Books of 2023

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Well, I’m snowed in.  Tennessee had an epic snowstorm followed by extremely cold weather. Our 8 inches of snow will linger for a few days so I have nothing better to do than read books, write about books, sort books and dust books. A perfectly delightful way to spend a cold winter day in my opinion.  2023 was a good reading year at over 50 books reading and listening, sometimes both at the same time.  Cold winter days, hot summer days by the pool and long surgery recovery in my recliner days gave me lots of time to read and now I’m happily sorting these wonderful books into categories.

Category One is re-reads.  I’m not normally a re-reader but I did re-enjoy several books this year. I re-read a lot in my childhood and a soothing book is so fun to revisit.  It brings back memories of the first read—the time and space the book enjoyed the first time that allowed it to be re-loved a second time and make a new memory and emotion.   The Mystery of the White Lion by Linda Tucker was now re-read in context in South Africa. What the Psychic Told the Pilgrim by Jane Christmas is a Camino pilgrimage book I re-read with friends who also dream of walking the Camino. A Gift from Brittany by Marjorie Price was a comfort read many years ago and now it was a delight and a reflection on some tough times that have long since passed.  The Shelf: Adventures in Extreme Reading by Phyllis Rose now reflects my own quest for extreme reading experiences.

Speaking of extreme reading, just as I promised myself last January, I read James Joyce’s Ulysses. Yes, I summited my own personal reading Everest. Ulysses is not everyone’s quest, nor should it be, but it was mine, all 933 pages of stream-of-consciousness prose.  Everyday for a couple of months I would listen/read for 30 minutes and that was about all I could take.  I listened to the lectures for some much-needed help and kept going until one fine spring day I finally finished.  I’m glad I made it through, and I see why it is so important in the development of modern literature.  Time will tell if I get called back to James Joyce but, in the meantime, I am savoring my armchair triumph.  I’m keeping my copy as a trophy.

Continuing my literature quest for the year, I read some of the most delightful books of my life.  Don’t be intimidated by these classics–they are famous for a reason.  After Ulysses I read Virginia Woolf: Mrs. Dalloway, Orlando and A Room of One’s Own. I also read some of Virginia’s biography by Hermione Lee.  On our trip to Canada, Hamilton and I listened/read Moby Dick by Herman Melville.  I didn’t really have preconceived ideas but didn’t think a whaling novel would be my thing.  Ohhh was I wrong.  Some of the most beautiful and insightful writing in the English language.  If you want a very rewarding reading challenge read/listen to Moby Dick.  I only had a vague idea of the ending, so I relished the last page of this epic novel.  Middlemarch by George Eliot was what first inspired me to take a deep dive into classic literature and the two months I spent in a recliner gave me the time and space to savor this glorious 688-page/36-hour novel.  My final great book of 2023 was Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte. I read it over 30 years ago and loved it and I loved it even more in the re-read and will be on my re-read list for many decades. What a beautiful and very readable book. In 2024 I’m going to keep on my literature quest with Ben at The Hardcore Literature Book Club. I’m very excited about this year’s book schedule.

completed books

In the spiritual category I read about nine books.  My favorites were Advice Not Given by Mark Epstein, The Endless Practice by Mark Nepo and A Year in the Woods by Torbjorn Ekelund —which is more of a nature book but nature and spirituality cannot be separated in my life. I also enjoyed Walking a Literary Labyrinth: A Spirituality of Reading by Nancy Malone.

Now, for the final non-fiction category. Mapping the Darkness by Kenneth Miller is about the history of the science of sleep which is a very late development in our medical knowledge.  I was particularly interested in this book because my father took part in these early sleep studies at the University of Chicago in the 1950’s- he would have personally known the researchers in the book.  Reading this book was like a little glimpse into his past and I felt comforted by knowing a bit more about this part of his life.  I did a deep dive into opera and particularly modern opera with The Impossible Art by Matthew Aucoin—remember I had nothing to do for over two months and my mind needed lots of attention.   I also liked Selfie: How the West became Self-obsessed by Will Storr and Strangers in Paradise by James Grubman.

Some of the books of 2023 are going on the library shelves, some are getting sold to pay for new books and a few prized books get their own special place in my heart.  I’ve started my new pile TBR (to be read) for 2024.  I usually keep 3-4 going at all times for any mood or concentration level.  I have a growing pile of literature, spirituality, light novels and non-fiction waiting to take me into new worlds..

2024 TBR pile

Labyrinth

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My labyrinth and deer friend

I’ve been wanting a labyrinth on the farm for as long as I have lived here, almost 11 years now.  Circumstances were just not right until just last month.  Labyrinths have been used for millennia for meditation, an internal pilgrimage to the heart and then back out into the world. The circular pathway leads in and out, back and forth until the center, the core of the journey, is reached.  Then the process reverses until the pilgrim comes to the beginning and back out to everyday life renewed from this gentle process.  Over the years I have walked many labyrinths and find them peaceful, joyful and always a respite from the busy and noisy world. 

The wait for my labyrinth was long but the timing could not have been more perfect.  Finally, I felt I settled on the location and position.  I knew I wanted a modest size, just 7 courses.  As we laid out the labyrinth, the final pattern became clear and just right for my land.  Over the next few days my friends Mike and Rob cut into the sod and laid old brick flush into the land. Under the center bricks I laid the sand and rocks I’ve collected from my many journeys around the world to bring my experiences and dedication to the pilgrim life to the land where I live.  You can’t see the labyrinth until you are right on it, making it a secret space in the open grass.  In the spring I’m planting a little mediation garden with a bench to rest or just contemplate this sacred space.

Labyrinths are pilgrimages, not to far off places, but to the heart of the matter right where you are. And a labyrinth has certainly been a symbol of my life for the last few months, as I have been on a long journey and never left my house—never left my chair.  In September I had a total ankle replacement so I could walk again without pain.  I had injured my left ankle many times over many years and the joint was damaged beyond repair.  I knew I had a bad ankle but I didn’t realize how bad.  Ankles require a long healing time so I scheduled surgery for after the summer and travel but with the hope I would be better for the holidays.

