New Year Wrap-up

Yes indeed, the sun has set on yet another year and  2016 blew in with with gusto and freezing temps here on the northern shore.  Some strange atmospheric anomaly brought with it the tease of seeing the northern lights as far south as Cannon Beach, so in search of a little magic, a friend and I put on one each of the collection of jackets-hats-vests-and gloves co-mingling with the family of boots to drive up to one of the lookout points away from the light pollution of the metropolis of Cannon Beach. 

We set off into the inky night, any glow from the moon obliterated by the giant specter-like Spruces guarding one side of  Hwy 101 and the Pacific Ocean- - blackness incarnate -  on the other.  Headlights are all but useless on this road of hairpin curves and the darkness swallows the meager glow fr m our high-beams.  So we threaded our way out of town into the encroaching spookiness  until we came to Nekehanie lookout where we might be able to search out out some light-play on the horizon. The wind howled with a vengeance on this point as it juts out into the Pacific;  Manzanita to the south and Cannon Beach to the north.  My shoe-box  size car does not like this kind of wind, nor does its driver - so we inched up as close to the wall separating parking lot from the sheer drop into the ocean and turned off all the lights hoping for a light show.   As we waited, the car shook, the cold crept in and the spook-factor ratcheted its way up.   The only light we saw were those of few fishing boats tossing at sea and I again thanked the gods that I was not on a boat tossing in the dark.  As we sat, cloaked in the black night, it reminded me of the William Ernest Henley poem:

Daytime view from Nekahanie Lookout

"Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul...

In the fell clutch of circumstance,

I have not winced nor cried aloud;

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody but unbowed...

It matters not how straight the gait,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate;  I am the captain of my soul."

That same captain saw fit to settle me on this gorgeous coast with the intention of reinventing life and so I am.  The first week of the new year always brings up the urge to avoid New Year's Resolutions, but a review of what's past and what might be ahead always seems to creep in.  While mulling over such things, I began to fall into that abyss of trying to figure out what this time of life is all about.  I've never really understood or identified with the term retirement.  Thank God I was rescued from further ruminations by a phone call from a strange country code: 256...   I answered my dark-ages black flip-phone (yes I admit it...) before the whereabouts of the prefix had been found in my mental Rolodex, for those of you old enough to remember such things.  A resonate voice full of lilting accent blossomed forth....     Identifying the accent, but not the words I knew it was Uganda calling!    A little knee-jerk panic hit as I wondered if  I was going to being able to understand any of this. Historically - the answer would be no:  lousy acoustics of my  phone, poor connection, a vaguely British accent speaking across thousands of miles, old fart hearing and a brain (mine) being out of practice in processing the uniquely Ugandan way of stringing English words together.

• I said: "I'm sorry who is calling ????"    
• The voice:  something unintelligible
• Again, me feeling embarrassed: "Oh I'm sorry! can you say that again?" 
•  The now-laughing voice:  "Your friend!  The former Assistant Rrrrrra D.C. (Regional District Commissioner)!"  
• Me finally: Oh Emily - it's YOU! How wonderful!" I am now choosing words carefully, trying not to "decorate"  language with words that will only confuse.  My English is just as strange to her ears as her's is to mine.

But we prevailed and it was the most delicious, surprising conversation.

She said "It is the New Year and I could not welcome it without calling you!  I have been missing you!  And I love you too much... and I could not start another year without saying thank you for all you have done? We miss you SO much!" 

Oh my, I felt wrapped in love and gratitude for knowing this woman, having lived those years in Uganda,  having  been "enough" to be missed two years later.  Overcome with emotion I couldn't think fast enough to ask her about everyone and when I tried one volley, I could tell there was familiar mis-step in making oneself understood (it goes both ways)  when the crackle of a poor connection took over ... In the next moment,  I think I heard her ending the conversation as it was just beginning. It was a very Ugandan practice - usually without preamble the conversation is simply "finished."  Air-time is a precious commodity and telephone etiquette is just different.  Was that "Goodbye"  I just heard?  Yes - I think so. And I thanked her for calling and told her,  "I miss you and love you 'too much. ' "  And then it was over.   Had it actually happened? 

Wow!  What a gift! What a spectacular way to start a new year!  A with it,  a heartfelt reminder of the impact we have on each other's lives.  Emily - who rescued a toddler literally from the sacrificial alter of a local witch doctor and moved heaven and earth to help me with Peter's horrid school situation had far more impact on my life in Uganda than I perceived  having had while there.  Still, I believe any small act of caring resonates far more deeply that we can imagine.  It was - for me - a clarion call to continue to be mindful of our ability to change the world through small acts of kindness given freely and without attachment to the outcome. And that continues to be one of the repeating gifts from my time there: to simply to the next right thing without expectation of return.  Just do it.

 Three weeks later, life has resumed some form of normality. The elk herd wanders down the street and fat racoons maraud around town at night and the wind blows. 

