Another hot, muggy, maybe-thunderstorm-y day is upon us, and I wish I were back on my Adirondack island campsite with Elanor. Last week’s gamble paid off – both my back and the weather held and our trip turned out to be just what we had hoped for. My insect bites have mostly stopped itching (though the black fly bites still look nasty), and instead what remains are memories of water, clouds, moss, birdsong, breezes, coniferous trees, loafing, adventure, beaver dams, cute critters, pensive chats, and the full-hearted peace that comes from quiet time spent in vast wild places.

Elanor and I spent three nights camping on our own island on Little Tupper Lake, part of the William C Whitney wilderness in the Adirondacks in upstate New York. I had last camped on that lake twenty years ago, on a late April loon-mating-season trip with the Cornell outing club (the south end of the lake is important loon nesting habitat, and they were beside themselves singing). Time does funny things. The singing of the white throated sparrows and warblers (and loons!) and the smell of the hemlock and fir needles brought me right back to my grad school trips as if no time has passed. The sounds and smells of the Adirondack forest are very distinct and filled with happy associations of times spent in the woods in the company of ornithologists and adventurers, finding respite from the pressures of figuring out what I was doing with my life. Now I am layering on new happy memories with my daughter, and finding similar sanctuary.

Our original plan had been to drive up Tuesday morning (a 5 hour drive taking picturesque country roads through Vermont and skirting the southern end of Lake Champlain on the way), pick up our boat from the outfitter, get on the water around 3-ish, and grab a campsite near the put in quick before we got caught in a thunderstorm. We would head south down the lake early the next day before the wind and rain picked up again, sheltering on shore as needed.

We executed the first part of that plan, but once we got on the lake the wind was at our backs and the storm clouds kept holding off a little longer, so we made good time and kept going a bit further until we were opposite the island campsite near the end of the lake which we had been eyeing all along (#18). Crossing the lake and landing at our island cross-wise to the wind was a bit exciting but Elanor paddled hard and we managed, and it was well worth our efforts. What a beautiful island and a glorious campsite! It was sheltered yet breezy, dappled shady, with blueberries and overlooks and magnificent and varied moss. We put up our tent and hung a tarp (with much difficulty, but we got it in the end!), and the rain still held off. We made dinner, watched the remnants of the sunset and went to bed.

Wednesday called for thunderstorms in the afternoon, so we explored the other nearby islands in the morning and loafed around our island all afternoon. Again, we had wind, great clouds, some thunder but no rain beyond intermittent sprinkles. (There were quite a few airplanes that sounded like thunder due to lake acoustics). We watched the antics of our red squirrel and vole neighbors, the warblers in the trees and the White Admiral butterflies that loved our blue tent rainfly (and the shoals of gnats that mostly kept their distance). A seagull landed on our tarp and walked around for a while, casting footprint shadows overhead and peeking at us over the edge. We found various rocky outcroppings from which to admire the wind, waves, and clouds. I went for a swim. I photographed a lot of moss. We finally got some rain overnight, but not for very long and not the thunderstorm Elanor had been hoping for.

The next day was clear, and we took advantage of the good weather to make a day trip to Rock Pond via the stream/river at the south end of the lake. We encountered many black flies and beaver dams along the way, in addition to a short portage. We didn’t linger at the pond as long as we had originally intended due to the heat and bugs, but it was beautiful. (Elanor points out that the black flies were mostly interested in her. Same for the mosquitos. She is not wrong. But she also says that the beautiful scenery more than made up for the discomfort.) There is a gorgeous island campsite in the middle of Rock Pond, but I’m just as happy that we camped on our island and did a day trip all things considered. I sank up to my thigh in sucking mud when trying to lift our canoe over a foot high beaver dam in the middle of a swamp. Amusing in retrospect, but not something I’d want to attempt with a fully loaded canoe. We spent the rest of the day back on our island, enjoying the shady breeze and a glorious sunset. We paddled out early the next morning, just before the rain.

All in all, I think we were very lucky with the weather (though Elanor disagrees), and it was a wonderful trip! And did I mention how mossy our island was? I was perhaps a tad obsessed.

I’m looking forward to returning again!