My view for months

The surgery went well and my ankle was finally straight. But then began the long process of healing.  I moved a bed downstairs, purchased a knee scooter, brought in a recliner and had a pile of books ready to read.  I had a cast for three weeks and was unable to do anything during that time.  I was in my chair all day reading, watching YouTube and sleeping.  It was a miserable time. Fortunately, I had a village.  Hamilton took care of me at night and slept on the couch nearby. Caroline ran errands. Our dear friend Maddie took care of the pets and the house. My beloved community of friends brought food for the first four weeks.  I so appreciated everyone’s kindness, flowers, food, conversations…I needed every bit of it to bolster my spirits so I could heal.

Flowers from my aunts

After what seemed an endless three weeks, I got a boot and was able to move around a little more but unfortunately developed a lot of nerve pain and an incision wound which slowed my progress.  Gradually I got better and was able to start physical therapy three days a week. I was desperate to walk again and would have done anything to get there. I was still hobbling in a boot when the labyrinth was laid out. But as the bricks were laid in the ground, I was able to graduate to shoes and walk just a bit on my own. Every step was painful but I was moving forward.  My labyrinth laid unwalked for several more weeks until I could walk with more confidence and less pain.  It was waiting for me and I was so happy to take that pilgrimage.  After two months in a chair, walking that labyrinth in my own garden was as great a pilgrimage as if I had crossed the ocean to a foreign land.  I stood in the center, grateful to walk, grateful that I could have a new ankle, grateful that so much pain was behind me.

I still have a long time to heal.  I can’t walk very far or stand for a long time but I am back to most of my activities as long as I have time to rest with my feet up and a cat on my lap.  How did I fill those long hours in a chair?  Lots of YouTube, lots of reading. I read the great classic by George Eliot, Middlemarch, where I traveled to Victorian England and made new friends with the people of the village of Middlemarch.  I spent many hours watching the operas recommended in Matthew Aucoin’s book on The Impossible Art.  I slept a lot—I was worn out from pain.

It has been a long journey but I have learned a lot from this experience.  I have even greater empathy for people in chronic pain and limited mobility—I knew I would heal but so many don’t have that hope. I’m forever grateful for modern medicine that has made such amazing advances in care that I won’t be hobbling the rest of my life but soon back on the hiking trails I love. I plan on being more attentive to family and friends going through physical and emotional trials; food, flowers, and attention made an enormous difference.  Life is a complex journey and so is a labyrinth. The twists and turns ultimately become our life story and part of our very being but with courage we continue to walk forward everyday.

8 weeks of physical therapy completed

Mount Fuji

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Guest Post by Melissa Smith

We started climbing at 4 am. For the first hour or so, headlights illuminated our path and the Moon and Venus hung close overhead. The twinkling lights of civilization lay far below. Fourteen adventurers, far from home and all of us out of our comfort zones, labored up the lava encrusted trail, our breathing loud and heavy from high altitude and hard physical effort.

This trip to Japan was four years in the making. We began our planning in late 2019 for a September 2020 climb. Deposits to the guide company where sent and eager anticipation filled the communication amongst our climbing group.

Then COVID hit and plans had to be put up high on a shelf. Everyday life had quickly devolved into hunkered down survival mode and such a trip was well outside of the realm of possibility for who knew how long. Finally, in November of 2022, we dared to resurrect our plans and allowed ourselves to dream, once again, of commencing this grand adventure.

Our climbing group swelled in number. First, there was our core group; me, my eldest daughter, Anne, my cousin Abigail, and her husband Fred. We were an experienced crew, having summitted Mount Kilimanjaro together a few years prior. Newcomers to the group were my younger daughter, Jane, and my stepdaughter, Hannah, who were new to adventure travel. My cousin Mary, an experienced hiker, and her daughter, Georgia, rounded out the family component of eight members strong. Four members of Mary’s hiking group from Northern California and two young daughters of one of the members brought us to a total of 14 climbers. Note, that was 13 women and 1 man. Also worth noting is the age range ran from 19 years old to 63 years of age. And then there were the myriad of relationships: mothers and daughters, husband and wife, cousins, sisters, and friends.

It’s no small feat for a group of this size to travel to Japan and all meet at the Shin-Fuji train station within 10 minutes of each other. The thrill of finally uniting and beginning this adventure was evident in the big hugs and warm greetings that we all had for each other.

Our climb began the next day when we visited glorious waterfalls at the base of the mountain and then drove to the fifth station, where the four trails up the mountain originate. The route chosen by our guide was Fujinomiya. Our goal that day was to get to the sixth station (the tenth station is the summit), where we would spend the night in a hut and begin our ascent in earnest the next day. Our trek to the sixth station wound through a lush forest and took us to a crater from an ancient eruption. Spirits were high and even a heavy downpour that swooped in as we quickly made our way to the hut only added to the sense of adventure.

This hut was our only sleeping option because we chose to climb just out of season, which allowed us to avoid crowded conditions. The huts at stations seven, eight, and nine were closed for the season. The sixth station hut could only be described as rudimentary and the bathrooms were toilets over open sewage pits. We were assigned our sleeping quarters so we could deposit our packs and settle in. These rooms had curtains for walls and cloth mats on the floor. Anne, Jane, Hannah, and I chose our sleeping spots and then made our way down for an early dinner.

We sat cross-legged at low tables and ate our meal of rice and curry. The local Japanese hosts were friendly and accommodating and seemed happy to quarter this large group of off-season climbers. With a 3 am wakeup call looming, we all headed to our cubbies for an early bedtime. Now, one of the unwritten rules of adventure travel is “no complaining.” And our group followed that rule beautifully! The challenges of sleeping on the floor cheek to jowl, smelly toilets, a 13-hour time change, and middle of the night reveille were met with good cheer and a sense of adventure.

By 4 am the next morning, we were up, dressed in our hiking layers, and had eaten our cold breakfast of rice and curry. Each of us will forever remember the sparkling lights below, the dark early morning sky, and the excitement we felt to finally begin our ascent of this iconic, sacred, volcanic mountain. Mixed in with the excitement was nervousness and even fear. Did each of us have the physical and mental stamina to summit this mountain? There was only one way to find out and that was to strap on our headlamps, grab our hiking poles, and get started.

