Berlin to Cinque Terre and Back

My mind is clearing from an afternoon nap; outside the sky's relentless grey holds steady. Heather and Claire are out for swimming lessons and grocery shopping, and it's naptime for the other children, that sweet space of midday solitude. There is no whiff of loneliness in the silence of naptime, because slumbering companionship lurks in the corners, and you know that soon the house will be joyously awake again. The rarity of the quiet time makes it a jewel you are unlikely to resent or fritter away.

After tucking Lilah into her crib, I sat at the kitchen table while the last of Heather's pumpkin bread and muffins baked, the swish of the dishwasher a productive and companionable backdrop along with Sara Groves and the smell of spicy fall baking. I finished a chocolate bar and "Dancing at the Rascal Fair" (a novel of homesteading in Montana; the characters linger in my mind, at the end of all their dreams and decisions and daily routine a tinge of melancholy, a hint of rainbow).

My own tinge of melancholy came at six o'clock this morning when I hugged Mom goodbye at the Tegel airport. You look forward to something and then you're living it and then it is over, a memory. Well, these special ten days with my mom are worth remembering and giving thanks to God for. She joined my routine here for a few days -- we did some sightseeing in Berlin, went on a family outing to a charming cafe and a little farm, walked to the grocery store, ran my route along the canal, ate family meals around the cozy kitchen table, sat on the floor with the kids playing and snuggling and laughing, discussed and shared ideas with Heather. On Saturday night we went to my small group together and were both richly blessed by the worship, Pedro's words of insight from Matthew 5, an open-hearted prayer time, and fellowship over a meal.

Then on Sunday morning, Heather drove us to the airport so we could catch our plane to Milan. From there, we rented a car and drove through low, leaky clouds across flat, industrial Italy to the coast, where we began our journey along the countless tunnels and bridges cutting a path through the mountainous terrain that is home to the Cinque Terre. As we approached, we exited off the Autostrada and began winding our way along one-lane roads that hugged the contours of the hills and valleys instead of cutting through and jumping across. Up and down, back and forth, slowing to read the blue signs marking forks in the road, we slowly made our way to Corniglia.

We had three full days to enjoy having no particular agenda but no lack of new things to explore, either. 

We climbed thousands of stairs,

explored all five villages by trail and train,

enjoyed the views by rain,

and reveled in a sunny day on the Mediterranean coast.

Daily trips to the tiny grocery store next door were a highlight, and we feasted on pesto, pasta, pancetta, eggplant, onions, tomatoes, crusty bread, olive oil, Pecorino cheese, garbanzo beans. As we walked, or in bed at night, we prayed together. Dusk falls early in November, chasing us back to our room to cook dinner, knit, and read in bed. Early on Thursday morning (as in 2:00AM early), we roused ourselves, loaded the rental car in the empty piazza, and set out along the windy trail of road leading back out of the Cinque Terre region. We enjoyed one more day in Berlin together, playing with the kids, walking to the store, and having tea at the cafe across the street before Mom's departure early this morning. May I begin with Thanksgiving a week early: thank you, Father, for these special days together and for sweet friendship with my mother.