A Taste of Louisiana: Week 3
Friday:
I’m in Louisiana, camped next to a lagoon at Sam Houston Jones State Park near Lake Charles. Frogs are croaking, crickets are cricketing, the neighbor family is playing a fun, danceable tune, but not too loud.
We’re in for the night after a walk and then sitting outside, me drawing, Cody lying down, head up, taking it all in. It’s been raining on and off all day so we’ve been in and out all day, walking the forest trail, over to the boat launch, around the campground. I’ve been tolerating, almost enjoying the moisture here in Louisiana-it’s like a thin film, not a drenching, and there are no mosquitoes.
And I’ve been practicing that Abraham Hicks quote that was circulating on Facebook this week: “Content where I am, Eager for more.”
I’m settling into this big thing. I love experiencing all these different state parks and trails and the birds and trees and sounds. I’m less interested in the towns, or shopping or historical sites. And I’m learning to be ok with that.
But, with the storms and the mugginess, it’s been difficult to want to spend much time outdoors. And I was getting cranky.
So I took some deep breaths and asked myself, what do I need? I was tired of the weather. And the storms. And the bugs. And I realized I didn’t have to visit my friend in FL since we weren’t doing a Heart Sparks thing together. So why not go a different way?
So, I’ll be leaving the muggy, buggy coast and heading north in a few days. I’m going to explore the back roads of Mississippi and Alabama along the Natchez Trace, ending up in Atlanta on May 7 for the beginning of lots of Heart Sparks connections. Without making reservations for every step of the way, just seeing where I want to stop for the day, and hoping that I can get a space on the weekend.
Saturday:
Before I went to bed, I thought about having a leisure morning and not leaving until 11, maybe trying lunch at Harry’s, a local fried food dive, before the 102 mile drive to New Iberia.
Turns out a storm was passing through, green, yellow, and red on the radar, so I stayed put for a while. Cody and I played between downpours, perfectly timed so he could pee, then poop. I worked on some Mac newsletters, checked in with my Facebook friends and did the dishes.
And then it was 10:30 and I was watching the radar and wondering if I was ever going to get on the road. The leisure of the morning was over and I wanted to take some kind of action. But I didn’t want to be driving in heavy rain and thunder.
I called Marika and, of course, I cried for half a minute, then we chatted about her movie and dinner out the night before, her bronchitis, and Mabel, and we talked about the pending storms. She gave me the courage to drive, reminding me that if it got too bad, I could always pull over and wait it out.
So I packed up, unhooked the electricity and drove into town for a stop at the supermarket where it was barely drizzling. It was an easy drive on the freeway, no rain, no wind. Trucks seemed to be going faster, maybe to make up for lost time.
I got to New Iberia and was planning to tour the Tabasco Factory down the road, but in this weather, the adjoining gardens were probably sloppy and muddy. And the bottling tour is only Monday through Thursday. So instead, I did laundry and watched TV with the free wifi, settling into a relaxing Saturday afternoon.
That evening, I was so proud of myself. Michelle, the woman in the office, had recommended I try Landry’s Cajun Seafood Restaurant, that the Saturday seafood buffet was great and they had live music in the evening. I didn’t want to go alone so I went to the office and asked her if she wanted to join me. But she worked until 7 and she had just eaten lunch.
On my walk back to the RV I told myself, I can’t not do things because I’m by myself.
So I unplugged the RV and drove the seven miles down the road to the restaurant. The parking lot was almost full except for the 3 spots in the back corner. I backed the RV into the spot up against the grass line so I was only taking one space. I turned a fan on, gave Cody a chew bone and I went in. Big long picnic tables covered in plastic red and white checked tablecloths filled the barn-like room.
I sat at a table for one, right near the buffet and watched all sizes of people walk away with piled plates of fried fish and shrimp and onion rings, rice and beans, salads and pies, and red cafeteria trays piled high with palm-sized bright-red, right-out-of-the boil crawfish.
It was $17.97 for the buffet and $10.00 extra if you had the boiled crawfish, too. I perused the buffet three times, but nothing on it appealed to me. I asked about the sautéed seafood platter, but it was made with a butter sauce, not what I like. I thought about getting just a 2 lb order of the boiled crawfish to try it, but what if I didn’t like the seasoning. I hemmed and hawed, and then I left.
I drove home, backed in, hooked up. and started to make my own dinner, then remembered that Michelle said that the Chinese place delivers! So I ordered a combination dinner- boneless spare ribs, pork fried rice and an eggroll. And an order of Chinese donuts. It was fine, not great, but the donuts, my favorite, were divine.
In the evening we walked over to the pond and I watched the flying fish propel themselves out of the water and into the air, three to six feet. I heard myself ask, why do they do that, and I smiled at my answer, because they can.
Sunday:
I drove 30 minutes north and enjoyed brunch at the house of a friend of a long time ago friend. Katy, the chef, served a delicious spread of egg scrambles made in muffin tins, hash browns, fruit, and blueberry-blackberry cobbler for dessert. When she heard I lived in Cayucos, she couldn’t believe it. She learned how to smoke fish and meat from the owner of Rudell’s Smoke House there!
