Ocean Grove and the Great Auditorium

On Saturday, September 12, I declined a night of salsa dancing for an evening at the Great Auditorium in Ocean Grove to hear the NJ Opera perform Verdi's Requiem. This might seem like a rather unusual decision for someone who loves to dance, but the evening at OG seemed to be the hand of fate.

About a month ago, I drove to Ocean Grove for a day at the beach. Before setting up on the sand, I wandered around the town with my camera. I particularly wanted photos of the tent community and the Great Auditorium. When I got to the auditorium, the door was open and organ music filled the nearby green. I sat and listened, then picked up a flyer for the NJ Opera festival weekend, September 11-13. A young-ish man in shorts and a tee-shirt started to refill the flyers and after a few exchanges, introduced himself as Jason Tramm, conductor! He asked me if I wanted to see the inside of the auditorium, and of course I agreed.
A few days after that, I got an email from NJ Arts with an offer for two free tickets to Verdi's Requiem. I submitted my name and three days later was notified I had "won" two tickets. I declared "destiny", and marked my calendar.

In the introduction to the concert, the announcer told the audience that there were 150 chorus members that evening and 65 musicians in the orchestra. Joining that count were four soloists. As you might imagine, the sound was rich and captivating. However, I was completely transfixed on the speed at which each violinist moved the bow across the strings! The movement seemed faster than any I could recall and caused me once again to be amazed at the ability of human beings.

It was a great experience, though I'm eager for an opera with a story! :-)

P.S. In case you are wondering, there are 114 tents in the quaint, serene Methodist community surrounding the auditorium. There's a long wait to lease a tent, so best make other travel arrangements!

http://www.oceangrovenj.com/tour/auditorium_and_stuff.htm

What the Living Do

The poet, Marie Howe, has a book entitled What the Living Do. The title poem is about daily life, and written as if she is speaking to her brother, who died from AIDS. I reread this poem often, both for the beauty of the language and for the reminder of the struggles, monotony and glory of each day.

In mid-August, I attended a week long session of the Reading and Writing Project at Teacher's College at Columbia University. This "project" is under the direction of Lucy Calkins, a major researcher and educator in literacy for the last 30 years. Each of the five days began with a keynote speaker, with Lucy Calkins the first speaker. Toward the end of her talk, she quoted concluding lines from the above poem: "But there are moments...I'm gripped by a cherishing so deep..."

When I awoke on my birthday a couple of days ago, my first thought was the word "cherish". I don't think about that word, or write it, or even read it very often. In her poem, Marie Howe is cherishing her own life and the memory of her brother. Lucy Calkins urged the educators in the audience to cherish their own stories and the stories of their students. To cherish is "To hold or treat as dear; to care for tenderly; to nurture." 
 
Here's a bit more of Howe's poem:
"We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss-- we want more and more and then more of it. But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass, say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a cherishing so deep for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I'm speechless: I am living, I remember you."

The Jersey Shore

Here's a quiz: On the Garden State Parkway, what do the following exits have in common: exit 117, 100B, 98, 89, 82? If you've lived in NJ for any length of time (or your whole life as I have), you know that these exits are all popular shore points. (See answers below.) Exit 89 leads to many beachside towns, including my most recent destination, Lavallette. My next door neighbor invited me to spend the day at her summer rental. With temperatures in the 90's and the promise of lots of girltalk, I gladly accepted.

