Rest Easy

When I received the touchstone with some of Jim’s ashes in it, I was also given a vial of leftover ashes in case I wanted more things made. Instead, I wanted to to figure out a place to sprinkle those ashes. I decided on Bunche Beach.

It is tradition for me to walk Bunche on Christmas. I’ve done it for years. Last year, I felt strongly it was our last Christmas together, and I asked Jim to join me, even though he was too ill to walk. At the time he was just starting to show signs of what was to come.

This year has been one of turmoil and health issues, and I really am not sure if I’ve been there since last Christmas. There were a lot of changes. I was greeted by this message:

I knew where I wanted to send the ashes, and so made a short walk down the beach. There were more people there than usual—some years I have been the only one there. I wanted to have private space for what I was going to do, and thankfully that worked out.

My idea was to visit a tree I’ve been visiting for over a decade. It has been a place I went to reinforce visions I’ve had for what I want to do and be. It was not a living tree, but one that had a hole where I would drop shells I had spoken my wishes into. 

No surprise that after this hurricane season, the tree was just a leftover stump. But there, in that container, were the shells I left over the years. I sprinkled some ashes into it.

I then turned to the water. If Jim wanted to be anywhere, it would be on the water. I sprinkled the rest of the ashes into a waterway that will carry them into San Carlos Bay and eventually into the Gulf of Mexico.

This is the overview of where I left the ashes.

On the way back, rays came down from the heavens, completing the ritual. 

I didn’t feel the need to shed a tear.

It was perfect. 

Rest easy, My Love.

What Life Can Be

 I finally got in the car

And drove down to Fort Myers Beach

I was motivated by a book signing at

Annette’s Book Nook 

As well as the collection of books I’ve

Had ready to take to the her

Since last June.

Going over the bridge, colorful building were still in sight

Margaritaville squeezed in

And then a long stretch

With a lot of open spaces.

Only the sturdiest building remained.

I contemplated how I can bring a more youthful approach

To my life

And make more space for fun

I suppose in a way I was hit with my own kind of hurricane

This year

The changes, the losses, the realities

But the Architect of the Universe

Has built a strong structure inside of me

Everything will take time

And that is what I have

Time to create openings for new visions

Of what life can be.

2025 will include plenty of reading & writing

Pic Collage 1991-93

 

JOY

Nine times we visited Cancun, Mexico and our vacation was never complete unless we visited Chemuyil, a lovely little beach off the beaten path. We were first directed there as a place to do some great snorkeling, and it was for a while. Eventually we witnessed the reefs dying from the suntan lotion, but the beauty of the beach and its smattering of palm trees never changed. One time when we were there, a boy band from England was shooting a music video. The beach had a bar and little huts where they would serve you fresh caught fish, cooked up with homemade tortillas, beans, rice, a steamed jicama. I know that since the days we were there, that part of the Yucatán Peninsula has built up into a huge tourist attraction called Rivera Maya. But we remember when it was jungle, and we would drive for 90 minutes just to relax on the most beautiful beach in the world,

ACHIEVEMENT

I wrote about this Mexican adventure a few years ago. I am pictured here on the steps of the El Castillo in the ancient city of Chichen Itza. When we first went there as part of a tour in 1987, I was afraid to climb the very steep steps. But in 1992 I changed my tune. I wanted the challenge of overcoming the fear. We rented a car and drove for hours to get there and it was worth it. Mission accomplished!

COURAGE

Before this year, 1993 was the year of our greatest challenges. In June of that year, some discs blew out in Jim’s lower back, and he had surgery to fuse them. Sadly, the fusion didn’t take, and he spent the rest of his life with a crack in his back which disabled him from working, golfing, and many other things. This was a huge adjustment for me, not to mention the financial strain we were under, given that he made a decent income and we had a brand new house. That summer, his aunt and uncle completed the cabin they were building on the New River in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and in the fall Jim’s doctor said he could make the trip there. It was our first visit, and we fell in love with the place. It became our home away from home for many years to come. I use the word Courage here, but what I really was building was Spiritual Courage. Earlier this year when faced with Jim’s terminal illness, I thought a lot about 1993 and all we went through, and it helped me know we could get through this year, no matter what. Jim took this photo of me standing on a petrified log in the river. It wasn’t until doing this blog that I can see how this photo mirrors the one that he took of me at Coe Lake eleven years earlier, the photo that began this series. In that picture, I was starting a new direction. In the picture above, it was the same.

