The Escape of the Covid Captive

I woke up and actually didn’t know what to do with myself. It was early September 2020, the nineth month of the worldwide pandemic. I had cleaned out drawers and closets, cut down the understory around my house, sewn masks, painted a picture, lost four pounds on Noom, and relearned how to make yeast bread. I just couldn’t bring myself to watch another episode of “How to Get Away with Murder” on Netflix and the book I was reading was good but not that good. Uncertain days, months and maybe, years stretched before me. I missed my normal life, traveling, meeting with groups of friends, festivals, and long afternoons sitting in sunny coffee shops in front of my laptop fantasizing about becoming a famous writer.

I didn’t know what to do with myself, I felt hollow and totally dissatisfied. I needed to escape. I checked the weather, the next day would be sunny and pleasantly warm. I laid out clothes and organized my purse making sure I had my camera and extra batteries. And then I waited. When light flowed into my bedroom window I got up, drank my coffee and refused to clean up the kitchen in an act of rebel defiance. My domestic duties would be there when I got back for the next days, months, and years. I showered, dressed and opened the garage door to let the sunshine greet me and call me to adventure. My new car is the color of pine needles, I named it “Hunter”. Former vehicles had names like Silvia and Ruby but I’m a different woman now, truly brave and adventurous. Hunter is my noble steed. He also has Sirius XM and I chose music from the ’70s and because of the some divine intervention the station seemed to play all the songs I knew and loved. I turned up the volume and sang. Pumped and a bit giddy, I headed to the mountains, The Adirondacks Mountains, a great destination for a day trip.

I was free. A joyous woman on the road, living life. I came upon some construction and was stoppped by a flagman with a long white beard. I rolled down my window on the passanger. Laughter is the best medicine, I thought, especially during a pandemic.

“Santa”, I said smiling, ” so this is what you do during the summer!”

The man didn’t smile but replied, “Yup, I do a lot of things!”

Damn! I drove off. I had offically crossed over the line to crazy old lady. I quickly decided to take my sudden my vitality down a notch, a speeding ticket could possibly be my next problem if I didn’t settle down.

I had been doing research about logging for a future blog post. In my reading I had learned about a town called Everton that was abonadon afer the good trees there were depleted at the turn of the 20th century. Looking at my trustly topagraghical NYS map I found Duane St in St. Regis Falls, NY that morpheded into Everton Road and then beame The Red Tavern Road. My persona quickly changed from crazy old lady to explorer determined to find clues.

Traveling to the mountains first required traveling north along flat roads surrounded by farmland but turning east, the trees began to hug the road, hills presented themselves and I felt the myself go higher and higher.

I noticed more conifers. The area was logged for spruce trees to make paper at the mill in Deferiet, New York.

My dad brought my family to The Adirondacks when I was a little girl. I have loved those mountains and woodlands ever since.

Red line against the green, I wondered why. Edging of an old road?

I found a spot that seemed to be somewhat denuded of trees.

The St. Regis River seemed to have become my travel compainion as it suddenly appeared once again on this back road.

I drove on and ahead I saw some white water. I came upon guard rails and a parking area. A sign indicated that I was near Everton Falls. I was determined to take the rocky path to the water’s edge and get a picture. I broke my ankle in Isreal in Novemeber of 2020. I’m healed but I walk now always maintaining a deliberate connection between my feet and my brain. I watch each step and sometimes use the trees as imprompt to railings. I made it.

I was thrilled to find The Red Hotel. The the last section ofroad got its name from that establisment.

The sign said it was established in 1830. Was it a hangout for the loggers at the beginning of the 1900’s?

Near by was a cabin, was it from that era?

As I continued, I looked into the woods hoping to see some remains of the logging camps that once existed or the railroad tracks used to transport the logs.

I saw many places that might have been the entry roads into the cutting areas.

I drove until I was almost to the end of the road. I saw a sign for Deer River Campsite, I needed information and drove in. I love to travel because I find that wherever I go in the world people are generally welcoming and nice. I stopped at the camp office and shortly after the owner came up the road on a golfcart. He was a little guarded to begin with but after I told I had an interest in history he became an ally.

