Travels with Jeannie
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Travels with Jeannie
October 2006
Missouri RetreatAlthough I found a house in September, it's not available until late November. What to do the weekend I had to move out of temporary digs? Weather still mild and lovely so I headed west then south to the Missouri Ozarks to car camp. Had every intention of setting up the tent, but the first evening it dripped. Next day south across the Missouri River, along mining country, past well kept churches announcing Wednesday night meetings and roads called Hollows. Again and again, I realized I was no longer in fast paced Idaho--rarely was aanyone in the rear view mirror, waiting to pass. I was off the beaten path in classic Ozark country--abandoned cars and dilapidated homes, folks parked on porches, just like in stories, interspersed with brand new homes; it was a little eerie. The next night, when the campground on the map didn't appear, pulled onto a dirt road in the woods. The morning scene was gorgeous. The 3rd evening, alone in an official campsite along the Current River, was balmy, damp and drippy again. Late in the night a barred owl called. What'd I do these long, long nights? Bit of reading; lotta sleep and relaxing, letting go of months of mental and physical moving; lots of listening to night sounds; bit of hip therapy. What a vacation to be away from an active train line!
The next morning finally cooked my idea of a "real breakfast"--noodles and vegetables. The sun burned through the fog as I hiked to the nearby spring. Didn't like the campground enough to spend another night. Circled on north and west. As I was glorying in the changes in fall colors with each valley, clouds blew in and the temperature plummeted. It was finally Wednesday, but Wednesday night meetings were no longer on church marquees; I was disappointed--the country had changed. Car camped a final night in closed for the season Corps of Engineers campground near Lake of the Ozarks. Brrr. Time to head home. Checked email on the road again; didn't think I could make breakfast at Perkins Friday morning. But I did. After re-establishing camp at the rectory, slowed down at dark and turned in early after a most welcome hot bath. Enjoyed having a good light to read by; fell asleep early like on the road, without even hearing the hourly trains. Musta left a layer of stress in the Ozarks.
August 2006
Ireland -- Desiccated travels abroad (me, not Ireland)
Frankly, it's all a blur!It's all a blur--2 weeks in Ireland. Phrases like Around the World in 80 days became a Lifetime of Celtic Ruins in less than 2 weeks. Much as I love old stuff, don't appreciate it on the run. Enough's enough, especially when we passed incredible beaches and hillsides on Dingle Peninsula without a pause.
Knew it wasn't gonna be easy for this independent Idahoan to join a group of similarly stubborn folks to tour Ireland, under a triune of authority, only one of which I'd met. Kept my nose to the grindstone, packing for Illinois all summer, leaving maps and details entirely to email leaders. Knew I had no idea what to expect. No research, no maps from my end, just some reading from Fr. H; a great discomfort traveling abroad alone; a deep love of Celtic spirituality based on listening to John O'donohue's Irish brogue; and an awareness that dad's side came to America from County Antrim. B&B's would be good, but I can do dorms; deferred to "experts". In my summer busyness, sorting and packing, I ignored the note on the final agenda saying 'you're on your own the first 4 days and nights in Dublin'! Eek! I'm no city person.
Did it anyway--saw Dublin via sore feet. Never got used to traffic being reversed, or doors opening inward; heavy, heavy doors, by the way, that slammed snug. Pedestrians walking on the left (as well as motor traffic driving in left lane.) Got used to the food right away--cream! But not the use of sugar substitutes. Did I really hear Ireland banned smoking in public buildings, as in pubs!? After millennia of changes, the euro was just another, why not nonsmoking! Forever grateful to MacDonalds Dublin for their public toilets upstairs.
After coping with Dublin, wasn't prepared to then repeatedly zigzag across the small country, 31 of us (±2 or 3) rugged individuals, constantly piling in and out of a chartered bus, looking at ruins, largely identified as monastic. Crossing my legs as it were, eventually drinking nothing at breakfast--so much for my brief caffeine/tea binge. Sorry body, sorry Dr A! Drying up started when airlines took away our lethal water bottles. (Crazed killer that I am, lost grandfather Mann's tiny engraved knife I mistakenly left in my waist pack, to the first round of security. &*()_%.) No toilet stops for hours. By the time I got back to The States, I was thoroughly desiccated, prone to headaches, drinking very little.
We saw a lifetime of visitor centers and Celtic ruins on foot, and miles of tantalizing hillsides and the Dingle Peninsula from bus windows. Eventually when I realized we weren't stopping for photos so I started clicking from the bus. (Got some dandies of traffic jams by the way. Right up their with LA or Seattle.) We bailed out to take the 10am ferry to Aran Island; the 5pm back. (Little did I know I was expected 15 minutes early, so I was "late"--again--receiving the hairy eye ball from furious fellow bus folks I had held up. If I'm not let in on plans, that happens, folks.)
I was hard on my fellow travelers and they were hard on me. Fr H was so dismissive of the Celtic spirituality that delights my soul that even catholics were surprised. By the way, several of us so called "pilgrims" had no interest in religion whatsoever, or stronger. Pilgrimage this was not; I didn't notice much sense of shared adventure or the spirit of pilgrimage I'd expected. (My lone tender moment was a small boy accompanying what looked like a grandfather, at St. Teresa in Dublin, handing me a green scapular, after I smiled at him.) Returning to whining--accessible front seats were permanently staked out by the most aggressive, veteran travelers. These guys had been elderhostling and regularly trotting off to Europe for decades, while I'd been driving around the boring American West. Overheard discussions like, "and where did you go in Spain? Italy? London?" etc. Like counting coup. (Better 'n listening to comparative illness.)Highlights from the Emerald Isle:
· Dublin - airport. A pair of child's blue eyes of such a different hue I was stopped in my tracks. Strong sense of knowing people, faces, throughout Ireland. American roots everywhere.
· Dublin - Museum with illuminated manuscripts from all religions, Chester Beatty Library. Simply couldn't keep quiet—gasped audibly at every beautiful page. Incredible.
· Dublin - National Museum. Lo, there were gold "torcs", like the one I'd read about being hauled up in a fishing net off Scotland. Out of bogs. Over heard a stunned Brit by a case full of gold understate, "My word". Indeed.
· Dublin - Actor Neil O'Shea was handing out flyers for his 1 man show on Irish Writers one evening. Ran into WI Sue on my way there, who joined me. 5 of us in audience. O'Shea sat and chatted with 3 of us afterwards. Alas experienced Ireland traveler Sue and buddy didn't included others in their side excursions! Cripes, I had an attitude. NaNaNaNaNaNa, 31 control freaks abroad. Too bad I couldn't leave myself at home and travel!
