I love the ocean. Its vastness. The rhythmic crashing of its waves. 

I've passed many blissful moments of my life "lost" in its near-euphoric beauty.

Growing up near the Pacific Ocean, I had easy access to its southern Californian beaches and temperate waters. Sand play and sunscreen filled my childhood. And as a young adult, I could drag my lucky self there most any time I pleased. My most memorable youth group bonfires, baptisms, and deep, intellectual conversations with friends - and sunburns - are tied to specific beaches along the North County San Diego shoreline.

It's a beautiful thing how lying belly-down on the warm sand for an hour in between dips in the ocean is considered a completely acceptable use of time. One could even call it "productive" if working on one's tan. :)

Meandering conversations with friends could lull into meditative snoozes without notice. What a perfect activity for moody, introverted teenagers everywhere! 

My sister and I walking the North County San Diego shoreline

I missed the warmth of San Diego beaches while living in the Mid-Atlantic for 6 years; which is one reason our move to Haiti delighted us so much with its seemingly endless coastal treasures.  

Yet it took some "work" to unearth these salt water treasures.  

The traffic and noise often felt claustrophobic in Port-au-Prince, where we lived. On a handful of memorable occasions, we escaped the city for a day at the beach; or, better yet, a well-planned overnight vacation. The reward for putting up with the grinding traffic on the outskirts of the city was the cool breeze and the pale blue, lapping waters of the Caribbean that greeted us at the other end of our journey. Reclining, dazed, on the beach was pure heaven.  One could breathe deeply here without choking on exhaust fumes or the scent of burning trash. The fresh fish and lobster weren't bad either :)

One of my many special memories from Haiti's beaches took place on Bon Bon beach, way out near the island's westernmost city of Jeremie. I was buried in my latest historical read - the Black Count- which follows the life of a French Revolution general and father to the famous author Alexander Dumas. At that moment in my reading, I discovered that Dumas Senior passed much of his childhood in the town bordering this very same beach. The history nerd in me got a faint "period rush," as the past collided with my present on that pristine, sandy shore. 

The ocean has offered more than beauty and special memories to me; it offers me a place of refuge - a space of rest and care for my soul.

The sound of crashing waves alone is enough to "carry" me to this place of rest. My final anecdote speaks to some of the craziness of 2020 for us all, so I'll close with it here:

Lily was born 4 months into the shelter-in-place. The trip to the hospital felt like a pseudo-"staycation," in a twisted, pandemic-kind-of-way. After her birth, Ted and I were "treated" to 24 hours in post-partum care, where we were largely left alone because of COVID restrictions on visitations. The medical staff also "clustered" their entrances into our room to reduce spread of germs. The "treat" was that we actually had chances to snooze with our day-old baby. And the hospital's white noise machine had an "ocean waves" setting that provided the soundtrack for our stay. Holding my new baby in relative quiet, she and I could both dip in and out of slumber to the sound of the crashing waves.

Compared to the harry and stress of labor - and the general stress of 2020 -  this time stands out to me as 24-hours of  post-partum bliss. :)

Lily's newborn slumber

A Haiku

I was locked into an unexpected 2nd period prep yesterday - given one hour without anything to do and without my Kindle - so I decided to write a haiku. I was sitting in one of my favorite classes to sub for - a French class. Here we go:

A French classroom

Gold glitter projects
splash the walls. Paris! Venez!
Global dreams take shape.

Fin :)

Port Townsend

On my retreat, I am walking wooden piers and watching the seagulls glide. I am easing into talks with a friend that dip smoothly from tangential to deep. I am surrounded by a world of water that is cool, rhythmic, deep. 

Grey mist lifts to reveal a sun-kissed landscape around me. Snowy mountains encircle us but remain enshrouded in cloud – silent and invisible guardians of our space.

On my retreat, I am at home in rooms painted warm hues of yellow and orange. The walls are splashed with family photos that recall memories of laughter and joy. The world is brought near by homegrown artwork that evokes journeys we have shared. 

On my retreat, I eat. 

