Finding The Kelpies

“It seemed like the world is moving too fast and I wanted it to stop or at least slow down, so that I could keep up. I wanted the time to wait for me. Then I realized, life goes on, and I have to live with it.”

Kcat Yarza

Our quest to see The Kelpies began in Edinburgh’s Waverley Station. The main hall is stunningly beautiful and rather imposing for three small-town women. Buying a ticket, finding the correct platform…among the twenty available…, and boarding on time was a challenge, but we did it…with a wee bit of help from a local. With the first phase of our mission accomplished, we settled back in our seats, pleased with ourselves and full of anticipation for what lay ahead.

The Waiting Hall at Waverly Station
Edinburgh 2022

The Kelpies, located about 30 miles northwest of Edinburgh, are the largest equine statutes in the world at nearly 100 ft high. These horse head sculptures depict mythical shape-shifting water spirits and were created to honor the horse-powered heritage of Scotland. The magical power of these enormous beasts seemed to pull us toward The Helix Park in Falkirk, where they were awaiting our arrival.

I had seen these impressive statues before from the M9 motorway with my late husband, Dave. He didn’t stop…of course not… but as we approached the position of best visibility, he’d lean back so I could take a photo. Of course, it goes without saying that shooting past Dave out the window of a moving vehicle was not optimal for getting the best picture.

Best Shot Out the Window on The M9

On a sunny day in October, during my first return trip to Scotland after COVID travel restrictions, I saw them from within the park with my sister, Kelly…our intrepid driver…and her husband, Bill. What a treat. Now, in April, I was looking forward to sharing them up close and personal with my sister, Penny, and my granddaughter, Fiona.

The train stopped several times as we made our way out of the city and into the countryside, with additional brief connections in towns on the route. Beyond the city and villages, we sped by fields of brilliant green spring crops dotted with sheep and edged with the ever-present, vibrant yellow Gorse, but my memory has reduced this all to a modern art smear of yellow, green, and sky blue. We were moving too fast for clear memories to form.

“Life is ephemeral; each moment passes quickly a blur of color on a fast moving subway car. There and gone and all we have left is the imprint of what once was.”

jacqueline Simon Gunn

My life has been moving at breakneck speed for the past few months. At times, I watch it pass before me as though I’m watching from the window of a train. I hardly have time to savor one event before it has morphed into the next. Perhaps that’s why I am seldom without my phone and its built-in camera. Maybe the pace of our lives is why so many of us carry this memory grabber in our pockets, ready in an instant to freeze the moments of our lives into bite-sized glimpses to appreciate and enjoy later; tangible confirmation and future memory joggers of our adventures.

As we trundled on toward our destination…not giving too much thought to how we would get from the station to the park…another adventure in itself…we had time to relax and simply be. The world was rolling past our windows, and it would spin just fine without us for a while. I rather like the cadence of an event-filled vacation…life…but it is also sweet to simply sit back and enjoy the ride from time to time too.

Rest is not idle, is not wasteful. Sometimes rest is the most productive thing you can do for body and soul.

Erica Layne

A few days earlier, through the magic of modern technology, I’d sold my house in Michigan from our flat in Edinburgh, just off the Royal Mile. Still, as we continued our quest for The Kelpies, I had no way of knowing that within a month, I would have stored my worldly goods, spent quality time sharing hugs, laughter, and goodbyes with friends and family, and returned to Vermont. I hadn’t yet been invited to live with my children until I found a place. Nor did I have an inkling of how in Montpelier’s tight housing market, I’d miraculously find a small condo in the perfect location on the North Branch of the Winooski River by the beginning of July.

North Branch of the Winooski River
Summer 2022

Now, in late August, the slightest hint of autumn is in the air, reminding me that shortly the leaves will turn, and this long hot summer will only be a memory. Sweaters will replace t-shirts, wool socks will be added to my Birkenstocks, and it won’t be long until mittens and boots emerge from their summer lodging. The seasons provide a natural rhythm to our lives. There is imperative to gather the harvest and busily prepare for a time of quieting and slowing down.

There is ebb and flow. Leaving and coming. Flight and fall. Sing and silent. Reaching and reached.

