350 sq ft of Heaven

Occupied......

2011-10-23T17:26:00.001-04:00

There's just so much to do in Boston and now that I've got my feet under me and many personal connections in place, keeping up the blog has faded to black. I want to acknowledge all my faithful readers, who kept me company, unknowingly, as the RV made its way around the Southeastern US for the better part of a year. It was a tad lonely out there, and publishing the blog was a comfort and a joy.

I'll leave you with some images from the Occupy Boston encampment. The whole scene was oddly familiar to someone who came of age during the Vietnam protest era.

I was fascinated by the "Generator Tent", which housed three guys on recumbent bicycles, peddling to save their souls. Currently the protesters are looking for donated shelter as they plan for the cold weather that is certainly coming.

On my way to the Old South Meeting House to see the installation of a bell made by Paul Revere & Sons into the bell tower there, I ran smack into the making of a movie, R.I.P.D. with Jeff Bridges. Just another normal day in Boston. Here are some of the props for the movie.

And here's the historic bell, along with a shot from inside the Old South Meeting House.

And lastly, a really cute restaurant sign that I wish I'd thought of.

I can't begin to enumerate all the fun things I've partaken of since my last post in January. Suffice it to say, there's been lots of live music involved, and I find myself in the embrace, once again, of friends who've stayed the course here since my college and early working days. It's another slice of heaven. Ciao!

My Ice Age

2011-02-05T10:31:00.000-05:00

Boston, January 29, 2011

"Welcome back to New England!" More than one friend has offered this greeting of late, usually delivered with a wry smile and a follow-up of "are you sure you wanted to leave Florida?" For my part, I remind them that they probably have me to thank for all this: A storm (or two) a week. Roofs collapsing under the weight of two feet of snow followed by a drenching rain. City budgets collapsing as they strain to keep the roadways clear enough to assure the public safety.

Sidewalk tunnel

Somewhere under the salt-crust sculpture out in front of the house is something I used to call my car. Back in Florida, I enjoyed keeping my car fairly clean. Get a tank of gas, drive through the on-site car wash. Vacuum the floor mats. Aaaah; nice clean car. Up here, the car represents only a way to get from A to B. Do the tires have sufficient tread to grip through ice covered by snow? Do I need to pick up another gallon of windshield fluid? (This kept handy in the front passenger seat.) Even my radio dials have smears of salt around them where I've been fumbling with my mittened hands after scraping the windshield.

I'm living in what I consider my personal little ice age. There are some magnificent icicles.

Most poetic, for me, is the assortment of chairs that show up as parking-space holders after the resident has spent several hours carving out a home for the beloved auto. The piles that have taken shape at either end of our spaces are affectionately known as K2 and Everest.

Country cottage look

Retro chic


Stolen from the kitchen

Sign seen near Harvard Square: "Igloo for Rent - $700" Newspaper headline "Shovel, rest, repeat". Someone reminded me yesterday that Spring is only six weeks away. Why didn't it make me feel all warm and fuzzy to know that?

Just to be clear, I'm actually enjoying this. This is the place of my choosing. I accept everything about it with pleasure. I also have a secret love of shoveling snow. And I've had confessions from at least two other women who share this fondness; something to do with seeing tangible results. Here's to more results.

I Have Seen The Future and It Looks Fine

2010-11-14T15:10:00.002-05:00


Back yard Japanese Maple

Boston, MA

Thomas Menino said, at an event honoring The African Meeting House, the oldest black church edifice still standing in America, that he was proud to be mayor of a "minority-majority" city. That is to say that more than 50% of Boston's population is non-White. Sounds like all the predictions of future population growth in our country, doesn't it, and something that freaks out a lot of white folks.

So let me report from here, I have seen the future and it looks just fine. In fact, I love it. The hundred-plus trick-or-treaters who came to our door on Hallowe'en were a treat for our eyes. Beautiful, shining little faces in all shades of black, tan, cream and white; their parents waiting proudly at the bottom of the stairs, or walking the littlest ones to the door. Star Wars theme costumes seem to never go out of style, and we received a fair share of princesses, pirates and monsters. Even a few dressed as hippies. Nancy and I turned to each other and said, "We've become a Hallowe'en costume!"

At yoga class yesterday, the student next to me was a first-timer, a 250 lb black man named Muhammed. I had to give him a lot of credit for attempting to mold his rounded form into the various yoga poses. But what I'm saying is that this just wouldn't happen in the places I'm used to living. Black folks and white folks in Florida, for the most part, aren't rubbing elbows yet. But they will; it's inevitable.

I like the Latin flavor of the neighborhood, too. One street of triple-deckers, in particular, seems to be "little Puerto Rico". The music drifting out of the houses and cars hits me in that certain spot that says "dance like no one's watching". Latin music is what originally drew me deeper into my Jamaica Plain neighborhood thirty-five years ago and led me into my first marriage and my odyssey to Vieques. Circles and circles through time.

Roslindale house circa 1725

Speaking of the surrounding blocks, here's a circa 1725 house just down the street on the way to the village square...still functioning beautifully as a family's home after all these years.

So the past and the future are meeting here and now in this neighborhood of Boston, as they do in every moment, everywhere. And we have the marvelous opportunity to leave our mark on this moment and help shape that future. Have fun with your moment....and the next...and the next.

Fruit of the Vine

2010-10-17T19:35:00.002-04:00


Green & Gold

Halloween decorations are appearing in great numbers in windows and front yards around the neighborhood. I asked Nancy if she gets many trick or treaters...."yes, hundreds" she said. She buys a bag of a hundred pieces of candy and "when they're gone, they're gone". I received an email invitation to a "Green Apple Party" where the main attraction will be frying our own apple cider doughnuts (the thought of this almost makes me dizzy - but then, I've always had a doughnut fetish).

The leaves are showing off, and as if that's not enough, I was enlisted by a friend to help bottle last year's vintage of his homemade wine.

Carboys of 2007 Cabernet

He's got I don't know how many of these carboys of wine in the cellar of his barn from various years; seems he's always a little behind with the bottling. So I showed up yesterday and added to my list of life skills:

wash and rinse bottles
give 'em an upside-down spurt of sulfide solution
hang 'em on special drying rack
line 'em up by the dozen and start filling from the siphon
cork 'em off using low-tech device made for this purpose
nudge full cases to the center of the barn and start over

I may have missed the step where you test the wine from each carboy before starting to fill...just to make sure it's okay (smile).

Filling....corking

We bottled ten cases of the 2009 Brunello in a few hours, which went by fast, listening to the likes of 'Music from Big Pink' on the barn stereo. I'll be taking my wages in - you guessed it - red wine for the winter. Salut!

Honk!

2010-10-10T18:53:00.002-04:00

Members of The Seed & Feed Marching Abominable

So far, finding great free music in Boston hasn't been hard. This weekend marked the fifth annual "Honk!", a celebration of brass bands with five venues going full blast all around Davis Square in Somerville all day and into the evening yesterday and today.

The Leftist Marching Bank from Portsmouth, NH

Take the best of a marching brass band, throw in a large dose of street theater and Voila!, you have Honk!
When you think about it, brass players probably don't get all that many invitations to perform once they've graduated from the high school or college marching band. So they are finding each other in cities and towns here and there and forming ensembles that range from loose and funky to polished and professional. Costuming is very important.

The crowd kept building as the day went on; my friend Nancy stepped into the limelight and did some mean baton twirling with the Leftist Marching Band.

I've got a soft spot for female tuba players, my sister being one. This is actually a sousaphone, a tuba that's adapted to fit around the player's body so it may readily be played while being carried.


Second Line Social Aid & Pleasure Society Brass Band

Dancers accompanied the Marching Abominable from Atlanta

I rounded out my weekend by taking part today in two work parties bringing focus to the need to stop climate change by reducing our carbon footprints.....see some of the 7300+ events that took place in 188 countries today (10/10/10) at 350.org. I canvassed a neighborhood in Jamaica Plain to let residents know about free energy audits and money available for weatherization....then went to visit a passive-solar rehabbed home that only sips tiny amounts of electricity from the grid for a family of five. There I helped lay a cobblestone path in the backyard garden area.

"Be the change you want to see in the world", said Mahatma Gandhi.

A Return to Maine

2010-10-07T16:27:00.002-04:00


Morning mist on Norton Pond, Lincolnville, ME

I spent a lot of time in Maine growing up. My parents were both natives of Portland and all my relatives lived there. I remember many a Friday evening when Mom would have a quick supper waiting on the table when Dad got home from work at 5:30 on the dot. We'd eat as fast as possible, grab the bags all packed and waiting by the door plus whatever cake Mom had baked and pile into the car for the 2-hour trip to Nana and Grampa's house.

Maine still doesn't disappoint. After 13 years in Florida, it's a tonic for the soul to journey to a state whose entire population approximates that of the City of Jacksonville. They have only one area code.

Overlooking Megunticook Lake

My sister and I hiked some beautiful trails in the mid-coast area where she now lives. Though I try to remember and look "up" once in awhile when I'm hiking, I find that I'm usually watching what's going on underfoot, which is good for noticing things like the rock studies here.

We were fortunate to catch a performance Friday night by the Haitian Boys Choir, "Les Petits Chanteurs".

photo courtesy of miscellanynews.com

Somehow this group from Holy Trinity Music School in Port-Au-Prince has stayed together and maintained its touring schedule despite the devastating earthquake that struck Haiti in January. The pure beauty of the voices was, for me, colored by the great sorrow that I know each one of those youngsters carried within his soul.

Bonus of my visit to Maine: I got to work for a day with my niece and her husband as they reach the final stages of building their new home in Lincolnville. This is an amazing project that started when they selected and harvested trees from a woodlot, milled the lumber for all the posts and beams and now are planing boards to be used on the walls. They've done virtually all the work themselves; every element is "green" and sustainable and energy-efficient.

I've had some prior experience with a palm sander, so I was good to go. Like it says on the Maine license plates, it's "The Way Life Should Be". Oh, I almost forgot the bag of organic apples I brought home and turned into an apple strudel. Enjoy the sweetness of life!

Nice Things That Happen on the Subway

2010-09-30T15:06:00.004-04:00

Okay, I'm still getting used to my commute on the subway, known here as the "T". Yesterday I had an interview downtown, which is about a 20 minute ride from the Forest Hills Station where I board. Seated across from me were two young women, one of whom was headed to court for a hearing to try and regain custody of her children. I caught bits of the conversation as I worked on my crossword puzzle and the train rumbled along. Too engrossed in the puzzle to notice I was at my stop, I was the last rider to leap off at Downtown Crossing. Then I heard a shout, turned around, and saw one of the young women jumping out of the train door, waving my 'Charlie Card'. Anyone could have used it like cash to pay their train fare, and she went out of her way to jump off and back on the train to return it to me. It must have fallen out of my pocket onto the seat.

On the way home later in the day, I was within earshot of a conversation among three strangers on the train, a woman from Aruba, a young mother from West Africa and a man from the Dominican Republic. They struck up a conversation about the weather and compared temperatures year-round where they come from. I realized that what I like about the city is that I don't have to go to the world, it brings the world to me. I'm not cordoned off from segments of society, from other cultures.

That works both ways, of course, one must take the sad with the good. We had a horrible killing Monday in Mattapan, the neighborhood next door to us -- gang-related, said the morning paper. Five people were shot; four are dead, including a 2-year-old boy. Events like this are why I support The Peace Alliance and its campaign to pass The Youth Promise Act, which will legislate efforts to take action against the root causes of gang violence in our nation.

