Saturday, September 14 Royal Harwich Yacht Club Library

A good day today!  We slept late after all our long passage of the previous days, then after breakfasting on Ann's delicious buckwheat pancakes, we were visited by the genial harbormaster, Michael Duggan (Doogy) who provided us with a wealth of information, on everything from the local area to information on going up the Thames  and traveling to and through the Netherlands.  He also called and reserved a place for us here.  We then  went out to explore the town of Old Harwich, which was the home of Christopher Newport of Virginia fame, and Christopher Jones who piloted the Mayflower.  Also Samuel Pepys, the diarist had served as harbormaster here.  We bought a few groceries at a small shop, then had lunch in a lovely building dating from the 15th century,  The Crown and Post Restaurant.   After lunch, we caught the tide upstream to this lovely Yacht Club, where we were warmly welcomed.  Everyone seems excited to meet American sailors, and even more excited when they learn that Lew and Ann have been circumnavigating the globe, living on their boat pretty much full time for the past seventeen years.

The library has many books and magazines on sailing, and is decorated with lovely paintings and prints, including portraits of royal benefactors of the club going back to queen Adelaide.

We walked on a lovely footpath through woods and flowery  fields to the tiny village of Pin Mill and a famous pub called The Butt and Oyster, where we had a light supper.  Along the path we encountered two children swinging from a board swing from one of the big old oak trees.  I ate a bowl of mussels,  Kent and Ann had a pureed vegetable soup, and Lew had cheese and olives.  The sky cleared, and there was lovely light on the fields and through the trees as we walked back to the yacht club, to the laundry and the library.

 

We have been doing our laundry here, with mixed success, as there is no clothes dryer, and the one machine leaves everything sopping wet.

It has gotten windier and colder.  A sudden interruption!  Fireworks and what sounded like canon blasts.  I've no idea what the occasion.

Time to head back to the boat!  More tomorrow.

Sunday, September 15

Harwich Royal Yacht Club

We slept late this morning, but climbed out to brilliant sunshine and fairly warm temperatures before 9 a.m.

Kent strung up a clothesline, and we both hung out three loads of laundry from the previous night.  The wind whipped up, and people where out sailing in little dinghies.  Here we were, the only American boat in this elegant marina, at the end of the dock with our laundry flying beneath the Stars and Stripes. It was so warm I doffed my fleece, leggings, and socks.  However, after about an hour of this delightful situation, the sky suddenly filled with dark clouds, the temperature dropped, and we were back to gray and gloom again.  We have gotten the laundry in, although a few things are still drying under cover.

The exciting news is that Lew has determined a course to London.  We leave here tomorrow, anchor one night near the mouth of the Thames, then take the tide up to Limehouse Marina on Tuesday morning, arriving shortly after noon to get through the lock into the dock, about 1.5 miles from the Tower of London,  on a stop on the Docklands Light Rail.  We are all quite excited to have this settled and we are looking forward to arriving in London from the water.

Friday, 13 September

Friday, 13 September
10 a.m.

We are sailing now, no motor!  Nearing the end of Yarmouth.  It is somewhat warmer here, wind from the west as we pass along the shore.  The swells have evened out.

I went to bed about 8:30,  before Kent finished his watch about 9: 20.  We slept until 3, despite bouncing head to toe and side to side.  During the 3-6 watch, we saw lights of ships in the darkness and some lights along the shore.  I stayed up until about 4:30, with still no sign of dawn.  I was trying to remember the words of "Let the Lower Be Burning" and hearing Johnny Cash's voice.  This was a favorite of mine from childhood.   "Some poor shipwrecked, drowning sailor, you may rescue, you may save."  I'll try to keep my lower lights burning. Occasionally waves broke over the bow, white clouds of ghostly spray whipping toward us in the darkness, then gone in an instant.

I played Scrabble against the machine on my iPad, not doing very well, and when Kent came down to the aft cabin at six, to my surprise I fell asleep again, not waking until almost 9, dreaming deeply of clinging to red cliffs in a Grand Canyon that went up, not down, and of an amazing folding tent made of one long stretch of fabulous material that could be folded and turned to stand up by itself and make many configurations.  I had rescued a hummingbird, and was looking for a safe place for it to try to fly.

6 pm. We have docked in Harwich.  Seas calm, but intermittent rain.  We had wonderful, smooth sailing for much of  the day, making very good progress, averaging six knots, sometimes going as much as ten.  We have covered 200 nautical miles since Runswick Bay.  Lew says he had sailed for 45 years before he made a passage that long.  I cooked multi bean casserole for lunch.  Then I got a knot  in my stomach that felt like it wasn't going to go away, except coming up.  But I lay down for awhile, and it did go away.  Thankful!  It is so warm we don't need more than a couple of layers of clothing.  I'm wearing my Mexican dress over long-sleeved t-shirt and hiking pants with pink hiking socks and and black Ecco hiking sandals.

8:30 p.m.  Showers tonight!  A short walk along the pontoon in the rain.  Unisex bathrooms, so Kent and I could share.  After a lovely supper, including a delicious salad with homemade dressing, all  made by Ann, who is a fabulous cook, and some red  wine, we are turning in early after our 1 night and 2 days of sailing following our wild night in Runswick Bay. 




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Wednesday, September 11

Wednesday, September 11, 2013 1:30 pm

Sailing south, large swells making rocking sailing, but no wind, heading toward an anchorage in Runswick Bay, somewhere north of Whitby.  It has been raining and it is chilly.  No hint of sun for most of the day, and not the most pleasant ride.  We are motoring, using the main sail to help even out the swell.  We are in the cockpit, because it is harder to keep from getting seasick under deck; however, the cockpit is enclosed in plastic, keeping out much of the wind and rain.  We have been underway since about 8, and have another 4 hours to go.  This is going to be a long day.  Ann, Kent, and I have chosen to fast today, so we don't even have drinks and a hot meal to look forward to this evening.  Maybe just the cessation of rocking will be enough.

A series of five big ships is crossing our path.  How will we keep from being run down?

