An Icelandic Adventure: The Epilogue…”What about St Giles’?”

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“Life is full of surprises and serendipity. Being open to unexpected turns in the road is an important part of success. If you try to plan every step, you may miss those wonderful twists and turns. Just find your next adventure-do it well, enjoy it-and then, not now, think about what comes next.

Condoleezza Rice

St. Giles’ Cathedral, Royal Mile, Edinburgh

I was on my way to Edinburgh for a quick week-long getaway with Cousin Doug, when my connecting flight was cancelled due to an unexpected, epic snowstorm…worst October storm in Iceland since records were kept… resulting in two unplanned nights on this snowy island. On day three, I was routed to Paris with a long layover. I’d be arriving late, but I’d finally be joining my cousin. Little did I know, as I found my row and waited for the arrival of the passengers booked into the adjacent seats, that this flight would be the most fun I ever had on a plane!

Without my Icelandic adventure and my detour to Paris, I would never have met Ellie and Kim.

“Realize that everything connects to everything else.” Leonardo da Vinci

When the flight attendant offered wine, we each took a bottle. We had snacks, we had wine, and we had an instant connection with conversations that ran the gamut from where are you going, where have you been, to men, jobs, sex, religion and everything in between. We didn’t talk much about politics. After all, who wants to spoil a good time with that? We laughed a lot…and…got more wine and snacks. I never had such a good time with strangers who became instant friends.

At some point in our conversation, I mentioned that I was carrying a picture of my friend, John. He has deep Scottish roots, loves all things Scottish, and longs to visit this special place. In the meantime, I would bring a photo of him in one of his kilts, with an inscription on the back, and leave it somewhere meaningful, so at least a part of him…his image…would be waiting to welcome him when he makes the trip himself. The next step would be finding the perfect place to position the tightly folded photo.

“I was thinking that Colton Hill, or maybe in an out-of-the-way spot in Princes Street Gardens, would be nice,” I said. “I could discreetly bury it in one of those places. Then it would eventually break down and become part of the earth. Can you think of a better place?”

“What about St. Giles?” Ellie suggested.

St. Giles’ Cathedral is my favorite place in all of Edinburgh, and with its Queen Victoria crown, it is a distinctive feature in the Edinburgh skyline. It was founded in 1124 by King David I and has been a working church for over 900 years. It was witness to Scotland’s turbulent religious history, and it was the parish church of John Knox, the Scottish minister, leader of the country’s Reformation, and founder of the Church of Scotland. Most recently, it is where Queen Elizabeth’s body lay In State before being moved to London.

The first time my husband, Dave, and I came to Scotland, we were on a bus trip…See England, Wales, and Scotland. When we reached Edinburgh, we had a brief time to explore on our own. Back then, I knew very little of this city I would come to love. There was really only one place, beyond those that the tour had planned for us, that I wanted to visit…The Thistle Chapel… a separate chapel within St. Giles’ Cathedral. All I knew about it was that it had an amazing ceiling.

The ceiling in The Thistle Chapel

The Thistle Chapel was created for use by the Order of the Thistle, Scotland’s highest chivalric honour, reserved for individuals—usually Scots or those of Scottish descent—who have rendered exceptional service. Membership is granted at the sole discretion of the Sovereign.

The present Thistle Chapel was designed by Robert Lorimer and was finished in 1911. The craftsmanship is exquisite, and the attention to detail is astonishing. So many details are included in the carvings…religious, heraldic, and some purely Scottish…such as bagpipe-playing angels. Spectacularly beautiful, it is very difficult to photograph successfully due to its compact size and extensive carvings. It is something you have to experience.

A replica of this angel, bought on my first visit, has hung on my wall for decades.
I visit her in person whenever I am in town.

When Scotland opened up after Covid, I brought my sister and her husband to see this place I love.

“I’m sorry. The chapel isn’t open today,” the greeter informed us.

“Oh,” I replied dejectedly. “That’s my favorite place in Edinburgh, and I wanted to show my sister.”

“Well, wait a minute. Let me see what I can do.” Within minutes, he was escorting us to the door of the chapel for a private tour. Upon reaching the door, he handed me the key. What a thrill.

Holding this key and opening the door was such a thrill! Wow!

“What do you mean? What about St. Giles’?”I asked. “I’d love to find a place in St. Giles’, but I can’t imagine where that would be.”

“How about the roof? Maybe you could wedge the picture into a crack in the stones,” she proposed.

“Are you kidding!” I exclaimed incredulously. ” That would be absolutely amazing. But how?”

“I have a few connections. Let’s see what we can do.”

Later that night, I received an email from my new friend, Ellie. “You’re in luck,” she said. “You can arrive anytime tomorrow. Just tell them that you know me and that something has been arranged.”

Oh, my word! I was beside myself. I never expected anything like this. As I was drifting off to sleep, it occurred to me that I had a very small portion of Dave’s ashes in my suitcase. Why not bring him along, too?

When my cousin and I arrived at St. Giles’ the next morning, the gentleman at the door, Callum, recognised my name right off and said he would just be a minute and could then take us up. Presently, there we were climbing the ancient, twisting stairs to the roof.

I grabbed a quick shot of the stairs on our descent.
You can tell there hasn’t been a lot of traffic here for some time.
It was much darker than the photo would suggest.

Suddenly, light flooded into the stairwell as Callum opened the door. We had reached the roof. I could hardly contain myself. There was a bridge that led from the door we had just exited to another door at the far end. Doug and I were instructed that, for safety reasons, we would have to stay on the walkway. Callum would do the actual placing of the photo, but we could help select the location.

“They’ve done repair and renovation up here in recent years,” Callum remarked. “It’s going to be too difficult to lodge the photo between the stones, but I’m sure we can find another place that will securely hold it.” Within a minute or two, the perfect spot had been found, and Callum had carefully lodged the paper into place. Perfect.

Callum carefully placed the photo.
Snug and Secure

The door at the far end of the bridge led to a room that contained the clockworks that regulate the bells. Doug noted that if the bells rang on the quarter hours and the half hour, it was due to ring in about two minutes. We waited. Hearing the bells from inside was a phenomenal opportunity. Wow!

The Clock Works

At the far end of the metal walkway, I placed Dave’s ashes. How appropriate that the man of my past and my friend, the man of my present, are both in this place that is so important to me. Dave’s ashes will eventually be blown or washed away, as they should be, for he has gone on to the great adventure of what lies beyond. John’s photo, on the other hand, will be hidden here for a long time, just waiting for him to make memories of his own in this astonishing place.

St Giles’ has 900 years of history, and now I’m a part of it…and so are John and Dave.

Unexpected Destinations hold the promise of Unexpected Experiences, Unexpected Awakenings and ultimately Unexpected Blessings!! _Unknown

You might call it luck, chance, or serendipity that my path crossed with those of Ellie and Kim. After the Iceland Adventure and the Paris Detour…perhaps…but I prefer to think of it as a gift of grace…an unexpected blessing for which I am so very grateful.

St. Giles’ Cathedral
The Royal Mile, Edinburgh
We were on the left side of the level below the crown,
It’s too dangerous to go up there now.

An Icelandic Adventure: Part Two…The Beauty of Iceland

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“Your path is illuminated by the light, yet darkness lets the stars shine bright.”
— J.L.W. Brooks

Photo courtesy of Pixabay.
I DID NOT see the lights.

I was getting itchy feet and wanted to take a quick trip to my favorite place…Scotland. Edinburgh is such an easy city for a single traveler. I wasn’t sure if anyone else would be going with me, so I began to make plans for one. I found a relatively inexpensive flat in the building where I’ve stayed comfortably several times, and I found an equally inexpensive flight via Icelandair with a schedule that would be perfect, with a brief layover in Iceland. I’d never flown Icelandair, but I’d heard good things about them. I booked the flat and airline tickets, and I was good to go. Edinburgh in late October-early November can be cold and rainy, so I didn’t want to invite a first-timer to join me, and I was perfectly fine to go alone, but I decided it would be more fun to invite my cousin, Doug, to join me if he was available. This wouldn’t be his first rodeo, and we travel well together. He agreed. With everything set, all we had to do was wait for the departure. Haggis and Sticky Toffee Pudding were in our future!