Lavallette is mainly a beach town, with a small year round population of under 3,000 according to the 2000 census. There are small bungalow type homes that extend to the ocean and bay side from Rt. 35 when you first enter the town. Heading toward Ortley beach as well as along the oceanfront, homes are larger and sometimes quite stately. The town was named for US Navy Admiral Elie LaVallette who fought in the battle of Lake Champlain, and later was a commander of the USS Constitution. (http://www.lavallette.org/information.htm)

The rental at which I stayed was "beach-block" on Wentworth Avenue. Quickly after I arrived, we packed a cooler and headed up the street to the beach, where we found soft sand and warm ocean water. I quickly left all cares behind and relaxed into the rhythm of the waves. When we later returned to the house, I took time to look around. The house was bright and airy- three bedrooms and adequate indoor space for a group of people. The backyard was spacious and private with trees and a fence. Then there was that seductive outdoor shower. If you've never showered under the sky and trees, put it on your "bucket list" immediately. It's a true small pleasure. After dinner of crabcakes and salad (thank you, Liz), we took a walk. The nearby restaurants and ice cream stands were busy. We detoured to walk back home along the ocean, and were fine until winds and flying sand caused us to hurry home.

The next morning was sunny and I went for a run on the boardwalk with the dunes and ocean to my left and beautiful homes to my right. By 9 a.m. we were at the beach and shortly after that jumping waves! Then lunch and another outdoor shower. Before I got back on the Garden State Parkway to return home, I stopped at a farm stand around the corner and the Crab Shack on Mantoloking Road so I could bring home a bit of New Jersey summer. The two days I was there was a wonderful respite, and I'm making plans to return.

(Answers to quiz in order of exits: Sandy Hook National Recreation Area; Ocean Grove; Belmar/Spring Lake; Lavallette; Island Beach State Park)

Herons

With a clear blue sky and low humidity, I scrapped my plan to take a day off from running and at 7:15am headed outdoors. One of my running routes crosses through a park with a small pond where there are always ducks and geese. Often, I see a great white heron/egret, occasionally a black-crowned night heron. This morning, a great blue heron was at the water's edge. It's long neck was extended, and I believe it had one eye on me. Though I moved quietly, the heron crossed over to the other side of the pond. When another runner came along the path, the heron took off over the trees and out of sight. It's a grand sight to see a great blue heron fly. In size, it is approximately 5 pounds, but has a wingspan of six feet! On the Cornell Lab of Ornithology site listed below, you can hear the call of the great blue heron, an odd croaking sound.

I love to watch the movements of herons. They are completely still while "fishing". Their necks range from fully retracted, to a graceful "s", to complete extension parallel to the rest of their body. When they take off to fly, there is a "whoosh" and they are over the trees quickly. While the black-crowned night heron is the most widespread heron in the world, they are difficult to spot, especially since they are generally out at dusk blending in with the shadows.
The National Audobon Society chose the Great Egret in flight as its symbol in 1953. Part of the original mission of the Audobon Society was to prevent the killing of birds for their feathers. In the late 1890's, plumes were used to decorate the hair, hats and dresses of women. At that time, the American Ornithologist's Union estimated that five million birds were killed each year for fashion.

Of course, poets are interested in herons, too. Mary Oliver has a poem entitled "Egrets" in American Primitive and "Some Herons" in House of Light. A poem by Jane Hirshfield states, "I don't know about herons, their solitary habits..."
http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Great_Blue_Heron/lifehistory

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Egret

"The Time" - a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye

I read this poem shortly after my day on the river. While there is a brief mention of a river, the quote in the last stanza stayed in my mind. "It gets late so early."

THE TIME

Summer is the time to write, I tell myself this
in winter especially. Summer comes,
I want to tumble with the river
over rocks and mossy dams.

A fish drifting upside down.
Slow accordions sweeten the breeze.

The Sanitary Mattress Factory says,
"Sleep is Life."
Why do I think of forty ways to spend an afternoon?

Yesterday someone said, "It gets late so early."
I wrote it down. I was going to do something with it.
Maybe it is a title and this life is the poem.

From FUEL - by Naomi Shihab Nye

Kayaks on the Delaware River

According to Wikipedia, the Delaware River forms the entire boundary between NJ and Pennsylvania, most of the boundary between NJ and Delaware, and part of the boundary between Pennsylvania and NY. The total length of the river from the head of the longest branch to Cape May and Cape Henlopen is 410 miles, with the length above the head of the Delaware Bay at 360 miles. For comparison: Nile River = 4135 miles; Missouri (before it joins the Mississippi) 2540 miles; Colorado= 1450 miles; Hudson=315 miles; Passaic= 80 miles; Raritan= 16 miles.