One big step for me in the ongoing process of re-calibrating and redefining life has been to jettison some of the trapping of a prior life that no longer support me.  The knowledge from and the appreciation of that life remain, as do good friend but other things no so much.  The website I had for 20 years Focus On Space and the email that went with it, along with it the book site are now defunct.  And I will tell you that the conscious dismantling and untangling of a previous identity with so much history was daunting.  It is so much more than I thought and as liberating.  Rather than dragging my history along behind me by default, I decided-to-decide what I would keep.  That said, there is NO aspect of life that that site did not touch:  accounts, online billing, contacts, professional life,  ad infinitum.  As soon as one layer was cleared another took it's place.  But, slipping around in the primordial goo of a new life forming is a distinctly unsettling - if often exhilarating - experience. 

So I am exploring and face it - funds are essential. But  thanks to Peace Corps and  other internal shifts, my relationship with money has changed as has the life-style I choose, allowing a lot of latitude.  But this new life I have here has no real rhythm and that's taking some getting used to.  I've taken on something new for me that stems from the language training in Uganda and my short stint in Mexico, learning how to teach English as a Second Language.   I'm the new coordinator for recruiting students and tutors for a TESL program funded by Clatsop Community College.  It ends in May, when the tourist season starts here and it's been interesting.   It's a bit like herding cats:  finding both tutors and students and then matching them up and finding venues for sessions: different schedules, abilities, transportation limitations, etc. etc.  I'm teaching one class a week that ranges from 5 - 12 students, half at any given time are new... English skills all over the place and great fun.  What a great group of lovely, supportive, funny women.

Cold but beautiful

My role as staff for  Haystack Rock job starts and this year I'm getting paid for what I did for free last year.  That fulfills one of my intentions: to get paid for work I would do (and have done) for free :)  Since that job revolves around low-tide, there's no normality to be found there.  The tide waits for no man, so all other schedules have to dance around this one.  No sense of balance there...   But being paid to be on the beach, talking to people about the wildlife is pretty fine.  However, the first session of beach duty was a little raw: 45 mph winds, cold and rough surf. 

And somehow I've made it onto the front page of the local papers without doing anything illegal or outrageous - yet.  I was interviewed about my Peace Corps experience, so it was fun and lovely to have the chance to the experience.

An that's the news from lake Wobegone...

Wishing you all a belated Happy 2016!   Love and blessings ya'll...

Different Ways to give in this Season of Giving

In this season of giving,   many of us are looking for  different ways to honor the spirit of the season and the sentiments of birth, hope and illumination - bringing light to our lives and the lives of others.   Certainly there are many ways to do this depending on beliefs and spiritual path, one's resources and where we are in life.   Some of us know family and friends who have everything they need and don't really want or need another material thing.  But still, we'd like to give something that makes a difference.

I suppose because of my time in Peace Corps and some hands-on experience with organizations whose stated mission is to help relieve suffering, improve education, health etc. friends have asked me for input.  So this blog is - in part - a response to those questions.  We are all aware, that just because an organization intends or proposes to do "good works," not all of them do.  Many fall short simply because of the challenges of delivering goods and services in a third world country.  Others spend too much on administration and housing their staff.  Then there are those that are inept or just outright dishonest.  I have my own experiences with the challenges of well-intentioned giving with complicated results.  

The bottom line is you need to KNOW your organization.  It - and its governance need to be vetted.  It helps to have some first hand experience or stories regarding the effectiveness of those organizations and how the monies/goods donated are managed and delivered. And DO they make a difference?

I know two such organizations that  really do work by contributing in organic, demonstrable ways to education and training or the delivery of goods that translate to on-the-ground economic development and sustainability.   They absolutely change lives in tangible ways.

1.  A friend recently asked me about Heiffer International, an organization I've contributed to in the past.   I'm happy to say I do have a first-hand story of success from Uganda. Denis, one of our favorite Peace Corps language trainers shared his story of how the gift of a cow from Heifer International changed his family's destiny, which - in turn, contributed to changing  the community's destiny. Every family uplifted in a developing culture, uplifts the community. Because of that gift,  Denis is well-educated, has a sought after job and also has a chicken hatchery. Because of the goodwill represented by  that gift, Denis continues to be an ambassador himself - giving back to his community and assisting foreigners who are in Uganda to help.  It's a gift that keeps on giving you might say. A goat, bee-hive, water-buffalo, cow, clean water equipment,  business launch - the options are endless! All improve the quality and sustainability of life in profound ways that most of us would have a hard time even imagining. To access their wide range of options, choose a country or a cause or give a gift: http://www.heifer.org/

 

2.  Another organization, with which I have first hand knowledge, is the Family Copeland Foundation:  "...established in May 2014 to provide support to the students, teachers, and administrators of St. Mary’s Midwifery Training School in Kalongo, Uganda, in the form of educational scholarships, facility improvements, teaching aids as well as promotion of the school itself."  Launched by Peace Corps friends Bill and Holly Copeland, the foundation is an outgrowth of their time spent in service at St Mary's and their witness to the integrity, mentoring and commitment present  at every level of the school, which also serves as a hospital for the area.

The school itself was established in 1959 and it is a testimony to the founders, the staff and the community of Kolongo that it was sustained throughout the 18 years of war in northern Uganda.

