Le Boat: Lessons on the Lock

Le Boat, Canals and Locks

It is one of the phenomena of the inland waterways that you can go for hours without meeting another boat, then will encounter one on the sharpest and nastiest bend in the system. ~ From Journeys of The Swan by John Liley (1971)

We arrived at the boat dock at the appointed time, ready and anxious to board our floating home for the next week.  As Jacques, the boat attendant, walked us from the check-in station down to the river front he explained to Tom and Jim that they would receive a lesson in operating the locks that we would be encountering along the canals.  Many of them were manned by attendants who lived at the lock stations, he explained, but others would be manual and when we approached the manual locks we would have to operate them ourselves. 

“Here is your boat”, he said in heavily accented English.  “Let me show you around”.   We all climbed aboard and looked at each, grinning and chuckling as we attempted to follow Jacques through the narrow hallway towards the galley of the boat.  Jim is a tall guy and it was quickly clear that he would not be able to stand up inside this boat.  Thank goodness we had an open top with a table, chairs and a second station for driving the boat, because Jim would be walking in a bent fashion through the inside and would need somewhere to stretch out!

Jacques moved quickly and surely through the small interior, pointing into the 3 bedrooms as we passed the doorways.  We quickly tried to peer in as we passed and I caught glimpses of small beds and even smaller bathrooms.  We moved into the more open galley area and here was our kitchen and dining room for the week.  As Jacques moved on to show Jim and Tom the engine and teach them the basics of the boat operation, Jan and I stopped to explore the cupboards of the galley. 

I was astounded as I discovered delicate china cups and plates in the small wood cupboards and held them out to Jan.  “Look at this!  China dishes on a boat in the canals!”  I exclaimed.  She looked up and laughed for she had made some equally fun discoveries.  She pulled up a glass French press coffee maker and tiny ceramic egg cups and spoons for our 3-minute eggs in the mornings.  We laughed and laughed – only in France!  I was used to camping with chipped and dented metal military mess kits and an old cast iron skillet to perch on a grate over the open fire.  I was not anticipating delicate china dishes, formal silverware, cloth napkins and cut glass salt and pepper shakers in my camping stock!

When Jacques and the guys came back into the galley area, Jacques inquired if we had purchased food to stock our boat.  It was Saturday, he explained, and all the shops in the little villages along our route would be closed on Sunday.   We had not had the chance to shop so Jacques offered to drive Jan and me to the closest grocery store while Tom and Jim packed our belongings into the boat and filled the water tank with fresh drinking water from a hose that Jacques supplied. 

Jan and I were laughing as we jumped into the van with Jacques and drove away, leaving Tom and Jim looking a bit confused with the piles of luggage at their feet and a green rubber hose hanging from their hands.  The grocery was set to close at 6:00 and it was 5:30 when Jacques pulled up.  “Hurry!” he said as we jumped from the van and headed towards the entrance.  “I must run to a store for my wife, I will pick you up at 6:00”, he called as we dashed away.  Jan and I looked around in confusion as we entered the store – where should we start and what did we need, we wondered.  There was a short suggested stock list that our boat welcome package included, but beyond that we had no idea what to expect.

With Jan leading the way and interpreting the signs, we began to gather our groceries.  Our refrigerator was tiny and would not hold much and we knew that we would have to picnic often, since we could not always plan to be near a village at lunch time.  We quickly gathered what we felt were the basics, finding cheese and meat delicacies in the open meat cases, crusty French bread in the bakery and fresh fruits, eggs and milk in the dairy.  All that was left was the French wine and this is where the confusion set in.  So many varieties to choose from!  I finally devised a plan – I watched the locals that came through the wine aisles and I followed them to see what their selections were.  There was a particular Bordeaux that seemed quite popular and the price was right, so I loaded several bottles into my cart and off we went. 

We paid for the groceries, bagged them in our own shopping bags and dashed back outside the store right at 6:00.  Jacques was just pulling up to the front when we exited, exhausted but proud of ourselves for navigating so quickly through a French grocery store with no list.

“You are done already?” Jacques exclaimed in surprise when he saw us.  “I was sure you would take much longer”. 

