Tuesday, September 01, 2015

May you live as long as you want and never want as long as you live.

My grandmother, Isabelle Mae Verretta, passed away peacefully in Arvada, Colorado on August 9, 2015.  She lived a long and good life.  Much better than her meager beginnings would have implied.  I could give you the facts about her life. Such as, she was born the only child to Cecil and Minnie Glaviano on July 3, 1925 in Trinidad, Colorado.  She was raised in North Denver and eventually made her home of 56 years in Arvada.  She worked nearly all her life, primarily in the financial industry, and was the first woman in Colorado to sell municipal bonds.  She worked her way from a lowly bookkeeper in 1952 to become Vice President of a half dozen financial institutions beginning in the 1970’s.  She retired at the ripe old age of 88.

I could tell you all this and more. But then I wouldn’t be telling you much about the woman who touched countless lives, making them laugh, cry (often from too much laughing) and who lived her life with a gusto and tenaciousness that few encounter these days.  To get to the true tale of Isabelle Verretta, you have to know how she saw herself and thus overcame the biggest obstacle of all – self-perception.  She would always tell people that she was born a poor fat child who couldn’t say boo to a ghost.  How then did this waif become a powerhouse in the banking world?  Determination and grit.  Widowed with two young children at the age of 29, Isabelle had no time for pity or victimhood.  She had work to do.  And she did it.

She excelled at breaking down barriers in an era and industry that was famous for the good old boys network.  From staying long nights at the bank during their computerization period, to accompanying the men for after work drinks to prove that a woman could find a place in the boy’s club, she poured her heart, sweat and tears in to providing for herself and her young family.  She was forced to sacrifice time spent with her children to make sure they had food to eat and eventually move to the suburb of Arvada.  She would buy one dress every paycheck to have something nice for work because she knew the value of appearances and that all too often, it wasn’t about how smart you were as a woman, but how well you looked and comported yourself that mattered.

Her struggles eventually paid off and she moved up in the bank to lead the savings department as Vice President.  At this point, her personal life also improved by meeting the companion of her heart, Don Arnold.  He taught her not only to appreciate golf and football but also how to not take life so seriously.  Don and Isabelle would go on to spend over 30 years together, dancing, bickering, laughing and generally having a grand ol’ time (often getting into some trouble or another).

She was a woman of grace (though not physically, she was actually quite clumsy in that regard) and style.  To make up for her depression era childhood, she insisted on buying one of every color of shoes or blouses or whatever it was.  QVC will miss her patronage greatly.  When she wasn’t “telling you something” about life, she was enjoying movies and going “up the hill” to gamble until the wee hours of the night or ranting about politics, but the key was she was always learning, laughing and leaving the world a better place.

While she was doing that, there was often food involved.  As part of a large Italian family, two things were priorities in her life – family and food.  (Not always in that order.)  Isabelle may have had a rough beginning but she certainly made up for it in the last half of her life.


She will be missed but never forgotten.  





