Looking for Hope

With A Little Help From My Friends

2008-11-20T13:51:00.000-08:00

If you want to read a feel good story, here is one that is sure to brighten your day.

NY couple, trucker help injured butterfly migrate
THE ASSOCIATED PRESS

LAKE LUZERNE, N.Y. -- A monarch butterfly has a chance at completing its species' famed migration to central Mexico thanks to some tiny cardboard splints, a bit of contact cement and a trucker from Alabama.

The insect's broken wing was painstakingly splinted by an upstate New York couple who then helped it hitch a ride south after the weather in the southern Adirondacks turned cold.

To read more, click here.

On the Virtues of Wandering

2008-11-19T20:03:00.000-08:00

Wandering has advantages. We started off heading for the Woods Coffee House located along the Bellingham Bay waterfront in Boulevard Park. But we were hungry for something more substantial, so we ended up at the Old Town Cafe instead, and enjoyed a delightful late lunch. Since we were already near the docks, after lunch we decided to try to find gate 9 at Squalicum Harbor. That's where nautical suspense writer Clyde Ford, whom we both enjoy reading, just might have his boat moored. We didn't find his boat, but we came across the Marine Life Center where we spent a pleasant half hour talking with the curator about their rather wonderful Giant Pacific octopus, a sick sea perch, assorted tide pool critters, and the destructive effects of the sonar used by the U.S. Navy. We left the Bellingham marina headquarters parking lot and headed to Boulevard Park. So, with a few hours of sunlight left we have finally wandered into Woods Coffee House and are sitting in front of their stone fireplace enjoying fresh coffee and a warming fire. Lots of small sailboats are out on the Bay taking advantage of light winds and a chill, but sunny afternoon. Maybe we’ll make one more stop before going home. Seeing the sailboats makes me think of nautical charts. I think I remember a marine supply store we passed on our way here…

… Bob

A Day in the Mountains

2008-11-19T10:06:00.000-08:00

It wasn’t raining when we got up last Sunday morning. In fact there were patches of blue sky that showed promise for the day. “We should do something today,” Bob said, “Should we drive down the coast or into the mountains?” I opted for the mountains. I threw a couple of apples and a chocolate bar into a pack along with my birding binoculars and a camera. We left I-5 at the Mount Baker Highway exit, and headed east toward the northern Cascades.

It had been three years since we’d traveled this road, even before our move to Canada. We’d rented snowshoes at REI and planned a weekend of snowshoeing at Mount Baker. Now we watched for familiar sights along the 57-mile National Forest Scenic Byway that runs through the Nooksack Indian Reservation, past Christmas tree farms and horse-boarding ranches, and parallels the Nooksack River, a well-known salmon river. I can’t say that any of it looked familiar until we got to the little community of Glacier – population under one hundred. There’s the ski shop where I bought my wool knit cap. And there’s the grocery store owned by that young couple. And… there’s that old restaurant with the mahogany bar brought around the Horn and the huge wood-burning stove in the center of the room. So of course we decided to stop for lunch there.

Graham’s Restaurant is located in an old building that originally began as a general store in 1902. When we walk in the waitress says, “Grab a menu there next to the door and sit anywhere you want.” No problem with seating in the middle of the afternoon during the off-season. Their menus are unique… I mean the physical menu. It looks like a small town newspaper. There are headlines, historic photos, articles such as: “Sasquatch: Mysterious, Elusive, and Protected by Law,” “So You’ve Never Worked in a Restaurant Before,” and “People of the Ferns.” Printed boldly on the top right hand side of the front page… “Cash, and Canadian currency accepted.” (Some of you may not know how remarkable that statement is – we have been forced to use a credit card numerous times because neither cash nor Canadian currency, or even a debit card was accepted!!) Pages three through six contained the menu.

They have fun here. Under “Starters” is this: Wedgies Our well-trained, highly motivated, courteous staff will personally cook your potato wedgies in our well-equipped, massive kitchen. You can doctor up your wedgies with ketchup, sriracha, ranch or peanut butter (peanut butter is our least popular). The walls of the restaurant are decorated with miscellaneous antiques, old movie posters for the 1935 film “Call of the Wild,” and photos of Clark Gable and Loretta Young who starred in that film. Mount Baker was one of the filming locations. There is even a photo of Loretta Young warming her hands over the very same wood stove that warms the room where we sat to eat lunch.

We continued the drive, twisting up hairpin curves to the Mount Baker ski area. The ski lifts looked pretty lonely, hanging immobile over bare pavement and ground. Skiing by Thanksgiving may be an iffy proposition. But the 1998-99 snowfall season at Mt. Baker set a new record for the most snowfall ever measured in the United States in a single season - 1,140 inches.

We returned to Bellingham, promising ourselves that we would go back to Mount Baker and Glacier when the snow flies. We have our own snowshoes now, well used through two winters in northern B.C. On Monday, we heard from our friend Richard in Kitwanga, “Its been snowing for a good part of the night, we now have 6 inches of fresh heavy snow and still coming down like crazy.”

Photos: Mount Shuksan from Mount Baker, and Graham’s Restaurant

... PLM

Shedding Old Identities

2008-11-18T15:13:00.000-08:00

On the subject of identities… it is a familiar one to me, losing old ones, finding new ones. I think the greatest upheaval in my life came with my divorce. Everyone expected me to remain in my Victorian home, puttering in the garden and devoting my life to charitable good works, with a little travel thrown in… perhaps Elderhostel. Instead, I fell in love again, learned to sail, and headed north… in winter.

Our Winter Passage continues…

After the purchase of twenty-acres on Middle Rendezvous Island, I had little time for reflection over the next two months. I decided it was time to sell my home in Oregon, which required my traveling there to prepare the house for sale. My 1892 Victorian house had been the culmination of a long-held dream. I thought I would grow old in the house on the corner of Fifth and Adams. Now I found myself leaving it without a backward glance.

I had no second thoughts, or regrets, but I became aware that another aspect of my “self” was being stripped away …that of pride. The gracious Queen Anne house and surrounding gardens had given me that. It had set me apart from others, given me an identity of my own. Before then, society saw me through my husband. How many times had I been introduced as the “lovely wife” of so and so? More often than I care to remember. It was that pride, that ‘identity,’ which I now found hardest to part with – the recognition that went along with having restored and owned a landmark house. It was a double-edged sword, an ego booster that too rigidly defined who I was, even as “wife and mother” had previously defined me. In people’s minds, the house and I were inseparable. It became who I was.