And now I find myself once again gathering my courage to move forward into a new life. I know even though he is not here physically, Jim is here in spirit helping me find joy, achieve new goals, and continue to build spiritual courage. It has always worked in the past. I see no reason that would change now. 🌻

Cancun, Mexico

Inspired by "Pisac, Peru" by David Whyte

October 1987. I was 32, Jim was 45

 I remember the mornings I'd walk the surf,

while you drank coffee on the deck and watched

the sun rise over the Caribbean, then we'd saunter

over to the breakfast buffet that would hold us

until dinnertime.

I remember our resort, the restaurants and large

gray lizards on the lawn, the coolness of our room,

no news affecting our being, so much so the U.S. economy

crashed while we were gone and we had no idea.

I remember the now-called "Riviera Maya" as miles

of jungle, where the residents would flag the road to 

their homes with plastic grocery bags.

I remember discovering a local beach, Chemuyil, a place 

with a tiki bar where a woman had a  coatimundi on a leash,

and huts where food was served, meals

of fresh caught fish, rice, beans, steamed jicama, 

homemade tortillas and salsa. Our many afternoons at 

Chemuyil included watching a boy band from England

recording their music video among the palm trees,

snorkeling the reefs, drinking Mexican beer, and baptizing 

myself in the water the year I had a cancer diagnosis.

 

I remember yesterday after you got your chest X-ray

and you were home and back in bed, I said

This isn't getting on a plane and flying to Mexico,

but this is our life now, and as long as we're together,

I'm fine.

 

And I meant it like I've never meant anything else,

deep in my heart and soul.

 

This ain't no beach vacation.

 

But it is my one life

and I will live it.

 

 

We are just waves in the ocean. Nothing is permanent.

“presiding over all those miracles”

Winding backwards on a morning walk at my local beach, I am thinking of this Billy Collins poem:

 

Dogma

I might be an atheist

were it not

for all the tall angels

and the pudgy cherubs

in the silvery clouds

presiding over all those miracles.

While driving, I saw ice rainbows in the clouds....

Tall angels in the form of osprey....

Pudgy cherubs in sunrise clouds…

Pudgy cherubs in the silvery cloud reflections…

 So many dragonflies...this one posed for me, then flew on...

I find my broken tree, drop my shell in, and speak out loud that God and I will always preside 

over these miracles together.

The Return

 The day I’ve waited for finally came today. I was able to return to Bunche Beach in the early morning hour.

I found myself breathing deeper than I have in a while. I couldn’t take enough pictures! So delighted to be among the sand and gently lapping waves and shorebirds skittering the edges, the newly lit Sanibel Island Lighthouse blinking from across the bay. Sunlight streaked the sky as I made my way down to the point, the place I always go, seashell in hand, to my prayer tree. I had no idea if it would be there. 

It was! Battered quite a bit, but now with an even bigger hole to slip my prayer shell.

It was a homecoming.

On the way back I found a place where someone had drawn a circle. I drew a heart within it to represent my return…with love. 

Saharan Dust

 I kept my commitment to go to the beach early today to pray for the upcoming school year. I typically find a shell, say all my prayers, then drop it into a hole in what I call the “Prayer Tree.” 

I arrived to a skinny beach, as the tide had been all the way in and was just starting to recede. I found my shell and walked, thinking about the school year. The air was very still and I kept feeling grit in my mouth. Something just didn’t feel right. I found it puzzling since nothing was stirring the beach sand. Later I would be reminded of the presence of Saharan Dust in this area, which explained a lot!