· Dublin - Marks and Spencer Food Floor. YUM!
· Ruins - Wandering off with Marilyn from TX to look at ruins that weren't so crowded.
· Rock of Cashel - Local brass band playing "By the Time I get to Phoenix" on the castle grounds, while hosts of tourists wandered about, picnicking and sight seeing, photographing gravestones and rock walls, on a lovely Sunday afternoon. Also the Tequila song.
· Glenstal Abbey, a living abbey. Fr. H arranged for a monk library scholar to talk with us. Brother Colman was the real thing--a live, teaching monk, with all the mythical sparkle and charm of monastic lore.
· Bathtub!! Last stay. As long as me, a tad narrower.
· Beautiful weather, even the light rains the last couple of days. Wouldn't be an emerald isle without showers, and emerald it was!
· Stonework - Cobblestone streets, granite curbs, stone buildings old and new. Wonderful stone everywhere. Not concrete, but stone! Smitten by fossil tracks of Liscannor stone. (Flagstones from our quarries at the Cliffs of Moher: ... characterized by the fossil tracks of a marine worm, that traversed the sediments, which formed the rock 350million years ago.
· Survivng 7/8 hr flight back with 4 yr old kicking from behind or terrorizing aisle (while dad smiled and flight attendants hid out)!
I love old walls and tombstones, green, green rock walled hillsides. We stuck to the leaders' agendas and hurtled past old peat bogs, coastline, intriguing road signs, over hill and dale. The skill of our bus driver encountering another bus on a one lane roads is beyond words. Days after we returned, Marilyn said she was still exhausted. Me too.
From reading through Fr H's articles on Ireland ahead of time, I got the gist of Ireland's waves of conquerors. My personal impression is that the deep, earthy Celtic spirit remains, like the last of the peat bogs. How clerks and Heritage site staff could remain so cheery and patient to bus loads of tourists asking for the toilets, floored me. "Institutional" food was delightful! Something is very right in Ireland. It was a blessing to have ordinary, brief encounters with that remarkable Irish flavor. Once again Eire is being swept with foreigners with new languages, as yet another wave of immigrants is assimilated--Eastern Europeans this time, especially Poles, perhaps just in time to revive the Catholic Church, which appeared to this outside observer to be joining its famous monastic ruins. As tourists, we heard everything but splendid Irish-English! (I even noted magpies had Irish accents.)
Now I'm enjoying my digital slide show (accompanied by music from St Patricks Cathedral, one of my few purchases from the trip) perhaps more than the actual travels. I can enjoy the scenery at my own speed, drink tea, and stop for the bathroom anytime! The perfect vacation!Post Script. Months later, the trip memory that keeps coming around is of the confident woman who told her story while we waited to fly Aerlingus at O'hare, a nurse with 2 teens, from somewhere like Arkansas. She regularly commutes to visit her Irish law student husband she met over the internet. Now there's a woman with a life! I thought, as she showed photos of her handsome Irishman (and her teens). She's determined to move to Ireland. He wants to move to the States. Bets, anyone?
Irish StairMaster Brother Colman teaches, Glenstal Abbey Dingle Peninsula - Bougainvillia hedge Cool cars, eh?
Catching my breath near Cashel
June 2006
Inspiration refill --Albuquerque
Why I got lost in Albuquerque and why I couldn't see the RiverTo get through this challenging summer, took micro break to hear Fr. Richard Rohr and Sr. Joan Chittister at what was called The Prophets Seminar, sponsored by Rohr's Center for Action and Contemplation the weekend before 4th (of July). Joan and Richard were awesome, although the Albuquerque Conference Center, downtown, wasn't exactly my cup of tea. Sitting in frigid air conditioning, only to emerge into terrific heat, thought I'd split like a hot rock dropped in a cold water. Over a thousand of us gathered up, testimony to superb speakers and material. The opportunity to hear Sister Joan brought me; lo, there she was on Saturday, standing tall at the podium, in a striking gold/green/purple jacket with a gold or silver chain, this life long Benedictine sister, with a mind a clear and sharp as they get. Her sense of humor had me carefully shrieking with delight. Hilarious. Joan and Richard model the very best in complementary teaching.
At some point Richard mentioned the blessing of religious freedom to have Amma and her following concurrently meeting across the street. Saturday night I couldn't resist the the opportunity, though I was dead on my feet, to see if I could find the group. Followed a crowd of long haired, white robed youngsters, to the Hyatt across the street; slipped off shoes and kneeled in the ballroom where Amma was hugging and blessing. My smile grew wider and wider as I experienced the bliss of her presence. By the time I returned to the shoe room--Indian food looked terrific but the lines were daunting--I was drunk on divine love, so I shouldn't have been surprised to look up and see Lane from Boise. While we chatted about life, a door person asked if I'd like to take a shortcut to meet Amma; thanked her, said I felt fully blessed, and wondered ever since...
The other highlight of the weekend was hearing Franciscan brother Eddie Fronske at a session entitled "Reconciliation and Identificational Repentance". With a heart for peace making, I was deeply moved by his work with the White Mountain Apaches. Sat through his time slot twice, tears streaming, as he showed faces of the teams of Indians he works with, asking forgiveness from each other.
Didn't meet many conference folks--brief hellos to David, Mazie and Joyce from Twin; a Poor Handmaid sister once upon a time from Taylorville, Illinois--looked for midwesterners. Evidently religious on task forces attended for Richard and Joan's unusual clarity about the future of the church. Prophets, indeed.
Outside of the conference I chatted with care takers at the Madonna Center (where I stayed). (Learned Rohr's books are banned!) Met a Calvary Chapel woman when I finally got to Whole Foods for something besides burger king and tacos. Yeah--vegetables! (Creme brule!) For some reason there were no grocery stores between the Conference Ctr and the Madonna Center.
New Mexico is a red-green state, the seminar emcee kept joking. Very funny, I yawned; I hate spicy food, chilis. By the end of the weekend I concluded New Mexico ain't for me. With it's heat, closed off river front, parking permits required for Sandia Mountain--who needs just another sprawling, hot big city, unless you know someone and like spicy food! However I spent a rather divine final evening at the airport, despite the plane delay. Ticket agents were chatty; the handful of fellow fliers to Denver on July 3rd were unusually warm and friendly. The airport was eerily empty--very strange; the flight clerk took great care of each of us through the delay and gate reschedule! Wow. The very best of company, from Denver and Nebraska, San Jose. Returned, inspired.
June 2006
Illinois - Orange and Blue (and green) roadsides
(wild tiger lilies and flax)
Summertime in Illinois--livin' looks slower!Weekend back to Jacksonville (via flying into St Louis) to look at homes and visit "isn't the weather awful" Illinois. Lucked out; weather was lovely. True--cudda been dreadful.
Days Dianne showed me houses I tried imagining owning/living in. Met her Saturday morning at the Farmers Market; returned to the restored rectory where I stayed this visit and steamed up a super Illinois summer brunch (above). Saturday afternoon swung in the shade, with high school classmate Connie, renewing acquaintance with classmate Eva visiting from Virginia. Sunday 4 of us went by Shirlee's. More socializing than a month in Boise! Evenings, stopped by Charley's to sit on his roof/ porch, listened to tales, watched lightning bugs in giant neighborhood trees.
Jacksonville isn't quiet--stock car races still happen Friday nights--but it sure seems slower pace. Sigh. Get packing, Jeannie
May/June 2006
Memorial weekend at Folklife, nat
Sleeping with sandAfter much indecision, drove over for one more Folklife--just 2 days worth this time. Marli's glassblowing roommate offered to put me up; couldn't resist her warm offer. By the 2nd day surprised myself by thinking I'd be back. Not very good about saying good (though I never set foot on the contra dance floor--first time in 20 years! Nearly jumped outa my skin to hear Balkanrama Sunday night--phenomenal!! Not to mention the gypsy buskers; and the amazing duo "Amber Tide". What would I do without the Shape Note sing along and a few chanties? Running into old folkies wasn't bad either--smile--pretty fun. It didn't really ever pour, but was one of the dampest Folklifes I recall. Reveled in sun Tuesday, when Marcy and I visited her heavy duty artist friend Laurie on Marrowstone Island. Exquisitely beautiful day! Managed cole slaw three meals in a row--my idea of heaven.
Slept blissfully in the car a lot this trip while rain pattered on the roof, forever brushing sand off the foam pad. Could understand where it came from after walking Dungeness Spit, pantlegs rolled up a bit, but every night?
Beautiful low tide calm morning at Clallum County Park--thought it always stormed there. Great nights sleep with frogs in Oregon again. Ah, the Northwest! Plus listening to terrific memoirs! Thank you Great Spirit for this relaxing change of scene, all who put me up and renewed my spirit.
April 2006
Illinois - Part 1 - Left, Left, Right, Left
Boxing up - of swollen ankles and june bugs
Just back from taking a load of stuff/my life back to storage in Illinois. Surely I'm nuts (folks not necessarily gently remind me), schlepping "stuff" cross country rather than get rid of it and replace what's really important! Such attachment! On the other hand, why not--I'm a worldly American! Indeed. May not have a big screen teevee and entertainment center, but I got stuff. So I squeezed in-between semis and joined the parade crossing American on I-80.
Returned 3 trunks I'd brought out West, back to their origin. One still has dad's name on it. Lotta stuff going home--high school tennis racket and ice skates! Drew the line at taking my old braids back though! Hammock and frame. 2 bikes; kayak; sports gear--snorkel and fins--one never knows; books, books and more books; yoga magazines back to #1. Now that's crazy--can't keep up with the current issue-- whenever am I going to read archives! They look so good though! Music gear--stereo/tape deck/ CD changer/speakers/ receiver/ record player. Teevee/vcr. Toyota back seats. Table and chairs; 2 ladders. Bamboo poles.
Standing lamps; 3 light weight dressers. Couple of coffee tables. Sewing machines--5th amendment on quantity. Speaking of heavy items--cement Buddha in a box, nose resting on toyota head rest. Shelving and bricks. Sears stepper; ab rocker.
Several down quilts (surprising how many one woman thinks she needs!!) Shoes, winter clothes. Christmas stuff. Larger picture frames (for whatever reason, packing these hung me up more than any other project). Favorite rocks (just being honest here); sand boxes and sands (desert, river and aeolian)--embarrassing, but true.
More boxes of family stuff than I realized I had, back to Illinois. Lotta photo slides and albums. Violin. Teapots. 2 mirrors.
Still to pack--most bedding, towels, yoga stuff; CDs, LPs? ...
Not going--bed or dining room table. For months I've worked on the To Go, Not To Go and Maybe lists. Give away/sell list. Sorta organized. But then, I've had all winter.
I can never, ever wonder if there's a loving God for early Boise friend Dan reappeared to organize the garage, boxes and load into truck. Invaluable. More than that, he said just the right thing, or nothing at all, at the right time. Could not have been better. He's a brilliant packer. I was humbled. Packing and driving I couldn't help flashing back to Richard Pryor in the film "Moving", the only comedy all winter that made me shriek out loud (I really shopped for them). Especially the shot of the packer from Hummingbird Movers daintily wrapping a knickknack, or Pryor falling to his knees when the multiple personality driver appeared, or the neighbor from hell...
And, on the other end of the trip, Charley volunteered to help unload, without commenting on untoward about attachment.
Divine Oneness got me onto the interstate, across Idaho, Utah, Wyoming, Nebraska and Missouri, into Illinois on a dark and stormy night. Slept a few hours across the front seat, in Wyoming the first night--ugh. Just drove, drove, drove. Though mapquest was 2 pages, basically all I did was turn left onto the freeway I-84 East out of Boise, left onto I-80 East; right to I-59 South in Missouri; left onto US 36 to Illinois! Promised myself I'd use the back of the truck the 2nd night; found the perfect roadside park in NB. Slept divinely in cool, damp night air. If cops patrolled the area, I was oblivious. Yup, it was a shocker putting $60 and $70 in the gas tank each stop, 6 or 7 times. About the time I got the hang of using a credit card to pay at the pump, got off the interstate and never found another gas pump that had a working credit card system.
Rain brewed then began the 2nd full day; by evening pulled into J'ville. Managed to find storage and unload the first round thunderstorm and all. Took the hint that the new Econo Lodge in the same block might be the place to stay out of the rain--figured on camping! It was. Were these really my legs, I thought as I felt swollen ankles or swung them up the side of the bath tub? Forgot what happens on long drives. Hobbled around the next few days. The night clerk, a remarkable young woman, let me check email each evening. Learned how to use the guest phone (duh) and pick up messages. Slept ever so well the entire trip, until the final night, when I reverted to toss and turn in preparation for Boise, I guess. I may look cool and calm in the truck photo--dunno how that happened--I was beside myself about getting onto the freeway, something of a wreck all winter, worrying about driving something I couldn't reach across to roll down the far window. If I'd known how fantastic the mirrors were, I might have fretted less.