I am two weeks into my sabbatical, with all of July, August and a bit of September ahead of me. I have had various ideas of things to write about, but somehow haven’t gotten around to it. So let’s pretend I have already written a brilliant piece about racial equality in my overwhelmingly white town, being actively inclusive rather than passively exclusive, and giving each other the benefit of the doubt. And that I have written an insightful post about habit formation, and the interesting ideas in the book “Atomic Habits” and the article by Adam Grant about how we should focus on attention management rather than time management, and working on the most important things more than getting more things done, and the difference between busy-ness and productivity.

Clearly I haven’t heeded their advice, as I have been only marginally productive and spasmodically busy. I think I like reading about things and contemplating them more than actually doing them. And I seem to have only two gears – loafing and full tilt, and the latter results in exhaustion and injury much more quickly nowadays than it used to. Part of what I’d like to work on this summer is finding balance – some middle gear of sustainable and consistent effort towards my goals (though “Atomic Habits” says goals are overrated, so sustainable effort in the right directions with continuous incremental improvement). Hopefully some of that can carry over when I return to work in the fall.

So what have I been up to, and what to I hope to do (see, I didn’t say “achieve”) this summer? 

I spent some time reflecting on what important parts of me have been most neglected and who I want to become (thanks to a chapter from “Atomic Habits” talking the two-way relationship between habits and identity). I want to become someone who is active, healthy, present for my family and friends, adventurous, contemplative, helps my kids to grow, and has a well-tended house and garden (doing my bit to save our planet would be good, too, if I could figure out what that is).

I have started doing my back exercises every time I get myself a cup of coffee, writing in my “Monk Manual” journal/planner every morning with my first cup of coffee after sweeping the fallen pears off my deck, weighing myself and doing meal tracking with Noom (which is depressing, but I will try to stick with it), and watching the fledgling robins and other birds gad about my back yard while I sit on my deck in the cool morning air (since the afternoons have been pretty hot and brutal). I find I have been sleeping better and getting up earlier since my sabbatical started, as well as drinking less wine.

The tennis courts have re-opened, and we have been playing pickleball as a family a couple of times per week, and Dorian and I have been playing with the grown-ups a few times per week. It has been really fun, and the kids and I are improving steadily (Dorian is already very good). Dorian and I have been sticking together as partners to improve social distancing. It brings out my competitive streak but in a good way (I hope), and it is nice to have an aerobic activity that I actually enjoy. I tried restarting couch-to-5k and quickly injured myself and remembered how much I hate jogging (which is too bad since Kira really likes running and enjoys being my motivational coach – it would be a good activity to do together).

The kids and I went canoeing and kayaking with my brother Richard and his not-yet-restored vintage 1912 same-year-as-the-Titanic cedar framed canoe on Field Pond in Harold Parker State Park last week. It didn’t leak too badly, and handled pretty well, but the kids still got to tow him in using a bandana and a sunhat as rope when the canoe capsized and filled with water (I had paddled back to shore to get some rope). They were quite chuffed! 

We went white water kayaking on the Deerfield River on Friday with our friends Peggy and Kevin. Kira overcame her initial panic at class 2 rapids, and Elanor was introduced to the phrase “cool as a cucumber” (which she was throughout). I was so proud of both of them, and we all ended up loving it and wanting to do it again. It was the perfect quadfecta of activity, adventure, nature, and friends! It is hard to imagine a more perfect day (unless it also involved Icelandic horses). We did a guided trip with Zoar Outdoors since it was the kids’ first time solo on whitewater. I liked them a lot and would love to return for some of their whitewater clinics.

I have all sorts of schemes for more canoeing and kayaking, of varying levels of sanity. I want to spend three days canoe camping with Elanor on Little Tupper Lake in the Adirondacks this week, despite the tail end of black fly season, my recently injured back (which held up okay kayaking), and the forecast of thunderstorms. I’d like to do more canoeing on local rivers with Peggy and her dogs and whoever else would like to paddle with us (and has their own boats). Richard and I would like to paddle the Merrimack from the end of his street. And I’d like to do a wilderness river canoeing trip in Maine with both Elanor and Kira in August (Dorian is not up for camping). Am thinking either the St Croix along the Maine/Canada border if I am feeling brave (it has a lot of allegedly easy whitewater) or else the west branch of the Penobscot in Maine. This is assuming Maine will let us in. 