It's important to know that the girls who attend St Mary's have already been vetted, as has their family's commitment to their daughter's education.   It's hard to overemphasize how critical that is the student's success and the success of the program. The statement: "It takes a Village" is true and this commitment is continued at the school.

As some of you know, I've had my own experience with funding the education of two young men in Uganda.  My efforts were fraught with obstacles and challenges that are  almost impossible to describe or anticipate.  I tried to do it on an individual basis without established oversight and on-site mentoring in place and the experience taught me a lot in terms of what to look for when thinking of providing a scholarship.  Family Copeland Foundation is the "real deal."

  

 More information that might be useful if you are considering a donation to this organization:

• Over 97% of donations will go directly to St. Mary’s to provide student and teacher scholarships or in some cases teaching aids.
• Holly and Bill Copeland pay for all foundation administrative costs such as website hosting fees, accounting expenses, mailing, promotional material and marketing. The only exception is credit card processing fees which are less than 3 percent.
• There are no paid staff and Officers and Board members do not receive compensation.
• Accounting for the receipt and disbursement of donations will be provided on request.
• The Principal of St. Mary's, Sister Carmel Abwot, along with her staff will decide which students and teachers will receive scholarships.

Agnes, Gloria, Agness and Sister Godliver

Thus far, the foundation has supplied four scholarships. During their trip back to Kolongo in September of this year, Bill and Holly met  those fortunate four, pictured left.   A fifth scholarship of $2300  covering the full expenses for 30 months is well on its way. The fact that tuition, books, housing and uniforms are covered in that amount is part of the program's success, because girls can concentrate fully on their studies. In programs where only tuition is donated, the need of even a book or a uniform can derail everything.  From now until December 31, 2015, Bill and Holly will "personally match at 50% all donations."   Any amount makes a difference to not only the  students, but for the communities in which they will serve. To donate: http://www.familycopeland.com/

However you celebrate and choose to share in the holidays, I wish you each and all the warmth of home, family and friends and an awareness of the blessings inherent in freedom, choice and the options we enjoy.

Blessing to you all.

Thar be Whales and Other Oregon Musings

Another gorgeous sunset at Haystack Rock

It's been too long - I've just been living life - and life is good in Cannon Beach.  When I arrived back in April after my first trip back to Austin, I plunged into volunteering at the fabulous Haystack Rock - the icon for Cannon Beach. It's a National Wildlife Refuge and Marine Garden and only two blocks from my cotage- so it's a great excuse to play and call it work.  Every day at sunset, you can find an army of camera wielding people - only some of them tourists -waiting for the sun to slide behind the horizon.  Yesterday, in the blink before it disappeared there was the "green flash."  It obviously has the power to derail a person from posting a new blog or any productive work.   And there are the tide pools and thousands of nesting birds in the spring and summer - even more temptation. 

Lacy pink Corraline algae with an Ochre Sea Star

But it's not summer anymore and the beach at least has reclaimed its sense of pristine windswept remoteness. 

I've been to Austin and back again (October) and I have to say it was one of the most bizarre trips ever.  Classes didn't "make,"  there was a donnybrook over payment (a satisfactory compromise was reached after much sturm und drang and  emailing...)   One relationship experienced a strange, histrionic demise while others bloomed and some wonderful discoveries were made.  The ultimate distillation of the trip was the realization that my periodic trips have come to a natural cosmos-supported close, just as opportunities are blossoming here. And all is as it should be.  The universe in its infinite order orchestrates the opening of new doors as others close.  This has been an interesting journey as I continue to dismantle aspects of a previous life (websites and an email address I've had for 20b years...) and populate a new one  by fine-tuning older proclivities or adding new projects.   I love that doing things I love at the volunteer level have organically morphed into income.  I think that's the way life is supposed to work.   An idea for a non-profit to keep Ugandan girls in school is  also afoot, but has a lot of development that needs to be done before its launched.  More on that as it evolves.

Gooseneck Barnacles

Meanwhile, back on the beach, volunteering essentially as a Naturalist, I can give myself permission to spend hours at the tide-pools at low tide. That volunteering has turned into a part time job from February through September with a group known as Haystack Rock Awareness Program (HRAP).  We're there every daytime low tide to protect nesting habitat and educate visitors about the birds and marine life, but I confess - it's more like play and an endless source or discovery. I've become a student all over again:  Above is some gorgeous lacy pink algae and what's visible of a Sea Star (aka Starfish), with some seaweed mixed in. The cluster to the right that looks a little like dragon's claws is actually a colony of Gooseneck Barnacles, still a little bit open from feeding.  Who knew that barnacles could be beautiful!

FEED US!

About mid July, I also started working part time at the Visitor's Center - at least it started as part-time. In a town that boasts a population of about 1800,  summer brings an absolute swarm of tourists that can swell the population to 20,000 on any given day. We are hit with the most amazing array of questions and the occasional calamity and have to think fast.  My favorite inane question so far, from a young college graduate:  "So what time are the tides - I mean - WHO DECIDES THAT?"   Patience and a sense of humor rule the day.  It's been a steep learning curve to tell people about an area I, myself, am just learning - but that's half the fun.   Another perk:  this little nest of barn swallows that made a home just to the left of the entrance!   Trying to capture the perfect shot of these little hatchlings,  the mom flew by just as I snapped and all the mouths opened. 

