Tag: travel

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Dear Marianne,*

I am very pleased to hear that you have found a home of whatever sort you choose, in the south of France and also an academic community at that–if you had planned it, it possibly never would have happened. As a wonderer wanderer and experience junkie, I applaud.

Given the array of options you have geographically, I cannot help but think about wanderers in the most positive way. I have been privileged late in life to explore and to journey in ways I never could have before. I have thought about your growing work for a long time from that perspective and the extraordinary search for home that you have. The structure of your work as a short essay–or singular diary–like notes – lends itself to self-description.

My traveling days are over except in the alternate reality of sharing how talented women lead independent lives, this is of enormous interest. It is an art form.

There are many elements in your writing that are interesting to me–a speaker, editor, and writer who does all that in order to avoid writing itself. Your work strikes me for its structure, it is stream-of-consciousness, and it’s very in the moment in present or past.

It is never clear to a wandering spirit why we wander, but it certainly feels good to share with someone who understands the pluses and minuses of being a risk-taker. I have just had a fantasy of putting together the handful of wonderful women I would love to meet with laughter, joy, and acceptance, and a very inappropriate life. It seems to me that you have done a remarkable job of getting to this point where not just the actions of your wanderlust are elegant, as the wanderer’s diary permits. Shared laughter is an art and a gift.

*I recently re-entered correspondence with this generous reader in her 93rd year. I feel fortunate as our correspondence is opening places in me, doors I realize I closed, or wells I have forgotten to tap. Anyone who knows me knows I love letters, a rare art these days, and this correspondence is happening through FB messenger as the writer of this letter has dealt with some health issues recently so she is speaking into the computer and FB is transcribing her words. I am unsure if FB transcribes it all as it was said sometimes and I am so grateful and moved when I receive words at home in Aix-en-Provence at any time of day on a screen, from a fan across the continent and the ocean, sitting in her Connecticut home talking into her computer.

One last note – another film recommendation–Coutures. It’s beautifully sewn together and a story about wounds, relationships, risk-takers, and women helping each other set in the world of film and fashion. (I thought about dear Lucy Pilgrim a lot while I watched and it made me want to see Lucy, go see. on screen.) See it when you can. I was fortunate to attend a pre-screening here in Aix, with the inspiring screenwriter and director Alice Winocour and the fascinating actress Anyier Anei (who made her debut with this movie) answering questions afterward and sharing the making-of. Truly marvelous.

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Living, aging; what are you doing?

I am tired of seeing and hearing the word aging.

Living, people, that is what we are here to do.

I am living in France since late August after 875 fabulous days of living in Spain.

I came here to represent the Office of the President at The American College of the Mediterranean and I am glad I did.

Some days ago, I began reading the notebooks in which I wrote and drew during the Barcelona days. It’s wonderful to be inspired by that Marianne who dared to return to Spain without knowing how it would all work out.

Aix is inspiring me, too.

I popped in to say HI – (my new abbreviation for Human Intelligence).

Since I began working at ACM-IAU aka The American College of the Mediterranean-Institute d’Universités Americains, life has been filled with newness and learning. Less posting, too.

I love to put together images to share with you, and that takes time, and today I will post with less images than I would like, because I want to post something.

Still writing.

Still heartened to see Lucy, go see. and I am home. moving in the world, being read, talked about. Still dreaming about translations and films.

Repeating the phrase Je veux encore jouer daily.

Sketching, snapshotting, looking at it all.

Also working on the delicious project of tasting and ranking French desserts.

Doors, stone heads, shafts and splashes of light. Virgin vines (les vignes vierges have a different translation, but I like this one). I enjoy these things and so much more in Aix.

It’s a curlicue place. Water running everywhere under the surface, making man-made structures lopsided, floors curvy. Immense plane trees, pines, cypress, walnuts, chestnuts. Ochre stone, a city chock-full of centuries of stories. Heads were chopped off here in a beautiful plaza in front of a church and stone heads adorn intricately carved wooden majestic doors. Places fit for royalty, archbishops.