“Oh no, Jacques,” Jan said as we loaded our bags into his van.  “You said 6:00 and we didn’t want to keep you waiting, you have been so kind to bring us here.”  He grinned and thanked us, driving us back to our boat. 

After helping us carry the bags down to the boat and into the galley he led us toward a small boat house for our lock training.  We were all excited to learn but a bit unsure about the lesson being conducted in the boat house.  How could we learn to operate manual canal locks without seeing the lock and experiencing opening it, we wondered?  Jacques proudly pulled 4 chairs around a small television set, pushed an old video tape into an adjacent VCR and said with a flourish, “This movie will show you how to open the locks on your own.  I will be waiting outside and you can leave when you are done.”  He pushed START on the VCR, waved his hand, and disappeared out the door. 

The video began with a friendly man smiling and standing atop a lock.  He began to demonstrate the operation of the lock, providing important instructions throughout the process.  The instructions, however, were all in French and we could not understand a word.  We sat in shock for a moment then, when the absurdity of the situation struck us, we burst out laughing.  Soon we were wiping tears from our eyes we were laughing so hard and it was impossible to focus on the video.

“Well”, Jim said, “I guess we’d better watch closely because we have no idea what he’s telling us.”  He got up and pushed REWIND on the VCR and after collecting ourselves, we pulled our chairs closer to the old TV set and proceeded to attempt to memorize the steps we saw demonstrated on the tape.  Fifteen minutes later the video ended and we were officially trained.  Look out France!

Cruising through France at 3 Knots

The lovely thing about cruising is that planning usually turns out to be of little use.
- Dom Degnon

Toms’ Take:

Our friend Jan came up with the idea of cruising through the countryside of France on, basically, a house boat.  Sounds like fun we all said, so the research started. The funny thing about research is it doesn’t matter how much you do; some things are just meant to be figured out when you do it.  And we had some great laughs doing just that.  

We were told we would get some training on navigating and operating the locks before we took the boat out.  I think something got lost in the translation of the word “training”, to me it sounded like, “there is your boat, see you in a week”.  Okay it was a little more than that but we reasoned, how hard could this really be?  We just had to keep it between the ditches – literally. 

Within an hour after we had arrived to pick up the boat, we were cruising down the canal towards our first lock at a blistering speed of 3 knots.  For those of you without nautical experience, that translates to 3.445 mph.  That, by the way is top speed for this beast.  The boat was about the size of a 12x60 trailer, and the locks are a generous 14 feet wide.  After a quick math lesson it became apparent that getting this boat through the locks was going to prove interesting, to say the least.

Upon approaching a lock it was important to slow your speed down so you can maneuver into the lock.  Additionally, there was usually a boat in front of you going through the lock themselves or sometimes two or three waiting in line in front of you to go first.  We often had to wait our turns, allowing us ample time to build our anxiety as we watched others go through with seeming grace and ease. 

Now let me explain something - when you slow the boat down, your steering ability is greatly reduced and it felt like half the time we tried to enter the lock sideways, which explained why the front and both sides of the boat were decorated with big blue bumpers.   And those bumpers are bouncy.  We looked very much like a pinball every time we went into a lock and to add to our joy, most locks are a gathering place, so we never lacked for an audience.  My French is bad, but “Crazy Yank” is easy to translate.  We left most of the lock entry duties to my buddy Jim, for two reasons.  One, I didn’t want to do it, and two; I didn’t want to do it.  I used the excuse that I needed to man the ropes.

Most of the locks are manned, but as you get further into the countryside the locks are unmanned and you need to operate the lock yourself.  This Job fell to Sandy and Jan, for two reasons.  Really, I needed to man the ropes.  About half way through the fifth day of our seven day journey, we were actually starting to feel somewhat competent with this process.

