Life is full of days that mark new beginnings. The very first new beginning no one ever sees and only a few actually suspect, when a tiny swimmer finds it’s way to a newly released egg and a new soul begins the journey toward life. The day of our birth is far more celebrated, a day of shocking new reality for the infant just thrust into the world, a day of tears and celebration for the family welcoming it into their midst. And that’s just the start. There will be so many firsts to follow. First step, first word, the first time a child realizes he can say no – the beginning of independence.

Some new beginnings, like that moment of conception, are quiet and hardly noticed. Sometimes it’s a choice we make that at the time seems almost inconsequential, yet on later reflection we realize took us in an entirely new direction. Perhaps instead of going to your regular coffee shop you went to the one around the corner and met the person who would turn out to be your soul mate. Maybe you stopped to help someone out and ended up five minutes late for an interview and didn’t get the job you thought you wanted, but the following week, you landed the job you were meant to have.

Other beginnings are flashier – accompanied by serious fanfare. New Year’s Day, preceded by New Years Eve and often marked by resolutions that you might or might not keep and a big family dinner mark the beginning of each new calendar year. Birthday cakes loaded with flaming candles presented while family and friends sing the birthday song in appalling harmony mark another year of life.  White dresses, churches decked with flowers and elaborate receptions to follow mark the beginning of two lives twined into one.

But there’s another new beginning we all experience every year as summer draws to an end and another school year begins. Summer has always been my favorite season, one I never wanted to end. As a child it meant freedom from school and what felt like an endless landscape of days I could fill any way I pleased. But it also brought warm weather and glorious sunshine and warmth with swimming and sailing.

Then, far more abruptly than I was ever prepared for came the night I had to dig out a blanket. Even in the midst of summer’s most bountiful lushness, red leaves would begin to appear on the trees. Just a few at first, then more. And I knew the end of summer was on its way and fall was just around the corner.

Here in the northern hemisphere, fall is also the beginning of a new school year. Even before we pack away the summer toys, close up the camps, and tie tarpaulins over the boats we’re looking forward to school. Lists of supplies arrive for grade school kids, moms dig out school uniforms only to find their kids have grown over the last two months and will need new ones. Everyone is shopping for school.

For some students, it’s off to college – another life-changing first for both student and parent. Another huge new beginning – the start of life as an adult for the student, the end of an era for the parents who are letting go of the child they’ve nurtured so carefully for eighteen years. It’s an inevitable change in the relationship that everyone knew was coming and some aren’t really ready to accept.

My children are all grown with families of their own, I’m retired, and it’s now my grandchildren who are going off to college, but even so the first red leaves on the trees and the first time I see the big yellow bus lumbering its way along the street, there’s a feeling of nostalgia for the summer that is ending. I just had a fantastic week at the lake filled with family and fun, but now it’s back to work on a book that has a deadline later this fall. In a few days, I’ll start getting texts from my children with pictures of my grandchildren going off to school with big smiles and new backpacks. It will be a time for picking apples and the start of football season.

Summer is ending  -- Another new beginning. 

Mutt’s Nuts is in full swing. It’s a family tradition. A little crazier tradition than some families have. Okay, maybe a lot crazier – but we do have a grand time and create a lot of great memories.  You might be wondering about the name for this event – it’s a modification of a British expression that means something very special. But since most of us are a little nuts and there are always dogs in the mix, perhaps it’s appropriate for other reasons as well. This year’s crew includes my sister and my sister-in-law and me, all our kids and their kids for a total of 24 adults, 10 kids and 4 dogs. There are 14 tents erected for sleeping quarters, and it looks like a Boy Scout camporee.

