Whisked Away! (Despite Usual Protests)

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An evening stroll near our hotel

Well, my apologies. The firm plan was to write a short piece on Sunday evening for the usual Monday posting. But each hour and minute faded away and before long it was bedtime and then the alarm went off. And then I found myself on a plane. Those who know me realize this is not a prime event for me, in itself.  I do love to watch the clouds and landscape– until I remember where I am.

Folks who enjoy my blog are well versed regarding my spouse, Marc, who travels for his work. He has always done so. The last few years more than usual. I have had opportunities to go with him on some business trips but frankly, sitting in a hotel room doesn’t seem too appealing. And if he must entertain customers and cohorts in some packed steak house with lots of alcohol involved (by others as we don’t imbibe spirits) at the end of the day, you can see where that might leave me. Dying to get outside for fresh air, quietness and then a good book while propped up in bed. I mean, I’d happily go to a concert or take evening stroll by a lake, garden or even a tinkling creek. Or a fun venue where we could dance–but this is work time for Marc, not time to hang out, have a blast with his wife. No, travelling with him is like being at home but in another place–he goes to work, returns  tired and full of work talk where I pretend to advise him, we eat meals, and so on. I pick up his socks, tidy up the bathroom after he shaves. It can actually be fun, anyway, once past the mundane.

But let’s face it, going to a certain area, say, in Mexico where one needs to be escorted by a Mexican citizen from airport to hotel to manufacturing sites and back again–well, this rules out leisurely meanders along fascinating streets. Not to mention the uncertain water issue, since I would not be ensconced in a luxurious tourist resort. Oh, I wish. (Trust me, in all likelihood I’d be stricken; I have an unpredictable stomach as it is.)

Marc used to go to Japan frequently. I have few excuses for not going although I was working full-time back then. And way before that I was tending to a slew of kids. His European trips elicited some envy from me (Italy, Scandinavia, Germany, England, etc.–how I longed to shrink and stow away in a pocket), but quite likely that company would’ve declined to send me along. This despite my most invaluable business sense, as well as always balancing a budget and schedules for a family of seven. Imagine! (Perhaps oddly, I do enjoy business talks with my spouse and do try to figure out a game plan figure out co-workers. It’s like making up a story plot wherein I get to save the company millions and insure fair employment practices and am finally the heroine.)

No, he travels alone or with coworkers, even in the USA. It is a lifestyle so many must undertake due to career requirements. I have my family and friends, my daily priorities (plus my own job until four years ago) in Oregon. I am comfortable with solitude as well since the last adult child left 15 years ago. But his side of the story is that he asks me to travel with him and I do not desire to go. For example, two or three weeks ago he asked me to fly to Ohio with him. The Midwest, just a state away from Michigan where we grew up. It was to be a short trip, about 5 days. I declined. I had things to do, I said. Maybe another place. Like Chicago or New York City or Miami or San Francisco, anywhere in Hawaii or Alaska (the last two states I have not been to yet). Not Chillicothe, Ohio, not that week, despite a couple of historical attractions. I’m sure it’s a pleasant town–he told me so.

Do I sound a tiny bit petulant or sadly, worse? But I am truly not ungrateful for his offers. I just have my own preferences. For the most part they do not include flying, then digging in for days of hotel living, even well decorated hotels.

And then a little over a week ago he asked me for the tenth time if I wanted to accompany him on a trip to North Carolina. I’d always had one reason or another to decide against it. The small town he visits holds little allure for me. And it has been starting to heat up out there, the sort of hotness imbued with moisture that builds all day until you move through a veil of heat. Even if it doesn’t rain, one’s skin and hair thinks it has. The very air can seem oppressive to this Northwesterner; walking fast and long is out of the question. Good reason why Southerners speak and move more slowly. We once lived in Tennessee so I offer that opinion from experience. It was inexorably, deeply relaxed.

But I said, “Okay!” A trip is worth taking to try something new, I reminded myself. And to see one’s spouse somewhat more. Marc was surprised and pleased. We found a good hotel in a more metropolitan and interesting area.

I then noted the weather: thunderstorms off and on most of the week.

