Think Yoga – Greensboro NC

Last weekend as this Anglophile watched the Wimbledon finals, I couldn’t help but be mesmerized as the ball went back and forth, back and forth until talent or miscalculation broke the rhythm. The players stamina and force was impressive; their relenting almost unperceived. We, like the star athletes of the court, volley as well. Continue reading “Volley With Breath” »

Independence is an obvious word choice for the day that we celebrate the Fourth of July in the U.S. Yet the word does not just embody the idea of being free from oppressive governments. We are also free to make choices about how we live and what we accept in our lives. Sometimes we take this freedom for granted, but more often than not, it seems, we forget that we have this freedom at all. This freedom of choice. Continue reading “Our Choice is our Independence” »

Through the park, Bittermen, you I love the park. Dudley Moore as Arthur.

One could come up with far better quotes to conjure up an appreciation for the landscapes of cities and towns that we know of as our parks, but this quote has stayed with me through the years for its simple delight. Simple delight is what it breaks down to for me when I consider parks—most all of them. It was Mary Pipher in her book, The Middle of Everywhere that identified parks as the great free gathering grounds–a place open to everyone. She identified it as resource, but I like to think that parks are universal in their appeal as they offer a sense of something familiar. Most every spot on earth—every country, every big city, every small village has some kind of park—a natural area set aside for its citizens and visitors.

Some parks we know of are quite famous and quite expansive, think Central Park in New York City. Today, I think of Luxembourg Gardens in Paris because that is where I sit as I write this. The park is filled with merriment. People are eating lunches on park benches or metal green chairs or lounging on the manicured lawns. Children are running about, others are sailing their boats in the pond. Fountain spray is carried by the wind while the sun dips in and out of the sprawling trees. I have come to this park each day so far and each day it is slightly different. Yesterday morning I met an official in his Parisian security cap and suit unlocking the tall iron gates so I and the multitudes of runners could traverse the pathways. Two days ago, a piano concert of Chopin music filled the air as the listeners broke baguettes and licked ice cream cones.

For as beautiful and well attended this park is, it draws me back to the park I know best in this world—The Arboretum in Lindley Park, my home town. I have walked it, ridden my bike through it, or run across it more times than I can possibly recount. I know to watch for the purple and white lilacs, listen for the drum of the large wind chimes, enjoy the quiet starkness winter brings, and enjoy waiting for the Korean Spice Viburnum to bust open.

Perhaps that is what draws me to the park here, half a world away…the connection I still feel to a place that is far from sight. It is reassuring to know that what I have here today, I have also just around the corner from my home and it is what most everyone has within walking distance. A place for repose, a spot for reflection, an area to be quiet and listen and watch both the outside and inside world go by.

To our simple delights, take thee to the park!

Surely we have all, at least once in our life, been in a room where everyone was speaking a language different from our own. You do not have to travel to a foreign country for this to happen. Continue reading “The Universal Language: Laughter” »

July 1st is the second half of the year. Yes, it means half the year is over, but it also means a full half a year is ahead of us. Perhaps you were like many folks who set New Year’s resolutions and somewhere between the cold, grey winter and the budding of spring those resolutions got a little pushed to the side. Continue reading “Release and Reset” »

On my birthday for the last few years, I swam the number of laps as is my birthday and run some combo that represented my birthday number. Today, I will do 46 sun salutations, and each will be marked by the list of 46 gratitudes that I have come up with. It’s not a complete list…but there’s the beauty in having another birthday–I get to add more.

1. My health
2. My contentment
3. My friends…too many to count
4. Believing in love
5. Those with a generous spirit
6. Running, swimming
7. Open minds, encompassing hearts
8. Intelligent insights
9. Teachers in my life
10. Yoga
11. Coffee
12. Tea breaks
13. Trees
14. Animals
15. Cooking for friends
16. Compassion of others
17. Pie
18. Laughter
19. Good eyesight
20. Fat thighs
21. Strong abs
22. My mother’s love
23. Life with Matt
24. My brother
25. Michiko and Misa
26. The children of my friends
27. The sunrise and the full moon
28. