run away

Even the heat loving Bermuda grass has gone brown and crispy now. What sounds like rain outside my window is the drought stressed river birch dropping its leaves. The temperature's 108.1 °F according to the constant bringer of bad news, Weather Underground, and it's like this day after day after day.

Some of my earliest memories are of wanting to be somewhere else. There have been years in this life when that wish to be elsewhere was spurred by an internal distress. That's long since resolved and still this feeling is with me with some regularity, a lot of late.

I can't capture the essence of it in words. Maybe you've felt it too, this itchy restlessness, a sense of things missed, of other worlds. Lying on my back under a full moon at the top of a mountain in New Mexico, looking at that endless sky, the urge to go, to see, to experience everything in this world is so strong as to be near irresistible. The voice inside whispers run away, run away, just go. I've felt it, too, in the thick of the bird-filled mangroves on the Black River in Jamaica, at the top of a downtown high rise looking out at the city lights. It struck me with wrenching intensity standing alone on the edge of the Grand Canyon watching the sun rise and sparkle on the snow. In my younger years, the urge was always for the city, but these days it's for a big emptiness, for mountains, for the endless horizon of ocean, the rush of a wild river.

Recently, along with the run away urge, comes an awareness of time passing much, much too fast. That, coupled with these dreadful hot days of summer, feeds the sense of urgency. Escape. Where to? I fall asleep reading the GAP Adventures catalog that comes in the mail a few times a year. Where to? Nepal? Overland through Zambia? Mountain trekking in Morocco?

I don't know where I want to go. Actually, that's not entirely true. I want to go everywhere, I just can't settle on a single place. I want to see everything, experience everything, get out and away and on the road. I want away from the sameness and the drudgery of working day after day after day. Time's wasting and this is no way to spend what remains. Had last year's plans worked out as intended, I'd be writing this from the terrace of our Mexico house. The different-ness of that place would be a welcome change, but surely after a while, even there, it would again be time to go.

Do you want to go? Where to? Tell, please.

hi

Hi. I love Jamaica. I adopted a son. The island is stunningly beautiful, the people marvelous, the food beyond description, the poverty heartbreaking. One on one, there's no anti-gay sentiment, though every man I talked to assured me there are no gay men in Jamaica. I laughed. They did too. They love lesbians, by the way. The thought of lesbians not being interested in men who might be watching was disconcerting to them. I got trapped in an underwater room of coral. Mike and I were almost swept out to sea while snorkeling in the deep. We were hijacked by a hustler in the market at 11 p.m. Marijuana smoke is everywhere ~ you catch the scent on the breeze like incense from a headshop. We took an 18 mile bicycle trip in the blue mountains, then refreshed ourselves in a pool beneath a waterfall. We saw a rock fight between two men. A voodoo house in the mountains was shiver-inducing divine. The coffee is magnificent and women pick it at $9 per 90 pound crate, a day's work. For retirement, people just "go to the bush" ~ go live in the mountains under a tree. School is not free for children. I didn't talk politics much at all, but met some Dutch people who told me everyone in Holland thinks George Bush planned 9/11. There is no real milk, all powdered. No cream. Butter is rare. We ate a dozen rock lobsters from a fisherman's beach while wasted Rastafarians snugged in the roots of a huge tree nodded and smiled at us. Ginger beer is addictive. Fried plantain dumplings are luscious. I love Jamaica. My son is precious. Sadly, I have to work now. Can't wait to catch up with all of you.

Hi

Florida was beautiful. It also broke my heart. Development is insane. The beach was stunning but a little chilly. Haven't ever seen such fine, white sand. Next to the emerald (truly) water, it was one of those visions that could convince an atheist there's an artist in charge of world design.

We kayaked to a place called Three Sisters. It's an isolated lagoon fed by three springs. To reach it, we paddled down a narrow waterway thick with overhanging brush and trees. The limestone bottom of this beautiful cove is clearly visible through the spring water.

This amazing place ~ a hidden gem ~ was thick with manatees that evening. They arrived with the incoming tide and, with the exception of a few rowdies, were apparently turning in for the night. It was amazing to float across the top of the water and look at these immense creatures resting on the bottom.

Most of them had scars on their backs and tails from boat motors. It's not usually these huge gashes that kill them, it's the idiots who speed through the waterway and hit them at high speed with their boats. It's also the red tides that flourish as the result of overfertilization of the turf grass which simply must be had to set off the elegant homes which are appearing everywhere.

