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Category: Grand Adventure

Just Go

Tikka and Tammy at the lake last Friday.

Spending not one but two days out on Douglas Lake last week reminded me of the importance of R&R, and how I am not particularly good at allowing myself escapes and explorations. So over the past week I have taken a good look at my calendar and made sure that I have reserved the time and scheduled short breaks and trips on a regular basis. I'd like to be a person who just heads out the door on a whim, but recent history indicates that I am not such a person, at least not on my own. Although I do love travel, do love to see and explore, I also acknowledge that I am simply a homebody at heart, a homebody who needs to be pulled out of her comfort zone occasionally.

That seems to be one of the things I didn't expect about the single life. I always thought I would just get up and go, would travel and explore at will. But apparently I am lazy, and with no one to egg me on, my inner homebody takes over. I am not uncomfortable eating out or traveling alone; and I have learned that I am not at all afraid of talking to strangers, although I'm probably not ready for tour groups as I tend to pull inward as a group grows larger. And so I shall push myself if I must, because I must, because to stop going is stop growing and to stop growing is to start dying. There is too much in this world to treasure to let it slip by.

So whether it is a short trip out of town, or just going downtown for lunch and a walk, its time to make time, and just go. . . . somewhere, anywhere.

August 21, 2015
A Day At The Lake

I went to Douglas Lake with friends yesterday. We were supposed to go to day but a last-minute switch was made when the forecast called for thunderstorms.

It was a beautiful day. They've already started lowering the water, so somehow my favorite pictures were of the clouds.

That seems to have been a theme of late.

But of course there was also food and relaxation.

And swimming. I can't believe this is the first time I've been in the water this season. But then although I can swim, I really prefer to bob about.

This lonely kudzu-covered tree at the launching site captured my imagination.

I'm back at the lake today. It seems I need another day of summer and water. Supposedly the thunderstorms won't be until late. Here's hoping.

August 14, 2015
A Weekend in Portland

I ventured up to the Pacific Northwest last weekend to join the Fiberly Train for a weekend in Portland. This is a fabulous group of women, some of whom have managed to meet regularly, although alas not I as I missed the last two years, women who enjoy talking about sewing and fashion, and who enjoy each other's company and just generally having a good time together.

Some of the Women I had met previously: Ann, Patti, Liana, Jan, and Nancy. Rosie and Georgene were new this year. Shams and Margy joined the group last year in New Mexico, and I had hoped to meet them then, but alas I was still flat on my back. I was thrilled to meet them this year as they both write blogs that are continual sources of inspiration.

Margy may be a source of inspiration to all of us, as I don't believe I am the only one who would claim her as a role model for our older selves. As to saying "I'd like to be like Margy when I grow up", well I think Margy would tell us that she isn't "grown up" yet, and in fact I think she said as much, if not in those exact words. That may be the secret, of course, not growing up, and just honoring and accepting yourself and your interests. Oddly enough, writing this reminds me of something my late mother in law told me a few years before she passed away: "the older I get the younger I become". Of course she was lost in the haze of dementia at the time, but wisdom often finds its way to us under many guises. Regardless of the source, it is advice worth remembering.

Anyway, both Shams and Margy may have pushed me over the edge and given me the motivation and energy to finally finish unpacking the sewing room and starting to sew again. For the moment however, I am still merely alternating between my knitting and needlepoint. But I have dreams, and plans.

Top photo by Ann Steeves of Gorgeous Fabrics. All other photos mine.

May 6, 2015
My bags are packed…

One week from today I'll be heading off for a long weekend with a group of fiberly-minded friends.

I'm not actually packed, physically that is. Nothing is in the suitcase. But everything is ready. That is part of my planning mindset. As soon as the tickets were purchased the mental packing began, and as soon as the planning began, so did a schedule. I can no more put everything off to the last minute than I could skip brushing my teeth.

