My Favourite Country

In my opinion, Italy is the most beautiful country in the world. It is blessed with everything, from mountains to beaches, lakes and rivers, beautiful cities filled with architectural gems, art, culture and the best food on the planet. In this post I wanted to share with you one picture from some of the different Italian cities that I have visited. Each city is as different from the other as sugar is from salt and each of them is unique in its own special way.

I would hazard to say that my favourite city in all of Italy (and I guess that would make it in all of the world) is Rome. I feel at home there for some reason. My mum likes to say that, if she believed in reincarnation, she would swear that I used to be a Roman in by-gone days and it would have been in the days of the Roman Empire because my fascination with everything from that period in time has no limits. Rome is a beautiful city. Roman ruins are everywhere, as are countless churches filled with great works of art. The soothing noise of water tinkles in the fountains and the streets are lined with great boutiques. No wonder I love this city!

The Colosseum, Rome

Verona is another gorgeous city. Made forever famous by Shakespeare's tale of the most famous lovers in history, Romeo and Juliet, Verona also boasts a huge Roman arena which is in much better shape than the Colosseum in Rome and which, to this day, hosts several summer festivals. Some people may not know that Romeo and Juliet actually existed, although these were not their real names, and that their respective houses still exist in the old part of Verona. Although Romeo's house is somewhat neglected and may only be viewed from the outside, it is possible to enter and tour Juliet's house, which has become a mecca for lovers from all over the world. And, by the way, the balcony from the famous scene in the story actually exists. Verona has a large number of medieval houses and churches. The main shopping street is closed to traffic and the ground is paved with marble. I am not sure how safe walking on marble would be during the wet winter months, but in summer it is certainly not a problem.

Loggia del Consiglio, Verona

Venice is perhaps the most unique city in Italy if not in the whole of the world. I have written about Venice elsewhere and it is truly a place which inspires me. I could write countless stories themed around Venice. I suppose it has something to do with that murky canal water...it always makes me wonder what secrets it hides. My husband, who loves to paint, is also greatly inspired by Venice. We have been there twice and we always come back with an atrocious number of photos. It feels like every building is worthy of being recorded for posterity so we click away. Some of the buildings in Venice are heavily influenced by Byzantine and Eastern architecture from the days when it was a medieval maritime republic.

Doge's Palace & Campanile, Venice

Sirmione is a delightful little town situated on a peninsula on Lake Garda. Entrance into the town is over a drawbridge guarded by a fascinating medieval castle and the remains of a huge Roman villa are situated at the tip of the peninsula. The villa used to be the home of the Roman poet Catullus. The town is small with narrow streets and interesting little shops. Sirmione also has a number of gelaterie with a mouth-watering selection of ice-creams piled up in the highest heaps I have ever seen. Making a choice is definitely not easy, especially if, like me, you would like a taste of each of the flavours that is available.

Rocca Scaligera, Sirmione

Another of the powerful medieval republics, Florence was ruled for three hundred years by the powerful Medici family. It's architecture is mostly medieval and Renaissance. After the Baroque grandeur of the churches in Rome, the ones of Florence may feel slightly bare but the grandeur of the duomo, Santa Maria del Fiore, can be immediately noticed from the exterior clad in white, pink and green Tuscan marbled and topped by a huge orange-tiled dome designed by Brunelleschi. The Medici family was a huge patron of the arts and Florence is overflowing with monuments, churches and paintings created by such great masters as Michelangelo, Botticelli, Giotto, Donatello and countless others.

Ponte Vecchio, Florence

That is enough about Italy for one day. I am sure I will post more about this delightful country some other time. Perhaps the fact that Malta is so close to Italy and the fact that our cultures have quite a bit in common makes it easy for me to love this country but there's just something about Italy which makes me dream pleasant dreams.

Sleep Tight

This is something I wrote for my son, something we go through almost every night. It is one of those memories that will live with me forever.

