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When people think of Italy, they often conjure up an image of Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck in Roman Holiday. There they were, zipping through the streets of Roma on . . . what else, but a Vespa. One of those classic, sculptural little motorini, motor-scooters that are synonymous with the very word, Italy.

But what is a Vespa, besides a well known brand? What does the word mean anyway? Is there a Mr. Vespa somewhere? No. Vespa actually means wasp. The classic little scooter took its name from the sound that it makes: that of a frantic buzzing wasp.

Italian Classic

Interesting. Right? Well, if you’ve ever been waiting at the traffic light to enter Piazza Donatello when the red goes to green, you’d swear that you’d just stumbled into a hornet’s nest. The surrounding buzz is thunderous.

Ever had a wasp circle your head? The sound is unmistakable. It’s sort of a medium-low drone—more than a bit menacing, causing me to instinctively duck under cover or clear the path, or maybe I should say the airspace. I typically give a wasp all the clearance it needs, so we can comfortably avoid each other. But lately, I’ve noticed something troubling. Despite my best efforts to evade them, they seem to be getting closer—like into our bedroom—regularly. By regularly, I mean daily. They do a few swooping circles and then disappear. BUT, we can still hear them, even if we can’t see them. Then the sound becomes a little different, sort of like they’re agitated. Maybe more like a muffled dentist’s drill. So, we felt compelled to track them down.

It seems that the wall between the sliding doors of the bathroom and closet is hollow, and they’ve discovered the space. So, in they fly, disappearing near the bathroom door and begin that frantic buzzing. It actually sounds like they’re building something. Apartments? A home away from home? Inside our hollow wall.

Last week I slid the closet door closed only to find 4-5 of those dreadful little mud cylinders that indicate wasps have set up housekeeping. In a reflexive swoop, I dashed them to the floor. They were dry, brittle structures that crumbled upon impact. Good, I thought . . . gone. Then, only moments later as I stood in the closet, in flew Ms. Wasp, carry something. What? What do they carry? It looked like the abdominal section from another wasp. Are parts interchangeable? Had I inadvertently happened upon Dr. Frankenvespa at work? And where was she going with that insect part? I casually observed her from a safe distance, pretending to sort my socks. She hovered just above the hangers and then dropped out of sight, right into one of Em’s collared shirts. What? Why? I imagined an already well established wasp colony along his shoulder seam. Quickly, I grabbed the shirt and shook it vigorously. Nothing happened. Nothing came flying out. Where did she go? I searched for a few minutes and then gave up. She had once again mysteriously disappeared without a trace.

Vespa Colony in Door

I shook my head and went on about my day. Hmmm. Where’s my aqua sweater? Oh yeah, I left it in the car. I hummed a little tune as I sashayed to the car where I spied my sweater through the back window. I opened the door. And there, to my surprise, was a cluster of wasp houses—inside the door, along the frame, just beside the black rubber strip. What? How? I couldn’t say. But the bigger question was WHY? What on earth would prompt a wasp to claim the space just beneath a rubber gasket inside a car door? Did she imagine her wasp-lings on meaningful road trips?

Too Cool!

My recent disturbing encounters with the whole buzzing vespa family had somewhat tarnished my romantic notion of those beautiful little motorini, cobblestone streets and Italian fountains. Then this morning, we received an email photo from a friend, taken at a sidewalk cafe in LA. His legs were outstretched, as he casually relaxed at a street-side coffee bar. On his feet? Red Ferragamo loafers which made me smile. And in the background? A classic mint green Vespa scooter!  I was instantly awash with the iconic meaning of the word Vespa and the romantic notions it conveys. Ah, sweet Italia!

Reposted from 2011

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We spend our entire lives “Reaching,” for one thing or another.

We reach for the alarm clock to turn it off or maybe hit the snooze button for 9 more minutes of sleep. We reach for a jar on the top shelf, only to find it beyond our grasp. Standing on tiptoes, we stretch, desperately trying to nudge the jar just a bit closer. We’re constantly reaching just a little more.

We reach for that long sought-after goal. We reach the end of our rope. We even reach for the stars. Babies instinctively reach out for the warm touch of security. And finally, when all is said and done, we reach the end of this lifetime.

Our understanding is that success is in the “grasping.” Whatever we seek must be captured—safe and secure within our hands. But should we come up “empty-handed,” we imagine that something has tragically slipped away from us.