The path was fairly easy at first and this helped us find our pace and shake off some of the nerves. By 5:30 am the sun rose, and we could clearly see the mountain rising sharply above us. As we pressed upward, small groups ebbed and flowed, talking with and encouraging one another. The younger members delighted the older with their energy and enthusiasm. The older members inspired the younger with their fortitude and commitment.

The guide stopped us at regular intervals to drink water, eat a snack, and catch our breath. Those breaks allowed us to survey our surroundings, savor the view, and gather our courage to push on until the next break. After about five hours of arduous climbing, the summit still seemed a distant quest. There was a point when I wondered to myself, “Am I going to be able to do this?” And yet I knew that unless altitude sickness overtook me, I was going to put one foot in front of the other until I reached the summit. This was when focus and mental toughness were most needed. And the support of the group. We all knew that, together, we had the resolve and grit to tough out the last couple of hours and make it to the top of Mount Fuji.

About 11:15 that morning, I reach the summit of 12,388 feet. It was a stark and sobering sight peering into the volcano crater and seeing the ancient lava formations, but the feeling of accomplishment was overwhelming and the view from above the clouds was spectacular. There were many hugs and photos and exclamations of delight as the group assembled at the top. We didn’t linger long because weather can change quickly on Mount Fuji and we still had to make it back down. About three hours later, we were climbing into the transport van, exhausted yet exhilarated and grateful that no one was injured or became ill, and all were safely down the mountain.

The next morning, we gathered one final time for breakfast and celebratory conversation because the group was heading in different directions. Some to other parts of Japan, others back to their homes.

In the months since this adventure, I have pondered what lessons I learned about myself and life during this experience and here they are: things don’t always happen in your desired time frame, fear is part of the journey, careful planning  and preparation smooth the path, mental toughness is a critical component, each member of the group contributes in a unique and important way, persistence is vital, and if you can fly to the other side of the Earth and summit an active volcano, there’s not much you can’t accomplish in your life.

I know this was a life changing experience for all the young people in the group and I am thrilled that they can carry these lessons with them and use them to inform their decisions for the rest of their lives. For the more mature members of the group, it was also a life changing experience because we proved to ourselves how much life and living we still have in us and that we continue to be up for big challenges. And now, to begin planning our next adventure travel!

Author’s note: Thank you to my dear sister, Evans Bowen, for inviting me to be a guest contributor to her inspiring blog. Evans wasn’t available to join us for this adventure, but we shared an amazing trek through the Andes Mountains to Machu Picchu in 2016 and have plans for more adventure travel together in the future. Melissa Smith

Cousins.

Hearst Castle

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In 2020 I had this lovely trip planned. My family and I were going up the coast of California.  First stop was my graduation in Santa Barbara for my master’s degree, then Hearst Castle and on up Highway 1 to San Francisco.  No surprise that it got cancelled in the epic first months of the pandemic. I still wanted to visit some of those places, especially Hearst Castle in San Simeon, 250 miles north of Los Angeles.  So, for my final trip of 2023, Alexandra and I made our plans to visit Hearst Castle.

Every Friday in the summer Alexandra participates in a group ocean-swim near the Santa Monica pier.  It is well organized with lifeguards and buoys for safety.  I went along, not to swim in that 65 degree water (no thank-you) but to see what it is all about and enjoy the early morning sun and the setting supermoon of August.  Around two hundred brave and fit swimmers plunge in for a brisk swim between buoys. From the comfort of a bench, it looked like a giant shoal of fish.  About thirty minutes later the swimmers started to head up the beach for coffee and donuts before going off to work.  It was a fun way to start the day and Alexandra loves the challenge of a cold, Pacific swim.

After some breakfast, we packed the Subaru and headed up the coast through Malibu and on to Santa Barbara.  It made me a bit wistful to pass the exit to my school as happy memories of my two years of study came flooding back. I so wished that I had been able to enjoy a grand ending to such a happy time but I cherish the memories and knowledge and the dear friends from my time at Pacifica Graduate Institute.

Our first stop was Solvang, a charming town founded by Danish farmers that has retained its old-world theme with Danish architecture, food and shops. Well…maybe a bit too themed… as it bordered on kitschy.   It didn’t take long to feel we were “complete in our experience” and headed the rest of the way up to Cambria for the night.  The drive was beautiful and we enjoyed each other’s company so the time passed quickly.

The Blue Dolphin Inn (Cambria, California) was beyond our expectations. We were so happy to be there early for a nice nap and then a walk along the rocky seacoast.  A gentle board walk meandered above the beach where large driftwood logs were made into giant shelters and tepee-style forms.  If I’m at the ocean than I want to eat seafood. Just a few hundred feet from our hotel was a lovely restaurant with good fish tacos and a beautiful view.  We happily wandered back to our room for an early night.

My favorite thing in the world is waking up, getting a cup of coffee and sitting by the ocean in the early morning light—it doesn’t get better than that.  Our breakfast was delivered to our room early and we quickly packed up for we had early morning tickets to tour Hearst Castle.   Several months ago I purchased tickets for the first tour of the day of the main house and tickets to see the bedrooms on the second floor. 

Hearst Castle is the lavish home of William Randolph Hearst (1863-1951) a mega-wealthy newspaper mogul in the early 1900’s and the early days of Hollywood.  After his controlling mother died, he began to build his dream mansion designed by Julia Morgan, one of the first female architects in California and a talented designer and building engineer.   The family owned a ranch and there he chose a site up on a hill overlooking the Pacific.  The project grew in scope and would change regularly but the final product is a collection of buildings and swimming pools with stunning views.  WR, as he was known, loved European decorative arts and filled every possible space with museum quality woodwork, ceilings, furniture, tapestries and art—all 42 bedrooms and 19 sitting rooms including a cinema.  WR and his charming mistress Marion Davies, had special railroad cars to transport their famous friends to the mansion in style.  But the gardens—the 127 acres around the mansion– are exquisite with both an indoor and outdoor pool.  Now I’m a pool person and the Neptune pool has to be one of the most beautiful in the world.  He even had four ancient statues of Sekhmet, the Egyptian lion-headed goddess, guarding the entrance to the mansion.  Everything was opulent, detailed and brimming with the ghosts of the most glamourous people of the day.   I loved it. I loved every minute of our tour and I definitely want to return.  I’ve been to the east coast equivalent, Biltmore Mansion, many times but I like Hearst Castle even better. 