We had a lovely time taking the bus to Newcastle yesterday, through charming Whitley Bay, the outskirts of Tynemouth.  After lunch at a buffet, The Goose,  just down from the Haymarket bus station, we proceeded down Newgate, stopping in St. Andrews, the city's oldest church, which had very old stones in the churchyard and some lovely Romanesque details inside.  After by-passing the colorful wagon of a Welsh fortune-telling Gypsy, we explored the lavish St. Nicholas church, then passed the castle, and walked down steps to the quayside, where we could see the array of four bridges across the Tyne, including one that resembled and was built by the the builder of the Sidney Harbor Bridge, and the amazing millennium foot bridge by Norman Foster, that opens like an eyelid.

On the other side of the footbridge lay the Baltic contemporary art museum in an old flour mill, a fascinating place with wild and weird art and sculpture and helpful guides.  It also offered fabulous views of the river and the bridges.  We also had great views of the performance hall designed by Foster that is sometimes described as looking like a glass bottle on its side.

Seven Stories, a children's literature center had a nicely designed, child-friendly exhibit on Enid Blyton. I met the others afterwards at the Ship Inn.) We finished our afternoon at The Biscuit Factory art gallery and dinner at the adjacent David Kennedy's Social Food, very elegant with yummy tapas and wine.  In the evening light we rode back to the boat, sitting in the front seats on the top of the double-decker bus, as we'd done in the morning.

We seem to have passed the gauntlet of large ships, and foggy land looms ahead.
I am bundled in two layers of pants, long wool hiking socks, two shirts,  my fleece, wool scarf,  parka, and gloves when I'm not typing, and I am still chilly.  Last night and the night  before the wind generator howled and moaned in irregular patterns that kept me awake.  Are we having fun yet?

About 5 p.m. We anchored in Runswick Bay. Still lots of swell.  Clouds, cold, and a pretty little village against the hillside on shore.  Whitby was visible in the distance as we came into the bay.




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Thursday, September 12. Rough Sailing

Thursday, September 12, 2013 8 a.m.

What a night! The boat constantly rocked from side to side, sometimes with loud rumbles and crashes as the waves hit the hull. Often times we slid or rolled across the bed, to which we'd attached a wooden board to hold us in. I already had a stiff neck, and this did not make it better. There was a pattern to the rocking, a crescendo of side to side rocks, then an all too brief hiatus, almost no motion at all, and then a bit of tilt from bow to stern, then it would start over again. With every repeat of the cycle, I hoped and prayed this one would be the last. Eventually I was so tired that I slept for awhile, but it was impossible to be truly comfortable. For awhile I braced my knee against the board and one arm against the mast at the head of the bed that held the board. 

At 4:30 we got up to sail again. My neck hurt, but the usually sore back was not too bad. We were finally warm under all of our blankets, and I was reluctant to get out in the dark and cold. Lew had plotted us a course of of over 150 miles. But I crawled over the rail and made my way into the head where I managed ok with all the rocking until I stood up straight and reached up to turn on the light, which caused a spasm of intense pain in my center back. I gasped for breath and moaned, and managed to sit on the toilet seat without falling out the door and collapsing on the floor. I could hardly breathe and was in a cold sweat and light-headed when Kent, who had heard me came back to the aft cabin and found me. After a few minutes I felt better, but still shaken. Kent brought some pineapple juice and ibuprofen, and I crawled back into bed. Lew and Kent got the anchor up and motor running, which immediately smooth the swell to some extent, and I dozed off, missing the view of Whitby in the gloom. 

I did get up and into the cockpit in time to see Robin Hood's Bay and look at the stark cliffs where I'd walked alone so many years ago, now feeling much better. Kent is at the helm and Lew and Ann have gone back to bed, too. The swells continue, but there is little to no wind, so we are motoring with one sail up. We've moved farther off shore, away from the headlands and fishing boats, so except for occasional birds there is nothing to see but gray water and sky, and the cold is chilling. Bed seems the best place to spend such a passage. There is no heat in the boat other than from the gas stove top and that generated by the engine. I have been thinking of the tales my grandparents told of awful crossings of the North Sea.

4:20 p.m.

I slept for awhile again this morning, then went out to watch again. We are making good progress, and the sun shone hazily for an hour or so, which made us all feel more cheerful.

I washed my leggings and one pair of underpants, and dressed in clean pants, leaving my long-sleeved t-shirt under my Mexican dress on top, with wool scarf and fleece and parka above that. Fetching, I'm sure. It warmed up in the cockpit, but it is still very cold here in the aft cabin.

We are planning an overnight passage, to either Great Yarmouth or on to Harwich, depending on our speed. We have been motoring, with slight sail assist sometimes, between 5 and7knots mostly depending on current. This doesn't make for very fast traveling.

We began passing many oil rigs and tankers this afternoon.

Sailing from Scotland to London

Serannity

8 September 2013  1:20 pm

Sailing on Serannity with Lew and Ann Tucker, old sailing friends of Kent's, from Eyemouth north of Berwick-upon-Tweed to London.

After an afternoon walking the Royal Mile in Edinburgh, and taking a photo of me in front of 6 Nelson street where Ed, Jesse, and I lived for nearly 3 months in 1979 (we now stayed across the street at a lovely B an B 11 Nelson Street), we took the bus to Eyemouth through lovely country villages, arriving in Eyemouth in a gale and downpour requiring our pack covers and parkas as we trekked along the waterfront in search of the boat with an American flag flying.  We spied it through the blowing rain, and walked all around the harbor to reach it on the other side.  Lew had gone looking for us, but Ann warmly welcomed us two drowned rats.

Wet Lew

9 September Sunday 1:30 p.m.

Dropping anchor at Lindisfarne (Holy Island).  Weather is brisk.

We left Eyemouth about 9, taking about an hourto get fuel.  There were some fairly big swells as we traveled along the shore where we had walked yesterday.

We saw many seals poking up their heads to look at us we passed.  We passed a fishing boat with people on deck.

Yesterday I walked around in the morning, and Kent and I did errands for Ann, getting stamps for many postcards, vitamins at the pharmacy, and a few things at the grocery store, finally buying scones at the bakery.