I began to visualize the following: me sitting or pacing more likely in a dinky hotel room–okay, it’s a roomy and pleasantly appointed suite, but still–and watching television and reading and maybe writing if I got inspired despite jet lag, chronic thunder and lightning with drumming rain and a bed pillow entirely unlike my own. I contrasted that with my daily power walks, writing at my desk, talking to neighbors and friends, music I love on the stereo, eating what I like to eat, going where and when I like to go…That is what happens to people who are not natural travelers, I guess: we can easily imagine less than the most satisfying scenarios. We even might catastrophize. But I kept my misgivings to myself a few days.

On the day before we were to fly out, I told the truth.

“What?” Marc said. “We have everything arranged. But if you really don’t want to come, then don’t, of course. But think about it a little more.”

I wanted to forego any further discussion and back out, period. I then did think of my husband, how often he must be out there working, ever working even during meals, how he goes back to a lonely hotel room. Falls asleep with television on, then sleeps restlessly.

And I also talked to Naomi. I neglected to mention earlier that my oldest daughter, artist and assistant professor, lives in South Carolina, about two hours away from where we would be staying. That meant we could visit her at least for a day. But she sounded so busy–she is working on art for an exhibit, she is doing some summer work at her university, and preparing to sail soon to…Greenland. She travels.

We also have a daughter, a chaplain who lives in Virginia, but it seemed she could not get away at all. Scratch the ole meeting halfway idea.

I have to put the following in quotes to feel like it’s a real conversation.

“I don’t know, Na, I’m now thinking I won’t go this time.”

“Why not this time? You haven’t come out yet with him in five years.”

“I’ll get too antsy in a hotel. Nowhere to really go without a car. Way too hot to walk far.”

“Rent a second car and explore.”

“I’m not so great at driving all over a new city. And it’s added cost for us–the company won’t pay for that.”

“It’s not that much, make sure there’s a GPS for the car, then take him to work! It’s only 30-40 minutes to his job.”

I’m thinking: she always has a solution. This kid has always had answers right and left, and she loves to travel, anywhere at all. I start to feel a bit pressured. I resume my defense.

“It’s supposed to thunderstorm most days.”

“Yeah, it does that off and on out here–remember Tennessee?”

“Yes, I do…I’m a good bit phobic about such thunderstorms, remember that? And I’ll be stuck inside and will get bored out of my mind. Well, I can at least write…but I do that here.”

“I think I can meet you this week-end, we’ll figure it out if you come.”

“I don’t know, Na.” But she about got me on that last sentence.

Naomi sighs, I can hear it despite the texting.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mom. Just go– just for somewhere new to check out!”

I consider this. I do like new places once I get my internal (and reliable) compass realigned and a little sleep. I think of seeing Naomi, too. It has been six months; it will be another six, likely.  She is sailing the sea to Greenland to see glaciers and unknown stuff!

I want to see her.

“I need to go with the flow, right, have a little adventure. I’ll let you know.”

And Monday I was on that plane to Marc’s delight. I also used to not like flying; now I’m better with it and that’s a good thing as it took us all day to set feet on ground in North Carolina.

About when we landed, Naomi texted me:

“What did you finally decide?”

I answered: “We have arrived!”

“Oh, good!”

I drag my huge suitcase (I do not pack like traveler, no) and we find a rental car. It is so humid my wavy hair starts to curl right up but much fuzzier, I can feel it.

What have I done since arrival? Not much so far. Walked for short periods in steamy weather that can take my breath away, though I feel oddly adapted after four days. Read and wrote a bit. Even found a leafy, delightful shopping district so naturally hot-footed it over there and had fun an h afternoon, even though my water bottle emptied too soon and it felt like I was crossing the desert but with a damp wind at my neck.

I also listened daily to bullfrogs or spring peepers and who knows what all that make a happy racket at a nearby pond. Are there cicadas somewhere in there? There must be; we are in the zone for those cool,  weird bugs. And I also wondered about snakes and bird songs. Mockingbirds, perhaps?

But I also packed my swimsuit and after a couple of decades of not once swimming, I eased in, felt that cool water gently cover me and was thus transported. I have worked on my side stroke and breast stroke and just floated about every single day. It has been heavenly to do that whenever I desire. (I need higher SPF protection, however…) We’ve had good meals, with more to come, and evening strolls. And tomorrow Naomi will drive up to meet us–I can’t wait! Then comes the week-end and Marc will be free a couple of days. We’ll explore the region, absorb experiences while catching up with our usual banter, debate and sharing. I will take my photographs, happy to let eyes roam over new landscapes and people.