If you’ve got a layover in another country, can you count it as a country you’ve visited?…Me
Only if you leave the airport…Granddaughter, Fiona
If you pee in a country you can count it. Hey, You’re leaving your DNA…Seatmate, Maria Oh! This one counted! Believe me!

Flying from Boston to Keflavik wasn’t a long flight, but my seatmate and I found it a rather uncomfortable, bare-bones trip. She was a darling, and although I generally prefer not to make conversation with the person next to me on a flight, the two of us really hit it off, and I was blessed by her companionship. She was on business, coming to Iceland from…San Diego. Oh, my! Neither she…nor I, for that matter, were prepared for what lay ahead.

“Oh, and it’s snowing,” the captain said rather nonchalantly as we made our final descent and landing.

I explained the logistics of this Icelandic Adventure in Part One…the delays, the chaos, the canceled flight, the disorganization, and the lack of information…but there was so much more to the story than the way we stood in line or jockeyed for position to get on a bus.

Iceland is known for its unparalleled beauty. My ChatGPT friend describes it this way.

Iceland’s beauty is unlike anywhere else on Earth—raw, otherworldly, and almost mythic in its contrasts.

Imagine vast lava fields blanketed in soft green moss, stretching beneath skies painted with streaks of pink and gold at midnight in summer—or illuminated by ribbons of emerald and violet in winter’s northern lights. The landscape feels alive: geysers hiss and roar, volcanoes smolder beneath glaciers, and waterfalls—powerful, endless—tumble from cliffs into misty canyons.

The coasts are wild and dramatic: black sand beaches shimmer like obsidian, sea stacks rise like ancient sentinels from the surf, and icebergs drift silently through the glacial lagoons, glowing blue in the Arctic light.

Inland, the highlands are a dreamscape of color and solitude—ochre rhyolite mountains, steaming hot springs, and winding rivers carving through untouched wilderness. And then there’s the silence: vast, pure, and humbling, broken only by the rush of wind or a distant waterfall.

Iceland’s beauty feels both ancient and eternal—a place where the planet’s raw forces are still visible, and where you sense, more than anywhere else, the power and poetry of nature itself.

Trapped on buses, in motel rooms, and in the airport terminal, I saw NONE of that, but I was indeed surrounded by beauty at every turn.

The Icelandic beauty I saw was in the faces and actions of my fellow passengers who were stranded in Keflavik with me. It was in the kindness, concern, and compassion for others, even when personal comfort was in flux and ultimate destinations were unknown. There was a palpable feeling of “We’re in this together.” Everyone was frustrated, disappointed, and concerned, but for the most part, people kept those feelings in check.

The airport is enormous, so perhaps this spirit was not consistent throughout, but from my vantage point, I saw only goodness, thoughtfulness, and kindness. No voices were raised. No one tried to cut the line, and no one complained about crying babies or tired children. People shared snacks with strangers and offered words of encouragement to people feeling overwhelmed and discouraged. High school groups were respectful, subdued, and attentive to their chaperones. Although the preferred response may have been tears, people nevertheless found the strength to share smiles and even laughter.

I’ve been fortunate to visit many countries. In each one, without exception, I’ve waited in line for the loo. It was no different here. I don’t think men talk in the restroom line, but women do. The line was short, but the women talked…in many foreign accents… about where they were from, where they hoped to go, how to access the soap, which faucet produced the strongest stream of hot water, and how best to position your waterbottle for the quickest fill. It was a beautiful exchange. Simple, important, and caring. These small moments of normalcy provided an opportunity to reaffirm our connections with each other and the world beyond. Despite everything, we were going to be OK.

As the hours became days, I was blessed by innumerable acts of kindness and bountiful blessings beyond anything I could have expected. Strangers were understanding and patient with the glacial speed with which I descended stairways or climbed aboard the buses and trams, and people repeated directions for me when I couldn’t hear them or understand.

My guardian angel in all of this was a young man studying at St Andrews University in Scotland. I noticed him when we were expecting to make our transfer out that first morning. He was wearing a t-shirt from a store in a small town less than twenty miles from my home. At first, I thought he, too, was a Vermonter. He was from New York City. How serendipitous that he chose to wear that shirt…a gift from his mom…on that day…and that I saw it. We kept running into each other. He probably thought I was stalking him. Hey, he was cute…maybe subconsciously, I was. I enjoyed his company, and he didn’t send me away; in fact, he became like my adopted grandson, showing me great kindness and friendship. He had major school-related issues of his own; nevertheless, he looked out for me. Who cares about Northern Lights when you can observe the beauty in this level of generosity and caring?

Anna, Rachel, Luke, and I came together originally because we wanted to share a taxi to the airport in the morning. Our trust in the transportation provided by the airline back to the airport was waning, and we wanted to be sure not to miss our flights out. I believe that becoming a team strengthened all of us. We knew we weren’t alone and that someone had our back. We shared a lot and created deep bonds within a short time. I don’t know how I made the team, but truly grateful that I did.

Rachel and Anna hamming it up at 3:30 a.m. with No Sleep.
God, they were fun people!
Luke and I are at the airport. I’m the one with the tiny backpack.
The purple suitcase and lavender bag Luke is carrying are mine…and yet…he’s carrying them. Amazing!
Photo courtesy of Anna B Sexton

The world feels like such a dark place these days. We face economic stress, political tension, climate concerns, and deep social division. It’s difficult to stay hopeful, and we often struggle to find joy and light. Yet my experience in Iceland allowed me to see the essential goodness, grace, and compassion that still live within each of us—qualities we may forget, or that sometimes lie buried beneath the weight of our worries. I missed a few days in Edinburgh, but don’t feel sorry for me. I wouldn’t have chosen this episode in my life, and I hope never to repeat it. I did not see the Northern Lights, but I saw the light of kindness, support, and love. What a gift. I am truly blessed!

Photo courtesy of Pixabay.
The beauty I saw was not in the sky..

“I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the darkness because it shows me the stars.” 
 — Og Mandino

An Icelandic Adventure: Part One…The Odyssey

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I left Logan Airport on October 27th, bound for Edinburgh, with a two-hour layover in Iceland. Upon landing at Keflavik airport early in the morning of the 28th, I was greeted by a record snowfall. Thus began an adventure I had not sought nor would I ever want to do again. It was definitely an adventure, but in the end, I’m better for it. What follows is the sequence of events. There will be a Part Two…Stay tuned

THE FIRST DAY

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have started our final descent.”
Please return to your seats, fasten your seatbelts, raise your tray tables, and ensure your seat backs are in the upright and locked positions
Prepare for landing.

Oh, and it’s snowing.

More snow than I expected
No landing bridge
Must exit outside
Descending icy, snow-covered stairs.

God, don’t let me fall.

Grab the handrail,
Cold and unkind beneath my fingers
Pull myself aboard the tram to the terminal

Bathroom break.
Buy nothing. No reason.
I’ll be in Scotland shortly.
Haggis is in my future.

Snow continues.
Not worried yet.

Lines! Lines! Lines!

Wait for the gate to be announced.
Go to the gate.
No chairs.
We stand while waiting.
My heavy bag hurts my back and shoulders.

Lines! Lines! Lines!

So much standing in line.
Line for passport check.
Line for boarding pass.
Line to board a shuttle.

The line serpentines in theme-park style.
People stand near the door…Watching.
People on the stairway…Waiting.
Hey! There’s a guy with a Waitsfield t-shirt
Waitsfied, Vermont in Keflavik? Amazing!
Waitsfield is less than twenty miles from home.
Gotta meet that guy.

Snow is increasing as we board the shuttle back to the plane,
Compounding snow.
A feather pillow belching white.

More and More Snow
Walking is difficult.
Glad I’m not wearing my sneakers.
Would you like help?
A young man offers his hand to help me up the stairs

God, don’t let me fall

Boarding is complete.

Lines! Lines! Lines!

Planes join the queue.
Planes take a number.
Waiting to be de-iced.

Plow trucks on the runway can’t keep up.
Nothing can take off.
Waiting.

Time is distorted.
After an overnight flight
I’m so tired.
The pilot gives us updates. Three hours sitting on the tarmac. None of the news is good.

The flight is cancelled.
No one is flying anywhere today.