After my visit to the prayer tree, I didn’t feel like hanging around. I was anxious to get back home, out of the stifling environment, and find out what to do about our non-working internet. I also thought about and prayed for my mom who moved to assisted living today. To Wayne who is getting chemo treatment. For the health of my husband who is waiting on results of two biopsies. And for the grief our family is suffering in the wake of Dan’s transition. It hit me that these things weigh on my mind, and that the school year is small potatoes in comparison to them.

I thought I had gone to the beach to get ready for the school year. Instead, I was confronted with somewhat harsher realities, making the start of school feel easy in comparison.

Like the Saharan Dust that is present, somewhat invisible, and mildly irritating, the changes and challenges in life are always with asking to be acknowledged and accepted. 

Something About This Morning

It is evening, and I’m moving toward getting dinner going and settling in with some television, which is our nightly routine. It has been another wonderful summer day of balancing reading and art and taking care of some things around here. 

I began the day by finally getting out for a walk at Bunche Beach, something I’ve wanted to do for a while, but was just too lazy to make happen. Plus the weather has been ungodly hot and humid, even in the wee hours, keeping me in the AC.

But today, miraculously, it was a little cooler. I arrived at the beach at 7:15 a.m., and there were only two other cars. That never happens! I practically had the place to myself. 

What was different about today was the affect it has had on me. I took my usual cache of photos, but there is something about this group that feels different to me. The color of the sky. The sunrise on the clouds over Sanibel.  The pelican lolling in the outgoing surf. The osprey feather I found. 

I posted a few pics on Facebook, and all day as people commented on them, they popped up again in my feed. And each time I was delighted all over. Each time I was so glad I had made the time to go and be with nature. 

So I decided to document this morning of joy for what it was—a bit of midsummer magic.

 

My arrival

 

PELICAN SEQUENCE

My walking path

First time I've ever scored an osprey feather

When I got back in the car, a meaningful song came on: "If Tomorrow Never Comes."  I felt blessed to know that if tomorrow doesn't come for me, at least I spent the last day doing what really matters.

Wild Joy on a Christmas Morning

 I dedicate my life going forward to Wild Joy. 

Great Blue Heron greets me

Tide Tracks

Standing Tall in the Sun

My Path to the Prayer Point

Reflecting on Aging

2. Getting Started

 #66Challenge

Walked the beach this Sunday morning as a way to get a grounded start to the new week. Things have gotten started, and I'm feeling great.

The return on Monday seemed weird somehow. I found myself feeling near tears at times, for absolutely no reason I could discern. Thankfully, it subsided and I've been fine ever since.

My mind has been quiet for the most part, and all the hours of training have just been washing over me. It wasn't until around 3 a.m. on Wednesday that I found myself getting up to make a list of things to do.

I live and die with lists, and hadn't made one at all until that moment!

I'm teaching a course called Global Perspectives and intensive reading course with a program called Read 180. The reading course concerned me, as the independent reading portion relies on learners answering questions for the books they read. That irritates me to no end, since that is NOT the way real readers read!  I don't take quizzes on the books I read. Why should they?

But, even though I know they have to do that, I also have started to figure out ways to include some real world reading. Funny thing is, when I talk to others on my team about it, they are thinking the same thing. I think that is what I like best so far -- a lot of us on the same page.

I have awesome teammates in these courses, one in particular who is a whiz at technology and has already set a lot of things up for us. There were concerns about how to grade within these courses, but we will figure that out. It seems that when someone starts getting freaked out about how something will happen, or when, I get calmer, and in turn calm them down. I came into this school year wanting to be more peaceful, more kind, more aware of the moment. And so far, so good. Seriously. It's been working so far.

Open House was fun. I got to see and hug so many returning students and talk highly about them to their parents. I felt like I was truly being myself, and even with returnees who may have been less than ideal last year, we were able to talk openly about it and set a new course. Incredibly cool!

The other thing to note is that there is a lot of emphasis on building a loving, kind, and empathetic community at our school, and I couldn't be happier. I already wanted to do that, and so I'm glad to know I won't be alone. There will be some school-wide lessons coming, and I have some productive ideas up my sleeve to implement. I hope to write about some of these in the coming days.

I know I'm in the glow of the new school year, and that's fine. I'm going to enjoy this feeling while it lasts!