The trip is not yet half over. Alright, I’m glad I came. There was a thunderstorm already. It was gusty and somewhat ornery and happily brief. There are more forecast near the end of each day, when it swelters. Can’t change that but my attitude is always another matter. So far, that outlook is open and good. In fact, I am appreciative that I get to do this. Marc was saying last night that he slept so much better with me around. And it’s good to hear that, to be here with him, see where he has been coming for so long. It’s pretty countryside with many deciduous trees for a change. And I have slept like a summer’s dream, too, waking up right and ready to check out more.

I’ll be back next week with a new post.  Time to head to that sparkling aquamarine pool!

Sights Set on Siblings (how about you and yours?)

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My dear Allanya, younger of my two older sisters and the only one left me. And it sure seems hats have become a family thing for shade and fashion…I must get with it! (T-shirt is one of several designed/hand drawn by her partner, a fine artist.)

I keep planning on getting back to more thought-provoking or inspirational narratives. (A good working title grabbed my attention yesterday. Since I like how titles pop up and grab hold, I may use it later; an idea is already making a comfy spot inside my mind.) But…early summer is upon us which means more time outdoors, sights to see, people to visit with–more basic and ofttimes long-awaited (while it rained for seven months) fun to  enjoy. Even–maybe especially– amid the heart-trouncing times when we are apt to feel too often helpless. So I do feel compelled to go out and find a variety of joys to add to my store, as well as share them.

That was easy to achieve with a visit from the younger of my two older brothers and my sister-in-law, Wayne and Judy. They are near-constant world travelers and zealous photographers (and exhibit their photographs). This time they only drove from back East across the United States, up the West coast and then paused in Oregon for about a week. So we got to hang out. I last was in Wayne’s company at my oldest sister’s funeral service in Texas two years ago. Our other sister and brother, Allanya and Gary, joined in during the visit, as well. We four are in our sixties through late seventies and are generally up to discovering whatever is curious, entertaining or educational–or otherwise are ready to something happen.

We share a few characteristics as family members do: mostly large blue or blue-grey eyes and generally early grey hair (mine came late in early sixties); musical talent; a lifelong love of learning added to a deep passion for all the arts; resilience and industriousness; heart disease and related issues; enjoyment of facile to ponderous conversation, often peppered with puns, light sarcasm or teasing; and an abiding sense of God’s Presence in one way or another. Of course, we sport many differences but you can tell we’re blood family when you see and hear us together.  We’re all creative so are a bit nutty, some of us more than others. (We also have some quirks, etc., of course–but that is not for this post!)

No one wants to think while telling tales, guffawing while scarfing down a tasty meal, strolling among refined gardens or indulging in nostalgia that this visit may be the last time we are all together…Those of us yet here, that is. If our oldest sibling, Marinell, could pass on sooner than expected–a sister so kind and capable, lively and eager to enjoy another day until she became rapidly, critically ill– we have to realistically accept that any of our troupe can also surprise us, one day stepping out the back door. We are trying to win this battle with a genetic tendency to falter and quit life due to heart ailments. But you cannot pull it off forever, likely–certainly not that exit from one world to another.

So I revel in our fewer times together–I, the last to be born, who felt a bit left behind at thirteen. They had all left for college in rapid succession. So I am yet the last one in line, still the one feeling: Hold on, stay longer, let’s make this gathering last and last. I am not ready to lose any other but then, we seldom if ever areI am terribly grateful for all the family I was given.

Over the last three days our simple, satisfying pleasures were such that I decided to post a sampling here. There are a few pictures of my siblings but not one of us all together due to our varying schedules, with meetings shared as best we could manage.

Have you seen your siblings in a while? I entirely recommend it. Think you have some differences of opinion that may create a wedge? Overlook or ignore them. Nursing an ancient grudge from childhood or a new one that has not been managed well? I hope you find a way to rectify the situation or just determine to improve that ill will. There is nothing like a brother or sister with whom to share a meandering story, a delicious meal, a belly laugh and an encompassing, deeply familiar and loving hug.