Gil Paddock, owner of the Deer River Campsite

He went back to his residence and copied pages of the local history to add to my research and then he told to drive around the campground and feel free to take in the beauty of the landscape. I’m so grateful our paths crossed.

Sitting quietly on that bench on The Deer River Flow in my beloved Adirondacks, I found my escape. I have wonderful friends. Some would see this scene and say “so what”. But I’m fortunate to have many people in my life who understand what nature offers us, raw honesty, assurance, and vivid lessons of resilence and perseverence. A deep sense of peace washed over me at the moment and even seeing this picture now renews that feeling and brings tears to my eyes.

I drove back to St. Regis Falls and stopped at a place that I thought sold books but it turned out to be a lending “library”. I chatted with the woman in charge and asked her about any remaining evidence of Everton. She advised me to come back again when the leaves have fallen and walk the trails. I assured I would explore with respect, that I just wanted to understand the lives of people who lived and worked in the mountains and surely loved them as much as I do.

I’m The Autonomous Traveler! Right now I can’t travel to London or Jeruselum or Thailand. But my definition of travel has, in a strange way, expanded within its confinment. By participating in active observation and noticing along with the attitude of appreciation and acceptence, travel is rewarding in any locale. And if you are sincere in your interest and listen to the people along the way you discover wonderful new persepectives.

I will be making my third visit to The St. Regis River soon. I will be rewarded with beautiful fall colors and hopefully be able to find one of the deserted lumber camps and some long forgotten railroad tracks. My hope is to connect even more with the soul of that lovely destination. I will let you know what I find.

Copyright 2020 @theautonomoustraveler.com All rights reserved.

Worries of a Covid Captive Grandma

Before the pandemic, unless I was traveling, I would see my grandkids every other week. I would arrive at their house at noon, stay overnight and then leave around noon the next day. Since the new normal, I have only seen them two times for a total of less hours than I could count on my fingers. Time looms before me as I have stayed confined. Time also seems compressed as a deadly virus forces me to reassess the length of my life and the lives of everyone on this planet.. The months, the weeks, the days, the hours tick by. They almost lose their meaning as I wait and wait for the familiar to return. Time has lost its shape, its structure.

by Salvador Dali

My son, daughter-in-law and grandkids came for a visit on July 5th, 12:00-4:00. Four short hours. So many smiles, so much joy and then they were gone.

I worried that I hadn’t done enough. This really bothered me. For the first time, I wrote my grandkids a letter hoping to fill in the blanks of what I felt I hadn’t conveyed in our short visit.

July 6, 2020
My dear sweethearts,

After you left, I looked at all the things you played with and made. I’m amazed how wonderful each one of is and I’m so proud of you.

R. (my 9 year old granddaughter), my creative storyteller, you looked at my new calendar and thought about the passage of time.

Your wonderful imagination took over and you created a world where time could be controlled . You drew it on paper as you explain it to me.

It was the beginning of a great adventure. That is what writers do. They observe and wonder what would happen if things were different. Sometimes they see the things no one else sees or understands and they open the world to new possibilities. Never be ashamed of you imagination. The world needs the wonderful excitement that shines through your stories.

C. (6 year old grandson), I think you saw the wonder I saw in the golden mushrooms on the tree that had worked so hard to stay alive as it rested on its side. New life is now forming on its dead form as a sign of hope, telling us that nothing in nature really dies.

I loved the way you, R., and K. enjoyed seeing the styles of different artists as we looked through that art book.

C., you jumped into creativity with those oil pastels. It takes bravery and strengthen to be an artist. A person has to let go of doubt and be free. Connor, your picture of the cat shows you have great courage. I think you know that nothing has to be perfect when you are doing art, that there is no right or wrong.

R., I see that strength in your drawings, too.

K. ( my grandson, five), I am impressed that you are so observant. I’m glad we got to look at the Da Vinci pop up book. Like you, he looked at everything, birds, the human body, everything!!! And then he invented things and built things. He never gave up or got frustrated because he knew he would always figure things out.

You are a builder, K.

You are brave when you have a problem. You look and look and find a solution. Your construction crew will look up to you for the answers. You will invent and build just like Da Vinci. I can’t wait to see the wonderful things that you will create.