A few years ago the suitcase might have actually been packed weeks in advance, but I don't need to be ruled by organizational fetishes. Apparently the mental disorganization of the last two years has been necessary. Before, I would have fretted over every detail, I would have packed and repacked, worried about every possibility. That much worry leaves you no happy place: you either organize yourself to the point of missing life, or you put off making decisions to the point that disorganization drives you into a panic. I don't want to be either of those persons.

I just want to have fun.

April 23, 2015
When Someday becomes Today

Monday afternoon Tikka and I just hopped in the car and drove to Atlanta. Well, it wasn't quite that spur-of-the moment, but I had only decided to go on Sunday afternoon, so it wasn't all that planned either. But the trip was monumentous because it is the first time in years that I have done such a thing, and by myself, probably the first time in decades. I've always dreamt about "someday" just going somewhere to see art or hear music, or just for the fun of it, but those dreams have remained just that, dreams. Until Sunday afternoon, when, curled up on the sofa with Tikka and Moisés, I realized that my schedule was clear until Wednesday. Just like that, "someday" became "why not".

It was a fun trip. Although it hadn't started raining when I left, it rained pretty much the entire trip south. We had fun anyway. Message to my new travels-with-dog self, a towel in the car is a useful thing.

We stayed at the Grand Hyatt in Buckhead, which was perfectly lovely and friendly too. Tikka was happy to meet new people, although also a little overwhelmed at the abundance of new sights and smells, and everyone at the hotel was very kind and helpful to both of us. We arrived late, and it was still raining, so we didn't walk around much that evening but instead curled up in a big chair in our room. I was happy that the room was very comfortable, and had lots of lights and accessible plugs for charging various electronic paraphernalia. The ottoman was easy to move so that Tikka could jump up and take her side of the king-size bed.

In the morning, we discovered we had a beautiful view of the Japanese garden through our rain-soaked window, and we promptly went down for a walk. Buckhead is a good area for morning walks, and the hotel was conveniently located with easy access to many nice walking areas. There are also nice coffee shops and cafés in the area with outdoor tables, where I was able to drink my coffee while Tikka watched the passers-by, although I did go back to the hotel for breakfast. I am happy to report they even had gluten-free toast and English muffins, and they weren't bad.

The reason for my trip was to go and see an exhibit at Jackson Fine Art of works by Mona Kuhn and Matthew Pillsbury. It was well worth the effort and I spent a fair amount of time in the gallery, mostly looking at the work of Matthew Pillsbury. But Mona Kuhn's work surprised me and has stayed with me more than I might have expected.

I was already familiar with her work, and although I was interested, I have also come to understand that I am not usually a person who is drawn to portraits in art. But perhaps usually is the key word here, and I can be surprised. I was enthralled by the layers of light and shadow, the layering of light in the images of her nudes, and they way they implied a sense of half-seeing, of playing with hidden-depths and semi-revelations in the figures. Unfortunately, although you can get some sense of the layering of light and image in an internet photograph, the print, up close has a dimensionality of depth that cannot be reproduced online.

I was also taken by some of the non-figure photographs, and wished I had asked to see more. I got a small sense of that same feeling of seeing and not-seeing, of things known and unknown. I regret that I had not examined these more fully and look forward to hopefully seeing more of this work in the future.

Tikka and I took another walk, ran a few short errands and headed home. I needed to be back in Knoxville today, and so didn't really have time to trek off to other venues, but that was ok. The trip was enough in and of itself. Sometimes I have to remind myself that it is ok to make a big effort for a seemingly small thing, and the rewards may be greater than anticipated, greater perhaps even than cramming too many things into a small space.

Mona Kuhn, Mirage II, 2012, courtesy Jackson Fine Art, here.

Mona Kuhn, Private, 2013, courtesy Jackson Fine Art, here.

April 8, 2015
A Day At The Circus

I took my grandson to the circus on Sunday. We had a lot of fun.