After our tour, Alexandra and I drove up the coast a few miles to see the elephant seal enclave. Since 1990, these mammoth seals have a breeding ground on this patch of coast.  Such unique looking animals with the big snouts and bodies not meant for sand.  This was the end of the road for beautiful Highway 1 for the time being as a big part of the road is washed out. So we headed back to LA with a book store/dinner stop in Santa Barbara and a final stop to see the sunset over the Malibu beach before arriving at Alexandra’s apartment in Santa Monica. What a perfect day.

In the early 1970’s my in-laws went to an auction that reportedly was the estate of WR’s long-time mistress, the actress Marion Davies’ Florida home.  At the time they were furnishing the house and frequented auctions in Atlanta.  I still have the listing for the auction with Marion Davies’ picture on the front.  They did buy a few things, and the one thing I can identify are some vases that are cranberry glass and gold—very pretty and very ornate.  Were they Marion’s? I can’t be sure, but it is a fun tale to tell and I like the idea that I might have something of the Hollywood power couple of the 1930’s and a small connection to the magnificent Hearst Castle.

Nova Scotia

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Every year Caroline attends a conference for math and art called Bridges and it is the highlight of her year.  This year Halifax, Nova Scotia hosted the event, a place Hamilton and I had on our travel wish list.  Since she always creates a new sculpture to show in the gallery of the conference, we offered to drive it to Halifax so she could make anything she wanted as long as it fit in the back of the Subaru.  Caroline started creating and I started planning—we were both in our happy places.

It is a very, very long drive to Halifax from Tennessee (1700 miles) so we made plans to enjoy the journey and stop along the way.  As always I enjoy the beautiful scenery up the eastern United States but on this trip, I wanted to make some literary pilgrimages.

My sister lives in western Massachusetts and we stopped by for a few days to enjoy her lake home and culture of the area.  We went to Tanglewood, the Boston Symphony’s famed summer open air venue. The evening was picture perfect as we listened to a Mozart piano concerto in the fading light. After the intermission the stars came out and Mozart’s Jupiter symphony enveloped us in the darkness.    

In near-by Lenox, Massachusetts, is the home of Edith Warton, the first woman to win the Pulitzer-Prize in fiction for The Age of Innocence. Before becoming a world-famous novelist, she wrote books about gardens, architecture and interior design.  Edith had a passion for beautiful homes and built a large summer home in 1903 called The Mount that reflected her love of balance and symmetry in architecture.  Well, you know how I love homes and especially homes that inspire great literature.  Our tour guide, Madison, took us around this remarkable home that became a girl’s school and was abandoned until it was restored around 25 years ago to memorialize Edith’s talent and vision.  Later in life Edith lived in Europe and became a correspondent and humanitarian in the first World War.   It was a magical visit and I came away inspired by Edith’s remarkable and varied life.

A few days later we took the ferry across the Bay of Fundy from New Brunswick to Nova Scotia and visited the historic town of Lunenburg and the picturesque Peggy’s Cove lighthouse then headed to Halifax where we met up with Caroline and friend Maddie who flew up that morning.  Over the next couple of days, we enjoyed the Halifax wharf and maritime museum, ate seafood, set up Caroline’s sculpture in the gallery and relaxed from our long drive.

Caroline and Maddie stayed on in Halifax to attend the conference and Hamilton and I set out to explore more of the provinces.  Like many young girls I fell in love with Prince Edward Island as the land of enchantment in the Anne of Green Gables novels by Lucy Montgomery.  So our next literary stop was Cavendish, PEI, and the actual home that inspired Green Gables. The heroine of the books, Anne, was a dreamy, idealistic girl who loved beauty and nature and was grateful to be adopted and finally have a real home, Green Gables.  The home belonged to Lucy’s cousin and is now restored and furnished as it would have been at the turn of the last century.  I could see Anne in every room and the gardens and down Lover’s Lane and by the Lake of Shining Waters. I was a little girl again living my beloved book.

We found the rest of Prince Edward Island equally delightful with pristine farms, potato fields in full bloom and rocky shores.  We spent the night in an old convent that is now a luxury hotel in the capital city of Charlottetown. A seafood diner and ice cream on the wharf at sunset brought this day on the enchanted island to a perfect happy ending. 

The next day we took an early morning ferry across the foggy St. Lawrence Bay back to Nova Scotia. After getting gas and groceries we headed up to the top of Cape Breton Island on the famed Cabot Trail, a beautiful 180 mile drive around the coast line of the island. We took our time and stopped to see the rocky coast at the overlooks and spent two nights at the top of the island just relaxing and enjoy some quiet time where the St Lawrence Bay meets the Atlantic Ocean. We felt like we were at the top of the world and alone with the haunting sounds of the loons on the bay.  On our way back to Halifax we made our next literary stop, Gampo Abbey, the home of the Buddhist nun and author Pema Chodron.  We didn’t have time to go to the abbey but at the first overlook I spent some time looking at the isolated land and shore of the abbey grounds.  This rugged coast is Pema’s refuge from the world that allows her work to blossom and feed the souls of those of us who read her wise words. Some of her best-known works are When Things Fall Apart and The Wisdom of No Escape. 

We arrived in Halifax long enough to pack up the sculpture and then headed down the long road back to Tennessee. We broke up the trip coming home with stops in Maine and New Hampshire to see friends and then the final long drive home. But on those long driving days we had company: great literary company, for the entire drive Hamilton and I listened to one of the great books of American literature, Moby Dick by Herman Melville. I’ve been on a literary quest this last year and Moby Dick was the perfect shared literary experience for the two of us.  We chose a wonderful narrator on Audible, William Hootkins, and I read along in the book when I wasn’t driving.  We were so close to finishing this 26-hour epic by the time we got home and have finished bit by bit in the evenings.  The writing is spectacular and the insight into sea-faring life in the 1800’s are very compelling and helped the long road go by as we were busy living life on the open ocean with Captain Ahab and his crew.