Worst snowstorm in October since they began keeping records!!!

Cell phones are out
Calculating.
Everyone asks, What will this mean to me?
So many questions and a thousand different answers.

People beginning their trip,
People ending a once-in-a-lifetime vacation,
People simply trying to get home
People sent on business
People traveling alone
People with young and very young children.

De-plane once again.
More snow. More Icy stairs.

God, don’t let me fall.

Back on board,
The shuttle hesitates
Wheels spinning.
What will we do if it’s stuck?
Slight fishtail as it begins to move.

Inside, we must collect our luggage.
The terminal is chaos.
No one is sure what to do or where to go.

I navigate around school groups sitting and lying in circles on the floor.
Grab my bag from the carousel.
Luggage tags are no longer attached.
I wonder where my name and address have landed.

Lines! Lines! Lines!

More lines.
No clear instructions.
Airport staff are limited in number.
Looking as dazed as passengers.
Long, long lines with hundreds of people.
What is at the end of this line?
Not exactly sure.
Hoping it will take us to hotels.
One line for families and couples
One line for singles
Nothing to indicate which is which
People in the wrong line
Travelers helping each other. “You’re in the wrong line. You need to be way over there.”

People arriving for outgoing flights that aren’t going.
Those at the end of their vacation no longer have lodging either.
They joined lines of their own.

Lines! Lines! Lines!

Taking a place in line, seemingly insignificant and random
Becomes crucial, critical, and consequential. Finding ourselves joined by circumstance, We commiserate, wonder, share our stories, and accept our fate.
Boarding the bus by our segment of the line
We became a community.
Most are singles.

Like the last plane out of Saigon
Everyone was hoping to get on a bus and out of the airport

Front seat view

Strong winds and biting snow.
I watched mothers sheltering blanketed babes, hoping to board. Fathers holding the hands of toddlers and young ones.
Please don’t split them up. Tears come unbidden. Ready to give up my place, but seats were found for everyone.

Finally talked to the Waitsfield Shirt Guy.
He’s from NYC, not VT.
Mom bought his shirt. So glad she did.
Waiting to learn where we’re going.


“I’m on a bus with a person I don’t know, taking me to a place I don’t know,” she said. I’m getting off.” Was she joking? Well, she got off.

An hour and a half away on a good day.
The trip took over three hours…closer to four.
Cautious drivers.
Proceeding very slowly.
Cars are in the ditch or abandoned.
Plow in the adjacent lane, spewing snow. Hard to see.
Blinding Whiteouts. Drifting across the lanes.
So much snow on the road
Hard to tell sky from land.
Everything is white.

Driving north, things let up a bit
Mountains and water appear out of the fog.
6km tunnel…Well…That was fun.

Stop for a bathroom break.
Some people purchased food.
It didn’t occur to me.
What was I thinking?
I hadn’t eaten any since Boston
I had water. I don’t remember where I got it, and a half muffin. Tossed in my bag at the last minute.

My seatmate is a Pakistani woman on her first solo trip. She lives in Toronto, going to a wedding in England. Hearing issues and accents complicate communication. We do our best.

Trying to keep the family informed. I text.
Almost out of power. Seatmate shares her charger

Arrived at a hotel at last. Where are we?
Hotel Vesturland in Borgarnes, Iceland

Lines! Lines! Lines!

Line up for a room.
Families and couples first.

Spartan room, a bed and plenty of hot water.
Shower in the morning. Dinner first.
Voucher for 4.000kr about $28, towards dinner. Passengers pay any price beyond that.
Not much on the menu without going over.

Worried about missing the bus, I set an alarm for 6:30. So tired, sleep comes quickly.

The Second Day

Waking with the alarm.
Up and in the shower.
No voucher for breakfast. I finished the last of the muffins and a piece of string cheese. Headed downstairs to scope out the situation.
No one was in the lobby or at the desk.
Panic.
Had I been left behind?
Back in my room.
Tried to call the front desk.
Phone to lobby didn’t work.

No word that I had been rebooked.
Called Icelandair.
In line to talk to a human. #128 in the queue.
Last ticket, do I want it? Eight-hour layover in Paris
The lobby calls. The bus would arrive momentarily.
Be in the lobby right away.
Jammed everything into my suitcase and was out the door in minutes.

We gathered in the lobby.
Coffee and tea.
A Diet Coke.
I think there were muffins…or…something. No food when I got there.

Greeted people I was beginning to recognize by their faces… Ben…The Bowdoin College Guy, Cheryl …who reminds me of Charlotte, my Pakistani friend, and the dad with the ginger beard.

“Here’s a brief announcement. The bus is coming,” she said, ” but it has broken down.” But of course! Ya, gotta laugh.

In the meantime, Anna and Rachel are going for a swim
Luke, aka The Waitsfield Shirt Guy, has ideas for getting to Edinburgh sooner.
We both tried unsuccessfully to get tickets to Glasgow.

I made one last bathroom visit
Luke went across to the little store.
He bought a charging cable for my phone…Life Saver!
Not hurry up and wait. It was wait, then hurry up!
We were the last two on the bus.
I sat with a guy from Indiana
Hours to get back to the airport.
Seated on the inside aisle, I saw very little out the window.
Everything snow covered and white.

Darkness falls quickly
Inside the airport, there is no direction.
We operate on rumors and speculation.
Waiting at the door, the amorphous crowd is constantly evolving, modifying, and transforming..

A little organization would have gone a long way.
Families once again were given preference…no one complained.
We were all tired and hadn’t eaten all day.

After the fifth time of shlepping our stuff to a bus… windy and very cold…only to be turned away…a few f-bombs were dropped, and not just by me.


Someone from the airline brought out a box of airplane-type snacks. Wassa crackers with a smear of cheese and Pringles. We fill our pockets for the coming hunger.

Our pod is the last to board a bus.
We had hoped to be close to the airport.

They took us an hour away…Wreck You Vick.
Arrived at the hotel and had to collect our luggage from under the bus. Luke was kindly helping me. What a treasure!

VERY ICY…I asked a random man for his shoulder.

God, don’t let me fall.

Shoot, I fell on the steps! Better to fall UP the stairs than down on my bum. I don’t think anyone saw me. Pride intact.


“We aren’t staying here. They are only feeding us here.” It’s not a joke. We’ll have to get back on a bus.


Literally EVERYTHING was gone on the buffet.


Eventually, tossed salad, potato cakes, and fish appeared. White wine sauce for the fish became salad dressing. Slim pickings in general, but especially for Vegetarians.

Somehow, Rachel scored a vegan meal and invited me to pick off the Seitan bits she didn’t want.

Two days ago, we were strangers, and now I’m picking food off her plate.

Hurry. Stick together. Get on the bus.


A young non-English speaking Asian girl helped me with the QR Code Information needed to find us rooms.

Move to another hotel…still in Reykjavik, an hour away from the airport. We are all worried about making our flights.

Our squad is determined to stay together. There is great comfort and security in being part of a team. I don’t know what I added to the alliance, but I’m glad I made the cut.

Debated going back to the airport. We could sleep in a chair. Decided to get horizontal, but no one really slept.

DAY THREE

Be in the lobby by 3:30 at the latest to catch the 4:00 bus.

Luke, a student at St. Andrews, had tried diligently to complete an online assignment. His instructor had no idea what she was asking him to do. Somewhere in the night, he gave up.

Rachel didn’t sleep at all.

I slept fitfully from 12-2:45.

I don’t know if Anna slept, but at breakfast…as always…she was bubbly, positive, encouraging, and full of life.

There was a small breakfast buffet with fresh fruit, meats, bread, and cheese.

We took some photos and acknowledged that we had made it through the storm together. Then we got back on a bus once again

On The Bus at 4:00 a.m.
Original photo, by Anna B Sexton

Reaching the airport, we exchanged quick hugs, another quick snap, and bid each other farewell. Luke had to hurry to his gate, and I lost Rachel and Anna in the check-in line. For the second time since this odyssey began, I had tears in my eyes. Relief that this brief detour was ending, tinged with an odd mixture of joy and sadness. We were all going our separate ways into the absolute elsewhere and into the continued adventures of our lives. Our paths may never cross again, but for one brief moment in time, the universe brought us together, and for that, I am forever grateful. Truly a gift of grace. And…Edinburgh still lay ahead.