I know it’s hard to imagine, so I’ll do my best to explain how a typical lock entry went.  In the morning after a great breakfast, Sandy and Jan would take the bikes from the roof of the boat and ride along a beautiful trail beside the canal, headed to the next lock.  With the fresh breeze blowing their hair, the sun shining, beautiful flowers creating a heavenly scent in the air and occasionally stopping to snack on fresh wild raspberries they would peddle along gaily, having great conversation and discussing their wonderful husbands.  Their goal was to arrive at the next lock ahead of us and begin the process of opening it for “the beast”.    Jim and I are on the boat deck zipping along at 3 knots, the steady hum of our diesel engine creating a constant background noise, “Burrrrrrrrrrrrrr”.  

Since Jim was driving the boat I would serve as his gofer.  “Jim you want something to drink?”  Burrrrrrrrrrr.  “Sure.”  Burrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.  “Here you go.”  Burrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.  “Thanks.”   Burrrrrrrrrrrrr.  The sun is beating down on us so I put up our little beach umbrella and we sit side by side to share the shade.  Burrrrrrrrrrr.  Good thing we are in France.  Burrrrrrrrrrrr.   “There’s the lock,” I say.  Burrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.  Jim slows the boat down, Burrrrrrrrrrrr.  The noise gets louder as the engine throttles backwards.  We start to drift sideways, Burrrrrrrrrr, the engine revs as Jim puts it in reverse, Burrrrrrrrr, we drift the opposite direction, Burrrrrrrrrr, and we don’t see the low hanging branch on the tree at the edge of the canal.  SNAP, there goes our beach umbrella, caught on the branch and dragged across the deck and into the water.  Burrrrrrrrrr, Jim’s moving forward as I’m trying to fish the umbrella out of the water with a mop handle, Burrrrrrrrrrr, the motor groans as we start our pin ball entry into the lock, Burrrrrrrrr,  I nearly go overboard rescuing the umbrella.   Burrrrrrrrr.   

One and a half hours of sheer boredom followed by one and a half minutes of utter terror. After we clear the lock and wipe the sweat from our brow, it starts over.  Sandy and Jan are merrily on their way to the next lock and Jim and I fire that bad boy up, Burrrrrrrrrr.   “Jim, do you want a drink?” Burrrrrrrrrrr. “Sure.”   Burrrrrrrrrrr.

The Abbey in the Ocean

The creation of Mont St Michel

In 708 the Archangel Michael appeared to Aubert, Bishop of Avranches, and commanded him to build a chapel on the top of Mont Tombe, a rocky island in the middle of an immense bay. Overawed by this apparition, Aubert obeyed and built a sanctuary to the glory of God and Archangel Michael.

I had seen pictures of Mont St Michel but nothing prepared me for the actual sight.  As we drove from Ducey towards the historic Abbey, we could see the imposing fortress rising from the haze and mist, guiding us like a beacon as we traveled west.  It seemed to move and shimmer among the clouds, its tall spires reaching heavenward, pointing to the sky and declaring it as a holy place.  As we traveled comfortably and quickly in our little French rental car I thought of the pilgrims that had journeyed to this site throughout the last 1200 years, crossing the barren land on foot, horseback and perhaps even in a rough cart, anxious to pray with the monks and touch these holy rocks.  Their journey may have taken weeks and perhaps months and often at a great toll of personal health and loss.  

The Abbey was built on a rock island in the ocean and the rising tides created a natural wall of defense for the fortress.  People could cross the soft wet sand of the ocean bottom during low tide but when the tide came in at the end of each day, those who did not belong on the island had to be off and gone or the rising saltwater would obstruct their path back to the main land.  Today there is a modern raised road that allows tourists to drive to the base of the rock island and park but one must still be aware of the tide and at times, even this raised road has been known to flood causing cars to be swept away.

As we drove towards the monument we passed through flat pastoral lands, rich with grazing sheep.  Jim navigated us deftly through this countryside at dusk and as we rounded a final corner on our journey, he was forced to put on the brakes and pull over.  There, in front of us, a shepherd was driving his sheep back from their day in the pasture and across the road that we were traveling to gather safely into their barn for the night.  We all leaned forward and lowered our windows, craning our necks to see what was happening.  The sights and sounds that we witnessed during this unplanned stop was utterly amazing.  We heard the soft bleating of the sheep and barking of the herd dogs, nipping at their heels to keep them moving.  Bells tied around the sheep's throats tinkled softly in the twilight air and the shepherd was calling to his dogs and encouraging the sheep forward.  He raised his hand in a silent wave of acknowledgement to us as we parked off the side of the road to watch his evening ritual and as though in a trance, we raised our hands in return, symbolically thanking him for allowing us this unique experience.