My “Monk Manual” has me write down what I am looking forward to each day, and I have realized that I really, really look forward to paddling adventures, and that I really don’t look forward to gardening or housework. I suppose that should hardly be a surprise, but I would like to be able to think of myself as someone who maintains a beautiful home and garden, or who at least doesn’t have invasive weeds, peeling paint, and a basement full of 1970’s childhood toys and GeoTrax that she hasn’t gotten around to putting on eBay. I love my aunts’ houses, and would love to have a garden that is beloved by birds and butterflies and doesn’t horrify the neighbors. And has moss and wildflowers. And bunchberries. Maybe the reality is I don’t really want to be that house and garden beautifying person, but I want to be married to her (in addition to Dorian!), or to employ her, so I can enjoy the benefits without the effort.

Interestingly, this is the area that was last on my list when thinking of who I want to become, but which has been consuming a disproportionate amount of my time and attention. This is where I make long to-do lists and procrastinate then get spooked by lack of progress and overcompensate and injure myself and press my family into forced labor. I want the process to be a source of joy (or at least satisfaction) rather than stress. It hasn’t helped that we had planned to hire someone to repave our driveway and build a retaining wall in our front yard and to help rescue our side yard, but have had a hard time getting people to get back to us, so progress is stymied. I guess this is an area where I need to be focused on getting pointed in the right direction and making progress rather than meeting self-imposed deadlines. And it is an opportunity for me to practice putting in sustained effort towards something with long term payoff without becoming obsessed or becoming discouraged by setbacks. It’s not a big deal if I don’t get everything done while I’m on sabbatical, as long as I can get myself to a place where I can keep getting things done afterwards. I’ll just keep telling myself that. And reading up on moss gardening. And checking my e-mail every 5 minutes to see if anyone has gotten back to me.

Speaking of to-do lists and self-imposed deadlines, I should probably wrap this up now and start doing “useful” things. Or loafing. Probably loafing while thinking of all the useful things I’m not doing. This post seems to be a lot of me spewing goals and random trying-to-get-organized-ness at you, and clearly shows that I have not yet reached the zen state of calm equanimity and “right effort”. But hey, I’ve still got the summer ahead of me and an ill-advised canoe trip to plan. Enlightenment, here I come!

If you had asked me in January what parenting conundrum I would face in June, I would not have picked how to deal with a teenager breaking social distancing rules to attend a racial justice protest in the midst of a global pandemic.

I would not have guessed that 33 people in my town would have died of coronavirus, that my county would be ranked #11 in the nation for both infections and deaths, that my mother-in-law would be afraid to leave her apartment to walk over to our house due to people not being careful, that we would be pretty much housebound except for a weekly trip to the grocery store and walks around the neighborhood.

I also would not have guessed that Minneapolis, MN would be the epicenter of nation-wide protests against police brutality, with civic unrest the likes of which our country hasn’t seen in 50 years. I wouldn’t have been struggling to reconcile my memories of a growing up in a place full of good, kind, decent people always eager to pitch in and help each other out with a video of a police officer with his knee on a black man’s neck for 8 ½ minutes until he died while three other officers stood by and didn’t stop him. I would not have anticipated National Guard in the streets of Boston, the tens of thousands of peaceful protesters, or the looting and rioting after dark.

And I would not have anticipated what this means to a 15 year-old with a burgeoning social conscience and interest in current events.

I had felt like we had reached a good middle ground. We had talked her down from being in a crowd of 10,000 people in Boston. I went to the store to buy sidewalk chalk, and she and her friends expressed solidarity through art and quotes on our town common, while promising to stay six feet apart from each other. They met a handful of demonstrators with signs. Cars honked their support. All good. They went back out the next day, and the following evening.

As demonstrations go, the local protest on Thursday evening was pretty safe. It went from the town common to the police station just a couple of blocks from our house. There were hundreds but not thousands of people. There were some speeches, and the police chief came out and took a knee and people cheered. It was on the local news. I’m proud that Elanor went, and hope that it will help her to open her eyes and find her voice. Maybe it will result in better policing policies. It is a small thing compared to what my friends in Minneapolis are doing, and the risks are low for us personally because we are white and our local police are friendly. But it is something, and it matters. 