Chicken of the Woods (?) Fungi

When Brett moved to area 10 years I knew his enchantment with the area meant he'd never leave.   I'm beginning to understand it.  I love my coast better than his trees and mountain, but it's all available and I bought some trekking poles to hike when the wind on the beach is so strong it blows sand in your teeth.  Winds of 80-120 mph are not unusual.  The forest offers other treasures, one being edible mushrooms, but I've not explored that aspect except in pictures. If this orange fungus is what I think it is - it's edible when it's "young and fresh..."  But I think I'll pass.

Amid all the flurry or tourism and visits from friends,  much of Oregon burned over the summer and tourists here were unhappy about the burn-ban.  Really?  In other news,  Marijuana has been legalized and small Cannabis Boutiques have sprung up all over. I haven't sampled them yet.   Toward the end of the summer, we were blessed with an invasion of Humpbacks - cavorting, breaching, diving and generally enjoying a feeding frenzy very close to shore.  They were accompanied by porpoises (rare here), sea lions and the occasional Orca!   Unfortunately,  they were driven closer to shore because of a bizarre low-nutrient warm water mass given the scientific name of "The Blob" and that's a scary thing from an ecological perspective.

So here we are at run-up to the holidays and I'm glad to be out of the fray.   Cannon Beach is a little burg decorated with lights and trees, but none of the hype of bigger cities.  When they say this area is rural,  they mean it.  Christmas tree lots are just beginning to show up.  There's only one radio station I can tune in - courtesy of the sandwiching of the area between the sea and the Cascades - and on that single station, I've heard not a single Christmas carol.  And speaking of reception, Verizon is the only network that works reliably, so if you come with anything else, you essentially don't have a phone. It's a rude awakening for some - but in that regard, Uganda was good training.   I appreciate the slower approach and waiting till after Thanksgiving to sell Christmas.  A big day out shopping here is a trip to Costco and Fred Myer and all the rest happens at small, locally owned stores. 

So that's the news from the strange and wonderful world of Oregon. Wishing you all Happy Holidays to come,  whatever your holiday is called!

Austin in the Rear View Mirror

Once again I have Austin in the rear-view mirror.  It has been classic Austin, wildflowers beginning to bloom – Bluebonnets, Indian Paintbrush, Primrose for starters – and yellow air.  Yes – you read right.  It took me  bit to figure it out until I realized everything was sporting a layer of fine yellow dust – aka Oak Pollen.  Until the rain moved in, the air was dusty looking and allergists are no doubt dancing in the streets.  It’s that time of year again;  between Cedar Fever and Oak season, allergists, and producers of Kleenex, Puffs and antihistamines are raking it in. 

Before leaving I took a detour through Fiesta Mart to pick up Abuelita Mexican Chocolate (fabulous for hot chocolate) and dried Jimaica (hibcus blosssoms) for that glorious red hibiscus tea.  Returning to the car I was dealt a smacking-blow to the left side of my head by something back and soft.  It felt like someone had dealt me a hard blow from a small pillow, which turned out to be a huge Grackle whose GPS has apparently malfunctioned on his glide-path to the nearest perch - a vacant shopping cart.   Since Hitchcock was no where in sight, I am left wondering if this was an omen...  Some people get a symbolic 2X4, in which case  I am thankful for a soft Grackle.  In any case, it was time to leave Austin.

It was misting when I left, making the road slick.  My mother had an expression for that:  slick-as-goose-s**t.”  Apparently, growing up on a farm, she knew a lot about that topic and who am I to argue.  In any case, that was the condition of roads when I left and mist soon turned to a sprinkle, which turned to a light pelting and then to that kind of rain one only sees in Houston and Louisiana.  And coming from Oregon, that’s saying something.  So for 10 hours I drove through a veritable sampler of different kinds of rain until I reached Gulfport.

It was a perfect time of year to do the drive, despite the rain, because Texas road sides are blanketed with wildflowers, thanks to a contest started by Ladybird Johnson decades ago. Districts compete to see who can create the most eye-popping display of wildflowers and the results are just spectacular!