Graduation Pictures: It’s About Time!

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Maybe today. Maybe I'll let them go today.

I don’t know about you, but I spend an inordinate amount of time these days trying to decide whether to keep something that has no real purpose or value, other than nostalgia, or to appreciate it as a momentary memory jogger and then pitch it in the recycling or the trash. After all, it’s not the object itself, but the memories it evokes. Letting go is becoming more difficult because my memories are beginning to fade like an autumn rainbow…once bright and beautiful, but slowly blending into the evening sky, soon to disappear completely. Holding the tangible creates the perception of holding the transient as well. I find it such a challenge to pitch things. I know that’s definitely not true of everyone…my sister tosses things with abandon, she’s my idol… but I certainly find it troublesome.

For decades, I have kept a small bundle of photos held together with an aging rubber band: two inches by three inches with deckel edges, and a shiny, textured surface. Perhaps it’s time for me to bid them farewell.

Early each fall, professional photographers from Powell Studios in Detroit would make the trek to my small, rural hometown in central Michigan to take high school senior pictures…graduation photos. The crew would assemble lights and cameras into a makeshift studio in the gymnasium, and each student would have the attention…as well as the camera and lights… focused on them for about fifteen minutes. It was a streamlined process, and each person’s fifteen minutes was pretty much the same as those who came before and after. The photos differed only in the features of the subjects; everything else was unexceptionally standard. All eyes would focus at the same angle, varied only by the orientation…left or right. The tilt of the shoulders and slant of the head were all textbook classic. In the days before Photoshop, the Powell team promised to cure zits, tame renegade strands of hair, and even remove braces. For teens growing up in the Midwest, this rite of passage…this tradition…having your senior picture made…looking good…was a big deal.

Then again…why rush into anything? 

One of the highlights of the year was the day the proofs appeared in the mail. Their arrival then prompted the difficult task of deciding which option to choose. Back then, proofs were very different from those we see today. The fixative used on the image was only temporary. The likenesses would continue to darken over time until they had completely disappeared. Powell Studios was taking no chances. The only way to retain the picture was to purchase it. 

The final portraits had barely arrived before we were already giving them away. It was our tradition to exchange pictures with classmates and sometimes with special underclassmen as well. Before the trade was made, it was customary to add an inscription to the back.

 "How can I ever forget the terrific time we had last summer.  What a weekend we spent!!!" No matter what we do together, we always seem to come up with some wild thing to do." 
"Be good. Your a swell gal."
"To one of the silliest girls in Government class."
"Remember all the fun we had in Art Class."
"To one of the best friends I've had in school. Remember all the fun we've had in school and out."
"To a friend that will never be forgotten. Good luck in the world."
"To a close friend in which we share all our problems. You have a real nice personality and are a nice girl."
"To a wonderful girl who is the life of everything. Good luck in the future and be sure never forget the past."
"KEEP as easy going as you are and you'll have it made."
"It's been fun going thru school with you. Remember all the times we got yelled at in Sunday School for talking."
"Good luck and be good."
"To a very sweet classmate who is going far."
"To the class cut-up and a sweet girl. Don't forget all the riots we've had, (a cigar?) and the fun we will have in the future."
"I couldn't have made it through Government without you. You are one of the finest people I have ever met."
"What nuts we were!"
"To one of the nicest girls I know."
"Always remember the time we spent together."
"Your always sticking up for me in Art Class. Thanks alot."
"Remember when I stayed with you when both our folks were gone!  
Wild isn't even the word for it."
Maybe it's today after all. Maybe it's time

This packet of photos has joined me on my life’s journey for nearly half a century and has been infused with more importance than mere ink and paper would suggest. In the pictures, each subject was positioned in such a way that their eyes were looking toward something unseen, out of view, unknown…the future, perhaps. When holding these photos, the hopes and dreams of these teenagers, now senior citizens, are almost palpable. With the bundle in my hands, I feel as if I am bearing witness to their lives…what they hoped for, what they lived, and increasingly more often…that they died. Simply tossing them in the bin is difficult, but perhaps discarding them all at once is preferable to losing them one at a time. Just chuck them all at once, and I won’t have to watch the pile dwindle with the passing of each of those young faces or wonder when my visage will be subtracted from the stack.

“Once I make up my mind, I’m full of indecision”…Oscar Levant

In reality, I may still have these images, but the people and places have been gone for a very long time. The high school was torn down years ago. The guys in my art class who were always in trouble for having long hair no longer have much hair to worry about. Many of the girls whose skirts were rolled up too short are grandmothers, and cataract surgery, new knees, and hearing aids are the newest status symbols.

We spent hours, days, and years learning, laughing, and growing up together, but after graduation, most of us walked out of the school into the absolute elsewhere of lives beyond our small town. We promised to keep in touch and never forget our time together, but over the years, we did lose connections, and trying to remember the fun times is something we don’t even attempt much anymore. Heck. We can’t even remember last week.

Yes. It is definitely time to let them go. I'm not really sure why I held on to them for so long.

I have great affection for my former classmates, those with whom I survived the petri dish of high school. These photos from long ago remind me of the band festivals, the book reports and term papers, Friday night football and the dances that followed, the laughter between classes and the jokes in the lunchroom, but they also remind me of the panic of exams for which I had not studied, the cliques to which I did not belong, and feelings of inadequacy, frustration, and uncertainty. It wasn’t all Double-Ham-and-Cheese at Pizza Sam’s, that’s for sure, but in retrospect, high school is challenging, and it wasn’t the best time of my life, but I’m lucky that I lived it with this group of people.

Yep! Today's the Day

I know that it is finally time to let them go. Now, all I have to do is devise a meaningful way to dispose of them. It doesn’t seem fitting to just toss them in the trash with used paper towels and empty candy wrappers.

Oh, mercy! Now what am I saying? Is it true, I can’t get rid of them until I solve the method of the disposable conundrum? Bummer!

You know, the recycling bin doesn't seem so bad after all.


Footprints on Our Hearts:

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“Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some people move our souls to dance. They awaken us to a new understanding with the passing whisper of their wisdom. Some people make the sky more beautiful to gaze upon. They stay in our lives for awhile, leave footprints on our hearts, and we are never, ever the same.” 

Flavia Weedn
From the Back Deck Montpelier, VT
October 2022

I recently came across an old DVD…Mom and Dad’s 50th Wedding Anniversary, 1996. Later, watching it alone in my room, I found myself on the rollercoaster between laughter and tears. The video was funny, heartbreaking, silly, uplifting, loud, poignant, and full of love. The longer I watched, the more I became aware of how many of the main characters had left the stage. Eight people died, two left via divorce, and five little children grew up! Not many of the original cast members remain.

I have reached the phase of life where more and more people leave every year…family, friends, and people I used to see in the neighborhood, at church, or in the movies. This time of losing eventually reaches everyone and is on the invoice for a long life. However, if we’re lucky and willing to take a chance, we can continue to add new players to the cast and create space for unexpected plot twists and extraordinary storylines that will surprise, delight, and inspire us.

Embarking on unexplored paths with new companions requires us to be vulnerable, trusting, and open to the mystery of unfolding adventures. Oh, sure, on our journey, we could find ourselves stuck axle-deep in mud with three flat tires and a GPS that says we’ve reached our destination, but we could also find ourselves on a mountaintop of amazement. You never know what lies around the bend. And so, what the heck…there’s not that much on TV anyway…might as well take the leap!

Autumn Leaves on the Forest Floor
October 2020
I've heard it said
That people come into our lives
For a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led to those
Who help us most to grow if we let them
And we help them in return.

"For Good" from Wicked

I didn’t hear his car drive up, but I watched from my kitchen window as he walked across the driveway toward my tiny condo, with an air of casual confidence.

He was of medium build, clad in blue jeans and a t-shirt. His hair was pulled back neatly and secured at the nape of his neck in a short ponytail, accentuating his beautifully lush, carefully trimmed, salt and pepper beard. As I opened the door, he greeted me with sparkling eyes, a warm, pleasant smile, and a confident, friendly manner that instantly put me at ease.