Monday, November 17, 2014

10 Years

It was ten years ago in September that I moved away from my life-long home for the first time ever. Where did I go? Why, to London of course! No, I’m not some English country girl, looking to make my mark on my country’s capital. Rather, I’m a mountain girl from the far off Wild West looking to find myself in a world where I often feel more at home among British culture and history than my native culture and land. This was of course long before the Downton Abbey craze, and possibly before The Office even made its trek over the ocean.  Lately, I can’t help but to think about my first time out on my own, without the safety net of family and familiar surroundings. It was a time of wonder and adventure. It was when I first started this blog to record all my near-daily discoveries. About myself, about the world outside all that I’d grown up with. It was the best of times.
               I also can’t help but think lately about all that has changed since then… I’m no longer traveling or exploring anything. I ended up back in Colorado, after another long stint in the UK. In some ways, I feel like nothing has changed. That all those years of traveling and adventuring were not my “real life” and now I’m back to where I started. But I am at least wise enough to know that’s not true. I have changed, in many ways for the better and some not so much. I hate that I’m more cautious and cynical now. (As cynical as anyone with an Aquarius sun sign can be.) I hate that I’m not out in the world, visiting new lands and learning about new cultures. On the other hand, I have learned that it’s much easier and sometimes more fun to travel when you have money then when you don’t. I like all the comforts I’ve built up for myself. I love my non-beater car and adore my cat companion. I love living alone and being able to do whatever I want when I want.
                Although I’m not the fresh-faced youth ready to take on the world now, I’m still not some old wizened crone (no matter how much of a “crazy cat lady” I may seem). I don’t want to hang up my adventurer’s hat and call it quits after only scratching the surface of what is out there to be learned and discovered. (And I’m not talking about new lands that no human foot has touched, that’s obviously not possibly these days, unless I go to another planet and I’m definitely no astronaut). I’m talking about my own self-discovery through the lens of a world much bigger than my small corner of metro Denver suburb. My current journey may be less grand than trapesing across another continent, but it is no less important. Therefore, I declare that the blog “The Next Great Adventure” is back in business after a much too-long sojourn. May I find adventures in my own backyard and discover what I could not while abroad. I can’t guarantee I’ll write often, but I’ll try to write well when I do and I hope that whoever will read this enjoys the ride.


Let the adventures begin!!



Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Rocks on the Sand

For a long time now I've been seeing images in my mind... of Derry, of Clare, of streets I used to walk down and places I used to go. I know I didn't write much when I was in Ireland. The pressure of getting a master's degree and other rather trying situations at that time prevented me from indulging in the usual retrospection I enjoy while traveling or living abroad. So now it is long past time I tell of my life in "Nor'n Ireland" and hope that the memories will do justice to the moments. Here is the first of my "Tales of an Irish Life".....


One of the last days I spent in Ireland, I drove to Malin Head point in Co. Donegal to say my goodbyes to the Island that had been my home and my hardship for almost two years. As I wandered around the hills and former watch tower, I did some watching of my own. Families and couples braved the chill and wind to visit this little spit of land, from which, on a clear day one could glimpse the next island eastward – Scotland. It had been my dream and goal to continue my European life and get a job in Edinburgh. However, some dreams, regardless of how dreamy just don’t come true and so instead of saying Hello to a new home, I was saying farewell to my hopes and dreams. It was the second time the UK had the final word in my life, forcing me to reevaluate myself and to reform my plans.

While I was staring out to sea and envisioning Scotland out there just beyond my reach, I looked down from the little cliff I was standing on and saw on the land below written in stones placed together, Eire. There it was, like a primitive signpost announcing to any travelers where they were. There I was and there I had been for two winters, in a land that one small word could never encompass. A land of wonder and history, of blood and music, a land where the past continued to invade the present and where the people had old souls but murky futures. Ireland had indeed been a trial but it’d also been a journey that taught me as much as it tested. Through my writing I wish to relive the life that now seems so distant. To recapture the joy of discovering a new city, a new language. These may be memories, but they’re also the building blocks of a heart and soul that yearns for more than the ordinary.

Saturday, August 28, 2010

Blasts from the Past

This weekend I finally made my way to the international food store. It was Fabulous! Not as huge a place as the Asian markets I frequented in Denver but they had a nice variety from several regions, including Europe and the Middle East. My purchases this time included: Bounty candy (the British version of Mounds, but way better!), Japanese Soba noddles, Kasugai roasted hot green peas - or as the packages calls them "A happy present from the Earth" - and Russian Baltika beer (номер семь for those who have experienced this goodness). I was SO estatic walking out of the store and vowed then and there to be back for some Chinese dumplings, other world beers, and somen noddles (as soon as I figure out/remember what sauce I should use for that - 日本人の友達助けてください!) Anyways, this is a short blog but one that makes me happy as it reminds me of all the fun international food and drink I've enjoyed in the past (perhaps sometimes too much, as in the case of the Baltika). And now I can relive the moments any time I want! :D Life is good.