Living on a sailboat a thousand nautical miles north solved that. No one in British Columbia knew or cared that I owned a National Register home, and that was okay. It was yet another identity that I had outgrown, like a snake shedding its skin. Life does have a way of stirring the pot just when you think you’ve got it all figured out. I remember sitting in my car outside the Social Security Office soon after my divorce was final. I looked at the newly reissued S.S. card, at the name MORNINGSTAR… my name. I began to cry… When I returned home from the Social Security office, I wrote in my journal:

(March 1996) Who could have known that there would be such significance in a name? Today I drove to the local Social Security Office to have my social security card reissued in my maiden name. I was not prepared for the sense of retrieval that came from this small act. Leaving the office, I thought, “I am no longer someone’s possession. I am my own person again.”

I still recall the feelings I experienced during the divorce, the fear of losing my identity. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I was not a wife, a couple, or part of a mother/father team. I began to lose my sense of self when I gave up my own name thirty-five years ago. The “I” became “we” and as with so many other women of my generation, the self became submerged into the lives of others. With my divorce I have lost those roles, but I have gained the freedom to create my own identity. I guess that’s called growth.

“If you don't get lost, there's a chance you may never be found.” ~Author Unknown

... PLM

Identity Crisis

2008-11-17T11:10:00.000-08:00

This blog started out as a travelogue. It chronicled our journey across the continent and back with our Jeep and 16-foot travel trailer… looking for hope. We traveled 14,730 miles over a two-month period. When we returned, we continued to blog, expanding its exposure through the Seattle P-I Reader’s Blog under the title “Living Simply.” We wrote about life off the grid in northern B.C. We wrote about nature and wildlife, and efforts to simplify our lives. We wrote about our concerns for America; worldwide environmental degradation; the loss of bio-diversity; and global climate change. Then our world changed… advanced stage lung cancer… and a move to a small U.S. city with a power grid, telephone lines, garbage pick-up, shopping malls, freeways, and traffic. And yes, convenient modern medical facilities where I receive leading edge cancer treatment.

The point of this rambling discussion is that the blog is facing an identity crisis. I could focus on cancer, but I write what I live and I don’t want cancer to consume the rest of my life. With the future in question, I find myself looking backwards. That is what I have been doing lately… rereading old journals and trying to record life’s memorable moments… the equivalent to painting my name on a rock – “Morningstar Was Here.” But perhaps those stories are of no interest to anyone but me. So I ask the visitors of this blog: What brings you back again? What do we write about that you find interesting? Looking back at old adventures? Living with cancer? Every day thoughts and experiences? We really want to know.

... PLM

Our First Days

2008-11-14T11:43:00.001-08:00

Morningstar’s reflections on our first days at Middle Rendezvous Island…

Overnight, clouds have blown in to cover the stars and the moon. Another weather system will soon be upon us. It will bring rain, and our idyllic two days of discovery at Middle Rendezvous will be only a memory... but memories so rich they will last a lifetime. It has been a time to be young and lighthearted again. Heedless of slippery seaweed and rocks that give way, we explored the exposed cove at low tide; mounds of purple starfish filled a rocky crevice, orange basket stars, sea urchins, and oysters so plentiful that we had to hold back in our enthusiasm to take only a dozen. A bucket and garden trowel were all we needed to gather enough little neck and butter clams for dinner. I raked through the gravel, going deeper each time; with each stroke one of us would holler “There’s one!” Bob or I would pluck it out, rinse it off and throw it into our pink plastic bucket. Pink? What can I say? It was the only one we had.

An excursion just to find eagle feathers - does this sound like an acceptable pastime for two mature, rational adults? No, but it should be. We clambered over rocky cliffs and mossy bluffs, whacked our way through waist-high salal, looking up at snags, and under them for the tell-tale signs of eagle feasting - a fishtail, rodent skull, feathers, small bones. We didn’t find an eagle’s nest or perch tree, but we did find one beautiful eagle feather.

It was a time for love. Arms wrapped around each other, we stood looking out over the channel to the snow-covered mountains north and west of us, and to neighboring islands of Read, Maurelle, Raza, and Upper Rendezvous. Behind us the forest was alive with bird song; a woodpecker tap-tap-tapped against a decaying snag. Somewhere the deer slept or browsed, for everywhere we walked there was evidence that we were following in their tracks. We stood on a verdant carpet of moss, lichen, and succulents, as beautiful as any Oriental rug, their colors intermingled in shades of green, cream and gray; soft underfoot, it invited us to lie on our backs, close our eyes and bask in the warmth of afternoon sunlight. “Can this be real? Is this really ours?” Incredulous we reach for each other – clasping hands to reassure ourselves that at least we are real.

First Nation Peoples’ myths tell of a “Great Flood” and they call these islands “Drowned Mountains.” In fact the islands are ancient mountaintops surrounded by the sea. Even so, we explore our island as if it were all shiny new, virginal. We feel like explorers, the first to set foot upon the shoreline outcroppings and fern-filled forest floor. But when we look closely, we can see the truncated stumps of giant trees that once stood here before the crosscut saw and chainsaw brought them down early in this century. Nature persists though, and the old scars are already hidden by new growth… new life.

We too feel the healing powers of nature as we nap together cradled on the moss-cushioned ledge of granite. Bob, looking for a way down a rocky bluff, suddenly realizes his fear of heights is gone. He goes over the edge, hands grasping a limb or salal bush, feet seeking a foothold in the rocky face, cautiously - but with no fear - that was gone!

And laughter comes easily. (March 1998)

... PLM

Middle Rendezvous Island

2008-11-13T21:58:00.000-08:00

We are moored in Refuge Cove when the realtor notifies us that our offer on 20+ acres of Middle Rendezvous Island has been accepted. He arrives by chartered boat with papers for us to sign. We are elated. Two days later, with frost covering our deck, we leave Refuge Cove. The air is cold but sunny as Chiron sails up Lewis Channel. Everywhere we look there are beautiful snow-capped mountains. We use one as our bearing to take us to Calm Channel, the Rendezvous Islands …and our new island home.