Atchafalaya Basin

The Rous-Ga-Roux

Driving into Louisiana was a stunning reminder of memories from childhood:  lousy roads – STILL.  I had hoped that that particular reputation had changed, but apparently not.  Following Interstate-10 took me across the Atchafalaya Causeway through that long stretch flood-basin with ghostly Cypress trees rising out of  the black water characteristic of Cypress-swamps.  Just plain spooky – and breathtaking - and a death trap…  I passed a six-car collision.  The part of I-10 crossing this swamp is a pair of parallel two-lane bridges 18+ miles long making it the second longest bridge in the US and the fourteenth longest bridge in the world.  Because the lanes going each direction are separated by swamp,  emergency vehicles had to come miles from the other directions, circle back to get on the portion of the bridge where the wreck happened, with bumper to bumper traffic and little way to get through.  But the swamps are beautiful and produced an old familiar feeling that’s hard to describe -  a combination of haunting, nostalgia and history.  Louisiana hasn’t felt like home for many years, but the melancholy familiarity of it stirred my heart and the spookiness of sparked my fear of dark water.  No way I would cross that stretch at night - I'm sure the Roux-ga-roux of childhood taunts lives there.  So many of my childhood memories are involved with stories of the swamps or memories of pole-fishing from a flat-bottom boat in the bayous – catching catfish and perch so fast my dad hardly got his hook in the water, busy as he was handling our catches.  Even as little girls we could bait the hooks with  earthworms, but our hands were too small to take a fish off.  We’d come home sunburned, smelling like fish, exhausted and happy.

Bayou La Batre Shrimp Boats

Today took me through Mississippi and Alabama and a different set of memories.  Road signs for Pass Christiane,  Pearl River and Bayou La Batre called up memories of the sailboat trip my ex and I took the year I turned thirty.   We noodled our way east from Galveston, through the Inter-coastal Canal, sometimes off shore and sometime snaking through swamps – anchoring in muddy water with five feet of silt – so deep it was tricky getting an anchor to bite.  Once it took five attempts to anchor, pulling up a foot of sticky slop on the anchor before it would hold, only to be told to move by a concerned shrimper. Seems we’d anchored in  the informal shrimpers’ channel and had we stayed, our boat would have been toothpicks my morning.  I couldn’t leave the area until I left the highway to scope out Bayou La Batre, which my Garmin announced as Bayoo La Batter.
 
I found the drawbridge and the bayou where I’m sure I amused the drawbridge keeper when I parked my car to take these shots. Travis suggested I was lucky not t be arrested as a terrorist for taking pictures at/near/from a bridge.  Hadn't thought of that. Stopping at a café near the bridge, I found a group of older men telling fish tales as I chowed down on a huge breakfast for the unheard of price of $4.16!  Home made biscuits, grits cooked by people who know show to do it, eggs and four slices of bacon.   Oh yeah – and that included orange juice!

Ginnie Springs

Arriving at Travis', I finally corrected the error I made in Austin: missing my Chile Relleno and Chicken Enchilada with Tomatillo Sauce aka Chuy's Combo #5. Having rinsed down our grub with a Texas Martini (pitcher of Margaritas served with a Martini glass) and polished it off with a shared Tres Leche dessert, we waddled home and caught up on the past one and a half years.  Today Travis showed me the two favorite places he dives... Little River and Ginnie Springs.  Gainesville is an epicenter for cave diving and while I don't know if I will ever brave an underwater cave,   I certainly got the allure of it after seeing the cave entrances.  They are gorgeous, cool (72 degrees) spring fed waters, with a clarity I've not seen outside a bathtub!    

Little River: note the black water

The upward flow-pressure (termed the boil) of the Spring is usually enough to keep the tannins that leach out of the Cypress knees and turn the water the color of strong black tea, confined to the river.  Somehow appropriately the two most popular caves at Ginnie Springs are called: Devil's Ear and Devil's Eye.

On Wednesday, I sadly said goodby to Travis and navigated my way to the northwestern corner of Arkansas amid the worst 18-wheeler traffic and wind I've met since traveling the eastern corridor around New Jersey.  I love Hissy Fit, but she was tormented mightily by strong cross winds made even worse by the the turbulence created by the big-rigs, outnumbering automobiles 12/1. It was not a happy drive, but the serene route into the Ozarks with roadsides peppered by Redbud and blooming Dogwood almost made up for it.

Eureka Springs' historic downtown is a mini-San Francisco with old Victorian houses perched on hilly streets.  It's known for it's healing waters and ghost stories.  Even the little Swiss Village motel I stayed in had its own assortment of things-that-go-bump-in-the-night and did they bump!  

The weather was beautiful until the moment I left under those egg-carton skies known to produce hail.  Racing to get out from under those before the heat unleashed their bounty, I was relieved when I stopped for gas two hours later only to be told they were under a tornado watch.   Wind and more big-rigs completed the picture all the way back into Texas where skies cleared and traffic thinned.  It was a fine Texas welcome!
 
What brought me to that quaint little town  of Eureka Springs, was the Ozark UFO Conference, now in its 28th year.  In part I came to explore more fully the experiences I have had over my lifetime - and those my children have had in early childhood.  

To the left is one of the paintings that emerged from that period when we were all having experiences and none of us were telling the others.  The kids didn't know it was unusual.  In Uganda, an enormous silver saucer type hovered over my house and I continue to have related experiences, thus far positive in nature.   This conference offered the opportunity to speak with credible researchers and others with similar background.