I sit by your side as you lie in your cot, looking at you forcing your eyes shut.
“Now be a good little boy and go to sleep,” I say softly.
I hear a mischievous little giggle; you toss and turn this way and that.
“Shhh…” I say soothingly, gently massaging your head.
The next thing I know, you’ve kicked off your blankets and your big brown eyes are open wide. You don’t look too sleepy to me. I sigh inwardly, praying for patience.
“Read me a story,” you say imperiously; and then, as an afterthought “…please.”
“All right, but I will only read one. Which one shall it be tonight?”
I give you three choices and after you say a firm “No” to all of them, we reach a compromise on a fourth book that I had not chosen but which I know you really like.
So I cover you, and all your stuffed animals, and I pick up the book.
“Now hush. Close your eyes and try to sleep.”
Obediently you close your eyes and I start to read. From time to time I see you looking at me through almost imperceptible slits in your eyelids. But I’m used to your little tricks. I stop reading.
“Close your eyes or I won’t finish the story.”
The slits disappear but there is still a mischievous grin on your cheeky little face. I finish reading and I hear the usual plea, “Read another one please.”
“No little Lovebug,” I reply gently, “it is late and you need to rest, so tomorrow you can run and play and have heaps of fun. Good night. Love you lots.” I kiss his forehead, brushing aside the slightly damp hair on his forehead, delighting in his own particular little boy smell. I make sure he is tucked up and warm and his favourite rabbit, Hop, is by his side.
“Goodnight,” he replies gravely, “I love you mummy.” Then he shuts his eyes. This time it’s for real. Ah, I finally hear a tired yawn, followed by another, longer one. He moves around for a bit, making himself comfortable for the night. Then he lies still and soon he starts to breathe deeply and evenly. He is asleep.
“Sleep tight, little Lovebug,” I whisper, blowing a kiss to his sleeping form. I stand there for a while, gazing in wonder at his rosy pink cheeks, at his tightly-shut eyes and his long curling lashes. There is a peace and serenity in the air that is only broken by his even breathing. His face has a look of perfect innocence and I wonder how it is even possible that he is ever mischievous. At that moment, my heart feels completely overwhelmed with love for him. All the naughtiness of the day is forgiven. Tomorrow is a blank page.
I leave his room and tip-toe around the house, bending down every now and then, to pick his scattered toys.

Where My Husband Proposed

My husband, Darin, has commented that there are a lot of Scribbles on my blog but not that many Stories. So I am going to make amends and tell you the real life story of where he proposed. Now I wonder what his comments about this post are going to be!

I first visited the United States in July of 2002. It was the first time that I travelled out of Europe and the first time that I had gone anywhere to meet a boyfriend. It was a memorable trip in more ways than one. On July 5th we flew out from St Louis (Missouri) to Salt Lake City (Utah) planning to spend some time out west with my husband's friend and his family and to explore the states of Utah and Nevada. On July 8th we woke up really early in the morning, literally at the crack of dawn, to drive to the small town of Moab. From there we took a day pass to Arches National Park which is situated in a desert. We got there in the early morning but it was already very hot. Our plan was to do some hiking. We started off with the easier trails. Most of there were accessible from the car. All it took was short walk to view the Three Gossips and the Tower of Babel. Some other trails took a bit longer but, all in all, nothing too strenuous. It was hot, but being early morning, we were still more or less energised and were thoroughly enjoying the marvellous arches and columns that studded the desert landscape. At lunch time we drove to nearby Moab and ate at Wendy's and then went back to Arches.

In the afternoon we started on the longer trails. By this time the heat felt oppressive and it was over 100F as walked around snapping pictures. We spent 2 to 3 hours doing this, visiting Landscape Arch and Fiery Furnace. Then, in the late afternoon, Darin told me that we had one arch left to see and that it was the most beautiful one in the park. I was already tired at this point, but, of course, I wanted to see this arch too. So we drove to the start of the trail that led to Delicate Arch. At the start of the trail there was a notice that said that the trail was about 2 miles. That was not a problem, I thought. I was sure we had walked a lot of miles that day and another 2 (well, 4 really, since we had to walk back) did not seem like much. So off we went. The first part of the trail was easy enough but after a while, the ground started to get steeper. I had not realised that the road to Delicate Arch was going to be uphill almost all the way. But I wanted to see that arch, so I braced myself for the climb. By this time our water supply had almost been consumed but we had a bottle left to share between us. So armed with that and with our cameras we continued on our walk. But about half way there, I started to feel short of breath. It was something that I had never experienced in my life. I was taking in big gasps and yet I felt as if it was not reaching my lungs. Deep down I started to panic but I walked on some more. Then we came to this bush or shrub and I just collapsed underneath the minuscule amount of shade that it provided and drank a good part of the water that we had left (which by this time had warmed up and did not feel refreshing at all). At this point I decided to give up and I told Darin that I would wait for him under the 'shade' of the bush while he could continue the trail to the top. But he kept telling me not to give up and that it would be so worth it. I did not have the heart to disappoint him although I was scared that I would die there in the desert gasping for air!. So we went off again at a slow pace. Every few minutes I would have to stop to catch up with my breathing. I felt awful - there were people much older than I was walking up the hill like they did it every day and there I was, about to pass out from thirst, exhaustion and breathlessness.