Let me tell you about Middle Rendezvous Island… The Rendezvous Islands consist of North, Middle, and South Rendezvous. They were originally named the Tres Marias (Three Marias) until 1792 when British Captain George Vancouver and Spanish explorer Juan Francisco de la Bodega y Quadra, agreed to meet there in the course of their separate explorations of the Pacific Northwest coast. From that point on, they have been known as the Rendezvous Islands. They are located in Calm Channel on the western edge of Desolation Sound, and are part of a larger group of islands formally known as the Discovery Islands, and informally as the ‘outer islands.’

Middle Rendezvous (pictured above) was Crown Land until 1917, when it was sold to a private owner. There is no ferry service, telephone or other utilities on Middle Rendezvous Island. Transportation is by boat or float plane. Like everyone else out here, we will need to provide our own power and water. Grocery shopping will be done by boat and a trip to the store will depend upon weather and sea conditions. We join a small community scattered over a large area of separate islands… inter-dependence born of necessity. (March 1998)

Discovery Islands

2008-11-12T18:15:00.000-08:00

Winter Passage continued…

(January 1998) For several days we explore the tiny community of Heriot Bay on Quadra Island. Winter is a good time to be here. Without the summer tourists, the locals are friendlier and it gives us a better feel for what it might be like to live here permanently. We call David Smith, a Quadra Island realtor, and are told about some property available on one of the outer islands… a small remote island called Middle Rendezvous. Arrangements are made to see the property first hand.

Stefan, a Swiss who owns the 65-acre island, takes us swiftly at 20 to 25 knots in his Daigle aluminum boat. Coming through Whiterock Pass, a narrow doglegged slit between Read and Maurelle Islands, we see the three Rendezvous Islands with a backdrop of snow-clad mountains just beyond Desolation Sound. After days of brutal winter storms, the weather has turned mild. We walk on the west side of Stefan’s property through a deep wooded valley and onto a rock shelf at water’s edge. There is a small, deep bay suitable for moorage, protected by a tiny islet to the south and a rocky point to the north.

The east side of the island is drier, with pine and arbutus trees. Bob and I sit together on a mossy, lichen-covered ledge that overlooks Calm Channel. The silence is profound; the crinkly sound of paper sacks when we reach for an egg-salad sandwich becomes an irritating intrusion. We find ourselves whispering as we talk and wonder – what would it be like to live here? A pair of bald eagles fly close over our heads.

Stefan picks us up and drives the boat around to the north point where Bob and I spend an hour exploring Lot 1, often bushwhacking through immense stands of salal. While most of this northern end consists of dense forest and impenetrable underbrush, there is marvelous outcropping of rock that rises in the center, covered with a thick layer of feathered moss and punctuated by rain filled basins. We can envision a small, enclosed meditation/writing studio on this high point, with views on all sides.

The hour is quickly gone - time for us to return to Heriot Bay. Stefan takes us through Surge Narrows at flood tide. The water is seething with turbulence - some flowing one direction - some going the opposite. The resulting countercurrent causes vast whirlpools to swirl near our boat. I am glad to be in a boat with 150 HP engines.

Entering a small channel near Heriot Bay, we encounter hundreds of loose logs and floating driftwood. There is no way to avoid them, so Stefan just bulls his way through. The combination of headwind, chop on the water, and the boat ricocheting off small logs, makes for a very jarring return trip! Add to that the fact that Stefan’s presence is bigger than life …and best in small doses. By the time we are back on Chiron, I have a headache and Bob feels physically ill. A good night’s sleep puts us in a better frame of mind… and when I look through the porthole the next morning, I can’t believe what I see. The entire bay is smooth, shimmering glass, filled with all the logs that we had dodged in the channel the day before!

... PLM

Remembrance Day

2008-11-11T11:02:00.000-08:00

It is a cold, wet day. Sky and water blur with only the faint grey outline of Lummi Island to mark the horizon. It is a somber day, one that is fitting for the occasion. Ninety years ago, on November 11, 1918, an armistice was signed to end World War I. It was not a day for celebration… too many lives had been sacrificed, nearly 30 million soldiers killed or maimed and over seven million taken prisoner. Those who survived were never the same. It was called “the war to end all wars” because no one could imagine such carnage ever happening again. Congress responded to this universal hope by passing a resolution for “a day dedicated to the cause of world peace.”

When we were sailing north in 1997, we happened to be listening to the CBC Radio on November 11. The broadcast was dedicated to what Canadians call “Remembrance Day,” a day that Canadians are asked to pause… on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month… to remember the thousands of men and women who sacrificed their lives fighting for freedom and democracy. The stories, the music, reflecting upon the grief and sadness that war brings to the living... It seemed a better way to commemorate the day than parades and flag waving.

The poem, In Flanders Fields, was written during the Battle of Ypres in 1915, by Canadian Lt.-Col. John McCrae. It was inspired by the sight of red poppies growing beside the grave of a close friend who had died in battle. In 1921, the poppy became the symbol of remembrance in Canada, France, the U.S, Britain and Commonwealth countries.

IN FLANDERS FIELDS

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders Fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

- John McCrae, 1915

So on this 11th day of the 11th month, let’s rededicate ourselves to the goal of achieving world peace.

... PLM

On the way to chemo...

2008-11-10T19:15:00.000-08:00

My chemotherapy appointment was set for two in the afternoon, plenty of time to wander along rural farmland back roads in search of "Squeakers," a trademark item at Appel Farms, a dairy farm that has been producing handmade artisan cheese for thirty years. We had stumbled upon them more than a year ago… today we had real directions – and purpose. We easily found the farm and its cheese shop. They offer 12 Goudas, four cheddars and four fetas. We chose a smoked Gouda, an extra sharp cheddar, and a tub of plain Squeakers, cheese curds that squeak against your teeth as you chew them. Then we set off for BelleWood Acres to find fresh apple cider. We first ran across them – and their Honey Crisp apples and cider - at the Bellingham Farmer’s Market in September. Keeping our eye on the clock we quickly made our purchases, drove back into town, parked in the infusion center parking lot and lunched on Honey Crisp apples and Squeakers. Thus fortified, both physically and in spirit, I faced the needle and another round of chemicals.

… PLM

Something to Live For

2008-11-09T19:24:00.000-08:00

I remember one of the late Leroy Sievers postings on his NPR “My Cancer” blog. It was titled, “Reasons to Live.” He wrote, “It may sound silly now, but for me, it was the final Harry Potter book. By God, I was going to stay alive long enough to find out what happened. I think that's pretty common, actually. People set goals for themselves. A birthday, family occasion, holiday, whatever. Some event that they are going to fight to live long enough to enjoy." Larry’s blog first came to my attention in June, right after I learned that I have stage four lung cancer. When he asked, “So what's going to keep me alive? What event on my calendar am I going to mark in red?” I found myself asking the same question.

One of those red marker events has come and gone… the election of Barack Obama to the presidency of the United States. When we moved to Canada in 2006, it was as much for political reasons as for anything else. I felt like a political refugee, fleeing my own country because it had changed so much I no longer recognized it. I did not want to be associated or identified with the Bush administration’s governance of fear; and the nation’s rampant consumerism, anti-intellectualism, and American Idol mentality. I became so discouraged that last fall we traveled across the continent and back, searching for signs of hope for the future. I found little to encourage me and wrote in the November 26, 2007 blog, "I have seen more to be discouraged about than encouraged. I do not belittle the efforts that I have seen to change the direction our country and the world is headed. These are the candles in the night. They shine oh so brightly. But do we have time for those candles to ignite the wildfire needed for change?” Tuesday night I witnessed the wildfire… everyday folks who with their ballots said, “we’ve had enough – it’s time for a change.” The world looks a little brighter today. One newspaper headline called it “A New Morning in America.” And I have lived to see it happen.

Postscript: I would love to be there – in Washington D.C. – when Barack Obama becomes the 44th President of the United States. Do you suppose there is a Make a Wish Foundation for adults? I wish, I wish.

... PLM

We Shall Overcome - Yes We Have

2008-11-07T14:32:00.000-08:00

I haven’t been ready until now to write about Barack Obama’s historic presidential victory. There has been too much to digest. We watched the polls close through each time zone on Tuesday with our Internet streaming video of MSNBC Election Center (no TV). We held our breath, afraid to place too much importance on media projections for an Obama victory. The 2000 and 2004 elections did that to us. When it happened – for real – when Senator McCain gave his concession speech, and the Obama family stepped onto the stage at Chicago’s Grant Park to the resounding cheers of hundreds of thousands of people – Bob and I were too choked up to say anything. There were no words, only emotion as we saw Jesse Jackson in the crowd with tears streaming down his cheeks.. The younger generation in our neighborhood, the Western Washington University students, did not cry as we did. The youth did what youth do… scream and holler, and set off firecrackers and rockets. They drove down the streets with car horns blaring. To most of them, this was primarily an election night celebration, one that will bring an end to eight years of the worst presidency in our nation’s history. But for people our age, and especially to people of color who are our age, the election of an African-American man to lead our nation, is so much more.

Growing up in Oregon had isolated me from the Civil Rights Movement, other than what I read in the newspapers. The first black people I ever saw were foreign students from African countries who attended Lewis and Clark College in Portland. That changed in 1961, when I moved to southeastern Texas with my former husband, a chemical engineer, who had just accepted a job in the petrochemical industry. I was astounded to find separate drinking fountains for whites and blacks, restaurants that would not serve black people, and a separate entrance to drive-in theaters where black patrons could only park their cars in the back row. It was through college friends that I learned about the Freedom Riders, and Freedom Marches and the moving words of a protest song that so many voices sang, “We Shall Overcome.” I had just participated in my first presidential election and was horrified to discover that to register to vote in the South, blacks were required to take a “literacy test” that few, if any, white folks could pass.

In 1965, we moved to LaPlace, Louisiana and to the battleground of school desegregation. My sons were in grade school at the start of integration and withstood the abuse from their white counterparts when they made friends with black students – as per their ‘Northwest upbringing’ mom’s instructions. Just having a black girl dance partner in a school production, brought jeers and teasing to my oldest son who was born the same month and year as Barack Obama. No one would have believed then that in our lifetime we would see an African-American president – or perhaps I should say, no white person living in the Deep South could have seen it. But there were those like Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King, Jr. and the thousands of civil rights workers, who dared to dream.

Mark Weisbrot wrote about the Obama victory on the Common Dreams website: Historic it is, most obviously in the election of an African-American president, in a country where millions of black people could not even vote when the new president-elect was born. The rapper Jay-Z elegantly expressed the Obama campaign's connection to the long struggle for equality, along with the enthusiasm that it generated: "Rosa Parks sat so that Martin Luther King could walk. Martin Luther King walked so that Obama could run. Obama's running so that we all can fly."

The opening lines of President-elect Obama say it all: If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible; who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time; who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer. Barack Obama understands the long tortuous road that has taken us from those first courageous Freedom Marchers who marched from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama just for the right to vote.

And he knows how desperately most Americans want to feel proud of our country again. That is what this victory is about. When Obama says “Yes we can,” it renews our hopes and dreams for a better and more just world. As Judith Warner wrote in the New York Times, This moment of triumph marks the end of such a long period of pain, of indignity and injustice for African-Americans. And for so many others of us, of the trampling and debasing of our most basic ideals, beliefs that we cherished every bit as deeply and passionately as those of the “values voters” around whose sensibilities we’ve had to tiptoe for the past 28 years.

There are hard times ahead, but we can all be proud of this historic moment in time. Yes we can.

... PLM

Conversation at the Checkout Counter

2008-11-02T10:25:00.000-08:00

A few days ago I was checking out at Haggens, our local supermarket, when I realized that my reusable cloth bags were still in the car. It was raining very hard and I was not about to go back out to get them, so I ended up getting all the food stuffed into plastic bags… pink plastic bags. They were for the Susan G. Komen For the Cure© campaign. October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Noble effort, but I was feeling that lung cancer, which has far more victims, was getting slighted. I asked the clerk, “when is Lung Cancer Awareness Month?” He didn’t know. Just as I was ready to leave, he asks, “So when is it?” Ah ha! I didn’t know either. I’m not sure how I get started on some of these disastrous conversations and I’m even less sure how to end them in some really clever way. The best that I could do was to say that one of us should look it up. So I did. Lung Cancer Awareness Month is right now – this month – November. Go to the Lung Cancer Alliance website to find out even more. It’s important. You might get the same checkout clerk.