My sweethearts, I love when you come to visit and I visit you. I watch as each one of you use your talents. I am so, so proud of you.

Love forever and always,

Babci (Polish for grandmother)

I mailed the letter and I worried and wondered like all grandmothers do. Did I make the most of each moment? Did I hug my grandkids enough? Do they realize just how much I love them? Did I teach them enough? Did I listen and encourage them enough? The world and the future are so uncertain. I hope for the best, that the world will heal because I have so much more I want to give to my dear sweethearts.

Copyright 2020 @theautonomoustraveler.com All rights reserved.

Confessions of a Covid Captive

I haven’t written in a while because how could I write when I didn’t know who I was? How do any of us live when what we thought was normal suddenly disappears, when routine and certainty is gone? How do we understand anything when our reality is so different and our thoughts and feelings have been jarred and muddled?

I’m a control freak, an “all-the-ducks-in-row” creature. I guess it is the survival tactic I acquired during my chaotic childhood. There was alcoholism in my family. I’m also a news junkie, I watched sick people filling the halls of the Wuhan hospitals and ordered my first masks from Amazon on January 26.

I’m in my 13th week of this thing called “the new normal”. I am getting out more with my masks, hand sanitizer and social distancing. I can write now because I can see myself again. But my image is still a bit blurry around the edges. Sometimes the lost feeling comes back and I have to hold still and stop the uneasy vibrations inside me. But there is hope and the beginnings of wholeness

My points of reference, the present and the future are unstable because of the pandemic but something strange has taken the place of these two life markers. I’m going back to past things that brought me joy. It’s like I’m a tourist leisurely walking through an art gallery seeing pictures of a long ago me who is smiling and doing rewarding things. I’m rich in time now and like a wealthy patron, I take the imagines off the wall and they become a part of me once again.

I started with baking. I used to do it all the time but lost the skill. I feared the chemistry, the failure and the waste. But I’m baking again.

I’m exploring my woods like I used to. Going off the usual trails, I have found new treasures in new places that I’ve never noticed during my decades here.

For many years, I knew I should cut down the small trees and bushes in the understory so I could see through the wood more easily. That goal is being achieved and, as I do, I have been gathering and burning deadfall from winters long forgotten.

I built my firepit last year in hopes of sitting by a fire with coffee and books. I never got around to it but now I have. I have gone back to reading fiction, enjoying the beautiful words of skilled writers. I usually read only nonfiction. But I’ve moved away from my habit of cutting away at information from these books by picking at the table of contents. Alway feeling short on time, I rushed through pertinent chapters without really appreciating all that the authors wanted to teach me.

It’s been a long time since I’ve sat still by my big picture window, in silence just to be. Now I’m being rewarded.

Image may contain: plant, tree, outdoor and nature
Image may contain: bird, outdoor and nature

I used to have a huge vegetable garden. This spring I have planted again, just a few things. I’m having fun staging ridiculous things around my young sprouts to scare away my hungry wildlife. It’s working.

Lately, I’ve returned to two old hobbies I used to love, sewing and painting.

And my biggest return to the past is the fact that I’m wearing my long uncut hair in a ponytail, something I haven’t done since elementary school. This amazes me.

For the longest time during the pandemic, I was frozen. I spent hours watching the news and youtube videos about the virus trying to understand it, control it. I was so uncomfortable with this strange catastrophic event, disorientated in the present and totally clueless and scared about the future. There was no choice but to go back to the things in the past that had brought me happiness. I know many of my readers and friends are doing the same. I tell everyone I’m fortunate to talk with to stay safe and healthy. Now, I add another wish, for them to be happy. We have the time now to explore, notice nature, plant seeds, and create beautiful new things. We need to draw from what is around us and within us. This is our new normal but we can make it work.

Copyright 2020 @theautonomoustraveler.com All rights reserved.

Israel-The Kindness of Strangers

“Those who wander are never lost”

I never made it to Jerusalem. I honestly believe I wasn’t supposed to . I travel to learn things I don’t know, to witness things and try to understand what they mean. I went to Israel to learn about Judaism, a religion I know little about. What happened to me made that possible.