Yet we know that “grasping” and “holding” are only illusions. It’s not possible to “hold onto” anything. Instead, we see that life happens mainly through the act of Reaching. When we focus on the reaching, we begin to understand that the desire, the aspiration itself animates life.

This idea was expressed by great philosophers. Marcus Aurelius said: “It does not matter what you bear, but how you bear it.” This suggests attitude and intention is far more important than the results. Centuries later, Mahatma Gandhi echoed a similar thought: “Whatever you do in life will be insignificant , but it is important that you do it . . .”

Without regret, our intention is to energetically reach and reach and reach, until one day, we will finally grasp a humble truth—that a life well-lived exists only in each moment of striving, in “reaching,” and that in itself is the prize.

Music – Reach

 

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Cheryl woke up this morning with a song repeating in her head. As usual, she sings the song aloud. From that point, the song moves into both our heads, and we find ourselves humming, singing, or whistling the tune all day—much like a an advertising jingle or chorus of a pop tune.

Today’s song was “Sixteen Tons” by Tennessee Ernie Ford. It became his signature hit, inspired by the travails of real-life coal miners in Kentucky. Although the song was written by Merle Travis in 1947, it didn’t become popular until Tennessee Ernie’s deep-voiced version of 1956.

Mining family – 1950s

Despite the age of the song, we find the story relevant today, some 70 years later. The tale is about the plight of the working man, becoming dependent on the “company-owned store” to support their families. Although it was a bargain struck out of necessity, it was a desperately sad realization that survival depended on humbly accepting terms that someone else offered, an intentional indebtedness to those in power.

We often recite a line from The Declaration of Independence, “. . . that all men are created equal . . . endowed by their Creator. . . ” Alas, we are still working on that idea/ideal. But hey, it’s only been 250 years. It takes some time.

Following is Ernie Ford’s version of his signature song. It’s worth a listen. What comes through is his honest sympathy for those working people who simply want to claim their independence, while taking responsibility.

Although few, if any of us would say: “I owe my soul to the company store,” that line becomes the heartbreaking message of the song. The absolute dread that Ford delivers in the line,”I owe my soul,” which is repeated 4 times, underscores the solemnity of the message.  Ernie Ford delivers the phrase as if he could cry. Then, finally (in the video version) he looks up, pleading, while increasing the volume of his booming voice, seeking relief. When he glances downward at the end of the song, he humbly accepts his plight, as though he becomes the very downtrodden worker he sings about.

What a  storyteller.

Lyrics

Some people say a man is made out of mud
A poor man’s made out of muscle and blood
Muscle and blood and skin and bones
A mind that’s weak and a back that’s strong
You load sixteen tons, what do you get?
Another day older and deeper in debt
Saint Peter, don’t you call me, ’cause I can’t go
I owe my soul to the company store
I was born one mornin’ when the sun didn’t shine
I picked up my shovel and I walked to the mine
I loaded sixteen tons of number 9 coal
And the straw boss said, “Well a-bless my soul!”
You load sixteen tons, what do you get?
Another day older and deeper in debt
Saint Peter, don’t you call me, ’cause I can’t go
I owe my soul to the company store
I was born one mornin’, it was drizzlin’ rain
Fightin’ and trouble are my middle name
I was raised in the canebrake by an old mama lion
Can’t no high-toned woman make me walk the line
You load sixteen tons, what do you get?
Another day older and deeper in debt
Saint Peter, don’t you call me, ’cause I can’t go
I owe my soul to the company store
If you see me comin’ better step aside
A lot of men didn’t, a lot of men died
One fist of iron, the other of steel
If the right one don’t getcha, then the left one will
You load sixteen tons, what do you get?
Another day older and deeper in debt
Saint Peter, don’t you call me, ’cause I can’t go
I owe my soul to the company store
————————————————

Source: Musixmatch -YouTube
Songwriter: Merle Travis
Sixteen Tons lyrics © Unichappell Music Inc.,
      Campbell Connelly And Co. Ltd., Merle’s Girls Music.
Elvis Presley Music Inc.
Images – Canva AI

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Become the Observer. See the world, your world, through the eyes of a Witness.

