Today I combine my parents, as the prompt asks, and doors because it’s Thursday into the memory of when we were together last: over the three wonderful days in August 2020 under the Julian Alps in Slovenia.
Prompt 15: “Think about a small habit you picked up from one of your parents, and then … write a piece that explores an early memory of your parent engaged in that habit, before shifting into writing about yourself engaging in the same habit.”
Not such a small habit, this poeting.
Once a year or so I branch into a full-blown sonnet, as one does. It’s in the Italian style, as I prefer them.
Legacy My father shared the stage with bards most noted and published poems, but then had to marry. His verse is soft, of love, nothing too scary, romantic without being sugar-coated. My mother is a rapper, non-promoted. When she hits 80: festival, not dairy! She writes for those who in her heart she’d carry, to children’s poems she is most devoted. No wonder that I, stuck between both comets, fail badly when I try to cut this tension, and sometimes run behind my muse’s bonnets in vain. And just as I choose my intention, my uncle, who is known for writing sonnets, will ask why he was not given a mention.
- One poem by my father, in bilingual translation;
- One poem for children by my mother, in my translation.
This is one of those posts where doors are an excuse for showing you what a wonderful time we were having.
Honestly, I barely thought of doors those three days but they were everywhere, as it always happens, following me, daring me to click. If not doors, there there were ramps, a goal and a hotel with such an unfortunate name that I didn’t even approach to see its doors.
I already posted from this trip on three Thursdays: I showed you some pretty houses and a rabbit cage from the day of arrival, the day when we visited the valley called Vrata which means “door”, and the Russian chapel on Vršič built by Russian prisoners of war.
Today we have a look around Kranjska Gora where my parents, amore, bestia and I were staying in hotel Alpina. The quickest way to reach the town was by foot down the hill across the meadow. Then we pass Podkoren when Alpine ski races are held, and the Zelenci nature reserve with its beautiful water colour. Finally we land in the Nordic centre Planica tucked in the northwesternmost corner of Slovenia, with Italy to the left and Austria above, where they fly on skis. Why? Some would ask. Because they can.
Those days were the best and the last that we have spent together, for now. But there will be others.