I drove an easy hour, again on I-10, alongside the scenic Atchafalaya River, east bound on one side of the river, west bound on the other, and all between a gorgeous sideline of gorgeous green trees. I cried when I drove over the Mississippi River. Because WOW! I was driving across the Mississippi River! All the way from California!
For the next few days, we’re camping about a mile from the mighty Mississippi at an Equestrian Center in Baton Rouge, waiting out a few more big storms. The view is wide and green, with trees and grass and an occasional rider in the horse pens.
Last night we walked over to the pavilion area where a group was gathering. In the parking area nearby, a man was leaning against the bed of a pickup next to two very large aluminum pots, smoking from a pack of Salems. I said hello, he nodded and I asked, “What’s going on?”
“Railroad neighbor congress bowl,” he said. His words were like a long train that didn’t stop at the station.
“Oh,” I said. He could tell I had no idea what he was talking about. “River Road Neighborhood Crawfish Boil.” he said, again, still with that long, slippery accent. “They do it every year.”
I said I’d never eaten crawfish before. He opened the lid on a thirty-gallon heavy duty trash cans and inside were those bright-red little creatures that actually looked like shrimp with a few more appendages.
He picked one up and said, “You snap it, then pull it back.” He wiped the roe with his little finger as he peeled the tender white meat from the shell and offered it to me. It was sweet and salty, tender, all in one quick bite.
“How do you cook them?”
“Boil ‘em, in some seasoning, some salt.”
“Where do you get them?”
“In the swamp.
“What do you use for bait?”
“They use wire boxes now, and modern day they use manufactured bait, but we used to use fish for bait.”
He switched the cigarette to his left hand and reached out his right. “I’m Doc Watkins.” He smiled and I noticed the deep trough lines on his face like he’d spent his whole life outside in the swamps.
“Ruth Davis,” I said, shaking his hand. He asked were I was from, I told him why I was traveling. We grinned in agreement about the simple things in life.
So I had my quintessential bite of Louisiana seafood. And I’ve experienced the crazy scary weather of the Gulf Coast. Honestly, I’m ready for some sun, some biking, some walking, some easy breathing weather days.
But another storm is due tomorrow and I’m choosing not to drive in it. Instead, I’m going to settle in to this new pace, going with the flow, inching my way on the map to Atlanta with a constant eye on the weather and on my heart while I do a lot of deep, deep breathing.
[ssba]Blessings of the Road: Week 2
After the two day delay and the rush across New Mexico, I have settled into the rhythm of the road. Drive four hours, camp three or four days. This gives us a chance to be in a place, explore and take things in without rushing. And if we just want to have a day at home, without being a tourist, there’s time and space for that too.
It’s been quite a weather adventure along the Gulf Coast. On Friday night, after a day of exploring some parks, the marinas and the local art center, we experienced our first tornado warning. Camp neighbors, Cathie and Jack had introduced themselves when we pulled in on Thursday.
They’re full-timers, here since October when she had some kind of knee surgery and has been bedridden until just a few days ago. Jack had stopped by later in the afternoon with a street map of the area and the bigger towns across the Causeway, where I was hoping to do some exploring on Friday.
He asked if I was tracking the weather. He had a weather radio and they were saying a pretty big storm might be coming through on Friday night. Big hail, big wind, maybe even a tornado. He said they’d be going over to the bathrooms if the wind got to be too much for Cathie. I asked him if they would take me and Cody with them if that happened and he said Absolutely.
So on Friday morning, Cody and I unplugged from the coolness of the air conditioning and drove over the two-mile long-Lyndon B. Johnson Causeway that crosses Copano Bay in Rockport and Fulton.
I went food shopping first, then we drove around, without BOB (my GPS) guiding us, just looking for some interesting places to stop and walk. I parked on the side of the road in front of a fancy B& B and watched the water slosh over the breaker wall. We pulled into a parking lot and watched pelicans flying. Eventually I parked on the street along the working marinas and we walked along the wooden docks, looking into the empty boats.
A couple was cleaning the deck of the boat closest to the bait shop. The woman gathered up fish scraps and carried them into the shop. Cody sniffed to the edges of the dock, where the water sloshed a foot below.
I drove over to a picnic area along the bay and I had lunch in the RV, out of the mugginess. Then we walked around the grassy area so Cody could enjoy a sniff fest. And then I decided to do the laundry. I found a coin-operated Laundromat with a lot big enough to park in. I waiting in the RV with Cody between cycles and we were done in less than two hours.
We drove over to the Rockport Art Center and walked a bit, then I put Cody in the RV so I could go inside. The Aquarium was there too, and free, but I was tired and the mugginess was getting to me. So we drove back over the bridge and returned to camp.