I'm whizzing through Austin once more to attempt to pick up a pair of lenses for new glasses.  The lab has managed to confound the process, messing up the lenses multiple times and once again, I am leaving without them - I think.  I'm not gone yet.  And to continue the Grackle story,  sipping coffee at Mozart's on the lake a few days ago, I was again in the Grackle flight-path and involved in a near-miss as yet another Grackle flew by inches from my ear, screeching his raucous message as he flew by.   Since I don't speak Grackle, I have consulted the internet and various interpretations were offered:  "things are not as they seem," "quit talking...  and DO,"  any of which could have relevance.  i.e  Shut up and write the next book!

Getting new tires this morning to continue this epic road trip taking the southern route this time, stopping along the way to see friends in Phoenix, California and southern Oregon.   On the off chance that "get new tires" was included in the Grackle's message, I would like to say, you have been heard on all levels and it will no longer be necessary to throw yourselves at me.  A simple wink will do.

Missing the beach!  The journey continues...

Outrunning THOR and Road Trip!

Cannon Beach sunset at  Haystack Rock

Hello everyone - me again.... rambling on about what is turning into an epic road trip with my shoebox-size Honda FIT, named Hissy (as in - "she threw a hissy fit") named because my friend Karla-of-the-U-Haul-trip challenged me to name it and that seemed to fit, no pun intended.  The day before I left, this achingly beautiful sunset reminded me to get back home before I'd even left.  But I have two homes and one of them is Austin,  where I sit now in the family room of a good friend with Cyrus, The Wonder Dog lounging in front of the fire. During Spring Break - I will be the surrogate mom to Cyrus, aka Pig, and his cat, a big, orange tabby named Travis.  Cyrus is a sweetie - but he plays with food - any food - any place - any time.  It will be an interesting week.

Cyrus got a little bored...

The idea for this 6000+ mile trip started with the idea to come back to Texas to teach my 9-hour "Arrange Your Listing for Success," course as well as a half day class on Elder moves based on my book, Moving Your Aging Parents.  Both are being offered by Austin Board of Realtors and since I've missed teaching, I'm really looking forward to it after a three-year hiatus. However, I have realized upon my return that much of what had been an extensive vocabulary has been left somewhere on the African plains, since it was unusable for the two-and-a-half years in Africa. Perfectly respectable words were lost, having been shoved out by not-so-respectable epithets essential for emotional  survival there, but unfortunately inappropriate for pedagogy.  Other returned PC volunteers have lamented this condition, reduced as we were to speaking Uganglish.  (The Ugandans were no-doubt equally frustrated in trying to communicate with Muzungus.)   Am hoping my mental thesaurus will be resurrected when I start teaching and that it will again supply something interesting and at least moderately appropriate.

Arches National Park

Anyway, back to the road trip. The reasonable thing would be to fly - right?   As I remembered the spectacular scenery I would miss by flying across Oregon, Utah and New Mexico, a different idea began to bloom.  It was that idea that caused me to load Hissy-Fit with boxes of memorabilia and the huge-metal-Texas-star-that-has-no-room-in-the-cottage, to take to Travis some 3000 miles away.  Hard to do that even on Southwest Airlines, my favorite. Yes, the trip kept growing. I figured: once I'm in Texas it's only two days to Florida and then only two more days back to Arkansas and then.. and then.... and then.....   twelve states and fifteen sets of friends (not counting those in Austin) along the way and I'll be back in Cannon beach.  Well - I'm not in a U-Haul.

Snow begins

That being the plan meant I first had to outrun the winter storm known as Thor, whose ill-mannered trounce across the US coincided with my departure.  Instead of a leisurely drive through the canyon lands of Utah I drove like a bat-out-of-hell just in front of the snow-line (not adequately captured in the picture to the right). It caught up with me soon after Arches National Park and I drove through blizzard conditions until New Mexico, where I stopped to visit with a Peace Corps friend. A nostalgic trip to Santa Fe with its pinon-scented air took me back to road trips with the kids and a trek with friends  when a mysteriously thwarted vision quest in Ghost Canyon/Taos had us scrambling for the car at midnight. Lots of good memories there.  No vision quest this time, but wish there had been time and good weather to make it to Taos!  Another road trip?

Full moon over the Hill Country

Driving 13 hours from Albuquerque through the flat lands of west Texas erased any traces of the romance of  a road trip until a huge orange full-moon graced a clear, cold sky and led me through the hill-country the rest of the way into Austin.

So here I am getting my fill of Mexican food and Texas BBQ until March 31st at which point I'll re-load the Hissie-Fit and drive through Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama and north Florida. I can't wait to see Travis in his domain.  There will be no cave-diving...  though a canoe ride along some of those rivers  or a swim swim with the manatees would be fabulous!

Travis in his favorite place

After Florida - a trek up Eureka, Arkansas to attend a UFO conference!   Yes... a UFO conference.  The kids and I have shared a sequence of conscious experiences and mine continue.  As was their habit, the kids recorded their experiences in artwork and it  is also making the trip with me.  

From Arkansas, I'll drop down to see "my mother's people" as they say in Louisiana and head back through Austin on the way west again taking the southern route through Arizona and all the way up the  California coast until I find my way back to Cannon Beach. I have friends to visit every 8 - 10 hours along the way so it'll be great fun - if you don't count driving in Los Angeles.