... Bob

Pumpkins out, Christmas wreaths in

2008-11-01T14:25:00.000-07:00

It is November 1, and already the Christmas push has begun, even at the Farmer’s Market where pumpkins are out and evergreen wreaths are in. Of course, there has been Christmas merchandise in the stores since early October… I tried not to look at it but there it was, wrapping paper and tree ornaments right next to the Halloween masks, trick-or-treat pails, and costumes. There was even canned Christmas music playing in the background. I plan to wait until December to get into the holiday spirit even though that can be a little risky. I remember Bob’s and my first Christmas together when we went looking for a Christmas tree a couple of days before Christmas. All of the commercial tree stands were closed, nothing but a few discarded evergreen branches left behind. I was bereft. We finally found a little Charlie Brown tree at the local feed and seed store. The Christmas Spirit was saved.

... PLM

Our Halloween Cats

2008-10-31T09:08:00.000-07:00

Misty, the big guy at 17-pounds

Meadow the queen in her pirate costume

When the Paperwhites bloom, I'll be here

2008-10-30T21:02:00.000-07:00

We delayed by a week traveling from Kitwanga to Bellingham for my doctor’s appointment. I wanted to get my tomato and zucchini plants in the ground before leaving, and we were still experiencing freezing temperatures late into May. The day before we left I smoothed the soil around the last tender transplant. I moved slowly this spring… not like myself at all. Just scattering a row of seeds left me short of breath. It was why we were going to Bellingham. But I wanted the garden finished so that when we returned the snow peas would be climbing the trellis, the nasturtium in bloom, and the heirloom lettuce ready for salads. And this was the second year for my raspberry canes… their fruit would be ready by the time we got back. There was no way I could have known then that I would not be coming back.

It has been five months since I received my diagnosis of stage four lung cancer… five months since I was told that without treatment I had six months to live. My emotions have run the gamut from disbelief to discouragement to fatalism, and finally to realistic optimism and acceptance. At first my life seemed to be taken over by doctors, chemicals, drugs, procedures like biopsies, CT scans and Pet scans… and perhaps last visits with friends and family. The future didn’t exist. There was only now. It is hard to plant a seed or a flower bulb if you do not believe you will be around to see it bloom. But it is that very act of planting that represents Hope.

Monday we visited a favorite nursery of ours, from when we lived on San Juan Island. We looked only at the houseplants and conservatory plants for we have no yard. I wandered through the rows of greenery, inhaling the rich aroma of moist soil, and terra cotta pots. Before long Bob was carrying to the checkout counter pots of scented geraniums, a maidenhair fern, bay laurel topiary, and a pre-planted pot of Paperwhite Narcissus bulbs. The next day I puttered at the kitchen sink with a bag of soil, and new pots, replanting the scented geraniums. I spent time trimming and watering houseplants. Bob only chuckled at the mess I was making. I think he knows that taking care of plants is taking care of me. The pot of narcissus bulbs sits near a south facing window, the green tips an inch high. I have no doubt that I will still be here when their sweet scented blooms brighten a winter day.

... PLM

Night Landfall

2008-10-29T13:15:00.000-07:00

“Winter Passage” continues…

After a week tied to the Comox dock, riding out a series of winter storms, a day finally arrived with relative calm. The marine forecast predicted southerly winds of 15 to 20 knots by afternoon. It was scheduled to worsen again and we wanted to take advantage of our brief weather window to move on to our next destination. It was 10 am – we needed to be underway by 11. With favorable conditions we thought we could make Quadra Island in about five hours. Most importantly, we wanted to arrive before darkness. Bob and I remembered all too well our first experience with a night landfall.

It was in 1996, on our first passage with Chiron from Seattle to her homeport in Newport, Oregon. Due to engine problems, we were several hours late getting to the waypoint outside of Yaquina Bay and we were faced with a night approach. Standing off until morning was not a reasonable choice since the weather was deteriorating and the engine was still uncertain.

Although Ed the transit captain had made the same Seattle to Newport passage only three weeks before, it had been a daylight approach and he was now ambivalent; I was at the helm and our friend Allen was lookout on the bow. Everything was disorienting; dark water, dark sky, a multitude of city lights reflected in the bay, making it hard to distinguish the red and green navigational lights from the city traffic lights. Allen suddenly becomes alarmed when he thinks he sees and hears surf breaking off our port (it was actually the breakwater), and Ed becomes confused. He grabs the helm from me and turns the boat around, back into open water.

We see another boat hanging around; it appears to be waiting for us to go in. Ed makes the decision to follow it, hoping it is a local boat familiar with the channel. The boat’s captain seems reluctant to take the lead but with no other choice he slowly moves into the jaws (jetty channel)… very slowly. I take back the helm, keeping my eyes on the two white lights that cast an eerie glow from the small boat ahead of us. Suddenly it stops. Then we hear the metallic creaking sounds of a winch being cranked. The guys let out with a string of expletives, “What the f*&*! He’s pulling up crab pots – in the middle of the traffic channel.” Not exactly legal, which explains his reluctance to have us follow him. He wanted us to be gone. When he finishes, the crab boat turns toward us. A decrepit and rusting hulk, it passes by like some ghostly ship… Charon the boatman, with his load of dead souls.

We no longer have the crab boat to follow. But Bob standing next to me points out the lights on the Yaquina Bay Bridge, and I use them to navigate our way through the channel. Captain Ed uses the Texaco sign as his marker, “Now I know where we are; South Beach Marina is just to the right of the Texaco star.” To hell with navigational markers.