Backing into a camp spot is always a big question mark. Sometimes I can get it on the first try. Other times I can look in the mirror, get out and visually check, and still not get the angles right. This time I ended up pretty close to level, and glad for the slight angle. If we were going to get rain, this way it could drain off.
Cody and I took a quick walk when we got back and within an hour, the rain started. Slow at first, then nothing. But the weather channel was saying that around 10:00 a big storm would be here.
Jack and Cathie came over to check on us as the rain poured down. We were both watching the radar, tracking the bright yellow and red zones as they approached the notch in the land mass where we were camped. They said they’d come and get us if it got too bad.
I packed a survival bag with my wallet, a flashlight, a bottle of water, my phone and charger.
I called Marika. She was tracking the storm on her big TV screen. Tornado Watch, Flood Watch. I told her about the neighbors coming to get us and she reminded me to bring a bowl and water for Cody. And my headlight.
I plugged in my phone to charge it and laid down, trying to rest. It was already past my bedtime and I was tired. And anxious.
I checked the radar on wunderground every ten minutes, texting Marika with updates, trying to stay calm. Cody was alert, but I told him he was fine and that we were safe, and he put his head down and closed his eyes.
And then at 10:45 pm, Jack knocked on the RV door. A tornado was spotted three miles away and the Weather Service had just put up the official Tornado Warning. I grabbed my bag, locked the RV and we got in their truck and drove over to the concrete bathrooms near the Rec Hall. Rain poured down. The thunder cracked so loud and close that the lights went out for a moment. It was pouring and thundering and the lightning lit up the sky all around. But there was no wind.
Cathie was telling me about the tornado they had in Missouri, and how they all went down to the cellar, all the kids and grandkids, the dogs and the cat. I kept watching the radar on my iPhone, texting Marika, not wanting to get caught in Cathie’s hints of panic.
Cody was unphased. He stood near me, watching the rain, and he didn’t even flinch at the thunder. I felt calm and safe and I guess he did too.
Jack held his weather radio up to his ear, full volume and it was still hard to hear. I watched the circle of yellow and red radar move on the screen just below the edge of Goose Island. There was still a wide trail of yellow and green coming, but the red section was moving out over the water.
And then the Tornado Warning changed back to a Watch and we drove back to camp. We were wet and tired, but it was a loud and thundering night so we didn’t get much sleep. So on Saturday, we stayed home, reading, writing and walking around the campground between downpours.
This is how full-timing is different than just camping. There is no rush to have to see everything or always be doing something. Instead, I’m following the energies of each day.
On Sunday I just wanted to sleep. I had the dry heaves, and a bit of a chill so I cancelled the plan to drive to Port Aransas and got back under the covers. I guess the stress of the weather the past days had taken its toll. Cody was also happy to just lie around, so we spent most of the morning in and out of bed.
After noon I called Marika, cried a little bit then took a shower and ate some saltines. I was beginning to feel better. It was too muggy to spend much time outside, but in the late afternoon I got together with some friends of a FaceBook friend. We went to dinner and talked about books and travel and had a delightful time.
Cody and I played ball in the campsite and I caught up with Facebook and email, then plugged in my mapping information for the next day’s drive.
On Monday Cody and I drove from Rockport to Galveston Island, an easy 172 miles that included a stop in Blessing, TX. Cody and I walked around the small grassy park of the Blessing Community Center, thinking of all the friends who asked me to say a blessing for them, and saying such big thank you’s for so many blessings so far.
Blessings for safe weather. And great camp neighbors. And new friends. And two kinds of OFF Deep Woods. And air conditioning. And postcard-making supplies. And bird songs. And easy driving miles. And gas no higher than $2.29/gal. And a level camp site that didn’t flood. And the best camping dog. And the love and support of so many people, known and not, who hold me in their hearts.
[ssba]
Between Leaving and Arriving
On Wednesday morning the water pump light was still working on the monitor panel. The night before, a dear friend’s husband said that he was convinced it had been a loose wire, probably at the switch, and that the air conditioner probably caused just enough vibration to make it work. He was sure that all was fine.
And so I drove to the gas station on Wednesday morning, thinking that the vibration of the drive would be a good test. The monitor light still worked, and so I kept going.
Cody settled into his bed under the dinette and we got on the I-10 and drove south and east. We got gas outside of Tucson – I like to fill the tank when it gets to half, especially when I’m driving across the desert where gas towns can be far and few between.
We drove a few more hours, across the state line into New Mexico and pulled into our camp spot at City of Rocks State Park, 35 miles north of Deming, around 3:00, which was 4:00 in New Mexico.
It was an easy, but long six hours and I was glad to be parked in the middle of nowhere, with no cell reception, no internet, no neighbors. Just me and Cody and the towering boulders and the wind. We walked up the road for a vista view, we explored the trails that roamed around the towering boulders and we played with an eight-foot-long ocotillo skeleton that Cody managed to maneuver across the campsite and up onto the raised picnic pad. I moved it a few inches with my foot and then he grabbed it with his mouth and pulled it further. Your turn, my turn, we moved it across the picnic area and over to the other side of the camp site.