It was an epic two-week trip of 4400 miles, 10 states, 3 provinces and 345 pages of Moby Dick, and we loved it all.  But I think about the literary stops, the beautiful writing, the insights into the human heart and soul from Edith and Lucy, Pema and Herman. Such a diverse group of writers, but writers that each had a unique voice and perspective that expands my inner worlds as I explore the outer worlds. For me that is exactly the companions I want on my pilgrim’s journey.

Front Door

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They come in many sizes and shapes, colors and materials but front doors all have something in common: they are the moveable boundary between the outside and the inside of our home, a portal into our personal space. This is a liminal space, a place of transition, between interior and exterior, public and personal, nature and shelter. This is the space the welcomes us and our friends and defends against unwanted intruders and harsh weather.

Let’s imagine we are coming to our house for the first time. You imagine your home while I describe mine.  My house is all white, very white painted brick with a tall front porch with six columns. The door is white painted wood with inset panels and a brass door knocker shaped like an American eagle.  On either side of the door are narrow window with another line of windows over the door. The windows bring in light to the front hall and lets me peek at who is knocking at the door.  The windows give the door a greater presence and a grander entrance. I do have a doorbell that mostly works but sometimes my guest must text me to let me know they have arrived.  There is a mat in front of the door on the teal blue tiles of the porch.  In the morning my western facing porch is cool and shaded but by afternoon it is sunny and hot, sometimes too hot, but on beautiful evenings I can go out and watch the sunset through the trees and listen to the evening bird songs.  Just in view of the front porch are three growing dogwoods that I planted in memory of my father and my father-in-law.  My current house has a grand entrance but I’ve had all types of front doors over the years. Maybe your home has a simpler door, one that quietly invites you in.

My front door represents my choice of what comes into my life or what I choose to keep out.   Some things that come to my door I want to go away immediately—a firm “that is not for me”.  Other times I might want to crack the door just a bit to see what is there but then close it knowing it is not right for me at this time.  But when a dear friend or beloved relative comes to the door, I open the door wide and greet them with a hug and joyful exuberance, ushering them into the safety and love of my home. 

The front door is safety. The closed lock assures me that no intruder can just walk in, that I have control over who or what enters my life. This security allows me to relax about the dangers and difficulties of the outside world and instead pay attention to my personal and family life that lies inside this clear boundary. The lock on the front door is also part of safety and boundaries. A lock gives only the people who live in the home access to this private world when they want but everyone else, even friends, need permission to enter.

But the front door is welcoming too, and our door should reflect what we show to the world.  Most people that pass your home will not be welcomed in, but our front door still makes an impression. Unwelcoming homes have overgrown bushes, unmown lawn, fading paint, and a deteriorating front step.  Welcoming front doors make a positive impression with tidy house numbers, cheerful lighting, possibly a plant on the stoop and a bell or knocker for the guests. 

The front door is both arrival and departure.  The arrival home after a long day of work or trip to a foreign land. The door is there to welcome you, familiar and comforting, it is the opening to where you belong. After a long journey the front door can be that first sigh of relief that the long way home is over and your warm, comfortable bed is waiting on the other side. You find your keys and they then make that familiar click in your lock as the door opens and you are met by the smell and feel of your home. But arrivals also necessitate departures back out into the world or off for an adventure.

We need good boundaries between our private life and our public life. In this age of social media, we tend to let too much of our lives be seen, like having a front door open to the world for anyone to take our things and intrude in our lives.  The boundaries between us and others have smudged and weakened and this can lead to a loss of self. Firm up those boundaries to make your private life more private, not in a secret-keeping way but in a way that holds your life dear to your heart, not displayed for all to see, take or judge. The front door is symbolic of the face we show to the world. It holds us a bit apart so that the lines of public and private, safety and vulnerability, ourselves and what is not ourselves become more clear, more defined.  I know I’m too easily drawn into other worlds that distract me from my own life and my priorities. But we need to remember that it is a door that can open or close, not a wall that permanently seals you off from the world. That is as unbalanced as a constantly open door.  Closing our homes and hearts, walling ourselves off to the world, can keep us from living life. The front door helps us find that balance between too much of the outside world and too little.

Over time we have become a much more casual culture/society and the back door is often the way our friends enter the home.  And in the advent of garages, my usual way of entering the house is through the garage, a decidedly plain entry to my home. There I go past the lawn equipment and big packages of paper towels with my arms full of groceries—all the necessities of day to day living.   I can go quite a while without even seeing my front door since I drive around a back drive to enter the garage. Why do we need this formal space in an informal world? The front door represents and physically holds those lines and makes a strict demarcation between me and you in the most positive way. When I have good boundaries around my personal and psychic safety then I respect that of those outside of my home. I think a type of formality needs to be part of your home and yourself, so that personal life has those soft spots of inner delight and caring—a world just for you and those that our your closest and dearest.

The front door is the first step into the home, your world within the world, how do you want to be greeted?  What do you want to be your first impression to the world? What boundaries do you need to tighten or loosen to make your life happier and more peaceful?

This blog is the second in the series on Home. Here is a link to the first post.

My family and our pandemic front porch photo, October 2020.

Visit Egypt 2025

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Hello Friends,

Update: the trip is postponed until Feb 2025. Check back for updated itinerary.

It has been over 12 years since iI was last in Egypt but I’m going back February 2024 and have a few places left on my private tour. I created a special itinerary of my favorite places in Egypt along with my guide Auset Rohn at Two Ladies Travel. The trip is February 2025 and includes 5 nights cruising the Nile on a private Dahabiya, temples, tombs, pyramids, private time at the paws of the Sphinx and Abu Simbel on Lake Nassar. For more information go Two Ladies Travel. https://www.twoladiestravelco.com

This is a very special pilgrimage and I’m so glad to be going back to the magical land of Egypt. Here are links to my some of my past Egypt experiences. Thoth, Sekhmet, Queen Hatshepsut’s Temple, Entering the Great Pyramid, The Sphinx. Why Egypt?

Zululand

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Zulu Warrior Memorial at Isadahlwana

Along with amazing wild animals and beautiful terrain, South Africa has a long and complicated history. Before we left on our trip in March, I read A Short History of South Africa as I wanted to know more about the history of the country. I remember bits and pieces of Apartied, the terrible policies of segregation, that crippled the lives of millions of people. But I also wanted to learn about the settling of the land by the Dutch during the early circumnavigations of the globe. Hamilton has read extensively about the military history of South Africa and wanted to see some of the famous battlefields north of Durban and experience first-hand these historic places.  Battlefields are not necessarily my interest, but I was happy just to see the land and I’m always content with beautiful scenery.