Our tour bus stopped in the Golan Heights near the Lebanon and Syria borders. I took a picture of the UN jeep and wished I had the opportunity to take pictures of the military equipment being transported along the the highway.

I climbed a little incline and this was the last picture I took before the incident.

As I came down from this little hill, I slipped on the gravel and my rear end landed on my foot. I tried to get up and and felt no support. The nice people from my tour gathered around me. Somehow I got my foot from under me and saw that my foot was at a strange right angle from the leg bone that was a large knot at the end of my shin. My guide, who was very upset asked no one in particular if if my foot was broken. The anthesialogic member from the tour group replied in the affirmation. His wife asked what level of pain I was in. I picked 3 and she replied that I was at least a 5.

I honestly felt nothing. I was embarrassed by all the attention and wanted the crowd around me to resume walking to the observation area. All my life I’ve had the ability to go into a state of numbness when needed. I’m an adult child of an alcoholic. Denial of situations and circumstances is a skill perfected by ACOAs like me. We trained ourselves to move through the awful stuff. The bad part of this is we smile through a lot of garbage. The good part is that we are very resilient.

Our tour guide called an ambulance. As the attendants lifted me up onto a gurney, I warned them that they were dealing with a woman who was not petite and cautioned them not to hurt themselves. I also asked the driver if we could stop for ice cream on the way to the hospital. Self- deprecation and humor have become my adult tools for dealing with life. They’ve became more pronounced as I grow older since I ‘m no longer the shy child I used to be.

I was rolled into the ambulance. I looked up and saw a smiling young man who said, “When I saw you I prayed you’d be American.”

What? From my prone position, as I tried to move my good foot so it wasn’t touching the injured one, I was totally confused.

“Hi.” was all I could come up with.

The attendant was glad I was American because he wanted to practice his English. I thought he spoke well and he told me he had learned much from watching American television. We ended up talking a lot and as a result I came to know about his fascinating religion.

This wonderful young man was a Druze. The Druze broke off from Islam in the 10th century and see themselves as a monotheistic religion that combines Judaism and Christianity with Islam. They strongly believe in reincarnation and accept no converts. Only individuals who achieve a specific spiritual enlightenment are able to be a part of the group and read Druze literature. They have no set ceremonies but eating pork, smoking and drinking are prohibited. 120,000 Druze live in Northern Israel. They speak Arabic but are a community distinct from other Israeli Arabs and serve their required time in the Israeli army.

Before my mishap we had driven through a Druze settlement and I was able to take this picture of a Druze woman.

The young man was kind and he told me he wanted be a doctor. I assured him be would be an excellent one.

I arrived at The Ziv Medical Center in Zefat, Israel and did the usual, met with the billing department, explained what happen, had blood work. I was then taken to a little room filled with people who turned out to be be medical students. As they stared at my broken foot, I told them I was very glad I got a pedicure before I left America or they would have been appalled by my ugly old lady toenails. They laughed. The real doctor didn’t seem amused. My leg was numbed and he proceed to twist my ankle bone back into my leg. I squeezed the young female medical student’s hand. A very heavy plaster cast was put on my leg and I was transported to x-ray. The bone wasn’t placed right. The cast was taken off, the bone repositioned once again as I squeezed the same girl’s hand, then more x-rays and success. One more trip to the little room and time for pictures.

I had to stay overnight but what a wonderful experience it was. I was sung to.

I was visited by a female rabbi. She came into my hospital room like a superhero dressed in a stylish black outfit, so powerful in her convictions. She seemed to give off an energy and almost glowed. She preached about the sanctity of marriage and I didn’t have the heart or the courage to tell her I was divorced and had no plans of ever getting married again. Strangely enchanted, I somehow knew I was supposed to put money in the yellow silk bag she carried. She said a blessing over me and I asked if I could take a picture of her. She wouldn’t allow it, saying that what she said was more important than who she was.

Michelle was sent from the tour company to watch over me and make sure I was okay. She became a friend and I will have more to tell about her in my next post. A lady entered my room and chatted. She gave me two candles for Shabbat, the Jewish weekly day of worship. One candle represents the the obligations of worship from sundown on Friday to the morning sunrise on Saturday. The other candle represented the joy and benefits of these special hours spent in God’s presence.


