Rockin in the Free World

    Monday started out as a day of possibility, where my work felt worthwhile and surmountable but after a hectic Tuesday and a difficult Wednesday, I began to wonder where the purpose was and how anything good could come of all my labors.
    But by the time Friday rolled around, I was ready for a weekend with restorative powers. We were scheduled to spend a couple days in New Haven, CT with good friends John and Lynne, listening to music, enjoying good food and relaxing in a fine setting. Still, I remained skeptical and a little disheartened by the magnitude of problems people faced.
    As we drove, I began to read early internet reports of the Supreme Court ruling that gay marriage was to be allowed in all 50 states and suddenly the clouds of doubt parted and a wave of solidarity began to unfurl.
    By the time we arrived at the park to hear Lucinda Williams, I was fully ready to tuck in to the delicious chicken salad, cole slaw and three bean salads Lynne had made. The air took on an ethereal strain and strangers began to remind me of people I knew. Maybe it was the two glasses of wine; maybe it was the rarified air of a cool New England summers day, but I felt a shift in momentum and the heavy tone of the week gave way to overwhelming acceptance and an incredible lightness of being.
    Lucinda belted out our favorite tunes and sated by fine food and solid company, I felt the cool of the night, the clarity of the indigo sky and a sense of contentment and peace. She called attention to the news of the day and said she, for one, was happy that today Americans could love whomever they wanted. A huge cheer rose from the crowd. A child waved a rainbow flag. One battle for equality had been won but many more hurdles stood waiting. Some would never get used to this fresh reality and some would never stop hating long enough to accept this new truth. But for now, we would celebrate.
    When the band came back for their encore and played Neil Young's "Rockin' in the Free World", the crowd went giddy and stood up to dance. There is so much more work to do to ensure that all people are truly able to enjoy the freedoms that this country guarantees, but putting aside differences and embracing our commonalities is a really great way to start.

Simplicity... Is complicated

    Since about 2001, I have been on a trajectory towards simplicity. At first it was an idea, a book (Voluntary Simplicity by Duane Elgin), a desire. Life as I knew it had gotten so complicated with a stressful job (and subsequent layoff) plus keeping up with all the trappings expected of success. 

    When faced with a fork in the road, I took the opportunity for change more because I felt the heat than because I saw the light. I decided that my time was worth more than money and, with a willing husband, began to pare away the excess that makes life complicated.
    In the ten years that followed, the road less traveled led to changing careers and moving house until we found a place that fit not only our needs but our dreams.
    But things are never that easy, and simplicity is sometimes complicated.
    My husband told me yesterday that he admired the simple ways I've brought into our lives. But none of it is easy to accomplish. We try to eat healthy whole foods but it is sometimes a struggle not to fall by the processed-food wayside. It takes work to plan meals and choose the best ingredients. We've reduced the chemical products we once thought we couldn't live without but it takes time to make simple laundry soap and hair care items.
    With canning pickles and making maple syrup comes patience and energy. Growing a vegetable garden takes effort and discipline. But the process of "going simple" is in itself a beautiful journey. The way a jar of rhubarb jelly is the color of rubies in the sunlight, the way sugar snap peas send shoots that coil like soft baby fingers around anything it can reach, the satisfaction of finding simple things that delight. Even my weekday commute to work by bike lets me start the day with activity, forward motion and the ability to notice small things like bumble bees worrying a peony or to say hello to the mail carrier.
    Now, more than fourteen years into my journey, I know that every step is precious and every day is it's own reward. Onward!
   
   

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety Jig

    Since we've returned home from our family adventure, I've had so many of our friends ask about our trip. I would find myself just sighing and making some brief comments. How can I encapsulate all that we explored and experienced in fewer than 140 characters?
    More than any other thing, the people I spent time with comprised the most impressive part. Sure, we strolled through ancient ruins, hiked up and over fortresses and stood at the "end of the world". Of course, we ate sumptuous suppers and drank refreshing beverages, felt the sand between toes and watched giant black fruit bats suspended in trees, but the loveliest part was waking up each day knowing that I'd be spending it with my dear ones.
    Now, returning to my welcome routine, I miss the witty jabber of clever young people, the glossy-eyed reminiscences of an octogenarian seeing her birthplace once again, and the sheer exhilaration of new sights and long-lost familiar smells.
    During the 16 days we were away, Duane and I got to know our childrens' significant others better. We learned that James has a fondness for coconut sambol, sarongs and jackfruit and that Tim has an affinity for king coconut water, archeo-history and fingerbowls. We shared jokes about cross-language typos (plomp and circumstance!) and ended each evening reflecting on the favorite parts of our day. We took turns playing our personal music playlists for road tunes, and now have an indelible shared musical history.
    Though we thought we knew our own kids pretty well, even they surprised us. Josh popped the question to James and made us all smile with approval. Rachel stepped up and became her grandmother's traveling assistant. The whole trip being Josh and Rachel's idea, I was grateful that they wanted us along.
    I watched my mother turn into a virtual spring chicken when she met her 97-year-old aunt. She looked spry as she climbed the steps to her old college residence hall and pointed out landmarks she recognized from long ago.
    Duane and I were able to spend some wonderful time together too, although our "date night" turned out to be a room service feast and watching TV in bed. We walked along beaches in the morning, shared lime juice at poolside and got to revel in the amazing and complex thing that is family.
    The memories, the laughs, even the small challenges are now a part of a time that we will always reminisce upon fondly. Besides the tight circle of our family, I miss writing about our days the most. So, this long-dusty and almost-forgotten blog will be my new travel companion as I make my way through these days. Your reading them has meant the world to me. Thank you for the kind comments and encouragement. I will strive to be worthy of your time. And I promise I won't keep you too long!

 

Driving in Sri Lanka

    No description of Sri Lanka would be complete without telling about driving there.
    Traffic signals are only required in the largest cities because there are complicated social mores that govern the process of getting around. For one thing, roads are particularly narrow. Sometimes what looks like a one lane roadway can actually accommodate two vehicles in opposite directions, a couple bicyclists and a motorcycle and a tuk-tuk or two snaking through any available gap.
   And as if the wheeled vehicles aren't enough to contend with, don't forget the pedestrians who cross against traffic. In Sri Lanka, pedestrians are like pot holes - they're not going to move so you have to drive around them.
   If I had a dime for each time I watched in horror out the front windshield in time to see us playing a game of chicken with a bus or truck, I'd have a tidy sum. In the nick of time, lanes were changed and all was somehow well.
     By some miracle of nature, we didn't see a single collision in the entire two weeks we were there. Drivers seemed to take incredibly foolish risks but they knew their vehicles like their own skins and could pass each other at high speeds and bristle only the hairs on the back of my neck. There existed in the midst of the swirling chaos an understanding between drivers that made it all look like a carefully orchestrated dance. Like a car chase scene in a silent movie, things got dangerously close but nothing actually collided.
    The single most dangerous part in a vehicle was the nut behind the wheel. You needed only two devices to function: the brakes and the horn. And both were used in generous quantities.
    As passengers, it was all we could do to stare out the windows, trying to see all the exotic sights: roadside fruit and vegetable stands, waving kids on motorbikes, stray dogs laying on sidewalks, people of all walks of life, brightly festooned temples and churches, fruit hanging in bunches from trees, elephants and water buffaloes, ancient trees and bright flowers.
    Our ride home in an Uber taxi through the streets of New York City seemed tame and calm after what we had seen. Now, that's saying a lot.