Category Archives: Ramblings

Stringing Beads

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“And sometimes a cigar is not just a cigar. Just sayin'”

Sally Armstrong

I recently came across this piece…a totally true story… I had written over a decade ago. It made me chuckle when I unearthed it from the hidden depths of my trusty laptop. I hope it makes you smile, too.

Beads! Beads! And More Beads!
Photo credit: Pixabay

“Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” 

Mae West

A couple weeks ago, I picked up a book about aging gracefully…how to have your best brain after fifty…which, at 62, I’m trying to speed-read before it’s too late. One of the suggestions for keeping your brain fit and healthy is to take up a new hobby, so when my friend Anne gave me everything I needed to begin making beaded necklaces, I was ecstatic. Not only would I be able to create my own works of art, but I would now have a new activity to explore while giving my declining brain a good workout.

What fun! Anne had provided the necessary jewelry findings, beads, and wire. She had even offered to give me a lesson on how to proceed, but I couldn’t wait. So I googled the internet for a youtube explanation of how to attach a clasp. Soon, I was off and running! Whoo! Hoo!

In no time, I needed more colors in my palette, more textures in my supply, and more shapes in my coffer. So I was soon off to the local bead store.

Beads and Tools at the Ready
Photo credit: Pixabay

I have often wondered how a store on Main Street that sells beads almost exclusively could remain in business. Are there really enough people in the area who are interested in beads? The shop is filled with beads of all colors, sizes, shapes, and places of origin. Some of the beads are relatively easy, with large holes that allow easy threading, and appear suitable for beginners. These bigger beads often seem as though they have already been used quite a bit with nicks, scrapes, and a somewhat worn patina. It is simple to take these beads off and on and off and on until you find a pleasing pattern or are ready to move on to more challenging spheres. Some of the beads have tiny holes that can only be threaded with the utmost patience and a gentle touch. While there is a wide variety of beads from which to choose, the wires appear to be pretty much all the same…allowing you to select the length and width that pleases and satisfies you most.

After selecting a strand of pink quartz, I approached the counter and asked the proprietor if she could help me. I was looking for a unique finding I had seen on a recent trip to Sedona. 

You know…that round thing”, I said, using the index finger and the thumb of my left hand to form a circle. “You know…that round thing and then the stick thing that goes into it?”  I asked, demonstrating with the index finger of my right hand going in and out. “You know? I don’t know what it’s called”. 

She gave me an odd little smirky smile and replied, “ Um…A toggle?” she asked with a stifled chuckle.

“Yes, that’s what I guess I mean.”

The whole exchange was a little odd. I mean, why the snicker? Why the chuckle? What was so funny? How was I supposed to know the proper names for all the bits and pieces? Did she think I should make up my own nomenclature? Well…I let it go, paid for my treasures, and turned toward home with ideas buzzing in my head.

The following day I gathered all the required implements and the selected beads and began my artistic venture. As I bent over the bead tray with the stiff piece of wire in my hand, I was impressed that, yes, this was a fantastic new hobby, one that would strengthen my brain, creating new pathways for thought, stretching those synapses and neurons, and really polishing up my cerebral cortex.

As I selected the tiny black bead that would go on first, I was amazed at how little they were…how difficult it was to see the opening. In fact, I couldn’t see the opening at all. I poked around with the wire a bit, and then…success. It slipped easily onto the wire. I tried a few more. What lesson was I being taught? What message was the universe trying to teach me? Was it patience? Was it that if I kept trying, I’d eventually get the wire in the hole? Perhaps the lesson was that even if I couldn’t see and was operating by touch and feel if I kept trying, I’d finally succeed? It was as I took the next bead in my fingers and realized that I was sticking something stiff into a relatively small opening…poking around and hoping for success that the electrical circuits that were created back in my twenties were suddenly shooting sparks all over the cerebrum…it suddenly…or finally… dawned on me what I had been innocently demonstrating to the bead lady.

“There’s grinding the corn. Hitting a home run. Knocking boots. Peeling the banana. Making whoopee. And my personal favorite, the matrimonial polka.” 

Sue Mercury, Alien Warrior’s Second Chance

So, I guess…bead stringing… isn’t exactly a…new hobby…for me. But, while I look for the next new challenge to give the grey stuff a workout, I think it is good for the old brain to remember the time when bead stringing was new and exciting, and it was a success just to get the bead on the string.

Epilogue…2023

I wanted to add an epilogue to this piece, but I had difficulty getting beyond all the innuendos that were trying to make it past the little censor in my brain. But perhaps, the following will suffice.

As I age, I understand my mother more and more. She never became a demure old woman dressed in lavender and lace. Instead, she became, among other wonderful things, the teller of rather bawdy jokes. Seeing the bemused looks of shock, surprise, and joy that her racy punchlines elicited gave her immense pleasure. No one expects a little old lady to know anything at all about bead stringing. However, If my ninety-year-old mother was any indication, stringing beads can be a pleasurable way to spend an afternoon or evening at any age.

Shepherds, Gen Z, and Instructions

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“And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.”

Luke 2:8

With the first of this year’s snow covering the ground, evergreen wreaths appearing on doors, and holiday movies trending on Netflix, my mind begins to contemplate the coming of Christmas. I’m rather astonished that, at my age, I still have questions about the ancient nativity story? I have heard and retold the Christmas narrative innumerable times, yet, even now, questions continue to arise. Lately, I’ve been pondering the role of the shepherds.

When choosing parts in our annual No-Rehearsal Christmas Pageant, my friends always dress as shepherds. “The shepherds get all the best songs, they say.” For millennia people have speculated about this small group of unnamed souls who were just going about their business when, quite unexpectedly, they found themselves thrust into the center of the nativity story and the main focus of some pretty great songs.

Luke’s biblical telling is brief, to the point, and succinct but certainly lacking in details. For example, did the angels appear to others that night or only these particular shepherds? Were there others who were too afraid, too busy, too tired, or just too disinterested to go in search of this mysterious child? Perhaps other seekers simply got lost and never found the stable. Luke says the shepherds discussed what to do about the angel’s message, but I wonder…did everyone agree or have to be convinced? Did they list the pros and cons? How did they decide? Luke also tells us that later the shepherds told others about what they had seen, but what exactly had they seen in that stable? Were they alone with the Holy Family, or were there others present that Luke simply failed to mention? These omissions prompt me to question, imagine, and wonder.

Sheep Grazing on a Hillside in England Near Hadrian’s Wall
October 2021

During Biblical times shepherding wasn’t the domain of outcasts and the lowly, as some have suggested… Although I would suppose that spending so much of their time outdoors and in the company of rather smelly animals didn’t garner them many party invitations…On the other hand, because sheep were so crucial to the community’s life, it naturally follows that caring for and protecting them was a necessary and valued job. Abraham, Moses, and King David were among many biblical patriarchs who spent time as shepherds. Most often, the youngest child…male or female… in the family had this duty. I think of it as a ‘starter job,’ much like Saturday night babysitting was when I was a teenager. Babysitters were entrusted with caring for a family’s most precious treasures, but once the wee ones were asleep, it was snacks and TV. So, instead of the thick-bearded, often wizened old men portrayed in many paintings, it is more likely that the shepherds on that hillside outside Bethlehem that night were teenagers or young adults. Knowing the penchant teens have for darkness and nighttime…maybe… just maybe, the angel appeared to them because they were the only people still awake. Additionally, youthful peer pressure and collective courage might have guaranteed they would leave their fields, go into the village, and seek the child.