So to begin. You can see I was happy and excited waiting by my dining table with with a favorite yellow tablecloth and slightly wild flowers. I always have flowers about if possible. I’m thinking: ten minutes til the first hugs!

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We dined well on Thai take out as no, I do not cook much, anymore, and Marc declined due to being tired from business travel. He is not in this story as he flew out early the next day. (You might note that the left hand photo on the wall is brother Wayne’s; I believe it was taken on Santorini.) We caught up quite a lot, ate and later parted ways until the next day when we went to Washington Park for photographic explorations with more yakking.

Below is Mt. Hood rising regally beyond Portland from a viewpoint within our close-to-city-center Washington Park. It is a lush 410 acres of steeply wooded land and connects to our 5000 acre Forest Park in the urban area. It holds within it an array of delights including Oregon Zoo, Japanese Garden, International Rose Test Garden, Hoyt Arboretum, a small train to ride and a forestry center and more.

We focused on the Rose Garden and Japanese Garden. Near the bottom is brother Wayne and me.

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Following becoming half-drunk on 550 varieties of about 7000 rose plants’ wiles, their beauty and perfumes, we headed to the Japanese Garden, considered entirely authentic. I have posted many seasonal pictures of this garden. One of my favorite places in the city, I spent many hours there seeking refuge and solace (as did so many others) after 9/11. I very much value how it brings people together from around the world who visit our state. I continue to find it a healing place. High up above the city, the murmuring air and sweet green light imbues all. Enjoy a slideshow of some sights.

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Below are pictures of my brother focusing on a shot as well as Wayne and Judy trying to capture the leisurely yet oddly elusive koi with their cameras. They were so exacting as they looked for shots while I am snapping away at everything that caught my continually sweeping vision. Sister Allanya was caught off guard but good-natured when I snapped her in the last frame. (Note the hat on Wayne.)

We had a delicious salmon dinner at Allanya’s and her partner’s house and enjoyed lots of talk of books we were reading, and odd or fabulous foods we’d eaten. Snake wine, anyone? (Per brother and his wife, they were not able to drink that one.) That night we also went to hear oldest brother Gary play with his band Kung Pao Chickens at Laurelthirst Public House. They play Gypsy jazz/swing/bossa nova and have recorded several albums. Couples were enthusiastically dancing to the swing music. We met a niece and her guy there. At 79, my brother remains a hard-working, very respected jazz musician around these parts. He plays multiple instruments and also sings the old jazz standards, the same ones I used to love to sing. We didn’t tell him in advance we were coming; he was very pleased and surprised to see us. (Note the hat on Gary.)

The next day we visited Matthews Memory Lane Motors, Inc. Why? All of us love classic cars! We had a blast oggling, oohing and aahing, then taking a few pictures. It was hard to get full body shots as they were packed in rather tightly. But here are a few; feast your eyes. I’ll take the black Thunderbird, please. Or maybe the Packard.

We later stopped by Gary’s place. I like the outdoor spaces as you step through french doors, onto a curving back deck and beyond where my brother has a music clubhouse and his lady, Annie, a wonderful painter and print maker, has a light-filled art studio. There was a busy, bobbing chicken scratching around out there, too, but I failed to nab her portrait before she hid.

We ate a last shared meal dinner at Cafe Mingo, a fine Italian restaurant, and then it was finally farewell. My brother and sister-in-law were off to a photography workshop for five days in the State of Washington. Following that they are making their way through at least two more national parks before heading home. Altogether, I think it will be a 6-8 week road trip. Stout stuff they are made of, for certain but then, they’ve been to dozens of unfamiliar places, the Galapagos Islands and Patagonia and such.And have the photography files to prove it, which I love to peruse.

It was a happy visit, a good time had by each in our own ways. I am gratified that another year did not go by without my seeing all of us together again. I admire my siblings for all their accomplishments but mostly, I just love them (plus their spouses) simply because we are family. We are connected, no matter what.

We missed you and your sparkling laugh, Marinell.

Foggy Predators, Ghostly Ships: Day 3 of the Coastal Trip

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All photographs by Cynthia Guenther Richardson

That watchful bald eagle on a basalt mound whose photo I posted last time was patiently waiting for a strike at his prey.  Success was not a surprise but the unfolding event was at once thrilling and sobering. Such precision! The crying and diving seagulls tried in vain to retrieve one of their own but the eagle was not even detained.