Drove carefully into town Sunday morning, truck partially unloaded. Met Connie in her beautiful, round church. Bless Charley for volunteering his ok back for the afternoon, while sheepdog Abby waited in his truck. Unloaded between showers, periodically grabbing the camera and searching for the rainbow that surely ended in the storage unit, but never found it. Perfect welcome back to balmy, sweaty Illinois weather. We did the deed, and were joined by Connie and Bob (Class of '63) and Howard for the final just-put-it-anywhere. Adjourned to dinner at the diner right across the street for reminiscing and most agreeable conversation.
Added 1500 some miles to the new Budget truck's 4000-some. Monday morning I drove an additional 30 miles to turn it in, when it turned out the original turn in destination was no more.
Met with realtor Dianne--what a going concern! Either I was incapable of making a house decision because I was done in by the drive, or I didn't see the right house. Gotta get re-oriented to Jax. Seems I may spend the same as booming Boise housing prices if I want to live even near the old stomping ground. Humpf. So much for depressed economy!
Aside from Dianne under whose feet no moss grows, had a strong sense of life being slower and kinder. Sigh. Dare not think about life without mountains.
My last day in Illinois was sunny with a night starry. June bugs sat all over the parking lot that evening and clonked off the window screen. Just like yesterday.
The only utter failure in the journey was my attempt to line up a PO Box. Not without giving up one's first born would the PO hear of issuing one. Blech. Snorted back to Idaho with my authority issues rekindled.
Shouldn't have worried so much about making all 4 flights back to Boise Wednesday. The door of the last plane (Salt Lake to Boise) was open at least another 5 minutes as I staggered back to the 30th row (the only plane big enough to have that many rows)!
Thanks much Charlene for fetching me home from the airport!
January 2006
High desert visits
Ghost town Fairbank cemeteryBack to the past (of course)--visiting cousins on mom's side; connecting with a researcher of dad's flight unit, the Fighting 33rd Group.
Military researcher Gary (who hales from Illinois farm country not far from my own roots) took time off work and welcomed me to his home to look at photos and tell stories. Truly amazing how he's dug up the story of his uncle, filled in blanks. While connecting dots he's created a community of those of us with family in the Fighting 33rd Nomads, sharing untold stories. What a calling! It's an 11th hour project, finding the last W.W.II veterans. Clearly it's been an incredible journey for more than just Gary: Finding Uncle Virgil along what really matters. I'm enjoying the oranges too!
Fittingly, drove south down Cole to see cousin Pete and Dale, who are literally surrounded by fields of mothballed planes (along with Pete's own car and cycle collecting). The Scholer's godfather was in high spirits despite health challenges. A true desert warrior, he's got a Harley set up in the kitchen of their trailer to work on. This second visit I realized even more clearly he's a fellow brother, living past glories, the cousin my age, of mom's sister who died young.
To keep things simple--I thought--stayed at Holy Trinity Monastery, only I didn't make it clear I'd be flying in late Thursday night. By the time I found the monastery in the high desert, it was late late, and cold cold, and there was no note for the late arriver. Door after door was locked. Just as I surrendered to look for a motel--it was well below freezing--a sign with "guest" caught in the headlights. I was a little desperate. Boldly found trailer door was unlocked, no one there. Piled extra blankets on empty bed; slept well. I'm always clue less about new places!
The monastery is young, felt very much in transition. No Benedictine welcomed awaited; didn't knowingly speak with a monk. Perhaps one went around offering coffee to workshop guests and RV residents. I don't know. Chapel services were done by young folks reading passages is uncertain voices. Got no sense of the heart of the monastery.
Although the monastery is on a main highway, felt out in the toolies. The cell phone paid for itself when I was able to pick up a call from cousin #2 telling me where to meet with his and cousin #3's families for dinner that night. A good time was had by all at the local steakhouse, although my few photos are blurry. While the Todd and Craig chatted enthusiastically, I talked with Craig and Jane's oldest son, Olley, and fiancée (also her parents!), arranging to accompany him on home eucharist rounds after mass the next morning.
Benson parish has been blessed with a true shepherding priest, and they know it, reviving the parish. (Cousin Todd and wife Dana, having already made 1000 sandwiches early that morning, drove back from Tucson for mass, and agreed.) Afterwards I was deeply touched to hear Olley read eucharist in Spanish to one family; English to another. Who wudda thunk religion in my family went south! Appreciate the warmth "Spanish is a loving tongue" (Ian Tyson) has given this wing of the family. That evening wife Craig's wife Jane and I attended a rousing Baptist worship evening, led by younger son Sage's wife, a sensational white gospel vocalist. Her folks sang and played in the band. I was especially touched by her miner dad, playing classical music, the back of his low slung belt just clearing the piano bench! Sage beamed as he played bass. I was stunned. These weren't Hemphills!
Relocated for the last night to Craig and Jane's "Sky Acres" desert ranch (named after our grandparents home). Slept well under an oil painting by Uncle Em. Prayers for the health of this hard living wing of family, down by the border.
Before flying out, found Medio Media in Tucson in time for silent meditation, brief tour, and last minute lemon harvest. Come intern, they offered! Terrific idea!
Holy Trinity chapel entrance, where Olley and Jennifer marry in April.
Holidays 2005/2006
Reading Lolita in the Pacific Northwest
Listening to the story of a family imprisoned in Morocco, then Nasaret Afisi's Reading Lolita in Tehran, drove west to Bellingham for Christmas. What a book--Lolita! Fiction will never be the same; neither will Persia.
Chose an early Christmas eve mass at Assumption (which I'd never much noticed when I lived in Bellingham way back when)--splendid. Afterwards. enjoyed lights on the bay--folks had a bonfire, shooting sparks into the extremely windy night--at marine park in Fairhaven. Christmas day was close to 60 degrees. What a change from the big cold front of mid December!
Good to see old buddies Carl and Katy, Jo and Gary, Karen and Marcy in their Puget Sound habitats.
Then, armed with Christmas cards (to write), books and magazines, spent 4 nights at Breitenbush. Ahhhhh.
Settled down to read and read Diane Wilson's new An Outrageous Woman: a true story of shrimpers, politicos, polluters and the fight for Seadrift, Texas. Then a little Joan Chittister. Magazines and Christmas cards went untouched.