In the afternoon we walked along the spectacular cliff side coastal path between a scenic golf course ( I saw no golf carts and no women) and crashing waves on black rocks below, getting  back in time for dinner at OBLO, which was a surprisingly elegant pub.  Three of us had the evening special of sea bass, teriyaki mushrooms, soy meringues, and braised pak choi.  Kent had peppardelle with mushrooms.  Desserts:  Eton Mess (meringue fruit and cream), raspberry cheesecake (not really cheesecake -- more like mousse), chocolate brownie with caramel ice cream, and Irish coffee.  Also a bottle of white  fine  house wine.  On the way home we encountered swans on the waterfront.

Kent and I planned to take hot showers in the evening, but even though Kent says he put 2 50 pence pieces in for hot water, we never got any hot water, and ended up with cold showers.  Brr.  Needless to say we didn't linger.

This afternoon we arrived at Lindisfarne, the Holy Island, where saints Cuthbert and Aidan lived, and where the Lindisfarne Gospels were created.

We went ashore in the dinghy, visited two museums and had drinks in a pub.  It was a wet ride back to the boat.  Castles loom in the distance on both sides.  Lindisfarne to the east and Bamburgh (where Elizabeth with cate Blanchett was filmed) to the west, the ruined priory priory and stone and white-washed cottages of the village behind us.  There were picturesque storage sheds made of the overturned hulls of old ships.

September 10 (tuesday)

Royal Northmberland Yacht Club

We left about 7 a.m. On  Monday and motored with sail up and a light tail wind to Blyth, just north of Newcastle.  Strong winds and gusts are expected today, so instead of heading back to sea, we are taking the bus to Newcastle-on-Tyne, supposedly the hip capital of the Northeast.  A man we met at the bar last night described Nothumberland, bordering Scotland and full of castles, as the "wild west" of England.

Linnea and Kent

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Christmas Greetings 2012

Christmas Letter 2012

Greetings to friends and family!  I wrote only an email letter last year as we were traveling most of December and all of January, so this will be the first actual letter that many of you have received since Kent and I joined our lives together in April 2011. Here is the link to last year’s letter:

(http://www.happy-chickens.blogspot.com/2011/12/christmas-letter-2011.html)

Our journey to Turkey, Pakistan, and India one year ago was filled with wonder. We We rented a little flat in beautiful, historic Istanbul, and also spent five days visiting the ancient ruins of Ephesus, Pergamon, Pamukkale, and other sites in southwestern Turkey.  In Karachi, we attended three days of wedding celebrations for Linnea’s daughter Psyche Philips and her husband Saad Hasan.  We stayed at the historic old British Sind Club, and were generously welcomed and looked after by the entire extended families of Asrar and Naushaba Hasan.  Karachi was a chaotics mix of old and new, rich and poor.  Camels and donkey carts shared the streets with sleek cars and wildly decorated buses with passengers clinging to roofs and sides.  We saw entire families on loaded motorcycles – fathers, mothers (with silk scarves flying), babies, children, and bundles of goods weaving in and out of crazy traffic.

We celebrated Kent’s birthday and the new year in Delhi, India, where we experienced the first of many hair-raising rides on chook-chooks (auto rickshaws), noisy open three-wheeled vehicles on motorcycle bases with manic betel-nut fueled drivers.  We took an overnight train to Varanasi where devout Hindus travel to die and be cremated in open fires on the banks of the beautiful, sacred Ganges.  Overnight by train again to Khajuraho, site of the temples known for their erotic carvings, and by taxi (in dense fog) to Orccha where we stayed in a maharajah’s palace turned into a hotel.  We enjoyed Agra and the Taj Mahal, wildlife watching at Bharaptur and Ranthambore (a Siberian crane and a tiger!), and the small village of Bundi, one of the few places where we were alone as we explored ruined palaces and an overgrown fort inhabited solely by monkeys.  After 2 nights in romantic Udaipur, we flew to the southern tip of India where Linnea waded (along with crowds of Indians) in the water where 3 oceans meet.  A few days in lovely Cochin, and then in Mumbai (which pleased us more than Delhi, or perhaps we were used to the chaos and throbbing energy of India by then) concluded our month in India.  We returned home after an overnight in a very chilly Istanbul where snow fell through the darkness onto the illuminated Blue Mosque.   An indelible memory.

We spent the next four months getting the house and grounds ready for Saad and Psyche’s U.S. wedding on May 27.  It was an amazing and joyous occasion, with Saad’s father and sisters and an uncle, most of the Philips children and grandchildren, plus an international array of young friends of Saad and Psyche. Wedding video (5 minutes) here: http://vimeo.com/44022373 and the video created by Saad’s sisters here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pWpmf4ZrPdo

Psyche left for a research project in Botswana within a week of the wedding, sending back wonderful reports: http://www.iwannabotswana.blogspot.com/2012_06_01_archive.html

Linnea and Kent made two trips to Michigan, one for Linnea’s 50 year class reunion, visiting friends and family en route, including Kent’s sons Andy in Minneapolis and Jake and his family in Lamberton, MN.   We enjoyed opera in Santa Fe in August, and then the last trip of the year, a 210-mile, nineteen-day walk on the Chemin de Saint Jacques de Compostelle (Camino de Santiago de Compostela) from Geneva, Switzerland, to Le Puy-en-Velay, France, where Linnea had begun her solo walk to Santiago in 2010.  For Linnea this was a pilgrimage of gratitude for her new life with Kent.  For Kent it was a chance to walk through part of France, and for both of us it was a rewarding experience and an opportunity to get in shape.  Blog account at http://www.caminobleu.blogspot.com

We had some sad losses this year:  my friend Angela Clarke to cancer in June, and Saad’s mother Naushaba in November.

Kent has done major remodeling of two bathrooms, and countless smaller projects.  There is never an end to maintenance, but we did have everything looking beautiful for the wedding, including stacking the biggest woodpile I’ve ever seen, and making countless trips to the dump with Kent’s trailer. We celebrated our first wedding anniversary with a trip to the dump!  We do have a lot of fun together!  Kent has also turned our former dump of a garage (which has possibly never seen a car) into a beautiful workshop.  We putter at home, Linnea with emails, trip research, and lately (again) genealogy, Kent with building and maintenance, Linnea with online word games, Kent with Sudoku.  We try to hike regularly.  We (especially Kent!) also spend way too much time watching Turner Classic Movies.  