Observe intently

We are given a new opportunity, a new perspective, when we free ourselves from the trappings of the mind. Without subjective thoughts, steeped in  trauma, drama, emotion and earthly logic, we can become a neutral bystander—participating in whatever activity is at hand, but simultaneously watching ourselves in the context of life events. We become free to acknowledge a hushed voice—perhaps the Soul, longing to be heard. We may sense subtle flutters of Inner Wisdom, Tiny Feathers drifting gently into consciousness. Earthly burdens of expectations release and detach. Relaxation settles over us. Simultaneously we feel an exhilarating freedom.

LaVerna Monastery

Sacred sounds, ageless chants have been used for centuries to shift focus from the ordinary, the everyday into a sense of awe and wonder. Spiritual beings throughout history have denied the corporeal world in search of deeper faith, wisdom and meaning. There have been curious stories about the presence of a brilliant white light that people seem to encounter when death approaches. We’ve watched cloaked monks process in a rhythmic sway, singing deep, resonating sounds that fill spacious stone cathedrals with a life-changing reverberation.

Floating and Swirling

Those wordless tones—the sacred sound of Om (AUM—ah-oo-mm), emanating from the “heart space” invoke spirit. To be “inspired” means to be infused with spirit. Breathe in, breathe out. The entire body becomes transformed. This is our hope—to soar, to invite momentary glimpses of Tiny Feathers, Inner Wisdom, that enticingly float and swirl just beyond everyday awareness.

Music – Tiny Feathers

Lyrics

Floating weightlessly behind my eyelids

Drifting ever-slowly toward my beating heart

Tiny feathers of a fleeting thought

Slipping calmly into rhythmic breathing

Matching beat for beat with my sacred heart

 

Floating weightlessly behind my eyelids

Drifting ever-slowly toward my beating heart

Tiny feathers, soft hints

What my Soul dares to dream

Dedication

This story and music are dedicated to Those who continually nudge us further and further into our sacred heart space

Credits

From album – Hold to the Heart
Track released – June 1, 2022
Cheryl Martlage – Lyrics, Vocals and Production
Emerson Martlage – Music, Vocals and Production
Feather Image – Custom Generated by Gemini AI

Related Stories and Music

Eye Witness

We were reading a number of books about consciousness, among them were several by Ken Wilbur: “Boomeritis,” and “A Brief History of Everything,” as well as another book called “What Really Matters.” We also read (after having seen the movie) “What the Bleep Do We Know,” which led us to discover “Ramtha: the White Book” . . .

Each Cell

Following a visit to Madonna del Sasso Monastery near Santa Brigida, in Tuscany, we wrote this song. We had walked for about an hour up the steep, rocky trail between the monastery and town to reach that sacred site with unbelievable views into the Val d’Inferno. We could see our studio off in the distance, and the Castle Trebbio, down below . . .

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Hope. The very word implies an intention for a future. When hope is shared among and with others it becomes even more potent. The simple act of holding hope has helped us through some tough times. It’s such a powerful idea that we wove it into the lyrics of our song and story called “Circle of Trust.” We often hear about acts of kindness, when people experience empathy for another and “hold space” or allow a safe, non-judgmental listening. Compassion and trust create a unique “micro” environment. A gathering of such like-minded folks, harnesses an energetic force that just might change the world. Especially in these times of division and uncertainty, we can choose to be holders of hope in a circle of trust.

(more…)

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Quote

“All the pieces and parts, unique as they are, work as though they are one, to make up our days.” Timepieces – April, 2012

Ancient Timepiece – Lyon France

Note

All alone in the tinker’s workshop
Counter scattered with cogs and gears
Watches built to track hours and minutes
But he cannot capture the years

Parts engage, one made for the other
Slide together, then whirl and spin
Morning breaks, finally he sets the hands
And so time begins

Excerpt from lyrics of the musical story “Timepieces”

By clicking on “Timepieces” above you’ll find the original story which includes the complete lyrics along with the 40th anniversary video introducing our book “Time to Partner.” The iBook is unique in that it has an interactive design with many clickable links to additional stories, music , lyrics, videos, photos, learnings and more—a complete digital format unlike any other book.

Music

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Quote
“Then suddenly I saw the world within, never seen before. Since that moment of stealing a glance, I want even more.”   Secret Passageways – May, 2011

Palazzo Vecchio

 

Note
Architectural masterpieces of Medieval Europe offer broad perspectives into the lives of our ancestral heritage, while providing glimpses into our personal interior “architecture.” As we follow leads of interest or intuition, wandering through the shadowy halls and moody attics of the world’s most treasured places, we’re simultaneously given passage into meandering stories and new perspectives into our ever-evolving selves.