My recent ramblings on foot have taken me to the 265-acre Arnold Arboretum, one of the world's leading centers for the study of plants. I can actually walk to it from my house, which is very cool. Climbing Peter's Hill inside the park, I was rewarded with this beautiful view of the Boston skyline framed by some of the Arboretum's trees.


Arnold Arboretum

Soon these colors will be changing....Happy Fall!

Ah, Youth

2010-09-26T09:30:00.005-04:00

The Wild Magnolias from New Orleans

I had a job interview on Thursday. The company was looking for someone to work the phones for a couple of months, calling high school guidance counselors about a virtual college fair which takes place completely online in real time. Ultimately, I decided not to pursue it because I'm holding out for more money, but I was also wondering what it would be like at lunch hour, since everyone else in the company seemed to be under the age of 28. I felt conspicuous in my neat little linen jacket, black slacks, black pumps and headband while everyone else was walking around in floppy jeans and T-shirts. The snatches of conversation I overheard sounded lofty and brilliantly high-tech. The receptionist was male. A new world of work has emerged, folks.

One reason I wanted to come here was to avoid slipping into the retirement-mode thinking which seems almost unavoidable in Florida if you're over the age of ....what....fifty-five? You know what I'm talking about (think bottomless buffets). And anyone who's been reading this blog for awhile knows that I'll be working long into the foreseeable future. I need to rub elbows with the young and soak up some of their energy. Boston and Cambridge are excellent places to do that; there's Harvard, MIT, Boston University, Boston College, Northeastern, UMass Boston, Emerson, Simmons, Berklee College of Music and the list goes on.

Speaking of Berklee, yesterday the school threw a party for the whole town: the Beantown Jazz Festival, three stages going all afternoon with live jazz for free. I saw this young lady, Grace Kelly, a jazz saxophone virtuoso who is all of eighteen. A Cajun/Zydeco band. A straight ahead contemporary jazz combo. Nona Hendryx, who was awesome. Even Al Kooper, from "Super Session" days, playing with a band made up of current and former Berklee faculty members.


Grace Kelly - photo courtesy of burlingtonfreepress.com

The festival took over several blocks of Columbus Avenue, near the intersection of Mass Ave.....an area of town that, when I was here in the 70's and 80's, you would not have been advised to visit. Now it's a flourishing neighborhood and, no, all the people who originally lived there have not had to move out.

Riding the Orange Line back to Rozzie, I felt content in a way that only listening to live music with the sun on your face can evoke. That and the plate of spicy palate-pleasers from the Indian Food booth.

Beantown and Me

2010-09-19T16:51:00.007-04:00

Boston Common, our country's oldest park

Someone asked me the other day about the word "Common" as it applies to a public park. I guess if you're not from New England, you might not know that every city and town in the Colonial era had its common area in the center of town where citizens could graze their livestock free of charge. Boston Common, the country's oldest park, was used for that purpose until 1830. It's had many uses since then, including being the site for public hangings, but my most vivid memory is that of participating in an anti-war protest in October 1969, an event which attracted a crowd of a hundred thousand. What has happened to that kind of public outrage at unjust, nonsensical wars?

I treated myself today to a Sunday walk through the heart of Boston. I need to re-familiarize myself with the subway system and the walking distances. It's been over 25 years since I lived here and I need to see what's changed and what hasn't. It was exhilarating; the weather was perfect, the tourists were out in force and I was flooded with memories as I cruised the downtown area. Here's a place, Durgin Park restaurant, where I worked in 1971, lying about my age so I could serve liquor. Durgin Park is famous for its impolite wait staff and while I don't think I ever acquired the necessary rough edges, it was the best money I had ever made thanks to the legions of tourists and locals that lined up daily to eat there.

My employer in 1971

The North End is such a romantic place; couldn't this doorway be in Italy somewhere? I resisted the urge to duck into Mike's Pastry or any of the other exquisite pastry shops that draw visitors to this part of town.


Boston North End doorway

I love the cobblestone streets and all the history here. The Paul Revere House is the wooden one on left in this photo, taken a couple of blocks from the Old North Church.

So I'm a Bostonian again. Roslindale Square, where I'm lodging currently, has a great Farmer's Market on Saturdays, with live music and produce from several local farms, including Allandale, Boston's oldest working farm. I scored a box of golden raspberries, some organic cheese, salad turnips (about the size of a radish and eaten raw) and free trade coffee from El Salvador. The mayor of Boston, Tom Menino, was there. Eat Local! Bon appetit!

Roslindale Farmer's Market

A Return to Vieques

2010-09-18T10:57:00.004-04:00


Playa Grande - Vieques, PR

Boston, MA
If you're a blogger, you know there is no cheating the march of time. You cannot back-date your entries. So here I am, settling into my new home in Boston with a twinge of fall in the air and thinking that the blog is incomplete without an entry from my trip to the island of Vieques in July. It's important because it completes my love affair with this quirky little place that started with my first visit in 1975. Four years later, I packed up my bicycle and my two-year-old baby and went there to run a guest house. Over the next 20 years, I moved there and back four times, never able to get it out of my system, but never wanting to completely integrate myself into the island life. On this last trip, which I feel will by my last, I was reunited with Duffy, now age 90, who opened up the opportunity for me to move down there in the first place. I remember the exchange of letters: "How could a person make a living there in paradise?" "Oh, I happen to be selling my guest house to a group from Massachusetts and they're looking for a manager." This summer I met Duffy at the bar run by his son and, as usual, he made a play for me. Some things never change.

Duffy and me

The things that made Vieques perfect for me in the 70s, 80s and early 90s have changed, however. When I went to run that guest house, there were no locks on the establishment or any of the rooms. Only the liquor was locked up at night. We retreated to our upstairs apartment by climbing a ladder and pulling it up behind us. We had an unobstructed view of the Caribbean sea which lapped ashore across the street. It was quiet. I learned to fillet a fish down on the rocks.

Vieques is someone else's perfect island now, and I happily cede it over, passing it from my dream to theirs. For some reason it was unbearably hot for the two weeks we were there. It must be global warming. Over the twenty years that I lived there without air conditioning, I never felt the need for it. Yet the heat on this last trip was overwhelming and inescapable. Uncomfortable in the extreme. Anyway, here are a few of the things that I've always loved about the island that I was happy to experience again.


The 'wild' horses at Sun Bay

Crystal clear waters to play in

The few old colonial houses that remain

Picture Rock in Esperanza

The ancient Ceiba Tree

It's hard to know how to leave this entry; I could write a book about my love for this place, my adventures and misadventures here. When Jim and I were living and working on the island, making hot sauces in the little factory on our property, inquisitive tourists would ask around and seek us out, making a trip up the hill to see our operation and buy a few bottles from the "scratch and dent" shelf. We'd chat for awhile and I could see in their eyes nothing short of envy. We were living in paradise. We were making our little mark with our products using local ingredients. We were living out a dream that many share and few ever get to fulfill. I knew it and I savored it.

Farewell, Vieques. I was never closer to nature than when I walked your beaches, snorkeled your reefs or gazed out at your pastures, your vast, beautiful skies. These places were my church when I didn't know I needed a church. Thank you.

I Am A Couch Surfer

2010-09-02T14:23:00.002-04:00

Loch Lomond

Many who know me personally have been waiting to hear about the "walk across Scotland", or more specifically the West Highland Way, that was planned by my sister and me for the better part of a year. The trip turned out to be an exercise in "Accepting What Is". A mere day after our arrival, Dona was struck with a monster stomach virus. The host at our B&B in the village of Drymen advised that if she didn't seek help at the "surgery" down the road, which opened at 8:45AM, there would be no medical help available for the duration of the 7-day walk. By breakfast, she was feeling a wee bit better and determined to head out on the trail, wagering that whatever it was would pass in 24 hours. Here she is, heading out from our B&B in Drymen.

View of Ben Lomond

We completed the first day's walk of 15 miles and spent two subsequent days taking ferries, trains and buses to keep up with our bags, which were being moved on by a transport company. Dona was still unable to eat anything after the third day and with tears in her eyes concluded that she would not be able to walk the strenuous path even with a swift recovery. So we headed for home. In that brief time in Scotland, starting at the border of the lowlands in Glasgow, following the shore of Loch Lomond and starting up into the highlands, I was flabbergasted by the beauty and wildness of it all. One day's hiking and later views from the train convinced me that this would, indeed, have been the walk of a lifetime. I was unprepared for its grandeur. By the time we were heading south again on the train, I didn't even have the heart to stand up and take photos from the transom window. My heart was in my shoes. So I present to you here a few views from that first day or two. A short album of photos is available on my Facebook page.


Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond


Climbing Conic Hill


The oldest pub in Scotland, The Clachan


Scottish breakfast

As to the title of this post: I have divested myself of most of my possessions. The rest are in a portion of a self-storage unit here in Florida. [Note: I'm quite sure that self-storage is one of Florida's biggest industries] I am making myself available for the next great adventure and have declared this as my 'break-out' year. I'm a 'couch surfer' (not to be confused with a couch potato) and loving my life as it is.

It's been my observation of late that there are not enough happy people around. I know the world's in a mess. I'm doing everything I can think of personally to curb global warming including getting active on 10/10/10 with a global work party for 350.org. My joining the ranks of the down, depressed, and disgusted isn't going to help. So I wake up every day, give thanks for everything I have (read: everything I am) and see what I can do today to serve. That may be offering smiles and encouragement to the beleaguered.

My bottom line on the ruined vacation? Aren't I lucky to be among the probably .001 percent of people on this planet who actually get to board a plane and take a vacation? Nobody died. My sister's back to normal. Praise be.

In Praise of Small Towns

2010-06-05T20:39:00.002-04:00

Swepsonville, NC

My road trip is winding down, friends. It's a melancholy time. When we set out as full-time RVers eight months ago, people asked, "How long are you going to be out there?" My standard reply was, "Oh, a year or two." I really had no idea, but it filled in the blank. But life, as John Lennon says, is what happens while you're busy making plans. Life has happened and I refuse to see it as anything but good.

Jim desires to carry on solo as Spirit On The Road. It know it's right. We're so closely aligned that there cannot be something going on with the one that is not reflected in the other. It's been a dance for 20-odd years.

In addition, as my blog followers know, what money I thought I had saved has gone up in a puff of smoke. Must be a call to get involved in something new. I have said many times I never wanted to retire and I always get what I want. Moreover, as exciting as traveling everywhere by RV and motorcycle has been, I'm starting to miss my little Honda Accord and my 'transportation independence'. I'll devote at least one more blog post to the realities of RV living, as I see them. It's been a blast and not without its downsides. Given the right set of circumstances, I would do it again in a heartbeat.

This last stop minus one is Swepsonville, NC. Farm country. The internet connection is terrible; our MiFi card heats up and has to be unplugged....so we've amused ourselves by taking some side trips. Here's the neatest Bank of America building I've ever seen; it's in Graham, NC.

Graham has a quaint little all-brick downtown with an ole-timey soda fountain and a real movie theatre.

Saxapahaw...isn't that a fun name? We've seen some doozies in our travels and I wish I had time to visit them all.

I love, love, love the small towns; the quirky little businesses on the outskirts, the surrounding farms and fields, the general stores that define them as spots on the map....the sense of life going on untroubled by the chaos and confusion that passes for news. Whether that sense of comfort is valid or not, I'll never know. I am a lifelong gypsy on the outside looking in and sensing a continuity that's reserved for other people in this, my current incarnation. I'm destined to look for the next boxcar heading down the track. I really should be making some plans.......