We spent the first night in South Africa near the Johannesburg airport so we could catch a morning flight to Durban.  We hired a private guide, Don Botterill, to take us around the battlefields in the KwaZulu-Natal province. Don picked us up at the King Shaka Airport and took us to a charming guest house by the Indian ocean.  We wished we had more time to enjoy the property but we did get our feet wet in the ocean and walk on the beach.  That evening we met with a business acquaintance of Hamilton’s and his wonderful family for cocktails and dinner. I love making new friends and hearing about life in South Africa. We did get to experience the infamous rolling blackouts that plague life in South Africa.  Around twice a day the electricity is cut off for a couple of hours. The big businesses and hotels have generators but homes and small business have to deal with this big inconvenience every day.

Indian Ocean, Durban South Africa

Don picked us up early to start the drive deep into Zululand north of Durban. I was interested to see so many people walking along the highways on their way to work. Most of the people living in the countryside don’t have cars and depend on walking or microbus taxis for transportation. Don began telling us the history of the area and about King Shaka who turned the Zulu’s into fierce warriors in the early 1800’s. We stopped briefly by his simple grave on the way deeper into the lush countryside.  The late summer rains made the land very green and rolling valleys gave way to rocky hills and outcroppings.  We soon were on narrow roads winding through the countryside and the occasional village with traditional Zulu round houses.  The places of worship were stone painted white formed into circles.  On Sundays the people will dress in their best clothes and gather at these stone circles under the great cathedral of blue sky.  We stopped to get gas and some local snacks for our picnic lunch under a tree.

The first battlefield on our tour was Isadahlwana (1879) where 4000 Zulus decimated a British regiment of 1500 soldiers. I must admit I didn’t listen to the details but couldn’t help but be moved by the piles of white rocks covering the graves of the soldiers still on the battlefield for almost 150 years. We then moved to Rorke’s Drift, a British encampment and hospital where a small number of British soldiers were able to hold off the Zulu warriors the day after the terrible loss at Isadahlwana.   The movie Zulu (1964) staring a young Michael Caine is a fairly accurate account of the battle. Once again, I didn’t listen very closely to the story but instead enjoyed the bird calls, gentle breeze and songs of nearby school children—much more my interest.

That night we stayed in a wonderful guest house overlooking a valley.  We were in the middle of nowhere but in the past, there was an active German community that build an impressive sandstone church and now is part of a youth retreat center. After a lovely lasagna dinner, we headed to bed and enjoyed the exotic night sounds of Africa, the distinctive song of the firey-necked nighjtar, the African cousin of our beloved whip-poor-wills. We woke to a beautiful sunrise and soon a hot cup of coffee. I wandered the grounds and for the first time had coffee with vervet monkeys—very curious little guys with black faces. The early European settlers of South Africa were Dutch and Germans and their decedents became the Boers, now called Afrikaans and the Afrikaans language, spoken by several million South Africans, is a form of Dutch.

The next battlefield we visited was Spion Kop.  We drove to the top of a hill with an amazing 360 view of the plains below with a wide river and dam.   On this fateful hill in 1899 the British army engaged the Boer army in an early battle of the Boer Wars that last to about 1903.  The British were terribly mismanaged by the general and it was a massacre. Once again there were mass graves and monuments to the soldiers who died in battle. This time the stories did capture my attention because the aftermath of this battle was witness by two of the most pivotal men in the 20th century.    Winston Church was a young reporter and saw the terrible scene and sent reports back to England.   Mahatma Gandhi was a stretcher bearer removing the wounded from the field down the hill to the hospital.   Both were deeply affected by the horror of this massacre and the suffering and death. This battle informed the direction of the lives and then the history of the world in the decades that followed. The Boer Wars were the end of England’s empire building era. 

War Memorials, Spion Kop. Gandhi’s name is 6th on the list of stretcher bearers.

After a brief visit to a museum in Ladysmith and a lunch at a local coffee shop, we headed back to Durban on the highway. After two days of bumpy unpaved roads, it was a bit of a shock to see traffic and the modern world. I really loved being off the beaten path and immersed in history and the landscape not usually visited by American tourists. But never fear, more off-road adventures were coming! 

The next day we said goodbye to Don and flew to Cape Town and then had a transfer to the beautiful town of Stellenbosch, in the heart of South African wine country. We spent the night at a charming hotel tucked amongst lush gardens and vineyards. That night we met up with Sarel and Johan and their wives, our hosts for the next few days.  Hamilton has been corresponding with Sarel and Johan for many years about business matters and have become email friends. They were kind enough to become our guides for an adventure deep in Tankwa-Karoo, a thinly-populated high desert north of Cape Town.

Stellenbosch

We packed smaller duffle bags and left our suitcases in Stellenbosch and packed Sarel’s 4WD truck and headed for the mountains and through a 4 km tunnel. There were signs to beware of baboons and fortunately we saw a couple of baboon families including babies on their mother’s backs. Once through the mountains the landscape became more desolate. We had a final fuel stop in a small town, Ceres, then the pavement ended. The next town Calvinia was over 200 km away with just a dirt road between them. It is the longest dirt road between towns in South Africa. We drove for around 2 hours briefly stopping at an outpost that reminded me of something you might see in a Mad Max movie. There was a little store with the strangest mix of merchandise; yoga mats, incense, candy and toys—all covered in a fine layer of dust. We finally turned off the “main road” heading toward our rental cottage. We saw some flocks of ostrich crossing the road. They are the perfect bird watching for those of us with poor eyesight. And I must say they look ridiculous as they run–fluffy feathers like tutus just bouncing around over their spindly legs.

We finally arrived at our off-grid cottage and unloaded the suitcases and food. It is a beautiful setting overlooking a reservoir. The landscape is almost lunar –nothing but rocks. But the thatched cottage has two bedrooms, a sleeping loft, bathroom and nice kitchen. There are solar panels for electricity, propane for hot water and kitchen appliances. It is a wonderful retreat for a few days. I was not surprised that there is no internet and quite ready for media free retreat to finish some reading and relax in this windswept world.