We are grateful for each other, for this unanticipated happiness in our twilight years, and we wish for all of you peace, love, gratitude and happiness during this holiday season and the coming year.

Linnea Hendrickson and Kent Kedl

Albuquerque, New Mexico

May-June 2012 Events!

Kent, Linnea, and Psyche

May 27 Kent, Linnea, Jesse, Hyder, Psyche Saad, Miraal, Najam, Asrar, Aliya, Layla, Humera

Actually, life has been a nonstop series of events since Kent and I returned from India on February 1, 2012.  We almost immediately began working on getting the house and grounds ready for Psyche and Saad's May 27 wedding at the house.  Kent was still working on our main bathroom, building all the cabinets from scratch, doing all the plumbing, electrical, and tile work, too.  In the midst of all this, we had the usual problems around the house -- leaky roof in the workshop, burst sewer pipe in the basement, electrical outage in the casita, and so forth.  I also faced the illness and eventual loss of my dear friend Angela Clarke on June 8, just a little over a week after Psyche's wedding.  The wedding came off beautifully on May 27, as one can see in Drew Schrimsher's lovely video and in various photos on Facebook. Highlights of the wedding.  Immediately following the wedding and the departure of Saad's sisters, their children, and their father, Kent and I flew to Michigan for a short weekend visit and celebration of my cousin Jo Anne Arrowood Swanson and her husband John's Fiftieth Wedding Anniversary.  I was then home for about a week before I flew to Boston for the Children's Literature Association conference, where most of my time was taken up by my duties as chair of the very first Phoenix Picture Book Award Committee.  After only three nights home in my own bed, Kent and left in the minivan, driving to Minnesota and Michigan, where we will attend my 50-year Newberry High School Reunion in Newberry, Michigan.  So, here we are, ensconced in the Presidential Suite (!) of the New Victorian Inn to which we were upgraded.  But do not visions of luxury dance in your heads.  This place looks like a slightly refurbished Super 8, although we do have two rooms, and a huge spa tub in the bedroom!

First day of Psyche and Saad's Wedding: Karachi, Pakistan

Incredible day full of beautiful moments, all with my beautiful daughter and handsome son-in-law and his delightful family and with my dear supportive husband, Kent.

Departing!

I can see that writng to a blog on an iPod Touch is not going to be easy.
All is packed into 2 carry on bags plus 2 "personal items"-- a small backpack & a packable tote bag.  We also have a checked small duffle on wheels containing wedding finery and gifts and dress shoes.  We hope we can send this stuff home somehow before we depart from Karachi to India.

We leave for Salt Lake City at 2:15, then overnight to Paris, and on to Istanbul.  Now let's see if I can send this!

Christmas Letter 2011

Christmas 2011

From Linnea Hendrickson and Kent Kedl

Dear Friends and Family,

What a year this has been!  We began with a large party on New Year’s Eve to celebrate milestone birthdays of Kent and our friend Anne Sensenig.

Then, while recovering our “lost” sailboat in Venice, Florida, in February, we received a phone call from Psyche in San Francisco, that she was now engaged to Saad Hasan, whose family lives in Karachi, Pakistan.

Shortly afterwards we got word that Linnea’s beloved eight-year-old dog Bert, while visiting a neighbor, had bitten a UPS deliveryman.  After a traumatic hearing when we returned home, we were able to save Bert’s life by turning him over to the Brittany rescue group from which we’d received him as a pup.  He has come back to visit a couple of times, and we miss him terribly, but not the tension of wondering when he is going to take it upon himself to protect us from some man in uniform.

 In March we took a road trip to the American Pilgrims on the Camino Gathering at the Santa Barbara Mission in California, camping and visiting friends and relatives along the way.  Our tent nearly blew away in both Joshua Tree and Death Valley, and we navigated a snowy mountain pass and torrents of melting water crossing the road east of Ojai, California.

Having weathered (literally and metaphorically) all these adventures, we decided we liked being with each other enough that we wanted to always be together.  So, we began moving Kent’s furniture from Las Cruces to Albuquerque, making many trips in the van and with the Suzuki pulling a trailer, and finally made one last big push with a rented truck.  Moving another whole household into a house that was already completely full of twenty years of accumulated belongings was quite a challenge, but with many trips to Goodwill and Savers, and several listings on Craigslist, we have managed to pare down the excess so that everything we still own is finally stored under cover.  We are still working on the sorting and paring down, and had some challenging fun integrating our art collections.  Only last week did I finally “marry” our kitchen knives, realizing we did not need two Chicago cutlery blocks with three chef’s knives and assorted other duplicates on our crowded kitchen counter.

We were married on April 27, by chatty judge Alice Salcido at the Dona Ana County Building in Las Cruces, with our friends Jeanne and Ross Burkhardt and Terry and Ruth Branson as our witnesses.  After a celebratory lunch at the Double Eagle in Old Mesilla, we departed to the historic Sierra Grande Hotel and Spa in Truth or Consequences, then after one night at home in Albuquerque, headed to Minnesota and Michigan, where we visited numerous family members, including Kent’s sons Jake and Andy, the Philips children and grandchildren, numerous cousins, and both of our brothers.

During the summer, we enjoyed several outings to the Santa Fe Opera, picnics with friends, and a two-week visit, including a trip around New Mexico, with Kent’s three lovely granddaughters Melanie, Rachel, and Vanessa.

In June we thought Kent’s house had sold, but the deal fell through two weeks before the scheduled closing.  We rushed to clear the house because the buyers wanted to move in early, so now it stands empty, and when we go down to check on things we sleep on a foam mattress on the floor and eat at a small folding table and chairs.  If anyone wants a nice three-bedroom house in Las Cruces, NM, please let us know!

We spent the fall working on projects around the house.  Most ambitiously Kent tackled a remodel of our main bathroom, running into numerous complications inherent in working an old, very solidly built house.  We’re not done yet!

We had a lovely mingling of friends and family here for Thanksgiving, and in another week we begin what is probably our biggest adventure of the year – a trip to Pakistan for the wedding of Saad and Psyche in Karachi over the Christmas holidays, preceded by two weeks in Turkey and followed by January in India.  The itinerary is finished, but we are still packing and preparing.