Since I'm not a river buff, however, none of this information had any bearing on my immediate reply of "yes" when a friend asked me last week if I wanted to join a group to go kayaking on the Delaware River. It's summer, I love the water and I'm a fairly good swimmer. I'd never been kayaking and I was excited to try. Add to that good food with friends at the end of the day. It all sounded perfect!

I could detail all the ways in which the day, in fact, was perfect: the weather, the ride through northern NJ, the friends, the food. But what has stayed with me the most, was the connection to the river and the peace that brought. The boat, the paddles, steady progress. During the course of six miles, there were times we really had to pay close attention (going through the "rapids", avoiding rocks) and other times when we could float along on the current rather carefree. As one friend kept saying, "Just let the river take you where you need to go." There's certainly a metaphor there that I wish I could apply more often to my life! When we reached the kayak's destination and were back on land, I was surprised at how completely serene I felt. I expected aching shoulders and ravenous hunger. Instead, post-kayaking nirvana. I am eager to return!
Flow with whatever may happen and let your mind
be free. Stay centered by accepting whatever you
are doing. This is the ultimate. - Chuang Tsu

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Delaware_River

http://www.nps.gov/upde/planyourvisit/boatrentals.htm

Asheville to NJ

I'm home. In eight days I drove 2, 258 and this Jersey Girl has pumped A LOT of gas!

The return trip took me just under 12 hours door to door, including a quick stop to pick up dinner. Each leg of the ride from Asheville to NJ was smooth and pleasant. Highway 26W out of North Carolina cuts through the mountains and for a long stretch I shared the road with a single truck. Then 81N to 78E. The only place there was traffic was on the GSP for a brief stretch. All the way home, I listened to Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen, which was completely engrossing and read aloud beautifully.

In the early part of my drive, 81 crossed through Tennessee. At a convenient spot, I pulled off for gas. Next to the station was a Kozy Kitchen and I decided to get an egg sandwich to keep me going. It was about 9:30 and guys were sitting on the porch. They said good morning and looked at me, clearly an out-of-towner. Inside the restaurant, there were steam trays on the left and a large, bright dining room. An older gentleman behind the counter smiled.
 

"What can I get you?"

"I'd like an egg sandwich."

"On toast?"
"Do you have a roll?"
"No. How about a croissant?"

"Are your biscuits homemade?" I realized this was a ridiculous question to ask in Tennessee. He just smiled patiently.
"I'll have the egg on a biscuit."

He wrote a ticket and said, "That'll be 98 cents."

In the meantime, a clean-shaven young guy walked in. He was wearing a white tee shirt, jeans, a small tattoo, and a tight face. He asked for three pieces of bacon on a biscuit. His bill was $2.19. The bacon looked good.

"Could you put a piece of bacon on that egg sandwich?" I asked a waitress behind the counter.
Then I asked the gentleman the new price so I could pay. He replied, "I'll catch you next time."

The waitress who was wrapping my egg sandwich in red and white checked wax paper shouted, "Do you want salt and pepper with that dar-lin?"

"Yes, please."

I turned to the gentleman to pay, but he just grinned largely and waved his hand. Didn't say a word, just shooed me away.