The candle lady and my friend, Michelle.

So much kindness. I never cried during the whole adventure until just before I left. The medical student who held my hand while I went through orthopedic torture brought me a chocolate bar and the note shown below.

The kindness of strangers is why I travel. I’ve been lucky enough to find the true spirit of human beings untainted by personal preference or prejudice. They are encounters with no time to gossip or label or judge. People reaching out to live and love in the present moment with smiles and acceptance. Our exchanges are fresh and alive without fear. This is the beautiful world.

I broke my ankle in The Golan Heights near the Lebanon/ Syrian border and never got to Jerusalem but I got exactly the journey I was suppose to have.

“We travel, some of us forever,to seek other places, other lives, other souls.”-Anais Nin

Copyright 2020 @theautonomoustraveler.com All rights reserved.

Perspective

My last post was on New Year’s Day, a symbolic day of fresh starts and hope. I wrote about fractals and taking one step at a time as I looked forward to marching into the new year with energy and focus. On my first day at PT,  I graduated from my knee bike to using a walker. My ankle swelled a bit and I went into worry mode. Then we had the almost WWIII incident. Anger and fear became my state of mind. Next an impending ice storm was predicted in my area. I’m very self reliant when both ankles are working but I wondered how I  would  bring in wood if the power went out.  The weather report proved to be false. But then this weekend a new storm, Jacob, was touted as  devastating with more snow and high winds. I prepared again for a power outage; solar lantern handy, homemade apple scones ready to be eaten in the dark, bathtub filled for flushing, and my gas camp stove ready for morning coffee.  Jacob ended up  being a whimper.

My ankle is now doing great, so far no WWIII, and  two storms proved to be weaker than expected. But something happened to me in those 18 days.  My perspective changed.  It was assaulted by a creature that slithered like a snake from across the road, traveled across the snow covered asphalt and invaded my house by burrowing underground into my basement and up into my home office. It was high speed internet allowing me to stream. I now have access to all the news and every viewpoint that youtube has to offer. But in my hunger for political, wartime, and electrical outage updates, I lost myself.  My brain underwent some rewiring as I desperately tried to figure out what was happening in the world. And as a result, I stopped wanting to write.

 

For the last 18 days, the world went on without me, things were not in my control but instead of calling up my strength, I surrendered to what turned out to be the information propaganda offered to me at $44.99 a month, no contract needed. As I sloshed through it, a lot of of it changed and became untrue. It was very intense stuff offered from many viewpoints. There was so much going on that many times my screen was split in two. Sometimes six heads in little boxes would chatter on the news screen to punch their network points even harder into my head. As I looked deeper for the truth on obscure youtube sites, I found many things did not add up or were lies. I guess it didn’t matter because like the weather what was once solid fact became something else as the days went on. This faulty information was seductive, in my emotional state I had an unstoppable hunger to cure the anxiety that was being fed by the unknown and uncontrollable future.

What are we doing to ourselves? The ancient philosophers pondered, “What is truth?” In their old fashion way, I think they had it a lot easier. Presently we are being manipulated with all sorts of technology. With rapid fire images in commercials and ads, we are convinced to buy and consume things we don’t need and can’t afford. And by working on our fears, those in the information business have made us angry, hateful, and frantic. Our petty jabs and arguments are dividing us. The things that concern us all in this country (infrastructure, healthcare, cost of prescription drugs, education, environmental challenges, etc.,etc.) are being ignored and nothing is getting done. Unfortunately, we share a common destiny and will eventually have to face the consequences of our inability to work together.

I getting myself back, reducing my digital information intake, looking closely at reality, silently reflecting, and writing again. There is a force out there that is strong and ugly. I’m going to do my best to keep it out of my mind.

Copyright 2020 @theautonomoustraveler.com All rights reserved.

Israel Next-Why?

Back home, surrounded by my familiar things, I continue to learn, to wander in my mind back to India. The Hindus divide life into four stages. At age 70, I find myself in the last stage, Sannyasa, a time for renunciation. The Hindu see this as time to move away from material concerns and judgment. It can be a wonderful final chapter, a time to freely wander without expectations, an opportunity to look within and in doing so, find our true selves. It can be a time of exciting spiritual growth.

