I don’t expect much when I hit publish on a blog post. I know there’s a lot to read on the Internet and my writing takes a little longer to dig into than most. I’m just about as slow in writing social media posts as I am with posting pieces on the blog, so getting my work in front of a wider readership has never really been a natural thing for me. And so, when I finish a new piece and hit the button to send it into the ether, I usually look for a comment from my mom and maybe a friend or two (Thank you to those who chime in!). And that’s that.
We step out from under the canopy of trees to an open expanse of rock, a solid place to stand and admire the formations over our heads. At the side, creek water rolls over boulders and skitters through, continuing its slow chisel into the earth. I tip my head back, squint my eyes and look up to take in the work of ancient winds and waters, art sculpted out of red sandstone.
Who knows how it was decided which parts of the rock would stay and which ones would float away? Whatever the give and take, the layers that lasted stand now as jagged steeples pointing up in an uncluttered sky.
No wonder the people call this place Cathedral Rock. Continue reading
Where do I start? There is so much to tell between the beginning and the end of this season’s story, but I’ll go ahead and give you the punchline…we arrived safely. There and back again. Better for the journey. And there were more invitations for adventure as we stepped out of customs on our home soil once again.
In our comings and goings after that, on a road trip in late June and in time spent with out-of-town family the first two weeks of July, I’ve imagined probably fifty different ways to tell you about our writing adventures in Geneva and eastern France. But, if I wait to pick the perfect way and perfect time to type it all out just right, the weeks of silence here will turn into months. Continue reading
June 2003. It’s the last time customs stamped my passport. Madrid. Tangier. I take my fiance along for quite a ride, then four months later, calm and cheerful, I leave behind my love of nations for the love of my all-American guy.
December 2010. My passport expires in its quiet file folder…no fanfare.
February 2013. About to bring my third baby into the world, I have nestled myself quite deep into a life of home and family. Yet, as I shared here, for someone like me who has logged all these miles in the memory bank and had her passport stamped in a dozen faraway places, the seat of the rocking chair can sometimes feel so small. Continue reading
The first time I opened Gift from the Sea, I was pedaling barefoot on the exercise bike in the basement. It’s the story of this stage of my life, I’m circling my legs around in full stride only to realize I’m a hamster in a wheel. I stopped pedaling as Anne Morrow Lindbergh described my frenzied days in pointed poetic lines written half a century earlier. Continue reading