Strange note to end on but there it is, thought about constantly as I walk through the city-center’s labrynth of wonder.

Here’s a slide show for you, quickly clicked together. A smattering. I hope you enjoy it. Thanks for your attention. Love, Marianne

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Moving On, Anew

This slideshow is a fraction of the snapshots from a fraction of my journeys during 2020 – 2023. The first shot is of my feet up in the garden of a Silver Lake sanctuary in Los Angeles while I was musing on where to go next, in between–amid other ordinarily extraordinary things–getting two books out into the world. One could say I was in a foxy den there, licking wounds in a beautiful spot. I was also writing, editing, teaching online, and occasionally acting. Most of my adventures were driving explorations through grief–of losses and disasters, some willed, most not. They also were celebrations of freedom, and often after a completed draft. While writing about these journeys recently, I realized though I was alone in the car, there were many other folks in there with me, perhaps listening to the conversations I was having with them and myself about love and home.

And now, I enter a new era of my life. This week I joined the Barcelona team of the American College of the Mediterranean as a full-time Faculty Advisor. After years of working on my own from wherever I was, and searching for a place I would love to land and work with others, it is happening, and I am really happy about that. I am also deeply grateful for the pleasures and gifts of the solitude, wandering, and wondering of the last eight years. What a wonderful time I had exploring the country I was born in, then making my way back here, to this Barcelona home, to this city and sea I love.

I have spent much more time than I planned on selecting images and have to stop and go out for a walk up on the mountain overlooking the city before the light goes. I would love to show you the beauty I saw throughout California (there are only a couple of shots in this video of the splendid Sonoma Coast). And there are so many Midwestern travels I’d like to share, including the Upper Mississippi Valley I love so and wrote about in I am home. All these journeys could each be a book and movie on their own. So could other amazing travels during those American years–alone, and with my son–across the US, within Mexico, and finally back in Europe. It’s been a traveling life.

But this little picture show is already eight-and-a-half-minutes long. A good accompaniment to coffee in the morning. I selected the shots with the intention of putting you in the driver’s seat.

Traveling far and long alone, I saw the diversity of the United States and witnessed the behavior of some of its inhabitants. There is outrageous wealth and gutwrenching misery. Opulence and abandon. Cruelty and kindness. Violence and generosity. There are also folks living simple and beautiful lives.

Ah, the open roads! The vast landscapes. The freedom. The beauty. I highly recommend that everyone solo travel for a while.

When I see myself in some of these shots it makes me feel happy. I loved hanging out with Marianne.

Life is a precious opportunity. I am looking forward to sharing my love for it with curious students from across the United States who come to Barcelona to do their own exploring.

Thanks for your time. I hope you find this imperfect offering inspiring.

DRIVING: An American Flâneuse on Wheels

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It’s just one of those things.

You could probably say this about moments of your life while on your way home and it would be true for you, too.

This page comes to mind often. It used to be in I am home. and for a while was the opener. After moving it around, I decided it was unnecessary, yet it comes back. Always playfully and in mystery, and especially living here in Catalonia right now. Always when readers mention moving around in the story at ease. What songs would your heart sing if you played it like a xylophone? What patterns and colors do you see when you look into the kaleidoscope of your life?

Thanks for coming. Thanks for being here. Wishing you wonders.

Reading
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I am home. out there in the world for a year now.

Thank you, readers! Today marks a year since the publication of I am home. A special anniversary because it was also timed to be released on the birthday of Mom’s first child, my eldest brother. His name was Tommy, and I only knew him through photos and stories, and the plant that graces the background of the cover of I am home. That plant was a gift to my mother at his birth and has been in our family for 72 years now. I have written about that, –it’s a touching story, and the plant, the Dieffenbachia, is thriving in Spain with me. Since we reunited, 7 new offshoots have grown from the base. My mother had 7 children. The plant, the book, and I have done some remarkable traveling, all the way walking each other home.

The second video below (after the cremation fire) is of a beach that is dear and also home to me, Playa San Sebastián in Sitges, where I landed after leaving Los Angeles last spring, and where I stayed a while before I moved into the city, into Barcelona. I used that video to announce the release of the book.