Let Me Come Back As A Cherokee

2010-06-03T18:43:00.004-04:00

Fontana, NC

Meet Harley. She's traveling back to Iowa from South Carolina with her owner by motorcycle. We met them both at a turn-off on a highway so scenic it defies description. But maybe this photo will give you some idea.

We've been in the Great Smoky Mountains for the past ten days, soaking in the sights, sounds, smells and flavors. We actually found sushi in "them thar hills"....twice. I confess, we had experienced guides in Jim's sister and her husband, who moved here from Florida three years ago.

The Cherokee Indian Reservation is just a couple of miles down the road from our campground. Naturally, a casino is the big draw and construction is underway to add nine stories to the attached hotel, which will make it the tallest hotel in North Carolina. The street signs are bilingual English/Cherokee.

My brother-in-law shared with me an interesting piece of information, which is that every "enrolled" member of the Cherokee tribe receives, from birth, approximately $8000 twice a year - their share of the proceeds of the tribe's various enterprises. But the money is held in trust until the sixteenth or eighteenth birthday and then the individual has a huge windfall of cash. Get out your calculator and picture yourself at eighteen. Oh m'gosh.

As you know if you've seen me on Facebook, I finally did get my S'mores. Our "camping" lifestyle has been woefully void of actual campfires for any number of reasons. But we did have a few fires this week and two S'mores sessions. The adult version, by the way, is served with a small glass of Goldschlagger liqueur on the side.

Our cat got sick this week, hurling numerous times on the RV carpet. Have you noticed, cats will NEVER throw up on linoleum, only on carpet. We actually have scrambled to pull him onto the galley floor mid-hurl when we hear that "acking" noise, and he fights and grabs with all his might to stay on the carpet. It hardly matters. RV carpets are one of the sorrier sights you'll ever see, since all foot traffic takes place in the same worn tracks up and down the aisle. What's a couple more yellowish stains when you're having this much fun?

Here are a few more shots from the road trip.

This last is from Deep Creek in the Smoky Mountain National Park. As I push up these modest hills, I'm still trying to imagine myself trekking across Scotland, 15 miles a day, with a day's supply of water and food on my back. That, my friends, will be fodder for another blog. Farewell for now.

P.S. Regarding the reading list...I've hit a dry spell and am relying on what's available in the RV park "swap" libraries. John Updike's "Rabbit, Run" jumped off the shelf because I made a mental note to read it when his obituary came out last year...and because I've only got three degrees of separation from him. My sister, in the early 70's, was employed as a nanny in Cambridge, Mass. by a wonderful woman who was good friends with Updike. Ha!

Blue as a Ridge

2010-05-22T12:13:00.001-04:00

Hominy Valley RV Park

Candler, NC

Look closely and you'll see the Honda and the Georgie Boy parked in our latest hole-up; our first "honor system" park. More like a rest area with space for six RVs, it has a mailbox with self-addressed, stamped envelopes in a zip-loc bag. You put your check in and mail it to the owner. Candler is on the outskirts of Asheville, nestled in the hills of some of the prettiest countryside I've ever seen.

My morning walks take me by rolling brooks, horses and cows in the pasture (a new crop of calves is in), dogs ready to make friends, neatly laid-out vegetable gardens. The air is fragrant with honeysuckle. It is heavenly. A section of the Blue Ridge Parkway is closed for repairs, so we headed out on the southerly branch and were rewarded with supreme views.

The wildflowers are in full bloom.

We had lunch in the quaint town of Biltmore Village. It's built for shoppers and I have absolutely no interest in shopping, but I do appreciate the artist's touch that is evident at some establishments. A study in primary colors:

Asheville itself is an ultra-cool city, a little oasis of New Age in the Bible belt. If you need convincing, I saw a restaurant serving Himalayan cuisine. That would be what......yak butter on slabs of millet hardtack...with lentils on the side? No joking, I would love to try it. I gave up eating meat and poultry after viewing the movie "Food, Inc." about two months ago. It's not a religion with me; I had some barbecue when we went to see an old friend, and Jim prepared Cornish game hens for Mother's Day dinner, which I approved as a menu in advance. I figured the hens couldn't possibly come through the same factory-food system as the chickens we are offered, but I could be wrong.

I leave you with a pic from our last stop, Charlotte. We took a ride out of the city, following signs for a winery 12 miles or so off the highway. This led us through the little town of Mt. Pleasant, which is home to, strangely enough, a hosiery mill. I would be amazed if anything resembling a pair of hose was still made in the USA. But once again, I could be wrong. Tally Ho!

Urban Walkabout

2010-05-15T16:15:00.004-04:00

Somewhere in the middle of Charlotte's commercial/industrial East Side, just behind Phil Jackson's Used Auto Sales is a little oasis called the Elmore Mobile Home Park. It's been here since the 1950's and welcomes RVers, is within a few miles of the Spiritual Center where Jim has an engagement on Sunday and fits within our budget, so here we are. Upon registering, we were asked if we were here for the NRA Convention or the NASCAR race...hmmm. Nope.

Before we'd even backed the rig all the way in, one of the neighbors appeared to see if he could be of service and said that he works evenings, but if we needed anything at that time, his wife is always home.

My training for the "walk across Scotland" must go on, so the first day I laid out a 3-mile loop for the morning power-walk. The sights and sounds are a real contrast to the peacefulness of the park. I spotted at least six Mexican restaurants, an equal number of hair-braiding salons and more auto parts stores and buy-here pay-here car dealers than you can shake a stick at. I believe this is what's politely called an "ethnic" neighborhood....fits my style. You've got your Carniceria, your Taqueria, your Tortilleria, your Fruteria and, my personal favorite, the Peluqueria (Spanish for hair salon). I just love saying that word.

And, yes, Spring is springing up around the concrete. It actually smells glorious along certain stretches of the walkabout, as the jasmine, magnolias and Indian hawthorn are all in bloom, unintended guests upon the scene and all the more to be praised. Spotted without leaving the sidewalk:

Most fun moment so far: discovering the gigantic Oriental Food Market at the bottom of the hill. (We would rather wander through an Oriental Market than go to a museum any day.) Bigger than your average Publix and loaded with stuff you wouldn't have the first clue what to do with, I guarantee. Can you say "cow uterus"? Anyway, at the back of the store are huge tanks with varieties of fish swimming about. Upon netting one or two for a customer, the butcher slams the net down on his block, reaches for his baseball bat and clubs the fish on their heads, stunning them just enough to be able to throw them on the scale. I'm sure there's an art to this, as you wouldn't want to bruise the flesh, now would you? Sorry I don't have a picture to go with that one.
Update: I may have eaten cow uterus. We went to the Mexican place across the street for lunch on Sunday. I had to order the typical Mexican soup - "Menudo" - only prepared on weekends. It came with a multitude of pieces floating in it which I maybe identified as pig's ears and tripe....or cow's uterus. Smile.

Women in Savannah

2010-05-07T17:45:00.003-04:00

Biltmore Gardens RV Park - Savannah, GA

Apart from being one of the most fun words there is to spell, Savannah is a leafy, green, beautiful gem of a city. We are camped a few miles outside of town in a park that is also leafy, green, shady and therefore, quite beautiful to the weary traveler. It's already creeping into the 90's in this part of the world and shade can make all the difference between sweet and sweat.

Savannah is a Southern tourist mecca, not unlike our adopted home town of St. Augustine, but more expansive, maybe grittier around the edges, more of a "real" working city. One of the things I love is that it's home to the Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD); the place is crawling with art students and is the richer for it. You could spend all day photographing the parks, period homes, monuments, courtyards and tree-lined avenues. Instead, I slipped into the art-student mode and photographed cobblestones, an iron fence and a robin bathing in a puddle.

Just for posterity, I asked Jim to snap a picture of me in front of one of the 22 parks that form the structure of the downtown area and make Savannah unique. The other women need no introduction, I'm sure....being Norma Jean, spotted outside a trendy café, and the "Bird Girl" made famous by John Berendt's novel "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil."

BTW, the name "Savannah" means "Shawnee"; it derives from a Muskoghean Indian word—a variant of Sawanoki, the native name of the Shawnees. I learned that on Wikipedia. And if you haven't read "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil", it's worth a look.

Blog As Therapy

2010-05-02T11:50:00.001-04:00

Lee's Travel Park - Largo, FL
Something's saying it's time to blog on. I've been silent for a month or more while I begin to digest the fact that I lost 95% of my savings in an unsound investment. Jim and I went to St. Augustine for a few weeks to be present to the unraveling of an illusion. I'm one of a large community of people in St. Augustine and beyond who are sharing this unpleasant experience. Each of us looks to see how we will pick up and carry on. It's almost embarrassing to witness my own emotional pain over this, when it is, after all, only money.

Concurrent with this time of unraveling and inspecting some unseemly aspects of myself, I was led to the writing of Jed McKenna, an "un-guru" who ruthlessly lays waste to today's Spiritual Marketplace in his trilogy on awakening from the dream state.

So these days, I think mostly about waking up, what it means and what is required to do it and keep doing it. The world still throws itself at my feet to be marveled at or despised. I have only one purpose and that's to be true to myself.

Before we departed St. Augustine, we went for a Sunday motorcycle ride to Princess Place, just over the line in Flagler County. The live oaks and Spanish moss there are splendid, as you can see. The thistle falls in the category of "things you might have missed whizzing by in a car".

No Starbucks, Just Shorty's

2010-03-19T23:21:00.004-04:00

Theodore, AL
It was a fair poke from the mountains in northern Alabama to Mobile on the Gulf Coast, but we made it in one day's drive. Theodore is somewhere on the outskirts of Mobile, where Jim will be sharing about Spirit on the Road this Sunday.
Today rose fair and warm. After working on the websites and getting a couple loads of laundry done in the a.m., we headed out this afternoon on the motorcycle to explore. The night watchman here at the campground said that some people come just to visit Bellingrath Gardens, a historic site and botanical gardens five miles up the road. And it was a beautiful spot, despite the vestiges of a winter frost that hit hard all across the deep south this year. We walked around for an hour or two, took plenty of pictures and thought we'd stop in the cafe on the way out for a cup of coffee.

But the cafe was closed, so we hooked a left out of the driveway in the direction of Dauphin Island, hoping for a coffee shop but prepared for what was more likely, a bait shop. And indeed, there are no Starbucks here. Observe Shorty's. We scored a bottle of water and a Kit Kat bar.

Now I ask your opinion on the next two photos. The first shows the entrance at Bellingrath Gardens today. The other was taken yesterday on my walk out of the RV park and through the adjoining neighborhood. I look for joy every day and yesterday it was provided by a big yellow dog who attached himself to me and bounded gleefully ahead, into every drainage ditch and mud puddle he could find, running himself silly until his big pink tongue hung down about a mile. Anyway, the picture shows an old blue ball, abandoned behind a wire fence. The ball reminds me of the earth. And I find it more beautiful than the flower garden. Our earth, somehow forgotten, waiting.

We shared dinner tonight around the campfire with some other residents of the park, not vacationers, but crew members working on various facets of the local infrastructure: gas pipelines, cell phone towers and the like. I discovered "gator sausage" - half 'gator meat, half pork with some jalapenos mixed in. MMmmm. Jim stayed to "jack jaw" around the fire for awhile and I opted to come back to the camper, apply a green clay facial mask and update the blog. We've all got priorities.

Advertising the Devil

2010-03-12T20:36:00.001-05:00

Huntsville, AL

Here is one notable sight that was quickly captured as we sped by on the Interstate yesterday, heading north from Dothan to Huntsville.