We own a very small island in a relatively small lake in New Hampshire. When I talk about “our island” it may sound grand, but don’t start envisioning the Kennedy Compound on Martha’s Vineyard or other fancy family summer homes of the rich and famous. More than fifty years ago, my dad built a platform for the tent that housed five of us, and that eventually became the floor for a cabin – 14 feet on a side. It was meant to be temporary until Dad got the real place built on the bluff overlooking the lake, but then he got his first New Hampshire real estate tax bill and decided 196 square feet was plenty big enough. Over the years he added a tiny kitchen and a screen porch along the front side. Also over the years, the building codes changed and now there is no place on this small island far enough from the water to get a permit to build on, so we are grandfathered in for a grand total, including porch, of 423 square feet of space. Obviously we can’t all sleep in our grand little cabin so everyone has their own tent and the cabin has become the clubhouse. Electricity is our only modern improvement. There’s no running water, no heat or AC, no phone, no TV and no internet.  We do have a shower stall, but that includes remembering to fill the solar bag and setting it in the sun well in advance of when you want to take your warm shower.

Some of the Mutt’s Nuts activities are what you might guess: swimming, sailing, kayaking, campfires, cookouts and dining al fresco. But some things defy explanation – like adults dressing up as fairies to douse themselves with ice water in a charity challenge.  The kids love the freedom to traipse around the island pursuing whatever activity interests them at the moment. Card games are always being pulled together, but more often we just enjoy the peace and beauty of this place and the chance to chat with relatives we like a lot but don’t see nearly often enough. Another ongoing tradition is the building of fairy houses. Sometimes just simple creations built of sticks, moss, pine needles and stones. Other times elaborate, sometimes floating, often whimsical.

Every year there is something special to celebrate: birthdays, wedding showers, baby showers etc. And then there are the holidays that usually fall during the year when we can’t be together. One year it was Halloween – all the kids dressed up and went trick-or-treating from one tent to another. This year it’s Easter –with eggs hidden all over the island and next year we’ve already planned to celebrate Valentine’s day. The kids will get to decorate their own mailbox and erect it outside their tent. Cards and letters can be delivered all week.  

Every family gets to fix one main meal, which means the rest of the week all you have to do is come when dinner is served. This morning I fixed made-from-scratch Belgian waffles with homemade blueberry sauce (I picked the berries too.) Tomorrow my daughter will be making crepes for breakfast served up with a variety of fruits, cream, Nutella and other fixin’s. Someone always seems to be in the kitchen baking cookies. Eating well (too well, to be more accurate) is a given.

At the end of each day a campfire gets started and the s’mores kit comes out. Laughter and good times around the campfire – stories of years gone by and sometimes spooky stories get told. We’ve even had musical instruments and sing-alongs. Not rushing about to take in as many sights as possible has its advantages. By the time our week is over, everyone feels rested up and ready to go back to work, but no one really wants to leave at all. Next year seems so very far away. 

You know all those quizzes that get passed around on Facebook? I keep waiting to see if one shows up asking what kind of a carnival ride is your life like? I can envision some of the choices. Disney’s Space Mountain would be the kind of life where you just never know what’s coming next. A carousel where you can always see where you are going and can be a princess or a warrior on a fine steed riding royally through life. Or how about Ring the Bell at the County Fair where however hard you try, it’s all up hill, and most folk never get there. Climbing a greased pole would be similar. A lot of hard work for little gain. Or what about a Ferris wheel with wonderful views from the top and only momentary lulls at the bottom? Some folks might boast a life like Disney’s Small World, with opportunities to travel all over the world and experience cultures and lifestyles much different than those they were born to. And some folks prefer life like a lazy river in a water park. Gentle, comfortable, and reliable.

My life, however, has been more like a roller coaster. Roller coasters can be fun, frightening, exhilarating, screaming, alarming and so much more.  I’ve loved roller coasters for as long as I can remember which is probably a good thing, because in my life the uphills have been steep and the downhills truly amazing. The views from the top have been spectacular, but then there are times when it’s totally upside down. There has been a little of the Small World thrown in – I have visited 15 countries and lived two years in a totally different culture in the South Pacific while working in the Peace Corps. There have been times it felt like I was climbing the greased pole, and short spans where it was more like the carousel, enjoying life as each moment passed at a pace that allowed for quiet thought and reflection. But on the whole, it’s been a roller coaster.