 All of this was a spectacular sight, but the backdrop was what made this vision truly surreal - for rising above the field and framing the shepherd and his sheep was the fortress of Mont St Michel.  Tom and Jan quickly reached for their cameras and began snapping pictures but I could only stare, burning the image deep into my mind and marveling that I was truly sitting here, beside the road, watching the sheep cross in front of me with the abbey behind them, on their way home from their day of peaceful grazing.

When the sheep had safely crossed we looked at each other in amazement.  Tom said, "I feel as though I am seeing a mirage - there is nothing out here except for this amazing abbey rising from the ocean and a few grazing sheep.  It's truly amazing."  We all agreed with Tom's observation and when I looked back towards Mont St Michel I could see tiny flickers of light beginning to burn, illuminating the impressive rock the as the sun set in the clouds behind it.

We toured Mont St Michel in the lamplight, picturing how life must have been so many years ago.  The abbey had been built by Monks transferring large granite stones from the mainland to this island, carefully crafting this amazing structure.  It took several hundred years to construct and the small village at its base housed the supporting community, comprised of tradesmen and crafters who sold their wares to the sequestered monks and supplied the traveling pilgrims as they made their journey to the sacred site.   As we drove away that evening we were in awe of the men that built this monument.  Their fortitude, vision and dedication to the construction of this holy site is beyond anything I could comprehend happening today, and I was truly honored to have walked these sacred rocks.

Travel Tip:  Always take time to learn the history of sights on your itinerary.  It will bring the reality of the place home to you when you visit, allowing you to consider how the sight contributed to the formation of the people and the area.

Airports, Angels Wings and Garmin....

Charles De Gaulle Airport, Paris France
 

"If God had really intended men to fly, he'd make it easier to get to the airport."  ~George Winters

 

Those overnight flights are killers.  There is nothing comfortable about sleeping upright in a cramped airplane seat with strangers all around you, babies crying, men snoring and folks strolling up and down the aisle at all times, bumping into you as they pass your row.  And how about that person behind you who insists on using your seat back as a brace when they get up or sit down?  Or the person who wants to take off their shoes and stretch their legs out on the seat armrests, practically tucking their stocking feet into your armpits?  Really???  Why do people do this?  This is not your living room, I want to say.  But, of course, I do not.  I politely try to refrain from doing those same things myself and be the best seatmate possible to those around me.  I'm not always successful, but I try.

The flight from Dallas to Paris was long and uncomfortable but we finally arrived at about 9:00 am Paris time.  We landed in a rainstorm and due to construction at the terminal, we had to deplane on the tarmac, walk to the outdoor stairs leading to a temporary elevated walkway that took us to the terminal, climb the stairs with all of our carry on luggage (that's right, no elevators), and traverse the walkway across the top of the tarmac and into the customs building.  All this while jetlagged, stiff, sore, wet and confused.  Needless to say, my mind was screaming for coffee but from the looks of the line in customs, that was not going to happen any time soon.  I sighed and began to look around me, taking in the strange surroundings. 

Everyone was crowded together into a tight mass, moving and winding slowly through the customs lines.  The signs were in French and the announcements on the loudspeakers were heralded by a soft sweet melodic sound that we later dubbed "angels wings".  We quickly learned that each time we heard the "angels wings", a feminine French voice would come through the speaker system, instructing and guiding us through the maze of customs and connecting flight information.  Of course we understood none of it but I must admit, the angels wings and the corresponding woman's voice was a soothing sound in such a busy and confusing airport.  It was almost mesmerizing and when I visited Charles De Gaulle a few years later on another connecting flight, I was instantly elated to hear the familiar sound of "angels wings".  