We enjoyed a beautiful sunset then full moon with Venus rising on the horizon. Later I saw the Southern Cross for the first time and Orion high above –but here in the southern hemisphere he is upside down with his sword pointing up. Sarel made a fire from old grapevine roots and cooked beef sausages over the coals. We ate them in buns with cooked onions in tomato sauce and canned guava and custard for dessert. 

Over the next couple of days, we explored more of the territory, visited a raisin farm and the local school. I spent long hours reading and napping. The guys talked endlessly about guy stuff but every evening we would gather round the fire and grill something for dinner and enjoying the stars and moon rising over the high desert.

A few days later it was time to leave our desert oasis and travel the rough but scenic road back to Cape Town. It was even harder to say goodbye to Johan and Sarel, now dear friends who live on the other side of a very big ocean. I would be very sad never to see them again—so maybe South Africa will call us back again.  I hope so.

Over the next few days, we enjoyed more of the region; Babylonstoren and Kirstenbosch botanical gardens, several wineries, the Cape of Good Hope, a penguin colony in Simonstown, a Saturday market and Dutch church in Franschhoek.  There is so much to see and do in South Africa that I was glad to have almost three weeks to explore and most of all wonderful new friends to enjoy it with. 

Lions

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Last June I asked Hamilton where in the world he wanted to go first now that most pandemic restrictions have been lifted. Over the years we talked about some dream destination based on difficulty and intensity of travel and we came up with a short list of places to see while we were fit and able. He decided that South Africa was the top of the list so I happily went to the planning phase. I looked at tours and Hamilton had some “must see” places and we also knew some people in South Africa we wanted to visit. I was happy to do everything but the top of my list was seeing exotic animals in the wild. I tried not to be specific about which ones, I know better than to have expectations when traveling. As a certified crazy cat lady, I had to suppress any idea that I would get to see lions. I even wrote about my white lion obsession a few years ago. Well, I honestly wouldn’t let myself get my hopes up. I really want my experiences to be serendipitous, the unexpected and magical.

A part of our trip to South Africa was a traditional tour which included going to a game ranch to see animals. Early in the morning we flew from Cape Town where the tour started to Johannesburg for the 3 hour bus ride out to the Limpopo Province and the town of Bela Bela. This area and on east to Kruger National Park hundreds of miles away is the open land for African game. We arrived at Mabula Lodge in time for a lovely buffet lunch and then checked into our beautiful room at the edge of the compound.  The buildings were thatched with nice porches for relaxing and we weren’t there long when a handsome Eland came by to greet us.  Over the course of our two-night stay we were also visited by an impala, stripped mongoose, and a snake!  After a bit of a rest, it was time for our first game drive. The drives are late afternoon and early morning when the animals are most active. We were assigned a driver, Franc, for all our drives. Hamilton and I loaded up in the far back seat in the Toyota Land Cruiser that had been modified for game watching.  First thing Franc said was “we are going to go to look for lions”. I dare not hope too much.  First, we saw a female cheetah lounging in the grass, I only got glimpses of her face through the binoculars but I was very happy.  Along the way we saw zebra and warthogs and lots more impala.  We found a young jackal chasing a little yellow butterfly. He ran round and round the truck, not realizing he had such an adoring audience for his antics. Finally, he caught the butterfly and trotted on his merry way and we drove on very pleased with the show.

We left one fenced area and entered another fenced portion of the reserve where the lion pride is kept safe from poachers and from endangering human guests. Now these fenced areas are many, many square miles. The animals are managed but they are wild and living in their natural habitat. The game guides/drivers are in constant contact as they search for animals around the preserve, and we soon got notice of a male lion in the vicinity. A few minutes later there he was! A gorgeous tawny male just casually hanging out under a tree less than 30 feet from our vehicle. I couldn’t believe I was getting to see a lion. I got tears in my eyes being so close to this King of Beasts. We hung out with him for the longest time. Then we let another group have a turn and then we caught back up with him laying in the road with the sun setting behind him. My heart skipped many beats as I just tried to absorb the moment, taking just enough pictures to remember, but letting the feelings and the experience become part of my being.  As we drove back to the lodge, the sun was setting over the African plain. The land was vivid with color: miles of grassland were burnished gold, the storm clouds dark and dramatic, the final rays of the sun a deep pink. That evening I felt shaky and emotional; I was in Africa and I saw a lion.

The next morning Hamilton and I took a hot air balloon ride over the plain. I wanted to see the land from the air, floating just above the trees.  We could see the herds of animals, the sun coming over the mountains and the shadow of the balloon silently crossing the trees.  After a very gentle landing and the traditional champagne toast we headed to breakfast and then our next lion encounter. Many years ago, I read The Mystery of the White Lion by Linda Tucker and became obsessed with these lions from the region of Timbavarti in South Africa that have a rare genetic mutation that makes their fur white.  Linda also discovered a link between these lions and the lion culture and worship in Egypt and the lion-headed goddess Sekhmet. I remember looking at a map of Africa and thinking there was no way I would ever see those beautiful white lions in their land.  Well, I’m here to tell you that my dream of white lions came true! Through many intense synchronicities (meaningful coincidences) our lodge was just up the road from a predator preserve that had white lions and I had the personal contact information of the young game keeper, Aliscia. We were able to find a driver and met with Aliscia late that morning.  She took us deep into the Mabaligwe Game Preserve to the Boschpoort Predator Park, a sanctuary for lions, tigers, cheetahs and other predators that have been rescued from people who had no business having wild animals.  The male and female white lions had been terribly abused but are now living their best life protected and loved. Rocky, the male, was laying by the fence, I’m sure just waiting for me!  I spent a long time talking with them. It was just me and those magnificent lions- -white lions–in Africa!  We continued round the park to see tigers, white tigers, a tawny lion pride, hyenas and wild dogs.  They all had sad stories with happy endings.  If you have a calling to help care for these animals, please contribute to this important work —Aliscia is young and dedicated to these animals the perfect person to fight for the health and safety of wild animals in Africa.

