Meri's Musings

There's something about Venice, the bride of the sea, that draws me back, that pulls me as if it were my home in some time long forgotten, in another life. "The Heart of Venice" © 2005 Meri Arnett-Kremian Perhaps it's the gentle lapping of the water, the mist that makes things vanish and reappear like magic.  Mist means spirit to me - spirit made visible,  dancing in light, muting the sounds of the everyday world. Maybe it's the rich sense of history, the turning a corner into surprise, the visual s mörgåsbord   beckoning   through every passageway and across every bridge. It might be because I went to Venice with someone I loved truly, madly, deeply. I can't disregard the possibility that my dreams of Venice are tied up with him even though that romance, riveting as it was, and that journey I was blessed to take with someone so woven into my psyche, are just memories from my past. Perchance it was the sense I had that each new place was somehow...

On my way into the grocery store yesterday, the fancy store that's like a field trip, I had to pass between rows of metal pails filled with cellophane-wrapped flowers. I frequently succumb and take home  a bunch or two, just because I love their cheery faces and their sensual perfume. But instead of tempting me, for some reason  they just reminded me that flowers were one of the things my darling "wus-band" did well. He brought me flowers, arms full of flowers, frequently. Not every week, but often. Oh, of course he'd send me grand arrangements to say Happy Mother's Day or Congratulations or Happy Anniversary or I Love You or what have you. He even sent me gorgeous arrangements on Valentine's Day the first two or three years after we split up. But he knew that I love to peel the wrappers off bunches of Gerbera daisies and sunflowers, freesias and roses, chrysanthemums, or just about anything floral, choose ju...

"Arrangements." Copyright 2009 Meri Arnett-Kremian cell phone to her ear soft romantic murmurings amongst the tulips

Springtime 1996. Being in Paris for the first time with someone I love truly, madly, deeply (even after we've been together for more than two weeks already, driving all over Italy and France, having a great time even though everyone said that more than three weeks of constant togetherness would make us both crazy ) Romance. Sidewalk cafés and wonderful little restaurants. Staying at The Royal Monceau, dining in the restaurant there and stealing sideways glances at Omar Sharif and his two lady companions, both elegantly dressed and of a certain age. Being delighted that the French were so friendly despite my rusty French language skills and the many holes in my vocabulary. (I could make myself understood in the present tense -- at least most of the time -- be polite, and order food for both of us. Merci beaucoup Mrs. Fletcher, Ms. Smith, and Mrs. Forrest, you taught me well.) History. Art. Musée d'Orsay   on Mother's Day when I know the kids are safe at ...