We both slept well, but in the morning, after a few short ball tosses in the road, he was walking with an odd turn in his right hip. And he was staying really close to me. I remembered that he had skid on his back legs the morning before in Marika’s back yard. So we shortened our walk just enough for him to do his business, and then we pulled out.
I was determined to get to Hobbs that afternoon, even though the evening’s Heart Sparks workshop had been cancelled because I just wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to make it.
Still, Deb, the woman who had set up everything and was doing the book-making part of the evening, was going to drive over to the venue just in case someone showed up, and I wanted to join her.
But as I drove further across New Mexico, I wondered, why am I even doing this? There’s no workshop. Maybe I’m not supposed to be on this trip. I can still turn around….
But I knew that was nonsense. That I just had to cry my way through it. And I realized that I am tired. And that I am still in that space between leaving and arriving.
It’s like when I left home for college. Even though I was going to school less than an hour away, I was terrified to leave the safety and security of home. EVEN THOUGH I HATED IT and was so ready to start my own life. But in that middle space, I didn’t want to leave and I didn’t want to stay, I just wanted to curl up in my bed forever.
This journey is different. I’m not terrified of what is coming, I just don’t feel very strong in it. Yet. Yesterday morning heading to Austin, again I thought about turning around, going home. But of course it was just a reaction to the tears, to the tightness in the center of my chest when I hear myself say I have no idea where I’m going.
This morning, Tuesday, we took a walk and then I read my email. My father needs to delay the second $5000 that I had counted on. And the woman I was going to meet on Wednesday is busy. And the Junk Cathedral isn’t open for viewing. And it is so muggy here.
I know, deep in, that these are all smoke and mirrors to distract me from doing what I know I am meant to do. So I keep coming back to WHY. And that’s what these next days are for. To ground myself in nature. To settle in. To camp. To explore the nature trails and to walk and write and talk with people and see what there is to see, really see.
I unplugged the RV and drove over to the Lower Falls in the park. Cody and I walked across the moonscape of exposed boulders. We kept walking, until finally we came to the edge of the rocks where, below us, more rocks formed several still pools of water. Across from where we stood was a lush riparian area where a single white egret was cleaning its wings in the water. It was beautiful and solitary and I cried and cried.
The two hiking women I had seen in the parking lot came over the rocks and pointed to a faint path under the water line. When I asked, one of them said that it’s the same path used by the earliest people in the area. They were hoping to cross it to the other side, but the water was deeper than they had planned for. They were going to drive around to the other side. So they turned around and walked back to the parking lot and we followed a few yards behind. It was getting muggy and I just wanted to go back to camp to cry some more.
I cry because I’m not making money. I cry because I wonder what I’m doing. I cry because this is all so big. I cry because it is all on me, because I’m not the model of a fun and happy camper, because I have to keep emptying and letting go, over and over, making room for the new.
I had two hours before two Facebook friends were picking me up to go for lunch and some city sightseeing. I read. I wrote. I answered work emails. And when they pulled up, it was like I’d been saved. They were warm and generous and easy going and such a delight to be with.
After some love time with Cody (yes, they brought him a variety of treats), I locked him in the RV with the windows open and they took me to their favorite restaurant on Austin Lake. Our conversations were comfortable and easy, like we’d been friends for years. No drama. No pretense. Just three women having a really nice time together.
I had a list of odd places that I wanted to see and they were so happy to oblige. The Cathedral of Junk was amazing even if we could only see it from behind the DO NOT TRESPASS signs. And they had wanted to go the Umlauf Sculpture Garden, too. On the drive back to camp, we even stopped for some famous Sandy’s frozen custard. We had such a nice time that we’re getting together again tomorrow!
And I realize that THIS is what this journey is about. Really showing up and connecting with people, heart to heart.
Like yesterday, on my way to camp I stopped to visit with a Facebook friend to celebrate that she’s done with radiation. It was a short visit, but so heart warming for both of us. And her husband fixed the lock on the RV storage compartment and Cody was gifted all of their last dog’s toys. And she even gave me the green calcite crystal that I had picked up from her altar.
More signs have appeared today. I heard back from my Asheville Unity contact and we are working on a date. So many people on Facebook posted their love and support when I was needing it. And a Mac client inquired about some in-person training when I am in New Orleans.
Yes, this is a solo journey, but I know I am not traveling alone. And even when I fall into that deep space of doubt and uncertainty, there is a deeper knowing that I really am on my true path, that I am exactly where I need to be, doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing. And that I can be a little gentler with myself about it all and start to really enjoy this grand adventure.
[ssba]Last Days, First Days
SUNDAY:
It is my last weekend in Phoenix and of course, I feel a mix of excitement and sadness, leaving Marika and Mabel and what I’ve gotten used to in order to experience what is next.