Who was it who said: "Go West old woman ...."?  No?  Oooooh yeah - that was "Go West young man.."  Oh well - one wouldn't let gender or age get in the way.

Updates to follow for anyone still reading ;-)

Cows, Tsunamis, Sneaker Waves... and Magic

Reports of my being swallowed up by the sea have been greatly exaggerated...  However,  as a low-tide sneaker wave at Hug Point came from behind me, wrapped its watery tentacles around first my ankles, then my calves and continued to slurp above my knees - I did wonder for a moment if this is how it happens.  I read a story about a woman walking her dog along the water's edge and being hit by a sneaker and sucked out into the surf.  When her husband tried to help her, he was also knocked down and began being sucked out by the undertow.  They were both rescued by a pair of passing runners, who initially thought they were just having a tumble in the surf. Now I see how this happens!  I was a good 40 feet from the water at low tide when this wave came after me and I now fully appreciate why they are called "sneakers."

To the left are the Hug Point Falls I was headed to see.  It was worth almost being swallowed up, but maybe I should invest in a pair of waders. Next time I may venture into one of the caves, but I'm rather a wuss on that point. I'm not sure how it is that I birthed a son who thrives when diving into small dark spaces, because it gives me the willies.

Every day I see the most amazing scenery and wonder what took me so long to get here - but of course everything has its season and it just wasn't time. Some surprises however, are not scenery... A case in point:   this morning I heard some commotion out side. Opening the door to find out what the racket was all about, I heard cows - first one - then a whole herd.  We're in a Tsunami zone here, so a good neighbor had warned me about the Wednesday morning test broadcast, but ..... cows?  In a word: yes.  Not a siren, not a horn - many moos.  I've apparently fallen down the rabbit hole.

So I'm wondering why Oregon went to the effort of legalizing marijuana when the city fathers must already have been stoned.  I can see it clearly:  they are sitting around passing the bong, wondering what sound  wouldn't scare the tourists unnecessarily. Someone said "COWS," and policy was made.  Congress will be next - maybe it will help.  In their defense, apparently this is only used for the practice, the real deal is a scare-the-daylights-out of-you siren. 

Other oddities: a few days ago, I looked out and saw beautiful blue sky with a few wisps of white clouds and thought: "a good time to take my walk."  By the time I'd garbed myself in boots, hat, gloves,  smart-wool base-layer, vest, and rain  coat (never leave home without several seasons of clothes on) and got to the beach (a 5-minute trek) a cloud had slipped through like a thief,  stolen the sunshine and replaced it with a fierce pelting of sleet.  Once everyone had cleared the beach (a matter of minutes) - the sun and blue sky were back, the squall having moved on down the beach.  This is what they mean by "a maritime climate." 

                       

These unpredictable weather patterns produce some breathtaking waves and sunsets and with rare exception there are always people with tripods waiting for the perfect shot.  And of course there are birds - lots and lots of birds.  Where is Hitchcock? Seagulls have never excited me that much, but when you have hundreds of gulls, pelicans and ducks all taking flight from a small estuary it takes on a level of drama all its own. Haystack Rock is home to Puffins in nesting season and I can't wait to see that.

In Austin and so many other places, a forecast might read:  "Sunny with a chance of rain." Here

it reads:  Cloudy with a change of sunbreak.  This is an actual word...  See? I am learning how to speak Oregon-ese, which includes conversations that easily drift toward the ups and downs of growing pot, which varieties produces what effects, etc.  No - I'm not considering this as my next career move.  I think the market may already be saturated.

The unexpected abounds. A few days ago I took a long walk - mulling over a decision having to do with pursuing training in Hypnosis Therapy and Regression.  I've had some amazing and mystical experiences with that and it allows peeks into aspects of the self and the psyche typically not accessible in normal waking life.  Some experiences are downright magical and I was asking for a "sign" when what should appear in front of me but a white rabbit...  What could be more of a "sign" of magic than a white rabbit? I looked around for either Alice or Jimmy Stewart, and since neither of them were around to claim ownership, I took this as my sign. Of course, I'm taking the course. 

 The day was finished off by this gorgeous sunset.   Against the backdrop of epic sunsets, white-rabbits and warning-cows the presence of magic and synchronicity are palpable.

Permeating this surreal beauty and a level of serenity that is somewhat new in my life, there remains the connection with Uganda - still trying to help one young man pursue his dream of medical school and getting another to understand that school is not just a way to be "off the streets."  In the process of making these opportunities available via funds from friends, I underestimated the importance of  having the confidence and skill to be able to grasp the prize when it's right in front of you. It has again underscored how much of daily life and the way we are reared prepares us for making decisions and grabbing "a chance" when it comes our way.   From infancy we are bathed in a sea of possibilities, immersed in pastimes that build skills we take for granted as every child birthright.  Coming from a culture where a sense of entitlement is more common than one of gratitude or lack, it's has been a wake-up-call to witness how a lifetime of strife can thwart one into dysfunction.  Sometimes the presence of an opportunity you don't know how to claim is more frustrating than its absence. It's heartbreaking for all concerned and has added to my own appreciation of the fact that the offer of opportunity or gift is only the spark. The real gift is in being able to accept it and receive it.   Somehow this seems relevant in this "season of giving." 