Ally Condie

I find it such a delight to fill in the little squares of my planner with activities and plans. I often find myself creating the itinerary for my next adventure before I’ve finished the final glass of wine of the trip I’m on. The challenge isn’t to remove all the hustle and bustle of life. The real challenge is ensuring that our calendar is filled with activities that add joy and meaning to our lives and that we’re not merely on the hamster wheel going nowhere but actually enriching our lives. Leaving some empty squares in the planner and allowing time to rest, recover, and regroup is essential. Our short time on the train afforded us a brief respite before we would complete our pursuit for The Kelpies.

“No mortal ear could have heard the kelpie passing through the night, for the great black hooves of it were as soundless in their stride as feathers falling. –

Mollie Hunter

Standing before these massive sculptures, at last, with people I love, experiencing their expressions of wonder and awe, was a reminder that my life is full of blessings, simmering moments of amazement, and occasions that can only be described as grace. I don’t want to move so fast that I recognize them only as blurred images.

My Granddaughter and My Sister
An Adventure Together 2022

“Untether yourself from the engines of busyness…Instead, consider your life–who you love, and why, how blessed you are to be here, resting under a shower of birdsong, or what strange bright luck it is to be the owner, for a few years, of this beating heart, these wondering eyes, the ears into which the kingfisher spills her small chuckle as she dips across the water…”

Kathleen McTigue…An excerpt from “Summer Sabbath”

Two Lovers and a Glass of Wine

“Wine enters through the mouth, Love, the eyes. I raise the glass to my mouth, I look at you, I sigh.” 

― William Butler Yeats

As I arrived at my book club meeting, I was met by the evening’s hostess. “Welcome,” smiled Tina. “Would you like a glass of wine? I have Pino, Chardonnay, or a nice Cab.”

When it comes to wine, all the women in my group know much more about it than I do. I know I really enjoy Baco Noir, Malbec, and the occasional glass of chilled Riesling, but the rest are a mystery to me. They might be beautiful in the glass and pleasurable on the tongue, but I’ll admit…I really don’t know one from the other. Many years ago, on a trip to France, my husband, Dave, and I attended a delightfully instructional wine tasting in a local wine cellar. It was fun, but even that didn’t improve my understanding of wine. I remember that the aroma, color, and the way it swirls in the glass are supposed to all add to the enjoyment, but in all honesty, I’m not sure why or how. On the other hand, when the discussion led to the philosophy of terroir, I understood and could easily relate.

Terroir is a French word that translates as land. As I understand it, the soil and environment affect the grape’s development, taste, and quality which are ultimately reflected in the wine. The same grape grown on one hillside may taste entirely different from one produced on an adjacent field.

Grapes Grown for Williamsburg Winery
Virginia 2011

I realize that terroir in this context refers to grapes and perhaps other crops as well, but I think it also may apply to people. Where we are born, raised, and eventually settle affects what we believe and how we behave. It shapes who we are and who we come to be.

Last Fall, I heard an original poem read by a woman who lives part of the year in New England and the other in Florida. Through her writing, she acknowledged that her friends in either place really only know a part of who she really is. Without an understanding of the ethos of New England, those in Florida would only ever know one side of her. Conversely, those in New England could never comprehend the Florida part. Dave and I were born in the midwest…Michigan, to be precise…but we spent most of our married life together in Vermont, so unless our friends had similar backgrounds, they never truly knew us.

A man can be in two different places and he will be two different men. Maybe if you think of more places he will be more men, but two is enough for now. –

Elmore Leonard

As Dave’s mobility decreased, we discussed downsizing from our 1810, four-bedroom house to something more manageable. Once when I asked him what he would do if I died and he was alone…as we age, we think of such things… he responded, “I’d move back to Michigan.” So, when he died, and I was alone and unable to find a suitable place to relocate in Vermont, I sold our big house and moved to a small condo in Michigan near my sisters and within an hour’s drive of women with whom I’ve had decades-long friendships.

Within months of my move, we entered the time of Covid. In the blink of an eye, the world changed for everyone. The life I had anticipated was impossible. Most of my connections with family and friends were virtual. I was living…as were most people…through my computer screen. Church services, family gatherings, chats with my grandchildren, and monthly book club meetings were conducted on Zoom or Facetime. My groceries were delivered outside my door, and I relied on UPS and the US postal system more than I’d like to admit. I enjoyed my little condo with its cozy fireplace, and I spent a good deal of time alone on my deck with the birds and squirrels for company. I walked the city parks and binge-watched several British and Canadian television series. Weekly small group meetings with other solo women and our minister also kept me going. It was a comfortable…yet very lonely…way to weather the storm. When we could meet outside…at a distance of six feet or inside with masks and excellent ventilation…I was able to see my sisters and friends, but we were never close enough to hug…or even touch. It was a strange time but not unique to me. The entire world had been locked down.