We had a brief discussion about whether we should see a circus that had animals in it, and whether or not animals were tortured. I had to admit that although I recognized that people protested the circus, and that there are issues with the pros and cons of keeping animals in captivity vs their life in the wild, I didn't actually have enough factual information concerning either side's point of view to make a decision.

Eight-year olds can raise tough questions.

Most of the show was animal free however. We both really enjoyed the unicycle-riding basketball players.

And Owen was pretty thrilled with the motorcycles in the cage, which I had to admit was pretty spectacular, although it also made me nervous.

Circuses and cotton candy go hand in hand, and this grandma found it very hard to say no to excessive treats: cotton candy, lemonade, snow cones in fancy cups….

And magical circus hats.

February 24, 2015
Return:

I have returned from a brief trip to Florida for a workshop. Although my trip was not, for the most part, relaxing, it was reinvigorating. Sometimes a change in routine is all that is needed, even if that change is simultaneously stimulating and exhausting. My mind worked far too hard trying to absorb loads of information and there was far too little time for movement. I arrived home yesterday and slumped onto the sofa for a nap with two cats artfully draped over me, seeking as much contact as possible.

We did manage one early morning walk on the beach:

After that brief nap I did manage to tend to mail and phone calls, unpack, cook, clean, walk, talk to a friend, and plan my schedule for the coming week. At which point I was more than ready to head to my own bed and my own linen sheets.

I am certainly focused than I was before the trip, and my busy schedule over the next couple of weeks seems a little less daunting. However, although there are many things to do, the ever-present task list is not what has captured my attention this morning. Rather I am focused in what appears to be a subtle shift in the seasons. When I left it still felt mostly like summer. Upon my return it feels more like early fall. The trees are noticeably beginning to turn. It is not cool, exactly (I have not yet shed the residue of nearly 30 years in the northeast) but the air feels different. I took a walk yesterday evening; the evening are smelled different, a little damp after a rain, with perhaps just the smallest hint of crumbling leaves, perhaps the smallest whiff of brownness and decay, as opposed to the summer rainstorm smell of wet earth, mossy greenness and teaming growth. It was very faint, so subtle as to be easily missed, and yet it was there.

September 22, 2014
A Litte Girl’s Smile

I am on a plane, ensconced in my seat. My kindle is in the seat back pocket, but at the moment I am half-heartedly looking at the in-flight magazine and watching my fellow passengers board. A family comes down the aisle, slowly but calmly and patiently, being led by a young girl, I'm guessing, somewhere around 2 years of age. She walks purposefully and deliberately, smiling, stopping each time she passes someone. She says hi and waves her hand. Her eyes sparkle. One by one we all respond with a smile or a word or two, perhaps a little wave.

Later.

We have landed. Many of us are standing against the wall along one side of the jet bridge waiting for our gate-checked bags to appear. The same young family eventually leaves the plane and makes their way up toward the terminal. The little girl stops by each person she passes, looks up, smiles, and says bye-bye. One by one we smile in response. One young man, preoccupied with whatever he is typing on his cellphone, fails to notice. The girl, surrounded by her family, innocently believing that the young man shares her desire to say goodbye, tugs lightly on his pants, looks up, and once again says bye-bye; he looks up temporarily startled, looks down, and smiles.

Innocence and joy. What a lovely gift.

Of course the girl will grow up. In a couple of years she will begin to perceive that other people's understanding of a situation can be different her own, that their motives can be different as well, that they might not have her best interests at heart. This is a necessary part of development, of being able to connect with other people fully, of developing empathy, but also of protecting oneself, of decoding the complicated dance of personal and social signals we humans use with each other. My wish is that she is surrounded with love, that she is nurtured, that she is able to develop resiliency and strength. I hope she can hold on to trust.

It is good, sometimes, to be reminded of what life could be if we trusted more and feared less.