These are amazing gentle creatures, huge and powerful with only a thin covering of fat over their muscular bodies. They have to have these or similar springs to maintain their body temperature. Environmentalists in Florida and elsewhere are battling corporate interests and development in efforts to protect them. I fear it's a losing battle. The area around Three Sisters just sold to a developer who will be installing a condo complex and some multi-million dollar homes. He doesn't own the water, but he can clearcut the protective trees and build right up to it, around it, over it.

I was dumped out of my kayak when a pair of frisky manatees rose up under me. I reacted like a little girl, especially when I felt them surrounding me as I swam across the lagoon. Manatees against my legs, brushing my feet as I swam, huge creatures all around. It was completely foolish and I wish it had been different, but being in that water with all of those gigantic beings revived a childhood fear of lake and river bottoms and I couldn't wait to get back in my kayak. An idiot.

Happily, I had the joy of watching Mike engage one of these rare creatures. He slipped into the water at the edge of the springs and just waited. A mid-sized manatee found him and began exploring, touching its nose to his shoulder, his furry tummy, nuzzling his toes. It would turn away to take a breath, then return to its gentle inspection of his body. They're apparently used to seeing folks in the water in wet suits and this one may have been especially interested in Mike because he wore only swim trunks.

2006 was a deadly year for manatees, yet Florida has removed them from the endangered list. They're still federally endangered, but the feds have handed over all decisions regarding their protection to the state. That would be the state that just upgraded their status.

I am grateful that I had the opportunity to see them, yet I wish they could simply be left alone. Every morning they're met at the entrances to their various nighttime habitats with hundreds of boats and divers and folks hoping to see them and interact with them. Kayaks are the least troublesome to the manatees as they're silent with minimal draw. But even 100 kayaks would be too much for these reclusive animals.

The Luddite in me comes out in the face of so much natural beauty, so corrupted by overdevelopment and the unending influx of new residents. The best news of the week was heard while eavesdropping on a couple of elderly residents who were discussing the many folks they knew who were leaving Florida for the Carolinas. Hope it becomes a trend.

The other thing about Florida is that everyone is old. Everyone. They're also frisky and active and feisty. That's the other good news. The funny news is that a huge senior center one county over from where we stayed has a shockingly high rate of STD infections. The not funny news is that it's primarily herpes and HPV. Docs blame it on viagra.

Debating about the early April trip. Cruise the Mexican Riviera or a week on the beach outside of Corpus?

'bye

Off to swim with the manatees, kayak the rivers and the ocean, dig my toes in the sand.

All I want for Christmas . . .

Betty is better and all is well in my world. This may be one of the funniest things I've seen this holiday season. Turn your sound up and enjoy.

My Betty is sick

And I am fretting and can't stop. This little girl is my second doggy love, a rescued Westie/Jack Russell mix with a little deafness thrown in and a wide-eyed gaze that is as near human as I've ever seen in a dog. Since we returned from Mazatlan, she's been throwing up.

I know dogs do that and she's an investigative creature, quickly onto all manner of grotesque tidbits when we go for walks, so I figured it would pass. It didn't. Thursday she was bad and Friday worse and I took her to the vet. He gave her a shot, sent her home with pills, she slept in my arms all afternoon.

I was on the verge of taking her back because she was so lethargic when she hopped up and began to play her games, got her leash, engaged Billy in the roughhousing she loves. She's a tomboy dog, a rough and tumble little girl, fearless and intrepid and brave.

So she was healed and I've been thrilled and have continued pushing the nasty pills she hates down her throat per doctor's instructions. Only last night she got up and had the runs. And then up again and again. Had to wash her back feathers at 5 a.m. because she could not calm down and I hadn't realized she'd soiled herself and this little tomboy dog is girlie enough that she can't stand being soiled.

Now she's sleeping on my lap but making these little moaning sounds. My magic magnifying mind has her at death's door the same way the spot on my arm discovered in the shower turns into melanoma and limb amputation and brain cancer before I even run out of hot water.

I remember so well how I felt when it became clear that my husband was very sick. I spent many years protecting myself from the pain of losing a beloved Other, and when the doctor called from surgery to say his liver was a disaster and to ask permission for tests, there was a very clear curtain that came down between Life Before and Life After.

Life Before did not take into account the potential for loss. It was magic, pain-free, innocent, lovely. Life After was terrifying, carried an aching constant pain, a horrifying awareness of helplessness in the face of the capriciousness of disease, and tremendous grief.