“And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.”

Luke 2:9 KJV

It was a busy night in Bethlehem for the shepherds, but what happened next? What was the conversation when the young shepherd returned home later that morning and told what they had seen?

Another Guardian of the Sheep
On the Road to Kenmore, Scotland, 2014

Grandfather. You won’t believe what happened last night.”

“Was there a problem with the sheep? Bears? Lions? You and the lads didn’t get up to any mischief, did you?”

“Oh, no. It was nothing like that, and you’re not going to believe it.”

“OK… I’m ready. Go on with your story.”

“Well…you know, it’s kinda lonely watching sheep by yourself, so we decided to combine our flocks. When the sheep were bedded down, we were just sitting around the fire, telling stories and jokes, when the sky was suddenly filled with a blinding light. It was amazing, and get this…there were singing angels.”

“Angels? Really? Come on, are you making this up? Did you guys get into that new wine?”

“No, I swear it’s true.”

“Well, continue.”

“And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.”

Luke 2: 9-10 KJV

“It was amazing. One of the coolest things ever. Well…once we got over being scared half to death, that is. I mean, it was unreal. OK…So, the head angel said something amazing had happened in town, and we should go there immediately. Something about a special baby being born. A savior or some such thing. The angel was a little sketchy on the details of how to find this baby, though. No, directions. Just find some stable in Bethlehem. Do you have any idea how many stables there are in Bethlehem? Well, once the angels left, we talked about whether or not we should go find this baby.”

“Don’t tell me you left the sheep.”

“Of course not. We left the youngest ones behind, and the rest of us took off. Running through the night was much more exciting than watching a bunch of sleeping sheep.”

“So, did you ever find the stable and the baby?”

“It took us a while and was a little dicey at times. We didn’t want to be found peeking into a stranger’s barns, and who would have believed us if we’d said an angel sent us? But yes! Yes, we finally found the stable, the tiny baby, and his tired parents. It was really something to finally find this baby, just like the angels had told us we would. We were a little hesitant at first, but when the parents beckoned us to come closer to get a better look, how could we refuse? As we drew near, the mother pulled his blanket back so we could see the sleeping child. The funny thing was that all we saw was a normal baby…very pink and wrinkly. An actual angel had told us that this was a miraculous baby, but he looked rather ordinary to us. Maybe we just have to let him grow up a bit. Wow! What a night.”

Well…it could’ve happened that way.

“And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child.  And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds.“

luke 2:17-18 KJV
A Modern Day Shepherd
Photo credit: Adapted from Pixabay

I love the idea that the first ones on the scene…the shepherds…may have been teenagers or had teens among them. They heard the news, and together they ran boldly toward it.

Could it be that our youth…like the shepherds…are the hope of Christmas made manifest? No angels foretold their coming; they arrived in the world as ordinary infants…red and wrinkly, and like the shepherds, many are busy working starter jobs. Still, this latest generation…Gen Z… is also taking action on climate change, working for racial and reproductive justice, supporting LGBTQ and gender equality issues, and lobbying to establish sensible gun laws. They hear the message and are running toward it. Should we wait for them to report back on what they see, or can we join them in searching for the baby in the barn?

The days of my youth are long gone, now only visible in the rearview, but I can choose to live the rest of my life in the manner of the shepherds. Perhaps, that is the lesson that all my questions are teaching me.

“Instructions for living a life. Pay attention, Be astonished, Tell About it.”

Mary oliver
A Shepherd in the Christmas Pageant…2017
Yes, that is a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Maybe It’s Not a Clock

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One of my dearest friends is about a decade older than I am. Although we laugh a lot and are often rather silly for two women of a certain age, we also have deep conversations, and she always gives me sage advice.

“You know, aging doesn’t necessarily mean that you are going to need new knees and hips, but eventually, you are going to slow down.” she counseled me on several occasions. “I’m happy with my life as it is and no longer feel the urge to travel. I’m pretty content to simply sit in my favorite chair and read. You’ll arrive at the same place sooner or later, but right now, you have a window of time. Use it well. Do the things you really want to do. Go to the places you really want to go. See the things you really want to see. And while you’re at it…eat the things you really want to eat.”

You Have A Window of Time…Use It Well
Prince Edward Island 2018

When I was about six years old, the Disney movie Peter Pan finally reached a theatre near me. In the 1950s, movies weren’t released everywhere, all at once. Small towns had to wait until the big cities had had enough of a film before it was shipped out to the hinterlands. Peter Pan wasn’t a particularly scary movie, but there were a few terrifying moments for a little kid. When Tinkerbell was captured by the dreaded Captain Hook, we all were on the edge of our seats with concern and worry for the tiny fairy. Would Peter reach her in time? But for me, the absolute horror was the crocodile. After he had feasted on the captain’s hand, he wanted more, so he slowly followed the ship waiting for the chance to chomp away on the remaining hand. As a matter of self-defense, Hook had fed the crocodile a clock that continued to tick away, acting as a primitive alarm system. The incessant tick tock, tick tock created heart-pounding moments of foreboding, apprehension, and fear in the young audience members. We knew that danger was near, and even though Hook was the villain, we didn’t want to imagine him with his hand in that huge mouth full of teeth.

In the summer of 1975, another colossal mouth full of teeth and a similar musical phrase struck terror in the hearts of moviegoers and kept people on the beach and out of the water. The auditory warning from the movie Jaws, with its steady, relentless rhythm…the dual note…dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun… put another audience on guard and on the edge of their seats. Even today, the repetition of those two notes can elicit a feeling of dread and impending doom. The composer, John Williams, described the theme as: “grinding away at you, just as a shark would do, instinctual relentless, unstoppable.” In his blog post, Alex Burns says, “The way the theme is used is interesting because it conditions the audience to associate the theme with the shark. This causes quite a stir at the film’s climax, where the shark appears suddenly with no musical introduction.”

Is That a Clock I Hear Ticking?
photo credit: Pixabay

Like the captains, I’m beginning to hear the steady, incessant beating of my life clock, tick, tick, ticking away the minutes, hours, days, and years. I suppose that, like the theme of Jaws, the cadence will increase in volume and intensity until the falling action, when perhaps without warning…one day, it stops. Rather than think of this unyielding reverberation with a sense of doom and possible regret, I attempt to use the constant ticking as a reminder that the clock eventually does wind down. I have limited time to check things off my list…do the things I want to do, see the things I want to see, and visit the places I want to go.