Avoiding catching and transmitting coronavirus also matters, so maintaining social distancing matters, especially after promising to do so and with a frail grandparent in town for whom we run errands (but who also cares about social justice).

As I said, not something I thought I’d have to be thinking about! 

How quickly life changes. El Camino de Santiago is shut down. My Spain tour with Charlotte and Kira is cancelled. I need to decide whether to take my sabbatical now anyway or to postpone until the fall or next year. (I want it now! I’ll also want it later!) Yet I’m incredibly fortunate, and these setbacks are small compared to what many people are dealing with. Now it seems faintly ridiculous that I was obsessing so much about hiking shoes only three weeks ago.

In many ways life is simpler now that the coronavirus constraints are known. I was more anxious before the schools and borders were closed and extra-curricular life suspended, and selfish as it is to admit amidst so much upheaval, I really like the slower pace of life and increased time with my family. That’s part of why I wanted a sabbatical. We have been playing cards and board games, watching movies and nature shows, and going for short and long walks as spring springs up around us. FaceTime, Zoom and the telephone have been lifelines for keeping in touch with people, including Charlotte.

Freed from excessive homework, Elanor has been teaching herself ukulele, drawing, baking all sorts of delicious treats (that she can make without yeast – which is impossible to find anywhere), and actually getting eight hours of sleep per night. It is a welcome change and a relief to us all! Elanor is off school completely. Kira has remote school, which sort of works. I particularly like the game Wingspan, David Attenborough’s “Seven Worlds One Planet” nature series, and the meringues Elanor has in the oven as I write (as well as her lemon swiss roll).

Working from home every day has been an adjustment. Checking the news had become a compulsive and time-sucking habit, and I do much better on the days when I instead start off with meditating for a bit (still not very well) and going for my neighborhood walk before settling down to work. Working from my bedroom desk instead of the living room helps cut down distractions. I tend to get resentful on beautiful days when the rest of my family is enjoying outdoor together time without me. Such hardships.

One upshot of being at home more is spasms of house cleaning. I attacked our big pile of outgrown shoes the day before yesterday, and the skanky corners of our kitchen yesterday morning. I have attempted to enlist the rest of the family into thirty minutes of cleaning each day, with qualified success. But it is nice to see progress. We’ll see if it continues.

I feel like I should offer words of comfort and wisdom, and that my tendency towards navel gazing and life pondering should bear some philosophical fruit. But I’ve got nothing. I know these are incredibly uncertain and stressful times, and that many of you have been impacted much more significantly than I have. All I know is that we have to daily choose hope over fear, gratitude over despair, practice social distancing but reach out to loved ones, and support our local food pantries. We cannot control what happens, but we can control what we focus on. And as Mr. Rogers says, “look for the helpers”. Time outside helps, too.

Also, this We Are The World video feels very nostalgic right now. R.I.P. Kenny Rogers. 

Be well, all of you!

I want to write again, but it has been such a long time that I am feeling daunted. I ought to make this extra worthwhile, to make up for lost time, but am losing more time waiting for inspiration. So let me just start from where I am and see how things go.

It is near sunset on a day in which I both went for a beautiful walk around the reservoir in the Middlesex Fells (and fell in love with an Icelandic sheepdog), spent time hanging out with my daughters, and snoozed on the sofa with a blanket and a cat. Luckily, my husband Dorian is more industrious! It has been a while since I’ve gone for a long weekend walk, and I need to up my game if I am going to have any hope of surviving El Camino de Santiago in April and May. (Fingers crossed that the Coronavirus doesn’t get in the way.)

There are a couple of different topics I’m interested in writing about. One is all of the ins and outs of my various preparations for my walk. I have spent an inordinate amount of time trying on shoes at REI and reading up on the current long distance footwear religious wars (waterproof vs quick drying, structured vs “barefoot”), seeing various specialists to help give my creaky middle aged body a fighting chance (particularly my back and feet), booking various accommodations and transportation (Rome2Rio is great), reading other people’s travelogues, and attempting to learn Spanish (I’ve been using Earworms Spanish).