It was surely the disappearance of my mother that set into motion this need to protect my heart, the protection which ultimately kept me shut off from Others for a very long time. But faced with the loss of my husband (he is relatively well now and I am so grateful), faced with the possible illness of this small dog I love so madly, I am reminded again that loving the Others hurts. It hurts and when I am caught up in that pain I think "Idiot! You learned this lesson, you fool why did you let go, why?" and I just want to run away and find someplace alone to lick my wounds and protect my heart.

Being open in this life carries great risk. I think it's a little like childbirth (so I'm told): you can experience agony but then a little forgetting sets in. It takes forgetting to be able to forge ahead in love and in life. The unbearable nature of loss was what prevented me from a lasting relationship for so many years. The fear of having no control fueled my transient dalliances with men and ensured that I would dip into their lives and vanish before I faced a separation instigated by the him of the moment.

Once love happens, though, the opportunity to flee disappears. I am stuck loving this little dog, no matter what's wrong with her. I am entrenched in loving this husband who probably will not grow old with me. Every life has its vagaries and uncertainties and living in fear of the future is something I do not choose today. I choose to live in love and joy and happiness and I am there the vast majority of the time and yet this morning I am afraid and sad that a creature I love is in pain. I love this little girl and in that act is the potential for heartbreak.

Over it

Mike came into my office at the warehouse and plopped down, saying "it's going to be a sparse Christmas, honey." These words are something of a misnomer, because he's got gifts stashed in his closet from earlier in the year. But just the sound of these words from my sweetheart gives me such immense joy I find it hard to hold it in. I have been over the collecting urge, over the acquisitional drive, over the wish to spend, accumulate, gather up, have, own, take care of stuff. I am weary of stuff, weary of the feeling of being tethered by things. I have been hoping he'd get over it too.

We used to shower each other with gifts. Shower. It was ridiculous, really, almost obscene, but we'd tell ourselves it's our money, we love it, it's fun, and so on. It was lots of fun at the time, but doesn't even get me excited now. How much stuff can one person have? And what, ultimately, is the point? This winter trip to the sunny beaches has cemented in my mind how much more precious memories and experiences are than the next antique compass or potlid or romance landscape oil.

He continued by saying he really doesn't want or need anything and just wants to travel with me. Hallelujah! This is the best gift I've ever received. I am full of joy this morning and hoping that y'all are as well. Ho ho ho! Off we go.

Off to Florida

But not 'til end of January, alas. Food is great, work is great. Sweet Mike feels so much better after a week away, he's making all sorts of changes in his daily routine. My world stopped spinning momentarily when he spontaneously went to the grocery store and bought healthy food. Who is this man?

As with all of our obsessions, we're heading out Saturday to obtain the proper accessories ~ ultra light weight carry-on bags, non-wrinkling-but-stylish clothes, running-through-the-airport shoes. Gotta get some passports, look for a cruise, find flights and hotels in Nova Scotia, Vancouver, Quebec, Belize, Panama, Chile, Argentina. Perhaps after all of that he'll take me to Paris. We have collected, gardened, auctioned nearly to death. I suspect we're on the verge of launching with single-minded obsession into traveling the world. I don't know how to do something just a little; he doesn't either. Some call it OCD, I like the idea of living with enthusiasm and passions.

The happiest times of my life I've been working toward something. This new pursuit will, I think, be the most exciting.

Laugh's on me

Always happy to get new lessons in life, and the laugh is on me today for having been reluctant to go to Mexico. What a marvelous time! And I have gigantic tooth marks all over my body where the travel bug has seized hold and won't let go.

Did get my "swerve" on, did have a blast, did fall in love with my husband again, as well as the sunset over the Sea of Cortez, the unmatchable emerald of the waves, the pounding of the surf at night as we walked on the beach beneath the moon. I. Love. Mazatlan. This changed my head, my attitude about everything, my life. Wow. What an unexpected delight.

And it snowed a record 16" while we were gone with temps in the single digits ~ unheard of in my small corner of the south. I heard that news standing on the beach with my bare feet dug into the sand while the incoming tide lapped around my ankles.

I am on a pink cloud today. Hope you all are too.

Off to Mexico

Friend of mine says "get outta town, get your swerve on, girl." I tell him "but my husband's going." Sigh. Back early December. Don't want to leave, don't want to stay. Maybe walks on the beach and hikes up to the ruins will revive me. Hope y'all are revived and that you survived the food addict's national holiday in good shape.