He was a good-looking man…charming, funny, and interesting. It was easy to be attracted to him, but…for God’s sake, he was my electrician and I was his client. At the recommendation of our local electrical supply store, “Call him first. He’s a really nice guy,” he had literally come to light up my life by adding two new overhead lights. At the time, I had no idea that he would bring more light than just that in the ceiling.

Fallen Leaves in the Sunshine
AI Generated

Over the next year, there were several infrequent text exchanges. He’d invite me for coffee or lunch, and I’d find an excuse to decline or postpone. I had been a widow for six years and was finally discovering how to make a life without a partner. Learning to dance with a wooden leg. I was not excited about the lines and wrinkles that were spiderwebbing across my face or the fact that my breasts had been losing territory in the constant battle with gravity. In fifty years, I had only been kissed romantically by two men…my husband and my high school crush at our tenth class reunion. I have never felt completely comfortable around men, especially attractive men, and the last men I was with…other than my husband, with whom I had grown old…were just babies in their twenties. No, I definitely wasn’t looking…as Carly Simon sings…but…somehow he found me.

Yellow Leaves on the Path
Sylvan Solace 2020

After a long drought of messages, he reached out once again. “Would you like to go for coffee? We could talk about Scotland.” It was scary to say yes, but this time, I was ready for the adventure of meeting a man for something other than going over my taxes or my investments. I’d just go for coffee…chai latte, actually. It would be just a practice date, so that in the unlikely event another man asked me to go for coffee, I’d know what to do. Well…it didn’t turn out exactly as I planned. “Oh, I’m in trouble,” I told my sister, later that day. “I really like this guy.”

Our rather unconventional friendship has been such a gift. He has reminded me of things I’d forgotten and inspired me to make changes and discoveries on my own. He is funny, kind, and genuine. He opened doors that I thought had been nailed shut or were so hidden by vines and brush that I didn’t know they still existed. Who knew I’d enjoy the most passionate kisses of my life when I was a senior citizen! My world is larger, brighter, less scary, and more inviting because we traveled the same path together for a while.

None of us knows when or how our stories will end, nor do we know which characters will be with us on the final pages, but I’m enjoying writing this chapter, and I’m looking forward to seeing what’s on the next page. I smile at strangers and speak to people I don’t know, recognizing that just as in an English murder mystery, it quite possibly could be the least likely person who holds the keys to the next grand adventure. 

 And now, whatever way our stories end
I know you have rewritten mine
By being my friend
Like a ship blown from its mooring
By a wind off the sea
Like a seed dropped by a skybird
In a distant wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better? But
Because I knew you
Because I knew you
I have been changed for good.

"For Good," from Wicked
Maple Leaves
Sylvan Solace 2020

I have been changed by each of the people who have come and gone in my life. I’ve known people who made my life miserable, whose main purpose in life seemed to be that of a bad example. Then, too, I have long-time friends I don’t deserve, and young friends who bring excitement, joy, and new perspectives. Our human interactions aren’t always easy or straightforward, but they are completely worth the challenge. Old friends are stability and comfort, just as new friends personify potentiality and possibility. Embrace them both…the new and the old. Welcome the footprints on your heart and be sure to leave a few of your own. 

Reminder: 
You're not done meeting everyone 
who's going to matter to you. 
Some of the best moments of your life haven't happened yet.   

Sara Kuburic

Isn’t that just the best thing you’ve heard all day?!

Joy is The Light We Bring

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I’ve learned that holding tightly to one’s sense of wonder and joy is a form of resistance to the negative forces in the world, so I decided I would pay closer attention to the beauty and delight that surround me. I will stand up and fight back by finding ways to enjoy the ordinary pleasures and gifts that are worth fighting for and that give us the motivation to join the fray.

We need Joy as we need air. We need Love as we need water. We need each other as we need the earth we share.
Maya Angelou

I am not a plant person. I like plants, but let’s face it, I’m not that great at keeping them alive. I’ve admitted my inadequacy to myself, and I’ve told the leafy ones that share their lives with me that sometimes they are just going to have to fend for themselves. I know…tough love. At present, I have two Schefflera plants that my sister gave me from slips of plants that were given to our family after the death of each of our parents. Last summer, I set the two plants out on the deck so they could bask in the sunlight and enjoy the deliciously warm, rain. Near the end of the season, I brought them back inside, where they continued to create new leaves and stretch for the ceiling. A few weeks ago, much to my delight and surprise, I noticed another plant growing in one of the pots. It seems that while they were lodging beneath the planter boxes on the deck railing, a seed from one of the nasturtiums had fallen into the pot. After months of lying dormant, the wee seed had taken root and emerged into the light. I was overjoyed.

The fragile stems direct the leaves toward the light.
Montpelier, April 2025

Joy bursts in our lives when we go about doing the good at hand and not trying to manipulate things and times to achieve joy. C.S. Lewis

The unexpected discovery of this tiny new life bursting forth from a single seed determined to live even in the unfamiliar soil of a shared pot brought me great joy and was wonderfully life-affirming. Often, that is how joy manifests itself in the simple, the mundane, and the overlooked. If we allow it, the joy will come, and yet these moments of pure bliss are often fragile and ephemeral. Like a soap bubble whose iridescence disappears in the sun, joy cannot be bound or held forever. We must glory in its wonder while we can.

Not long after making the discovery of my tiny green friend, I awoke one morning to a painful discovery. During the night, Effie, my automatic vacuum cleaner, had gotten tangled in the tender stems, and only two small leaves were still hanging on. My joy had quickly turned to despair; a reminder that often that which brings us joy must be nurtured, protected, and encouraged whenever possible. The Psalmist tells us that ‘weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.’ Happiness and sorrow, as I have learned, are simply opposite sides of the same coin and often come hand in hand. Joy will come in the morning, but the night may return with pain and weeping.

Having spent most of my life in the company of children, I’ve been privileged on many occasions to witness the loss of a tooth. At first, the child worries the tooth with their tongue, playfully working at it as it loosens. Tiny fingers then begin to wiggle, wiggle, wiggle that tooth. Forget math and reading, at that moment, life is all about the loose tooth.

The most difficult and most painful part of this adventure comes next. The child, the waiting fairy, and the tooth itself all want the tooth out, but fear and the anticipated pain of removing it result in hesitation and require decisions. Should they use one of the various string-around-the-tooth methods or just reach up and yank that baby outta there? Regardless of the method decided upon for the extraction, the result is almost always the same. Fear and trepidation distort the child’s face, usually accompanied by a few tears. Pulling a tooth, especially the first few, isn’t easy. The child wants to do it, but doubts that they can until ultimately they do. Triumph! With the tooth out, the facial expression changes immediately into one of amazement and delight. The bloody tooth held tightly in tiny fingers is presented with more pride, satisfaction, and euphoria than a World Series trophy, a Super Bowl ring, or the Masters green jacket. It is pure, unadulterated joy.

Unadulterated JOY
Image: Pixabay AI

Joy may change its form, but it will return. Two days ago, I noticed a very tiny shoot with three infant leaves coming from what remained of the original plant. With determination and tenacity, it was holding on to life and sending out tiny, delicate green leaves. Joy! Joy! Joy! My heart with joy was ringing! Elation!

Death and New Growth Together in One Plant
Montpelier, April 2025

“Joy does not simply happen to us. We have to choose joy and keep choosing it every day.”
— Henri J.M. Nouwen

I often ruminate on the idea of Joy. I know that it’s often unexpected and fragile, and I know that if I wait patiently I will find it again. I need to recognize it, nurture it, and appreciate it for what it is. Joy, like love, demands that we be open, vulnerable, and brave. Just like pulling that tooth…there may be moments of fear, apprehension, and unease before reaching the ultimate joy.

Even on the darkest days somewhere a candle flickers. Its dancing flame courageously fighting to hold on to the mystery of its burning. Recognizing joy and wonder, nurturing it in our memories, and holding it tightly in our hearts becomes the light we bring to the darkness giving us the courage to carry on.