It is all probably much more interesting to me than to any of you, but I would like to say that a guy at REI showed me how to lace a heel lock yesterday and it was a revelation. (It’s a way to lace your shoes so that your heel doesn’t slip). I tried it out on the trail today with my Merrell MQM Flex lightweight structured quick-drying hiking shoes and it made all the difference! The shoes were terrific on the rocky, root-y, damp, up-and-down trail, they have plenty of room for my wide toes and to allow for foot swelling from miles of walking, yet my heels stayed in place. Hooray! The shoes being a mossy, lichen-y green are an added bonus. (I bought some Sealskinz waterproof socks to deal with heavy rain and the shoes’ lack of waterproofing.)

I have been so focused on the logistical and physical details of my upcoming adventures that I have let my writing and life pondering practice wither. Which is particularly sad since a large part of the appeal of the Santiago pilgrimage is to make more time and mental space to reflect on the slower, quieter things in life. I miss writing these posts. But I’m here now, and that’s a start.

There are some brilliant things I intended to write about this winter’s cross country skiing in New Hampshire and the Maine North Woods, and having breakfast alongside Walter Graff. He is retiring as senior VP of the Appalachian Mountain Club and is the visionary force behind their incredible conservation efforts in the 100 Mile Wilderness, as well as founder of their education programs. And I wanted to write about Mary Oliver, again, because there were moving tributes to her in the recent issue of Appalachia Magazine, and I want to be her. Really, I want to be both her and Walter, but she and I are more alike. Alas the window for those posts has past, at least for now. But I will slip in a couple of photos I can’t resist.

Really, the things on my mind right now are blackbirds and river ice, and important uses of time. I read a “what should I do with my life” article and it said that a better question than “what is my life’s purpose” is “what can I do with my time that’s important?”. Walter and Mary certainly found good answers!

I went for a walk in the town forest with my daughter Kira today (it is now the day after I started this post). We overcame the inertia of freezing temperatures and Minecraft and headed into the woods. I figured we’d get in a good walk and get some decent exercise, and we did, but we also spent an inordinate amount of time investigating the thin layers of ice in the swampy areas and along the Ipswich river. I never knew that thin ice was so interesting, but it is! The way it cracks. The way it shines when held up to the late afternoon sun. The way water carves out all of these intricate patterns and channels on the underside, but only in some locations and not others.

I love many things about Kira, and her cheerfully persistent curiosity is way up there. She finds the interesting aspects of seemingly unremarkable things.

The red-winged blackbirds were out in full force, perched on up-stretched branches and staking out heartfelt claims to the world. We listened and admired them, and poked at the ice some more.

I know the world has problems. I need to decide how to vote on Tuesday. Work is relentless. I know that today’s outing wasn’t very significant in the grand scheme of things. But it was to me.

When I think of what I can do with my time that’s important, it’s hard to beat a walk in the town forest with my ice-loving daughter and blackbirds.

It has been several weeks since my last blog post, and my well of thoughts has been covered over with a wet leafy mat of holiday activity and future planning. I’m not quite sure what I want to say. I feel like I ought to make it good, this being 2020 and all, and not having written in a while. Ah well, I’ll just get started and see what comes out.

It has been almost exactly a year since my first blog post “an experiment in progress”. I just reread it and rather like it. It pondered what future me would wish that current me were doing differently. I imagined that future me would want current me to write more, and to make more of a sustained and successful effort to prioritize doing the things I keep wanting to do for my own sake but don’t.  

Well, I have been writing more, and find that the more regularly I sit down to do it, the more I miss it when I don’t. I feel more attuned to my inner self when I’m writing than speaking for some reason. So many layers of reserve and muddlement and watching for others’ reactions when saying things out loud to people. I’m proud of myself for regularly making the time to go for nature walks, take photos and write last year, and I have this blog to thank for that. I shall endeavor to keep it up.

I have made one enormous rather scary leap in the “prioritize something I want to do for my own sake” category. It’s my big squiggle. I got approval from my boss and his boss to take a 4 ½ month sabbatical from work this year – from late April through early September – and approval from my family to journey on my own in May. The dutiful, responsible part of me feels incredibly guilty. The longing part of me is thrilled beyond words. The supportive response from my family, coworkers and friends means the world to me.

There is so much that I want to do with this time, both alone and with my family, that I feel embarrassed even bringing it up. And I read that telling people you plan to do something makes you less likely to do it. And some of it is likely crazy given my poor physical condition and history of back problems. But the thread of longing tugs me forwards and I shall follow for once (and endeavor to train!). I am busy making arrangements and might say more once things are more settled. In fact, once I start talking, I’ll probably be hard to shut up.