 

Keeping Promises (7 Lines/ 7 Days #50)

 #108Weeks

 

April 25-May 1, 2021

 

Getting myself to the beach was wonderful.

I am proud of the job our president is doing.

I covered a class not realizing it meant a long day with a mask. I'll be glad when that thing is gone!

Wednesday was a scheduled day off.  I kept my promise to write.

Annmarie called my writing "vulnerable and unapologetic." I like that!

My students are getting into reading historical fiction around black experience. Love it :-)

The Universe is in constant contact for my well-being.

Every Little Cell...

Back when I was a sponsor for Youth of Unity, we used to sing this silly little song called 

"Every Little Cell in My Body is Happy."  

Boy, did I feel that today.

The beaches have reopened.  I went to Bunche the first hour after dawn.

I was not prepared for this.

 

The energy!

The deep breathing!

The incredible high!

In fact, on the way home I heard Muddy Waters singing "Champagne and Reefer" 

and I thought, yeah...like that! 

Only better.

Tide Goes Out (but never really leaves)

 

Christmas 2019 tide going out Bunche Beach

Tide Goes Out (but never really leaves)

At first I thought this was another

“Since, Unfinished” Richard Blanco-style

poem, you know, the one that uses the

repeated phrase “I have been writing this since…”

but I haven’t been writing this.

It has been writing me.

Not sure exactly when it started, but I know

I cannot start a new year until I have completed

the business from the last year, the thing that

has been skirting around the periphery of my mind

since, well, I’m not sure. July maybe? And it came

to full force in mid-November and actually has

never left me since, even though I tell myself,

you should be long over this by now. What are

we talking about? Almost 45 years. But do these

things make sense? From what I’m learning…no.

It started with a song, of course, one called

“Seasons in the Sun” that is a beautifully moving

song when performed in Jacques Brel is Alive and Well

and Living in Paris, but was turned into a pop ditty

in the 1970’s by Terry Jacks. It is this version that

haunts me. It is one my brother told me he liked,

along with “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown,” and so we

would turn it up on the radio and sing. Until the

day I was driving him in that red Volkswagen Bug

and the song came on and he demanded I turn

it off. I didn’t want to believe what I was hearing,

but he insisted, and from that moment on I knew

my brother knew he was going to die, even though

it was supposed to be a well-kept secret from everyone

but my parents. The cruelty of that is beyond measure

in so many ways, the damaging effects long-lasting.

I’ve seen them.

But that isn’t the only music that has come full force

at me these last few months.  Just these past couple

of weeks I’ve had to come face-to-face with other

songs that carry me back, that make the grief rise

up. We watched the Kennedy Center Honors

celebrate the artistry of Linda Ronstadt, and as

is normal for these things, her breakout album

Heart Like a Wheel from winter 1975 was discussed

and praised. Lord knows, I know, because I was

listening to it nonstop during that time that my

brother’s tide was going out. I cannot think of this

time without that music. Linda went on to be a huge

influence in my life in many other ways. In the time

it took to salute her, I became a blubbering mess.

Later in the show they celebrated 50 years of Sesame

Street, and again I found myself wiping tears from my

eyes, as they did the song “Sing,” one that I never remember

was a Sesame Street song, but a Carpenters hit. No matter,

because all I ever hear are all the 4^th grade voices singing

the song at my brother’s funeral. It can’t be anything else but that.

                        Back to July, I had time with my brother

and some of our neighborhood friends from days past, and

it felt so good to sit with people that had been there and knew

my brother for his entire brief life. There isn’t anything to explain,

or any grief that has to be uncovered. As it turns out, another

brother was lost in the meantime, and there we sat together

in the Cheesecake Factory and remembered the good times

together, the gifts given by these two, both gone too soon.

And my brother shared with them the news of his grandson, Aiden,

still battling cancer. A month later we would find out that his

treatment would be ending, and in November that brave boy,

decked out in a superhero cape, rang the bell at the hospital

signaling the end of chemo, and a grand celebration was held

throughout that weekend. And I wished I could be there, and

at the same time I found anger arising it couldn’t be the same

for my brother. I’ve tried to say, hey, what Richie went through

helped kids like Aiden. I know that logically. Emotionally, it is

still hurtful.