For humans, there’s something to be said for reasonable proximity to civilization with its conveniences and comforts. Yet we still seek wilder places if we respect, appreciate and even revere nature, as do I. I am quickly released of angst or drear, from any worldly mental detritus as my home city’s buzz and bombast is left behind. A more primitive mind is set in motion as senses are stimulated, satiated. And sometimes roused by a flashes of alarm here and there as rain forest and ocean (and other Northwest landscapes) take greater charge. More on this in a bit.

First, a few sights on the still-quiet main street of Cannon Beach since low season prevails until Memorial Day (5/29). There was a chill drizzle but we always mosey about. (I have gotten better shots in sunshine though the shops are still attractive–see my older Cannon Beach posts for prettier weather.) I tend to stop at Josephine’s to peruse the handcrafted jewelry–and chose lovely earrings. The fish and chips spot we so enjoy is not pictured, unfortunately, but is called Tom’s Fish and Chips–oddly enough! I highly recommend it.

We decided to take a drive up to a favorite spot, Ecola State Park, part of the Lewis and Clark National and Historical State Park. The narrow road winds up through old growth rain forest and thick mist hovered and shifted among the branches. The park stretches about Tillamook Head, affording famous views when clearer. It boasts viewpoints of numbers of capes, headlands and basalt rock formations.

As we parked we were one of two vehicles there. This place can feel eery, perhaps due to terrible ship wrecks over a couple of centuries or more. (The  nearby Tillamook Lighthouse was deactivated due to the dangerousness of these waters and weather.) There was greater erosion this time with fenced off areas after very stormy weather over the past year. The foamy waves below us, right beyond the cliffs of headlands, crashed and overreached all else, imbued with such kinetic energy and hidden life. A clinging fog, heavy, steely skies and the ceaseless crashing waves heard even from headlands trails emphasized this.

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Marc went to get a closer look at the sea as I wandered about alone. Suddenly in the distance a crow cawed incessantly, rhythmically, an alarm in the obscuring and isolating fog. My heart changed gears as vision and hearing tuned in. I looked around, studying bushes and forest for signs of other creatures, human or otherwise. For this is bear, cougar and elk country; there have been many such sightings. I hadn’t checked the sign that is always updated with sightings, as landslides had closed longer trails. Though I couldn’t see or hear any other unusual movement or sound, the crow’s calling kept me alert as I made my way back towards Marc. I had such a strong feeling of being covertly watched that I called out to him; he didn’t hear me due to the deafening ocean. Since I’ve had encounters in our NW and also Canadian wilderness with bears, I know to not run. But the urge can be powerful…Cougars are such sly predators, especially, not as easily kept at bay by loud human commotion and noises as bears. I hoped for the great elk, which we’ve seen in the area.

But this time I would not discover what was there or not there. The fog hung thick upon all, the stillness prevailed after the crow quieted and we were soon on our way. Was it me that startled the sentinel crow into full voice? Perhaps. It was odd other crows were not about and responding.

Sometimes nature overtakes me, somewhat frightens as well as excites–the part of me that knows a little if not enough, while at some level recognizes even more. That buried animal being with acute sensory signals, sending and receiving. But I remain drawn irrevocably to all its diversity, complexity and magnificence; its ineffable powers of mysticism and poetry.

Said crow is on guard; the silvery fog has its own life amid the verdure.

We head to nearby Indian Beach, much loved by surfers. Alas, not this day. But the opalescent light, drape of fog and the restless sea combined to create more beckoning scenes. Marc, as usual, was shell and rock hunting as I explored. I often reminded him of “sneaker” waves which rush upon and steal lives each summer.

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On the way back up I paused to take a shot of the winding path. Right ahead of me I could see results of a recent landslide close to the path and a picnic table. In fact, the next day, the road we took into the state park soon was closed due to a large landslide. Coastal land is always eroding and shifting; rock, land and mudslides are common. We take certain roads at our own risk and rarely in the height of winter’s rainy season when the Coastal Range is more unpredictable.