Even though I've lived in Florida for the last 11 years, I've never lived in the South. I realized that yesterday. Some of the other tourist attractions noted as we passed: "The First White House Of The Confederacy", "The Alabama Division Sons of Confederate Veterans" and "Confederate Memorial Park."

We passed towns with names like Ozark, Pine Level, Warrior and Arkodelphia. Favorite billboards: "Ye must all be saved" and "Go To Church or the Devil Will Get You" - with a glorious picture of the devil himself, I might add.

Middle Alabama looks a little down on its luck from the highway. Back in Dothan I asked a man what the economic engine of the area was. He replied that since the peanut subsidies went away two years ago, nothing's really come along to replace that crop and right now, medicine is the biggest industry in Dothan. It's a little scary to me that caring for the sick and aging is becoming America's leading industry. That seems all backwards.

Anyway, Monte Sano ("Healthy Mountain") State Park is (of course) at the top of a mountain and the first place we've stayed where we feel like we're actually camping. It's loaded with hiking trails, we have our own campfire pit and the ride back down into town, with its steep grade and twists and turns make for a fun ride on the motorcycle.

A short while ago I took an exploratory walk and thought how beautiful it is to be among hills and rock formations.....things I've missed all these years in Florida.

The sun was sinking, which made for great lighting on the nature shots. I picked up the shell of a land snail and put it in my pocket.

Sunday we visit the Center for Spiritual Living here in Huntsville to continue spreading the word about Spirit On The Road. By the time we leave on Wednesday, I expect we'll have sampled the local barbecue, made a few S'mores and - hopefully - walked them off on some of the beautiful trails up here on the mountain. G'night, all!

New Time Zone

2010-03-04T17:18:00.006-05:00

Dothan, Alabama

Today we crossed into the Central time zone and feel like we're really 'on the road' at last. Doesn't it seem counter-intuitive that parts of Florida are in the Central time zone, while Ohio and Michigan are Eastern? Note to self: don't spend too much time wondering about stuff like this.

Here's Jim filling up in the Florida panhandle; observe how we'll be spending most of our money now that we're moving around on a regular basis. Giant sucking sound.

We pulled into Dothan, Alabama about an hour ago. Hooking up to utilities takes no more than 10 minutes in total now that we're "seasoned" campers. I swept and vacuumed the RV, cleaned the bathroom, made myself a snack, and put all the cat's accoutrements in place. Jim is out on the motorcycle picking up a few groceries and I'm jumping right into my blog, oh faithful readers!

Why Dothan? While at the Leadership Gathering for Centers for Spiritual Living in Denver two weeks ago, Jim met a minister from here who gives a Unity service on Sundays and a Science of Mind service on Wednesday evenings. She invited him to make a presentation about Spirit on the Road at both services, so here we are for a week.

Pecan Point RV Park is the only game in town, as far as we could tell. It's affordable and, so far, nice and quiet. Unfortunately, one of the earlier tenants in the mobile home portion of the park must have fallen asleep in front of the TV with a lit cigarette. Stuff happens.

Having returned from his exploratory jaunt, Jim reports that there are three (count 'em, three) dollar stores at the next intersection on the highway, and one light beyond that another dollar store and a Winn Dixie. Jim loves shopping the dollar stores. I keep reminding him that he's contributing to our huge trade imbalance as a nation, since all that stuff, and almost everything else we buy, is made in China. Under not very humane conditions, in some cases. But that's another topic.

I picked up the local Classified Ads paper in the park office when I checked in, thinking it might contain some useful info about what's happening hereabouts. The first page that fell open revealed an ad for Leon Valley Arenas Factory Store Outlet: they offer "Full Riding/Roping & Bucking Arena Systems" amongst other things. I think we just entered a parallel universe. Yippee!

P.S. Jim gave his first full-length Sunday talk at the Manatee Spiritual Center in Bradenton last Sunday and he was FANTASTIC. Very relaxed, lots of eye contact with the audience, made some great points, spoke from his own experience....everything you'd want in a speaker. People were taking notes! I'm so proud of him.

Cat Likes RV Living-See The Tour

2010-02-18T13:20:00.004-05:00

Fort Myers, FL

One of these days, I promise you, we're going to get out of the state of Florida and I'll treat you to some true tales from the road. Jim is away in Denver at a leadership conference this week, so I've had time to pursue some "single girl" pleasures, like making green kale shakes for breakfast (I can hear you saying "Yuchhh") and stretching out the mat for an hour of yoga or pilates in the afternoon. I have extended my morning meditation to one full hour to see if it hastens enlightenment (no results yet, unfortunately) and I've taken some time to play around with the video camera.

It's amusing, whenever we visit spiritual centers to tell people about our Spirit On The Road ministry, explaining that we're living in an RV full-time in order to take the Science of Mind teaching on the road, people seem just as anxious to talk about RVing as they are about the spiritual life. I understand. Before we took this project on, I couldn't imagine what it would be like and I was eager to talk to anyone who'd been a "full-timer". So for the curious, the dubious and the skeptical, I offer this video, which was actually made by our cat, with some assistance from me. (Click on the green title).

Cat Likes RV Living

Now I have to ask: "Is Anybody Out There?" I've had a number of friends and relatives tell me they enjoy my blog. That makes my heart feel all warm and cuddly. I mean it, it feels great. But still I wonder, how many of you are really out there? Understand that blogs are meant to be an interactive medium. That's why each entry has that word at the bottom "comments". So click and make a comment from time to time! You will not be exposing any personal information to the world by participating. Use a code name, if you like and I'll try to figure out who you are. You can also become a follower like the kind folks you see over to the right.

It's a little lonely out here in the blogosphere from time to time. Send me some signs of life!

Some of my friends have already seen this photo from Nicaragua and that's because they know that John Lennon is one of my personal heroes. (Yes, I've got the John Lennon "Imagine" license plate.) To come across the Imagine Restaurant in a place so remote that it doesn't have a KFC, a McDonalds or a Dunkin' Donuts (or seem to care) was thrilling to me. I take it as a sign that John's message of love & peace lives on in the hearts of people everywhere. Ciao!

The Spit Theory

2010-02-12T14:13:00.001-05:00

San Salvador, El Salvador
What were the odds that one week after returning from Nicaragua, I would be heading out for four days in El Salvador? But that’s exactly what happened, as I was selected by my friend, Lee, to be her traveling companion on a medical adventure trip.

Lee has been seeking solutions to a long-standing medical condition for as long as I’ve known her. She is not afraid to try anything and (don’t tell her relatives) we have even gone together to a clinic in Georgia where she had peroxide infused into her veins. Another time we sat in my home office and submitted all her information for a virtual surgery in Brazil.

This time I believe, along with her, that she has really found an answer and it is stem cell transplantation. The patient’s own stem cells are removed from bone marrow in the hip, processed in the lab and immediately transplanted back into whatever part of the body needs regeneration. Lee likens this to the “spit” theory she learned growing up from her German grandmother: when you have a cut, apply some of your own saliva and it will heal quickly without a scar and without danger of infection. In other words, use your body’s own cells and intelligence to bring about healing.

This stem cell treatment is not yet approved in the US. The doctor who developed the treatment has clinics in several countries around the world, with more coming online as we speak. I am full of admiration for my friend, who shows indomitable courage in pursuing her dream of good health. It was my joy and privilege to accompany her on her first plane ride in fifteen years and to make sure she got where she needed to go when she needed to be there. The day after the surgery, we were sitting poolside back at the hotel, enjoying life (see French fry pic).

The doctors who attended her were brimming with bedside manner, paid several “house calls” to our hotel room and never failed to plant a kiss on each cheek before leaving. Please join me in knowing that Lee is seeing great results from this revolutionary treatment and paving the way for many people in the future who will benefit from the “spit” theory via stem cells.

How The Other Half Lives

2010-01-26T16:35:00.000-05:00

Nicaragua, Central America

I just returned from an amazing three weeks in Nicaragua, a country so poor that only Haiti ranks lower in income in our hemisphere. There is no public "safety net", so people must work if they want to survive, and work they do....very, very hard in most cases. For instance, the country's economy is based on agriculture and I passed many farms in the course of my travels. But I never saw a piece of mechanized farm equipment. Nearly everything is planted, cultivated and harvested by hand.

I'm not out to glamorize the life of the poor. Yet I noticed some things about the Nicaraguan way of life that point in the direction that many of us here, in the developed world, want to go.

A natural, local diet. Staying in people's homes and eating what they ate for three weeks, I consumed only simple, unprocessed food. I was offered plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables, all grown within maybe a hundred miles of the point of consumption.
Hardly anyone is overweight. With cars being out of reach financially for the great majority, people walk, ride bicycles and take public transportation. Physical labor is part of life.
Taxis are sub-compacts and passengers are often matched up with other passengers to share rides.
Electric power is conserved. I saw only fluorescent bulbs and noticed that certain things were unplugged when not in use. I learned only recently that appliances continue to draw power, even when they are turned off.
I'm tempted to say something about families, and their being the foundation of the society, but that is a topic too deep to make into a bullet point. It is accurate, however, to say that extended families are the rule, not the exception and nursing homes are probably unheard of.

Here is a view at La Selva Negra, a self-sustaining coffee plantation in the highlands of northern Nicaragua. They generate their own power, grow their own food, raise dairy cows, chickens, pigs and earthworms (for fertilizer). Everything is composted, everything is used and the children of the workers are provided education, even through university, if they desire. It's a model of what business and life can be like when there's a strong vision in place. I recommend seeing it for yourself. Learn more at La Selva Negra

Riding The Chicken Bus

2010-01-20T12:55:00.003-05:00

Matagalpa, Nicaragua

At 5:30 AM, I entrusted my suitcase to a pair of unknown hands in the dark to be thrown atop the chicken bus for the 2+ hour journey from Masaya to Matagalpa. I carried a pineapple pastry from the bakery in Granada in my backpack and prayed that somehow, somewhere I'd be able to get a cup of coffee for the ride. I was feeling a little bleary-eyed and, at the same time energized by the crush and seeming chaos around me. Never fear! During the half-hour wait for the trip to begin, numerous vendors boarded the bus, plying their treats before us travelers. I procured a cup of sweet, black coffee for the equivalent of $.20 and settled back to see what the morning would bring.(The above photo was taken later in an actual paved lot in another location...but at least you can see where our old school buses go when they retire.)

I didn't actually see any chickens on the bus. My suitcase and a few others were tied down in a corner of the roof, which was given over mostly to the transport of huge baskets of produce: plantains, melons, squash, pineapples and the like. I marveled at the strength and fortitude of the thick-necked fellow who placed baskets with at least 20 round watermelons on his head and proceeded to climb a ladder up the side of the bus with this load. I have no idea how much this might have weighed, but suffice it to say that the fellow who received the load up top had to put his back into it to haul the basket forward, and he was no slouch.

Mine was the only blonde head on the bus, for certain. Was I imagining that folks were reluctant to sit next to me? Gradually the bus filled to capacity and beyond and a young man in glasses and fatique shirt sat down next to me and occupied himself with his cell phone and music player.

By the time we departed, the sun was up and the bus lumbered out of the pock-marked lot and crossed the main market street. People were packed literally elbow to elbow as far as I could see down the street, which was bulging with fruit and vegetable stands and full of smoke. There's a lot of smoke here at various times; seems to be a combination of cooking fires, trash-burning and burning of the hillsides for agricultural reasons. I wished I'd had my camera out; it was a rare scene.