Time management is an oxymoron. Time is beyond our control, and the clock keeps ticking regardless of how we lead our lives. Priority management is the answer to maximizing the time we have.”

John C Maxwell

When our friends were buying lakeside cottages, big boats, and fancy cars, Dave and I decided to use our money and time to travel. We had some marvelous adventures together. We walked in Red Square, floated down the Thames as Big Ben chimed ten, dug peat in a bog in Ireland, slept several nights in a ghost town in Utah, descended into the depths of a salt mine in Poland, and strolled through tulip fields in Holland. We had a wonderful time traveling together. Now, even without my traveling buddy, the world beckons me. There are still places I’d like to go; however, at the moment, the list of places I’d like to return to is longer than the places I yearn to visit for the first time, although the thrill of discovery and trying something completely different and exciting are solid motivators for adventuring into unknown territory.

There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.

Nelson Mandela

There is a special kind of comfort in returning to the familiarity of a place I’ve loved. Even if I’ve been to the exact location several times, each visit provides new adventures and insights. The ancient castle may not have changed between visits, but I have.

Edinburgh Castle from the Vennel
October 2021

Several months ago, knowing how much I loved to travel, my daughter suggested I make a list of the places I’d still like to visit and things I’d still like to do. So, when I recently told her of the plans I’ve set in motion for the coming year…a weekend with Harry Potter at Universal Studios in Orlando, tickets for Hamilton in Boston, time alone in the desert outside of Tucson, a week with my granddaughter in Amsterdam, a rental cottage on Lake Champlain, another season in Stratford and on Star Island…I had to laugh at her response.

“Why are you planning so much? Do you really want to take that many airplane trips in one year?”

“I hear the clock ticking,” I replied. ” I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to travel.”

“You’re going to wear yourself out. You don’t have to do it all at once.”

She doesn’t yet realize that along with the ticking clock, there is the matter of my vintage parts that are beginning to deteriorate. The engine has a strange knocking, the belts and gaskets are brittle, the accelerator is not what it used to be, and the exhaust system is unreliable, so while I still can, I choose to wear out rather than rust out. Cracks can form along the fan belt’s surface, and small chunks of rubber can peel or chip off even if the car is parked in the garage. Might as well keep it on the road as long as possible.

Yes, I hear that constant ticking, but perhaps instead of a clock counting down minutes and years, I simply hear the steady beat of a metronome marking the tempo of songs I have yet to sing.

Effie…My Friend in Isolation

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For more than two and a half years, I successfully avoided being infected with COVID-19. I got the vaccines, and I was one of the first in line every time there was a booster. Over time, I began to think of the at-home tests as similar to a pregnancy test. I had taken every precaution, but I knew I had had sex…so to speak. Condoms break, masks slip, and there were also those occasions where I would take a chance…just this once. So…eventually, my luck ran out, and like millions of others, the blue line couldn’t be denied…I had Covid, and once again, I was in isolation. Because I was vaxxed and boosted, my infection, although not pleasant and lasting much too long, was relatively mild and similar to a bad cold. Not wanting to take a chance on infecting anyone else; however, I once again spent time secluded, sequestered, and alone. While I kept hydrated, rested, and blew my nose, blew my nose, and blew my nose, it was impossible not to recall the first scary time when everyone and everything was put on hold.

During the covid lockdown of 2020, I was incredibly lonely.

I yearned for connection with a warm-blooded mammal besides the squirrels who would come to raid my bird feeder or gather the seeds I spread next to my chair on the deck. Oh, sure. They’d let me feed them and come tantalizingly close to my dangling fingers, but they’d never let me touch them. Probably just as well. Who knows who else might have been cohabiting inside their furry little coats.

Having a Snack and Watching from a Nearby Tree
March 2020

I didn’t even have a plant. Someone who needed me but wouldn’t judge me for moments of benign neglect and would listen attentively to all my worries, concerns, or even tall tales without judgment far into the additional loneliness of night.

Against this backdrop, Effie arrived on my doorstep. 

“You’re going to love her”” my across-the-yard neighbor had told me  

“Well, we’ll see,” I replied skeptically, but then…Oh, why not? If she doesn’t work out, she doesn’t have to stay.”

“When the world is so complicated, the simple gift of friendship is within all of our hands.”

Maria shriver

You might imagine the excitement and the wee bit of trepidation  I had when she arrived at my door with instructions for the care and attention she’d need. Of course, I’d have to make sure she was clean and rested between play times, but I didn’t have to worry about struggling with her at nap time as she had her own sleeping pad, and, I was assured, she would put herself to sleep when she was tired.

On the following morning, she was so quiet that I hadn’t noticed her going from room to room exploring. She nosed into the corners, gathered dust bunnies from under the beds, and, much to my embarrassment, emerged from the closet draped with a carelessly discarded pair of kickers. Lamps teetered as she tugged curiously on their cords, and she randomly repositioned anything left in her path. I reminded myself that she was just young and inquisitive.

Eventually, she became accustomed to being in my space, and I began to welcome her company…feeling relaxed when she went off to play. I learned that if I placed the chairs carefully around my table, she couldn’t get stuck and require assistance to extricate herself and redirect her activity. I learned from experience to move the lamp cords and double-check where I placed my crocheting and extra yarn. Before long, I also began to look for her when she was too quiet. I knew she was probably up to or into something. In an amazingly short time,  began to look forward to hearing her moving about or watching as she slid under chairs or climbed up and over the threshold of my fireplace, and I’d smile as she’d make tighter and tighter concentric circles before winding down and putting herself to sleep.

With Effie around, I no longer felt quite so alone.

“Friendship is the hardest thing in the world to explain. It’s not something you learn in school. But if you haven’t learned the meaning of friendship, you really haven’t learned anything.” — Muhammad Ali

Muhammad Ali
“You’re traveling through another dimension — a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination. That’s a signpost up ahead: your next stop: the Twilight Zone!“

Our relationship did, however, feel like I’d slipped into The Lonely, an episode of the Twilight Zone. A convicted criminal, James Corry has been placed in solitary confinement alone on an asteroid 9 million miles from Earth. When a supply ship arrives with a female robot companion, Corry’s life changes for the better. Soon, he sees her not as a machine but as a friend. Effie and I have a similar backstory. Effie…A Roomba knockoff…EUFY Boost IQ RoboVac… had become my friend. Unlike the TwiIight Zone episode, I didn’t leave her behind after isolation, however. She is with me in my new condo and continues to amuse me as she finds further mischief for herself.

Who can explain friendship? To paraphrase a famous quote: Friends come into our lives for a reason, a season, or for as long as their battery holds a charge.

The Promise on My Ticket

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“The three most exciting sounds in the world…anchor chains, plane motors, and train whistles.”