It took forever to navigate through that customs line and then to find our baggage claim, but eventually we did and thankfully all of our bags were there waiting when we arrived.  It took an equally long amount of time to find the rental car counter, as we were planning to drive ourselves from Paris to Ducey, a small town in Normandy and our stop for the night, before we traveled on to pick up "the boat."  Finding the counter was only half the battle - the second half was actually finding the car.  But eventually we did and we struggled to fit all of our bags into the tiny French automobile.  Tom and Jim are no strangers to packing cars, though, and they quickly figured out how to squeeze every last drop of luggage into that tiny hatchback.  Now for the next adventure - getting out of Paris and into the countryside!  But this would be easy, we reasoned, for we had borrowed a Garmin from a friend and surely we could plug it right in and we would be on our way.  Or so the instructions would have you believe. 

Apparently we had rented the only car in Paris that did not have a cigarette lighter adaptor to supply power to the Garmin.  That's right - there was not one single 120 Volt adaptor anywhere in that car and the Garmin battery was as dead as a doornail.  We looked at each other in disbelief and Tom said to me, the trip planner, "Sandy, you did a MapQuest on this place for backup, right?"  My expression said it all.  No - MapQuest had been the last thing on my mind.  After all - Garmin was supposed to replace MapQuest, making the program obsolete in our new world of modern technology!  After a few long moments of silence, Tom slowly got out of the car and began to unpack the bags in the hatchback.  We had the stand by maps of France but as luck would have it, they were tucked in the bottom suitcase.  This day was getting longer by the moment!

Hours later, we were still circling Paris with no idea of how to get away from that city.  It was as though we were reliving Rome all over again, driving in circles around this massive city and fighting traffic, going around and around in a giant toilet-bowl like manner.  Tom was trying valiantly to read the maps and the street signs, Jan was doing her best to interpret the French and Jim was driving us through the chaos, operating on no sleep in the last 24 hours.  I resolved to stay quiet, realizing that I had little to offer to this effort.  When it seemed that we could no longer function, I saw a Comfort Inn hotel and suggested that we pull in and ask directions.  Jim pulled up to the curb, Tom risked his life by opening his door into oncoming traffic and jumping out, then ran to the hotel lobby in search of someone that could speak English and help us find our way.  He came back with written instructions and thankfully, the English speaking concierge was helpful and we were soon on our way out of Paris.  We breathed a sigh of relief as the traffic thinned and the passing scenery became pastoral instead of Parisian.

We hadn't eaten since the airplane breakfast and when we saw the familiar McDonald's sign in a small country village, we quickly pulled in for a meal.  I am not a McDonald's fan but I must tell you, I had the freshest salad at this tiny restaurant that I have ever eaten at a McDonalds.  None of us could believe the quality of our meal and we were all wishing that the US McDonalds could come here to take a lesson.  Or maybe we were just famished.  Either way, it was wonderful and our moods instantly elevated as we nourished our tired bodies and soon we were even chuckling a bit at our escapade.

Our itinerary for this day called for an overnight stop at a Best Western in Ducey and a visit to Mont St. Michel.   I was excited to see the French monastery, built on a rock off the coast and inhabited by Monks since the 15th century.  The pictures I had seen were breathtaking and I understood that it was only a few miles from Ducey.  As we drove towards the coast the countryside was becoming more hilly and as we came up over a rise in the road I gasped -- there, miles away, I could see the hazy image of Mont St Michel rising from the ocean.  Jim paused the car on the top of the hill and we all looked, straining to see this amazing sight.  Our excitement increased and we were suddenly energetic again, anxious to get to the hotel, check in, and then go out to explore this vision.

Travel Tip:  Even with a GPS device, things can go wrong.  Before leaving print a MapQuest of your first leg of the trip as a backup.  It will come in handy when you're jet lagged and tired in a strange city!

Crusing through France

Paris, Mont St Michel, Honfleur, Normandy, D-Day Beaches, Brittany countryside and Le Boat.

 The World is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page. ~St. Augustine

Tom and I had never been to France and while it was on my radar, I had not necessarily determined exactly what I wanted to see or visit there.  It was in the back of my mind to visit, but that was all.  Until one day when our friend Jan brought out a flyer for Le Boat. 