Present. Future. This is my mantra. Embrace what is, with an eye on the horizon. And so this morning, Marika and I enjoyed breakfast on the patio while I ticked off of a list of things I needed her help with. And then she listened to me while I bawled with gratitude, because of how supportive she is of my journey.
I said, “Can you imagine for a moment that this is a movie, and here I am, all ready to venture out by myself and suddenly you say OK, I’ll go, and you quit your job and call your friend down the street to keep an eye on the house and you grab some clothes and your binoculars and spotting scope and you and Mabel join me. And everyone in the audience would be cheering!”
She was looking at me with a furrowed brow. “Am I upsetting you?” I asked. “No. I’m just listening.” “It’s like Isaac and Abraham,” I went on. “Abraham was ready to sacrifice his son to God, but he didn’t have to. And I am ready and willing to go on this journey alone, but then, at the last minute you could decide to go too.”
I cried, letting the dream fill the space. And then I let it go.
Because I know this is my journey, my adventure, my (w)rite of passage.
And even though she isn’t going with me, she is a part of it. She helped me get my bike on the rack. She double checked the engine oil. She washed my big windshield. And when I asked if I could have the homemade chicken soup that was in the freezer, in case I get sick, she gave me the matzoh balls too.
She even offered to spray paint the rusted stripe across the hood, but I asked her to scratch something in it instead. When I read it, of course, I cried.
MONDAY:
Last night, I had everything packed in, my driving clothes were set out and I had a short list of last minute things to gather in the morning. I was in the RV, ready to rinse my hands and I turned on the water pump, which I hadn’t been using much since I was using the guest bathroom in the house. But the monitor light didn’t turn on. No pump. I tried a few times and the light flickered but didn’t stay on. No pump, no water. No water, no camping.
I went to bed assuming I wasn’t leaving first thing in the morning. That I would call a mobile repair person and go from there.
This morning, Marika suggested I may just need a new switch, so I unscrewed the cover to the monitor panel, turned off the electricity after I saw some sparking, and we discerned that no, it’s not the same easy-fix switch that we did in the bathroom. So I put the panel cover back on. But now none of the switches lit up.
I’m thinking that it is not the pump, but an electrical problem. Maybe just a loose wire, or something else the mice chewed through or ???
The mobile repair man will be here this afternoon between 1 and 3. And so I am finding ways to be grateful for this free day. I re-made a first night’s reservation for tomorrow night, forfeiting the $14.00 I paid for tonight’s spot. And I rearranged my dates for Austin since I couldn’t find a Saturday camp site and now feel an ease and spaciousness in the upcoming week’s schedule.
I got some work done and later I’ll vacuum the house and make a big salad for dinner.
The biggest jolt of emotion about my change in travel plans is about the COST of the pending repair. Not the fact that I’ve been delayed, or that something needs to be fixed, but the SPENDING OF MORE MONEY that has not budgeted.
And then I am remind myself that money is energy and it needs to keep moving to increase its flow and in today’s I received the check from Changing Hands Bookstore for the books I sold last week at the big event.
I suspect that it will be enough to cover today’s repair. And it makes way for even MORE money to flow.
I am especially intrigued that the issue seems to be electric and that it showed up reflected in the WATER pump….both such obvious conduits of energy and all signs to allow the flow of energy….all kinds of energies…. and to simply let go….
LATER:
OMG! It was a fuse. A FUSE. I can understand that those sparks I saw probably blew the fuse, and that’s why none of the monitor lights worked. But was it the fuse that affected only the water pump or was it something else?
It leaves me curious, but, bottom line, the water pump is working, the monitor lights are working and it ONLY cost me $85.00.
For whatever reason I was not meant to leave today, I am grateful. I enjoyed the breathing room and the opportunity to watch myself respond to an unexpected thing. And I got to talk on the phone with one dear friend and spend some wonderful, in-person, lots of hugging, visiting time with a another. I will be leaving tomorrow, Tuesday morning, venturing out, all systems go.
TUESDAY:
II was all packed up, showered and gathering things to leave. Marika came in to see the working water pump switch. And it didn’t work. Again. I called the repair guy and he said he’d be there around 10. Just before he got here, I turned on the A/C and guess what, the water pump monitor switch suddenly worked.
He had no explanation, and my concern is that it will stop working again, and only turn on when the A/C is on (which can only happen when I’m plugged into electricity). He replaced the switch, just in case, and checked for any loose wires, but he couldn’t reproduce the problem, so he couldn’t fix it or guarantee that it wouldn’t happen again.
I do understand this. Sometimes I have the same experience with troubleshooting with my Mac clients. Sometimes, I just have some kind of magic touch and things are suddenly fixed. So, if I know that happens, could this be that kind of magic too?
Or is there still a problem?
I called a few RV dealerships and they also said they can’t diagnose it if it’s working. And besides that, they are booked through next week.
So I am still parked in the driveway, crying a lot, not knowing what the next step is. If the light works tomorrow, does that mean it’s fixed? Or is there really a bigger issue that needs to be taken care of? I do know that I don’t want to be out on the road with a big electrical problem.