As the city of Masaya gave way to rolling countryside, we made a few stops and at each, someone hopped aboard and gave a small speech about whatever it was they were selling, in one case ballpoint pens and appointment books. My companion eventually asked, in timid English, about my destination. Jorge was anxious to speak and his English skills were perhaps on a par or slightly better than my Spanish, so we had an interesting conversation, him speaking English and me Spanish. We both relished the opportunity to practice.

The approach to Matagalpa itself, high in the mountains, was an astonishing introduction to the vastness of the coffee industry here. On both sides of the highway we could see the operations of the "beneficios", those who buy coffee from the small farmers and put it out to dry before processing. I saw acres upon acres of cleared fields with 100-lb. sacks, lying out in the sun. This went on for miles. I reflected upon the fact that each and every one of those beans had been harvested by hand.

The bus station in Matagalpa was no less chaotic than the one in Masaya, but I found my way to a pay phone -- actually a small cabin with an operator who dials for you and takes your money. She is equipped with land-line phones and cell phones, since the two operate on completely different systems here. You can't call a land-line from a cell phone or vice versa. The operator confided in me that she was tired; she works 12 hours per day, six days per week in the phone booth. On Sunday, she goes to church.

A teacher from the Spanish school arrived to fetch me, we mounted a taxi to my homestay and I settled in for a week of yet more Spanish classes and cultural immersion. I had accomplished one of the objectives of my trip: to negotiate the public transportation system alone. Knowing that I create everything that shows up in my personal hologram, I never doubted that it would be a success. What does the world want to offer next for inclusion in my hologram? I leave you with a view of Matagalpa from my homestay and a view walking up the hill. Somehow, it doesn't look as steep in the picture!

Praying for Haiti in Nicaragua

2010-01-15T15:58:00.000-05:00

Granada, Nicaragua

Bueno, today marks the end of my stay in this old Spanish colonial city on the shores of Lake Cocibolca. Tomorrow I board the "chicken bus" bound for my next destination, Matagalpa, in the highlands.

I have stuffed my head with as much Spanish as possible, although on some days I feel like I'm going backward, not forward in my quest to carry on a decent conversation---about something other than "what I did yesterday" or "How windy it is today."

This city is loaded with charm and the flavor is not unlike the center of old St. Augustine, except that it goes on for many, many blocks and is primarily residential, not given over completely to tourism. There are tourists aplenty, though. My fellow students hail from Switzerland, Germany, Australia, Holland, Canada and the U.K.; not so many Americans.

Granada has St. Augustine beat by a few years, having been founded in 1524. Today I stumbled upon The Oldest House (sound familiar, St. Augustinians?) and I was the only person there inspecting a fascinating array of artifacts. What you see below is a form used for making sweets of some kind.

The Oldest House is actually for rent, if you can believe it. With its ancient stone walls, airy courtyard and towering bougainvillea vines, it would make a nice restaurant. Now there's a way to lose some money and have a great time doing it!

Some of my favorite spots have been the venerable churches and cathedrals. The doors are always open and they offer a cool and quiet space in which to meditate, rest or offer prayers. Today I spent some time in La Xalteva, pondering the disaster in Haiti and praying for the strength and safety of all those who are rushing to help, as well as those whom they are helping. I engaged in a brief discussion of the earthquake with one of my teachers today and tears started to flow down her face. She said the Nicaraguans sit dumbfounded in front of their televisions, thinking (her words), "My God, these people are even poorer than we are...how can they be asked to suffer even more?" Their country, poor as it is, is sending medical aid and personnel.

Granada is THE place to start in Nicaragua; there are many great places to explore within day's reach....two magnificent volcanos, one of which can be explored at night to see lava flows and caves, a canopy tour of the forest, the huge market in Masaya, and so on. I would not be telling the whole truth if I did not mention that the lake gives off an unpleasant odor at times, people do their laundry on the rocks and I have no idea what the water treatment situation is like. It is a great pity, but the resources simply don't exist to protect much of the patrimony here. This is politics. The sidewalks have gaping holes, some of which could literally swallow a person. There is a lot of trash round about, though the sidewalks and gutters in the center of town are kept swept and hosed down.

It is not uncommon to see three or four persons on one bicycle and the ingenuity of the people to squeak out a living offering a little of this or that on the street is awe inspiring. Horse drawn carts are still commonly used for transport, and just like St. Augustine, you can take a city tour in a gaily decorated horse & carriage. I have enjoyed every minute of my stay here, even the brain-busting Spanish grammar lessons. Did I tell you they threw me a birthday party last Friday night at the school? Complete with typical dishes, music, dancing, games and a birthday cake. The last picture is one I took of a worker rolling cigars at Casa Dona Elba here in Granada. Que magnifico! See you in coffee country next week.

Hippies are Alive & Well & Backpacking in Ometepe

2010-01-11T15:44:00.000-05:00

Ometepe, Nicaragua

This country has one of the biggest lakes in the hemisphere, Lake Cocibolca, and in the middle of the lake lies the island of Ometepe, shaped a bit like an hourglass or figure-eight, with a volcano on each half. One volcano has been dead for 16,000 years and the other is very much alive, spewing gases and a silken cloud of ash. The island is home to 42,000 people, virtually self sufficient in rice, beans, corn, sugarcane, coffee, plantains, bananas and the like. Their plantains are highly in demand and we shared our ferry ride with trucks from El Salvador and Honduras, who had come all the way down the Pan American highway empty to return with a full load of plantains from Ometepe. Must be the volcanic soil that makes them so delectable. Personally, I'm not a connosseur, so the fried plantains that accompanied my lunch of whole fish from the lake tasted pretty much like any other 'tostones' I've every eaten, which is quite a few.

My plan was to overnight in Ometepe, but the tour company couldn't meet their minimum of two, so I made a day trip with Roger from West Virginia, a venerable gentleman who has been all around the world in his time. He doesn't speak a word of Spanish, so our guide used a lot of English, which wasn't my preference, but luckily we picked up the guide's 9-yr old son and 10 yr-old nephew in our travels, so I had a good time quizzing the kids on their favorite school subject, sports and what it's like to live in the shadow of a live volcano....what's the evacuation plan? Apparently when a major eruption threatened a couple of decades ago, the islanders simply refused to leave, so it's probably a mute subject. Ometepe is definitely a chill-out spot appealing to back-packers and other adventurous souls. Accommodations can be had starting at $5 per night; bicycle and kayak rentals are equally affordable. Life in the slow lane. We stopped to watch a local all-star baseball game and I learned how to partake a liquid refreshment by biting off the corner of a little plastic bag and holding is over my mouth and sucking on it. Cups are just too expensive for the vendors,......and I'm completely serious. The previous day, Saturday, was great too - a day trip to Masaya volcano, Masaya artesan's market and the Catarina overlook, but I'll have to make that presentation at a later time. I leave you with another view of the volcano and (for you ladies) a pic of my tour guide, Horatio.

So Alive!

2010-01-07T18:00:00.001-05:00

Granada, Nicaragua

Hola! Since I arrived in this amazing country, I haven't found a moment to sit and update y'all. At the moment, I'm seated in a breezy cafe on the Plaza in Granada which provides free WiFi and cold beer. Dowloading my pics from the last few days and catching my breath. I'm in Spanish classes 4 hours per day Mon-Fri. The school offers free activities each afternoon as well. Yesterday, for example, we drove out to the Laguna de Apoyo to swim in the warm, clear water of the crater of an extinct volcano. The bottom of the lagoon is apparently the lowest point in all Central America, inhabited by species that live nowhere else on earth. The rustic lakeside stopover, family-run and complete with pigs and chickens in the yard, provided hammocks for us to swing in and look out over the laguna, which is rimmed by green forest that rises steeply all around.

Another afternoon, we gringos took advantage of Salsa dance lessons; another day it was a walking tour of this charming colonial city, the oldest in Nicaragua, although it was burned at least twice, once by the American adventurer William Walker, who proclaimed himself the president of Nicaragua. The histories of our two nations have been strangely intertwined.

Above you see me in the bell tower of La Merced church to take in the panoramic view of tile roofs stretching out in every direction and the volcano Mombacho looming over all. My Spanish is returning apace, though I can feel my brain frying and almost feel the sweat popping out with the extreme effort of conversing in Spanish for 3-4 hours and being drilled in irregular verbs. It's great.

FYI, for those contemplating a similar adventure to this part of the world, my week of classes plus a private room in a guest house w/ bath (in a gorgeous old colonial home two blocks off the Plaza) plus 3 meals a day in a restaurant plus the afternoon activities cost me $210. Bargain would hardly describe it.

I'm full of wonder every moment here. More to come. Here's a scene from the Mercado (main market), a place of abundant energy, ingenuity and color. I'm gonna get brave and go back solo for some fruit and a tank top. I say brave because the crush of people is intense and we share the crowded street with horse-drawn carts, cars, street sweepers, buses, you name it. This lady sells beef. Hasta luego!

Nicaragua Dreamin'

2009-12-27T16:35:00.003-05:00

Bradenton, FL -- It's official; I've started taking the anti-malaria medication and will be headed for Nicaragua in seven days. I'll be staying for three weeks, taking classes at two different Spanish language schools, one in Granada and one in the highlands at a town called Matagalpa.

I have numerous reasons for making this trip. First and foremost is intuition. While I don't exactly have a "bucket list", the thought of going to Central America for immersion Spanish has been popping up for years, whenever I get into a workshop or program that asks for "life goals". It just doesn't go away. So I figure I'm getting a message (not so subtle) from my higher power to do this. There's something to be gained that I can't know about until I do it.

Second is my desire not to lose my half-baked ability with the Spanish language, which has waned considerably since we left Puerto Rico twelve years ago. "Use It or Lose It" definitely applies here.

Third, it seems to me that when sharing a living space of 350 square feet or less with another human being (even if, or especially if, that person happens to be your spouse), living and working together 24/7, it might be advisable to schedule a lengthy break now and then. Anybody who knows Jim and me well is probably astonished that we're making this work; we're both very private and very independent people.....but more on marriage in a future blog post. ("Yikes!" Jim will say when he reads this.)

And why Nicaragua? I've had a soft spot in my heart for the place ever since the mid-80's, when we were protesting and trying to get the CIA out of their social revolution. It hasn't been easy since then. Though it is the largest country in Central America, it's the poorest (hate that word, but still looking for an alternative). It really surprised me to learn that their average yearly income is lower than that of Tanzania. Apparently large portions of the county have been deforested for reasons known to anyone who studies global poverty.

Anyway, I like to vote with my dollars whenever possible, so in my small way, I will contribute to their economy. In both towns, I will be enjoying home-stays with families, to whom I directly give the money for my accommodations and meals. The school in Granada, 1-on-1 Tutoring, supports a boys home. They rescue from the streets young boys addicted to glue-sniffing, which is a common problem among street urchins in Central and South America. The addiction is cheap and dulls hunger pangs.

I'm taking a netbook computer with me and intend to keep blogging from the trail. Meanwhile, can't resist one last Christmas photo from the RV Park here and a picture of our Christmas dinner, RV-style. Cornish game hens are about the only birds that will fit in the freezer. Jim made a stuffing out of what was "on hand", which included pumpernickel bread, minced dry Italian sausage, Thai curry paste and mint, among other things. The sauce was a reduction made from grapefruit off the tree out back. It was Out Of This World! Happy Holidays.