Rained, rained and rained in Oregon (poured, stormed and flooded all over). In my whole life I'd never used an umbrella so much. Slept to rain, watched it come down on the sky light center of the sanctuary where I read; slogged in melting snow in raincoat and hat, robe, fleece pants and pack boots, to and from buildings . Sat in hot pools between heavy showers and crowds. Finally the Idaho Lottery travel umbrella I carry for emergencies started snapping stays.
The final day I nestled in bed with the microcomputer and wrote and wrote. Bless those young care takers and their difficult organic food.
.
October 2005
Land of Lincoln - Pilgrimage No. 3
Left behindFlew east to Springfield to experience fall in the Land of Lincoln. As I stepped off the small plane down from O'hare, smelled the heavy air with familiar delight. Ach, mid October--beautiful, if nippy. Not long after I made my way across Springfield from the airport to Villa Maria on Lake Springfield, lightening flashed, thunder rumbled and the heavens opened. While I splashed in and out of Walmart to learn how to use the newly acquired tracfone in case there weren't pay phones in Illinois, my rarely damp shoes began to unglue. And I'd wanted to camp! Grateful for a roof at Villa Maria.
Lo! There were pay phones!
The next morning searched thrift shops for rubber boots and rain hat in case it poured again, which of course it didn't, and warmer pants, which sure felt good. Drove the old Jacksonville road that dad commuted to night's school on after the war. Beautiful country. Found small Antioch cemetery easily, eventually the Reuck and Dunlap stones Ann wrote about, and an intriguing stone mentioning Abram P and Mary Smith. Grandfather Chester Abram Hemphill's mother was a Smith. Perfect gray cemetery weather.
Then the sun began peaking. Fields, prairie and woods glowed with early fall color. I was stunned by the familiar beauty.
Went straight to Sherwood Eddy YMCA, built just after I moved west. Toured and acquired weekend pass. Nice "yoga" space! Used the handy, dandy pay phone (dreadful static) to check in with locals. Hurried to Charley's to see the changes he's made in the family home and to use the internet before he left for alumni evening.
Afterwards I drove out to the intersection with the highway to try to take a picture of the organization signs on the fence by the old State Hospital. In a flash I understood Jacksonville.
While Connie took her folks to the fish fry in Woodson and Bob, Charley and Cathy attended alumni events, used the new Y pass. The gyms were in full swing, clearly the Y is a going concern and family affair. Dreadful "music" blared from the aerobics space, scene of a youth dance. Darned if I could figure out the nautilus room machines. None were familiar. Did slightly better in the men's weight room where weights were manually set and moved. Suddenly appreciated the wealth of exercise machines at screaming starling club back in Boise. Better take advantage of 'em!
Before heading "home" for the night, stopped at Steak'n'Shake with it's great burgers and shakes (and heartburn) and quiet pay phone--the Y was out of the question. Dialed high school mate Chuck's mom, out of the blue. What a trooper-- Chuck hadn't mentioned I was going to phone 40 years later! Invited myself to stop by the next day. Toured the 2+ acre yard we took for granted as kids. Recognized the room where we played charades. Doris knows the Y yoga teacher; noted with interest how people know each other. If Chuck's mother is an example of what growing old in Jacksonville is like, something very healthy must be going on.
As I drove back to Springfield, realized I don't have a choice about whether to return to the Midwest. It's a done deal. Just a matter of if, when and how. Returning to roots'd be good for me, like medicine--hopefully more like black elderberry extract than castor oil! After all my moves out west, time to make peace with my love-hate issues and confusion around community and relationship. What better venue that the scene of my good enough childhood, as Garrison Keillor might put it. Forget independence and mountains, hold on in for the final exam--going home.
The next day I looked up high school class reunion organizer Connie (beagle and rott) who began catching me up on classmates and Jacksonville. Connie drove us around Lake Jacksonville and town to look at neighborhoods and houses for sale. Later we dined at what was Howard Johnsons long ago--breakfast for Connie, liver and onions for me. Curious about the "new" prison near town, learned more of Connie's family story.
Bob and Cathy squeezed me between them at 1st Presbyterian church the next morning, giving me an irresistible sense of belonging. Boy, oh, boy, mainstream church is a test for this currently nondenominational heart. As a child, I squirmed at the minister's children's story; nothing had changed! The Dalai Lama says we can change our minds, I reminded myself. The congregation absolutely melted when a kid in the back shrieked as the pastor mentioned something about marriage. Rolled my eyes. See what I mean? Endless opportunities to practice loving kindness everywhere. Thank you Kathleen Norris for describing the experience of returning to your grandmother's church.
After the service, the congregation--clearly healthy and alive--turned to the back of the sanctuary to socialize, a lovely arrangement. In a flash Cathy introduced me to the Y pool manager--my old PE teacher! Two familiar faces turned out to be Gratia and son Andy, last seen together at the swimming pool in the '60s! I was overwhelmed and touched by the possibility of returning to such familiarity.
Followed Cathy and Bob to the country club for lunch. We met Charley who immediately introduced me to a round table of smiling gals of my parents' generation, every one of whose names I knew well. "I still have school books with your father's name in them", Betty said. "I watch your old home on State being fixed up", another said. Turned out she meant the house dad grew up in, not the one his children grew up in! My eyes grew wide. Their beaming faces and bright eyes were like a ring of angels to the prodigal daughter. Gulp.
Besides warmer pants and a full mind, I took an osage orange back to Idaho. It sits in a dish on the downstairs table. "What's that", visitors ask from a safe distance. "Osage orange from Illinois", this prairie home companion replies. The smell of home I'm thinking.
Wouldn't move back to Jacksonville to dine out or work out, but to fill the hole for community in my life. To make peace with the unfinished business that kept me wandering for decades, exploring freedom", frontier style. Already I fantasize spending Illinois Friday nights at prison teaching yoga (knowing I haven't been able to get permission to so in Idaho!) while others attend gatherings for the arts or colleges. I'd like roaming the back roads of Illinois tracking mom and dad's roots in small cemeteries.
So often I hear a different drummer; however I sense that's far more ok where mom and dad and dad's side of the family have headstones, than it has been out west where folks are a bit uneasy 'bout fur'ners. At the same time I can imagine sinking my boom town experienced teeth into the issues of small town life of folks who rooted into the rich black earth and woods of Illinois I left behind. Last chance to learn to give, live, love and let go. I'd appreciate the challenge of walking the line--one toe in the country club pool, another in closed toe shoes of prison. I'd like to exit this awkward lifetime as gracefully as possible. Returning to the Land of Lincoln, going back to the 20th century, changing sweat pants for corduroy, might be ok. I've always remembered what Gloria Steinham observed about the women who stayed home, doing the real work, back in her hometown.