 "Look at this!" she said excitedly, as she spread the pamphlet out on the counter.  "We can rent our own little houseboat and navigate ourselves through the countryside of France, all at our own pace."  Tom and I looked over her shoulder with interest - the idea of our own little houseboat in the French countryside was appealing and sounded very much like our kind of adventure!

 As we looked at the brochure and began our planning, I became more and more excited but also, confused.  We discovered that we could rent the houseboat (and there were SO many styles and sizes to choose from) and then select an itinerary for a self-cruise through France.  The prices would vary depending on the size and style of the boat as well as the selected itinerary and time of year for travel.  Being the off-shoulder travelers that we are, we quickly determined that we would pick the first two weeks of September for our excursion, which was right at the end of the boating season.  It would still be warm, but the summer crowds would be gone and the waterways would be less crowded.

 

But now for the boat and itinerary!  We had to select our boat with care - this would be our home for a full week and it could get a bit cramped for four adults and luggage.  It was going to be alot like camping - sort of an RV on the river.  And like any RV, there were multiple models to choose from, each with varying degrees of luxury.  We reviewed the brochure details over and over, studying the tiny floor plan maps as best we could, trying to determine which boat was the right size but within the budget we had determined to spend.  Tom, Jan, Jim and I spent evenings with the LeBoat brochures and maps of France spread out on our kitchen table, sipping French wine, eating brie cheese and excitedly poring over the details until we settled on just the right boat and itinerary for our adventure.

 
We would cruise through the canals and rivers of Brittany on a boat that listed three bedroom cabins each with a bath and shower, kitchen and dining/living space and an upper deck with picnic table, chairs and umbrella for outdoor living.  Bikes could be rented for an additional fee and we quickly added them to our order.  They would be tied onto the back of the boat and we could use them for our transportation when we stopped at the villages along the canals.  This was getting so exciting!  It was going to be a very relaxing and fun filled week with no television, no distractions and no traffic. 

We began our planning a year before we actually took off and during the next several months we held the image of Le Boat and the French waterways in our minds as we went about our daily lives and responsibilities.  That image kept us going and our families joined in the fun of helping us make the dream a reality.  We planned French dinner nights to meet and discuss our plans and sipped French wines to prepare out palettes for the flavors of the country.  I pored over French tour books, identifying the best stops along the way and the sights that we would see.  And Jan brushed up on her college French, determined that she would be able to speak with the locals wherever we went.

Finally, September 1 arrived and we boarded the American flight that would take us to France.  Bon Voyage!!!

Travel Tip:  Travel books such as Fodors, Frommers and Rick Steve's are often helpful for planning vacations, but can be expensive when purchased new.  Shop on Amazon.Com and select a slightly used, year old version of the travel book you want.  You'll save money and seldom does much of the information change from last year to this.

What did you see today?

What did you see today?

  “Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others.”  Jonathan Swift

Seeing the historical sights of ancient Rome, studying the intricate paintings on the Vatican ceiling, admiring the colorful reef fish in Hawaii, watching an active volcano erupt in the night.....  Some might say you require vision to see these things.  And I would say, that is true.  But do you need eyesight to see the soul?  Do you need eyesight to experience love and the touch of a friend?  How do we see these things?   The intangible things.  The gifts of life.

My husband Tom is my rock.  He has always had the perfect vision in our family - the 20/20 vision and the proverbial "eyes like a hawk".  Nothing escaped his sight.  He could see the eagle nesting in a far away tree, the sea turtle bobbing among the waves, the tiny shellfish hiding in a coral reef and the far away castle set on a hill.  He can frame pictures in his minds eye and shoot them quickly with his canon camera, resulting in images beyond my perception or vision.  His pictures tell stories of people, places and nature.

The gift of sight is precious and dear.  We never realize how much that is true until a day comes and we lose some of what we had.  I never thought such a day would come in my life. 

The day started like any other and progressed so normally.  It ended like most of our days do -- at the health club working off the stress of the day before we head home to relax and recharge for tomorrow.  I was startled when I walked out of the gym and realized that Tom had tried calling me repeatedly while I was inside.  The sight of so many missed calls within a quick timeframe made my heart skip a quick beat and I hit "redial" as quickly as I could.

