Try it on ... but keep the receipt

As I approach an age where many women ponder tying the proverbial knot for a second, even a third, time, I begin to question the merits of remarriage. Long gone are those youthful fantasies—of walking down the aisle in a flowing white gown and a pretty tulle veil; the perfect Tiffany diamond engagement ring and matching wedding band; the entire family, friends, acquaintances, colleagues, friends of friends, and friends of friends of friends all celebrating you on your special day. Gone, too, is the fairy-tale notion of marriage promoted by parents, the media and society as a whole.

French & Vanilla on the Island of Taha’a

Taha'a fiord

Tahiti has always been my dream destination, my imagination sparked in my youth by the romance of James Michener's novel, Hawaii, and one of my all-time favourite movies, South Pacific. I have always planned to sail, fly or swim there, if necessary, but somehow the decades passed and I never got there—until I moved to Maui, putting Tahiti a mere five hours away by plane.

When I recently discovered that the Paul Gauguin luxury cruise line was offering special discounted fares for Hawaiian residents on its cruises to Tahiti, I knew my time had finally arrived! A couple of phone calls, some online research and the entire trip was booked—with plenty of time to identify “the best of” everything: the best hotels, the best restaurants, the best beaches … even the best stops for washroom breaks.

Empowering Women on South Maui

(from left) Meagan DeGaia, Publisher,
Neighbors of Wailea & Makena, with Wailea Girl 

I recently discovered that my little island of Maui has an abundance of amazing, inspiring women who want to make a difference—and I had the privilege of meeting quite a few of them at the "Women Just Want to Have Fun Gala Fundraiser." Held on June 3 at the King Kamehameha Golf Club in Wailuku, this event was the first fundraiser organized by Na Wahine Ho'omana, a new not-for-profit organization created to empower women on South Maui. 

The evening was so much fun. Dinner was followed by a fashion show featuring swimwear, lingerie, island boutiques and fitness wear, and musical performances by local singers. A silent auction showcased items from local businesses, all owned by women. I was thrilled to have been invited to support such a worthy organization, whose mission of empowerment mirrors my own.

How I Cracked the Code on the "Isola" of Sicily

An excerpt from my upcoming memoir

Taormina, Sicily

Isola means island, a cognate of isolare, to isolate, to seclude, to shut off. Even though I now live on an island, I'd never made that connection, so obvious in Italian. Perhaps that is why I feel such a deep sense of isolation on the island of Sicily, where I feel so uncharacteristically like a foreigner. Unlike in the rest of Italy, where my much improved language skills, designer duds and attitude have most Italians fooled and greeting me as a local, Sicily is proving to be a surprising challenge.

Despite its superficial welcoming of tourists, Sicily remains a closed community, with its Greek influences and places that still remain war torn. It is an island with its own personality, uniqueness, eccentricities and limitations, things I am becoming familiar with on my own rock in the middle of the Pacific. Native Sicilians make sure that tourists understand who is in charge. Though every meal ends with an abundance of sweets, the irony is that that Sicilians are anything but dolce! Forte, tenacious and unwavering, traditional, self-protective and stoic, they must be explored with respect. It requires care to gingerly peel back each layer and expose the vulnerable and tender core—the essence of a Sicilian.

Ask Quietly ... Then Wait

Me and Mr. Bud

Early on Wednesday morning I awake to a swell of anxiety, still haunted by my fall off a horse some years ago. I must be crazy to get back on a horse. Then I open the box of black Massimo Dutti riding boots and am reminded of the day, the place, and what was in my mind when I bought all the riding equipment I needed to get back to dressage. I can vividly recall coaching myself aloud to dive into what I feared, in order to create my own happiness.

I load my little white convertible with riding gear and head up country. Minutes later, as I zigzag up the mountain highway, I am awestruck by the beauty unfolding before me —cane stalks as high as my shoulders, pineapple fields wafting a sweet, almost acrid scent, and the green, green mountains straight ahead. I catch site of a double rainbow stretching across the horizon like a multi-colored canopy. This is my Wednesday morning, my life now. 