Joseph Campbell points out a different approach to life roles through his studies of the power of myths. He has written about the “hero’s journey”, the story of a person, usually a male protagonist, who overcomes a big obstacle to become victorious. And we all know the story archetype of the damsel in distress who needs to be rescued. I can’t identify with either. I’m surely not a hero having made so many mistakes in life that have hurt others. The hardest part of my new maturity is remembering, in hindsight, all the obnoxious and horrible things I’ve done. But thank goodness, I’m no longer a damsel in distress. I’m rescuing myself now, thank you very much.

I’m solidly in Sannysas or, to put it in Western terms, I’m on a quest, peacefully observing and listening. Noticing what is real, I look for the stuff beyond marketing, media, and shallow material glitz. Maybe, in a way this has been a lifelong journey, I’ve always lived the word ”why”. I love books and the secrets they hold. I remember, as a kid, pouring over my family’s maroon bound Funk and Wagnall Encyclopedia which we patiently acquired, volume by volume, as a weekly promotion at our local supermarket.

I’m leaving for Israel soon. Why? Because I know so little about what has and is happening there. Because I think it’s fascinating that three major religions share a small space within the walls of the ancient city of Jerusalem. Because I don’t want to judge. I want to continue to stay away from the sharp edges of life, labeling nothing right or wrong, good or bad. Why? Because there is a lot about my true self I still don’t know.

I will be sharing my insights about my trip on my blog. Please sign up to be a follower. That way you won’t miss anything and it will make me happy to know you’re always with me.

“Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors for you where there were only walls.”
― Joseph Campbell

Copyright 2019 @theautonomoustraveler.com All right reserved.

Traveling with Forrest Gump-Like a Box of Chocolates

I have a confession. I definitely think I have an obsessive compulsive disorder. In an upstair room in my house, I have an art studio created when painting became one of my passions. While recently purging out some of my possessions, I realized I had accumulated hundreds of paint brushes, enough to supply a large group of artists. I taught nature studies when I was a second grade teacher and there is a bookshelf in my bedroom that holds over two hundred plant and animal books. And a door in my house hopefully hides a contraption with multiple pockets that holds my very, very large collection of earrings, again in the hundreds.

I’m ashamed and overwhelmed, uncontrollably compelled by the thrill of the hunt. But luckily I have my limits, I’m a bargain hunter, a cunning stalker in the world of flea markets, auctions, rummage sales, and thrift stores. Even though some of my collections are a bit obscene, my habit of buying things at a fraction of what they cost allows me to divert a lot of my budget to my frequent travels.

Recently, on the way home from visiting my family, I decided to stop at a thrift store I had passed many times but never entered. I’ve learned to always first examine the jewelry displays. There were no earrings so I moved on to the books. In my North Country, thrift store book collections are our only option since regular bookstores are becoming rare. I found a great art history book from 1948. Yes, I had two other art history books at home but not like this one. I placed it in the shopping cart.

I visually skimmed the woman’s clothes rack. Skilled shopping for maximum rewards requires carefully pushing hangers aside, one by one, to uncover the best treasures but I wanted to get home. My eye caught something red and long wedged tightly in the slits of color. It was a blouse that proved to be perfect for my aging body because when trying it on it successfully hid some of my defects. In the cart it went.

I went over to the the CD’s hoping to add to my collection of driving music. I knew I had to concentrate as I tried to read the titles in tiny print on the stacks of plastic cases on a shelf that luckily was at eye level. My scan stopped at a CD case that was wider than the rest, the soundtrack from “Forrest Gump”! Taking it down from the shelf, I realized it was a two CD set, brand new, unopened, and $2.99. I was thrilled. I’m a baby boomer and the movie paralleled my younger life. I paid for my treasures, eager to get in my car and listen.

As I drove, I was taken back in time. The songs by the original artists brought both smiles and tears. The late 1960’s, early 1970’s were very tumultuous but somehow energetically hopeful. I’m so glad to have lived through that time.

The CD is absolutely wonderful and so thought provoking, allowing me to compare life then with our world situation today. It makes me think about who I was almost 50 years ago and who I have become. Every song will be the catalyst for my blog writing in the coming weeks. There are some things I need to say. Wow! As Forrest Gump said,

“Life is like a box of chocolate, you never know what you’re going to get.”