Christmas Parade in a Florida RV Park

2009-12-22T22:06:00.001-05:00

Pleasant Lake RV Resort, Bradenton, FL -- Who says we don't know how to have fun in the "55 Plus" RV Park? Two nights ago, we stepped outside our rig and were treated to a display of imagination, creativity and downright hard work as dozens of golf carts swept by, decked out for the holidays. I dare not ask you to stay with me through a seven-minute video of the entire parade, but here's a small taste.

It was actually chilly (by our standards) that night; made it feel all the more Christmas-y. Some of the riders threw candy as they passed. This place is pretty much ablaze at night with Christmas lights and decorations, which look real nice reflected in the lake that forms the center of the park.

Puts me in mind of Christmas time in Vieques, where certain barrios (neighborhoods) were in competition, I think, to see who could make the electric meters spin faster with all the lights on display. On an island where "entertainment" ran thin, it was always a treat to take a Christmas ride and see what outrageous, ostentatious displays were up for the season. And, of course, in Puerto Rico, Christmas season runs full blast straight through to the middle of January, so it's really worth the effort on the part of those who create such phantasms.

Vieques was pretty much devestated (as in leveled) by Hurricane Hugo in 1989. It was an extremely traumatic event for everyone who lived through it and it was many months before water and electricity were restored and life returned to any semblance of normalcy. The following year, I noticed that the light displays were bigger and brighter than ever; it was as if everyone was saying "We're still here! Life goes on! And we are thankful for it all!"

Look at The Little Faces

2009-12-19T15:11:00.003-05:00

Bradenton, FL -- Gotta be honest; I'm feeling despondent today over what didn't happen at the Copenhagen climate talks. The talks have ended without any kind of fair, ambitious, or legally binding global agreement. It leaves me questioning what kind of future we're creating for little ones like these tots in Helsinki. We need to get to 350 parts per million of carbon in the atmosphere to preserve life-as-we-know-it on the planet, and the political will on the parts of the rich and emerging super-economies just is not there. The current negotiations will result in a level of 770 ppm in the atmosphere and a rise in temperature of more than 2 degrees Celsius, considered the absolute threshold for safety.

The good news, from my perspective, is that citizens around the world are becoming activated around this issue, and it seems much more in evidence elsewhere in the world than here in the US ... probably because we have the most to "lose". Personally, I feel it will be an eventual gain when we start relating to each other in community again instead of spending most of our time running around in automobiles, seeing how much we can consume before we're six feet under. The hunger we feel in our souls cannot be cured by "retail therapy." It is healed by finding ways every day to give and receive love; to be in holy relationship with others. Somewhere I heard it said, "If you're feeling unhappy, it's a sure sign you're thinking too much about yourself and not enough about others." I have found it to be unerringly true.

Here's a shot of the candlelight vigil at 1:00 AM in the freezing cold in Copenhagen as the talks were ending without a real deal.

For another look at something that didn't make the headlines around here, check out the World March for Peace and Nonviolence that started in New Zealand on September 26 and will finish up in Punta des Vacas, Argentina on January 2nd. It is truly inspiring to see that vast numbers of people from all nations turn out to show they care about each other and our future together as one human family. I have hope, always.

Oh No! Over 55....

2009-12-14T14:56:00.005-05:00

Pleasant Lake RV Resort, Bradenton, FL -- I know I don't look like I'm over 55 (snicker, snicker). Maybe I should rephrase that and say that I certainly don't feel a day over 35. But when we bailed out of the park in Bushnell because we couldn't get even one bar on our cell phones and have a business to run, we needed a place quick. Leafing through the various catalogs of discounted RV parks, we found a sweet deal here at Pleasant Lake in Bradenton: the whole month of December for $214, which is a full hook-up including water, sewer, electricity, internet and cable TV. Zoom-zoom-zoom...as soon as our forwarded mail arrived in Bushnell, we high-tailed it south ....It wasn't until we were pulling in here that I read the marquee:

What? I've only been at it 10 weeks and I'm already in the old-age home of RV parks?

Well, of course, 55 isn't old. Especially when you've been there and done that and are now thinking about what mountain to climb when you're 60. A few days after my 57th birthday, I ran/walked a half-marathon at Disney with a bunch of friends from St. Augustine. I'll never do it again, but I'm glad to have the photos to prove that I finished and didn't have to be swept up by the trucks who pick up stragglers so they can re-open the highways in Orlando. (Just in case you were wondering, it takes 10 months for your big toenails to grow back when they fall off completely after hitting the toe of your running shoe about a hundred thousand times.)

Along these lines, I talked with my sister the other day and she invited me to walk across Scotland with her next summer. She's already walked across England and is now scouting around for someone who might be able to keep up with her on such a trek. Trust me, that's no small thing; here's a woman (6 years my senior, I might add) who commutes by bicycle 13 miles a day over some very hilly terrain in Maine and who lately took on the 100-mile Wilderness Trail up Mt. Katahdin -alone- as a fundraiser. I'll let her tell that story someday in HER blog, if she ever gets one.

Anyway, I've deduced that we are, by some fair margin, the "youngsters" of the park here. It's all good. Today, Jim helped a gentleman named Frank pick up and load his new golf cart and deliver it to the park. He and his wife are in their 15th season here, and figure it will be their last due to health challenges. Frank seems stunned (as I know I would be) to find that some of his body parts just don't do what he wants them to anymore.

That's because the "I" who looks out from behind our eyes is the same eternal being who looked out when we were three, seventeen and thirty-one (that was a good year!). It doesn't age, it never dies, it goes on and on as an expression of the one Infinite life. Eventually the "envelope of skin" must be shed and then the soul flies free for a time. And, as I said, It's All Good. Amen.

A Christmas Solution

2009-12-11T13:31:00.003-05:00

Pleasant Lake RV Resort, Bradenton, FL --

Yuletide approaches. Observe here our salute to the season, RV-style. We wrote out our cards and placed them in the rural mail box outside the park office in Bushnell. Aside from going online for a few minutes, and one quick trip to the store, that's all the stress that's involved in our Christmas preparations these days. Now, like most of you, I have a family and, like most of you, I love what Christmas means in our hearts, so let me explain.

A few years ago, I summoned up all my courage and contacted the remaining adult members of my family. I threw down the gauntlet. "What if we all just stop the ritual of cruising through stores, buying items that none of us needs, and instead, if we wish, give to a charity of our choice in honor of the family?" I swear I heard an audible, collective sigh of relief. Could it be that everyone is just waiting for someone else to say this?

We live in a world where, sorry to say, many are in need of the basics. At this time of year, we all feel rising within us a spirit of thankfulness and generosity. If we are over the age of twelve, the joy of receiving was long ago overshadowed by the joy of giving. Our family's solution is to give to the world, anonymously, where it will do the most good. My personal favorite place to give at Christmastime is Heifer International. Maybe your favorite charity is right here at home. Most of us have to go no further than a mile or two to find homeless and forgotten people.

Christmas is a wonderful time of year. I have two precious granddaughters, and I enjoy selecting gifts for them that I think will spur their young imaginations. Who doesn't remember the anticipation and excitement of opening the gifts under the tree when we were small? As for the adults in my family, we spread our love far and wide, honoring each other and honoring the place in each human heart that yearns to say "I have enough; I am enough." Happy Holidays!

Don't Take Me Out To The Woodshed!

2009-12-08T18:49:00.004-05:00

Sumter Oaks RV Park, Bushnell, FL -- We'll be on the move tomorrow, but before we leave this little corner of paradise, I'll share a few photos from our drive-around yesterday. For reasons I won't go into, we needed to find a UPS Store. Two days ago we made a futile attempt to do so in the town of Brooksville; an hour and a half later, we did arrive at the U-Haul place that ONCE WAS a UPS store, but, regrettably had given up that privilege some time ago. (Thank you, UPS, for keeping your website up to date!)

So we set out again yesterday, in a different direction to try our luck. Ultimately, we were successful and the drive was a pleasure, taking us through the picturesque town of Floral City and on into Inverness. I tried to buy some blueberry jam at this establishment (see pic) but found no one home at the trailer at the end of the dirt road. I was duly impressed by the way the local attorneys ply their trade (see below) and Jim and I agreed that the divorce usually does precede the bankruptcy. For someone.

Last, but not least, for anyone who thinks that RV living means privation, here is the salad I whipped up for myself for lunch upon returning home. It's true that our refrigerator/freezer is probably half the size we are used to...maybe less. You get very good at packing and stacking. Ta ta!

How to Have Fun for $2.50

2009-12-06T15:23:00.001-05:00

Sumter Oaks RV Park, Bushnell, FL -- I'm surprised at how well Jim and I can amuse ourselves sometimes. Maybe we're just more easily amused as the years go by. Back story: We had some nice lettering applied to the back of the RV before we left St. Augustine, complete with a logo for the International Centers for Spiritual Living and the Web address of our ministry. This is obviously good advertising when we're moving down the road, but we spend most of our time parked and, invariably, we must back in to our campsite. Thus, we decided that when we got to a place we were going to stay for awhile, we would get in touch with a sign maker and have some lettering applied to the FRONT of the vehicle, so people in the campgrounds could know what we are about.

Our plan as of a week ago was to make Bushnell our base of operations for a couple of months while we visited a series of spiritual centers on the Gulf Coast of Florida. I had mentioned (before we actually got here) that maybe this would be a place where we could get that lettering put on the motor home. Our first day out exploring, we passed the sign you see above and Jim remarked, "I don't think we'll be getting that lettering done here..."

Okay, now how to have fun (and lunch) for $2.50. Did I mention these are country folks hereabouts? Not only the local residents, but the people in the campgrounds as well, as we found out at Friday's Jam Session in the rec hall. It was cold and rainy that day and we were lured in by the promise of Pulled Pork Sandwiches for $2 apiece. Lunch was served at 12:30 and the music started at 1:00. Add $.50 for a cup of coffee and you have an afternoon of excellent entertainment for pennies. Four guitars, a banjo, a mandolin, two fiddles and a keyboard made up the complement of instruments. The players hailed mostly from Maine and New Brunswick, Canada, from what I could tell. The music was toe-tappin' and knee-slappin' and went on for at least two hours.

I left at 2:00 to come back to the motor home and tackle a school assignment that was due the next day (yes, I'm still plodding along, taking online college classes to get my teaching certificate). Jim stayed to the end, at which time everyone stood, held hands and sang "God Bless America". Oh, that reminds me of another discovery just down the road: The Florida National Cemetery, where more than 97,000 veterans of all branches of the military are interred. Maintained by the Veteran's Administration, this is 512 acres of meticulously groomed countryside. Walking through, we observed grave markers of servicemen and women from the 2nd Seminole War through Afghanistan and every war and conflict in between. It's a solemn and beautiful place. I hold to the vision of a world where not one mother's son or daughter has to die in any war, anywhere. Amen. [To get involved in a grassroots effort to have peace take hold in our lifetime, visit The Peace Alliance]

Somewhere between Monterey & Vieques

2009-12-03T15:03:00.005-05:00

Sumter Oaks RV Park, Bushnell, FL --- First impressions aren't always accurate, but I feel duty-bound to give you mine anyway when we pull into a new town.

With a brief stopover in St. Augustine for Thanksgiving with friends, we've gone from the bustling streets of Fort Lauderdale to a setting that is, to say the least, pastoral. Bushnell is midway between Ocala and Tampa. It's farm country. The main driveway around the RV park borders a pasture populated with burros. In our first drive around "town", we passed cattle farms, horse farms (including one with mini-horses!) and signs for goats and rabbits for sale.   Hay is also a big commodity (see pic).

