savior."  

~ Katie Davis 

When I met Mark, I had a house key in the hands of Melissa, another one given to Trish, a third to a friend from church, and a fourth sitting in the drawer for whoever else may need one.  My friend Lindsay had moved in for the month of August, and I had laid the table for ten, using every chair I could find and piling them around my table with white plates and candles and dinner ready to be spread.

Within weeks of dating, a fifth key was in Mark's hand and my table served for another seating of ten, and between those weeks were multiple conversations with friends on couches and chairs with tea or cookies or ice cream or anything that could be served, by means of food or love.

I remember Mark asking about why people had keys to my house, and me feeling gospel-convicted about homes and money and life and love and space and probably parading my reply in more emotion and words than he ever anticipated.

Because that is how I feel.

I feel we are given home to offer a space.  To let friends stay in bedrooms filled with clutter or furniture, air mattresses or beds, and offer them warm breakfast in the morning.  Or leave the door unlocked so the traveling friend can swing by on their way home and grab reprieve.  Or invite someone from church into intimate life, by way of the couch and a cup of tea.  There is joy in this opening, in the inviting people in.

My favorite memories in this house are where I (or now we) have welcomed in guests or strangers and simply offered what we had -- our home.  It finds Kara at my table with goat cheese ravioli and vodka sauce and our hearts sprawled like the napkins on our lap.  It finds Kendra and Daniel playing Ticket to Ride for the ninth time, fondue still dipping with chocolate drizzling.  It has Katherine and Matthew here while I was away in Michigan, a space for their marriage to share.  It finds Trish and Blair and Judy at Soup night, and countless conversations over tea to follow.  It finds James playing Fishbowl and Diane pregnant in the chair, or Blye forking eggs with Megan over biscuits.  It finds Kate and Clara in the bedroom, Amy eating Krusteaz at the table, or Laura drinking Pino in a chair.  It finds Abby baking cookies, Gordon with chocolate cake, or a neighbor's dog settled for TV.  From Bloom Brunches to pizza nights to Breakfast Club to sharing the morning sink, this home has shared its space with Love.

When we offer what we have, what God has given us, the blessing of our time and space and kitchens and home, we offer what the Lord has bestowed upon us.  When we let people on our air mattresses or in our empty beds or on our wooden chairs or fluffed within our couches, we give them what God has said was good.  It's the place, the space, the peace we offer, which starts in our hearts, and can be shared in our home.

The opening quote captured this image, reminding me of Proverbs, "She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy"  (Proverbs 31:10).  For with opening our arms to our Savior, we open our arms to his people.  So I am rejoicing in the reminding -- to pour an extra cup for tea, and always keep a spare key.

~~~
Quote taken from  http://kissesfromkatie.blogspot.com/   on April 23, 2013