... PLM

Chuckanut Drive

2008-10-28T15:13:00.000-07:00

Well, it wasn’t the mountain adventure our friends from Whidbey took a week ago. It wasn’t even an overnighter. But our outing yesterday was spontaneous, the day was bright, and the fall scenery spectacular along the 21-mile narrow, winding Chuckanut Drive. The finishing touch was our lunch at the Oyster Bar Restaurant, a restaurant that began as a small shack in the 1920’s selling oysters to travelers on Washington State’s first scenic highway. Pacific oysters, whose seeds are native to Japan, were first grown in the U.S. at the Samish Bay farm in 1921. The farm, Rock Point Oyster Co. (now Taylor Shellfish), was the first certified oyster farm in Washington state. The Oyster Bar is no longer a shack, but an elegant linen tablecloth and candles kind of place, with an excellent menu and presentation. From our window table overlooking Samish Bay, we could see the Fidalgo, Samish, and Cypress Islands floating in the distant haze (photo above right). Parked in front of the restaurant as we drove up, was a sporty, red roadster. Now that would have been fun to drive on a day like yesterday.

... PLM

Precious Days

2008-10-27T10:55:00.000-07:00

These are the precious days of autumn when the deciduous trees still hold tight to their leaves of yellow and gold, rooftops glisten with frost at sunrise, or morning fog gives way to sunny afternoon skies. I find myself wanting to hang on to these days, knowing that it won’t be long before blustery storms swoop in to bare the trees and hide the sun. So yesterday we jumped into the Jeep and drove to Whidbey Island to visit our good friends Lee and Melanie. We passed U-pick pumpkin patches and a corn maze. There were canoes on a small lake and sightseers hanging over the bridge railing at Deception Pass. We made our own unofficial survey of political signs… more Republican signs than Democratic, and almost exclusively state and local races rather than presidential.

This was the first time I had seen Melanie since her accident that now requires her to have her left leg immobilized for a period of six weeks. Having to use a cane does not keep Melanie from giving big hugs, or from baking fresh-from-the oven gingersnap cookies, or preparing a wonderful lunch of French onion soup and Caesar salads. It was a wonderful afternoon and just before leaving, Melanie and I asked the guys to take a picture of the two of us. There I am with a knitted cap covering my baldhead, and Melanie with her cane and Velcro leg brace. I am happy to say that my lung cancer and Melanie’s heart problems and now leg, does not prevent us from sharing laughs and smiles… it only brings us closer.

The sun was going down as we passed Penn Cove on our return trip. Stop! The lighting was perfect for a photograph of this picturesque loading dock. Penn Cove is famous for their mussels and other shellfish. A beautiful way to end the day.

... PLM

Free Hugs and Pumpkins

2008-10-25T16:22:00.000-07:00

Depending upon the season, I usually have some idea of what I will find at the Farmer’s Market. But there are always the surprises… like today. A mother and daughter were walking through the crowd with a hand-lettered sign that read “Free Hugs.” And sure enough, every once in a while someone would get a big hug. Even Bob and me. I enjoyed my hug and then asked why they were doing this. The mother said, “This is National Make a Difference Day.” And we can all use a hug… or give one.

No surprise – pumpkins were the stars of the market today.

Reminders

2008-10-24T21:06:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I need to be reminded of things I already know but somehow misplace in the process of day-to-day living. Those reminders are especially important now, given the unpredictable time I have left. Yesterday Bob’s sister sent a brief e-mail to let us know of the death of her best friend’s husband. He died of cancer. The significance of this event is that the husband’s cancer diagnosis (esophagus and liver) had occurred within days of my own stage four cancer diagnosis. He is gone and I am still here… For that I need to be grateful and not take for granted the good days and months I continue to enjoy.

And today I received an e-mail from our good friend Melanie. She described the spontaneous ‘mountain adventure’ that she and her husband Lee had recently taken… “Just because the sun was shining when we got up Wednesday morning.” Hey, that’s a good enough reason.

“Since hiking was not on the agenda (Melanie fell recently and has to wear a leg brace for the next six weeks), we decided to drive old logging roads and explore the steep mountains between Winthrop and Mazama. The ‘roads’ were one-lane dirt, with tight switchbacks strewn with occasional large rocks fallen from the mountains above. WOW! Such gorgeous scenery!” They saw no other cars, just a “herd of eight Angus cows wandering down the center of the road in the middle of nowhere,” the herder - a very hardy older woman on horseback, and a rugged man collecting firewood who told them that to reach Mazama wherever there are ‘Y’s’ in the road, “keep turning LEFT.” When they finally came to an actual road sign for Mazama, it was at a Y in the road… and the arrow pointed to the RIGHT. Melanie concluded her e-mail with, “We had spent about four wonderful hours being ‘in the moment,’ and ‘not quite lost’ in those very beautiful hills. So we had two lovely, fun days. On the spur of the moment, just like old times. Life is GOOD!”

Yes, life is good. Thanks Melanie for that reminder. I think it is time for Bob and I to go on one of those spur of the moment adventures. It won’t be as far away as sailing up the Strait of Georgia, or driving cross-country like we did last fall, but there are adventures to be had close to home too. Stay tuned.

... PLM

Crossing the Bar

2008-10-24T13:45:00.000-07:00

Bob’s Account continued from yesterday…

Morningstar comes back on deck as we approach the entry buoy to Comox Harbor. We now have to turn sharply from 280 degrees to 200 degrees magnetic and line up with two stick markers in order to successfully cross the shallow Comox Bar, which is charted at one to two fathoms (6 to 12-feet… Chiron draws 6-feet 4-inches), with rocks to the north and sand bars to the south. As we make our turn we take the weather directly abeam and Chiron starts to roll from side to side. Crashing noises from below send Morningstar down to secure things that we have never had to secure before. Then she wedges herself into the nav. Station and begins to call out our range and bearing from the computer. We had set the exact course for crossing the bar the night before and now she lets me know how we are doing moment by moment. Once we make the turn we are committed to the crossing – no turning back.

Morningstar’s Account from inside Chiron

Bob warns me that when we change course to make the run in, it could get rough… an understatement! All hell breaks loose. I hang on while anything not fastened down flies through the air… books, papers, sunglasses, the HP printer. In the wild melee, I catch a flash of black and white shooting past me like an errant missile, and hear a terrified “Yeowwwww!” Bustopher in a panic, always going the wrong way. I can do nothing but hang tight and watch the boat’s progress on the computer screen. From my place at the nav station, I can see Bob through the hatch opening. He stands solidly behind the helm as Chiron is hit abeam by each breaking wave and the tidal rips. I call out to him every few seconds, “You’re right on course.”