Doors and Windows, Cows and Resistance

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The playground of the school I attended from First through Third grade was adjacent to a field of cows. The rusting wire fence separating the cows and the children had been erected, no doubt, to protect the children from wandering heifers, but it was just as probable that it was there to protect the cows from curious children. Most of the time, the cows and children simply ignored one another, but on occasion, when my friends were busy on the slide, swings, or monkey bars, I’d wander over and visit with the cows. Looking into their big brown eyes, I’d tell them about all the classroom activities and confide my deepest feelings, questions, and dreams as they lay quietly in the shade of the trees that lined the fence. They weren’t the best conversationalists but were very patient when I’d stretch my wee fingers through the grate to scratch their heads, and they were exceptional listeners.

Another Bovine Friend Next to an English Footpath

I have much in common with those bovine friends. I, too, like to sit quietly and ruminate on things. I enjoy chewing on conversations well after the original participants have moved on. I chomp, gnaw, and devour an idea entirely before swallowing, spitting it out, or wandering in search of fresh clover. Sometimes, I reach a satisfying conclusion, but just as often, my pondering takes me in an entirely new direction.

On November 5th, as the election results revealed the inevitable, I could feel myself sinking into a deep funk. Determined not to continue the downward slide into the bottomless pit of hopelessness and despair and also consciously aware that joy and beauty are a form of resistance, I sought ways to bring joy back into my life, to recognize the wonder and beauty that had already manifested there, and to enjoy the breathing space between November and the January inauguration.

It was only natural that I would find comfort and pleasure at the intersection of my two favorite hobbies…travel and photography. In this age of computers, the combination of travel memories and the digital photos that documented them was right there at arm’s length on my laptop. As I drove, sailed, and urban-hiked through past adventures, I smiled at the faces of family and friends, both old and new. I remembered the awe I experienced inside grand cathedrals, standing beneath spectacular mountains, or walking beside the boundless ocean. As I reminisced, I noticed that in addition to churches and the plethora of flower pictures…they are such patient subjects…I had unconsciously created a fair collection of images of windows and doors.

  • Cochem, Germany
  • Montacatini, Italy
  • Boston, MA, USA
  • Strasbourg, France
  • Star Island, NH USA
  • Speyer, Germany
  • Munich, Germany
  • Star Island, NH
  • Strasbourg, France
  • Mittenwald, Germany
  • Woods Harbour, Nova Scotia CA
  • Edinburgh, Scotland UK
  • Stratford, Ontario CA
  • Edinburgh, Scotland

Perhaps it was serendipity, synchronicity, or the machinations of some random internet algorithm, but just as I explored my collection of doors and windows, I came across a Facebook group with the clever name…wait for it… Doors and Windows. It’s a public group. Anyone can join, and everyone following the rules is invited to share.

Taking a break from my own photos, I was soon lost in a myriad of images from all over the world. The variety was captivating, and like eating peanuts or potato chips, I could not stop at just one. Scrolling through example after example, I found the distraction I sought. Before long, however, it wasn’t enough to simply admire the photos. I was curious to know more. I wasn’t satisfied with the photographer’s name or where the door or window was located; I began to ponder the very notion of windows and doors and why we are drawn to memorialize them in paintings, photography, and even songs. I thought I’d be taking a deep dive, and although many others have taken that plunge, it seemed after some contemplation to be a juxtaposition of the basic and the complicated, and that was in itself the answer.

  • Kues, Germany
  • Cologne, Germany
  • Honfleur, France
  • Star Island, NH USA
  • Innsbruck, Austria
  • Seefeld, Austria
  • Montpelier, VT USA
  • Montreal, Quebec, CA
  • Honfleur, France
  • Florence, Italy
  • Seefeld, Austria
  • Glen Coe, Scotland UK
  • Valduz, Liechtenstein

Doors and windows are the physical manifestation of our lives’ duality. They represent the known and unknown, what is and what might be, welcoming and inviting, or a barrier against the outside world. We hang wreaths, add painted decorations, and sometimes post a sign or notice inviting us in or imploring us to Beware of the Dog. Bright layers of chipped paint, door frames no longer at right angles, and brass handles polished by the many hands that used them provided more opportunities for questions and reflection. I found the glorious color of stained glass in cathedral windows, the countless panes in a city of skyscrapers, and the cracked and broken glass in humble and neglected buildings equally fascinating.

Of course, try as I might, I could only ignore the inauguration and the firehose of executive orders for so long. I was overwhelmed by the rapid pace of edicts and proclamations, which was the intent. However, I was still determined to resist. The only way someone could conquer my resolve was if I was willing to let them.

Then I remembered another bovine friend from my childhood brought to life through Robert Lawson’s pen and ink illustrations in Ferdinand the Bull by Monro Leaf. While all the other little bulls like to run, jump, and butt heads together, Ferdinand loved to sit quietly and smell the flowers. Like the cows in Mr. Peterson’s field next to the school, he was content to sit in the shade, delight in the fragrant flowers, and lose himself in dreams of…well…whatever it is that bulls dream.

He paid little attention to the arrival of men looking for contestants…or victims… for the fights in Madrid. Ferdinand knew they would never choose him because he wasn’t interested in looking fierce and strong. He’d be fine, and the flowers were so inviting.

When Ferdinand accidentally sits on a bee and goes wild from the pain of the sting, the men from Madrid can’t help but take notice. They’d never seen anything like him.

Had I become Ferdinand, content to tune out the coming storm in favor of sitting quietly, going through photos, and reflecting on the meaning of doors and windows? Whether I was paying attention or not, the matador was entering the ring, and I felt the sting.

I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day. E. B. White

It’s true all the time, but in these challenging days, we are confronted head-on with the duality of our choices. Do we stay engaged, take action, or seek joy and beauty? These choices seem at odds, but perhaps that polarity is necessary. Bearing witness to hateful rhetoric and compassionless actions fills us with soul-destroying poison. The antidote comes in the form of kindness, justice, laughter, and appreciation of the wonder of the natural world surrounding us. Perhaps the lesson the windows and doors were teaching is that, at times, we need to be on the metaphorical outside…Doing Something and occasionally retreating inside, making space to rest, refresh, regroup, and simply revel in being alive. Resistance takes many forms.

When Ferdinand, the gentle bull who liked to sit quietly and smell the flowers, reached the bull ring in Madrid, he simply sat down—a common form of protest and what he did best. The story ends with him returning to his favorite tree to sit quietly and smell the flowers.

These times are scary as hell, but doors are waiting to be opened, and in a few months, flowers will bloom. I’m not ready to give in to despair. I will resist.

Flowers in the Window
Edinburgh, Scotland 2022

Lessons in Reclaiming, Reframing and Redemption from a Pair of Earrings

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I don’t remember rising from my chair or crossing the room. My eyes burned, and a considerable lump was forming in my throat. I avoided eye contact and moved forward as though wearing blinders. I concentrated only on the singular mission of reaching the double glass doors on the far side of the room. I needed to reach those doors and escape before the hot tears I’d held back breached the dam and burst forth uncontrollably.

At last, I felt the cool metal of the door handle beneath my palms. Pushing down, I released the latch. Leaving the conference room behind, alone on the sidewalk, the pain and humiliation suddenly burst forth in the tears and sobs I’d been suppressing. Needing to put the experience behind me, I began walking without regard to direction or destination.

Ironically, the conference theme was welcoming and inclusion. We listened to speakers, participated in activities, and discussed the topic at length. Then, early in the afternoon, one of the facilitators began speaking about an upcoming project. Nearing the end of her talk, she asked those qualified to stand and create a circle around the tables and chairs. Then, she asked another category of participants to join them in the circle. The circle grew more extensive with each new set as the number of those who didn’t meet any criteria dwindled. This continued until only five of us remained seated, excluded from the circle of over one hundred others. Because they were standing, they looked down upon us literally and perhaps figuratively as well. Someone in the circle shouted, “What about those still seated? Can’t they join the circle?” but the unknown speaker was ignored or unheard. I was embarrassed by the situation, but within moments, it became worse.

“Now,” said the leader, “Look around the room at the people standing in the circle. These are your peeps. These are the people who are going to be moving forward with you.” I felt invisible and, paradoxically, as if all eyes were on me. I knew it was without malice; nevertheless, I felt singled out and alone. With downcast eyes, not looking at the others seated inside the circle with me, I longed for one of Harry Potter’s disapparating spells. I couldn’t wait to escape that circle and that room!