To have finished writing I am home. in the USA and then to carry advanced copies of it with me here to Catalonia, and once here to make the final minute and detailed touches on the cover (a friend witnessed this with her eyes wide) and it seemed each time I opened the book at a random spot, I found something I wanted to change and, well, that all was sweet, symbolic, and serendipitous as so much of life if is, maybe all of it–anyway, if you read the book, you will understand what I mean.

The first slideshow and video are of a thrilling, sometimes tedious (because of the amount of burning hours necessary in a small fire pit), always artistic, funny, enlightening, illuminating, and in the end very smoky burning of all the drafts, the prima materia, of this second book (with wine and a good friend nearby) in the garden of my California home of four years, in Silver Lake, Los Angeles, two nights before I left. I love fire and all the fascinating beauty it creates as you will see. We devised all kinds of methods to make the burning interesting, fun, and efficient. Also, and I digress, I loved that I lived on Fargo Street in LA. Far, go. I did. Anyway, I have no idea how many pages were there, thousands for sure, umpteen drafts, some on loose leaf paper, some spiral bound, some bound as books–all distillation until I reached the point of nuff’s nuff, which was at the end of 2022, a month or so after I decided to return to Spain. I promised myself I would finish it before I left, in a way, leave it behind. Release it and leave the country kind of thing. The book contains the decision to leave Spain, a return to my hometown in Iowa sparked by my mother and son, exploratory travels, eventual moves to Chicago, my college alma mater, and Los Angeles. A decade of life and all my stories and thoughts and feelings about it all that seemed important at the time and poof, up in flames. The essence remains. Hallelujah.

432,000 and some hundred words, that I know, reduced to 56, 000, or something like that. I used to know those numbers by heart. It’s a good sign the count is hard to recall right now.

It is a non-fiction book (isn’t it funny that they describe a genre by what it is not?), and because it is a hybrid of story, poetry, and essay and because the Marianne on those pages is different than the Marianne who is writing these words now and looking up at that plant occasionally, and because it is far from a traditional memoir timeline, I have hesitated to call it a memoir even though I could. (What is in our mind but memory and imagination?) It skips–sometimes darts, occasionally farts, perhaps–around in time, always with a connecting home thread, stitching a tapestry of love lines far and wide, somewhat like the trails little clams leave in the sand of shallow Frentress Lake waters as they move toward the depths. Most pages in the book are chapters distilled into one 6 x 9 inch frame, with the intention of offering a moving and evocative word painting amid a lot of open space.

It was recently described as a book that explores where “home” really is.

The last slideshow is compiled of images readers have sent from around the world. I think I have more but I am tired now and must post this soon or will get carried away and need another fire before too long. Someday I would also like to compile images of all the places around the world where I wrote this book.

I love hearing from you, readers! Thank you. I wrote the first draft for me and all the rest with you on my mind, asking myself how much I could give you while asking the least amount of your precious time. It makes the experience complete when I hear from you. It also nourishes and expands the soul of the book, adding yours to it with each experience of it, and any thought, any spoken or written word about it. (send an email welcomewonder@mariannemaili.com, and please talk about it, tell others). Thank you, thank you, thank you. May I am home. travel far and wide and reach deep and lift high. May it make you laugh and cry and feel happy to be you and to be alive.

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Some words on I am home. from Utah.

I shot this photo in February 2023, while visiting Bryce Canyon with a friend. It was a trip I wanted to make before leaving the country. And it was amazing and fun to do it in such great company. Maybe my third or fourth time in Utah, a state I came to love on my travels. During this trip, I was carrying the first advanced copy of I am home. with me, to show my friend. It was a celebratory trip. On my other travels through the state, the manuscript was resting while I explored on my own, and often those trips were celebrations of another draft finished. So, when I woke up on Thursday and read the following message from Utah, my heart filled with gratitude for connecting to a reader amid images of all the beauty of that state.

