One Sunday afternoon in November, my youngest son called me. “Guess where I’m going next summer, Mom.” 

“Sri Lanka?” I knew he had been looking at volunteer opportunities there. 

“Chile. I’m going for the eclipse and plan to stay three months.” 

“I want to go with you!” 

Forrest hesitated. “I don’t know what my travel plans will be. It’ll be traveling around and staying in house-sharing situations. Couch-surfing. Maybe working different places as a volunteer.” 

“That’s fine. You go do whatever, and I’ll find a little casita to rent. Then when you take a break from traveling, you can come back to my little house while you decide what to do next. I’ve always wanted to go to South America!”

I was a new widow, and all my kids were being very good to me. Perhaps I took advantage of it in Forrest’s case, but South America! 

“Well, I guess so. If that’s what you want.” 

Over Forrest’s Christmas break from school, we decided to go online to see about flights. 

Delta had good flights at the best prices and offered an immediate discount if you applied for one of their credit cards. Forrest often utilized credit offers to get free money, being disciplined and organized enough to pay them off right away and avoid trouble. The best flight departed at four pm from Portland, where he lived at the time. It had a layover in Salt Lake and in Atlanta, then arriving in Santiago the next day at noon. 

We had vague ideas about what to do once landing in Chile. Forrest said he would look for couch-surfing opportunities. I searched Booking.com and was surprised by how inexpensive small hotels were in Santiago. We needed a place near the bus station since we planned to take a bus from Santiago to Coquimbo, which was on the direct path of totality. 

We would leave for Chile end of June and come back end of September—three glorious months. Forret would get his summer abroad and I would walk the earth for real. Not driving a car on American freeways. 

He booked the tickets.

 “Merry Christmas to us,” I said. 

“Yep, Merry Christmas to us, Mom. We’re going to South America.”

(Reposted from Coming Down the Mountain, where I’m posting new stories through the month of April.)

After my husband Bruce died, I wanted to run away and walk the earth. Or as a normal person would say—travel. I was lost, confused, damaged, cut in half. Not normal. My first choice was to join him on the Other Side. I couldn’t have my first choice. 

Anywhere I went those early months, I wanted to leave. I hurried from the apartment to the car to the grocery store; hurried through the aisles and checkout line back to the car, back to my apartment. No matter where I was, I didn’t want to be there. 

Two months after the funeral, I drove my little car to Southern California for my daughter’s birthday. Her husband was in Guatemala as he so often was in those days. I didn’t like the idea of her being alone on her birthday so soon after her dad’s passing. 

I set off from my son and daughter-in-law’s house in St. George, only a six-hour drive from LA. South of town, the freeway was down to one lane each way due to construction. I called my daughter to tell her I might be delayed. 

“That shouldn’t make any difference, Mom. Once you get past it, you’ll make good time. You’ll get to Vegas well past morning rush hour. There won’t be traffic between Vegas and LA since it’s a Wednesday.”

“I hope so,” I told her. “I can’t drive in the dark because of night blindness.”“Oh, you’ll be here before dark, no problem. Call me when you hit Vegas.” 

Sally had driven this route countless times and knew her business. Her confidence made me think it would take no time at all. Mentally, I turned it into a four-hour drive. Once I get past Vegas, I think, I’ll drive through a few mountains and outlying cities in California, then LA, and I’m there. 

Sally lived in Torrance, “right off the 405,” she said cheerfully. 

What a breeze, I think, as I zoom along on Interstate 15. I settled into my own thoughts, missing Bruce and wishing he were at the wheel like always. He loved to drive, and I enjoy the passenger seat if the trip isn’t too long. Truthfully though, I am no fan of road trips. Sitting forever in a car is uncomfortable.

I stopped often at the shining gas stations with their spacious restrooms and enticing lines of snacks and sodas. I liked seeing the other travelers in their family groups, the retired couples, or occasionally a single person like me. Everyone seemed glad to be going somewhere, perhaps on their way back and looking forward to relaxing at last in their own home. 

On the road, I listened to the CD recording of Bruce’s funeral, hearing the hymns he loved that I chose for opening and closing songs. Enjoyed once again the remarks of our ten children, speaking for just three to five minutes as I’d requested. Not one of them went over the time limit. 

Bruce’s closed casket had been at the front of the chapel, centered below the podium and covered with a magnificent spray of flowers in autumn colors created by our son-in-law Rob. He had registered with the state as a florist so that he could purchase his selections for the flower arrangements at the florist discount. 

I imagined Bruce standing near the casket, filled with love for each family member there in the front rows of the chapel, and for the many friends who had come to the service. He must have been bursting with a father’s pride as his children, from oldest to youngest, took their turns at the podium to share favorite memories of their dad. 

Driving, reflecting, crying, and stopping for breaks as I zoomed through Vegas. Sally thought I was late reaching it but said, “You’ll make better time once you get through the city.” 

Nevada is awful to drive through. Ugly, boring landscape and seems to take forever. Finally, I crossed into California. 

As the sun dropped in the sky, it bothered my eyes. I squinted through my sunglasses and slowed down, feeling nervous and vulnerable. By four or five, I had enough of the blinding western horizon. I passed a motel in Barstow and turned in to see about a room. 

Checked in, I lay down in the cool, dim room and closed my eyes. When I felt better, I called Sally. 