Finally we made it to the top and we walked up a narrow ledge to a look-out point and from there we could see Delicate Arch. It was truly a breath-taking sight, the salmon coloured arch at the edge of a canyon, silhouetted against a bright blue sky.

Image source: National Park Service Photo

It was a sight that will remain with me forever. Having made it that far, we walked the last few metres to a better view point. It was there that Darin started fumbling in his pocket. I wondered what he was looking for. Then before I knew it he had taken out a black box in which was the most wonderful ring I had ever seen. I think that my jaw dropped and then he asked me to marry him. I did not know what to say but somehow managed a 'Yes' and I had tears in my eyes. I was truly not expecting it. I know he kept telling me that it would be worth it to make it up to Delicate Arch but I kept thinking he meant the view and the sunset. Afterwards I kept teasing him that I had to say yes since my brain was not functioning properly because I was so out of breath and badly dehydrated. But I have to say that he really chose one of the most beautiful places in the world to propose and I am lucky that he planned it all and that it was a total surprise. Sometimes I look back on one of the most important days of my life and realise that I probably was really sweaty at that point in time, my legs were all dusty and I was in shorts and a tank top - hardly the most polished appearance. Oh, yes, I almost forgot, I also had salt all over my body from the lack of water. But none of that mattered. All I cared about was that I was going to marry my one true love. I could have danced all the way to the bottom of the trail, I felt so happy.

Unshed Tears

Today I am posting a flash about Grief that was voted Flash of the Week on Secret Attic. It had to be exactly 100 words long. That word exactly was a bit intimidating, at first. I had never written anything that was exactly a certain number of words long. It was always 'not more than x words' or 'between x and y words'. So it was quite a challenge for me initially. But I really enjoyed it and I got a thrill out of writing a flash of just 100 words which still managed to convey so much in so little (at least I hope it does). I hope that you enjoy it and I look forward to all your comments.

He bent over the body of his squaw, his anguished face hidden by his long black hair. The remnants of his tribe stood around him respectfully, mournfully. They could understand his grief for they had suffered and lost too. Every now and then his arched, copper-red back heaved. No sound escaped his lips and as he lifted his eyes to the heavens, they could see there were no tears in his eyes, but his proud face was etched with a sorrow that went beyond words, beyond tears. Complete silence surrounded him - broken suddenly by the war cry of the Cherokee.

I have had a life-long fascination with all things American Indian. I have no idea or clue as to why. Perhaps it is because of all the Westerns I used to watch every Sunday afternoon. I remember they used to have 'Sunday Matinees' starting around 3.00 or 4.00pm (now surely matinees are supposed to be in the mornings ...). I am not sure as to the exact time but it was in the afternoon, of that I am certain. I remember that they used to have a lot of cowboy and Indian movies back then and I used to be glued to the TV watching them as if my life depended on it. Needless to say, Last of the Mohicans and Dances with Wolves are amongst my favourite movies of all time. I have my opinion about the way the Indian Nations were treated but that is not the object of this post. Perhaps my view is too romanticised. All I know is that, to this day, the fascination is still there and I do not see any chances of it dying out.

Weird Things About Me

I have been tagged by Polly at Angels in My Garden with the weirdest tag. The rules are to post 6 weird things about myself that not too many people know about and then to pass the tag on to 6 other people. Then leave a "you are tagged" comment on their blog to let them know. Six weird things about me? Let me see, where shall I start?