Falling in love and making love is like cresting the very top of the hill, then that momentary hesitation of knowing what’s coming next before the total rush that carries you away in sheer sensation. But betrayal and the unexpected loss of a husband only in his forties and two grandsons still babies felt more like that unending downward spiral into some dark place where you wonder if you’re ever coming back to the light. I’m a survivor. I take what life gives me and though my heart might be breaking, I cope. I look forward. I move on. I believe in the light at the end of the tunnel. But I’m not in control. That’s life on a roller coaster.

Yesterday was a mini-roller coaster in my life. My book, Falling for Zoe, was featured on the Amazon Daily Deal. I did everything I could to make the most of the opportunity, and a lot of friends and fellow writers helped as well, but mostly, it was out of my control and I was hanging on for the ride. But what a ride! My book ended up the day well into the top 100 of all books on Amazon at #59. It was #4 in romance. #5 on the movers and shakers list. Even today, back at its regular price, it has remained in the top 100 overall, in the top 10 in romance and on the movers and shakers list. I know the ride will end. Eventually all roller coasters slow their precipitous pace and level off. But for now the ride was breathtaking and I can call myself and my book best-selling!

Has anyone else out there ridden the roller coaster of life? What ride best matches your experience? Are you an adrenalin junkie like me, enjoying life on the edge, or do you prefer the lazy river or a proud carousel horse?

San Antonio's Famous Riverwalk, a wonderfully serene and colorful escape in the middle of the city.

Every year, other writers have gone to the RWA conference and come home with, stacks of new books to read, lists of famous writers they’ve met, workshops they attended, and stories of funny things that happened along the way. They all tell me how this conference is so much more than any of the smaller ones I usually attend. But until this year, I have not been tempted. My first book into print, Whatever It Takes, came out in 2012 and got wonderful reviews, but it was a mainstream political intrigue, not a romance (although there was a romance tucked into the plot.) For another thing, I’m happier with smaller groups where things aren’t so overwhelming. Lastly, with the exception of the one held in Washington DC, the RWA conference hadn’t been held in a city I felt particularly drawn to visit. Of course, some of you out there are wondering why the city matters when one expects to spend all of one’s time in the conference hotel except when hunting for a restaurant to grab a bite to eat or retiring to the bar after hours. While I enjoy meeting new people and attending interesting workshops, eventually, I need to get away for a bit. Five straight days of non-stop schedules, chattering crowds, and back to back workshops without a break and I’d probably never attend again. So, for me, the city matters.

But this year it all came together. RWA 2014 was being held in San Antonio which just happened to be on my bucket list, and the first book in my new contemporary romance series Falling for Zoe came out in April with the second book Loving Meg due out in August.  The stars were lined up – it was time for me to take the plunge.

View from my balcony                        A boat ride on the River             Colorful places to dine.

I was right about loving San Antonio, but in many ways very happily surprised by the conference. The workshops, at least those I attended, were loaded with great information with leads to finding even more. The networking was fantastic. I got to meet people face-to-face that I’d only known on FB or on author loops until now. And even better, I got to meet some of my favorite authors and a ton of new and interesting ladies. I won’t even mention the hunky cowboy that we all cuddled up to for a photo-op at the Amazon reception. 

Literacy Book Signing                     Bell Bridge Books Open House        Dinner with Deborah Smith 

My editor, Deborah Smith, took me out to dinner along with a couple other writers from my home chapter, and after dinner, she spent far more than the five minutes I’d requested discussing my current project and her enthusiasm for it, which was amazingly encouraging for me. My publisher hosted a reception where I got to meet many of the ladies I’ve gotten to know on the email loop as well as the bubbly and super-nice Danielle Childers the lady in charge of marketing and publicity for Bell Bridge Books. Of all the “events” I attended, I think the Bell Bridge Open House was my favorite. The Keynote Luncheon with Sylvia Day was inspiring as well, and I sat at a table of complete strangers, who were friends when lunch was over. There were a few disappointments: two workshops I really wanted to attend scheduled opposite each other happened a few times and other times none of the choices seemed particularly helpful to my career as a writer. The Amazon reception was graced with the presence of two very cute cowboys, but the decibel level was off the charts and I left with a raging headache. And the two breakfasts that came with the conference were held far too early and were too brief in length – breakfast is my favorite meal, but sleeping in is even nicer after a truly busy day. So I missed hearing Cindy Ratzlaff and Karen Rose.