That evening we saw lots of rhinos, zebras and impala as well as a small herd of female Cape buffalo but we were really searching for elephants. And soon we saw elephants or more accurately we heard the elephants crashing through the bush heading toward the dirt road. Elephants are not subtle creatures and we were soon delighted to see extensive dust bathing on the road in front of us and then they were off again crashing through the trees to their next destination.   I loved hearing the elephants before I could even see them. 

The following morning, we had our final game drive at Mabula Lodge and saw the elusive giraffe I had been wanting to see. We bid a fond farewell to our guide and the beautiful lodge. It was a short stay but oh so memorable.  We drove to Johannesburg to catch a flight to our next destination, Zimbabwe, for mighty Victoria Falls, the grand finale of our tour. We landed at Victoria Falls airport—the airport was literally in the middle of nowhere, totally surrounded by bush. But I could see the mist of the falls rising above the bush out the airplane window.  During our stay in Zimbabwe, we took a sunset river cruise on the Zambezi River for more elephant and hippo watching and then took a daytrip to nearby Chobe National Park in Botswana to see more elephants, giraffes and baboons.  Botswana has tens of thousands of elephants and we got to spend a good part of the morning enjoying the antics of two elephant families down by the Chobe River.  I delighted in the babies playing in the water, nursing from their mothers and the adolescents taking mud baths. They were so close to our vehicle we could almost touch them.

Our final morning in Africa was a sunrise visit to Victoria Falls, the world’s largest waterfall at 1 mile (yes, mile) wide and 355 feet tall.  The resent heavy rains made the falls so intensely full that much was obscured by the mist coming from the rushing water. But we didn’t miss the power of the falls, or the mist that was like torrential rain, or the multiple rainbows.  Hamilton’s parents had wanted to visit Victoria Falls in the 1960’s but it was politically too dangerous, so he was please to fulfill that family dream.  On the way out he was able to procure several trillion Zimbabwe dollar notes and I bought a few souvenirs so we went home rich in memories and “dollars”.  We left the hotel that morning sorry to leave Africa but full of memories and amazing experiences.  I set my timer as we left the lodge for I wanted to see how long it would take us to get home.  34.5 hours later we drove in the driveway of our beloved farmhouse. What an epic journey.

Home

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As much as I love to travel-and I do travel a lot- I’m really a homebody. Over the last 10 years I’ve written mostly about sacred and intentional travel. I long to go and see and experience the vast world around me. But a pilgrimage is never complete until you return home and bring the wisdom of the pilgrimage to your everyday life. Home is the ultimate goal of a pilgrimage. After a journey into the world, I just want to be home. I want vast stretches of time to be home just reading, cooking and keeping everything tidy. I love to be home. I need to be home. And my home needs me.

I’ve always been a house person. I like to look at houses, read about houses, and visit historical houses. I was very young when I started preferring house magazines to fashion and gossip magazines. When I was a girl, my family would visit homes of famous people and writers. My first mystical experiences in my early 20’s were at famous homes. I could feel the life and consciousness of the place and that is where I learned that houses are people too. Houses have a life of their own enlivened by the people who live there that grows with the house’s history.

Before you decide I’ve totally lost touch with reality, let’s talk about home. Over the last three years, home has taken on a new meaning as we spent much more time sheltering at home from the difficulties of the world. Many different experiences came from so much forced time at home: hardship, loneliness, overwhelm, but also a new appreciation for our private space. As a homebody who could safely gather my family with me, home was exactly where I wanted to be, and I reveled in the expanse of time in my little world.

Home is where we come to rest, nurture ourselves and our family, a safe shelter from the world. Our possessions and memories are stored at home and we gather these things to give us comfort and security. Without these warm and friendly emotions, our home is just a house without love and life. Ten years ago this month, I lost my feeling of home. Yes, I had a roof over my head and a bed to sleep in, but my place of comfort and security was lost to me. My father-in-law had just died after a brief illness and Hamilton and I had one week to move in to the old family farm to take care of his mother who had advanced dementia. We knew this move was coming and were as prepared as we could be but I wasn’t prepared for the suddenness of the move and the emotional upheaval it would cause.

I had a raging case of empty nest and was struggling to adapt to my empty home. When I had to suddenly move from my home of 18 years where I raised my daughters. I knew that my life of motherhood and childhood was completely over and I wasn’t fully ready to move on yet.  So my new home, filled with other people’s lives and processions, came as a deep shock and my feeling of home and refuge had completely disappeared. As a person that loves routines, my comforting routines were gone.

The first weekend we moved to my in-law’s home, it was the first of March and it was still cold and dark and the wind was howling and I was in complete emotional meltdown. My world had turned upside down overnight and I felt I had nothing to cling to.  I was also unprepared to have such a strong reaction to the move. It didn’t help my mother-in-law and her caregivers were always in the kitchen and so I also lost my privacy and autonomy.  It was a hard few month as we settled into our new home.  I moved out my in-law’s personal items, repainted and recarpeted, moved in my things and slowly started to feel better.  It was quite a few months before I felt like myself again and could make the old house my own. I can look back that experience 10 years ago and still feel how hard that was. But now I love my home so deeply that I see that it was just time that I needed to build a relationship with my new space and move on from the life that I had finished. I gave myself that time and grace—really I had no choice as there was no going back.

Because of this intense experience of moving and rebuilding home, I cherish my home more than ever. My in-law’s left of a legacy of a beautiful old home that has been in the family and deeply loved for 70 years. That kind of love and care builds an energy, an aura, to a house that brings it to life though our love.  The family has been in the house 7 decades but the home is over 170 years old and has had a long life before we even arrived. I am just one of its many caretakers and there will be more after me, but I feel the house chose me and I in turn chose the house. We have a deep relationship that nurtures one another every day.  Our homes are a reflection of ourselves and we then imprint our lives on the energy of the home and land. Winston Churchill once said, “we shape our buildings and afterwards our buildings shape us”.

Over the course of this year, I’m going to be writing about the ways that our home is a reflection of self and how we can help our homes nurture our lives and we in turn nurture the home and land.  We will wander our home and see our external world reflects our internal world and find the places we can foster our lives more deeply and wholly (and holy).  There will still be plenty of travel but home is where we return and live our expanding lives—one sacred step at a time.

Please visit my new blog for two new posts. www.thetimelesstarot.com