For now, I’ll just say that my hopes are very much in line with my goals from a year ago – to become strong and fit, awake and courageous and grateful, and to have a long stint of nature hermit-y refuge. And also, to fulfill my longstanding desire to enjoy a summer off with my family before they scatter.

This poem by William Stafford has come to mind quite often throughout this process:

The Way It Is

There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.

I can’t say what future me will think of my actions this year, but I am following my thread. They say it is better to live your own life imperfectly than someone else’s perfectly. I guess I’ll find out!

In searching for the poem online, I found the Monday poem blog and learned that William Stafford taught Naomi Shihab Nye, author of one of my favorite ever poems “Kindness”. (Also, Stafford wrote this poem less than a month before he died.) Nye had this to say about Stafford:

 “In our time there has been no poet who revived human hearts and spirits more convincingly than William Stafford. There has been no one who gave more courage to a journey with words, and silence, and an awakened life.”

Naomi Shihab Nye

A journey with words, and silence, and an awakened life. How perfectly worded.

I was fretting over the fact that I don’t have a great photo to post this week, but now know that I have. I visited the Philadelphia Museum of Art last week with the kids, while we were enjoying a wonderful visit with Dorian’s family in the area. It’s an incredible museum full of impressive paintings and architecture (including a Japanese tea house and Spanish monastic courtyard!). I could have easily spent an entire day there on my own. I really liked the Monet landscapes with cliffs and trees. But of everything there, this Rembrandt painting lingers particularly. I love Rembrandt. His portrait subjects are always so quiet and real and full of interior life. This one is no exception, and speaks to my current pensive mood.

There are so many things to wish for in 2020 and the decade to come. But at the moment my hermit side is ascendent, and I’ll go with courage for a journey with words, and silence, and an awakened life. Cherishing family and friends, good health, and solving the problems of the world would be good, too!

I thought I wouldn’t write another blog post until after Christmas, but I can’t help myself. Yes, there are a gazillion other things I ought to be doing between work, family, and holiday preparations. But I like writing and hope you don’t mind reading.

We had our first snow storm followed by a clear cold snap, which means sunny blue skies and sparkling snow. I am trying again to actually get some regular exercise, after measuring the damage caused by early-darkness-induced lazy commuting and Thanksgiving gluttony. I went cross country skiing in our town forest and local park yesterday morning and this morning. It makes me so happy! I don’t know that it makes me more focused or productive afterwards like it is supposed to, and I don’t know why it is so hard to drag myself outside in the first place, but I’m glad I did.

There were cool ice formations on the branches at the park this morning:

But rather than writing about sunshine sparkling on snow, what I really intend to write about today is lights shining in the darkness. It is that time of year when the sun sets by 4:30 and it is full dark before 5:00 (making me less inclined to bike or walk to the train station on my way home). I tend to get depressed by the cold and lack of sunlight (at least until I can ski!). But then there are lights to compensate, like the ones on the Longfellow bridge which I pass when I do walk to the station from work:

And the ones that are illuminating our town common (that I also pass on my way home and are outside the church where we have our holiday concerts):

We just had our first of two Reading Community Singers holiday concerts last night, and the man who was Santa talked about the festive lights and the magic of the season. And our “Light One Candle” Chanukah song is about being lights of hope, decency and peace in a dark world.

The people I sing with are shining lights. It strikes me as wonderful that so many of us come together and put in so much effort just to create music and to share the joy of it with others. From our soft-shoe Rudolph, to our kazoo-wielding basses, to the majestic chords and brass of the Hallelujah chorus, to gospel music and Vaughn Williams and everything in between, it is all undertaken for no loftier reason than because we love to make music together and for no more self-advancing purpose than to spread joy. People put in a tremendous amount of volunteer effort behind the scenes to make this happen. I’m so glad they do.

I guess my point is that light and magic usually don’t just happen. They are intentionally generated by people who choose to devote their time and attention to it, and who create the conditions for it to shine. It is so easy to take that light for granted, but we should not. We should do our part. It gives a dark world color and sparkle and knits together our community.