My Little Deck and Container Garden
Summer 2021

Each of us has our own pandemic story. Being isolated and alone kept me safe from the virus, but my life was often framed by loneliness. However, my friend, Suzanne, says that adults are responsible for their own good time, and even amid the restrictions of the Covid time, I was able to make memories, share laughter, and enjoy the blessing of time with those I love. However, I slowly realized that I was becoming collateral damage to the pandemic. I have never been able to put down roots or make genuine relationships within the new community in which I found myself.

The plains of central Michigan have their own kind of beauty: the red barns, green fields, and expansive sky; nevertheless, I longed for Vermont’s mountains, streams, and cedar scented air. Although there are many people I love…deeply love…in Michigan, my heart and soul…not to mention my children and grandchildren…are in Vermont. I had to return.

I listed my beloved condo with a realtor in mid-April, and surprisingly…to me anyway… it sold within a week. So I am putting the accumulation of my life in storage and packing my clothes, sundries, computer, and the book I haven’t finished in Andy…my Mini Cooper…and trekking back to all I love in the Green Mountains of Vermont. I’m moving forward in the faith that I’ll be able to find a place to eventually unpack, settle, and successfully revive and nurture the roots that have lain dormant during my time away.

As I wrap my breakables carefully in newsprint, I often have two songs from decades ago playing alternately on a loop in my head. The chorus of the Mary Wells Motown hit…Two Lovers...is regularly on repeat. “Well, I’ve got two lovers, and I ain’t ashamed. I’ve got two lovers, and I love them both the same.” But, perhaps the 70s Pop/Soft Rock recording by Mary MacGregor, Torn Between Two Lovers with its sensitive lyrics and haunting melody, is closer to expressing the ache of having two intense and conflicting loves. When I exchange place for man in the song, it comes close to articulating my feelings.

Torn between two lovers, feeling like a fool
Loving you both is breaking all the rules
You mustn't think you failed me just because there's someone else
You were the first real love I ever had
And all the things I ever said
I swear they still are true
For no one else can have the part of me I gave to you

I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever be completely happy, for I will always be drawn to one place while at the same time missing the other. The people of Vermont and Michigan each possess their own unique terroir, and I have drunk deeply from the rich, sweet wine of both. But, I suppose, in the end, all I can really do is linger over the exquisite glass before me…enjoying the aroma, the color, and the way it swirls in the glass…knowing that I’m not limited to one bottle and can always return and fill my goblet once again from the other.

“You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart will always be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place.’

Mirium Adeney

The Promise on My Ticket

“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

I Need a Technicolor Coat

“Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar”

Probably not…Sigmund Freud

As a student, I struggled with the use of symbolism. I understood the concept but just couldn’t seem to recognize it in the text. If by some miracle I did realize that the author was using that technique I seldom had a clue what it meant or what message was hidden there. How reassuring when in a master’s level seminar, after the class had spent over an hour prying all the possible symbolic meanings from The Old Man and The Sea our professor warned, “Remember don’t get too caught up in symbolism. Sometimes it’s just about a fishing trip.”

Ducks at Chip-a-Waters Park, 2020

Shortly after my mother died, I began to have a reoccurring dream. It returned night after night. In the dream, I’d grab my computer or my phone and in panic and terror, I would plead a desperate warning: “Don’t delete the program! Be careful. Don’t hit the wrong key. Don’t delete the program! Just don’t delete the program.”

If dreams are merely stories we tell our unconscious selves why did I keep repeating this one? Knowing my struggle with symbolism I surprised myself by how quickly I came to understand the message of this nighttime vision. It seemed obvious. The program I didn’t want to delete was my mother.

The dream returned when Dave died.

It came again last week.

I woke myself up in the middle of the night, grabbed my cellphone and had it in my hands trying to find which keys I needed to push when I realized that I was once again in the dream and there was nothing I could do to keep the program from self-deleting. The symbolism had changed only slightly. It was not my mother or my husband I was trying to keep from slipping away; it was my life as it had been before COVID-19 snatched it from my grasp.