Richie – born and died too soon.

                        Back to early 1975, when I read the book

Catcher in the Rye. It wasn’t until I reread this book sometime

in 2008 that I remembered this book was essentially about a

boy that had suffered the loss of his brother. I recently saw

an article on LitHub where people were weighing in on

Holden Caulfield -- is he just a spoiled wacky kid, or

did he have reasons for the way he is. And I was happy to

read that most people understood that the loss of Holden’s

brother Allie was the real reason behind his actions, and I

could so relate, I could see it so clearly. It mentioned Holden

punching out the garage windows upon Allie’s death, and

that happened in my family as well – just one window, but

my brother wore a bandage all through the wake and funeral.

And the part about the grave and not wanting to think of his

brother’s body in the cold ground. That is me. That is why I

don’t visit graves.

When watching the film Little Women, Jo and Beth are sitting

at the beach, and it’s well-known that Beth’s heart is weak,

but Jo doesn’t want to hear it and wants to shut down the

conversation. Then Beth says something to the effect that

it is like the tide. It will go out, no matter how slowly.

Inevitable.

So, I’ve been writing this over the course of several months,

and then there was one more thing to add onto the flurry of

noise surrounding this latent grief, these little waves coming

up and sometimes overwhelming me, most of the time I’m

able to ride, but sometimes not. This is about another song,

one called “Go Rest High on that Mountain” that Vince Gill

wrote about the loss of his brother. And this year at the annual

Ryman show with his wife Amy, Vince introduced a new final

verse to the song. He had thought for a long time that the song

might not really be done, so he added a final verse to wrap it

up, and performed it at the Ryman. The video on YouTube of

his first performance shows a man who can barely get through

those final words, and I knew deep inside how unfinished it is for

all of us. We can add verses, I can write this poem trying to make

sense of what makes no sense, and yes, someday we will be

united, I believe that. But I also know that tide comes and goes,

and this will, too. No matter what I do. No matter how much

I want to believe it can come to end. It doesn’t.

It is in the music and the books.

It is in the friends and family who knew him.
it is in the memories that won't go away.
 

It is since…unfinished.

1/1/2020   9:04 a.m.

Richie December 1973

6. Synchronicity (All You Need is Love)

#64Challenge

Last night I was coming home from movie and dinner with a friend, listening to the Beatles Channel. This being Labor Day weekend, they are doing their annual countdown of the 100 favorite Beatles songs voted by the fans. On Saturday evening, the host Peter Asher was approaching #34 right at the time I was turning into my neighborhood. Peter began talking about the upcoming song, how it was the first song ever to be broadcast around the world via satellite television. Of course, I knew he was talking about "All You Need is Love."

I remember that night in June 1967 when this video was broadcast. The album Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band had just been released on June 1st, but this was not a song from that album. This was something else. If you've never seen it, you can watch it below. (Side note: since we only had a black and white TV at the time, my memory of this is in B & W.  It seemed weird to see it in color on YouTube.)

Back to Peter Asher and his introduction:

As I pulled up the driveway he was talking about how the song was recorded, and then a whole myriad of things were added, like a chorus of voices and various instruments. As he was saying this, I turned the car off since I was home.

This morning I decided to head out to the beach around 7:30 a.m. I had been in deep contemplation about some concerns I have, writing several pages in my journal, and I knew the beach would help clear my mind. I turned on the car, and as I backed out of the driveway, I heard Peter Asher saying the exact same things I had heard him say as I had pulled into the driveway last night. I looked at the screen and saw that, sure enough, they were on #34 again. It almost felt like the radio had waited there for me, just so I could hear the song.

SYNCHRONICITY.

I know not to ignore signs like this. Truly -- what are the odds that at any given time a person would have this experience of picking up at the exact same place a radio program was turned off?  I mean, it has to be one in a billion, right?