George Bailey…It’s a Wonderful Life
The Jacobite Train…aka The Harry Potter Train
Glenfinnan, Scotland October 2021

I don’t know if I could reduce all the beautiful sounds of the world down to just three, but I would certainly agree with George Bailey that the sounds of travel are some of the very finest. I simply love to go adventuring! Although still cautious, after two years of Covid restrictions, I am encouraged and delighted by the fact that the world is slowly beginning to open up once again. Ironically, as fate would have it, just as it’s getting safer to throw a suitcase in the back seat and hit the road, gas prices are at an all-time high. Nevertheless, I continue to scour travel guides and maps, planning the perfect route for future trips, tours, and adventures. Studies confirm that planning, booking, and anticipating a trip are beneficial to our health and wellbeing.

“It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end.”

Ursula K. Leguin

Philosophers, poets, and writers stress the importance of the journey, not the destination. Experienced travelers know the value of being open to unexpected challenges, changes, detours, as well as unplanned joys, discoveries, and glimpses of rainbows. It’s not only about where we arrive but how we get there.

The Road to Killin.
Along Loch Tay, Scotland, October 2021

Of course, it’s important to enjoy the flight. We take pleasure in the wee bag of pretzels, the cola in a plastic cup, and we choose the window seat so we can dream above the clouds, but we also need the gratification of eventually getting off the plane. I can’t think of anything worse than constantly traveling and never arriving. I love the journey, but occasionally, like a little kid, I want to ask…Are we there yet?

For some, the idea of destination may imply…an end…the finale….the place we hope to arrive…eventually…death, perhaps….but not without first going through the hassle of Detroit Metro, Logan or Schipol. Instead, I prefer to think of destination as the promise on my ticket of places I’ll stop along my journey. Sometimes I’ll get out of the car and tramp through the woods, paddle my kayak, or ride the Hop-On, Hop-Off bus. Other days will find me stuck with a long layover, a flat tire by the side of the road, or waiting for lost luggage.

Reunited with Old Blue
October 2021

Last October, I was separated from my suitcase for the first eight days of a vacation. Ultimately, my wayward luggage was delivered to our condo hours after we had checked out. This frustrating experience required a complete reworking of our planned route so we could return to collect it. While definitely NOT what we had anticipated or desired, the new course brought us near two great sites we would have missed had we followed our original path.

Kilchurn Castle
Loch Awe, Scotland, October 2021
Packhorse Bridge…1717
Carrbridge, Scotland, October 2021

Sometimes the destination we reach is better than the one we were seeking. But, of course, that works with opposite results too. I remember very well the afternoon my GPS took me to a deserted gravel pit instead of the bridal shower I had intended. In the end, I was a tad late, but after turning my car around and adjusting my route, I arrived in plenty of time for cake. We can always turn the car around, plot a different course, buy a new ticket, or rearrange the furniture where we land.

Throughout life, we have many destinations…places we go for adventure, locations we seek for refuge and answers, regions that are dark, depressing, scary, and seem to take our very souls, and ports of great joy and happiness. However, we don’t stay in any of these places for long, for we must always journey on.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a Seeker. As I’ve traveled through life, my destinations have included the search for answers, the quest for truth, and the hope of finding a light to guide my path. I have journeyed through the land of love and friendship, the valley of loss, regret, sickness, pain, sorrow, and the sunny meadows of bliss, wonder, and amazement on my trek. I’ve carried no passport on this pilgrimage, but each stop along the way has placed its own stamp of entry on my soul.

Once the hotel is booked, the tickets purchased, and the itinerary confirmed, anticipation and anxiety come together in what the Swedes call resfeber (RACE-fay-ber). Resfeber is described as the restless race of a traveler’s heart in anticipation of a trip or that tangled feeling of fear and excitement before a journey begins. Most travelers know that feeling well as we double-check our lists, secure our passports and wallets, and check once more that the stove was indeed turned off. So, I mark the days until my next adventure. I have a confirmed reservation, my suitcase lies open waiting to be filled, Covid tests are ready, and resfeber is beginning to set in.

“You’re off to great places! Today is your day! Your mountain is waiting so get on your way!”

Dr. Seuss
The Golden Highway
Isle of Harris, Scotland, October 2021

My adventures no longer find me on the crest of the hill. Now I am wending my way slowly down the steep western bank. This pace allows me to enjoy the wind on my face and the flowers at my feet. It gives me time and space to recall, relive, and relish those backroads and safe harbors of my past journeys. However, as the path becomes more challenging, I simply have to plan more stops along the way, discover new destinations, and buy as many tickets as possible. 

Eventually, I will reach the coastal plain, and the final destination will appear before me…but…until then, I am savoring each moment of the journey and delighting in all the destinations that lie ahead. Whoo! Hoo!

Scott’s View
Hawick, Scotland, Near the English Border, October 2021

Stay Where Your Feet Are

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“Wherever your feet are let your head and heart be also.”

S D Armstrong
Covid Caution Comfort

Living alone and in covid caution, I find that I am spending an inordinate amount of time conversing with that tiny little voice in my head. We’re like best buddies spending hours together in front of the fire, sipping mango-ginger tea discussing the profound and the mundane. Sometimes we agree on a conclusion, but we often talk in circles. Lately, we’ve been discussing being present, what exactly that means, and perhaps more importantly…how to achieve it. One of us will stress the importance of living in the moment while the other blethers on about making plans and considering options. We wonder… if we only have the present moment…what happens to memories of the past or desires for the future? It’s confusing.

I know I don’t want to live my life constantly looking backward at the past or the way things used to be. But, conversely, I don’t want to live my life in a future of…someday I’m gonna… or… it’ll be better when. Wouldn’t it be a pity if I fail to recognize each unique, unrepeatable moment by remaining stuck in a past that has already taught all its lessons or in anticipation of a future full of what-ifs? Perhaps living in the present means existing in the space between.

“Life can be found only in the present moment. The past is gone, the future is not yet here, and if we do not go back to ourselves in the present moment, we cannot be in touch with life.”

Thich nhat hanh

Since I prefer discussions to nearly any form of physical activity, I find it rather remarkable that I…a rather slug-like person…have more than one friend who has ridden a bicycle from one shore of the United States to the other. Years ago, my friend, Linda, was the first to take up the challenge. Her route was mapped, and her stops were planned. She was trained, fit, and ready to go. She dipped her bike tires in the Pacific Ocean near Portland, Oregon, then set off to meet three young men who were going to make the trip with her. Together they began the adventure.

At some point early on, Linda became separated from her companions. In those pre-cellphone pre-internet days, with no hope of reconnecting with the guys, she wandered into a cafe to grab a cup of coffee and ponder her next move. Before long, she was relating her tale of woe to four of the coffee shop regulars who were seated at a nearby table. She was disheartened and discouraged. Could she go on alone, should she go on alone, or did it make more sense to pack up her bike and take the next flight home? The old men listened carefully, and then the one with the salt and pepper whiskers and a Johnny Cash t-shirt put down his cup and looked at her earnestly. Then, slowly and deliberately, he asked, “Can you do today?”

“Sure, I can do today,” she replied.

“Then do today. You can always quit tomorrow.”

And so it went all across the United States. Each day she would rise and ask herself. “Can you do today? Then she’d add,” You can always quit tomorrow.”