After the initial flood of tears, I collected myself and continued walking. It wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last time I’d ever be embarrassed; however, in this instance, it was totally unexpected and beyond my control. The conference leaders had utterly missed the workshop’s message and the opportunity to model a way to include everyone. I hadn’t signed on to experience being in the empty set, but I was undoubtedly discovering how it felt.

It was a warm fall afternoon, but l was numb. I paid little attention to the sun, the color of the leaves, or the people I passed along the way. However, several blocks later, when I found myself in front of a small shop exhibiting the work of local artisans, I decided to stop and explore.

It was a nice break from the intense emotions I’d been experiencing. Still, nothing interested me except for a small display of jewelry directly under the beam of one of the limited overhead lights, compelling me to stop and look. Each piece, earrings, necklace, or ring, was made from small chips of an indeterminate material. The soothing green color was reminiscent of lichen-covered rocks I’d seen near the shore of a frozen lake or perhaps more like translucent sea glass.

It was calming and beautiful. I was drawn to the display as if being pulled toward it by an invisible string. I inspected several pieces, turning them over in my hands, holding them to the light, and admiring the pleasing shapes. Ultimately, I noticed a small handwritten message from the artist explaining her work and choice of medium.

She returned to her parked car one afternoon to discover that the windows had been smashed and the interior had been gutted. Thick shards of broken glass lay on the ground surrounding the vehicle, and what appeared to be a million tiny pieces covered the seats inside. She felt violated and was full of rage. She scooped up the bits of broken glass and took them to her studio.

Most of the artist’s story was left to the imagination. She didn’t explain her thought process or how long it took to consciously reclaim the situation and find a way to transmute her negative feelings into something positive and beautiful. The important thing is she did. Could I do the same? Could I find a way to channel my emotions into something positive and good? Could I reclaim my situation?

I bought a pair of earrings, fitted them in my ears, and turned back toward the conference.

It takes courage to find forgiveness, beauty, and grace when confronted with disappointment, negativity, and pain. It also requires a desire—or, as my mother used to say, a want to—to seek the good and imagine a way for the caterpillar to emerge as the butterfly.

Upon my return home, I wrote a long letter to the conference committee about my experience and how it might have been handled differently. Sharing my observations changed things—all for the good. I paid the tuition, but others learned lessons from my experience, making life easier for those who came after me. I have always felt that a force outside myself led me to those earrings and the lessons they continue to teach. I feel powerful whenever I wear them, for they remind me that even an adverse situation can lead to something unexpected and positive.

I’m entering 2025 with trepidation and uncertainty. This is not the future I hoped for or envisioned. And yet, those earrings remind me that even a broken windshield can become beautiful if we’re willing to collect the shards. Transformation and resistance take determination, patience, resilience, and sometimes strong glue. Life will always be complicated and challenging, so I suggest we also have plenty of emergency chocolate standing by.

Finding Joy on Holy Ground

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Evergreen trees are strapped to car roofs, colored lights are twinkling everywhere, Amy Grant has been singing carols since the week before Halloween, and the latest mood-making dusting of snow has my thoughts returning to the Christmas story again.

Bethlehem was crowded with people returning to their hometown to complete the paperwork demanded by the occupying Romans. The inns were overbooked; relatives had long ago filled guest rooms and even the couch in the den was taken. With limited options, Mary and Joseph were lucky to find shelter in a space usually reserved for livestock, and so it was there that Jesus was born among the cattle and placed in a manger bed.

The Holy Family I Made in High School
Used in the Christmas Morning Worship Service 2022

Most of the Nativity scenes I’ve seen over the years have been limited to Mary, Joseph, the Baby Jesus, and perhaps some shepherds, sheep, and the magi thrown in. On the other hand, the Nativity scene I saw at the Cathedral in Sorrento, Italy, this Spring is more like the vision playing in my head.

Nativity Scene in the Duomo di Sorrento Taken Through the Glass
April 2024
A Detail Provides a Closer Look
April 2024

This version presents a busy community, with life happening all around. Families and friends talking, laughing, eating, and working together, and right in the midst of it all was the Holy Family. In this portrayal, the shepherds and magi have arrived. Angels are still lingering overhead, but certainly not a multitude of the heavenly hosts. Most of the choir had already returned to heaven, but what a joyous, loving, and life-affirming portrait of people going about their daily lives together surrounded by the sacred. Perhaps that’s what it means to be standing on holy ground…ordinary people living their lives in friendship, love, cooperation, and peace.

Angels sang, shepherds marveled, and after their long journey, foreign visitors rejoiced. However, wise men from the East had an inkling that trouble was brewing in the seat of government. Herod was distressed…and all of Jerusalem with him…’King of the Jews’? Indeed! He began plotting and planning, but before taking action, he awaited a report from these wise seekers. Warned in a dream…not the most efficient form of communication in my estimation, but seemingly popular in this story nonetheless…not to go back to Herod, they returned to their own country via an alternate route.

Life Size Nativity in the Town Square
Mainz, Germany 2017`

I have heard this story countless times, yet I continue to find new messages in the relatively brief reports. This year, I am especially moved by the concept of finding joy despite adversity, oppression, and foreboding. Giving birth in a stable might create a lovely pastoral picture, but laboring on a bed of straw, with the stench of manure in the air and the lack of clean running water, is not that appealing. Mary and Joseph were in Bethlehem in the first place to facilitate the collection of taxes…not taxes that would build better roads, improve schools, or make life better for everyone; it was simply to line the pockets of the Romans. And then, of course, Herod lurked in the background…whether the main characters knew it or not…the danger was real. And yet, despite all this, the overarching theme of the Christmas story is joy…exceeding great joy!

Light In the Darkness
Kaiserburg, France 2017

For many of us, especially during holidays, grief and loss test our ability to feel joy. Ongoing wars, homelessness, hunger, climate change, and the apprehension of what may lie ahead in the coming year leave many of us with sadness and despair. It almost seems wrong to feel joy, happiness, or pleasure. How can we think of celebrating? On the other hand, how can we not?

A Small Section of the Nativity in the Cathedral
Strasbourg, France 2022

After relating a litany of simple pleasures in his poem, Sometimes, David Budbill continues,

“I am so happy I am afraid I might explode or disappear or somehow be taken away from all this, at those times when I feel so happy, so good, so alive, so in love with the world, with my own sensuous, beautiful life, suddenly I think about all the suffering and pain in the world, the agony and dying. I think about all those people being tortured, right now,
in my name.  But I still feel happy and good, alive and in love with the world and with my lucky, guilty, sensuous, beautiful life because, I know in the next minute or tomorrow all this may be taken from me, and therefore I’ve got to say, right now, what I feel and know and see, I’ve got to say, right now, how beautiful and sweet this world can be.”

None of us is promised a tomorrow. This is the day, the moment, that we have been given. It is up to us to appreciate our blessings, savor the richness of life, not give in prematurely to despair, and live it well.

Ancient Fragment in The Cathedral
Amalfi, Italy 2024

Seeking beauty and joy doesn’t mean surrendering to the world’s evils. We are still called to work for justice, live with kindness and generosity, and march, stand up, and speak out when necessary. The words of the poet Lynn Ungar give me comfort, courage, and, most significantly, direction.

“I hope that you remember that joy is an act of resistance. Pleasure and laughter and imagination are acts of resistance. Telling the truth, even in a whisper, is an act of resistance. We didn’t want to be the resistance…But here we are…There is not always a way forward that looks like what we want—justice and fairness and creation of the common good—and that’s a painful thing to wrap your mind around. But there is always a way forward that includes love.”

A Sunday School Project Still Hangs on My Tree
Made with love by daughter Jennifer in the 1970s

And so, in this season of peace, hope, and love, I will acknowledge the darkness as I seek the light and continue to quest for joy, beauty, and laughter. I will look with amazement, love, and tenderness at the faces of my children and grandchildren, just like the young mother who gave birth in a stable two thousand years ago. Like the shepherds, I will be open to mystery, surprise, and discovery if I’m brave enough to grasp them. I will be challenged by the example of the wise ones to move forward with determination and purpose toward justice and fairness, not allowing worry and dread for tomorrow to rob me of my delight in the pleasures of today.