That brings us to packing up for the next leg of our vacation. I felt emptied of self’s pettiness, then refilled. As ever, I rediscovered many aspects nature’s majesty, how it creates and destroys, how it charms and mystifies and instructs. And I always feel my smallness, how the greater countryside oversees and and defines much of who we are now, as well as in the distant past. My insignificance is challenged; I become again more open to vaster realms of mind, body and spirit. There can be fear exploring the turbulent, multi-faceted sea but it’s born of a healthy respect. The wildness out there calls to the wildness within and I pull it in closer even as I am cautious. We are not so powerful as we like to believe; nature will remind us over and over of this. We are clearly a part of far-reaching, layered, numinous design.

We begin our drive up the sunnier northern Oregon coast to Astoria. The explorers Lewis and Clark ended up in the area. Named after John Jacob Astor ((owner of American Fur Company), in the 1880s he established a fort there. It is the oldest settlement west of the Rockies and sits at the mouth of the legendary Columbia River where it meets the Pacific Ocean, one of the most dangerous sandbar regions for ships’ crossings in the world. We love Astoria’s rich history and curious sights.

A couple of “teasers” from Astoria are below–stop by next time to see what else I saw!

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The Muse Knows: Day 1 of a Spring Beach Trip

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Pacific Ocean–all photos by Cynthia Guenther Richardson

There are times the muse shows up with a fine sentence or two that beckons me like a hunger-inducing aroma. Or an entire paragraph that apparently is taken out of the middle of some narrative if I could only figure out what it’s intended to be. Or the muse presents a newbie or older story character: he/she may clumsily step forward or scurry, leap or float about or suddenly wake up in a peculiar spot–maybe a tree top or a country roadside or a bar– and then speaks directly to me as if I am this being’s private audience member. Or will talk to another character, and I am warily peering into their crazily compelling lives.

Awhile back I wrote a very long poem in its entirety while walking. The words came so fast, in such an unusual format, that I recorded it on my phone as it flowed into and out of me. I came home and wrote it down with no significant revisions. It took a long time to transcribe it but I was happy when done. And it got published.

So it is true for me that I usually sit down then just let my fingers get to work writing/typing words one after the other. I don’t mean it is necessarily good stuff, I mean it flows quickly. Language inception and usage are alchemy to me. How does it manage to even begin? We–words and I–take off for somewhere or other like comfortable, mischievous cohorts. But not today! Today it has been this: what to do and how on earth to do it? This question wormed it way into my calmly reconfigured mind yesterday and today. Then this afternoon I heard the insistent MV (Muse Voice) whisper: Follow moving sunlight into moonlight; follow the soul’s light. 

You always do get stirred up by light, water, trees, sky, etc., I mutter aloud as the instructive thought lodges itself. Yet this is my only clue for a post? Wonderful, all is simpler since this is my favorite route to embark upon when writing: follow soul first, then intellect to help shape any inspiration. The words will be revealed. Pathways perk up within and without–made of striations of shifting shadows, the ripplings of chameleon light.

But it is a rather broad, misty directive from the ole muse. It might be enough if I want to open a scene with a mysterious glen where human and other magic is about to unfold and the birds are atwitter and then silence draws me to a point of light far beyond an exquisite but faint and far-off horizon….Reality wags a finger at me: readers may not want to hear about a simple visit with an ocean. And what about the hundreds of photographs from a rather short trip to a few Oregon and Washington beaches. Nothing like wading through a stranger’s fond remembrances.

I took a power (and sweaty–it is warming up, gratefully) walk. Consternation slows down mercurial creative impulses so I let it all go. Walks are powerful medicine I must daily take. Afterwards I attacked a bunch of household chores, another intervention for a cluttered mind. Finally, I stared at a vibrantly blank computer screen. I am rarely at a loss for words as those who know me can attest.

My first day back to the blog after a lovely vacation, yay!–and this is what I have? Perhaps too much time off has made me loathe to work very hard on the blog? But that isn’t it. Sometimes I have more overload to sort and prioritize before settling down, getting it onto the page. There is a lot stuffed in both my memory bank and my photo files; sometimes it seems one and the same. I pushed away a tiny niggle of anxiety. Would I get this post posted today or not?

With more consideration, I managed to extract another interpretation of the muse’s suggestion: merely sample the trip’s offerings,  offer up a small smorgasbord of choices for eye, mind, spirit. Let it go its own way.