 Dear Marianne, You inspire me to be more aware and appreciate each little moment as I navigate through this next 50 + yr old woman-chapter of my life. A recent shift & desire to broaden my perspective has also increased my awareness to the impact of each & every small act. Have you been told that you have a crazy cool peaceful optimism about you?  In your book I am home. … it blows my mind how little you’ve written perhaps on any given page, yet there is so much in it!! Your vocabulary, writing and savvy are thrilling to me. The memories you’ve shared spark deep emotion. I love that you’re helping me be cognizant of the amazing life I have and the wonderful wild world we live in. Thank you so very much!!

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Strolling through Barcelona on my way to Iowa.

When I started my meander on this special day, I was unaware that Iowa would appear near the end of it. Roses on a balcony moved me first. As I mentioned before, Sant Jordi is a romantic Catalan holiday that celebrates love and Catalan literature. It is a combination of remembrances from different periods of history–for one part, it commemorates Sant Jordi slaying a dragon and offering his beloved a symbolic red rose from the bleeding belly of the beast, and for the other part, it celebrates a 19th century Renaissance of Catalan identity and culture. It’s marvelous to live in a city where people gift each other books every year on a day associated with romance and culture (almost two million books are expected to be sold), selecting them and also rose arrangements from vendors while strolling through the city’s wonder-filled streets, blocked for pedestrian traffic only. The symbolism of the day started, for me, in a private school up on the hill where I was being interviewed for a position to teach about books, writing, reading and speaking. I was then invited to see a special poetic performance and was witness to that wonder along with the prize-awarding to students in Sant Jordi writing competitions. I walked down the hill under ever-changing April skies, the scent of orange blossom filling the air, then made myself some lunch at home, with the plan to wander through the streets after. A friend from a village nearby called to say she was coming to town to see it all, too, and we met in the center of the city and had coffee at the café in the Hotel Pulitzer. While there I received a message offering me the teaching position. When my friend and I separated I headed for Paseo de Gracia because I wanted to see the Casa Battló decked out in roses for the day. Everywhere I looked there were smiling people, books, and roses. A helicopter whirred overhead and I imagined the view and wanted to be up there, too. As I was wondering if Laia Fabregas would be at the ONA bookstore (one of more than three-hundred bookstores in Barcelona) stall, I looked and there she was, signing books. So I stopped to buy her new award-winning book, El silenci dels astronauts, confident I would be able to understand the Catalan and when I did not, I would increase my vocabulary. Reading stories in other languages is an especially sweet way to learn them. I carried on strolling gently up the hill of Barcelona’s most luxurious boulevard, lined with modernist architectural masterpieces, cafés, restaurants, and high-end shops, marveling again and again at the quantity of readers and the grace of a culture that celebrates reading. I stopped to admire the Casa Battló with thousands of others. Then kept heading toward another favorite place, the magnificent Casa Fuster, and its Café Vienés, pausing along the way to look at books and roses. There was a Book of Mormon, in English, propped up outside in the window of the café. I called a sister in Iowa to mention this oddity and there was no answer. Then, I was drawn to the book stand of Males Herbes, a publisher who has published some of my favorite US and French authors in translation. I noted all the striking green covers of the books, some of Kurt Vonnegut’s among them, and commented on that to a friendly woman standing behind them. Then I saw one with the title AIOUA–I mouthed the vowels in Catalan–it sounds like IOWA. I stared at it for a while then turned it over and saw that it is about a woman who travels to and throughout Iowa in search of peace. I read the author’s name. Is Roser here now? I asked. That’s me, the woman I had already spoken to said in Spanish. I’m from Iowa, I answered in Spanish. Her eyebrows rapidly scaled her forehead as she said, Are you serious? She told me about driving around the state, her desire to return, and before long we were talking about the International Writing Program in Iowa City and other beloved places. Roser pointed to the photo of Strawberry Point on the cover, something I had overlooked when I fixated on the vowels, and I mentioned my parents talked to me about going there, and one of my brothers liked it. I kept to myself that these three people were now dead and I grieved them deeply. We spoke of getting together for drinks and a meal soon and as she signed my copy, she said we have to take a picture, and she kept marveling that on Sant Jordi in Barcelona, promoting her book AIOUA, she had met a real live Iowan who chose to live in Barcelona. I think we are less rare than people imagine yet it is true that I am the only Iowan I know here. I have made some marvelous Iowa-Barcelona connections in my life, other great stories to tell, and this was wonderful to add to the list. I can stop here, this is a perfect ending, I said after she wished me a wonderful rest of the festival of Sant Jordi. And then I wandered more, uplifted and connected. The Barcelona Film Festival was also happening so I saw a wonderful comedy. All afternoon I had been craving one of the many pastries I had seen, and after the movie noticed there was one golden yellow rose left at a nearby bakery. As I waited to be served, I saw a new friend passing by with a smile on her face and went out to call to her, Paz! I sang out (Paz translates as Peace. She is from Barcelona and lived in the US for about as long as I lived in Spain). She was too far down Calle Asturias, so I went back inside and called her. I’m on my way to meet my kids at the English bookshop then go somewhere to eat, she said. I felt a pang of envy. While feasting, a featured photo came up on my phone–there was my son, dressed as Sant Jordi for a school play on this day in 2006. My sister called from Iowa as I was walking home and I told her all about the perfect day. I just want to go home and go to bed now, I said. I imagine, she said. Just to make sure it stays perfect, right?