I recalled the dream the next morning when I was fully awake and had to admit that in many ways I am right back in the early stages of grief. This time, of course, I’m not alone with my private pain. This time the entire world is collectively grieving. Each of us, whether we acknowledge it or not is in one of Katherine Kubler-Ross’s five stages of grief…denial, anger, bargaining, depression or acceptance.

Being sequestered in my home, I see grief being manifested in the roller coaster ride of posts on social media. Friends share silly videos, humorous graphics, and uplifting messages of hope one minute and posts full of anger and frustration the next. I feel it in my own life too. I am often filled with fury and despair at the calamitous situation in which we find ourselves. At other times, I am nearly paralyzed with sadness; my eyes welling with tears and a lump in my throat that I am unable to swallow away. I am overcome with the mirrored emotions of fear and apprehension, and yet, when I notice small green shoots poking through the pebbles reaching for the sun or watch the Mourning Doves build a nest in the big pine tree I also feel a sense of calm acceptance of things as they are. Grieving is a complicated business.

“In times of grief and sorrow, I will hold you and rock you and take your grief and make it my own. When you cry I cry and when you hurt I hurt. And together we will try to hold back the floods of tears and despair and make it through the potholed street of life”

Nicolas Sparks, The Notebook

As we walk this unfamiliar valley together…at a distance of six feet…we are aware of our interdependence and connectedness. We are all in this journey together…holding each other’s sorrow, listening to each other’s story, and taking turns soothing each other’s bouts of fear and distress. Instead of bringing brownies, lasagna, or pots of soup to assist those in mourning as is our normal custom, we are supported by courageous strangers who perform the unseen but necessary tasks that keep us fed, safe, and secure. Our hearts are full when we consider all the simple kindnesses that grace our lives on a daily basis. We worry and pray together for all of those on the frontlines doing battle on our behalf. It’s such a paradox that as we hunker-down, flatten the curve, and stay inside we are alone and yet the world entire is walking the same crowded path.

Recently, the songs of the early morning birds crept into that space between dream and waking as I tried to squeeze a few more minutes of sleep from what had been a restless night. As I slipped into my dreams once again, as often happens in dreams, one of the birds began to speak to me, “Follow me”, he said in his little bird language which amazingly I had no trouble understanding. “Follow me and everything will be all right.” I watched as the wee fellow flew into a dark, narrow cave. “Don’t be afraid,” he continued to chirp. “Follow me.” I took a deep breath and began to follow. I hadn’t gone far when, although still surrounded by impenetrable darkness, I could see sunlight bouncing off the walls ahead. Then, as in any good third-grade story…I woke up.

Once again, the symbolism seemed quite clear to me. My feathered buddy was telling me that as we enter this time of tremendous uncertainty and yes, grief, we should remember that there is the promise of light up ahead. Spring is here and summer is coming and even in the midst of great sorrow, fear, and disappointment there will flowers blooming, trees leafing out, and moments of great joy.

Hey…I’m finally getting good at this symbolism stuff, however, in case the universe is wondering, I’m perfectly happy to simply savor a night of deep, peaceful uninterrupted sleep.

Please be safe, be well, and do what you can to flatten the curve.

Laughing Death in the Face

“Remember me with smiles and laughter, for that is how I will remember you all. If you can only remember me with tears, then don’t remember me at all.”

Michael Landon, Little House on the Prairie

I am becoming quite the movie buff. My new condo is literally only five minutes from the local multiplex and I’ve discovered that going to the movies is a rather enjoyable solo activity. In fact, I’m pleasantly surprised to learn that I almost prefer going by myself. I can decide to go at the last minute, I can sit wherever I choose, no one talks to me during the feature, and if I decide to leave early, there’s no one to disappoint.

Over Thanksgiving weekend, however, I went to the movies with my sister’s family which was great fun. After purchasing our tickets, drinks, and popcorn we moved to the butter and salt station where my nephew showed me a trick he uses for making sure the butter is on all the kernels not just those on the top of the bag. He took an extra straw, put it into the bag, pushed it down near the bottom and then deftly placed it under the spout for the melted butter. As he released the warm liquid into the straw he carefully pulled the straw up through the popcorn and voilà the butter was distributed evenly throughout. Great idea!

Movie Popcorn is the Best!