1. I read the newspaper while crouching on the carpet, never sitting down on a chair.

2. I love the sour sweets, like lemon and lime, as opposed to the sweeter taste of strawberry or orange.

3. I really do not like the taste of vinegar and I think it is over-rated as a taste enhancer.

4. Sniffing whole cloves gives me a headache.

5. I love the really dark bitter chocolate (like Lindt 97%).

6. When I was little I would pretend to be a dancer and would prance around in a leotard on the living room carpet.

I don't know if any of the above sound weird to you. I would say they are more quirky than weird but I suppose that when I put 6 quirky things about myself altogether in one paragraph I may come across as being a bit weird. So now that you know a bit more about me I will pass the tag on to the following:

1. Glynis at New Scribbles From Glynis Smy

2. Angie at A Book A Day

3. The Retired One at The Retirement Chronicles

4. Darin at Creative Canvas (he's my husband but I am sure there a couple of weird things I still don't know about him.)

5. BC Doan at Reach Beyond Limits

6. Louie Jerome at Lizzie's Choice

Now that you've been tagged, I am hoping that you will oblige and post some interestingly weird things about yourselves.

Stormy Seas

Waves at Golden Bay

The forecast for the day was rain, hail and strong winds and although we woke up to bright sunshine, we could see there were some dark black clouds moving in. So we (my husband and I and our three year old son) bundled up and headed for the sea, thinking it would be a good idea to take some photos of the waves. And we were not wrong.

The sea is awesome when it is stormy. I feel a certain exhilaration when I hear the waves thundering on the rocks and obliterating themselves on the sand. The shore was empty except for us and one lady walking her dog and it was hard to imagine the crowds that descend there in the summer time, although remnants of the time they had spent there were all around us as the waves brought in all sorts of plastic debris. But at least, there was silence except for the sound of the crashing waves. It was really cold out there at the water's edge and the dark grey clouds were getting steadily closer. Before long it started to rain and hail so we had to run to the car.

I could not stop wondering at the beauty of it all and at the ever changing moods of nature. In summer the sea is calm with a surface like glass and the waves lap in gently to shore as children sit on the sand and build castles. The surrounding air is hot and the cool water is a gentle relief to burning skin. But there was none of that calmness today. Nature was manifesting all its fury and we were at its mercy.

Grey clouds and rain

There is something about the ever-changing nature of the sea that appeals to me. It is playful, it is fierce, it is gentle, it is rough. Its colours reflect the sky, sometimes blue, sometimes grey and, of course, black during the night. There are days when the shining sun creates sparkles like diamonds on its surface and other days when the wind whips up a creamy froth. I know that I could sit and look at the sea for days. Living on an island I feel bound to it and it is part of me. Its beauty is unsurpassed; its presence constant. But its mood? Ah well, that will forever be fickle.

Almond Blossom Time

We're going through a cold spell in the central Mediterranean right now. Temperatures during the day are about 10 Celsius and they are plummeting to 4 Celsius during the night. That's cold for this part of the world, especially when our houses are more geared for summer than for winter. We're having rain, hail and gale force winds and the forecast till Monday is more of the same. Yet I am happy that we are finally having a real winter since the past two winters have been on the rather warm side. I am enjoying the tingling feeling of the cold northern winds on my face and the sound of the rain and hail beating on the windows during the night. But notwithstanding the fact that we are at the height of winter, signs of spring are already around us. For it is almond blossom time. The island is studded with trees of wild almonds. During late autumn and early winter, the trees lose their leaves and all that is left are the grey-brown branches piercing the air. Then, slowly, the hours of daylight start to increase and sometime towards the end of January, the almond blossoms burst forth in all their glory. They are truly a wondrous sight to behold - the first blossoms of the year.

Together with the blossoms a few leaves start to grow and then some more, until slowly, the blossoms disappear and all the tree is covered in new green leaves and the tiny kernels of bitter almonds which will be ripe to eat, if you are brave enough, in June.

And so it starts. One by one the trees will bring forth their blossoms which in turn will become fruit. Such is the cycle of life. The beauty of these simple blossoms manages to fill me with awe year after year. Yet their beauty is transient. They go as quickly and silently as they come and each year the passing of the almond blossoms would fill me with regret except for the certainty that next year they will be back to herald the coming of spring. It is cold, it is still winter, but spring is in the air. I can feel it. The almond blossoms have told me; and they do not lie.