Thursday, August 05, 2010

Radio Silence

You may have noticed the lack of posting again recently. I have been a wee bit busy with the new job. Figuring out how to teach at a university level ESL program with little to no-prep time takes some getting used to, to say the least. However, now that things are winding down (and there is a cool breeze on the air again) I find some time to write for myself. It’s been quite a rollercoaster-y few weeks. (You could even say months, but let’s stick to the immediate for a moment.) Phrases like “hitting the ground running” and “trial by fire” spring to mind when I think of how to describe my time so far at the LCI. After 5 weeks of teaching, learning, grading and not a little bit of stress over my classes I am looking at the last four teaching days and a week-long break from all things academic-y. After about 2 days of utter comatose sleeping and recouping, I hope to head to Richmond for a catch up with Melanie and her mom and to gather the rest of my things to return once again to Blacksburg.

As for the town itself, it can only be described as ironic that this small town America holds more interest for me than the second largest city in Northern Ireland. Of course, I’m thinking a large part of that interest is due to the nearby Target and a variety of restaurants and cafes. I’ve made up amply for my lack of Japanese cuisine in Ulster by having sushi no less than 5 times in as many weeks! It is also highly ironic that I feel I’ve seen more greenery here than during my time in the Emerald Isle. That is helped by what I like to call the “fuzzy mountains” of the Blue Ridge range. They at least have satisfied my need to be nearer mountains again, though they still look funny to me in all their tree-covered-peak-less way. I simply can’t get over how many trees are in Virginia!!! It’s astounding to me. Pete’s backyard along makes me feel like I’m in a forest. And just driving from Blacksburg to Roanoke (which I had to do to get a new social security card) made me wonder at the strength of will the native Americans and first settlers must have had in order to carve a livelihood out this place. I guess growing up in a pretty arid and tree-less place makes one wary of being surrounded by these silent giants. And yet silence is the last way I would describe Virginia (at least the two places I’ve lived so far). I can’t remember hearing so many different kinds of insects – or seeing them! – and the birds are just show-offs plain and simple. There’s a musicality to this place that I’ve not experienced before and it makes all the stresses of the day vanish quite quickly, if only I had the time or presence of mind to let them.

On the other hand, I’m told that Blacksburg is quite a different place in the summertime and I’m experiencing it at its best (according to some). It will definitely be interesting to see the shift when all the students return for the year, but I’m hoping my time in Boulder will have prepared me somewhat for what is to come. Though I still need to learn to say Hokie without cracking a mocking smile. ;)

Saturday, July 10, 2010

And so it begins....

Two days ago I began my first day of work. It was mostly paperwork on my part and assessment of the students' English levels. The unexciting yet necessary aspects of a new job/school. The most interesting part of my day however began with a guy, as these stories often do. He's a large, sweet gentleman who gave me quite the wild ride yesterday and today. And his name is Kurt.

Kurt is a 1986 Ford F150 XL, with sky blue coloring and a rough and tumbled look. He's a good truck and my fast friend. (Not that fast as he's a little bit long in the tooth, though he's still younger than me.) Pete let me borrow his truck to get to work until I got the bus pass to let me ride the public transport. Considering my most extensive driving experience has been in a broken down old Honda Civic CRX (Love you Baby!!) Kurt is a whole other beast!

Me and my baby car

First and foremost is getting into the truck. That presents a slight issue for someone who's waist comes up to about the same height as the pedals. With no "oh shit" bar to hand I have to do a little jump and try to propel myself into the cab. Wanting to impress on my first day I decided to wear a cute little skirt... hmmm.. great plan. I managed to find my way to school, getting in and out of the truck without flashing anyone. Once I got myself into the cab I realized sadly that I was too short to reach the pedals comfortably and though I found the lever and tried to adjust the seat, I couldn't and so thinking it was stuck I scooted to the edge of the seat and drove the best I good.

Next was backing the the monster of a car down a long-ass graveled driveway to get to the street. Negotiating that little bit of 'threading the needle' was fun as I worried alternatively about smashing Pete's car, trampling the bushes or the crashing into the shed on the side of the house. But I prevailed through that challenge and celebrated my arrival on the street with a sigh of relief and burst of laughter at the thought of if only my brother or grandpa (big truck enthusiasts themselves) could see me now. This tiny girl in the Big truck.