Knowing that she only had to do today and could always quit tomorrow gave Linda permission to cast worries aside and be fully awake and aware during this never to be repeated adventure. Together with the preparations and conditioning she had done, this simple idea allowed her to move forward one day at a time while staying right where her feet were… in the toe clips of her bike…alive, joyful, and open. She lived each day enjoying the wind in her hair, feeling the aching muscles of the climb, marveling at the beauty of the earth that surrounded her, grateful for the blessings of people she met along the way, and truly living in the present moment.


You Can Always Quit Tomorrow
Photo credit: Pexels-Pixabay

“Time is a very misleading thing. All there is ever, is the now. We can gain experience from the past, but we can’t relive it; and we can hope for the future, but we don’t know if there is one.”

George Harrison”

It’s probably true that if I want to hear God laugh, I just have to tell Her my plans. On the other hand, having a plan…preparing for what might lie ahead…takes much of the worry out of an uncertain future and allows us to live with confidence that all will be well. Using lessons from the past, we can see the path forward and can relax, be present, and delight in the ride.

It’s not necessary to forget or ignore the past to live in the moment. Just don’t stay there. Check the weather report, study for the test, make sure there’s gas in the tank, and then let it be what it will. We’ve done what we can. Pay attention, savor, and enjoy. Then even if things don’t work out the way we want or expect we’ll know that everything will be all right.

All of life is lived in short, bite-sized pieces…days, hours, minutes. Ordinary moments. None of us can do more than live the best now we can. We don’t have to do life all at once. We just have to do it one day at a time. And…there are times when we need to remind ourselves…that each day is lived one hour…one minute… at a time. Sometimes it’s enough just to do that one hour…that single minute, knowing that even in moments of pain, despair, fear, and grief, living in the moment can help us find peace, hope, and grace. 

“Living in the moment means letting go of the past and not waiting for the future. It means living your life consciously, aware that each moment you breathe is a gift.”

Oprah Winfrey
The Chapel at Sunrise
Star Island 2021

One summer, as the week was winding down at the Arts Retreat on Star Island, the minister for the week, Rev Bill Clark, gave us this instruction “Don’t leave the island,” he said, “until you leave the island.”

All of our off-island problems would be waiting for us onshore when The Thomas Layton docked in Portsmouth. So why pick up that luggage before it’s absolutely necessary? With seven miles separating us from the mainland, why squander our remaining time concerning ourselves with that we couldn’t control anyway. Instead, drink in the startling beauty of the star-studded sky, the comforting warmth of friendships, the peace of a chapel full of candlelight, and the orchestral sound of sea birds and waves…remembering to stay where our feet are, living in the glory of now.

The White Island Lighthouse
September 2021

We build our future upon bricks we laid in the past and let go of what we can’t control, realizing the only time we really have is the moment we are living. Sometimes that includes creating the grocery list, putting gas in the car, and making the bed. Mountaintop experiences are rare, so we must find joy in the ordinary, the mundane, and the common. Let the chocolate melt on our tongue. Feel the crunch of snow beneath our feet. Watch the birds at the feeder. Smile at strangers and hold our loved ones close. After all, I ask that wee voice…isn’t that living in the moment and being present for life?

“THIS is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.”

Psalm 118:24

Epilogue….Two months later, Linda dipped her tires in the Atlantic Ocean in Portland, Maine

A Box of Memories

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“Memories…May be beautiful and yet…What’s too painful to remember…We simply to choose to forget.”

Bergman/Hamilsch “The Way We Were”

“Each day is a gift, and as long as my eyes open I’ll focus on the new day and all the happy memories I’ve stored away, just for this time in my life.”

Author Unknown

It’s nearly time for my annual game of Holiday Decoration Tetris. In the past few years, I’ve downsized considerably, resulting in fewer boxes and bins, so the game has become less exciting, but it’s a challenge nevertheless. Before I can extricate the plastic tubs from the front closet where they have resided… pushed aside, ignored, and buried…for the past eleven months, I have to remove a big box of Easter baskets and artificial flowers that has been unceremoniously stashed on top. Then I need to move the extra, oak, table-leaves that are leaning precariously against the box holding my senior-citizen-living-alone-sized artificial tree. After all the bins have been liberated I will gingerly remove the lids and inspect the contents. To the casual observer, the contents would appear as a collection of inconsequential junk… little plastic sculptures, fragile bits of colored glass, and painted popsicle sticks together with scraps of paper glued and glittered. But, in actuality, they are the tangible manifestation of love and connection held together by memories.

O, ChristmasTree
2020

Most of the holiday trimmings I collected over the years have gone to my children, been sold at the church bazaar, or have simply vanished in the foggy mist of time. The remaining boxes hold only that which is most meaningful. I have a large glass ornament that hung on my mother’s childhood tree.  In its final years, it is nearly naked of paint and gold bits that once adorned it.  I have a few brightly-colored, delicate treasures that have survived from the 1950s.  I remember them from as far back as I can remember.   During the 1970s,  on the day after Christmas, I rushed out, along with many other shoppers in my small town, to purchase Hallmark decorations at half price.  I no longer have most of those bargains, but the few that remain help me recall the love and joy of another place and time.  Art projects from school, church, and crafting days at home hold special memories. I pause momentarily when I take them from the box picturing the tiny fingers that created them and wishing that I could hold those little hands just once more.

  • Made by my granddaughter in 2010 to welcome the New Year.
  • I bought the wax ornament for my mom when I was in high school.
  • A decorative Springerle purchase in Alsace.
  • Crafted with love by my sister.
  • A Sunday School creation
  • Made in elementary school.
  • An at-home crafting project.

More than any other time of year, the holiday season stirs our senses and calls our memories into the present. I hear Silent Night, and I am singing with family and friends outside the Methodist Church on a long-ago Christmas Eve as snow freckles my nose. Cinnamon, nutmeg, and anise transport me to my grandmother’s root cellar with crocks and tins filled with Lebkuchen, Russian Teaballs, and Springerles. Reminders and memory joggers are inescapable. They surround us with connections to people and places we can only visit in our memories. The reliving often brings us comfort, smiles, and joy; but it may also carry feelings of melancholy, loss, and sadness; and an imperative to treasure the present moment and use it to create fresh memories that will give us succor in the future.

I’m not totally sure if it is an age thing or a Covid thing, but I have lived much of this past year…not just this coming holiday season…with a strong reliance on memories and a great deal of longing for the past… for the way things were before coronavirus, rapid-tests, or KN95s…or… at least the way I think they were. So it’s a bit disturbing when I consider the signifant role memories have been playing in my life…especially when I can’t seem to recall what day it is or why I went into the kitchen. I’ll be the first to admit that much of what I choose to remember has been colored by the rosy tint of my glasses. I’m reasonably good at dismissing those memories that don’t tell the story I want to hear.