Handsome Cowboys                         Selfie with Danielle Childers          My daily commute (Best ever)

As for San Antonio, I arrived the day before the conference began so I had a chance to visit the Alamo and soak up a little history – one of my favorite things to do and take a long stroll along the enchanting Riverwalk. At the end of the second day, I hopped on one of the riverboats and went for a ride and another history lesson our Captain imparted as we cruised.

The Alamo                                      Heroes of the Alamo                          Alamo grounds

And on my last evening there, I opted out of the crazy bar scene and attended Fiesta Noche del Rio, a multi-cultural performance at the little theater right on the Riverwalk. It was a colorful collection of song, dance and music from Texas, Mexico, Spain and Argentina, and the perfect ending for my visit to this delightful city. 

Dancers at Fiesta Noche del Rio - at scenic outdoor stage                    Saying goodbye to San Antonio

San Antonio has been on my bucket list for some time. My brother lives in Texas, and during one of my visits to him, the subject of San Antonio came up. He and his wife love the place and thought it would be fun to show me around this charming city on one of my future visits. Somehow that never happened, but it still got onto my bucket list. (Check my Pinterest page)

I’ve also never been to RWA Nationals before so that’s a first, too. I’m not afraid of crowds or new places and people I’ve never met, but I admit to being a little nervous about making the most of this experience. To date, I’ve been drawn more to the laid back, small and informal conferences, and while I’m keeping an open mind, I’ll probably still feel that way when I get back. Casts of thousands and rubbing shoulders with famous people don’t impress me as much as spending time with a few sincere and interesting people. But you never know…

Nationals better live up to at least some of the hype considering what it’s costing me to go. I am looking forward to meeting some lovely people I’ve only known through email and Facebook. I’m also looking forward to seeing my own editor again – it’s been a couple years since I last saw her face to face, and back then she wasn’t my editor. I’ve reviewed the schedule and some of the workshops sound really interesting so I’ve got my trusty pencil and notebook (I’m a little old fashioned that way – always did take copious notes by hand and haven’t transferred that to electronic gadgets yet.) I’m sure I’ll come home with new ideas, new inspiration and new energy – that’s always been an aftermath of a conference. I hope I’ll also come home with some great take-aways and a few wonderful new friends. And that’s not even counting the books!

I also spent a tad more for my hotel room so I can see the Riverwalk from my own little balcony. Pictures of it have piqued my interest, and I’m eager to walk along the lovely paved walkways, poking into shops, perhaps stopping for a bite to eat at one of the many food emporiums.  Since history is one of my passions, I’m taking time to visit the Alamo as well. It’s just a short walk from both the convention center and my hotel. If I had wheels, I might visit some of the other missions in the area, but for now the Alamo will have to do.

However my trip turns out, I’ll be back here next week checking in to give you the highlights and share a few photos from my not-so-barefoot trip to San Antonio. And also to share some good news about an upcoming deal on my book, FALLING FOR ZOE.

Sunsets are stunning                        The lake is serene                            quiet places everywhere 

There’s a lot to love about my island. It’s peaceful and beautiful. There are gorgeous sunsets at night and great swimming in the daytime. Duff, of course, loves the swimming part best. He doesn’t have to wait for me to take him to the beach – he can just take himself in swimming any time the spirit moves him. I have a wonderful little pea pod – a double ended boat designed originally in Maine for harvesting lobster pots. It rows like a dream and we can go out for a trip around the islands any time we like. It’s even got a set of sails and we can sail her when the wind is right.

Duff loves to swim                            The "cottage"                                    Julie on the swing 

My parents bought this little island when I was eleven. We camped on it for two years before my father built the “temporary cottage” that was supposed to be the precursor for the main event, a snug and comfortable summer home with heating and plumbing and plenty of room for everyone. But that was before he got his first New Hampshire real estate tax bill. In the years since, the building codes have changed and building anything bigger would take greasing some palms somewhere to get variances for the setback regulations. Eventually my Dad did add a small porch along the front and a tiny kitchen on the back corner, but the camp itself is still one room, fourteen feet square with bunks up one wall to sleep five. Six if you count the couch.