The next time I ventured off to the movies I thought I’d try the new butter technique. I place the bag of popcorn under the dispenser and then positioned my straw into the bag and aligned it with the spout. It was a tight fit getting my straw in the proper position. It looked easy when my nephew did it, but eventually, I had everything in position and pulled the handle forward and began to fill the bag with rich, creamy butter. It was then I noticed the butter dispenser to my right. I wasn’t aligned with the butter. I was filling my bag of fluffy white popcorn with Vitamin B & C-Pomegranate-SoBe-Water! Yes, the entire bottom of my paper sack was filled with vitamin water!

Not to worry, I put some butter on the still fresh kernels at the top of the bag and headed into the theatre. It’s true, most of the bag was really wet and soggy, almost to the point of saturation, but hey, the top third was delicious!

“If you can laugh at yourself, you are going to be fine. If you allow others to laugh with you, you will be great.”

Martin Niemoller

One day, not long after the popcorn incident, I was baking brownies to take to my brother-in-law. The scent of chocolate filled my small kitchen with the promise of deliciousness. Near the end of the baking time, I took a peek into the oven to see how they were doing. Something was very wrong. There was a pool of oil floating on the top of the semi-solid brown batter. What had I done? I reviewed the directions. I hadn’t added too much oil as I first suspected. I had omitted the egg! Quickly, I retrieved the brownies from the oven and stirred the half-baked mixture with a fork. They were still wet enough that I could easily add the eggs and then return the pan to the oven. Without hesitation, I cracked first one egg and then the other into the warm chocolatey concoction. Do you know what happens when you add eggs to something hot? They begin to cook! OMG! I began to stir frantically in an effort to combine the eggs with the brownie glob before they turned to scrambled eggs. I’ve come to terms with chocolate wine, but huevos con chocolate…I don’t think so. Never fear; I beat those eggs hard, fast, and with great determination. In the end, the only evidence of my culinary blunder was a few very small white flecks of egg marbled throughout an otherwise perfect pan of brownies.

He ate them with delight.

“Never be afraid to laugh at yourself, after all, you could be missing out on the joke of the century.”

Barry Humphries
Remember the Eggs

My late husband, Dave, would have loved those stories. Humor and the ability to laugh at ourselves and each other sustained our marriage for forty-three years. In many ways, the two of us led parallel lives. We had very different interests, attitudes, and styles, but we both loved to laugh, and we considered it quite an accomplishment when we were clever enough to get the other to “fall for” one of our many jokes. Not to brag, but I “got” him most often. Laughter was a very important part of who we were as a couple and who we were…are…as individuals. For many people, the trauma of loss has them questioning whether they will ever laugh again. Many people wonder if, in their grief, it is inappropriate or unseemly to smile or laugh. Thankfully, that wasn’t my experience. Telling Dave’s stories and jokes is a way to keep his memory…and him…close and alive.

As much as I wish it were otherwise, Grief has become an omnipresent fixture in my life. It hides in the shadows and rises unexpectantly with the specter of Death, his co-conspirator, to fill me again and again with unspeakable sadness. I have learned, however, that I am pretty resilient, and when I can look Death in the face and let loose with a hearty guffaw, Grief can not defeat me, and Death does not win!

Finding the ability to laugh isn’t always easy. There are days when joy can remain an out-of-reach, unattainable goal, but Happiness and Laughter also live at my house, where they constantly work to keep the sadness at bay. Often when I least expect it, I’ll find a picture, or remember a funny situation, or come across an object Dave unintentionally left behind for me to discover, causing me to smile, chuckle, or dissolve into fits of laughter.

“Ah! To be able to make someone I love laugh years after I’m gone, that is all the immortality I could ever ask for.”

Kate Braestrup, Here If You Need Me

Soon after his death, my sisters and my daughter-in-law were helping me pack Dave’s clothes for Goodwill. “What is this?” my daughter-in-law asked incredulously. The look on her face was a mixture of bewilderment, disbelief, and hilarity. Pinched between her thumb and index finger, she held a piece of navy blue knit material. Suddenly, right there, in the midst of this very sad task, the four of us began to roar with laughter. She was holding the remnants of a long-forgotten practical joke….her father-in-law’s rather ample…underpants with “Chick Magnet” emblazoned across the bottom.

Chick Magnet Undies

Thanks, Dave!

And…Take that Death and your little buddy Grief too!

Making Darn Good Time!

“When it’s over, I want to say all my life, I was a bride married to amazement. I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms…I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.”