“In personal life, the warm glow of nostalgia amplifies good memories and minimizes bad ones about experiences and relationships, encouraging us to revisit and renew our ties with friends and family. It always involves a little harmless self-deception, like forgetting the pain of childbirth.” 

Stephanie Coontz

In September, after a two-year absence, I returned to two places that have held great meaning in my life…places where my spirit is most at home…Stratford, Ontario and Star Island off the coast of NH. Before making the trip, I weighed the risks, precautions, and benefits. As I crossed into Canada and as I stepped onto the dock I literally stopped in my tracks to acknowledge just how lucky I was to be returning…stepping out of my memories…out of my imagining…and into a very tangible present. I seemed to slip outside myself a few times and view the situation with some detachment. I was a cinematographer searching for the best angle to capture my present while being aware that there were flashbacks and parallel scenes I’d want to incorporate in the final production. The present always contains shadows of the past.


Swans…Down the Hill from the Theatre
Stratford, ON 2021

In Stratford, I had tickets for live theatre. How amazing was that? After a canceled season, there I was enjoying two plays. A huge canopy had been erected and masks and other accommodations were in place to keep everyone safe, thus allowing the show to go on. I have enjoyed more than 40 seasons at the Stratford Festival, but this time I was there without the Stratford Gang or any family members. Just me. It could have been a heavy-hearted experience, but it wasn’t. Yes, I did miss having companions, but I could hear their voices, feel their laughter, and see them hurrying through the park toward the theatre hoping to arrive before the trumpets sounded. How could I be lonely? They were everywhere.

The Chapel at Sunrise in September
Midweek 2021

The following week found me on the Thomas Leighton, on my way out to Star Island. In June, when I would have normally been on Star, I was still hesitant about traveling. However, once I understood all the safety precautions being taken, I decided that I had to go. I knew that being on that rock in the Atlantic would feed my soul. A few other Shoalers also felt the island’s pull, but most of my friends would not be there. So much of Star Island is constant: the rocks, the wind, the gulls, and the waves, but the people give it life. I felt the absence of old friends even as the memory of their laughter, kindness, and sense of fun echoed in my heart, encouraging me to create new memories and giving me permission to make new connections.

Our memories, the way we tend to experience them, are sort of fuzzy around the edges, like a watercolor that has bled into the past and is not totally clear.

Lisa Joy

I wonder. When we spend meaningful time in a place do you suppose we leave bits of ourselves…our molecules…in the bricks, boards, and stones? Do you think the memories we create in a place are like a form of our DNA? I have visited many sacred sites where the presence of ancestors has been almost palpable. It’s difficult for me to stand in a very old cathedral without being moved. The architecture is designed to elicit a sense of awe and wonder, but I believe it is the lingering memory of the human activity…weddings, baptisms, funerals, innumerable pleas for help, and prayers of thanksgiving…that inspires me…creating the sacred and making it holy.

People don’t realize that now is all there ever is; there is no past or future except as memory or anticipation in your mind.

Eckhart Tolle

I saw a rather sad meme on Facebook recently: When the glue of the family passes away, the holidays are never the same. My first response was to sadly agree, but almost immediately, I had to admit that in reality, the holidays are never the same…they are constantly changing…we never get the same one twice. Wee ones grow up and elders pass away, and eventually, it is our turn to become the glue. It is up to us to create the magic and the memories. As I juggle the tubs, boxes, and bins, I realize that memories come out of those containers, but they also go in as well. Whether we are able to gather in person or if we once again connect over Zoom…we’ll be making memories. We won’t keep them all, but our favorites will be placed safely in the boxes and bins, waiting for another year when they too will be taken out, caressed, and treasured.

“When you are gone, the only truly important thing you will leave behind are the memories you’ve created.”

Michael Hyatt; Daniel Harkavy, Living Forward

Driving in the Rain with Patsy

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“Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning to dance in the rain.”

Unknown
Newfound Gap Road, Great Smoky Mountains National Park
August 2021

There had been a brief shower earlier in the day, but as we entered The Great Smoky Mountain National Park we were greeted with glorious blue skies filled with brilliant, white, fluffy clouds. Scheduling conflicts, limited time, and mobility challenges kept us on the Newfound Gap Road through the park, but we enjoyed what we could see from the car and stopped briefly at the occasional scenic overlook to grab a snap or two. All in all…it was a splendid afternoon.

As we exited the park onto the streets of Gatlinburg, Tennesee, the mood of those happy clouds suddenly began to shift. A smattering of raindrops eventually became an unexpected torrent. In an instant, buckets of water were thrown against my windshield. I was forced to slow down while the wipers worked furiously to keep my field of vision open. I compensated for limited visibility by following the truck in front of me and keeping my eyes on the white line at the edge of the highway. A few drivers pulled over to the shoulder to wait for the storm to pass, but most slowly and cautiously continued. I was among those who chose to simply press on.

Rain on the Windshield
photo credit: Pixabay

In June, with COVID infections declining and vaccination rates climbing we greeted friends in person, basked in the sunshine of possibilities, and were illuminated by the light at the end of the tunnel. We were once again busy making plans and looking toward the future with joy and optimism. The sudden storm of the Delta variant coupled with vaccine hesitancy abruptly changed everything. Overnight, masks were once again being required, social distancing and limiting contacts were returning even for those fully vaccinated. Plans that we’d thought possible in the spring were being reevaluated. Would we pull over onto the shoulder and wait it out, cancel everything, and prepare for another winter of isolation, or would we…could we…move forward slowly following the safety guidelines, weighing the risk-benefit of our choices…but moving forward nevertheless

“Pandora’s box had been opened and monsters had come out. But there had been something hidden at the bottom of Pandora’s box. Something wonderful…Hope.”

Lisa Marie Rice, “Breaking Danger”

When I met Patsy, in the spring of 2020, I had no idea of just how interconnected our lives would become. One of my few outings that spring was to visit a local nursery. By the time I was brave enough to venture out, most of the plants had been picked over. “Here’s a hanging basket you might like,” suggested the proprietor. He was right. She was a beauty. At first, I thought Patsy might have been called…Bea…you know…for Begonia…but she insisted that she was Patsy.

Throughout the spring, summer, and into the fall, I admired her cheerful nature and delighted in the fact that another living thing depended on me. She gave me purpose. I’m not a gardener, but I kept her watered, fed, and deadheaded until I heard it…that dreaded word…frost! Perhaps Patsy knew that she was an ‘annual’ doomed to die at the end of the season, but I didn’t. I just couldn’t allow my companion to be killed by frost, so I welcomed her inside.

She dropped leaves, became very spindly, and seldom blossomed. I kept her safe inside and she brought me hope. We were both merely trying to hang on, and together we did. As long as Patsy kept turning her leaves to the light, I could too.

The Deck…A Very Happy Place
August 2021

“They say a person needs just three things to be truly happy in this world: something to love, something to do, and something to hope for.”

Tom Bodett…and others

Patsy made it through the winter and the chilly days of early spring to rein this summer as the queen and wise woman of my deck. Instead of her life ending last fall, we both hung on to the hope that life would get better, full of color and blossoms once again. I smile at her every day and I’m relatively sure she smiles back.