Beyond every massive stone wall and imposing facade there may be secret spaces and hidden gardens where the creative spirit soars.

As we explore the world around us, we explore the world within.

Music

Click here to view original story with lyrics and video.

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While going through some old files recently, we came across a story that had long been tucked away. In 2008, Cheryl wrote an original story,  the “Big Green Chair.” It is a memory of her kindergarten year, so circa 1956. She was tasked with taking care of herself while her parents juggled work and family needs. Alone for countless hours each weekday, she filled the time with creative imaginings, reading the encyclopedia, and generally entertaining herself. She developed a  child’s sense of humor, while pretending and observing her surroundings, as well as exploring her inner world. The result was that she became self-sufficient, maybe even too much so at such a tender age. Following is that story exactly as she recounted those solitary days as a little girl on Burton Road in Middletown Ohio.

The Original Story

I was a “latchkey” kid before the phrase was coined, but with one important difference: I was never alone. My mom folded boxes at the local corrugated paper company. Because she wanted to be home with the family in the evenings and to see us off to school each morning, she opted for the night shift. In the mornings, after bowls of oatmeal, and lunches were packed, she faithfully stood at the door and we went on our way.

Each day I’d return home around mid-day. The school bus driver had Mom’s strict orders to watch me until I passed through our front door.  Once inside, I locked the door and stood silently, listening for the familiar sound of my mother’s soft and steady breathing. She was a “gentle” sleeper and it was nice to know she was there.

At times I watched cartoons, without sound, to be quiet. Sometimes I lay upside-down in my huge chair and extended my legs upward and pretended to walk on the ceiling, defying gravity. Other times I looked at pictures in the encyclopedia. Still other times, I napped, tuckered out from a hard morning at school.

Later, when my dad came home from the City Water Works, the house would buzz with noise and chatter. But in the meantime, many hours were whiled away in that chair, a giant gentle hand that held me when everyone was away.  There, nestled in the warmth of my big green chair, I learned about the world and about myself. Within the silence of my own thoughts I grew up imagining that anything was possible.

Written from memory, 1-30-08

You can also visit the our musical story page here, which was written and first published some months later in 2008.

Music

Audio Player

Lyrics

Half a day is passed at school
Then I’m home by noon, it’s time to play

Mama worked hard yesterday
Now she’s sleeping late
So I won’t make a sound

I’ll grab a bite to eat
Prop up both my feet
Settle back into the big green chair

After lunch I read a book
Switch on TV to look
Cartoons fill the screen

Throw my legs upon the back
Swing my hair this way and that
Now my whole world is turned upside down

Without a single care
You could always find me there
Nestled deep into my big green chair

I notice that I’m wearing mismatched socks
Volume D has pictures of each different kind of dog
My purple Kool-Aid stain moustache is finally wearing off
What a shame

Now it’s getting close to four
Soon bursting through the door
My brother comes in

With my sister close behind
They both laugh to find me there
Kind of dozing in my big green chair

Then Mama’s at the stove
And Daddy has just come home
Glad to see them, I jump from my green chair
All together we’re finally
Home again

Credits

From After All, track released September 1, 2008
Cheryl Martlage – Lyrics, vocals and production
Emerson Martlage – Music, guitar, vocals and production
Mr Toad’s San Francisco – Mastering
The Tibbs Family – Inspiration
Images – Gemini

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The quiet story—you know, the one that runs alongside the main one—attracts and inspires us.

We often set our sites on going somewhere “interesting,” or doing something “meaningful.” Those things definitely happen, but what we’ve discovered time and again is that there’s always an unexpected happening that shows-up along the way that we call the “quiet story.” And it’s the quiet one that usually stays with us and means the most.

Dario Cecchini

On a beautiful day in Tuscany, we decided to drive an hour south of Florence to the small town of Panzano for lunch at the restaurant, Officina della Bistecca (workshop of the steak). The owner is Dario Cecchini, who has earned the reputation of being the most famous butcher in all of Italy. That’s quite a statement. He’s been included in some American cookbooks, is known throughout Italy and is a living legend. He’s tall, confident and out-going. His staff has been well trained in the sweet art of conviviality (cheerful and attentive). Dario has such a large personality that when he enters the room, everyone is immediately drawn to him. But here’s the thing—he’s a really nice, caring and generous man and it doesn’t take long to realize that.