This year I have been especially saddened by war and violence, especially as we have been planning our journey to Pakistan. Not only are we not free to travel as we’d like, but I think about the way war destroys the lives of innocent bystanders as well as the lives of young soldiers.  I worry about the escalating anti-American sentiment and demonstrations we may encounter in Pakistan as we prepare to celebrate a joyous and hopeful union between two greatly loved children from two wonderful families from different countries and cultures.   I cannot comprehend how anyone has ever thought that war is a good idea or a solution to any problem.

With that thought, I leave you with prayers for peace on earth, good will to all, and hope for the future, as evidenced by the transforming power of love in our lives.

Linnea and Kent

We Tied the Knot

We tied the knot! April 27, 2011
Las Cruces, NM

Christmas Greetings 2010

Christmas 2010

Dear Friends and Family,

What a year this has been! Here it is 10 days before December 25, and I am just beginning to write.

The year started out intensely in January, with my work on the Newbery Award Committee, which met for many hours in the Park Plaza Hotel in Boston before coming up with a wonderful array of winning books, including winner Rebecca Stead’s When You Reach Me. The day after we finished our deliberations, I walked for hours, all over Boston, so glad to be out in the fresh air to wander through history from the Commons to the North End to Charlestown. Later, after the announcements and press conference, I spent time with college roommates Mary Kay and Jane at Jane’s home in Lexington.

When I returned home, it was the first time since I had retired the previous June that I had time to think about things other than work and Newbery reading. In February I went to Ixtapan de la Sal, Mexico (last foreign trip with Ed was there in 2007) for two weeks, a lovely, quiet resort and spa south of Mexico City, meeting friends Herb and Gloria Thompson from State College, PA.

I also began reading about the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, Spain, which when Ed was dying I’d promised myself I would walk. The IBBY (International Board on Books for Young People) meetings would be in Santiago in September, so I knew this was the year to make the walk. (I learned later that 2010 is a Holy Year and what this meant.) Initially I had thought I would walk for perhaps 3 or 4 weeks (I couldn’t imagine walking longer), and that I would walk as much of the Camino I could do in that time.

However, reading Conrad Rudolph’s Pilgrimage to the End of the World (see my blog: http://caminobleu.blogspot.com/) fired a desire to begin walking in France. With relatively short notice, and with Susan, who lives in the guesthouse, agreeing to look after “the farm” while I was gone, I gathered some guidebooks, bought a backpack, made plane reservations, and flew to Lyons, France, on April 10. I began walking on April 13 from Le Puy-en-Velay. I was frightened and alone. No one spoke anything but French, and the weather on those first days was cold and snowy. Walking 20 and more kilometers each day with a pack was hard, and I slept long hours at night. My head was full of thoughts as I walked: of friends and family past and present, of life and death, and of Ed. Sometimes I cried, and sometimes I laughed with joy. I also felt full of gratitude that I had the health to do this walk through such incredibly beautiful country. I learned to live with the unknown, and trust that I would find my way and a place to eat and sleep each evening. Despite the language barrier, I made friends. After about 10 days, the weather improved, and I experienced the joy of walking in the glorious spring countryside. I also met Lisa from Germany and Steven from Flanders, and we became a Camino “family,” I was “mom” to these two young people who were the same age as daughter Psyche. We separated at a snow-blocked pass in the Pyrenees, but later reunited briefly in Pamplona, Spain, where I ended the first part of my walk, while they continued on to Santiago and Finisterre. My heart went with them.

I returned home on May 22, celebrating my birthday and honoring the anniversary of Ed’s death with a Memorial Day picnic atop the Sandia Mountains a week later. The summer was filled with meetings (Children’s Literature Association in Ann Arbor and a heady round of dinner parties in Washington, D.C. with the Newbery-winning authors, publishers, and our committee members). Then there were five Wednesday evenings at the Santa Fe Opera, and several hikes in the Sandia mountains, some with Kent Kedl, a widower from Las Cruces, whom I’d met briefly at Jeanne and Ross’s last Christmas Eve. We’d gotten together a few times and had emailed fairly frequently during the previous months. He came up to say good-bye before I left again to finish the Camino in Spain on September 1. Susan again looked after everything at home, or I wouldn’t have been able to make this trip.

After vacationing with friends in Bilbao and attending the IBBY meetings in Santiago, I returned to Pamplona and resumed walking, heading back to Santiago and on to Finisterre. It was harder to make friends in Spain, as I often seemed to be out-walking the people I encountered on the way, so I was alone more often, although one is never really alone on the Camino. About 10 days before reaching Santiago, I began walking with Eva from Italy and Yoko from Japan. We continued together for the rest of the trip, finishing in Santiago on October 10 – 10/10/10 – a day to remember! Yoko continued with me for three more days to Finisterre, the End of the World on the Atlantic coast. (Photos: flickr.com/photos/manga_mom/)

I returned home on October 16, and Kent was here to meet me. I later visited him in Las Cruces, and we took a whirlwind trip through Indian Country, attending Zuni dances, celebrating a Halloween wedding anniversary with my college roommate Carolyn and her husband Ben at the historic La Posada in Winslow, Arizona, hiking to the White House Ruin in Canyon de Chelly, and even making a quick circuit of Chaco Canyon. It was Kent’s idea that we should take a longer trip to see if we could get along: to Peru! Thus, on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, we flew to Lima and then Cuzco, and spent 4 days and 3 nights (in tents), on the challenging but incredibly beautiful Inca Trail (Camino Inca). We ended up at Machu Picchu in clouds and rain – another kind of pilgrimage. We returned to Las Cruces on December 9, still getting along.

A few years ago in my Christmas letter I quoted from Ruth Duck’s lovely hymn, “Warm the Time of Winter.” This Sunday as I walked into the Aquinas Newman Center, the congregation was once again singing this Advent hymn, and the words took on new meaning, especially the lines, “from the ashes may there rise phoenix of our growing.” I have walked over 1000 miles this year, one step at a time, from darkness into light, from grief (which is still with me), into hope, joy, and love.