The hermit part of me might yearn to slip away from the lights and bustle to breathe the crisp night air and gaze at the silent moon on the snow. That’s good, too. I need a life with space for both. I suspect we all do.

May your evenings be filled with whatever light calls to you in this season of short days and long nights. In case this is my last post for the year, here is wishing you a New Year filled with plenty of light, joy, peace, and music.

Another short post this week. This one about heartbreaking and beautiful things.

My tears seem to be close to the surface these days. I don’t know if it is due to peri-menopause or just being sleep deprived and emotionally wrung out. But I’ll start with a light beautiful thing that makes me cry every time I see it:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r9D-uvKih_k

Yes, it’s that time of year again. There are flurries outside, sunsets before 5pm, and we are entering the mad end-of-year dash through Thanksgiving to Christmas. I’m not ready. But then I’m never ready, yet I wouldn’t trade the festive chaos for anything. (Well, maybe I would, if I thought about it hard, which I won’t.)

The real heartbreaking thing I want to write about is that a friend of mine was recently diagnosed with Guillan-Barre syndrome. It causes your immune system to turn against you and leads to temporary paralysis. It comes on quickly. Most people recover, but it can take a long time. She is about my age. She is a tenured professor with a loving husband and a full outdoorsy adventurous life. Now she is in the hospital barely able to move. She is being incredibly brave and making some progress, and I don’t want to dwell on the details of her ordeal here.

But it is one of those slap-in-the-face reminders of how precarious our lives are, and how all that we take for granted can dissolve in a moment. I seem to be getting those life slaps a lot these days, but this one was particularly sharp.

The beautiful part is the love and support of her husband. And of our mutual friend Kristi who gathered voice recordings from many well-wishers.

I know this is self-centered, but a beautiful consequence for me personally is this song. I composed it years ago when I saw a breathtaking sunset and moon-rise in the White Mountains and was thinking of my Mom going through hard times. My friend Katherine-of-gorgeous-voice agreed to record herself singing it so that we could send it along for our friend to listen to while she is bedridden.

The moon rises over the mountain
Twilight paints the sky
Pink clouds reach toward heaven
As I stand here below

The winds whispering over the waters
Are still now at rest
The lake shines like a mirror
It reflects the moon above

Lay your burden down tonight
As the stars begin to shine
Quiet in a world at peace
Be still
And see

The moon rises over the mountain
Twilight paints the sky
May the beauty that surrounds you
Dwell in you and bless your dreams tonight

I don’t know if it will help. I don’t know what can help. But I do think it is beautiful, that beauty can bring solace, and that the moon rises over the seemingly insurmountable mountain. I must take it on faith that my friend will as well.

A short post this week, as it is already Sunday evening and I am tired of writing about heavy what-should-I-do-with-my-life things. Instead, let me say how grateful I am for fall days, family, friends, lakes and slugs.

Elanor and I went for a walk around Middle Reservoir in the Middlesex Fells on Saturday while Kira volunteered at her school. It was a sunny, brisk day full of colors and crunchy leaves, and the blue of the water and the blue of the sky made me soften around the edges and smile. There is nothing like a walk, especially when Elanor is loving it alongside me. We admired the reflections, the views, and the bark and lichen on various trees. It was well worth the parking ticket! (Apparently parking on the road when the parking lot is full is forbidden, even though many cars did it and there were no signs).

The slugs were how Elanor got out of unloading the dishwasher Saturday morning. It is impossible for me to refuse a request to go outside and lie on the grass on a gorgeous fall day, especially when it results in a discovery and a poem, in this case about the slugs she observed in the grass. Maybe my priorities explain the state of our house (though I did spend a lot of today doing much overdue tidying!).

I am also grateful for Halloween, as the kids carved pumpkins and went around our neighborhood with friends. It was the first year I didn’t join either of them, which made me nostalgic, but I am glad to see them grow independent, enjoy time with their friends, and return home safely from their adventures. I also loved their pumpkins.

Regarding friends, just let me say how lucky and grateful I am to have friends I have known for 15-30+ years who are there for me, and whose company is as delightful now as ever. We may be older, grayer, and seasoned by the ups and downs of life, and harder to schedule with work and family commitments, but I sure love to spend time with you! Thank you for keeping me grounded, sane, and making me laugh (and feeding me well!).