Writing, Scrapbooking & Other Hobbies

Although not as avid a photographer as my husband (you can see some of his pictures on his blog Creative Canvas), I still take my fair share of photographs. When I was still single I would make sure that once my prints were ready (pre-digital camera era) I would stick them in an album and neatly caption each scene or occasion. After a while this neat cataloguing gave way to creating scrapbooks. Now I now that scrap booking has taken over the world, but i think I was one of the early converts to his hobby over here. I would cut out old cards, wrapping paper or keep small bits and pieces of interesting ribbons or lace and kept everything stored up in a box to use for my scrapbooks. Then I travelled to the US, the scrap booking capital of the world, and I was introduced to stores like Michaels and Hobby Lobby. It was hard for me to refrain from filling my trolleys up with hundreds of neat little gadgets which I could use for my scrapbooks. That is not to say that I would walk out of the stores empty-handed but at least I did not get carried away too much. I managed to create a scrap-book full of wedding pictures taken by relatives and I have to say, that although the pictures are not top notch, since they were not taken by professionals, these pictures tell a different story and the wedding scrapbook is one of my favourite creations. It was also my last creation. After I got married I resolved to create a scrapbook for memorable family events. Well, the last entry was our honeymoon. That was 5 and a half years ago. I am full of ideas but finding the time to actually create them is a different story. Digital scrap booking could make things easier for me but somehow, it is not the same as having created a page from nothing a getting everything right the first time. Also with digital scrapbooks I miss the texture that layering different types of paper on top of each other gives.

Which brings me to photographs. Digital photographs are gorgeous and it costs nothing to view them: you just download them and there you have it. But I just love having the actual pictures printed. I know it costs money and they take up space but if I want to share the photos, I find it easier just taking an album over to a friend or relative than having to upload all my downloaded pictures onto a website ... which, of course, means that the friend or relative has to have a computer handy. I am rambling on and on today I know. I guess it has to do with having a constantly runny nose (I am trying to get your sympathy here, dear readers).

This of course brings me to writing. I love to write and I wish I could plug something to my brain so that as soon as I have a plot or an idea for a story, it can be automatically written or saved on some portable hard disc. That would save me so much time since I then would not have to wait to get to a keyboard to write down my thoughts, by which time, most of them would have evaporated or else changed in such a way as to be unrecognisable. At the moment there are 3 or 4 writing competitions for which I would like to enter a story. I am trying to write 2 stories simultaneously. Sometimes I have the whole thing plotted in my head but then, once I start to write, the story seems to take on a life of its own and I sometimes end up with a very different story to the original I had in mind. From what I have learnt from other writers, this is a very common thing but I tend to second guess myself and to wonder if the original story would have been better.

Apart from all that I am really enjoying Blogging and getting to know the community of Bloggers. Naturally, I like to read the blogs that my friends post and I also try to write some articles for Triond, every now and then. I really enjoy doing all this but I wish I could have some extra hours every day ... oh, and it would also be great if supper would cook by itself :)

Three Countries, Three Sunsets

I seem to have an everlasting fascination with sunsets. I know I have written about it already but the wonder of a beautiful sunset is something that I cherish long after it is over. So, I thought I would share 3 different sunsets with you. The photos were taken in three different countries. All were taken during the summer months. What amazes me is how different the colours in the three photos are. As I said in my other post, not one sunset is like another. So here are the three I am sharing today:

Sunset in Canton, Missouri, USA

Please forgive the slight blurriness of this picture. It was taken last summer while we were travelling on a highway. The gold in the sky and the red in the clouds really complement the dark lower half of the picture. I remember we were on our way from Hannibal to Canton when I took this picture. I was expecting the image to be much less sharp but in actual fact I really like the way it turned out. The object was to capture the sunset and I think that the photo did this very well.

Sunset at Mtarfa, Malta

This picture was taken last June from our house. The sun had just set and only the reddish pink colour in the clouds remained to remind us of its warm presence. We are lucky because we live on top of a hill with no houses behind us and the sun sets behind the hill which you are seeing in the photo. During spring and summer I wash dishes and watch the sunset. It really helps to see something so beautiful while doing such a mundane chore.