Our first morning here, I pushed a baseball cap down over my hair and headed out for a walk/jog. I'm not even sure I would call what I do "jogging". It feels more like "slogging", but I alternate that with walking at a fast clip and call it a cardio workout.   There was a heavy mist falling. The county road is lined with big old live oaks draped in Spanish moss. It was eerie and beautiful and for some reason, reminded me of early morning walks at Asilomar on the Monterey Peninsula in California.

Monterey, that is, mixed with a little of Vieques, because the cocks were crowing. Whenever I hear roosters crow, I am instantly transported to the island of Vieques, Puerto Rico, where I lived, off and on, for a dozen years or so. As anyone who has been to Puerto Rico will tell you, the roosters crow all day and most of the night. No one told them it was supposed to be a mornings-only ritual. The sound has a strange effect on me; it takes me back (like a smell can do) to a place that touched my soul so deeply that every time I tried moving back to the States over a 20-year period, I would be so homesick for that quirky little island that I'd find a reason and a way to move back. I remember one move when my son, Tony, was around 7 years old and traveled with his pet turtle in a box on his lap from Boston to San Juan.   Our first night in Vieques, we made a brick pen for the turtle in a friend's front yard, went to sleep and, of course, in the morning, the turtle was gone.

But I digress. I'll leave you with two more photos. First the sandhill cranes that cruise the campground every day. These birds aren't as big as the Cory's bustards that we saw on safari in Tanzania, but they're pretty impressive nonetheless. Last is a shot of my latest "Sunday Lunch" after church at a barbecue joint in Daytona. To my vegetarian friends: Close Your Eyes.

Of Motorcycles and Ma'amoul

2009-12-01T20:33:00.001-05:00

Sumter Oaks RV Park, Bushnell, FL -- We've moved on, like thieves in the night, to another corner of Florida, another RV park, another grand adventure, living in the NOW. Before bringing you up to date, however, on this little corner of paradise, I have a backlog of ideas in my mind that need to be expelled.

Those of you who have been with me for awhile know that I'm boring to you the point of distraction with tales of the motorcycle. Looking back over these blog posts, observing my own life over the past couple of months, I can only conclude that the Honda VTX 1300 is some kind of metaphor for my larger existence. All of my internal struggles, major and minor, are played out in some way in relation to this machine. So here we go.

A few Saturdays ago, before we left Fort Lauderdale, Jim and I planned a day trip to Palm Beach Gardens to visit our friend Erin. This would entail riding an hour or so on I-95. I had been holding in suspension my thoughts about being on a motorcycle in six lanes of traffic traveling at 80 mph. What do I do with those fleeting images of loose patches of gravel, rogue gusts of wind, tractor-trailers drifting out of their lanes, drivers who stayed out too late last night or the dreaded road alligators (those long strips of black re-tread that peel off of semi tires and litter the roadway)? Should I keep my eyes open or closed?

I tied my lucky red bandanna around my neck and we took off. As we sped up the entrance ramp, I said a little prayer. Actually, I decided to practice Ho'oponopono while riding.This spiritual practice involves silently saying four things to a person (in my case, all drivers and passengers surrounding me): "I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you."

We had been up to speed for five or ten minutes on the highway. I was busy putting my fears to rest, one by one. Just then, Jim motioned with his index finger to look up. There overhead was a sky-writer plane, tracing out huge letters in the sky. What did it say? "TRUST GOD"

Now, I didn't think I needed to be hit over the head to get a message from my higher self, but apparently on this day, I did. We pulled over right there on I-95 to take a picture and, sorry, but I couldn't fit the whole thing in one frame.

I'm sure I don't need to tell you that the ride was beautiful, the day was beautiful, and I've moved up a notch in my own estimation as a Motorcycle Mama.

PS: We went to lunch at the Pita Grille in Juno Beach, owned by the fantastic person you see here, Eddie (in the blue shirt). He visits every table to make sure you're having a good meal and because of a discussion that ensued, brought over a coffee-table book, open to the page that proved that the Lebanese were the first salesmen in the history of the world.

My only regret was that I could not make room to try one of the dozen or so Middle Eastern desserts that were on the chalk board.

I do believe that the motorcycle might have to make way for food as my next obsession.

Five Things to Love

2009-11-23T20:55:00.002-05:00

Fort Lauderdale, FL -- As most of my readers know, Jim and I embarked on this "journey of 1000 miles ... or more" in a motor home as complete and total newbies to the lifestyle. We never owned a camper; we never went "camping" in any way, shape or form. My husband's idea of camping, he always said, was a Holiday Inn.

But lo and behold, at the age of 58, I became a minister's wife and this ministry was destined to be a mobile one. So we shed our house, a great number of our belongings and moved into this 350 square feet of heaven.

Ignorance is bliss, but we weren't ready for total bliss, so we started reading up on "full-time RVing". Yikes, those books scared the daylights out of us. They always seemed to be pointing out the pitfalls and the worst case scenarios. What if you found yourself in a campsite that wasn't level, that had too many low-hanging branches and no view?

Well, right then and there I decided I wasn't going to pull into a campground or a campsite and start finding things wrong with it....reasons to hate it. We are traveling on a budget (of sorts), looking for places that charge $15-$25 a night rather than $50-$60. So I need to have the right attitude to make this the all-out great adventure of a lifetime that it surely is.

I submit that we can always find at least 5 Things To Love about anyplace we are. Ergo, here are my lists for a) this campground and b) Fort Lauderdale itself, where we have spent 3 weeks out of our 6 weeks on the road so far.

5 Things To Love About This Campground

1. The Parrots. Bright green, noisy and beautiful, they pass through several times a day.
2. Personality. The French Canadians have started moving in, "en force" for the season. Their patios are adorned with potted palms, soft lighting and "Bienvenue" signs identifying the occupants.
3. Convenience. Did I mention that within a 5-minute walk there is a Walgreens and a liquor store? You'd be surprised at the variety of food available in a Walgreens.
4. Kids. Even though most of the residents here are in the 55+ category, there's a family of homeschoolers with at least 4 kids who patrol the park in a golf cart at all hours of the day and evening. They also seem to have a dog-walking service. They're extremely friendly. Actually, everyone here is extremely friendly.
5. Coffee. When you're too lazy to get out the French press and make a second pot of coffee, you can walk over to the office and pour yourself a cup of theirs.
6. Geeks On Tour. Two sites down from us are Jim and Chris Guld. Their business is helping people in RV parks get connected to the Internet and learn how to use their computers better. They're also experts in teaching Picasa, and they flew out to Google headquarters last week to conduct a webinar with the Google folks. PS: They had a blast and if you know anyone who's 30-something and mobile, "Google is hiring".

Oops, that's six things. Guess I'll have to wait 'til next time to tell you 5 Things To Love about Fort Lauderdale. Blog entries need to be short and sweet or nobody reads them. Hail the new media! Here's a pic of my dessert yesterday at Rendezvous here in Ft. Lauderdale. After making one of our church appearances on Sunday morning, we're generally in the habit of treating ourselves to a nice lunch. Bon appetit!

A Second Helping of Blackberry Pancakes

2009-11-19T17:02:00.002-05:00

Fort Lauderdale, FL -- When people ask how we do grocery shopping on a motorcycle, I tell them we shop like Europeans: frequently with an emphasis on freshness. This is my spin on the fact that we just can't carry much home at one time.

As I've already chronicled here, this RV park is set in the urban jungle, a few hundred yards from the busiest thoroughfare in Fort Lauderdale, Oakland Park Blvd. There's no farm stand within walking distance (plenty of fast food), but a couple of miles up the road there is a "Farmer's Market" with an unpredictable assortment of produce on any given day, most of it dead ripe and some of it truly delicious. That's where we spotted the blackberries; two boxes for a dollar. They had to be used right away.

We decided on pancakes; the berries were so huge they had to be cut in half. This meal was delightful for two reasons, the food itself and the memories it inspired. Jim likes to make "special" pancakes like this; he remembers his Dad being the pancake-maker in his family, carefully placing slices of banana or fresh-picked Prudence Island blueberries on the pancakes before flipping. Saturday was the day for this; a family ritual that seemed so normal at the time and takes on a rich patina in memory as the years go by.

For me, it was a memory of picking blackberries with my Dad up in Maine. Within walking distance of Mom and Dad's house in the city of Portland, there were huge stands of blackberry vines that yielded all the berries you could use. Our preferred method of consumption was in a pie.

Jim and I share the great good fortune of having grown up with fathers who were all-around tremendous people. They guided us with their wisdom, celebrated our successes as our biggest fans, and set the example for a life based on principle. We raise our forks to you, Don and John, as we go for that second helping, savoring all that life has to offer. Cheers!

350 -- A Number You Should Know

2009-11-16T11:32:00.001-05:00

Fort Lauderdale, FL-- When I created this blog and was directing a friend to my web address "350sqft.com", he accidentally stumbled upon 350.org and left me a a voice mail to the effect "Well, as usual, you're right in step with what's happening globally...did you choose that number on purpose?"

If I did, it was subconscious. I was already very familiar with 350.org and the work they are doing. 350.org is an international campaign dedicated to building a movement to unite the world around solutions to the climate crisis. Their mission is to inspire the world to rise to the challenge of the climate crisis—to create a new sense of urgency and of possibility for our planet.

Did you know that there are island nations that are in imminent danger of disappearing altogether when the sea levels start to rise, which they will certainly do if global warming is not halted? The Maldives in the Indian Ocean is one of these. Why is the number 350 important?

350--as in parts per million, is the level scientists have identified as the safe upper limit for CO2 in our atmosphere. This chart shows where we are now, at 387 parts per million. 350 is a symbol of where we need to head as a planet.

On 24 October, people in 181 countries came together for the most widespread day of environmental action in the planet's history. At over 5200 events around the world, people gathered to call for action on the climate crisis. The photo at the top of this page is of children in India at one event. To view photos from around the world on October 24, click here. If kids in Burundi, the Philippines, Yemen and Bangladesh can show up and take a stand for the future of our planet, what can you do? We all can do something.

Jim and I have significantly reduced our carbon footprint by parking our cars, commuting together on a motorcycle that gets 45 mpg and living in space that is small but meets our needs. I also use a bicycle. I will grant you that the motor home gets very poor gas mileage (probably between 6-8 mpg), but it is parked 99% of the time. (Literally 99% - I calculated our average hours on the road in a four week period versus time parked) I invite you to visit www.350.org and get inspired to take action in your community. This movement is made up largely of young people, the inheritors of what's been created in the era of cheap fossil fuels. I feel certain that this crisis will bring humanity together as never before, and the youth are leading the way.

Breakdown

2009-11-09T14:01:00.001-05:00

Paradise Island RV Resort, Ft. Lauderdale, FL - Friday my cell phone rang. I was doing 'God knows what' in the motor home ... probably on the Internet, trying to unsubscribe from more of the stuff that comes into my Inbox. I answer. It's Jim, "Guess what. The throttle cable on the motorcycle broke. I'm at a gas station in town waiting for a tow truck to haul it to a Honda dealer in Pompano Beach. You'll need to rent a car and come get me."

Now doesn't it seem like an inordinate number of these blog entries are concerning the MOTORCYCLE? I'm not sure why that is, and I'll have to think about it sometime.

Anyway, the day unfolded from there. I had to call Enterprise, the most expensive rental car in the book, because "they pick you up". And I must say their service was prompt and courteous. But they would not pick me up until I agreed to either the "basic" or "full" insurance coverage offered. I didn't want either one, but I needed a ride, so I caved.