I knew right away what the message was I needed. In the past, I have used a chosen song to help me get through difficult times. And although I wouldn't say I'm in a "difficult" time -- many things are going beautifully. But I do feel some direct challenges that I know are requiring me to be a bit more vulnerable, a bit more open, a bit more (dare I say) loving. I think this song is the one I need to carry me for a while. It is a sentiment I agree with wholeheartedly. In practice -- well, we all know that's another thing.

In 1987, PBS had a two hour documentary called It Was Twenty Years Ago Today about the anniversary of the Sergeant Pepper album.  Near the end of the program they interviewed George Harrison, and one of the questions they asked was: "So, is it true -- all you need is love?"  George committed himself fully to it, saying it is true, it is his belief, and he's sticking to it. I loved that moment and his unwavering commitment. I think of that interview any time I hear the song.

On the way back from the beach, I heard "The Long and Winding Road" as the final song of my trip. I had to smile -- doesn't that describe the school year -- long and winding? I don't know what is around the next bend, but after this morning I know what I need for the journey. It all filters down to LOVE. I believe it. And I'm sticking to it.

And I have a cool song to play every day to remind me.

Abundance

Inspired by a line in "To the Bone," a short story by Desiree Cooper.

 

Abundance

There are ways to keep from dwindling down to nothing.

I have filled my soul and spirit

this summer with hope and vision

the direction I have gone has been

a lovely surprise -- I embrace it

I see enhanced value in what I do

and the way I do it. Forethought

Practice. Reflection. The decision

of purposeful action, slow and steady

I have not been to the beach

yet the ocean is inside me, waves

of knowing, the swell of virtue found

in union, not division. Grace and goodness

combating a culture that can lead us astray

causing a hunger and thirst for something real

Billy Preston said "Nothing

from nothing leaves nothing."

Yet in this abundant movement

I am not starving.

I am filled with everything.

Cloudless

The final day of a lovely seventeen days off, I take myself to the beach.

Cloudless sky. Tide way out for the New Moon.

As I walk, I reflect on past Januarys...

2016 I was feeling a weird tiredness, which later manifested into shingles.
2017 I was on a steroid, puffing me up and causing a false sense of energy. Later, once off the medicine, I would crash hard for an entire month.
2018 I was still puzzled by the lupus diagnosis and waiting to see a rheumatologist, who all but formally dismissed the diagnosis on my first visit.

But this year...is cloudless.

** I have re-established my walking practice, and it is going great. I get out and walk about 10 miles a week. The thing is, I want to go. I don't stop myself.  But I'm also smart enough to take a day or two off each week, so getting back out feels like a treat.

** I am finding my way into areas of creativity which have been lying in the background, waiting to be rediscovered. This applies to my personal and professional life.  I have plans to slowly eliminate screen time for my life and get more "old school" in my plans. It's time.

** I have built a community of writers and reading teachers around me. It makes every day more worthwhile, sharing the journey with others committed to much of the same things I am.

** I wrote my first new mission statement in twenty years -- one that is designed perfectly to keep me focused in the right direction.

**These days off have enabled me to reflect more fully on the responses to the survey I gave my students in December. Their words point to what needs to change. The needs of each class are different, but there are some simple, proven things I can implement that will help across the board.

Losing a former student caused me to go back and find some words of wisdom the students in 6th period Advanced Placement Literature wrote. I take these words into the new semester with me.  I have just a little over 40 days left with each class.  May I push the clouds of misdirection away, and fully realize these words again:

Creative, bright, always outside the box.

Easygoing, yet analytical.

Thank you for caring about me.

This has been the best English class ever.

The way you approached everything made it more understandable.

I have learned more than I expected, plus my passion for writing has gone way up.

You're funny, smart, and real -- and that's what kids need.

Your class is one I find most useful for me outside of school.

You always try new things and make learning fun.

You create a very creative environment for your students.

This classroom is a safe and free place to express ourselves...many good memories.

Thank you forever, Class of 2013

Quiet Moment

A nonet to honor my first day at the beach since July.

Quiet Moment

And now I take a very deep breath

October morning perfection.

Tide rolling out, mud flat birds,

feeding, preening, grouping.

I am alone here.

Mindful walking.
Quiet moment.

Soft pink

clouds.