I have begun, as a matter of self-care, to limit the amount of time I spend watching the news. It doesn’t seem to be the usual pattern of ups and downs. Lately, it’s just all downs. There is fear, sadness, and loss on many fronts, but there are still reasons to be hopeful. When I have doubts…Patsy is there to remind me.

My Friend, Patsy
August 2021

“This fourth wave is really devastating,” my daughter said. “You need to prepare for the possibility of another winter of isolation. Do you have a plan?”

“I’ve thought about it,” I replied. “I’ve decided that my plan is to be…as much as possible…positive and hopeful. No matter what lies ahead I must approach it with hope. Not hope for anything specific…just expectation and anticipation of a better future.”

“Hope reduces feelings of helplessness, increases happiness, reduces stress, and improves our quality of life.

Extern.org

“Yes,” she continued. But you should still think about what worked for you before and what didn’t and prioritize what you want or need to do before the snow flies. Remember, just because you hope for something that doesn’t make it happen.”

“I am open and I am willing. To be hopeless would seem so strange. It dishonors those who go before us, so lift me up to the light of change.”

Holly Near, ” I Am Willing”

Faith can move mountains, but only if you get out there with a shovel and what Jennifer said was true. I need to at least consider the possibility of another winter of isolation. Maybe even make a plan…but perhaps that’s what hope is all about…anticipating, expecting, and visualizing a favorable outcome… and then moving in that direction.

I could pull off the road, grab some ditch-munchies from the backseat and wait for the storm to pass…a perfectly acceptable choice…cognizant that along with the possibility of sun, there is also the potential for wind and hail..or…to keep my tires on the road, hands firmly on the wheel, and imagine driving slowly out of the storm. Of course, I may be forced onto the verge at some point…the road may flood, the bridge washout, or I might simply run out of gas. I’ll deal with that if I have to, but for now, I will continue cautiously…mask at the ready…in the direction of my dreams, encouraged by Patsy and her steadfast hope for another summer in the sun.

I may not be as positive, optimistic, or brave in the coming days…but I’ll still cling steadfastly to hope until I feel those things again.

Shaking My Own Keys

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What a pleasant surprise to discover that I am still learning and discovering things about myself even at my age. My latest revelation is that even if there is no one else available…which, let’s face it, for the last year, there hasn’t been…I will shake the shiny keys and amuse and distract myself. Let me give you a case in point.

Just What I Need…A Shiny Set of Keys
“delightful click-clack sound for auditory and visual stimulation” Fisher-Price
Image: Pexels

I haven’t been lying exactly, but lately, I have found that sometimes my answers are less than truthful. I suppose in the strictest definition, being less than truthful might technically be considered lying, but I prefer to think of it as responding with a fanciful answer.  I simply imagine reality as I wish it to be rather than it is. 

These days, I seldom give a completely truthful answer to the question, How are you?  I usually answer with a short, positive statement.  “I’m fine.”  “Pretty good.”  “Can’t complain.” “Couldn’t be better.” I found an online site teaching English as a second language that suggests five responses to that question…all in the affirmative.  Negative responses are in the advanced lesson. I answer that I’m fine because that’s how I’d like to be…how I’m hoping to be…how I will be…but that’s not always truthfully how I am.

“The truth.” Dumbledore sighed. “It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution.”

J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone

When I’m asked that question, I want to say things…shout things… like… I’m really tired of this pandemic; I’m getting sick of Zoom and FaceTime; I’m weary of being alone, yet even with the vaccine, I’m still hesitant to be with others; I don’t think I even remember how to be with people; I’ve forgotten who I once was, and all these people who still refuse to wear a mask or social distance are making me crazy angry. I’m pretty certain that if I gave voice to any one of those responses that I’m holding back…assuming the person inquiring had time to recover from my rant…I’d be joined by a cacophony of other voices shouting, “Me too, me too.” 

But…I don’t.

Instead, I smile and say, “I’m fine.” “I’m doing well.” “Everything is all right.”

My Love-Hate Relationship With Zoom
Image: Pexels

In our society, the phrase, “How are you?” has been reduced to a perfunctory greeting…a simple formality…a nicety. Does anyone actually expect or even want a completely truthful reply?

“Shared joy is a double joy; shared sorrow is half a sorrow.”

Swedish Proverb

Sharing our joy is easy…social media is filled with photos, videos, and posts expressing joy and happiness…but for many, it seems…sharing sorrow is more difficult. Problems, heartache, fears, and worry are universal. No one can escape sadness. Bearing such burdens would be easier, of course, if we reached out to each other. Instead, we stoically lift them to our shoulders and trudge on. We cover our fears, our uncertainties, our sorrows with a mask of “all-rightness.”

I suppose it is the risk of revealing our soft, tender places that prompts us to give the brief expected response. “I’m fine. How are you?” Exposing our vulnerability…sharing our pain demands a certain amount of trust and confidence. We enjoy the game, but we hold our cards close to the breast.

Years ago, when I apologized for a slight I thought I had committed, my friend, Carol, replied, “You know, you worry about the wrong things.” I know for her it was a casual, off-hand remark, but for me… an accomplished worrier…it became a challenge.

I worried about what I was worried about, and then I worried about what I should be worrying about. I suppose giving a less than sincere answer to a question as innocuous and commonplace as, “How are you?” is one of those things that come under the heading of…wrong things to worry about. Still, I must admit, I spend an inordinate amount of time pondering such things.

“One thing I can suggest is that when you start to go to a dark place, for you to consciously redirect your thoughts. Mind over mind. Make yourself think of something completely different. An image of something joyful or silly, and focus on that.” 

Sue Halpern, Summer Hours at the Robbers Library

Some people do jigsaw puzzles; some people run for miles; some people read stacks of books; apparently, I spend hours pondering the correct response to a cursory question.

Some People Make Jigsaw Puzzles
Photo Credit: Pexels

Recently, I discovered a long-forgotten, thirty-five-year-old scrap of paper that I had tucked inside a book. I had written several paragraphs comparing the benefits of showering vs. soaking in the tub. At the bottom of the page, I included a message to my future self explaining that I had spent time writing this wee document to take my mind off the troubling situation that was occupying my life at the time.

While unbidden or sudden distractions cause us to take our minds off the goal or our eyes off the road, they also invade our thoughts and lead us down paths we would rather avoid. That constant chattering monkey-mind that clutters our meditations or won’t allow us to fall asleep can be really annoying. Paradoxically, it seems to me that seeking diversions can be quite beneficial, calming, and ultimately help us to focus. When we’re thinking about edge pieces of a 1000 piece puzzle, we have no time to think about when our children will be vaccinated, when the Canadian border will open, or if going to the grocery store in the afternoon is a wise idea.