We waited a long time for the tow truck and got to know the owners of the Citgo station at the corner of Oakland Park and 26th Ave. pretty well. They bought the station shortly after moving to Ft. Lauderdale from Greece over 30 years ago. We talked about the Greek Islands, Vespa motor scooters, the Science of Mind and the movie "My Big Fat Greek Wedding".

When the flatbed tow truck finally arrived, an enormous African American man slid out of the cab and introduced himself as "Big Al". Apologizing for the wait, he explained that he had been called to an accident scene in the interim. We were to follow him to the Honda dealer in the rental car, but somehow got ahead of him in traffic, so he guided us in via cell phone. Big Al was a total sweetheart; we liked the way he engaged with the kids walking by on their way home from school..."What school do you go to? Hey, that's my alma mater." He admitted being puzzled by "kids today".

So the bike is in the shop for a number of days. We got rid of the $64/day Enterprise car as soon as humanly possible and can now be seen traveling around in a full-size U-Haul pickup truck, which we rented for $19.95/day and $.59 per mile. Not a great deal if you have to travel far, but we don't.

We did, however, take advantage of having the truck to stop at Home Depot and buy a big slab of lumber that will be used as a ramp for on-loading and off-loading the MOTORCYCLE onto our trailer...the one we tow behind the motor home. Gee, life seems to revolve around that MOTORCYCLE, doesn't it? I need to get a life. Only kidding!

The Real America

2009-11-03T15:05:00.001-05:00

Fort Myers Beach, FL -- Meet Khaled and Irene, proprietors of Family Diskount Store here in Ft. Myers Beach. Their establishment is an easy walk from our campground, which was an accidental find, by the way....the one with the blown-out trailers mentioned already.

We stumbled upon their store because it was time to buy a gallon of water and you definitely don't want to add that item to your "Publix" list when you're bringing the groceries home on a motorcycle.

These are the sweetest store-owners you will ever meet. That goes for their son, too. Perusing the sandwich menu, we discovered that on Saturdays, Irene prepares traditional Indian fare, hot and fresh from her kitchen. Khaled advised us to get there early if we wanted to be sure to get some. Well, we did show up early....too early it turned out....Irene was running a little late. Consequently, we crossed the road and found this unbelievable produce stand:

You can see Jim having a blinding flash of insight... "Wow, I never would have stopped here if I wasn't exploring on foot!" In addition to all that great produce, the stand offered local honey, dozens of sugar-free homemade preserves and locally made key lime pies.

The story ends with us enjoying Irene's superb Chicken Biryani back in the motor home. On the side, she provides fresh onion/tomato relish, a slice of apple and a chick-pea samosa (savory fried patty - akin to a fritter).

To me, this is the real America....and I might have missed it zooming by in a car.

Hallowe'en on Sanibel Island

2009-10-31T17:21:00.000-04:00

Sanibel Island, FL -- What a perfect day for traveling the length of Sanibel and Captiva islands in the Gulf of Mexico. Over the 11 years that Jim and I have lived in Florida, we've visited just about every corner, from Amelia Island to Key West to Pensacola....but until now never made it to the SW corner of the state.

The beaches here don't disappoint and the human residents have done a nice job, too, architecturally speaking. Plenty to keep a tourist busy for a day or two. We visited the Goodwill Store; Jim found a lightweight pure wool sports jacket that he thinks appropriate for an itinerant minister.

Our favorite sight, gorgeous scenery notwithstanding, was this provocative witch keeping watch from a very private driveway on the Sanibel Captiva Road.

Happy Hallowe'en!

Can't Fall Asleep on a Motorcycle

2009-10-29T17:41:00.003-04:00

McGregor Park, Ft. Myers, FL -- I know I already mentioned that our only form of transpor- tation other than the motor home is a Honda VTX 1300 motorcycle.

I'm a newcomer to riding .... and I should make it clear that I'm a passenger, not the driver. I've had an opportunity to throw a lot of fears overboard as we take to the highways and byways with nothing much between us and the pavement.

Riding is strangely exhilarating and at the same time, mentally restful. I can't speak for the driver, but as a passenger, I find myself in a state of relaxed alertness as we drive, especially on country roads. I can't let myself "go to sleep" (even figuratively), yet I have a stretch of time in which I can't go off and do something else. It's not really meditating and it's definitely not concentration, but perhaps a state of thoughtfulness. Or mindfulness. I find that new ideas like to float in at this time.

Could it have something to do with the fact that I have turned myself over completely in trust to someone else for my safety? If so, I see a great analogy to trusting completely in the Power that created us, and having thus released the need to control anything, find ourselves in a state of ease and flow.

I'm very fortunate to have a partner who has earned my complete trust in this regard. And I like to think of us having joined the ranks of so many families across the globe who travel by motorcycle or motor scooter every day. beep beep.

P.S. Above is a picture of our stop this week at an RV park in Fort Myers, FL. It looks rather pretty here, but I would be afraid to show you the picture of the view across from our site. Looks like the remnants of Hurricane Charlie five years ago with blown out trailers and an abandoned house. All this a stone's throw away from Sanibel Island! In some ways, I feel like I'm back in Vieques, which is not a bad thing AT ALL.

View From My Office

2009-10-23T16:03:00.000-04:00

I'm seated in my home office in the RV (one of two - Jim has his own office space), gazing out at the Tibetan prayer flags I have strung from our awning.

According to tradition, the ancient Buddhist prayers, mantras and powerful symbols displayed on the flags produce a spiritual vibration that is activated and carried by the wind across the countryside -- in this case, across the trailer/RV park here in Ellenton, Florida.

I just love that idea. Now that my immediate community of the past eleven years has been left behind, I seek new ways to find and create community wherever I go....including through this blog and by remembering to see Spirit in every person I meet.

Yesterday we traveled across Alligator Alley from Ft. Lauderdale to the west coast of Florida, through Big Cypress National Preserve and the Florida Panther National Wildlife Refuge. The Everglades and cypress swamps are quite beautiful in their own way. My favorite sight was the pert little kingfishers sitting on the wires over the canal that runs parallel to the highway all the way across. Because their heads are large relative to their body size, they have a cuteness about them which is uncommon among birds. These pint-sized hunters peer into the water, waiting for a fish to come into range and then, swoooosh, they dive.

Like some of the people who have questioned me, I wonder what it will be like to live in such confined quarters for a long period of time. My thought is that, while my sleeping/working container might be small, the whole outdoors is at my doorstep now; nature awaits my discovery at every turn. So far, we have eaten the great majority of our meals outside. The scene keeps changing and, like the kingfisher, I'm ready to dive in.

Why Don't I Photograph the Disasters?

2009-10-21T17:27:00.000-04:00

In order to have any future at all as a blogger, I'm going to have to get better at capturing the pivotal moments in life.

Our first "home on the road" was the St. Johns RV Park in St. Augustine, where we lived for two weeks, tying up all our loose ends after 11 years in town. I hadn't been in the park two hours when I stood on our concrete picnic table (trust me, I had a good reason for doing this), botched the dismount, and broke the table into three or four very large chunks.

With tail between my legs, I slunk off to the park office to ask how much I owed for one concrete picnic table. The lady behind the desk looked at me sympathetically and said, "Oh, we just got those and they're really expensive....I've got to call the owner." Yikes....thoughts started flowing through my head...how much does a concrete table cost.... $500? $1000?

Anyway, we ended up eating off our folding table for the duration of our stay, the table was paid for and I realized, too late, that a picture of the broken pieces would have been the perfect way to introduce my blog about campground living and traveling ministry. Dang! I was just too upset to think of my future readers!

Next up, the RVers first episode of having things fly out of cabinets while driving down the road. I expect this happens to everyone at least once. That's why it's recommended to buy the expanding rods that are placed on every refrigerator shelf and every pantry shelf before embarking. Hmmmm. We took care of the fridge, but were relying on the special cabinet doors to keep everything else in place. A five mile trip through the city streets of Fort Lauderdale on Saturday set us right on that one.

Rounding an especially hard corner, our pantry emptied out on the floor of the RV with a sickening crash. I looked back, saw bottles rolling around and reported to Jim that I didn't think anything was broken. Ri-i-i-ight.

We now have a couple of sections of carpet whose color remarkably resembles balsamic vinegar. Someone remarked that white vinegar would have cleaned the floor at the same time and left everything sparking clean. But we don't cook with WHITE vinegar, we like BALSAMIC vinegar, dark, dark brown. Two cans of carpet cleaner and half an hour later, I realized that I'd lost another great photo op, when all our stuff was lying around the floor of the RV in a puddle. Once again, too upset to think of you, dear readers.

I've got to start thinking more like a war photographer. Meanwhile, here's a nice picture from today: Jim and Dr. Arleen Bump, his teacher, mentor and host for the new ministry. Have a nice day!

Salwar Kameez

2009-10-19T17:02:00.000-04:00

I've been thinking for awhile that I'd like to acquire a piece of East Indian clothing known as "salwar kameez". It's a nice flowy thing, with skinny pants underneath and a neck scarf that can be worn any number of ways. Seems the perfect item to pull out of the (tiny little) RV closet and wear when we visit churches on Sunday mornings.

After the "Blessing" on Saturday, our friend Erin accompanied us back to the RV park and we decided to have dinner at a little Jamaican place we had discovered on the first night in town. (Back story: Erin is an Indiophile who owns some gorgeous Indian gowns and has a respectable collection of Bollywood DVDs) And it just so happens that there's an Indian clothing store right next to the Jamaican restaurant in the strip mall where we went to eat.

So naturally I made Erin go into the store with me while I tried on a few "salwars" and Jim either went to the liquor store or listened to NPR in Erin's car, I'm not sure which. I wanted to buy all four salwars that I tried on, but settled on a subtle black number with blue and white accents. My intention: to wear it to the Fort Lauderdale church service the next morning, where Jim would be speaking and we would be introducing people to our new ministry.

We woke up Sunday morning to a "cold front" that had moved in and it was a windy 54 degrees. The RV was swaying from side to side. Did I mention we travel by motorcycle when not riding in the motorhome? Needless to say, the Salwar Kameez and sandals were thrown aside in favor of long pants, sensible shoes and a fleece jacket.

So much for my grand entrance as an ethnic goddess. It'll just have to wait.

P.S. The photo was taken after breakfast today at The Original Pancake House.

On Our Way

2009-10-16T18:52:00.000-04:00

350 Square Feet of Heaven

October 16, 2009
Fort Lauderdale, FL

Paradise Island RV Park -- This place is great. Flocks of green parrots fly overhead; if you happen to be right underneath, you can see the red blaze on their bellies. The park has been here for awhile, which means the spaces are short and narrow (made for the travel trailers of yesteryear), but there's mature vegetation, including bougainvillea vines, blooming pink, purple and orange. Most of the sites seem to be rented full-time, with a few reserved for passing travelers like us. It's not all "old folks"....there's a family with children of various ages who are available to greet us several times a day; I can only assume they are home-schooled and living in the park.

I can get to Walgreens through a gate at the back of the park. This is good, since I don't have a car. And there's a big saltwater pool where we did some laps this morning.

I've only slammed my head into the braces for the awning once today. This is remarkably easy to do if, for instance, you glance down to see if you have the right keys in hand to open the gate leading to Walgreens.

Tomorrow morning we stow and secure everything onboard again for the ride over to The Center for Spiritual Living for a "Blessing of the RV". It's a tailgate/cookout party to set us on our way.

P.S. Alvin, the cat, is adapting nicely to life on the road. He's tried out every sleeping spot in this "rolling apartment" and finds each one more restful than the next.