September 2005
East Coast - pre leaves
Continuing mind body spirit adventures -- friendship, learning, retreat
Kripalu morningBack to Kripalu for primordial taiji ruler with Ken Cohen (following landing in Albany and overnighting with Vermont buddies where I noticed glowing dots in the woods--research ahoy! [lightening bug larva!]). Learn a lot at Kripalu, but feel the angst of both staff and visitors too much to do my own relaxing and renewing. Looked on the web for a place to spent a couple of quiet days nearby. I'd love to camp, but until I find an agreeable site in the area, the thought of the lugging camping gear and damp eastern weather deters me.
At the last minute my written request to stay at the abbey in Bethlehem CT that Marcy mentioned came through, so I wandered south to get there before vespers. It wasn't leaf peeping time yet, but a touch of fall was good enough for me. I was blessed to be accepted as a guest, just as the small guesthouse closed for October. Although St Benedict's ora et labora reigns as well it should, my stay was restorative. One afternoon I worked with a garden nun of such perfection I merely cheered her onward.
Although the new church where mass is held is lovely--I was particularly fond of it's floral arrangements--I grew to prefer the smaller old chapel (by the abbey entrance and dining room) where the famous singing nuns were nearly entirely out of sight. While I missed harmony and familiar melodies, but I loved the Latin, when I could hear it, and acapella style. By the time I left I could have made the sweet, simple chants a part of the cycle of my life too.
Perhaps best of all, as a stranger to the east, I loved stopping to spend a few days with devout guesthouse women. What a pleasure to be able to share how much spiritual belief supports our lives. A surprise was to learn the abbey has an in-house kripalu yoga teacher! Alas, new guests aren't allowed behind cloister walls. How I'd love to attend the Mother Cecilia's yoga class!
Abbey new church
Fine old headstones
Bethlehem nature center
August 2005
Southern California Dreamin'
Golden state silence
Jumped at the chance to combine a retreat in 1000 Oaks with visiting Aunt Mona Ray and Randy in Anaheim. Folks either warned me about the LA area or flat out said I was a fool. So what's new. One southern Californians just said you can do it, just Be prepared for hwys to be slow, count on lots of time.
Off I went. I wish. For some reason I thought I wanted to fly through Portland and Seattle to Burbank on Alaska. Alas flight #1 was delayed enough that #2 left as #1 landed in Portland. Several fellow Burbank destined travelers flew into a rage. Threw plans for La Brea tarpits out the window; slept on the airport floor waiting for the next flight out. Woke suddenly when my first 2 names (not last harried staff told me) were called. The darling old woman watching over me as I awoke asked with an angelic smile, “Have a good sleep?” Nodded groggily.
I wasn't prepared for the beauty of famous southern California when we finally landed in Burbank. No wonder Henry Dana and others wax eloquent. Rolling hills and palm trees. Cousin Randy rightly predicted the drive time to their house. So this is life in LA, I thought, as we drove slowly along, just like I'd heard.
It had taken some doing, but I'd finally wrangled an invitation to visit mom's youngest sister and her son. Had no idea what to expect. Found an impeccably kept 50s home in the shadow of Disneyland, with a backyard growing heirloom tomatoes and 100 lb pumpkins, plus the usual citrus trees. A supremely fit aunt Mona Ray and her easy going son greeted me warmly, setting out a travelers dream dinner—bbq chicken and broccoli--and a couch for the night. Loved feeling the evening breeze off the ocean. Probably cudda seen Disney fireworks if I'd staggered outside. Been a long day, despite naps.
Not very savvy about bringing gifts, I'd brought mainly backyard produce, rhubarb and tomatoes. Mona Ray acted like the rhubarb was gold.
Enjoyed talking with Mona Ray and Randy so much, I barely jumped into the rental car the next morning in time for church. Since it was obvious tar pits and museums were falling aside, clung steadfast to remaining goal to find the mother Vineyard in Anaheim, many miles off. Only a bit late to enter the spectacular, sparsely filled sanctuary. The first things I saw melted my heart-- an ALS signer and a number of disenfranchised looking folks on the main floor. Wonderful music, powerful talk, accompanied by piano (only in so. CA?) Used WiFi in the bookstore, then bumped into a woman to lunch with. (Subway 2 days in a row--whatever.)
Barbie Ann (could hardly believe the so CA name) was a Vineyard old timer, part of early leadership program, who misses the early charismatic phase of the Vineyard. I didn't want to be the one to tell her the Vineyard has changed and matured and continues to do so; the good old days are gone, darn it. My chin dropped as she told me about working as an art teacher in Watts, witnessing to kids; her accident; qualifying as a Disney artist; renting a studio on a mansion grounds; and God telling her to return to the midwest.
Back on Sunnybrook, Mona Ray seemed anxious for me to be off after we rattled her neighbor to take our picture. She was right—needed the rest of the day to wend my way up to 1000 Oaks. Sure enjoyed her clear mind's recollections of growing up in Kankakee, grandparents. She's the last remaining Mann. Although she appears strong as a horse at 80 some, it was sobering to realize it's unlikely I'll see her again.
After a couple of wrong exits, passed the Getty museum turn off and headed up 101 north. Finally found a radio station with beguiling music (turned out to include Tibetan) to fit the setting sun and beautiful hilly (slow) drive. Relaxed into a magic California moment.
Spent the next few nights in dorm bunks with too small sheets on plastic covered mattresses. Got the picture? Recalled Aunt Mona Ray's foam on long couch and sea breeze fondly. I'll write about the “silent” retreat with hardy Brits, Midwesterners and Californians, in the gorgeous chapel at California Lutheran University later. Walked my sandaled feet raw, hoofing around the Calif. Lutheran U. campus.
Ended this California adventure with 2 nights a little further north up the coast, inland, at fabled Ojai. although getting around Calif. was totally out of my comfort zone, managed to stop by the old Mission in Venture, and a nearby thrift shop on my way to Ojai. ; ~) When I finally found the retirement center where I'd made phone reservations to stay, the silence of that orange laden acreage was a great relief. I stewed in the words of Father Laurence, and St. Josephs brother Andre, chewed and stitched on my own patchwork life. Needed that time to round out the week. On the return to the airport 2 days later I exited at the Malibu Creek State Park in honor of Katy and Carl, enjoying huge oaks before returning to Burbank (where the airport exit sign is hidden behind bushes). Listened to terrific medical call in radio programs I'da missed if I'd been able to use CDs/ tapes like I'd brought to enjoy!