“Joy does not simply happen to us. We have to choose joy and keep choosing it every day.” Henri Nouwen

Finding joy in dark times isn’t easy, but let’s pledge to make it our goal and defiant means of resistance. We can face an unknowable future if we lock arms and step onto the holy ground of our lives together in a spirit of love and compassion.

An Italian Adventure for a Woman of a Certain Age

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“Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So, throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”
― Mark Twain

Looking Down on the City of Sorrento
April 2024

We’ve all seen the movies. A woman, euphemistically of a certain age, decides to make a change, have an adventure, or finally check a challenge off her long-held to-do list. Although she’s no longer in full bloom, enough petals remain to make her interesting. She carefully packs her bags, gives her cat to the neighbors, and heads out the door to make it happen. She arrives at her destination full of wonder and excitement mixed with some trepidation. The camera pans out as we watch her appreciating the local sights and sounds. The sidewalks glisten from the remnants of a soft rain as she walks along the river… there’s always a river…undeterred.  With a crumpled map tucked into her purse, she ventures down curious alleys and picturesque side streets, smiling at the sheer joy of her freedom and discoveries. Inevitably, before we’ve even eaten half of our popcorn, she finds herself enjoying a cup of tea in a small sidewalk cafe, on a bench overlooking the ocean, or selecting a book from a quaint corner shop when quite unexpectantly…except to those who know the genre…she encounters a handsome gentleman. Suddenly, the plot twists, and the story continues in a new direction with an additional player. There’s modulation in the soundtrack and…ya da, ya da, ya da…the part that all romantics have been waiting for. Well…you know how it goes.

On my grand adventure last spring, I wasn’t expecting it, but just like in the movies, I met a handsome Italian man. I was checking into my hotel in Sorrento when he approached me at the counter. His face was framed by a tidy, neatly trimmed, dark brown beard, and his eyes were like deep pools inviting you to dive in and swim about. His broad smile was infectious and not easily ignored. I was immediately taken by his warmth, humor, and pleasant laugh, but it was his kindness and giving nature that really won me over. Ya da, ya da, ya da…but I’m getting ahead of myself.

The Lemons of Sorrento
April 2024

My husband, Dave, and I often led parallel lives, but we both loved to travel and were great traveling companions. We did that part of our lives together very well. I’d make the plans, and he’d drive on the high, scary roads. It was a comfortable partnership, and we had many grand adventures. When he died, I wondered how I would ever be able to travel again without him. I had some glorious times with my family and friends, but I couldn’t depend on them to make things happen. They had their own lives and their own spouses; I’d have to figure out how to do it on my own. So, I began scouring travel websites and investigating solo travel via river cruises or land tours.

During the annual meeting with my financial advisor, I lamented the high cost of the single supplement, that is, the additional cost incurred by those traveling alone.”You won’t believe the amount that is added above and beyond the base price! It’s bad enough that I’m going without a partner or friend; should I have to pay more, too?” I complained.

“You have the money,” he replied. “Just pay it and go. Just go!”

Not long after that exchange, one of my friends presented a program in the women’s group at church about her recent trip to Tasmania, Australia, and New Zealand. I have never been a fan of organized trips involving travel by bus, especially those where you have to put your bags outside the door every morning by 6:00 a.m.

“Oh, if you travel with this company,” she said, “you’ll always have two or three days in one location, and we didn’t always travel by bus. We also went by train and boat, and once,” she added with a smile, “we even went by elephant.”

“Yes,” I nodded with interest, “but I hate to pay that single supplement.”

“There is no single supplement,” she declared.

With my major obstacles flung aside, the road to adventure lay directly before me. It was time to investigate with intention. Remarkably, the company my friend suggested was the same one I had used with great success for river cruises. I’d never looked at the land options, but I really liked the company…so…the search began in earnest. Before long, I had narrowed my options down to two: The Amalfi Coast & Tuscany or Romantic Villages of Alpine Europe. I’d never had a strong desire to go to Italy, but that two-week itinerary only required one move; seven days in Sorrento and seven days in Montecatini. That was really appealing, but The Alps! How could I resist Switzerland, Liechtenstein, Austria, the Mountains, and Heidi?

As I was agonizing over which to choose, I noticed a suggestion in the small print. Instead of choosing between the two, why not book both of them back-to-back? I’d save money by omitting the cost of an overseas flight, I’d save the wear and tear on my body by excluding that flight, and it would be better for the planet. Sounded like a win-win. OK. I’d do it. I plunked my money down…and then…waited several months for my departure date.

Anticipation and anxiety both filled my thoughts as I awaited my flight. Planning two consecutive trips required a connection. The idea that I’d have to make the connection on my own never even occurred to me. To say I was concerned was an understatement. I was terrified. Cars and airports I can handle with ease; train stations are another story. My tiny city has one platform and one train. The train goes south in the morning and north in the evening. Making this transition meant I was going to have to change trains while shlepping my bags in one of the largest, busiest train stations in the world. I worried about it a lot, but I would have time to figure it out…I hoped! Travel always involves challenges, adventures, risks, and, almost by definition, stepping out of your comfort zone, but that’s why we do it. Apprehensive or not, with one foot in front of the other, I wasn’t going to miss my chance…I was doing it!

At The Dartmouth Coach…Why yes! I do look just like a sophisticated World Traveler, don’t ‘cha think?
April 2024

And so, after a connection in Frankfort—the worst airport experience ever, including Moscow—a rather alarming aborted landing in Naples that took us over Mt. Vesuvius—and as the solo passenger in a car driven by a young man who spoke no English but insisted on playing Rap music the entire way—I never quite understood that—I arrived at my lodging for the next week in Sorrento and that aforementioned check-in desk.

Another key change and a slight change in tempo… ya da, ya da, ya da…the intriguing new man introduces her to all the sights of the city. Sienna, Florence, Amalfi. He suggests tucked-away restaurants where she discovers the best wine, cheese, and pasta. He shows her amazing vistas and stunning views and explains the history and significance of things she may have missed. He listens intently to her questions, stories, and concerns. In his presence, she feels at home, comfortable, and confident.

Immediately upon meeting Frankie, I was smitten, but I was not alone. All of my traveling companions… soon-to-be friends…were equally taken with him. You see, Frankie was our program director…our tour guide. The funny thing about tour guides is that they are paid to be nice, answer questions, show you the ropes, and keep things moving. Sincerity, kindness, patience, and caring, however, can’t be bought at any price. These just came naturally to Frankie. He set the tone for us and our time in Italy. Brought together by fate, we rapidly became a friendly, cohesive group. The universe conspired to create the perfect cohort, bringing together just the right people at just the right time. It was magical.

“Kindness is not what you do, but who you are.”― Cory Booker

Visiting a School Where Frankie Once Taught…You Can’t Fake Anything with Children
April 2024

If I were writing a travel blog, I’d include details of where we went and what we did, but the takeaway from this story is how I was changed by this adventure and the wonderful man who shepherded me through it. With his encouragement, I took steps with the group…and…more importantly, on my own…that were outside my comfort zone. I found kind people everywhere and learned that, at times, I was one of them, too. I became more confident with my own decisions about what I wanted to do, what I could do, and what I knew I didn’t want to do. I didn’t always do what was expected. Instead, Frankie gave me the tools and encouragement to choose to do what worked best for me. Using his cell phone, Frankie even accompanied me step-by-step as I navigated the train stations in Florence and Milan. “You can do it. Don’t worry. I’ll help.” And…indeed…I did do it.

Our entire group could not sing his praises loud enough. We all had a wonderful experience. However, I wasn’t discovering the country as much as I was discovering myself and all the possibilities that remain if I’m willing to grab them.

“Travel far enough, you meet yourself.”
― David Mitchell

With our popcorn gone, the movie reaches a bittersweet conclusion. Our heroine is grateful that their paths have crossed for this brief encounter, but she’s well aware that she must return to the life she left behind—don’t forget the cat’s still at the neighbors—and yet, a world of possibilities has been opened to her. She has been forever changed. Smiling, she turns and waves goodbye. The door closes, and he is gone.

With deep gratitude and much affection, my sweet Italian friend.

You made a difference. You are adored!

I highly recommend…Grand Circle Travel https://www.gct.com Maybe you’ll meet Frankie too.