Copyright 2019 @theautonomoustraveler All rights reserved.

The Pull of the Anchor

I haven’t written since April 8. I haven’t really lived the life of The Autonomous Traveler in the last month. I have had to do things and things have happened to me. There were unexpected car problems, repairs to my rack and pinion steering, a flat tire that led to four new tires and new brake pads.

After spending nine winters in St. Augustine, I decided to give up my rented condo and try something else next winter. Because of this, March consisted of “good byes” to a lot of great people. Then there was the packing up of my stuff to take back up north. I hate packing.

On March 21, my 92 year old ex mother-in-law, who was really a mom to me, died as a result of a car accident. A week before, I got to spend some time with her. She and my 96 year old ex father were a RV rally in Georgia. She was an extremely kind person and everyone at this yearly convention loved her. She always smiled and took a genuine interest in everyone she met. Her love for me was unconditional and she really took an interest in who I was. She frequently called me to see if I was okay and each year when I made the 1300 mile trips to and from Florida she checked in on me daily. She was a person of substance and I miss her.

When I arrive at home I had to unpack all the stuff I had just spent so much time packing. And then I had to fulfill the civilized obligation to clean my house after its long winter of being empty.

And it snowed yesterday morning. The flakes seemed almost embarrassed to be falling at the end of April and were very tiny in size. They didn’t have the power to cover the grass and they moved on to somewhere else or maybe they just gave up. It’s been a long winter

On top of everything, I’m sick. I have caught something from my youngest grandson. Just before be went to urgent care and diagnosed with viral pneumonia, I held him in my arms and read him stories. He is fine now. I’m staying put and nursing a nasty cough. Grandmothers will do anything for love.

I am feeling the pull of the anchor, something we all feel from time to time after traveling or taking a vacation away from home. Traveling is so wonderful, it is movement and experiencing new things. It is present moment joy away from everyday routine. It involves interaction with new people and for the most part, discovering the kindness of strangers. Michael Crichton in his book, Travels, talked about travel as an human equalizer in which economic status, past mistakes, education level, history etc. are unknown and we are only judged by the warmth of our smiles and our kindness to others.

I am feeling the pull of the anchor. I am back home, at my base camp and there is so much to do. There are good people here but there are others I must deal with. Some people irritate me and I know I irritate them. And then there is our country’s politics and an election is coming. We are in a state of conflict and there is horrible news everyday of people calling each other names, hurting each other and even killing.

I am feeling the pull of the anchor. Why can’t I have the life of a tranquil wanderer when I come back home? I’m tired and I have this terrible cough. Anchored here, I have time to reflect on some solutions.

12/1/2001 I took a day long class on Psychology of The Mind “Thought is neutral until we take it personally.” “What other people think of you is none of your business.”

Al Anon (My dad was an alcoholic) “Live and let live.” “One day at a time.” “Keep it simple.” “First things first.” “How important is it?” “Easy does it”. “Keep an open mind.” “Think.”

Posts of Wisdom from Facebook “Anything you can’t control is teaching you to let go.” “When you can’t control what’s happening, challenge yourself to control the way you respond to what’s happening.”

Class on Mindfulness, March 2019 “Stay in the present moment.” (Studies show this practice can enhance your health and add years to your life.)

My “sickbed” reading, How to be A Stoic, Using Ancient Philosophy to Live a Modern Life by Massimo Pigliucci. (A lot of simple but clear presentations about Stoicism on youtube.com) “Remain calm under pressure and avoid emotional extremes.” “We suffer not from events in our lives but our judgement about them.” Four pillars of Stoicism-Wisdom (practical knowledge), temperance (moderation), justice (fairness and the belief in shared humanity), and courage. Life is difficult but each of us is stronger than we think and we will get through it.

My memory prods me with these messages over and over and I choose to forget them. I need to practice. I need to pull up anchor.

“Bridge over Troubled Waters” by Simon and Garfunkel (1970)
“Sail on silver girl
Sail on by
Your time has come to shine
All your dreams are on their way”

Copyright 2019 @theautonomoustraveler