The garden is alive, even if in a wintry “in between.” It gives me my first taste of mustard greens, and it enthralls me with the life that always beats beneath the surface. I am fed – Moroccan delights, spiced eggs, fresh salmon - and my own scraps feed the chickens, who then feed the earth. 

Twinkle lights, laughter. Freshly baked cookies. Painting at the kitchen table. Endless cubbies of tea. The hot water kettle delivers in an instant. We enjoy cozy couch sites. Together.

Here to greet me and care for me, on my retreat: a doctor, caregiver, storyteller, friend, a bank of knowledge and humor - many people wrapped up in two kind hosts.

My retreat- a gift given and gladly received. 

Solace

Salmon-spawning area of the American River at Effie Yeaw. Taken: 10/18/22

This has been a place of solace for me over the past two years. Here it is, at "magic hour," though the magic hours at Effie Yeaw Nature Preserve are easier to find than at other places, and they are not confined to the traditional parts of the day. 

The magic begins for me as I first step onto the park's dusty paths. There is a stillness that pervades this place; it envelopes me. I am in a new dimension; the noise and chatter of my everyday life left behind. 

New sounds emerge from the trees and the blue sky. They greet me and bear a message of Life that my soul didn't know it needed. The chirping birds; the rustling breeze... 

Walking further on, I open myself to discern their meaning.

In this space, nature unfurls its beauty and manifests its complexity for those who are ready to study and see. I am a patron of the arts, meandering the latest exhibit of natural wonders on display around me. In observing the whirls of a retired tree stump or the algae-shrouded pond, it's easy to see how Life pulses through this place. It's in the soil, the foraging wildlife.

All my senses are soon alert to the reality proclaimed by this place - the message it bears: God is alive! Not only alive, but knowable, personal. He is manifest in the details of each element's design, and He Himself breathes life into everything I see. 

My path ends and the sky opens up on a view of the river. I am alone, gazing at the water's reflective surface. The birds' song and the rustling leaves once again encircle me, and my Creator speaks an even more intimate message to my heart:

"Consider the birds of the air. Consider the lilies - all that you see around you. See how I take care of them. Yet you are even dearer to me than they. Therefore, I will take care of you."

Held by His words, I journey home. Though I leave the stillness and "magic" of this place behind, the message it bears goes with me.

March six | 3.6

I thought I would set myself a challenge: select a photo seemingly at "random," and create a post about it. Today being March 6th - 3/6 - I decided to head into the third folder of my Pictures album on my hard drive and select the 6th photo in it. (Thank you, sticky Facebook posts, for this inspiration from awhile back.)

Here it is:

My mom is known for being festive. She puts on a party with flare, and the table settings take center stage. My sister and I receive text messages from my Mom on occasion, filled with stunning photos of her latest centerpieces and themed decor for a party thrown for friends or the latest holiday celebration.

This setting was for an occasion very special to me personally: my baby shower. February 2017. Mom went all out, planning for weeks so that her many friends, and a few of my local friends, would have the chance to bless the socks off Ted and me and our growing family. The back patio was filled with gifts for our little one. The white board in the hallway replete with name suggestions for the yet-to-be-born munchkin. And the tables were set with precision, color, and care.

Mom had at least four tables decked with bursts of blues and sweet polka dot and chevron patterns. Tasty cakes and berries mounted peoples' plates, and dozens of friends chattered and shared their advice and well wishes for my forthcoming foray into motherhood. I reconnected with many family friends that day, in a way that was akin to my wedding reception 7 years earlier.

A fun-filled day; a truly festive occasion. And it all started with a picturesque table setting. (Photo credits: Erica Oswald.)

So that you can see some more fun from that day:

Stems

I am not one to keep many plants alive at once, so I appreciate these accents of flora in our home all the more!

These have proven pretty hard to kill, mercifully. I love house plants. :) 

Puddles

Behold! A boy on the brink of some epic puddle splashing. 

He's got his boots on; he is ready. 

(Effie Yeaw Nature Center, 2019.)