I look forward to spending Christmas at home with friends (including Kent) and family. Jesse lives nearby (and continues to make a living from his art), and Psyche will be on vacation from her nursing studies at Yale. Who knows what the future will bring? I have faith that “all will be well” (Julian of Norwich). I travel one step at a time. Thankful for your friendship, I send a pilgrim’s prayer that we may all be blessed in our life journeys this coming year.

Taxco, Mexico

February 23.  Ixtapan de la Sal.  Trip to Taxco.

This was an emotional journey, almost a pilgrimage back to Taxco which was one of the last places Ed and I visited together in 2007.  On that trip I drove on those treacherous winding roads up and down mountains and along the edges of steep canyons, and through one tiny village that seemed perched on the top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere.  Today I rode on the bus, which seemed almost scarier as we seemed to teeter on the edge of those cliffs.  All along the way I saw archetypal images of Mexico.  A burro in a field, a horse standing beside a large puddle of water, chickens in a cluttered farmyard, and snow-covered mountain peaks floating in the distance.  Dusty little towns had huge, weathered churches in their centers, some decorated with banners for Lent.

I wondered what it would be like to live in these small settlements.  So many people were outside, selling fruit, working in fields, carrying things.  I did see kids eating junk food, candy, and things in plastic wrappers.  It must cost so little to live as these people do, and they have little, but beautiful views, lots of exercise, and close families I would hope.  On the way home several very neatly dressed young men who looked like students, got off in some of the small villages.

From the Taxco bus station, I was able to find my way up to the first church (Veracruz), where I ducked inside to pray briefly.  Then I continued up to Santa Prisca, the Cathedral.  I didn’t go in, but sat on a bench in the Zocalo and read the pages I had copied from the “Let’s Go” guide.  It was much too bumpy to read anything on the bus.

I headed up to Plaza San Juan and then kept going, past the ruined Rancho de Taxco and up to Hotel Victoria.  I wandered into the grounds and took a couple of pictures from the overlook.  I then continued up higher and higher into residential neighborhoods before walking down to the Church of Ojedo.  The door was closed, and I thought perhaps mass was going on since it was noon.  I sat outside on the terrace eating the lunch packed by the hotel – a bottle of juice, a delicious ham/cheese/tomato sandwich, and a cookie.  I stayed nearly an hour, thinking the doors might open.  School children came – one little boy climbed up on a pillar and I was almost positive I heard him shout, “Yo soy parjarito!”

Two men kept climbing up the steep walkway beside and above the church carrying crates of soft drinks and huge sacks of something from a large delivery truck parked at the end of the street below the church.  I snapped some pictures of them, of laundry drying on rooftops below with Santa Prisca in the background, and some pictures of me.  The front of the church was decorated with streams of triangular plastic papel picado.  It got warm enough that I took off my jacket.  The church doors never opened, and I didn’t try then, but I made my way back down along various paths, encountering a whole lot of school children, many of them met by their mothers with warm hugs.

At the Zocalo again I went into the church.  Some of the gold altar pieces were being repainted and restored.  In a side chapel I said lots of prayers, mainly for all the Philips relatives and a prayer of thanks for Ed’s life.  I cried.  And took a picture outside of the church door without Ed there.  A young couple stood in the sanctuary with a newborn baby, and had someone take their picture.  Then they sat quietly in a pew for awhile, talking softly.

After that I visited Casa Borda, which we’d somehow missed before, but now it was under construction, so mostly closed.  The biblioteca was on the lower level, and some very friendly people showed me the collection.  Then up and down again to the silver museum.  I paid 10 pesos to get in, but there was not very much of interest there – some murals depicting the history of Taxco silver enterprises.  I was able to use the restroom there, though, perhaps worth the 10 pesos.   Then on to the Ex-Convento, and then the church of Chavarrieta where I just missed a performance in the courtyard.  Young men in costume were departing.  I did not want to stay until 5 p.m. to see the next one.  Some men were working on scaffolding on top of which perched an enormous papier mache chicken.  There were wheels for fireworks on the scaffolding.  People were setting out bunches of flowers.  Booths selling food lined the steps and an upper courtyard, and a woman selling cascones sat on the steps to the upper courtyard.  

I retraced my steps, and after asking directions twice from very helpful people, I made my way back to the bus station, where I met a lovely Canadian couple spending five weeks in Cuernavaca, and a French woman traveling alone.  Unfortunately I couldn’t talk with them longer as I had to catch my bus.  An old woman crossed herself and blessed the bus before getting on, so I put my faith in having a safe trip.  The bus driver was very handsome, and there was a crucifix and palm branches attached to the wall to the left of the driver’s seat.  I should have gotten a picture of that, but I didn’t. The bus dropped me off at the Parque Aquatico entrance, with the helpful intervention of a lovely woman in the front seat who was traveling with the elderly woman. 

I think I’ve now seen all I want to see of Taxco.  The Volkswagens crowded the narrow streets, and I worried about getting run over.  There were fumes and noise. When I came through the back gate into Spa Hotel Ixtapan de la Sal, it was like entering a peaceful, cool oasis.   I had looked only briefly at silver, and saw nothing more interesting than some of the pieces in the shop here in the hotel.  I did not ask about prices, so do not know if there were bargains to be had.

Christmas 2009

Dear Friends and Family,

Greetings during this season of hope and celebration.

Last December 23rd, upon leaving my favorite Italian grocery in San Francisco’s Mission District, I looked across the street and saw a Social Security Office. A sign on the door said, open until 4 p.m. Closed December 24 and 25. It was 3:45. Through the window I saw an empty waiting room. I opened the door, and the guard said, “Come in.” At that moment I decided to retire at the end of the 2008-2009 school year, and within fifteen minutes was signed up to begin receiving Social Security in January.