This time I knew “delayed” meant missing connections. Rescheduled on nonstop out of LAX, meaning a wild/broadside across main streets shuttle across LA with an Arabic-Persian-Russian-Armenian speaking driver, and hours of communing with fellow delayed west coasters at LAX. I'll say no more. What if I hadn't been retreating!
24 hours later the first old college buddy arrived glassy eyed after driving straight through from San Jose. So started the next adventure--a week of Idaho camping with old Illinois cronies.
Yin and Yang California style!
June 2005
California
Yoga and friends
Willa and Jeannie after many years! Fine photo reluctantly snapped by Willa's Illinois mom who remembers husband Willis playing pool with (our) dad. Also, (our) dad assuring folks Jeannie is not a genius! Amen. (She couldn't even read for decades!)
Gorgeous oak grove morningAnother easy flight into San Jose--love that direct flight--especially since this time I left hot Boise and arrived in a California so cool I wore all my layers the entire stay. My head always spins with the diversity of CA humanity--everything goes. Loved the bearded, turbaned middle easterners picketing car rentals throughout the airport. The cool dude who checked the Hertz car back in had to be seen to be appreciated.
Another good stay in Paul and Christina's aromatic, flowery neighborhood, where grapefruit hang heavy and mockingbirds sing throughout the night. Another workshop at Tassajara, this time with zen priest Edward Brown (the chef) and long time, though "young" yogi Eric Schiffman. (Yoga thoughts now linked to Yoga Lessons. Once again enjoyed an extra night in the Vantanas (photo above). This time brought along ancient family mosquito net tent and curled up with extra loaned gear from Paul. How beautiful to awake under giant California oaks, even after recovering from some bag lunch item kept without refrigeration too long.
Hopefully I learned once and forever, never, ever to have food in my bag at Tassajara. The most aggressive mouse I've ever met gnawed through the heavy zipper of my new duffle while I swatted. Mea culpa. Safety pins to the rescue.
This trip I ventured an embarassingly short distance off route to find high school friend Willa in Pacific Grove. (Until I've been there, done that, have absolutely no sense of distance, geography or traffic.) Boy was it interesting, fun, and we agreed, surreal, to get together after 40 plus years. We don't think we even crossed paths at college. I was stunned to learn Willa was an English major at the U of I (can't get a written word outa her!) Willa and sister immigrated right after school and still live close. The stability of midwesterners, even when transplanted, stuns me-- Willa's still flying (international only). When Pat and family brought take out Chinese food over, they seemed like they were still Midwesterners. But when the teens took off in a classic red mustang--like everyone has a toy like that-- realized they at least are full blooded Californians.
As Willa drove me along the breathlessly beautiful Monterey coastline, I lobbied relentlessly towards our 45th reunion. (When I got back took the liberty of getting one of her long lost friends back in touch!) Back in San Jose, between his online finals, Paul and I plotted this summer's Idaho based "simian" get together.
Quite the long weekend! Once again, home for R&R, 2 real San Jose lemons left to savor. Whew!
Notorious tassajara jay looking deceptively innocent
California standards?
May 2005
Northwest Folklife again
Toothbrush packed!
Folklife Highlight: world class Ballard Sedentary Sousa Band leaves stage after yet another delightful tribute to Sousa et al
(You had to be there to appreciate--hear Liz, watch Edith. This year, the unabashed in the audience participated, marching with shoes on hands)
Seattle skyline from Bremerton ferry
New Seattle Public Library -- uhhh, library, you say?
Legendary Bob McQuillen at the piano
With good buddy Susan near Space Needle ceanothus
Seattle's Pat Wright workshop with Total Experience
Buddha on the road (rest stop in the Oregon Blue Mountains)After all these years, finally remembered to take a toothbrush down to Folklife for the day! Folklife volunteers still sell buttons, not toothbrushes, like I suggested way back when, but at least I've got my toothbrush handy, so I can enjoy the feast of ethnic food booths.
The first highlight of the drive over was meeting Buddha (above) at a rest stop ( Oregon nat), CA tags (nat).
Didn't adapt to Seattle very well this visit, though I slipped in Friday morning, around Memorial weekend traffic. Seattle's just not gonna be the same without Marli (now in CA), though I stayed in her home with roommate Polly. Seemed like this visit bus adventures were weirder than average-- such anger, such angels.
Started Folklife with Bob Dylan documentaries (1956-66) at glitzy EMP. Watching Dylan's choreographed mystique was too much; ignorance was bliss. Can't see enough early, lone, black and white Dylan and guitar. The presenter explained the public is being fed market sized bites of Dylan.
Since I couldn't yet face the heart of Folklife, took opportunity to see the new downtown public library, check email. Uhhh, slanted floors, banks of computers, in your face modern art. Not with my tax dollars I kept grumbling, this state of the art entertainment center called a library. Seattle no longer felt familiar; Idaho spelled relief.
Kept missing the bus, well, the bus was missing; lotta waiting. Got into the swing of Folklife Saturday, bumping into old faces and smiles, hearing and seeing the same old wonderful music and musicians Folklife is known for. How I miss ethnic music! Balkan night was divine.
I'm a stranger to more and more folks, although those I still connect with are irreplaceable, nothing like 'em east of the Cascades. Great music, great friends. But less--friends. Dark, veiled and turbaned women pass out Folklife schedules now. Seattle's an amazing melting pot. I'm in awe of how the city works. Bless them all.
More waiting for buses in the evening. Gangs of oh so young kids talking to each other on cell phones, pushing ahead of elders, grabbing seats. A young gal talked on a cell phone as she hand cranked. Pretty cool. One by one, they're kind. Caroline Myss' tribal psychology comes to mind.
The final night, The Bus Driver of the Millennium took us north in The Limo. "Not a bus", he explained in his honey smooth rap. I moved forward to see this driver I hadn't even noticed when I got on. "Only the finest ride for the finest folks", he purred. "Now there young folks in back, take care with those doors on my limo." Not a hint of harshness, the kids laughed and smiled and stopped whatever they'd been doing. The Smoothest Limo driver in the world, just like the man in the Golden Gate toll booth, dancing, performing, enjoying every minute of what could be a dull job. Thank you God. Perfect way to end Folklife.