There a lot of great memories made over the years. My Sweet Sixteen birthday party was held here and I got to invite the boy I had a crush on at the time. We’ve had countless wedding showers, baby showers and birthday parties. Early on, my mother’s side of the family held an annual Clan Day and all her siblings, their kids and friends came together for a day-long event and many of these were held here at the island. But as kids grew and had their own agendas that family tradition died off and a new one began that we call Mutt’s Nuts. My kids and their kids, my sister-in-law and her kids and all their kids come for an entire week of family fun. 

Mutt's Nuts (earlier years)            The Hammock hangout                  Me and Natalie under the canopy

You’re asking where we all sleep, I’m sure, and there’s the rub. The camp is still only fourteen feet square, a dimension dictated by the size of the tent that it was originally built as a platform for. We still have to haul drinking water and use a single outhouse, and six beds don’t cut it. So, every family has their own tent, or tents. It’s like an encampment with tents popping up everywhere. My son-in-law has the biggest and most elaborate set up so we call that site Chateau DeVost. Some families with older kids have two or three tents to house them all. We’ve got a big picnic area we shelter under a temporary carport so we can all sit down to eat together rain or shine. We can also play games there or make puzzles.

Julie at the well                              Philip and Jack                                Jacqui can't decide what next

We’ve got Sammy’s Beach, a lovely little sandy beach in a shallow cove that’s perfect for the littlest among us, and we have a float in deep water for the rest of the swimmers. My grandkids love the place and the sense of freedom it gives them. Away from lives governed by electronic gadgets and television, they’ve discovered the joys of fort building and nature. And every night there’s a campfire. Smore’s of course! And a comfortable camaraderie that only sitting around a campfire can create.

We’re always here in the summer, but we’ve taken to celebrating all the holidays. This year it will be Easter and there will be a massive egg hunt. We had Halloween two years back when all the kidlets got dressed up and went trick or treating at all the tents in tent city. Maybe next year will be Christmas.

Pirate party                                         Lynn & Theresa                                    Philip in the bucket

      Faerie Party                         Halloween

So the memories continue to be made and it’s still a fun place to come. BUT…

For the last six years, since I sold my Maine home and moved to St Augustine, I’ve come here for several weeks in the summer. My first year was for three months. It had to be the coldest June on record in New Hampshire and I shivered every night even in my LLBean winter weight sleeping bag. Since then, I’ve come only after the 4^th of July and leave before the end of August. But I’m finding it harder and harder to appreciate “roughing it.”  No hot showers, hauling all my drinking water, a short hike every time I need to use the bathroom, living out of a suitcase, sleeping on an air mattress in a tent, lousy to no cell service and on and off again internet, (no TV either but that’s not really much of a loss for me) and the utter isolation are getting to me. Not to mention that getting on and off the island requires a trip by boat and a hike up Cardiac Hill to where the car gets parked.

Sammy's Beach            Summer Digs                The Thunder House      Dining al fresco

I hate to admit it, but I’m beginning to think I might be getting too old for this. A friend of mine said his idea of roughing it is a 3 star hotel and I’m beginning to agree. Maybe next year I’ll find myself a snug little cottage to rent for most of my New England stay and only come camping for the week the whole gang is here. I can hear the chorus calling me a fuddy duddy now, but it just might be worth it.

As I scrolled through dozens of celebration photos and articles about our National birthday holiday on FB, and read the items in the local paper as diverse as one about how my home town has once again made a “best” list, this time for July 4^th Fun, to a lengthy ad by a religious group with quotes from important men in our past, it occurred to me that for far too many, it’s only lip service.