During the previous year, with my broken wrist and subsequent back pain, I realized my body was not going to last forever, and that if I wanted to travel around the world with a backpack, I’d better start soon. In January, the opportunity arose for a trek in Morocco. As I debated with myself about going, lured by the luscious descriptions and colorful photos on the website of Adventureline Travel in Cornwall, England, the dollar rose against the pound, my school schedule was adjustable, and a neighbor said, “You never regret what you do, but you often regret what you don’t do.” That settled it. In February and early March I walked about 75 miles through the Jebel Sarhro region of Morocco, slept in a tent for nine nights, in a village house for one, had a wonderful time, and No Regrets. Pictures on Flickr at http://flickr.com/photos/manga_mom/

I braced myself for the emotionally perilous weekend of May 29, which marked my birthday, Ed’s birthday, our wedding anniversary, the anniversary of Ed’s death, and now my retirement, turned into a wonderful occasion as my friend Melissa accompanied me to Ramsey Canyon, Arizona for a wonderful weekend of bird-watching, with sightings of brilliant hummingbirds and gorgeous wild turkeys with colors I thought existed only in children’s coloring books.

Summer included many short trips: to North Carolina, Seattle (twice: once for a Philips family reunion and once to attend the mesmerizing Seattle Opera Ring Cycle), San Francisco, Michigan, Wisconsin, and Chicago (for ALA). Back home, I attended all five productions of the Santa Fe Opera, and hiked often with the Sunday afternoon group of the New Mexico Mountain Club.

Fall has been divided among: (1) Newbery reading, (2) a strenuous fitness challenge program to get me ready for that backpack (sit-ups, push-ups, etc., supervised by a sweet ex-marine -- “Keep going, keep going!”), and (3) extensive house repairs (new roof, lots of insulation, stucco, replacement windows, new storm doors, and lots of patching and painting and repairing inside and out). The only thing totally finished at this point is the roof, so I am carrying on amid the ongoing chaos of construction.

There have been some sad losses this year. Kathy Curley, a fellow librarian dear friend for nearly 40 years, my cousin Carolyn Bruemmer,and niece Mary Ann Comstock’s husband Rich, all lost brave and lengthy battles with cancer.

The children are now adults. Despite the hard times, Jesse continues to do the work he loves as a free-lance artist. His poster for the Star Trek movie got a lot of attention last spring. It is good to have him nearby, although weeks may go by without our seeing each other. Psyche continues to work, volunteer at a women’s health clinic, and take evening and weekend classes. She’s applying to graduate nursing schools, and the coming year will most likely see a move away from her beloved San Francisco.

After a little Christmas here with Jesse on the 23rd, I’ll drive to Las Cruces to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with my friends Jeanne and Ross Burkhardt. Psyche will be vacationing in Puerto Rico.

My Newbery Award Committee duties will come to an end in Boston on January 18, when the 2010 winner is announced.

I am gradually moving into a new place in my life, although thoughts of Ed are with me daily, especially during the past two days as I’ve sorted through the glass collection in the dining room, remembering that we sipped Grand Marnier in Paris in in 1977 in these two little glasses, that I begged him to keep a complete set of Steuben champagne glasses, and that he did. I’m packing much into boxes to deal with later, keeping on the shelves only the pieces I’m most likely to use.

Writing, whether letters, emails, book reviews, family history, or just for myself continues to be important. The writing group for cancer care-givers continues to be a source of support. In one of the books I am reading, Return to Sender by Julia Alvarez, a young girl who composes unsent letters to her missing mother writes, “‘El papel lo aguanta todo.’ Paper can hold anything. Sorrow that might otherwise break your heart. Joys with wings that lift you above the sad things in your life.”

With that I will close, and pray that faith, hope, and love, and writing, reading, prayers, and friendship, will sustain you and bring you joy.

Remembering My Dad, Potatoes and Bread

Note: I just found this reflection I'd written over a year ago.


Remembering My Dad, Potatoes and Bread. April 19, 2008, Albuquerque



As I was peeling potatoes tonight to put into a stew, I thought of my father. I haven’t been eating many potatoes lately. Ed was also a “meat and potatoes” man, and I haven’t eaten many potatoes since he died.

We practically lived on potatoes when I was growing up. It wasn’t a meal without potatoes. But, my dad complained about the quality of the potatoes we were buying, and blamed their condition on commercial fertilizers. He was probably right. He disdained potatoes that had black holes and hollow cracks inside, that turned green, and were full of spots. He decided to grow potatoes to feed our family of four. We had a half an empty lot in our yard, and half of that became the potato patch. Our sandy Michigan soil was great for potatoes.

In the summer my brother John and I would be given a nickel, maybe a dime-- if we could fill a pint jar with potato bugs. I don’t think I ever got a nickel. It takes a lot of potato bugs, little round striped things, not very pretty, to fill up a pint jar. I don’t remember too much about the planting (I know my dad cut them into pieces with eyes, and after the first year saved some of the last year’s potatoes to plant), but it was fun to dig them up with a pitchfork, and see the beautiful potatoes come out of the ground. The first “new potatoes” in the summer were always a treat – tiny round balls with thin skin, delicious boiled with the skins on and seasoned with a little salt, pepper, and butter. Later, we’d be dig them in the cold, just before frost and snow. Sometimes the snow caught some still left in the ground.

My dad stored the potatoes in our basement over the winter. The basement had two parts – old and new. The furnace was in the new part, so it got a bit warmer in there in the winter time. The old part was lined on one side with wooden shelves filled with my mother’s canning jars. The middle of the room tended to be full of junk and empty boxes, and there was a hot water heater back by the canning jars. In the northeast corner, though, my dad constructed a couple of bins up against the wall out of wood and old doors.

He covered the bins with layers of burlap bags, and there he stored the potatoes that would feed us all year, until the new potatoes came in the next summer, and even for awhile after that. Sometimes the old potatoes got shriveled – he must have checked on them every so often and thrown out any that were going bad. I don’t remember ever noticing a rotten potato smell when it was my turn to go down to throw back the burlap, reach down into the dark, gritty, chilly bin, and bring up some potatoes for supper.

When I peeled my potatoes tonight, there were some black spots to cut out. Mine came from the store, not from the garden. I thought of my dad, and all the potatoes he had peeled, and thought he would approve of my stew.