I started to drive off to school using the handy map Pete drew for me the night before. Focusing on not taking out any of the construction cones or workers on the main road I slowly made my way to school. Throughout the drive I found myself occasionally laughing in a slightly panicked yet amazed manner at my ability to actually drive the biggest car I've encountered before. Arriving at school I put Kurt into park and pushed as hard as I could on the emergency break. Then I kind of shook myself off and went to get a latte at the Starbucks gloriously close to my school to shake of the bit of nerves I'd worked up during the drive.

After my first day at work - spent filling out forms and assessing the students - it was time to get back in the big boy and go home. At this point in time I was not aware that the truck had a name at all, so I decided to call it something in order to be less afraid of driving him. (As we all know, you'll be less afraid of something when you know it's name.)



So on the ride home I called him Sammie and talked soothingly to him, telling him to go easy on me as it was my first time driving something so big. Well that must have worked because I didn't demolish any mailboxes or fences or run over any children. When I got home again I just chuckled to myself and thanked Sammie for the wild ride. It was later that day when I asked Pete if the truck and been named already and thus discovered his true identity of Kurt.

The next day I went out to Kurt again for round 2. This time I wasn't as frightened and took the bull (or ford rather) by the horns. Now he and I have a good working relationship and I only sometimes still chuckle of the sight of me driving this big ol' working vehicle. Perhaps its not as funny to anyone else, but he's a picture of me and my new best friend.....

Me and Kurt

Sunday, July 04, 2010

A crab-filled 4th

Another new town, more strange-faces soon to be familiar. An exciting time indeed on any adventure. And this new adventure happily began on a national holiday. For me, New Years’ are always filled with high hopes and low jubilation; Christmas is usually a hit or miss on overall enjoyment and Halloween I could take or leave. However, the 4th of July is possibly one of my favorite holidays, with the exception of Valentine’s Day (my personal favorite, due to my take on it being a loved-filled day for all and not just for couples). I like the 4th not so much because of its historical and patriotic significance, though I do ponder the meaning of the day at some point during the festivities. I like the 4th because of a fabulous tradition of going to the Arvada soccer fields with Melissa and her family to watch fireworks, usually preceded by a yummy barbeque. I was very disappointed the few years I wasn’t able to indulge in this fun familial gathering, and though this year I wasn’t in Colorado I did at least have another fabulous experience – at Pete’s Annual Crabtacular!

As you may guess from its name, this is a celebration of life, liberty and… crab. Don’t ask me why exactly, it’s an east coast thing I haven’t quite figured out yet. It was definitely a night of firsts for me. First time cracking open and eating crab (most likely to be my last), first time to see and catch fireflies (they are fun little buggies!) and my first night in the Blue Ridge mountain town of Blacksburg. I have to say, with possible exception of the first ‘first’, I loved them every minute of it all. Unfortunately I have no pictures to prove that, yes I did indeed mallet a poor – but flavorful! – crab in a rather barbaric-land-locked-city-girl fashion. So you’ll just have to take my word for it. After the cleanup of tiny mutilated bodies, we all wandered to a cemetery to watch fireworks. It’s a far cry from the soccer fields of suburban Colorado but the mood was the same and had me reflecting on the paradox that is America and its people. (For more on my thoughts on this, see my post from the 2008 elections.)

Tomorrow will begin the next stage of this new escapade, as I will begin work tomorrow at Virginia Tech’s Language and Culture Institute. I’m excited for this new opportunity to help students improve their English and look forward to meeting my new colleagues. With that in mind, I should best get to bed for a full night’s sleep, I got a busy day ahead of me! I am hoping that this jaunt in the Appalachians will be full of new experiences such as my first night here (though perhaps with a bit less carnage) and have high hopes for all that lies ahead of me here.

P.S. Thanks to Pete for the fantastic celebrations and keep on rocking out the crab-fest!! I’ll just hang by the grill next time… :)