We have filled an entire year with diversions of one sort or another. The list is long and varied. We have exhausted all our usual ways of filling time on a rainy day, and we are longing to get back outside and into the sunshine of our lives once again. We’ve helped each other through this challenging time, and we’ve discovered interesting solitary pursuits. I’ve never run a marathon, but I have the experience of long car trips. When you have driven all night, those last couple of hours are the most difficult. That’s when you turn up the radio, roll down the windows and sing like a Rock Star.

Roll Down the Windows and Sing Like a Rock Star
Photo credit: Pexels

We’re almost there. We can make it. I’ve learned that even when there isn’t anyone else around…I can always shake those shiny keys and distract myself just a wee bit longer.

Finding Wisdom in the Rocks

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Late last August, my sisters and I decided that if we were careful…lots of ventilation, masks, and social distancing…we could safely travel north together to an out-of-the-way beach on Lake Michigan that would be perfect for hunting Petoskey stones…the state stone of Michigan.

Once at the beach, the three of us trekked down the embankment toward the water carrying sunscreen, sunglasses, and containers for our finds.  It was a gorgeous Michigan summer day and although we brought our swimsuits with us we left them in the car.  We’d be fine in our shorts. 

As we moved along the beach our goal was to get as far away from any people as possible. 

We were seeking solitude and safety but most importantly we hoped to find a stretch of the lake where no one had yet picked over the rocks that had been churned up by the waves and left near the shore for us to find. 

Dry Petoskey Stones Hiding in Plain Sight
August 2020

We clamber over tree trunks that had fallen into the water, large stones that jutted out from the shore, and piles of assorted slippery rocks and pebbles that acted like ball bearings pulling us toward the drink in our quest for the perfect spot. Presently, we reached the place, that by consensus, we agreed looked like the best place to begin our exploration.  It didn’t take long for us to realize that we were going to get wet…very wet,  Wouldn’t it be nice if we had those suits?  Since Penny is the most in shape we agreed that she should make the trek in reverse and go get our bathing attire.  In the meantime, Kelly and I would scour the rock-strewn beach and shoreline for treasures.

I had, of course, seen Petoskey stones, but I’d never found one.  They aren’t impossible to find in central Michigan where I grew up…but…I don’t remember it ever happening. As kids, we found lots of fossils, but never the coveted Petoskey.

These distinctive stones are the fossilized exoskeleton of a coral that lived about 350 million years ago in the warm waters of what was then an ancient sea. At that time, geographically, Michigan was near the equator and covered with waters that were perfect for clams, cephalopods, corals, crinoids, trilobites, fish, and many other life forms.

A Little Water Makes the Pattern Really Pop
Photo credit: Pixabay

The living part of the coral was called a polyp.  The dark spot in the center of the hexagonally shaped chamber was the polyp’s mouth. The animal had tentacles like most modern corals, that grabbed plankton as it drifted by and then fed this food into its mouth. Like most things, knowing what you’re looking for makes it easier to find.  Even so, Petoskey stones often remain hidden until their distinctive pattern is revealed by water.  That’s one reason so many people hunt for them along the shores of the Great Lakes.

When Penny returned, we snaked off our shorts and t-shirts, and in the seclusion of our bit of beach, we wriggled into our garments of nylon and spandex.  In truth, for me, at least, it was more like the gyrations of a geriatric contortionist, but eventually, I had all my bits covered and was ready for the water.  Lake Michigan is like a smaller, tidier version of the Atlantic without the briny scent or the dependable tides.  When hunting for seashells at the ocean, one merely has to wait for the water to recede with the tide and collect the bounty the waves have deposited on the shore.  Along the lake, you may find treasures in the sand, but hunting for gifts of the current in freshwater often requires looking beneath the waves.

Oh, What Treasures Are Lurking There?
August 2020

Yards from the shore, Penny hollered, “Come on, you two.  If I knew you weren’t going to get out any deeper in the water than that, I’d have never gone for the suits.”

She’s right, I thought, but before I could go more than a few feet out into the water, I slipped on a hidden rock and went in face-first.  Surprised and gulping for air, I got to my feet only to be kissed right on the lips by a huge wave.  Down again.  Spitting water and making my way to the shore,  I rose once again, but…those rhythmic waves just kept coming, and I was down once more.  This time I held my head above water and swam-crawled to the sand only to discover my dear, sweet sisters laughing hysterically.

“Are you OK?” Kelly asked between fits of laughter.  Such sympathy and concern.  

Climbing from the water, I made my way to one of the fallen logs to take a break.  Just as I did, the water that I was dripping revealed the Holy Grail.  My first Petoskey!  It had all been worth it.  She was a beauty.

My Beautiful Friend and Teacher
After Lots of Sanding
2020

“There’s a flame of magic inside every stone & every flower, every bird that sings & every frog that croaks. There’s magic in the trees & the hills & the river & the rocks, in the sea & the stars & the wind, a deep, wild magic that’s as old as the world itself. It’s in you too, my darling girl, and in me, and in every living creature, be it ever so small. Even the dirt I’m sweeping up now is stardust. In fact, all of us are made from the stuff of stars”.

Kate Forsyth

“Listen to the rocks and mountains,” instructed my Native American friend. “They have great wisdom.”

At the time, I dismissed this thought out of hand. What could a non-living thing teach me? Over the years, my sensibilities and understanding have undergone an awakening. I have begun to recognize that there is a deep connection that exists between and within all inhabitants of the natural world. The same elements…the same atoms…the same stardust that is in me is present in all that surrounds me. Life is too complicated to leave all the lessons to sentient beings. Perhaps, if we listen closely, we’ll understand the tutorials of the quaking Aspen and the rhythmic crash of the ocean as it kisses the shore or the lessons taught by the intertwining roots of the Giant Redwoods and the Sunflower always keeping her eyes on the prize.

“Study how water flows in a valley stream, smoothly and freely between the rocks. Also learn from holy books and wise people. Everything – even mountains, rivers, plants and trees – should be your teacher.”

Morihei Ushiba

As a novice collector, I soon learned that many tedious hours of hand-sanding…with water and increasingly finer grit sandpaper… is the most common way to bring out the hidden pattern of Petoskey stones. I’ll admit, after hours spent together, I developed a friendly relationship with this once-living creature as I worked, and like any good friend, she taught me a great number of lessons. Oh, there was the obvious lesson of patience, perseverance, and purpose, but there was also the unexpected message of rebirth and redemption.

Mom’s Favorite Beach Along Lake Michigan
The Point Betsy Lighthouse
August 2020

Imagine it. For a time beyond my comprehension, this piece of calcified coral has been on a journey to find me. It traveled north with the movement of tectonic plates, was buried during the ice age, was scraped up by the glaciers, and buffeted about beneath the waves of Lake Michigan until it came to rest on the beach, where it waited for me to recognize it, pick it up, and joyfully carry it home to be sanded, polished, and treasured.

She is a determined instructor, and her lessons are still being taught when I focus and listen, but for now, it’s enough just to know that the universe is full of unimaginable adventures still awaiting me and that I really have no way of knowing upon which rock-strewn stretch of beach I’ll be found.