I should have some homemade bread to go with it. Long as it has been since I have had potatoes, it is even longer since I made bread. Like the potatoes, my dad couldn’t find bread he was willing to eat, so after old Mr. Lavender’s bakery burned down and Mr. Lavender retired and then died, my dad decided to start making his own bread. By then he had sold his jewelry store, and was a stay-at-home dad. When my mother, brother, and I came home from school, 1 ½ blocks away, every day for the lunch my dad would have it ready for us – often some kind of goulash made of potatoes and hamburger (horsy-keep-your-tail-up), or salt pork and potatoes with white gravy; or kidney stew with tasty onions; or vegetable or pea soup. In the days before he had retired, we’d come home for a quick lunch made with tomato soup from a can and a toasted cheese or tuna sandwich (and sometimes I’d wished that was still what we had).

Dad’s bread wasn’t usually ready by lunch time, although it was often rising then. But after school on a bread day, the smell of fresh bread, still hot from the oven, was heavenly. My mother would often bring other teachers home with her on those days, and they would sit in the kitchen, sipping coffee, and eating the still warm bread spread with melting butter. A whole loaf could disappear on one of those afternoons.

For some reason my dad couldn’t get his dough to rise if he used dry yeast, the only kind the stores seemed to carry. Because of the difficulty of getting cake yeast, he came up with his own sour dough mix, which he kept in a jar and carried with him in later years when he and my mother traveled. I have a picture of him working on his bread in my kitchen in Tucson in 1975. He left me some of his starter, which I used for awhile, but finally had to let go. I didn’t have any trouble making bread with dry yeast, which I learned to buy in bulk and put in the freezer. There was a time that I made lots of bread, too. How did I get too busy or too lazy to stop, even with the help of my Kitchen Aid mixer? I did make bread most of the time in the years before I was married, because I, too, could not stand store bought bread, and it wasn’t easy to find good bread in grocery stores in those days.

One day, I was eating a sandwich made with my homemade bread (whole wheat or rye), in the student union at the University of Arizona. And older man sat down across from me, and commented on my bread, and when I told him that I’d learned bread-making from my father’s example, he told me that he used to bake all the bread for his entire family when he was a young boy!

I didn’t make bread tonight, Daddy, but I’ve sure been thinking of you. Maybe I’ll do it in the morning. When Psyche, your granddaughter came home over Christmas, she wanted to make bread, perhaps remembering how I made bread regularly when she was little, just as I fondly remember all the delicious bread you made for us so many years ago.

Postscript

After I finished writing this, I got a bowl of the stew, not too bad, but a bit burned (the writer not paying attention). Then I turned on PBS and found an Independent Lens program about corn and the industrialization of agriculture, about growing corn with no food value, but high yields to feed feedlot cattle who get sick and die from this diet, if they are not butchered before that happens. Ugh! Much of it goes into making corn syrup, leading to epidemic of obesity and diabetes. My dad was ahead of the times in seeking more healthful eating and prudent use of our natural resources.

Remembering Ed: Year Two

June 2, 2009

Dear Ed,

It is another beautiful June morning, and my thoughts are of you. Two years ago this afternoon you took your last breath and left us. I think of you often and love you forever. My life has been utterly changed without you. I still listen for your footsteps and see your eyes looking into mine. I do not know what lies beyond the grave, but I know you could not have continued to live in this world. Your body wore out. Your suffering ended, and all of us here continue on without the grace of your presence. It is still hard to believe that you are gone.

I still sleep on my side of the bed, and your space is empty.

The dog tries, but does not fill it.

Maybe he is also looking for you when he runs away, as he has been doing lately.

I am building a new life for myself, but it is a different life, an emptier one. Nothing will ever fill your space because you were part of me and our lives together were one life. I miss your wisdom, your comforting presence, and having you as the one who loved me best of all.

This afternoon, in remembrance, Jesse and I will go to the mountaintop where we left your ashes. It is a beautiful spot, on top of the world and close to heaven. I look up there daily, and think of you as I drive across Albuquerque in the car you bought me.

Chrysler is gone and General Motors is going. And you are gone, too, as is a whole way of life. As another one-time Michigander, you, too, would understand that nostalgia for the fifties and sixties when prosperity rode on Detroit’s wheels and the shining post-war future looked so bright. We were both young, then, although you were older than I.

You would be delighted and amazed to see Obama as our president, although his job may well be an impossible one. America will never elect a Black man as president, you said. You would happily have been proved wrong.

Today, I go to vote for the Middle Rio Grande Conservancy Board that controls our life-giving irrigation water, another area fraught with controversy and difficulties.

Later I will go to school to interview candidates for my replacement in the library. I think of all the things that I did not accomplish in that job, and hope that someone else will be able to do them. I also think of what I did accomplish, and doubt that anyone else could have done what I did.

A plane with 242 people aboard has disappeared in thunderstorms over the Atlantic. How often when you and I flew over that water, I reached for your hand during bumps, knowing that our lives could end in an instant, but that we would die happy. I can still hardly believe that God brought you to me. What a gift it is to have a loving partner.

Life changes, and the world goes on, at least for now.

Your still loving and grieving wife, Linnea

Remembering My Friend Kathy

My dear friend of nearly 38 years, Kathleen Fockler Curley, lost her long battle with cancer on March 30, 2009. Kathy and I were friends since we met on our first day of classes in our M.A. program in English at the U. of Arizona in 1971. Our friendship was cemented early-on, when her husband Ed accompanied me to the U. of A. farm where we filled trash bags and the trunk of my car with manure for my garden.

We studied together, partied together (we loved games of charades), shared book discussions, and traveled together on one wild train trip from Nogales to Mexico City in May 1973. In 1975-76 we both returned to U. of A. to complete our library science degrees, and our friendship continued as before. Later, when I moved to Pennsylvania and married my Ed, we continued to meet, in Pennsylvania and in Tucson. In 1978, both times we met a pope died. We wondered if we should keep meeting.

Kathy and Ed became "Aunt Kathy and Uncle Ed" to Jesse, and then to Psyche. We shared countless conversations about books, travel, and life, by phone, letters, email, and in person over these many years. We never ran out of interesting things to talk about, since Kathy was interested in almost everything. In addition we shared interests in books, our library careers, education, and the state of the world. She would fix me with her intelligent, often twinkling eyes, and I would know that she was about to say something worth hearing.

Farewell, dear friend. I will miss you always. We have traveled far together, and now you've gone ahead of me into the unknown.

Ed, my heart goes out to you. I know how devastating it is to lose one's life's partner and center.