In the car, before I even pulled back onto the highway, I ate the egg and bacon on a biscuit. You could win someone's heart with that food.

http://www.whitelily.com

Blue Ridge Parkway and GSM Park

Today I drove 80 miles on the Blue Ridge Parkway from just outside of Asheville to the North Carolina entrance to Great Smoky Mountains National Park. (The Parkway is 469 miles in total.) I didn't intend to make that drive, but there I was at Mt. Pisgah with no biking trails and the entire afternoon ahead of me. Since I have a goal to visit all the major national parks, I decided to go ahead. The route along the parkway to the park entrance takes several hours, especially when you stop as I did at lookouts and paths to waterfalls. A person could spend weeks on all the side trails! At one lookout, I spoke with an older couple from Florida. I had my bike on the back of my car, and they asked if I was bike riding on the parkway with another woman they had seen along their way. I replied I was not. Then they went on to tell me that their son had biked across the country twice, the first time in 30 days! Well, that really got me thinking about the brave things that people do, and my road trip seemed small by comparison.

I continued driving. Needless to say, the scenery along the BRP is breathtaking. The mountains in the distance really do create a "blue ridge." For a while I listened to a recording by the Paul Winter Consort which seemed to match the mood of the landscape, but then I just drove in the silence. Along this stretch of the parkway there are periodic short tunnels through the mountain. A sign before each tunnel instructs drivers to turn on car lights. I didn't, at least not right away. I tried to see how far I could go in the tunnel before it was pitch dark and I got spooked. Most of the time I made it all the way through, but two longer tunnels required headlights!

Finally, I reached the entrance to Great Smoky Mountains National Park, though there was no grand sign to let me know I had arrived. There's no toll gate or park fee as per an agreement with Tennessee. There's a small visitor center, a rather sad replica of a Cherokee village area, and a federal road running through the park. It's a huge piece of open land- 800,000 acres. I didn't go deep into the park or to the highest peak for a 360 degree view which would have been another 45 minutes there and then back to the visitor center. Instead, I bought a lapel pin, a couple of postcards, and headed back to Asheville via the interstate. (http://www.nps.gov/grsm)

Tomorrow I drive home. I'm packed- clothes and lunch. Throughout my trip, there's been a noticeable absence of Starbucks, and I miss the familiar logo. So far the only one I've seen since I left NJ is one at the Biltmore Village.

Biltmore House, Asheville, NC

In 1889, George Vanderbilt purchased 125,000 acres (200 square miles) in Asheville, NC. For the next six years, he collaborated with architect Richard Morris Hunt and landscape architect Frederick Law Olmsted to create the home and gardens of Biltmore House. When Vanderbilt opened the house in 1895, he was in his early 30's, single, and quite a catch! He did get married three years later to Edith Stuyvesant Dresser, and in 1900 they had a daughter named Cornelia.

The Biltmore House is a fine example of what money and good taste can create. The home is filled with art, beautiful fabrics and furnishings. I spent three hours touring 55 rooms, one third of the house. Along with the numerous guest rooms, dining rooms, smoking room, library, music room, there was also an indoor pool, bowling alley, and exercise room! The basement contained a pastry kitchen, a rotisserie kitchen, the main kitchen with at least a dozen hanging copper pots, a laundry room and ironing room. With guests in the house, the kitchen required 30 dozen eggs a week. Friends were invited to stay for weeks at at time. Of course, the house staff was extensive because there was such a tremendous workload in order to entertain in a large and formal way.

In the afternoon, I walked outside in the gardens for nearly two more hours. The famous walled garden covers four acres and has five full-time gardeners. There's also a conservatory, a pond, a meadow. Today, the grounds are only 8000 acres because after Vanderbilt's early death, his wife sold the land to the Pisgah National Forest. Vanderbilt was responsible for starting the first forest ranger operations in the country in Pisgah. I ended the day at the Biltmore Winery, converted from the old dairy barns and opened since 1985. After extensive tasting, I did buy a few bottles to bring home. (http://www.biltmore.com)

Even though I felt very mellow from the wine tasting and wanted to return to my hotel, I was determined to see the entire estate so I drove over to the farm area. I walked through some gardens and saw a rapid fluttering amidst the blooms. Of course, a hummingbird! I randomly pointed it out to a gentleman standing next to me. He said hummingbirds were fairly common in North Carolina. I said I rarely see one in NJ. His reply was to laugh and say that's because they've all fled due to the high taxes. LOL.