Bob’s Account continues…

At the wheel I brace my feet wide apart as the first wave slams us. I can feel the vibration of the engine, and every impact of the waves throughout my body. Salt spray blinds me. I can only catch quick glimpses of the red stick buoys in the distance – still in line – looking black in the storm’s darkness. Morningstar’s disembodied voice floats up to me every few seconds… “Still on course”… “Hold your line”… clear, reassuring – it is a link to warmth and order and certainty below deck. I am totally in the moment. I move to anticipate, then compensate, trying to read the rhythm of the oncoming waves and the counter-moving tidal current. No thinking – just reflex. There are so few feet of water between the keel and the sand bottom here. The compass is swinging wildly. Useless. Each roll puts the starboard rail in the water. Then Morningstar’s voice, calm… “Maintain this heading.” Focus. Only a matter of minutes. Just 1.51 nautical miles from the starting turn to calm waters. We are well tested.

Entering Comox Harbor, we are finally sheltered from the wind and the waves quiet. From around Goose Point, a Canadian Coast Guard boat emerges – slows to check on us – sees that we are OK – gives us a wave and then powers on. We saw no other boats on this day.

Lasqueti Island to Comox

2008-10-23T19:59:00.000-07:00

Morningstar's Journal (False Bay, Lasqueti Island)

It’s almost a relief to see morning arrive. It brings to a close a seemingly endless night. But it is hard to face another day of passage… every part of my body rebels. My head hurts, my stomach hurts, I am cold and tired and food has no appeal. Am I coming down with the flu? We discuss whether to remain here at False Bay for a day, or go on to Comox as planned. The weather forecast is favorable, so common sense suggests that we continue on. But my body begs for a rest … and when I had come on deck this morning, the sight of three circling eagles, a wind generator and solar panels on shore, and a bearded man waving to us from an aluminum skiff, tempted us to stay and explore Lasqueti Island for a day or two. It has possibilities. But fate has other plans.

Now I glance at the red boat that we are using as a marker. “Are we drifting closer to that boat or is it my imagination?” I ask Bob. “I was noticing the same thing,” he says, “I think we’re dragging anchor again. We’re going to have to pull up and go.” Unexpectedly the wind and chop is picking up. It is January, with all the unpredictability that winter can bring. We will have to act quickly before conditions close down and we are unable to leave. An open bay without good holding is no place to be with a storm coming in.

I pull on my foul weather jacket and take the helm while Bob tries to operate the windlass. But it keeps slipping. “Put the engine in neutral and come forward. We’ll have to pull in the anchor chain together.” In the frigid winter air we work; I step on the deck windlass control, while Bob pulls in the anchor chain inch by inch… stop, go, stop, go. He loosens the chain when it jams and we start again… stop, go, stop, go.

Though I shiver from the biting cold, Bob pulls off his jacket and tosses it onto the deck. Lightly dressed in a green flannel shirt and jeans, he hauls in 300-feet of chain and a 60-pound anchor. Once underway, Bob tells me to go below and get warm. Willingly I go… I do not feel well. After depositing the cats where each will be most comfortable, I curl up on the sea berth, fully clothed in my foul weather gear and wool knit cap, and huddle under the satin comforter for warmth.

Bob’s Account:

The crossing from Lasqueti to Comox on Vancouver Island is essentially a straight-line course of about 20 nautical miles across open water. Morningstar is not feeling well and after calming Bustopher (he panics) and cleaning up after Sammy (he gets seasick), she sleeps off and on during the passage. We had established the route the night before and entered it into the onboard computer. Our location is constantly being determined by GPS and marked on a moving chart display that gives the range, bearing, and estimated time of arrival at Comox. It really is pretty wonderful. So I ignore it and steer by compass and dead reckoning. We have a heavy following sea and make a swift passage, but a storm front is approaching and we need to make the shelter at Comox Harbor.

… to be continued

Nanaimo Storm - Part Two

2008-10-22T10:38:00.000-07:00

Continued from Bob's Journal

This wasn’t fun in the first place and it is getting worse. I jump, grab the handrail on the dodger to stay upright, swing below for the engine key, back into the cockpit, discipline myself to a full count of 30 for a cold engine start, and it does – thank you Chiron. No time for a gentle run-up. In gear, ease the throttle forward – Pisces-Isuzu vs. the storm. I can see the bow swing toward the dock and Morningstar strain against the line. Then there’s another gust of wind and another surge. The bow swings sharply away from the dock, dragging Morningstar towards the edge. She won’t let go, just like her. I’m yelling for her to let go. But I can’t hear myself over the mingled roar of the engine and the storm, so I know she can’t.

A slight drop in the wind – full throttle this time – and Chiron strains forward and swings tight into the dock. I can see Morningstar struggling with the tangle of loose line. I can’t see what is happening for sure but I know that she isn’t able to recover the slack and secure the line. I leave the throttle full in and return to the dock. At Morningstar’s side I can see that she is trying to sort through 35-feet of tangled line. I take the line, secure the bow. Safe. Together we shut down the engine, and tighten the other lines. There are tears in Morningstar’s eyes.

Morningstar’s Journal, 14 January 1998

Bob’s look of concern told me all I needed to know about the situation outside. The sense of urgency in his voice propelled me to quickly pull on my rubber boots and stick my arms into the yellow rain slicker. Still struggling to pull up the sticky zipper, I stepped out on the deck to find a sea turned ugly. Chiron was still securely tied, but the force of the wind hitting her broadside had stretched the lines so much that a wide span of churning water now stood between the dock and us. Bob jumped first, safely landing on the concrete dock beyond. Now it was my turn. Don’t think, I told myself, just do it. I searched for the narrowest reach, climbed over the lifeline and took a flying leap, trusting in something other than myself. Bob’s hand caught mine and I felt my feet hit solid ground. We ran forward and grabbed the bowline.