At present, I'm enjoying this state-of-grace which seems symbolic and appropriate for the time of year in which we find ourselves.    I'm deeply grateful for the present, for opportunities yet to be discovered and for each of you who have accompanied me on the journey thus far. 

Wishing you all a time of grace, peace and gratitude in the season upon us.

Settling in

Starting my walk - winds at about 40 mph

It's been rather a whirlwind, but I'm in and I'm stayin' here for at least the year.   I keep telling myself, this Fall and Winter will be the test.  Thus far - not yet a month, the weather has been a nice surprise.  Yes, there's been rain, but from the reports I received from non-Oregonians - I would surely be covered with mold by this time.  Having experienced that in actuality on the sailboat trip, where even the dried Eucalyptus grew a fuzzy green coat, I can tell you that I have not yet succumbed.  Yes - it has rained, but on most days, it's cleared off to reveal blue sky and temps in the mid-high sixties. 

Sunny and warm by the end

 Just such a pattern showed itself in the hour it took for me to walk part of the beach a few days ago.  The Oregon coast is apparently notorious for its wind and I walked leaning into a gale-force blow, picking up a hefty tail-wind on the return.  I loved it. Just for fun, I took pictures of the progression of the weather during that hour.

But the season is young.  I've been waiting to be as cold and wet as people threatened, but not yet.  I have, however, been introduced the the world of boots, having visited the local Fred Myer store and asked to be directed to "boots please."  Isles and isles of boots: polka dot boots, furry boots, fancy boots, short boots, tall boots, fishin' boots, bog-boots, Xtra-Tuff boots, psychedelic-flowered boots - yes - even glittery boots.  Everything but cowboy boots.  I'm not in Texas anymore apparently.  But these boots are made for walking, skipping through puddles, wading through surf and - as I have experienced - surviving a trick-wave with your back turned.  I now have boots and have packed away my umbrella for travel, having been instructed that it broadcasts one as a tourist. 

And so it would seem,  I have at least moved in evidenced by the unloading of a trunk full of boxes at the recycling center, making several runs to Goodwill and one to donate boxes of books to the local library, which is not funded by the city - only donations and volunteers.  Although the town has only 10,000 people, its recycling center is a good indicator of how serious Oregon is about recycling.  I discovered this focus when I waited for my wee-trashbox (yes BOX) to be picked up two weeks in a row.  I discovered that it would be picked up every forth Tuesday, while my HUGE recycling bin is emptied every OTHER Tuesday.  This is an effective training strategy it turns out, not t mention helpful when one is continuing to purge the detritus of three years out-of-the-loop.  

The interior as I moved in

With my stuff - it lighter than it looks

I unloaded about 80% of my belongings and life before running off to Africa. It was liberating!  Opening the boxes packed away for three years was  like Christmas and a life-review all wrapped into one. Some items still provoked, "What was I thinking?" moments as I unpacked puppets from India,   a hand-embroidered almost unwearable Chinese coat and a monk's robe, etc. etc.    Well - now they are at Goodwill - in the Halloween section no less. Yes, I saw them there.  It's been great fun taking the basics of this "furnished" cottage and mixing them into the tableau.

 For those of you who saw the  snaps of the cottage before I moved in and have asked for updates, here goes.  Tweaking continues, but it's feeling like home and it turns out that 875 square feet feels just right.  It requires me to be conscious of what I bring in, what stays and where things land.   It suits me.  Maybe I'll write a book, if I can stop arranging things...   And below is the view from the stairs: before and after.

 The unloading the storage in Austin, loading the U-Haul, unloading it again in Hillsboro and then re-loading has had its moments. Not finding but ONE person in all of the north beach area to help, resulted in a call to Brett to "please help."  So it fell to him and a not-so-strong helper to move the hideously heavy-beast-of-an-heirloom-table you see below.  To my metaphysical friends, the round spots you see to the right are - I think - finger smudges on the original camera lens and not "orbs."

And finally, a real kitchen with more than the two burners and an actual oven.  No more cooking brownies in a makeshift oven 1/3 of a recipe at a time. And a refrigerator that works more than a few days out of a month.  Life is good.  For good measure, I hid the microwave into the back of a storage closet. There are some habits I don't want to re-start - although when I bought a box of micro-wave pop-corn the other day, only to return it for the real thing I wondered whether I was that committed or if I should "BE committed..."

So that's most of the news for any of you who are still tuned in.  The next installment is to figure out what I want to do when I grow up. However, I have read, courtesy of a FB post, that "If you haven't grown up by the time you're 50, you don't have to." So there.  Still,  I'll be returning to Austin on a quarterly basis to teach at Austin Board of Realtors and to see clients, so that's a least a bit of a framework to build around.  The desire to lead life more simply and more intentionally is what started this whole phase, so I'm taking things one intentional step at a time.