Hilton Head to Asheville

With a mug of tea, whole wheat toast and a cd, "Bach for Breakfast", I left Hilton Head on Sunday morning to get on to Asheville.  Does it sound crazy to say I felt glad to be on Rt. 95 again?  I'll even admit I was humming Willie Nelson's song, "On the Road Again"!  The ride to Hilton Head the day before was pretty.  I stopped along the way to get peaches, peach cider, and a "moon pie". But, when I reached the hotel, it was clear that the location I selected on Hilton Head was not for me, filled mainly with families, couples, and college students. Plus, I decided I didn't want to spend another day roasting in the sun. One advantage of staying in a major hotel chain and traveling alone is that you can easily change plans, so I did!

There was one partial story I gathered at dinner.  I had checked on Trip Advisor for a restaurant nearby and found the Market Street Cafe across from the hotel.  There was a long line, but a few empty seats at the counter. I went in, ordered a glass of wine, salad and an individual vegetable pizza. Next to me was a young Indian woman holding a child on her lap.   She lived three hours away  and drove to Hilton Head for the day, though decided to stay overnight at the Holiday Inn across the street, where I was staying.  She talked about her previous job, her decision to stay home with her son (he had just turned one), and now her eagerness to get back to work.  She mentioned to the waitress next to her that she had an arranged marriage, but then let that conversation drop. I was curious and concerned that she had driven so far to have some time to herself with her son and wondered about the story behind the one she was telling.

After a quick breakfast and curious stares from a young waiter, I was ready to go.  The drive to Asheville was long, with only one delay due to what looked like a fire or explosion in the back of a tractor-trailer truck.  The cab was ok, but the back of the truck was a skeleton.

In Asheville, I'm booked for three nights at the Crowne Plaza Hotel in a large room in the new section of the hotel.  After a failed attempt to get into the Biltmore for dinner,  I drove to the famous Grove Park Inn.  I had a lovely view of the hillside and  mountains, but my dinner was the worst I've had all week.  When I said as much to the waitress, she subtracted the dinner from my bill. I didn't linger at the inn, but drove into Asheville to walk around and have dessert.  While most of the shops were closed, many restaurants and cafes were open.  The town has an artsy, alternative feel with people lingering at tables and a rock band playing in the park.  It's certainly a contrast to the hustle of downtown Charleston.  

http://www.groveparkinn.com/Leisure

Tomorrow I'm headed to the Biltmore Mansion, the largest home in America.

Kiawah Island, SC and Martinis

Two bike paths diverged at the 10th tee on the Kiawah golf course, and I took the one less traveled to end up at The Sanctuary.  This is not a haven for wildlife, but a haven for the affluent so they can get away from the rest of the world.  It's truly grand, yet so crowded at the pool and beach, I don't know how it feels like an escape.  I parked my bike and walked all around the hotel.  I went in the locker room, checked out the lap pool and the outdoor pool.  I had a sense that if I had my swimsuit, I could have changed and lounged by the pool sipping a margarita!  (More on that later...) 

http://www.kiawahresort.com/accommodations/the-sanctuary/ 

I returned via bicycle to Beachwalker County Park.  Despite winds and rough waters, I jumped some waves, saw a "ghost crab", and watched a few pelicans have lunch.  