I cannot claim that I have done much of anything to preserve what our forefathers created for us, even though I treasure the gift of freedom and independence. I fly my flag, I vote, I pray, and I support our soldiers, but I’ve never personally put anything on the line for the freedoms I enjoy. One blog I read pointed out that independence means NOT BEING DEPENDENT. That thought gave me pause. I collect Social Security. Does that make me dependent? Because I collect it, I also have a subsidy for my medical insurance - although I do still pay a monthly premium considerably in excess of any I ever paid while working. So, just how independent am I? Could or would I give up both should it become necessary to claim my independence?

Then there are my freedoms. Yes, I live in a country where I can read what is called the “free” press, but I’ve lived long enough and am well read enough to know that the press, the media so many in this country rely on for much of their news and understanding, is slanted so far in one direction it’s a wonder it doesn’t topple over on its face. So, I don’t rely on our media alone to figure out what’s going on in my world or my country. Perhaps that makes me a little independent. Thankfully, today there’s the internet where I can learn what’s going on from all points of view, everywhere in the world. Makes understanding things more balanced, but at the same time more frightening when I realize how many others around me do believe everything they read in our papers or see on TV.

I am, thankfully, allowed to worship as I wish, but even that is apparently not a guarantee. If you happen to be in the military, there are those who would like to make it unlawful for the military to allow prayer and even to remove the chaplain corps from our military completely. And there have been alarming reports of powerful people in our government making sure that Muslims are guaranteed their right to pray while at the same time curtailing the rights of Christians. I have no argument with the former, but I am dismayed by the latter. Our government, our entire Nation even, was founded on the right to choose how we pray, where and when and to whom. Why should a small percentage of those who choose NOT to believe be allowed to tell me that I have to sneak off to some private place to do so lest I offend them? I am offended by the very notion that I am not free to worship as I wish. If we as a nation are not offended by this encroachment then we will surely lose our right to freedom of religion because those who wage this war want us to be a nation free FROM religion.

I own a gun, but there are restrictions on where I can take it. I have an income (separate from Social Security) but there are limits on how I can use it and on how much I can keep. I am free to travel, but should I wish to do so by air, I must remove my shoes. let my body be scanned and leave my trusty Swiss Army knife at home. There are lots of freedoms that were once enjoyed without limit in this country that are slowly but surely being curtailed, taxed or legislated away.

It occurs to me to wonder what such men as John Adams or George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Thomas Paine and so many others who we so often quote when discussing freedom and independence would think of the country we have become today. Among other things, they based our government on the sure knowledge that a moral Christian constituency was a given, and yet every vestige of morality and faith has been systematically removed from our schools and public life. I think they would be appalled.

Years ago, late on a hot summer night in our Nation’s capital, my daughter and I came upon a simple fountain made up of three columns of water gushing out of the ground. If there was a dedication plaque, it was dark and we didn’t see it, but it was still hot, even at midnight, and we were drawn to the cool water rushing into the night air. At first we just cuffed handfuls of water at each other, but soon we were daring each other to leap over the columns of water, and eventually we were thoroughly soaked, laughing, happy and feeling very free. At one point, I glanced up and noticed a police officer standing beside his cruiser watching us. Perhaps we weren’t supposed to be there playing in the water like that, but I’ll never know because that man decided to let freedom ring that night.

If the officer had come down and curtailed our fun, we’d have humbly, and drippingly, climbed into our car and gone back to our lodgings. But what else are we prepared to give up should someone in power decide we don’t have the freedom to choose what we wish to do? Our president is fond of drawing lines in the sand and warning others not to cross them, then retreating from the line the first time it’s challenged. Is that what we as a nation have become? Drawers of lines in the sand, giving lip service to what we believe, yet willing to back down at the first sign of dissent? It’s a difficult question and one I think we all need to ask ourselves.

How much is freedom and independence worth to you? What are you willing to sacrifice to keep the liberty you have been blessed with? Would you be willing to risk your home, your reputation and even your life? That's what our forefathers, who defied the king of England risked. Or how about your freedom if you decided that civil disobedience was the only answer to oppression or misguided policy? Our men and women in the military risk their lives every day in places were violence is a way of life to project the American ideal in a world where life means little and religion has been perverted to gain power. What is freedom and independence worth to you?