“Where are you, Mom? Have you hit the 405 yet?”“I’m in Barstow.”

“What? That’s all the farther you ? I figured you’d be here by now, especially with gaining an hour.”

“Well, there was traffic remember.”

“Where, in Vegas?”

“No, St. George. The construction that slowed me down outside of town.”

“Oh, that. When did you get to Vegas again?”

“Around noon.”

“Noon Utah time or Vegas time?”

“Utah time. I looked at my watch.”

 “That’s only eleven Nevada time. I can’t believe it’s after five and you’ve only made it as far as Barstow. You’re still two and a half hours away from Torrance. That’s nine hours to make a six-hour trip, or seven if you don’t consider the time change. What have you been doing?” 

“Driving. And stopping a lot.”

She laughed. “Mom, you must have stopped at every gas station along the way.”

“I’m not used to driving long distances. Dad was always the one who drove.”“Mom, nobody takes two days to make that trip.” She was laughing like it was the biggest joke.

“Well, I guess I do. The sun was in my eyes, and it made me tired. So I stopped for the night.”

“Okay. I was super excited about seeing you today, but I guess it will be tomorrow. If you get on the road around eight, you’ll miss morning rush hour.”

“I’ll make good time tomorrow for sure. I always have more energy in the mornings.”

“Okay, Mom. I’ll see you then. Call me when you leave, and when you hit the 405.”

In the morning, I felt rested and glad I stopped. Plus, it gave Sally a story to tell, about how her mom took two days to drive from St. George to LA. 

At her apartment, we lay around with the cats for two days. We cooked and ate, watched our favorite British mysteries on Netflix, napped in the afternoons, went to bed early. Except for the cooking part, we kept the same schedule as her three cats.

I had planned to leave on the third day but didn’t want to go so soon. That restless energy pushing me to flee, to go on to the next thing, was gone. “I don’t feel like leaving tomorrow,” I said. 

“Why should you? What else do you have going on, and besides I have the time off. You might as well stay until Thursday when I go back to work.”

I decided to stay. After all, I loved laying around like a relaxed cat with my daughter in her one-bedroom cluttered apartment. I slept on a mat in the corner of the living room, and I could not have been happier. For once, I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Today, hunkering down in my apartment in my paradise of Veracruz, Mexico during my 90-day retreat that– due to the coronavirus– has turned into a 5-month retreat; I’m not sure why, but I’m feeling unusually sad. Maybe because it’s Sunday and church of course is still canceled. No church, no family all under one roof to draw close and be one during these uncertain, scary days.

The kids are grown with their own homes; they are one with their own families. I’m on the outside looking in and it’s not anything like the same. It used to be them, one by one, gradually growing up and separating themselves from the family unit. Now it’s me separating myself, trying to decide where to live independently and be happy.

As much as I love my children and grandchildren and wish them well and pray over them and rejoice in their successes and happiness and growth as individuals and families, I can’t keep on living in their homes. I think it’s time to get out on my own.

But I have enjoyed staying with Nathan’s family, who made such a loving and welcoming place for me.

This morning I kind of wish I were back with them.

But what I really wish for I can’t have– that would be going back in time, to when everything was beautiful and perfect for a moment.

 

I was layering on the decorations on the Christmas tree at the hotel in San Pedro where we live now. Adding more lights, more shiny balls, beads, red and gold wrappy things. One of the workers came by and complimented my work.

I said, “Is it too much?” He said, “No, it is pretty. It’s good that you are doing that.” I said, “In the U.S., Christmas is a time of excess. It’s all about too much. Too many decorations, too much food, too many sweets, too many presents, too much everything.”

I asked him if it was like that in Guatemala, although I already knew the answer. He smiled and said, “Nada.” (nothing) Continue reading →

I’ve got a new book coming out soon, hopefully in October if I can get through the final edits and let it go. It’s a novel, Afraid of Everything, and you can see here the cover and summary, followed by a little story on how the idea came to me.

Helena Carr is afraid of everything. After a crisis at work, she quits her job and feels lost. It’s time for a serious change, to beat the extreme anxiety that has plagued her since childhood. Something different, unplanned and radical. Sell her house, move to a foreign location, turn her life upside down in an effort to end the emotionally paralyzing fear. 

Before Helena can act on her options, however, she has a terrible accident on a Southern California freeway. Instead of going on an exotic vacation, she is in a hospital, in a coma, traveling to strange worlds of another dimension, meeting people who seem to know more about her than she knows about herself.

As Helena explores this intriguing new world, she realizes the truth about her past and the purpose of her future. And she is no longer afraid. Helena is at last ready to live. But first, she must wake up from the coma.

This idea came to me shortly after I finally admitted to myself I was afraid of practically everything.  Anything I accomplished in life came after first facing the horrible anxiety that preceded it. Continue reading →

My last post was in January. Since then, my husband and I have moved entirely to Panajachel, Guatemala. For more on our life and routine in our new location, see my Coming Down the Mountain blog. I never post here as often as I do there since people sign up via email to my website, and I don’t want to inundate reader emails with constant updates.

But seriously, I figured after six months, the author website is due for an update.

What am I doing in Guatemala? Besides enjoying a complete change of environment, food and culture, I am writing, writing, writing. I have two books in the works and another one planned. This move has been very good for my creative life. Continue reading →