"Are you still at the gym?"  Tom asked.  When I affirmed that I was he said, "can you bring me home?  I can't see out of my left eye and I don't think I should drive.".  "What?" I exclaimed.  "Are you sure??  What happened?"  But that's just it - nothing "happened".    There was nothing tangible that Tom could point to, he simply lost sight in his left eye while riding the exercise bike.  That's it.  No pain, no flash of light, no discomfort, no other symptoms.  Nothing.  How does this happen?

As we met with the eye specialist the next day we both felt confident that his sight would return soon.  Surely this was a misunderstanding of some sort - there had to be a miracle drop that would bring back his vision.  After all - we sent a man to the moon and we can transplant hearts and perform other medical miracles.  This should  be simple!

But as the meeting progressed and the doctor's face became grim, I felt my confidence beginning to fade.  This was taking too long and he was running too many tests.  I'll never forget what happened next.  Dr. K showed us the pictures of the inside of Tom's eye - pictures he'd captured on his high tech computer system.  He grimly explained the blood clot that had burst causing damage to the optic nerves and showed us the outline on the computer image.  He sat back and looked at us, his face stoic and unmoving.  We hesitated to ask the question - yet it begged to be asked and sat larger then an elephant in the small examining room.  "Is the vision loss permanent?"  I heard Tom ask softly.  I saw the doctor nod once, then say "Yes, I am afraid that it is."  My mind began screaming inside as I struggled to remain calm on the outside.  My husband and I were in shock as the doctor began to explain the situation and what had happened.  He then sent us on to the hospital to check in and begin a series of tests to attempt to uncover the cause of this blood clot.  We numbly left his office and headed to the emergency room, not sure what to say or where to begin.

 
It was a long weekend, full of tests and MRI's, scans and ultrasounds.  In the end, nothing was uncovered and no cause was determined.  But the verdict remained the same - the vision loss was permanent. 

The loss of sight to someone as active as Tom will be difficult.  Immediately we wondered if he could still SCUBA dive, play golf, drive a car and of course, take pictures?  As we pondered the situation and began to come to grips with it, God began to reveal marvelous and wonderful things to us.  Friends began to pour out their love and sympathy as word spread.  Our children were there non-stop, demonstrating their love and commitment to their father and friend.  Our granddaughter climbed into Papa's hospital bed and snuggled with him to watch cartoons and share his lunch.  Life and love poured out to us in more ways then we could imagine.  And none of it needed to be seen - all of it was felt.  Genuinely and truly, felt.

Tom is a people person.  He has the gift of seeing beyond the exterior of others.  He can discern their spirit and he makes people laugh with his quick and friendly nature.  He knows no strangers, no matter where we go.  Everyone likes Tom and everyone gravitates toward him and his natural and radiant personality.  He sees people beyond their physical presence - he sees their hearts and he seeks to know them beyond what is obvious to others.

I have realized something so precious through all of this.  Losing eye sight in one eye is difficult and disappointing - but it's truly not the loss of vision.  Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others - the heart, the soul and the inner beauty of mankind.   Tom has always done that anyway - this sight loss merely allows him the opportunity to use his true vision more completely, in travels and at home.

Our extraordinary travels will continue - for we are an ordinary couple but we seek the extraordinary adventures in life and this does not require 20/20 vision in both eyes.  It requires eyes for the soul and a longing to see past the exterior, allowing for God's vision to overtake our own, creating a new sight for our own tired eyes.  Each day we are given a new vision but we must choose to see it.  What did you see today?

Buon Natale

And this will be a sign for you:  you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.  Luke 2:12 

The medieval walled village of Laterina lies high on a hill in the Arezzo region of Tuscany, overlooking the Arno River Valley.  The community was about 6 KM from the farmhouse we were staying in and we drove by this walled fortress almost every day on our way to somewhere else.  As we passed by I would peer up at the walls, wondering what lay on the other side.  Laterina was not listed in any of our tour books and was not considered a sight of any monumental value in the eyes of Fodors, Frommers or Rick Steves, so we continued to drive by without pause.  