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I am home. on a flight.

Another from KK’s list of Scintillating Sentences. In the pages of I am home., Marianne often takes risks to live her life wholly. This is one of the storylines which explores the cost of freedom and the power of yes and no.

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I am home. for Christmas, on Main Street, at River Lights in Dubuque.

Stop in at River Lights and do all your Christmas shopping this year. This is one of my favorite bookstores in the world. It’s about more than books, just like books are. Find great gift ideas in every corner of the store and enjoy the warm and welcome atmosphere. I am thrilled that I am home. is on the shelves in this place where I feel very much at home. The setting for I am home., this non-fiction tale, is Dubuque, Key West, and many other places in Iowa, Illinois, and Wisconsin, and across the United States of America. You can also travel to Iceland, France, and Spain within. It’s a story that shows it is possible to go home again, and to leave home again, and to carry it with you always, and have a great time doing it despite all the challenges. You will laugh and you will cry. And maybe even think about things in a different way. It is a gift of light and love, this book, and thus fits with the season.

After you leave the bookstore with all your Christmas shopping in the bag, stop and enjoy other great places nearby like L. May Eatery, Salsa’s Mexican Restaurant , and Jitterz, where I wrote a lot, and had great conversations. I miss all that. I’ll be back.

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I am home. as a gift.

Is there someone on your Christmas list who likes to read? Who enjoys true stories? Who loves home, and loves to travel, and wonders about how others live in the world and what freedom costs? Who loves Iowa? Who especially loves the Upper Mississippi Valley of Iowa? And loves and wonders about Spain and Iceland and France? Who loves driving? Who loves rivers, valleys, and being in the great outdoors? Who loves life, family, friends? Who loves to walk, dance, and swim? Who sees beauty everywhere? Who appreciates absurd humor? And sees the humor in even the difficult moments? They will probably also love this book.

It has been called a book about the wideness of love, a book about what it means to be a free spirit in this world, and a book about what it means to be home. It has been called a memoir hiding inside other genres. It has been called amazing, brilliant, heartbreaking, enthralling, relevant, resonant, brave, inspiring, moving, insightful, incisive, beautifully written, and soothing.

If you’ve read and enjoyed it, please spread the word. If you haven’t read it yet, please give it a chance. It would be wonderful if you asked your library to order it.

If I could afford it, I would hand out copies everywhere.

Here, at this desk, looking at this view, I smile thinking about how writing and reading connect me to other souls who are also interested in being as alive as we can be. I imagine these people believe that life is a chance to exalt and contribute.

“They are your contribution to humanity,” a friend said recently when I wondered about the value of my books and the time spent writing them.

Thanks for reading!

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