I’m writing and journaling and playing with the dogs. I called a friend. I watched some TV. I’m moving through this, trying to just stay right here, right now, breathing into the spaces between the frustration and disappointment to reconnect with the bigger WHY of the trip. One good thing – I’m going to enjoy Tamale Tuesday at my favorite Mexican restaurant tonight.
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[ssba]Ready
It is the last Wednesday before I officially head out on the Heart Sparks Road Tour. These past few weeks have been a steady stream of working and readying, prepping and planning, and riding the unexpected bumps in the road.
My favorite swivel chair in the RV broke at the base. After checking the RV salvage yard for a replacement part, I had a mobile welder come and fix it. The RV’s generator wouldn’t start so I had another mobile tech come. He cleaned the carburetor and got it running, but reported that the fuel line to the generator is spliced and he couldn’t reach under the tank to replace it. An RV place quoted $180-$800 for the repair, depending on how easy it would be to reach the tank. I’ve decided NOT to fix it, since I only need the generator if I’m not plugged into electricity, and only to run the microwave or A/C. Everything else is powered by the house batteries, which are charged by the solar panels.
I’ve done a thorough culling of things in the closets and cabinets and I even replaced the plastic runner that protects the carpet. I still have to mount the new fire extinguisher and wash the windows. I’ve made camping reservations for my first night and a few other places along the way where I know I want to be guaranteed a spot.
Each day I cross a few more things of of my to-do lists, while still working with Mac clients, writing my two weekly newsletters and, of course, walking and playing with the dogs.
A month ago, I was still pretty anxious about the trip but now, I am ready. Ready for the excitement of one day at a time, the rhythm of driving and resting, walking and writing, romping and relaxing. Ready to meet so many people in person who I’ve only known through the magic of technology. And ready to share the Heart Sparks love.
[ssba]A Different Kind of Self-Care by Ruth Davis
I recently had a massage with a new massage therapist. As she was working on my troubled right hip she said, “You do so much for others that you haven’t been taking care of yourself.”
“Oh no, that’s not me at all,” I said. “I’m very good at being selfish.”
I felt she was generalizing, assuming I was like so many women who are so busy caring for kids and partners, always doing and pleasing everyone else that they never make time for themselves.
I don’t have kids or a partner or a needing person in my life and so I didn’t see myself in that role of selfless caretaker/caregiver.
But the next day, as I was driving to a client, I felt the opened space between my shoulder blades and less pain in my hip and I remembered the massage therapist’s comment.
And I realized she was right.
I spend the majority of my time working. Whether it’s actually sitting with a client, teaching them something about their Mac, or coaching a group or writing a blog post, much of my time is devoted to activities that benefit others. Sure, I get a LOT of rewards and blessings from my work. But this is not the same as taking care of ME.
When you’re a self-employed entrepreneur, there is always some work that can be done. And so it’s so easier for me to stay busy with work than to make time and space for other things that also bring me joy. Like taking the dogs to the river. And camping. And reading. And writing. And lunching with friends.
And my body is begging me to take better care of ME.
And so I am ready to create some new boundaries with my work. If I want to work in the evening, then I will block out time mid-day for a romp with the dogs. If I schedule a client or a workshop on a Saturday, I will take a day off during the week to have lunch with a friend. And, starting today, I am creating a regular writing practice for my own writing that has nothing to do with Mac Tips and Heart Sparks.
My body needs this. My spirit needs this. My heart needs this. And I know that, the more space I give myself for these non-work activities, the more I will bring back into my work and offer to others. Sounds like a win-win situation to me.
So, do YOU do so much for others that you haven’t been taking care of yourself?
What does self-care look like in YOUR life?
How can you bring more balance for yourself?
How can you give more to YOU so that you have more to share with others?
I’d love to hear your revelations! Please share by clicking on the Comments below
[ssba]What’s In Your Suitcase?
I love old suitcases.
Not because of any travel romance, but because they are containers. They hold things. Suitcases are sturdy, compact, colorful. They are resilient, protecting and portable. They have a handle to make them easy to carry around.
I have used suitcases to store art supplies and old journals. I’ve used them as end tables in my living room. I’ve even created art pieces in small travel cases that tell a single chapter of a bigger story.
Growing up, my family played the What’s In Your Suitcase game on the long drives between Long Island and Philadelphia where my mother’s family lived.
Each person would begin: “I’m going on a trip and in my suitcase I’m going to pack” and we’d take turns naming objects and items, real and imagined, that we would put in the suitcase. The only rule was that the item had to begin with the next letter of the alphabet. It was a fun game, full of silliness and laughing, and it also exercised our memorization skills.
I’ve played the game as an adult, too, passing the time around a campfire or on a road trip, packing things like apples, blueberry biscuits, a cotton candy colored cashmere sweater.