The Wishing Stone

An excerpt from my upcoming memoir

A special friend reached out to me a couple of weeks before my travels east. He and I have known each other for years. We share the same spiritual sensibilities and optimistic glass-is-totally-full attitude and philosophy of life. He has watched and waited, sitting quietly with the patience and wisdom of Gandhi, always offering sage advice and encouragement as I worked to realize my dreams. He also told me that I could manifest anything I set my heart and intention to, so when I called to tell him that I had finally moved to Maui, my “somewhere over the rainbow,” he replied, without a trace of surprise, “Of course you did because you manifested it.”

We get together from time to time to walk the ocean path, to admire the incredible beauty surrounds us and inspires us and on Maui, and to catch up or, as he would say, “talk story.” Aside from being my spiritual guru of sorts, he is a gifted artisan, avid gardener and collector of artifacts. One morning, 10 days before I boarded my east-bound flight, we met to wish each another a wonderful summer. His purpose for our meeting, I learned, was to give me a wishing stone—a triangular turquoise stone worn and rubbed smooth over time that had been blessed by a native chief of stature and high regard. He had intended to set it into a piece of jewelry created especially for me but there was not enough time prior to my departure.

The Perfect Cappuccino

An excerpt from my upcoming memoir

"She like it Madame?" my barista at Gilli asks me daily! €1.40 euros for this steamy hot, creamy, chocolaty, marbleized work of art in a fine bone china cup, accompanied by a pearl-and-sterling demitasse spoon and delicate pistachio cantucci on a lacy embossed monogrammed doily. A perfectly poised Italian-designed sugar container and extra embossed napkins complete this perfect cappuccino.

In Firenze (Florence), it's a matter of pride, passion and priority to produce this caffeinated delicacy!

Heaven forbid a foreigner should utter the word decaf—a term usually met with a dismissive gesture. I am now schooled in the language of gestures.

Like any delicacy, taste, temperature and artistic sensibility are all important and necessary in preparing the perfetto cappuccino! If you are fortunate to have a barista who has taken a liking to you, you may find your cappuccino delivered with a spectacular heart shape floating amidst the dark cocoa topping. Here's hoping!

Eat, Pray ... and Observe, on My Viaggio da Sola

An excerpt from my upcoming memoir

Pasta with shaved black truffles

Despite my commitment to maintaining my European size 34 figure, I’ve tasted and feasted on every specialty of each small village, town and region in Italy. I’ve savored warm roasted creamy chestnuts, handmade paparadelle garnished with earthy, decadent shaved black truffles, Roman fried artichokes served with a zesty lemon aioli, orange-scented arancini, grilled calamari drizzled with liquid gold first-pressed olive oil, buttery buffalo mozzarella and candy-sweet cherry tomatoes topped with fragrant, peppery basilica the size of lettuce leaves, fresh porcini foccacia, rich rare bistecca, lightly battered stuffed zucchini flowers, ricotta-filled cannoli—and gelato, gelato and more gelato.

I’ve eaten, and now it’s time to pray, something I've always done, albeit in silence, in private and with regularity. Travelling alone—my viaggio da sola—has given me the time and the opportunity to pray, but also to think, to observe and to understand the world and how it works in a clearer way, from a different vantage point.

Italy's Language is More Than Italian!

An excerpt from my upcoming memoir

Outdoor market in Florence (Firenze)

From year to year, I forget just how Italy works. OK, by North American standards, it doesn't work! After touring a fair bit of Italy, I question why North American standards and judgments are my point of reference. I suppose it’s because these standards are all I’ve known my entire life.

Italians are unique! Admittedly, they are administratively dysfunctional (rules constantly change without notice), disorganized, directionally challenged and chaotic—but it all seems so non importante to Italians, of no concern whatsoever. In fact, it seems woven into the fabric of their culture and lifestyle.

Words are not their true and ultimate form of communication. It's the gestures and actions coupled with words—even a non-response—that make up this language. To that end, given my commitment to study Italian with my new young tutor (who, by the way, is not too hard on the eyes and is at a complete loss as to why I am so fascinated by this language), I realize I’m better off just observing, listening and being more plugged into behavior than the words.