     It's my birthday and the years keep adding up. I remember the year I turned fifty. The closest of my friends were eager to present me with black balloons and shower me with bits of shiny confetti that said, “Over the Hill.” But I had an answer for them.

“Today is the first day of the second half of my life!”

The second HALF was important to me. For one thing, my grandmother lived to be a hundred and two and I aimed to match her. But more importantly, I had a huge bucket list of things that I wanted to do and I was eager to get started. Fifty was a good place to start. My baby had gone off to college and I’d moved to my new home by the sea in Maine. I had a new and interesting job with a fantastic boss, who is still my friend today, even though I’ve retired now. I look back on that birthday today and it seems like a lot more years than it’s been. But then, I’ve been to a lot more places than even I’d dreamed was possible and done some really neat things.

I took up skydiving, which is probably the most outrageous and exciting thing on my bucket list. What an incredible thing to really fly with the air rushing past, tipping, turning and flipping. Then you pull the ripcord and suddenly the world is silent except for the soft flutter of your parchute. You can see for miles and it’s fantastic. Better than looking out an airplane window, even a small plane with big windows. How I love that canopy ride back to earth. The feeling of freedom is amazing.

I swam with the Whales                       snorkeled over coral reefs                      and climbed Mt. Tafahi 

Then I joined the Peace Corps. That adventure took me to the other side of the world to a culture and climate very different from anything I’d ever known. I lived with a Tongan family for two years, taught English to beautiful brown-eyed children and  made a whole raft of new friends. While I was there, I swam with whales and crawled through lava tubes, climbed an extinct volcano mountain, and bobbed in a warm volcano fed spa of very green water. I dove into Mariner’s Cave and snorkeled over fantastic colored coral reefs, camped on a South Pacific beach and sailed on water so blue it made me catch my breath.

found a new family in Tonga                        taught ESL                                and explored a lava tube

When I left Tonga, I traveled home the long way. In New Zealand I hiked over a glacier and into ice caves, rode in a helicopter and took a train ride through the alps. In Syndey Australia, I climbed the bridge, met a wallaby and visited the Opera House. Two of my children traveled to meet me in Thailand and during our week there we had a James Bond experience, running through a busy market from a tuk tuk driver who didn’t want to lose his fare. We fed monkeys and fish, rode elephants and rafts and participated in Song kran, the Thai New Year where NO one stays dry. In Vietnam, I toured the Hanoi Hilton, Khe San, the Mekong River and the tunnels of Chu Chi and got the “Other” side of the story of the American War. But I also took a train ride down the coast from Hanoi to Saigon, stopping in Hue, Hoi An, and Nga Trang, visiting thousands-of-years-old ruins and temples, cruising on the Perfume River, and I swam in the South China Sea where once our soldiers went for R&R. In Saigon, I had lunch at the Rex Hotel before flying on to Singapore. From there, I visited friends in Marseille, France and was treated to a week long jaunt of castles, quaint villages, churches and pubs and the beautiful coast. And then I was home again.

Hiking the glacier, exploring ice caves    Syndey, Australia                            Singapore, Singapore

Hoi An - my favorite Vietnam city        Royal Hue                                        South China Sea in Nha Trang

SongKran - no one stays dry              Provance, France                             Provance, France  

In the years since then, I’ve acquired ten new grandchildren and moved again, this time to St Augustine, Florida. I’ve become a published author and begun a new career. I’ve spent New Year’s Eve in places like Paris France and Times Square. I’ve dressed as a colonial Spanish lady and worked in a taberna circa 1740. I’ve made dozens of new friends and discovered dozens of new historic sites, but I’m just getting started on that bucket list. So, this year is number sixty-eight, but who’s counting? I’ve still got a lot of places to see yet, new friends I haven’t met and books that still need writing.   What's on your BUCKET LIST?

                                                        Me and MacDuff with Win and Max and Katie

 “Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole.”  ― Roger A. Caras

My friend called this morning while I was working my way through a list of things I needed to get done in preparation for my annual sojourn in New England. And suddenly there was something a whole lot more important to do than refilling prescriptions and making appointments to have the car serviced. Win had had to put her beloved Labrador retriever, Max, to rest today.