Josh, Italian dreaming

We went to the Officina because we knew somebody who had taken an apprenticeship with Dario. Josh held a dream to study the fine art of butchery. Circumstances led him straight to Dario. He wasn’t alone. There were 4-5 apprentices there, from the four corners of the earth. Dario had said “yes” to each of them. He said “yes” to helping them follow their dreams. Josh was smitten with Italy and the Italian people, and rightly so. The only thing better than holding a dream is having it come true and it was happening right before our eyes.

As we sat watching the drama of the moment, Dario quietly stole away from the cheering diners to embrace and nuzzle the face of his older brother Stefano. I don’t think anybody noticed besides us. We relish an endearing expression of affection. After all, what we enjoy most is the quiet story.

Related Video

This short video will give you a glimpse into Dario Cecchini’s world. Going to Panzano is one of those experiences you’ll never forget. When you get to the part where Dario is holding up a bistecca In each hand he is proclaiming that “To beef or not to beef, that is the question.” The crowd roars with approval!

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Your Honor,

On behalf of the People, we are requesting detailed information about what is going on beneath our sidewalks and streets. There is undoubtedly a major cover-up underway and we intend to unearth the truth and get to the bottom of this hideous and confusing situation.

The following photo was taken in what was once our beautiful “America’s Finest City” center near the intersection of Broadway and State Street.

Just look at this mess of urban hieroglyphics.

We assume this is supposed to be a map of the underground utilities. For starters, we don’t know anyone who would be capable of deciphering those ridiculous snakey symbols. And how  could they possibly translate them to something useful in the tangled underworld?

For cryin’ out loud people, what we have here is a recently finished sidewalk ramp (see the fresh new concrete curb and pavers above), along with another irregular patched-up street that’s now covered in disgusting orange graffiti. And if that’s not enough, it’s all evidently slated for major demolition that’s too complicated for anyone to decipher. The entire area will be sliced and diced yet again.

Our once beautiful street has become the canvas for incomprehensible demo “instructions.” Oddly enough, breaking the asphalt would destroy the very map of those essential utilities buried below. Although these contractors/craftsmen may be quite proficient with heavy machinery, demolition will certainly require an aggressive steam-shovel or a not so delicate jack-hammer that will wreak havoc once again. This isn’t going to be pretty.

To amuse ourselves we imagined what the symbols might mean. We set out to decode some of the orange hen-scratches in this absurd display of government-authorized tarmac graffiti. Below is the preliminary evidence we offer for your consideration. However, no matter what we figure out, someone must at the very least, answer for the obvious violations of spray can over-reach and asphalt cover-up.

We certainly haven’t completed our investigative work yet, but wanted to share some of the early results before something changes or the paint fades. Help us solve this mystery. Time is of the essence!

The People’s Evidence

Exhibit A

Clearly, what we see here isn’t about utilities at all. Instead, the ICOX! Is code for “I can only exit!—meaning, whoever begins digging in that spot will need to leave work immediately and not return to the job site until a new pay package is approved. In other words, there is an impending strike being planned right before our eyes. Beware!

Exhibit B

This codex is one of the oldest tricks used in street graffiti. Those lines are the directions from that very intersection to the designated road (in red) and diner where all workers will meet for breakfast at 7:00 am on the “start day.” The “C” and the line beside it indicate that they have great coffee (free refills) and an alley in the back for parking.

Exhibit C

That unusual white mark forming the top of a “T” signifies that they will all be riding together in Tom’s white “Crew Cab” pick-up truck (room for 6 total, first come first served). The other lines around it are merely distractions to confuse the un-initiated—very clever indeed.

Summary

The public has a right to know what’s hidden beneath their streets. The time has come for urban transparency! Don’t you agree, that after seeing the above evidence, what we have here is a perfect example of  “Civil Mapping Abuse,” which needs to be exposed. The evidence can no longer be ignored nor obfuscated with the excessive use of orange spray paint!  We intend to fully reveal the truth about what is going on above and below the very ground we walk on. We need some clear indication that our concerns and our words, although not orange, have weight.

The People rest, uneasy and with trepidation,

Thank you Your Honor.

Related Story

Speaking of street graffiti, you might also be interested in another story called “Expression: Art or Vandalism,” which explores some interesting and quite humorous examples of civilian alterations to public street signs at home and abroad. Just click the link above to check it out.