Then I saw this proclamation by Katrina Mayer:
image by Katrina Mayer
Katrina’s words got me thinking about suitcases in a different way. I envisioned suitcases filled with what we lug around with us from one home to another. What old stories we hold on to, what beautiful dreams we’ve hidden in the corners of the elasticized side pockets.
And then I wondered what my suitcase could REALLY hold that would support me, inspire me, comfort me on my own journey that is my life.
I loved Katrina’s words so much that I borrowed the ones that spoke to me and then added my own:
I am on a journey. With my work, my art, my questions. I travel with a suitcase full of outrageous blessings, inspiring gifts and a radiant life force.
I am on a quest for love, connection and deeply shared joy.
I am a teacher, a writer, a conduit of love.
Then I imagined what physical form those words might take, what objects could I pack in a real suitcase that would represent my outrageous blessings, my inspired gifts, my radiant life force. What tangible totems might support me, inspire me and give me the courage to keep moving forward on this path of love and connection and joy?
And then I gathered them. A heart shaped stone found on a desert hike with friends. A pink rubber cow from the state fair. A three inch laughing Buddha. A sharpened pencil. My favorite Rumi quote.
I tucked these touchstones with my new proclamation in a purple silk bag no bigger than my palm and put the bag in the glove compartment of my RV. It travels with me like a compass and I feel guided, directed, blessed.
What do you carry in your suitcase?
What might you really want to gather to guide you on your journey?
I’d love to hear your discoveries. Share them by clicking the Comments below.
[ssba]It’s Alright to Cry by Ruth Davis
This past Sunday, yoga teacher Deborah McEvoy and I facilitated an amazing Heart Sparks Yoga and Writing Workshop. We breathed, we stretched, we stood in tree pose and, after Shavasana, we dove into that calm and opened spaciousness and explored deeper responses to I AM and I LOVE with some free writing.
Several women in the workshop shared that they didn’t like to cry or express their emotions because it is a sign of weakness, or they didn’t want to attract attention.
I believe that crying and being with your feelings actually takes great strength and courage. And that, when we cry, we give others permission to cry. Perhaps the people who have told us that it’s weak are just not strong enough to feel their own emotions.
Today’s post is reprinted from my book HEART SPARKS. It’s a reminder for me too, not to judge the tears, but just continue to invite them to flow.
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Another Yoga and Writing Workshop will happen in Atlanta, GA on May 9th. Stacey Beth Shulman will facilitate our heart-opening yoga practice and then we’ll explore the opened space through writing prompts. Email me for more info.
If you’d like to collaborate on a yoga or art or ??? workshop with me, I’d love to talk!
I have been crying a lot lately. But that’s not why I’m writing this.
I’m writing this because, for years, I hardly cried at all.
Like most of us, I’ve had sorrow and trauma in my past. But instead of feeling it, sharing it and releasing it, I buried it. I tucked my sadness and grief deep and away, convinced that, if I didn’t feel it, it would disappear.
My biggest fear was that, if I started to cry, to FEEL my sadness, that I would never stop.
And so I denied it, avoided it, distracted myself with addictive behaviors to prevent myself from feeling any kind of vulnerability. And if something happened in my life that did poke at my vulnerability, I quickly busied myself to avoid confronting any deep feelings.
This “worked” for a long time.
And then it didn’t work at all.
I was always agitated. Crabby. Needy. I wasn’t allowing my body to ebb and flow through ALL of my emotions.
Just like the body needs to laugh and sleep and breathe clean air, the body needs to cry.
Crying is the only mechanism the body has to release certain toxins and chemicals.
Dr. William H. Frey II, a biochemist at the St. Paul-Ramsey Medical Center in Minnesota, analyzed two types of tears: the emotional ones (crying when emotionally upset and stressed) and the ones arising from irritants (such as crying from onions).
He found that emotional tears contained more of the protein-based hormones, prolactin, adrenocorticotropic hormone, and leucine enkephalin (natural painkiller), all of which are produced by our body when under stress.
This explains why we usually feel better after a good cry.
Now I cry for all kinds of reasons.
I cry when I am disappointed, when something that was supposed to go one way, turns into something else. I cry when I think about those last precious days with my mom. I cry when my hormones take control of me.
Sometimes crying is me hitting a wall of fear or frustration or wanting to give up. Crying allows me to feel all of those things, letting them out, naming them, and claiming them and then letting them go so I can move past them.
Sometimes I cry without any particular emotion or story, just allowing my body to release and let go.
I also cry when I am full of joy and gratitude. It’s like I can’t contain it, don’t want to hold it in…it’s literally an outpouring of WOW! and YES! and I JUST CAN’T BELIEVE IT!
Crying is emotion overflowing. It’s like the release valve on a pressure cooker, no matter what’s in the pot. Crying makes room for even more.
Crying is a wet thank you. An Oh My God without words. Crying is when there aren’t even any words. Crying is sweet gratitude. Crying is soggy love.
I invite you to try it.
The next time your feelings poke you and you’re tempted to hold back from crying, breathe into the resistance and give yourself permission to feel whatever you feel. Keep breathing into the tightness, allowing your belly to soften, your heart to open, and let those tears roll down.