There are lots of losses more heartbreaking than losing a much-loved pet and I’ve experienced too many of them, so I know. But somehow when that joy-filled, unconditional-loving, welcoming presence in one’s life is not longer there, the hole left behind is incredibly big. We know going into the relationship that our pets’ lifespans are far shorter and we will lose them one day, but still we welcome them into our lives and our hearts. And we are so much richer for it. Saying goodbye is hard, but to never have experienced that kind of unstinting, tail-wagging devotion is unthinkable (for me at least and for my friend Win.)

A dog doesn’t care how rich or poor you are, if you’re having a bad hair day or have just had a total make-over. They are not impressed with how important you might be in your world – to them you are the world. They accept you just as you are, joyful to play whenever you’re up for it, willing to be a quiet companion when you can’t. If you’re excited, then so are they. If you’re sad, they offer their silent assurances with a nudge or a lick. When you’re lonely, they curl up close by to keep you company. They love you without judgment and that’s rare in this world we live in where standards are everywhere and judgment is swift and often uncompromising.

But now sweet, lovable Max is gone.

MacDuff went with me to pay our respects and he offered his usual body-wriggling, so-glad-we-met greeting. But he was far more philosophical, easily diverted by new scents that needed checking out once he’d taken a good sniff of the blanket Max had rested on and realized he was no longer there. For me – not so much. I know my friend will go home tonight to a house where there is no Max to greet her at the door with a happy wag and a look of eager expectation in his brown eyes. He won’t be there to join her for a walk around the neighborhood, or ask to be helped onto her bed to curl up nearby when she sleeps. Or in this case, lays awake remembering Max as a puppy. Remembering his joy at the beach, swimming and frolicking with his doggy friends, or all those many days and nights of just being there, a faithful, loving companion. 

“Dogs leave paw prints on our lives and our souls, which are as unique as fingerprints in every way.” ― Ashly Lorenzana

RIP – Max

You will be missed.

A friend of mine shot me an email the other day, “can we meet for lunch? I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

I confess my initial reaction was reluctance. I’d just gotten the first round of edits back from my editor and was busy going through them, adding stuff she wanted, fixing things that needed fixing. I also have a new contract for a book I haven’t even started writing that I’m busy doing research for and trying to plot. I have a lady who has asked for my help critiquing an entire manuscript before she submits it to an editor who expressed an interest in her story pitch. And another lady who is one of my critique partners who wants me to look at her “Stuff!”  In short, there is more work to keep me glued to my computer than usual and I was more inclined to stay home and plough my way through it. But Win is a very good friend and on top of her wanting to introduce me to someone, the last time I saw her was at a funeral and we haven’t talked, really talked, in months. So, I said yes.

At some point, lunch turned into supper, but that was okay. Better, in fact, than interrupting the middle of my day. So off I went last night to meet Win and her friend. I really need an attitude adjustment. Meeting new people is always an adventure and there is always something to be taken away, savored, remembered, learned or treasured. Marguerite was something of an exception though. She was all that and more. Win had told me she was an interesting lady, that she had lived an interesting life. Win was understating it. I think we closed the restaurant – I know we were still talking when the bus boy was hovering around our table wanting to clear it. And the rest of the tables were empty and already set up for the following day.

Can you imagine being born in Spain before the Spanish Revolution and escaping as a child to France? Then later escaping France when Hitler rampaged across Europe? And yet again from Cuba after Castro came to power? This lady had done all of that and more. Her story could have kept me entranced for at least another week of dinners and more.  She’s curious about finding someone to ghostwrite her life story and I’m going to try to help her find such a person. But in the meantime, I’m reminded:

Meeting new people is always and adventure – one I should never hesitate to accept. Life is way too short and there are worlds out there to explore. It’s the people you meet who can bring some of those worlds to your door.

Thank you Win for shooting me that invitation and thank you Marguerite for sharing some of the colorful stories of your life. You are an amazing woman and I’m glad I met you.