At last, I invite you to come along on vastly abbreviated initial portions of our trip. The fact is, no decent meander is truly ordinary if we see with welcoming eyes and heart, and the Pacific Northwest coast is mind-boggling every time I stop to better absorb its wonders. There was a wealth of beauty and peace gathered over the days we were there. More pictures and thoughts are likely to be shared in posts to come as we suddenly changed our course (the best way to go) and headed north to unplanned places. It appears the muse–that mysterious, often capricious creative spirit which nudges and, at times, saves writers and others–loves to travel, too. To embrace the multi-faceted views, to enter a deeper immersion into this life. To seek out that light out amid the ruin and peril of our ailing and loved world. It is there, everywhere.

As we begin our drive from Portland, the countryside beguiles us…and we start to simply breathe.

As we begin to approach the Pacific Ocean, we often like to stop at beautiful Wheeler, a village on the north coast overlooking Nehalem Bay. There is excellent fishing and crabbing here; many enjoy kayaking and canoeing.

We arrive in Cannon Beach late in the afternoon. Before entering the town the Pacific Ocean winks and sparkles, mesmerizing us as if this is its job. The town is a favorite weekenders’ and summer vacationers’ spot. We prefer visiting coastal areas during low season (fall and winter stir up great stormy seas) rather than high season. This time we go mid-week. So it is emptier this day, quieter, and this lends a nostalgic and peaceful atmosphere.

Cannon Beach rightly touts a spectacular beach, with famous basaltic rock formations (made of lava flows from Columbia Plateau over 17 million years ago), the primary one at this beach being Haystack Rock, with wonderful tide pools. Other curious rock formations line up here and there like sentinels guarding the sandy stretches. Haystack Rock is part of Oregon Islands Wildlife Refuge, thankfully. Even the lovely Tufted Puffins favor this site as well as Pelagic Cormorants and other seabirds.

To start: breathtaking expanse of the Pacific. And you will see our quaint, tidy lodge with tables and chairs in front. The pond is pooled beyond a waterfall feature that was lovely to go to sleep to along with ocean songs. The red barn with white fencing for horses are by the Ecola River as we walk into town; horseback riding is popular on the beach.

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As evening falls upon us, the ocean is an even more seductive entity with rollicking waves, its roaring voice rising amid tidal forces. Potent sea light which reflects for miles on shifting water and illumines the long horizon alters everything moment by moment. It creates its spell, liming the cresting waves, undulating across sand, casting its radiance on all, even through free-form clouds. The salt-tinged wind (more than a bit chilly and strong) lifts me from myself, starts to set me free.

This is why we come to the coastal forests and waters: to be renewed. Follow a slow moving sun with me as it vanishes behind the seeming rim of earth.

Look for a distant Haystack Rock and misty Tillamook Rock Lighthouse (decommissioned in 1957, now privately owned and used as a columbarium), as well as the ever present Western Gulls who reign over the beaches. The last shot is taken as we walk back across an inlet and to our rental suite.

Tomorrow, we know, there awaits much more and it will be all we hope to find–even with spotty rain forecast. I’ll just follow the light I can find.

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Off to the Beach!

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It’s not the leisurely San Diego trip we planned a couple of weeks ago (cancelled due to my husband’s work demands) but it is the same Pacific Ocean and a very fine beach to which we’re headed to set up camp (but not in a tent– this time). It is blissfully sunny today– and may be again tomorrow. Or yet more rain and cooling temperatures again… the Pacific Northwest is what it is, in all its splendor. We’ll take the excellent along with peculiar or random times–that’s the way we like it. Besides, our massive rains lead to long spectacular summer weather. So, I praise fickle spring: a worthy prelude to greater charms to come!

This short trip is meant to take a more deliberate time to ourselves, of course. Far from city complications, the mechanical and industrial noises, drifting grit that somehow makes it into our home, the concrete grid of crowded streets with historic edifices alongside insanely expensive apartments being erected on countless leveled lots. I need to breathe easy, feel the sea salt air, stretch mind and legs along the sandy and forested coastline. To open to the mysteries and magic of nature more deeply once more, find peace in the luxury of liberated moments.

Hope you all have a more than decent rest of the week/week-end, yourselves. Be safe, be kind, be loved. Until next week–and more photos and stories!