Finally, my curiosity got the best of me and on Sunday morning, December 11, when we had little on our itinerary for the day, I suggested to Tom and our friends that we drive up and explore Laterina.  They were game and we jumped in the car.  There was a light rain falling and the skies were gray.  We weren't expecting much and when we drove up to the walls, we discovered we needed to park outside the city and walk in.  We grabbed our umbrellas and began the trudge up hill, traversing slippery cobblestones and hoping that the outcome was worth the effort!  As we approached the city we began to see signs announcing a Christmas festival that day and soon, we were accompanied by Italian families with children, eagerly climbing up the steep walk to enter the city walls.  We looked at each other and grinned - this could be fun and interesting!  We'd already discovered the Italian tradition of building nativity scenes (Presepe) in their churches and communities and we began to see familiar words on the banners, announcing a Presepe ahead.   

As we turned the final corner we entered the main piazza of the village and there we discovered the Christmas festival.  Parents and children were scurrying about from booth to booth, playing games and competing for prizes.  Santa Claus (or someone dressed like him!) was visiting with children and handing out bags of goodies and food stalls and craft stands were setup in the streets.  Men were milling about, roasting chestnuts on fires for sale and sipping hot spiced wine.  Women were chasing after their excited children and calling greetings to one another, trying to keep up in the light rain on the slippery cobblestone streets.  Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" was crooning from a loud speaker and the sound of his mellow voice singing the traditional carol reverberated around the village, as it bounced off the old stone walls of the city buildings. 

What a unique treat!  This was not a Christmas festival for tourists, that much was clear.  This was entirely local and we were, to our best guess, the only Americans - or tourists, for that matter - in the entire piazza.  People were friendly towards us and as we milled among the craft stalls we began to pick up on a theme - there were stars with long tails above many of the doorways in the village streets and people were coming and going out of each open door.  They were talking and laughing excitedly.  We had seen the sign announcing the Presepe but had not yet found it and began to look around curiously. 

A young woman who spoke limited English saw our confusion and approached us with a friendly smile.  The village was hosting a Presepe contest, she explained.  Every family and church had built their own nativity scene and all were on display in their homes, church buildings, etc. Everywhere the star was displayed over the door, a Presepe was inside for viewing.  She quickly led us to the closest doorway and indicated we should go in and look around.  What we saw astounded us.  There were several nativity scenes, all created in a variety of materials and with a varied appearance, on display throughout the church.  They ranged extensively in their levels of complexity, from the simplest design created by two little girls aged 5 and 6, to an elaborate mechanical display with multiple moving parts, pieces and working lights.  We began to explore the doorways marked by stars - there were well over a hundred different displays, I'm sure.  Each was different then the other.  I did not envy those making the decision for the winning Presepe as all were beautiful in their own unique ways.  We became separated as we were looking around and as I stepped out of one house foyer and turned the corner, I found myself alone in a small medieval alleyway, with a light misty rain falling and the ancient beauty of the village surrounding me. 

Suddenly I heard the soft, sweet sound of a young girls voice singing "Silent Night" in Italian.  I didn't understand the words but I knew the song and I knew what she was singing.  The emotion of the moment struck me and before I knew it, I had tears streaming down my cheeks.  The beauty of the nativity scenes, the lilting sweet voice singing a universally cherished song and the realization that I was standing in a village over 1,000 years old and celebrating the events surrounding Jesus' birth with complete strangers, overwhelmed me.  The simplicity of his birth, born in a manger with a star proclaiming his blessed arrival and announcing him to the shepherds and wise men is a story that never fades and never loses its appeal to Christians around the world.

Buon Natale (Merry Christmas) to my friends and fellow Christians.  May his peace surround you and may you always hold the spirit of his birth in your hearts.

Tip:  Did you know that Christmas Carols and the traditional Nativity scene originated in Italy?  St. Francis of Assisi introduced the carol and the concept soon spread all across Europe.  He also created the first nativity scene using live animals and a manger strewn with hay to re-enact the story of Christ's birth.

http://italian.about.com/library/weekly/aa120600b.htm

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nativity_scene