Sunset over the Venetian Lagoon, Venice, Italy

This photo was taken while we were on the vaporetto on our way back to the hotel. We had walked around Venice for the best part of the day and there was no way we were going to walk all the way from Piazza San Marco to Dorsoduro, where our hotel was. The vaporetto does not travel at a very fast speed. This ensures that vibrations in the water, which could damage the foundations of the buildings, are kept to a minimum. As a result it makes it a very ideal platform from where to rest your legs and take some wonderful photos.

I am thinking of posting a photo of a sunset every month and writing something about it. So this is my sunset post for February. Now I need to go out and take some pictures before the sun sets :)

New Look

Welcome to my blog's new look. I hope you like it. You can get a background and other freebies from The Cutest Blog On The Block. It is a truly wonderful site and there are 350 different background templates to choose from. I found it very hard to choose just one.

You may see a difference in colour between my old posts and new posts because I had not saved the colour I was posting in, so the text was not changed automatically. But that's me, doing things the hard way :) If I have some time on my hands, I will try to fix the older posts. But frankly, I would rather spend my time writing or posting comments.

When The Scirocco Blows

A sirocco from Libya blowing dust over the Mediterranean, Malta, Italy, and Greece
Image source

Living right in the middle of the Mediterranean with no natural barriers for protection does have its downside sometimes. Today was one of them. We woke up to overcast skies but this time it did not rain. It was those dreaded clouds of humidity which engulf the island every time the wind blows from the South. The scirocco is a hot south wind which blows from the Sahara. As it speeds northwards over the sea, it picks up moisture - a lot of moisture. Then it hits the island and hovers above us like a cloud of doom. During the winter months, the clammy wind feels like the touch of a corpse on all your exposed body parts. In the summer, the heat, added to the humidity, is insufferable. It feels like you can't breathe. It's not as bad in winter but a number of ailments are blamed on the scirocco: headaches, dizziness, hay fever, depression. I suppose it's good to find a scapegoat for all our problems, but the reality is that the atmosphere does feel oppressive when the scirocco blows; and if that were not enough, the scirocco leave behind it a thin fine layer of orange-red dust which carpets everything from cars to houses to trees ... In some countries it snows. Over here we get covered with Sahara dust.

The scirocco season is usually prevalent between late March and early June and then we have another season between mid-August and the end of October. But no month is guaranteed to be scirocco free. Some days in May get pretty bad and literally everything that is outside is coloured orange. When it blows away, people have to wash cars, house facades, windows ... and this just before the summer dry season commences. Not the best use of our scarce water resources, I am afraid.

The only people who gain some benefit from this layer of dust are the farmers. The Sahara soil is very fertile and each year, the fields get some free fertiliser from above. I suppose that everything has its uses; we just need to look at the big scheme of things. But I still heave a sigh of relief when a north-west wind picks up and blows those clouds of doom away.

Ah... everyone can breathe easier now.

Lemonade Award

I have been given the Lemonade Award by Polly from Angels in My Garden. Thank you Polly. I really enjoy your posts. Some of them take me to a bygone age, to a time when everything was so much more simple and which we can only live through the words of someone who was there. I get nostalgic about the past sometimes. It's as if life was more wholesome, more good, somehow... But I digress.


The Lemonade Award is for sites that show gratitude and a wonderful attitude!

I am honoured to be included. Thank you so much.The rules of this award are as follows:

1.Put the logo on your blog or post.

2.Nominate at least 10 blogs that show attitude and/or gratitude.

3.Be sure to link to your nominees within your post.

4.Let them know that they have received this award by commenting on a post.

5.Nominate your favorites and link to this blog.


Ah ... lemonade ... the last time I drank fresh lemonade was last August in Hannibal, Missouri. Hannibal, as most of you probably know, is a small, sleepy town on the banks of the Mississippi, made famous by the fact that it was the place where Mark Twain wrote The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. It is an interesting little place with a lot of quaint antique stores and art galleries. But more about Hannibal some other day. Now I will pass on to my nominations.

1. The Stair Landing
2. A Book A Day
3. Reach Beyond Limits


I do not follow the following blogs on a regular basis, but I still pop in every now and then, so I will go ahead and nominate:

4. Ghunibee Scraps
5. Words To The Wise

All of these blogs show plenty of attitude and I believe they will all go a long way. Thank you all for your encouragement and comments.