Every decision leads to another and another.  After dinner at Cyprus on Thursday night, the host recommended I eat at FIG (Food is Good).  I wandered by the restaurant on Friday afternoon to check the menu.  I saw that the chef had just won a James Beard award and the restaurant was part of the Slow Food network.  There were no reservations available that night, so I'd have to eat at the bar.  I returned later that evening.   A "regular" at FIG who was sitting at the bar praised the food so highly I sat down to eat.  He was right; it was the best meal I've had all year. My appetizer of roasted tomato tarte tatin with fromage blanc was all flavor and smoothness. Dinner conversation led to a decision to go together to a nearby rooftop bar to see the view and try the latest rage in Charleston: a nitro-martini.  Here was the drink line up for the night: a lemon-lime margarita before dinner (mine);  a teq-mopolitan (cosmo with tequila and cointreau and fresh lime juice- shared) on the Market Pavillion rooftop; then a lemon drop nitro-martini (shared) downstairs at the Club 225 bar because they don't serve the nitro on the roof.  The nitro-martini didn't taste different, it was just very cool to watch.  After mixing the drink, the bartender put on heavy rubber gloves. With a small silver scoop, he ladled two small scoops of nitrogen into the drink.  First there's smoke because the nitrogen is -320 degrees. Then, the liquid actually boils.  Finally, there's lots of ice slush in the drink due to the nitrogen, so the drink stays super cold!  My dinner partner tried to explain the chemical process to me, especially why the cold liquids were boiling, but I was enjoying myself too much to fully comprehend this information.  

Now, however, I'm sitting in this very reserved breakfast room, writing this blog, and fighting a headache!

The sun is out and after breakfast I'm packing up and off  to Hilton Head.

Charleston, SC

Despite war, a widespread fire, and a major earthquake, Charleston is a beautiful and prosperous city. I arrived Wednesday afternoon after two separate stops for pecans. (A clerk in one store was funny and gave me a "redneck shotglass" - a plastic beer cup that holds at least 8 ounces!)

I've booked a room for three nights at The Planter's Inn, which I read about on a travel website for women. It's a luxurious hotel in the middle of the historic district. It's quiet, conservative, lavishly appointed, and fully staffed to immediately meet any request. I wanted to stay in an extra special place at the start of the trip so I would have less to worry about, and fortunately I got a great package at this hotel. Like many of the nearby buildings, the hotel is on the historic register. It's also across the street from the open market. A few people told me the market was a site of slave auctions, but a tour guide on a carriage ride said it was where produce and dry goods were sold, probably by the slaves. (http://www.girlsguidetotheworld.com)

True to my goal, I've gathered a few stories. First, I spoke with a couple who make the sweet grass baskets that are sold in the market and along the streets. I asked the couple how they each learned the craft. She learned from him. He learned from his mother. He told me that in a true "weaving" family, the children have to learn. They don't have to make a living at the craft, but they have to learn. He's been weaving for 37 years, since he was seven. The patterns for the baskets aren't written down, to prevent another family from stealing them! I didn't buy a basket from him, but bought one today from someone else after a bit of haggling.
(http://www.sweetgrass-baskets.com/history.htm)

For dinner the first night, I followed the recommendation of several people and ate at Hank's. The she-crab soup was delicious, but the crabcakes not crabby enough! After dinner, I ducked into a nearby candy shop to get out of the rain. There, I met a family from Vancouver. He's working in Charleston, but wanted to bring the "girls" along to visit. ("Girls" here means his wife and daughter. I didn't say a word!) As Canadians, they happily went to the beach that day, even though the locals found it "chilly"! The second couple I met at the bar next to the candy shop. They were drinking, waiting for the rain to let up; I ordered a coffee. They glanced at me curiously, I guess trying to figure out my story. Eventually we started talking. They're from Indiana. Turns out they were staying at the same hotel as the Vancouver family. The conversation was about winter in the midwest and the difference between raising boys and girls. (They have three boys.) The husband/father was perceptive and amusing in his comparisons.

Today I toured the Magnolia Plantation and the Nathaniel Russell House. Architecture, furnishings, paintings, gardens beyond imagination. Here's a tidbit- Nathaniel Russell and his wife were both older when they married. She was wealthy in her own right. So, they had a pre-nup in 1803! When they moved into their house in Charleston, they brought their two teenage daughters and 18 slaves.

The crape/crepe myrtle are blooming, streets are clean, restaurants and shops modern and inviting, everyone polite. Have a good day, ma'am.