August 28, 2014
A Visit to Mohonk Mountain House

When we gathered together in the Hudson Valley to scatter George's ashes in the Hudson, I wanted us to stay someplace condusive to family activities, yet also with enough to offer that we could all find pleasant ways to while away hours, both individually and together. To this end, we stayed at Mohonk Mountain House.

In many ways it was the perfect choice. George's mother had gone to Mohonk. When his children were small, George would occasionally fill-in for a colleague as the in-house weekend doctor and his family would spend the weekend at Mohonk. Even though George and I had never stayed as guests, I knew the grounds were beautiful we had been there many times. As a testament to the power of memory, even though Mohonk has been updated and renovated, George's son's first comment to me upon arrival was "It smells just as I remember it from childhood".

Our rooms were in one of the oldest parts of the hotel. My room was not large, but was bright, clean and charming, neither too old-fashioned, nor too blandly modern.

The view from my balcony was fabulous. But as I wandered the hotel and the grounds it was hard not to concede that the view is probably gorgeous in all directions. The hotel has been beautifully maintained and beautifully decorated, in a way that maintains ties to its history without being overly fussy or overdone, with a nod to the past, but also fully accommodating itself to the present.

Walking down the hall toward my room, another row of balconies. These face the sunset.

The view from the large sunset porch.

There were beautiful gardens, also beautifully maintained, a kids activity center, and trails for hikers and nature lovers of every interest and ambition. I stuck to the simple and well manicured paths. The gardens were extensive and beautiful, but as usual I was too enraptured by being there to spend much time taking pictures.

I also walked around the lake, a simple trail, while others in the family ventured forth on steeper and more rocky climbs. I was perfectly content with small vistas and easy walks.

Even so I managed to log at least 5 miles every day we were there, a level of activity I've had to work at maintaining since I've returned to normal life.

Admittedly I still managed to sneak in a nap or two. The youngest member of our group was far more interested in feeding the fish.

Even the food was fabulous, at least the menu service was, although even I, the pickiest member of our little coterie, have to admit the buffet was excellent, for a buffet. Alas, I didn't take pictures of the food, I continue to be old fashioned-enough that I can't quite bring myself to cross that line.

Overall, it was a fabulous vacation, and I would happily go back if I had the opportunity to do so. It was relaxing and envigorating. Everyone was helpful and accommodating and the hospitality staff exceeded expectations in working with our group to plan special events and transportation to the dock in Beacon for the clearwater sail.

July 29, 2014
Farewell

Yesterday afternoon we scattered George's ashes in the Hudson River. It was a small but perfect group of family and close friends. Although I could not help hoist the Clearwater's main sail, which I had indeed done in the past, since I have not yet built up enough strength following my back surgery and it is hard work. George's children and several friends did help though, and he would have been proud. He of course, when he was able to do so, would have been pulling with the others.

We were blessed with the perfect day. Hot yes, but there was a breeze on the water, and the humidity, although present, was tolerable. But mostly the day was special because family and friends were together, here, in the Hudson Valley, on the river George so dearly loved. Although he hadn't sailed in years, he had loved to sail, loved boats, and particularly loved the Hudson River. In the earlier years of our marriage we had even taken a few public sails on the Clearwater, although most of our time together on the Hudson was spent in a canoe, and since George liked to be out on the water, not hugging the shore, more often than not we were rowing across the river and back. A flotilla of canoes did not really strike me as a suitable option however, and the Clearwater proved to be the perfect setting for launching George's remains to the water and land he so dearly loved.

I have to admit that when Owen and I released George's ashes into the breeze, watching them float in the air, catching the light and settling on the water, it was a beautiful moment. The past year has not always been easy, but we have reached a place from whence it is easier to move forward. Being on the water, on the boat, together, sharing memories, catching up, and looking forward to the future, was a good way to share and remember the many ways in which we have been shaped and touched by those we have lost, and how their influence continues to float in our spirits, always a part of us.

Photo of Clearwater from Clearwater.org.

Raising the sail.

My step-son, Adam, assisting with lowering the sail.

July 13, 2014