Trust that you’re not going to drown yourself in an never ending tsunami of emotion. Just hold on, let go and ride those tears to a new way of release.
Reprinted from my book HEART SPARKS: 7 Practices For Loving Your Life
Need a little extra encouragement? Click on this video to watch star football player Rosie Greer sing about crying.
I’d love to hear about your own crying experiences! Please share by clicking here.
[ssba]So At Home
After the two day drive from Paradise to Phoenix, we are settled into Marika’s driveway with electricity and water and indoor plumbing. This is Home for the next month. Mabel and Cody are still ignoring each other, keeping their distance, but we all hang out in the RV, and in the yard and in the living room and all is well.
I am so proud of myself – I drove a new route and even stopped to visit with a friend before pulling into the back parking lot of a casino on I-10 to stop for the night. We slept well despite the big winds and got back on the road before 7:30, and arrived in Phoenix a little after one on Saturday.
On Sunday I got up earlier than usual, peed in the house, then went back to the RV and slept for another hour, until the chorus of bird songs got me out of bed. Marika and I had coffee on the patio and I played ball in the yard with Cody.
Now Marika is out food shopping and Mabel, Cody and I are in the RV, relaxing. I had Cody and Mabel both playing with me for two good tosses before he got too close to her football. She growled, walked away and carried the ball into the house. I followed her and coaxed her back out and this time Cody kept his ball in his mouth and gave her more room. We played for another short stint then came in here for me to work.
And I offered them a treat. When I took down Cody’s treat bucket, they went after each other. My fault, because I didn’t put them on a sit first. But I corrected them quickly and they were terrific. Now Mabel is in my bed with a small wound on her snout, and Cody is under the table, in his bed, and everyone is finally at ease.
The western sky is darkening and the wind chimes that Marika hung in her mother’s memory are playing a steady tune in the sudden wind. I hear no birds, just a helicopter to the south, out of view.
The roller shade over the dinette is up and my new view overlooks Marika’s backyard with the faded grape-colored block fence, the many shades of greens cacti and the turquoise water of the swimming pool.
We are feeling so at home.
This week I will ease into a full Mac client work schedule, with several errands mixed in: get the RV emissions tested, get a new battery for my iPhone, see the gynecologist and take my bike in for a tune-up. And next Sunday, I’ll be collaborating on the first of many Heart Sparks events: a gentle yoga and writing workshop in Casa Grande, AZ. There are still a few spots left if you’d like to join us. All of the details are here.
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Last Week in Paradise
Today is my last Wednesday in Paradise before I head to Phoenix this weekend to begin the next chapter of living. I am always so sad to leave, especially this time, because I know I belong here. This past weekend my friend Judy, who I met at yoga when I first got here in 2012, hosted a going away party for me. Another friend from yoga and my body surfing friend came, a few of Judy’s friends joined us and we ate delicious home made chicken tacos and rice and beans and chile rellenos.
I’ve been going out for lunch with other friends, for one last fish taco at Taco Temple and one more taste of Ruddell’s smoked salmon. And today is my last Wednesday volunteering at the food bank, where I’ve also met some wonderful new friends.
And I’ve been so aware of the beauty of the ocean and the hills and this place I call home.
This past weekend I took Cody for a new walk, along the bluffs just a half a mile north of home. It’s an easy trail that stretches several miles up the coast and Cody roamed and sniffed, bounded and sniffed some more. We even found a patch of purple wildflowers.
I was able to enjoy my own walking, feeling how I walk on the outside of my right foot, and how my body wants me to shift the weight, widen my stance and bring awareness to stepping with the entire ball of my foot, bearing more weight on my strong big toe pad, and into my ankle and shin and knee and thigh and allow my new right hip to open, open, open!
And on the evenings where it would be easier to just watch the sunset from my comfortable chair, I get up and walk down to the beach and breathe it all in.
Last night I pulled down the collar of my t-shirt to expose my heart scar. Rarely is it exposed to the sun, the air, the light. Not because I hide it, but because my shirts are mostly higher cut.
Seven years out, most people’s scars have thinned and faded to barely a white pencil line down the center of their chest. My scar is still thick and wide, a keloid scar, they called it. It is less prominent, less bumpy now, and that section of raised scar tissue has loosened and softened, and when I rub it, it’s like sliding along the frets on a tiny guitar.
Standing there with the cool air brushing against my scar I felt tender and alive, and the sensations ricocheted deep into my gut, into that place that yogis talk about, in the pit of my belly, in my solar plexus/yellow chakra.
And I realized that the fears of the upcoming road trip are officially GONE! It’s all excitement, and WOW!! and looking forward with such an open heart. I’m envisioning meeting all kinds of amazing people, toasting marshmallows at my campfire with friends, me and Cody walking trails, me biking to explore beautiful places, AND selling books and doing workshops and generating $$$ to support it all.
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