Fayetteville, NC

After 560 miles and many hours, I'm in Fayetteville, NC.  The driving was smooth, except for the first hour during which I went 11 miles!! Surely everyone in NJ was on the GSP at once!

For this trip, I gave myself two goals- each day do something I wouldn't ordinarily do; connect with at least two people and learn their stories.   Today, I met my goals at Ruby Tuesday during dinner. First, I don't generally eat at RT.  Second, here are the stories.  The manager, a youngish male, was schmoozing with some of the single diners.  He's from NY- Long Island.  His story is that he's moving around to both advance his career and be near SKY DIVING.  His last job in Savannah was an hour and a half from sky-diving, so that didn't work for him.  He has a mobile home and I guess moves it around.  I noticed a wedding ring but did not ask how his wife takes to all of this! The next story was from the waitress.  Slow night, lots of time to talk.  She's engaged to a man in the military.  Fayetteville is near Fort Bragg, the second largest army base in the country.  (The largest...?)  He's in Afghanistan, home for two weeks in September. They'll marry and then he'll be gone for 8 months.  Not much of a honeymoon.  She also told me there's a bar in Fayetteville that is in the Guinness Book of World Records for selling the most alcohol in one night.  She was not particularly proud of that claim to fame, but what can you do with guys home from duty-- strip clubs, bars, tattoo parlors, pawn shops abound.

http://www.bragg.army.mil/

More about birds- At the hotel there is a stucco overhang at the front entrance, common at hotels to protect people from rain while loading/unloading. On the side is the name- Fairfield Inn, Marriott.  Inside of the "a" in Marriott is a bird's nest!  Seriously.  I didn't see any babies, though.  They're probably already on their own.

Welcome Distractions

My bird theme continues! When I started for my usual run, distracted by thoughts of the dreaded packing, there on a lawn was a stunning goldfinch. Even though this is the NJ state bird, I seldom see them. The yellow on this particular bird was so bright, especially in contrast with the black markings. (Here's a picture, a little bit bigger than I would like, but I'm still learning how to navigate this blog. ) The bird looped around before taking off and definitely got me "in the moment". I think it was a male during breeding time, hence the beauty!

Does anyone else feel that you have to take care of every tiny detail before you travel? Even if you're only going for a short time? YIKES!

http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/American_Goldfinch/id

Halcyon Birds and Halcyon Days

When used as a noun, a halcyon refers to a mythical bird similar to a kingfisher, which is a colorful, tropical bird. Many pictures of real kingfishers can be found online, and the information below is from Wikipedia and relates to the use of the phrase "halcyon days".

Halcyon which gives its name to the family Halcyonidae is a mythical bird similar to the kingfisher. Ovid and Hyginus both also make the metamorphosis the origin of the etymology for "halcyon days", the seven days in winter when storms never occur. They state that these were originally the seven days each year (either side of the shortest day of the year) during which Alcyone (as a kingfisher) laid her eggs and made her nest on the beach and during which her father Aeolus, god of the winds, restrained the winds and calmed the waves so she could do so in safety. The phrase has since become a term used to describe a peaceful time generally.

A blue sky Sunday like today resulted in a true "halcyon day" for me. In truth, though, it's the calm before the storm as I look at my list of all the errands and packing I have to do for my trip!

Independence

Independence Day 2009 and I'm about to embark on a solo road trip for 8 or 9 days. The trip didn't start out to be solo, but has ended up that way. Consequently, I've spent some time thinking about the privilege of being independent. On a serious note, I realize that many women around the world do not have the opportunities that I have, and I am deeply grateful for my health and circumstances. On a playful side, I say, "Let the good times roll!"

Last year on July 4th I attended a barbecue at the home of a woman who was nearly 96. She still lived in the home she had inhabited for 70 years. While she had help from family and a nurse, she was able-bodied, clear thinking and made her own decisions about her day to day life. She displayed enviable independence, and I've been thinking about her all day, too.