Mary Oliver, Taken from When Death Comes

The sun was shining and the sky was full of fluffy, white clouds the morning I left Michigan for Vermont. Everything was going in my favor all day. There was no line at customs, the traffic was light, and Audible was providing great entertainment. As I approached Toronto…which can be a race track or a parking lot…I decided to splurge and take the toll road. Somewhere, just east of the city, I received a message from my daughter-in-law asking how I was doing and whether I was going to drive straight through or spend the night. It was early afternoon and I was movin’ right along, so I said I thought I’d keep driving. “I’m making really great time. This road is wonderful. There’s no one else on it. I have the highway to myself.” One slight problem, I was making darn good time…but I had missed my exit and was on the wrong road! When discovered my error, I made a quick adjustment and was soon back on course.

In the months since my husband’s death, getting myself on the right road has been one of my major challenges. It’s difficult to get moving in the right direction when you’re not sure where you are, where you’re headed or where you hope to arrive. Being disoriented during grief is to be expected, but charting a course, setting goals, and creating a to-do list affects all of us no matter our age or station.

I once asked a group of children if it was possible to count all the individual grains of sand in a small jar I was holding. One little boy replied, “Yes, you could do it, but it depends on how you want to spend your life.” Great answer. One of my favorites. How do we want to spend our lives? Isn’t that the biggest question; the most difficult question; the question we continually ask ourselves even as we adjust, amend, refine and tweak our answers? After all, it’s possible to count the grains of sand, but is that what we really want to do?

“What are you doing the rest of your life, North and South and East and West of your life…”

Alan Bergman/ Marilyn Bergman/ Michel Legrand H

How we spend our lives is an ever-evolving, never-ending string of choices. Knowing that we have choices and that we are responsible for the consequences of those choices is often paralyzing. One false move and our house of cards may come tumbling down.

Quiet Water in The Adirondacks

On a simply glorious day, a few summers ago, I took my kayak out onto the quiet waters of a nearby reservoir. It was early in the day and I seemed to be totally alone. I paddled slowly around the perimeter mesmerized by the sunlight sparkling on the water droplets cascading from my paddle and smiling as I observed a family of turtles sunning themselves on a fallen log. I was soon joined by a pair of curious loons who swam close to my boat. I stopped paddling and drifted silently beside them. Within minutes an eagle circled overhead before settling into its nest. It occurred to me that at that moment, there was no place on earth that I would rather be. I also realized that all my life choices had led me to that place and time…my wise decisions as well as my mistakes, poor judgments, and total cock-ups. Each choice had played a part in bringing me to that glorious morning. That awareness was freeing, for even if I choose poorly now and again or make mistakes in judgment wonders and amazement still lie before me just waiting to be discovered.

Before the parade passes by I’m gonna get in step while there’s still time left…I wanna feel my heart coming alive again. Before the parade passes by.

Jerry Herman, When The Parade Passes By, Hello Dolly

I remember watching old black and white Westerns with my dad when I was a kid. Inevitably the hero and his pals would be stranded somewhere out on the plains. At first, they’d drink hungrily from their canteens, even pouring some water on their sweaty heads and faces, but as the journey continued…on foot by this point, since they always seemed to lose their horses for some reason or other…they would begin to ration the water only taking small sips…trying to make the water last. At this point in my life, I’m savoring the water in my canteen, sipping carefully and rationing my choices. My canteen has a finite amount of water I don’t want to waste a single drop.

Monument Valley, Utah
September 2018

In the end, how we make our choices, how we map our lives and plot our course is as individual as we are. Some may travel with a well-thought-out, elaborate itinerary, and pre-planned route confident about what lies ahead. Others want to leave plenty of space for the occasional detour, the missed exit, and the unplanned adventure.

Most of the choices we make…the miles we clock… are for every-day trips…short, routine, and seemingly insignificant…for which we need neither map nor GPS. It is these small moments…the simple choices…that eventually add up to the special moments of our lives. We must remember to delight in these as well. That big trip may be in the future…or…not…but our lives are now. How we choose to live it is up to us.

“…And the present is what your life is, and you are capable of choosing what that will be, darling citizen. So come to the pond or river of your imagination, or the harbor of your longing, and put your lips to the world. And live your life.”

Mary Oliver, Taken from Morning at Blackwater

I’m still not quite sure where I’m going, but the road has been plowed, I’ve got a full tank of gas, and  I’m making darn good time!