Off to Bremerton on the ferry Tuesday noon, but not before a police dog and handler went up and down my waiting lane 3 or 4 time each side of the car. Cripes. Left Seattle with no regrets. On the ferry, couldn't help taking numerous photos of booths of slumped and prone commuters--not napping, but sound asleep. My over all impression of Seattle since I arrived was of Exhaustion, from over stimulation.
Just as I was threatening never to return, Marcy and I looked at some of her many old family photos, and she looked at my lone album from grandmother Mona Geiger Mann. "Next time you're here I'll show you around Fisk Genealogical Library; there's the Sand Point archives too." Bremerton, yes; Seattle... maybe. We enjoyed crab salad at the airport diner. Spent a night car camping at Clallum park, sniffing sea breezes. And another listening to frogs in Oregon. Took weeks for my feet to recovering from walking more in one weekend in Seattle than all year!
May 2005
Colorado - Dos Daoists
New leaves, cloudy creeks
Taoist masters Gao Han and Yun Ziang Tseng with students
Hotel Colorado April 29-May 2, 2005
Hotel Colorado -- "Teddy Roosevelt stayed here!"
Contemporary paid guest?
Looking down on Glenwood Hot Springs pools
Spring blossoming all around the Glenwood pool
Soak with classmates from CO, NY and BC
Dogwood opening along the Colorado
Watercress filled creek, City of Rifle Park
Desert lilies
Favorite view, Utah
Damp skies over Utah. Fields of new yellow primrose blooming near the Book Cliffs. Fragrant desert air.
Snowy peaks, northwest Utah
Tea and sagebrush, southern Idaho
After the long evening in Midway, it was a relief to drive the familiar trail to western Colorado to Ken Cohen's Taoist Retreat at Glenwood Springs. Clouds made for beautiful skies, cool driving, even across the desert between Price and Grand Junction. In fact, used the new windshield wiper quite a lot (though I never got around to switching it to the driver's side). Fresh green tinged the usual brown desert; everywhere, leaves were unfolding. I thought new green, along the Colorado River, against the walls of Glenwood Canyon was particularly breath taking. Gorgeous time of year.
After traditional Junction Square pizza and conversation with old friend Evette, optimistically laid my sleeping bag out under the... uh clouds. As the drops came, scooted closer under the eves. Defeated, I relocated to the kitchen. Always a full house at Mike and Evette's.
The following morning I checked into the Hotel Colorado (something of a first for the rest area style traveler!), met with Ken and my fellow staffer Jason from Maine to get lined out for registration and sales. Ran around Glenwood for osha tincture and Tai Chi magazine while we had free time. That night Illini George and I took his Explorer out towards Aspen to recharge his battery (lights on kind of weather from East slope also). My touchy stomach was pleased that we found a Nepalese Restaurant on the outskirts of Glenwood (returned a few nights later with a workshop group, for the same peas and potato dish). We were both mellow after a soak in the hot pools. Always good to catch up with George.
Alas only fair that the following night I honored his choice of Thai food. Ended up abandoning dinner after sweating profusely and blowing my nose continually. (We took before and after digitals of each other. I don't look half as miserable as I felt!) George however thrived. absolutely in his element--what fortitude! Adjourned the Vapor Caves. In the heat, my face continued to burn; I don't even enjoy mild chilis! No photos of the dim, damp Vapor Caves. Quite like them.
The workshop was grand. Two finer teachers, not to mention Taoists may not exist. Young Master Tseng has the energy and connections to pull off a Taoist Summit next year, and manifest a U.S. Taoist monastery. He has in mind Estes Park. I blanched at front range; secretly pray for a remote location.
Eventually met and enjoyed some of the 60+ workshop folks from all over the country and Canada. About the time one makes connections, workshops end and we scatter back to the winds. Survived a bit uneasily a hotel--way out of my comfort zone--very convenient, I admit. I was rather stunned to meet huge dogs also overnighting in the hotel. Bet they aren't charged like me.
Went on up to Leadville after the workshop, potential venue of another college outing club reunion, August 2006. Love that old town, complete with May snow drifts. Great museum. Too often I end up scouting for a place for the night in the dark. Had no idea the city of Rifle park I ended up in, since the other park required some sort of pass, would be so gorgeous until the next morning. So I lingered in the occasional sun, reviewing favorite new qigong exercises, and enjoying spring time in the Rockies.
Tortured myself with heavy reading this trip. Tried to listen to classics on tape. Abandoned Joyce's Ulysses. Listened to almost all of Dos Passos Manhatten Transfer. When I couldn't stand it any more, I went to the final cassette, and lo, it was more of the same. Fini. I continue to be underwhelmed by The Classics. But then, I'm not a English major, barely a reader. At night I read Rescuing Patty Hearst and Sleeping with Cats. Why don't I seem to be able to get enough to neurotic women? I did enjoy very much listening to Finding Fish, an autobiography I stumbled onto and couldn't wait to find how and when redemption occurred. Perhaps I'm saturated, found myself impatient with a recent John Grisham, since the "hero" sold out.
Loved spending the final night on the road, in southern Idaho, south of American falls, up in the sagebrush. Slept dry in the car through a long lightening storm and rain. Hoped to hear, but didn't, sage grouse drumming in the early hours. After tea in the sagebrush, carefully pointed down the soaked dirt road, not slipping or white knuckling until the farm house next to the main road. Whew. The wheel wells were packed with mud. Whew.
CLICK ON YEAR FOR ARCHIVES2005 - Feb - Mexico; Mar - Illinois;
2004 - Feb - Mexico; Mar - Pilgrim to Illinois; East Coast; May - Southwest; June - Northwest Folklife; Aug - Canada!; Sept - CA San Jose, Tassajara; Colorado colors; Fall - East Coast; Holidays - Northwest
2003 - Dec - Breitenbush, Bellingham March - Southwest Journey; Feb - Mexico! May/June - Folklife and Tassajara! Sept - back East
2002 - June - Nevada; Sept - Colorado college rendezvous
2001 - Holidays - soul food; Feb - desert roots: Tucson; June - Folklife, Seattle; Nov - East Coast!
2000 - Apr - Easter in Seattle & Indralaya; May/June - Qigong in Colorado; Oct - Midwest Mission; Holidays '99/'00 - OR&WA
1999 - Oct - Western Colo, hot springs and hippos; Fall equinox - ID Night Sounds; Aug - ID camping
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