It didn’t seem possible, but the storm’s force was increasing. Each time we pulled Chiron in closer, a gust of wind or a powerful surge of water would shove her back out before we had a chance to secure the line. With feet braced and every muscle straining, I pulled as hard as I could. I threw back my hood so that I could see better. Within minutes my hair was plastered to my head, and little rivulets of water ran down my face. Wet jeans clung tight against my legs, water sloshed in my boots. “Pull with me and when I tell you to let go, let go immediately,” Bob called out loudly to me. We tried to work with the surge but had no success. Chiron was now even further from the dock and straining hard against the dock lines. It was getting desperate. Decisively Bob returns to Chiron, clearing the ever-widening gap. He grabs the ignition key from a cup hook in the cabin, and starts the engine. “I’ll turn the bow towards the dock. You untie the line and pull in the slack,” he yells to me. I see his mouth move but the wind-blown words never reach my ears.

Under power, Bob maneuvers Chiron’s bow closer to the dock. I struggle with the water-soaked knots, feeling clumsy and unsure. Bob wants me to retie the line. What kind of knot should I use? Can I do it and keep the line taut, without another surge pulling it from my cold, numb hands? I have so much to learn yet about boats and sailing. Years of gardening and homemaking did not prepare me for anything like this. At 58, is it too late for me to live this kind of life, to leave an ordinary life and live an adventure? I have always believed I could do anything if I had the desire and perseverance. What if that were no longer true? I stubbornly hang onto the line that had become much more than just a dock line. In a way it is symbolic of my life and the way I want to live it... pushing the limits. Never giving up. Never letting go.

Bob jumps off the boat and rushes over to give me a hand. The wind continues to blow and the rain to fall as one by one each line is tightened. Chiron is safely secured, but now that the crisis is over, tears fill my eyes. Facing the storm has brought me face to face with myself.

I came on this sojourn looking for peace and at fleeting moments I have found it. But mostly I have found challenges, stretching me beyond imagined limits, pulling me through groundless fears. I am learning to accept the unexpected, the unpredictability of this life we have chosen to embark upon. Each day is like reading a novel, wondering what is going to be on the next page, in the next chapter. What is going to happen next?

Nanaimo Storm - Part One

2008-10-21T11:57:00.000-07:00

With Bob’s retirement a year later, we set sail once again. We spent the autumn months in the San Juan Islands and then continued north, a solitary sailboat going in the wrong direction according to most folks. It was during a January storm in Nanaimo that we experienced our first test of the winter, and it happened while we were at dock. The details of that experience were recorded in our separate journals and were later published in the Summer 2000 issue of Canadian Yachting.

Bob’s Journal, 14 January 1998

Today starts with heavy rain and gusty winds. CBC radio (Canadian Broadcasting Corporation) reports temperatures at the freezing mark throughout our area. While eating breakfast, I notice a great deal of extra motion of the boat and decide to go out and check the dock lines. As I get ready to go out I can hear the wind increase and feel the boat moving more violently. I dress in my foul weather gear and head topside; I am surprised by the strength of the wind, the slashing rain and the force of the waves pounding against the side of Chiron, pushing it away from the dock. The lines are holding but stretched. We are riding far out from the dock and dancing like a toy on the end of a string.

It is a nasty situation and seems to be getting worse rapidly. It is imperative to tighten the dock lines for lots of reasons; the boat is at risk; we are in a tight moorage and if the lines give way we will quickly be blown into the fuel dock only yards away, or into any one of the other boats moored throughout the harbor. And if the wind shifts, we could be slammed back against the dock. No choice. The lines have to be tightened.

In the few moments that it takes to assess the situation, I am chilled and thoroughly soaked. Horizontal rain – maybe some ice mixed in, stings my face. I step to the edge of the deck ready to jump. The gap seems more ominous as Chiron bounds up and down out of rhythm with the slower rolling motions of the dock. I think I see ice on the dock. I jump. I must look like a giant yellow plastic bird trying to get airborne. I land hard, can feel the impact all the way to my thighs. I try to flex my knees to take the shock, but I am too cold and too unpracticed. At least I don’t fall. Stern line first – it is stretched tight – don’t touch that knot. Up the dock – breast line set like iron – maybe it is taking the full force of the storm. Forward spring has some slack but it is not really relevant yet. The bowline is alternately tensing and slacking as the boat moves with the wind and waves. It has to start here. I loosen the knot knowing that time is running short, fingers already numb and I have to watch them to do the work. I leave one turn of the line under the dock cleat and brace against the cleat and pull with all of my strength. Okay. Okay. Then a sudden surge and I feel like my shoulders are going to rip out of their sockets. I hang on. Then a slight slackening. I tighten the line and quickly throw a temporary knot. I can’t do this alone. I call for Morningstar. Too much storm noise. My words are whipped away in the wind.

I will have to jump back on board – what the f*&*! Lose my dignity maybe. With tons of boat and dock moving – just don’t fall in the gap.

Made it! I open the hatch and look down into Morningstar’s eyes. I keep my voice level and calm. “I need your help.” No hesitation – no questions – she just moves to put on her gear.

Back on deck, I’m not sure what to tell her. I’m not sure how she will react to this. I watch her. She moves to the edge of the deck and looks down. I say, “We have to jump.” She nods. I go first. It hurts more when I land this time. A dull pain in my legs. I can’t feel my feet. I suppose it’s the diabetes. I turn – she’s ready to jump. She is going to land on the very edge of the dock – not so good. I hold out my hand and she grabs it as she hits the dock. I pull her forward. We run to the bowline – loosen the knot again. I stand behind her and we both grab the line. We make several attempts to pull in the bow. The storm seems to be intensifying. She has thrown her hood back and her face is red and her hair plastered against her head. We try again but lose ground. The boat is now even further from the dock and the motion is worse. The docks are deserted. No help. If we wait, the boat may be too far away to re-board. The situation is deteriorating and Morningstar seems confused and uncertain. I can barely make myself heard. Even if I could, I’m not sure that I could say much that was useful.

Last chance. The way we were laying parallel to the dock with the storm abeam and with the stern and breast lines taunt, the spring slack and the bow line swinging – it just might allow me to start up Chiron’s engine and power forward, pivoting on the stern line, forcing the bow into the dock. I explain to Morningstar with a few shouted words… she is to stay on the dock, take in the slack and retie the bow. No questions on her part. She moves to the line and stands ready.

... to be continued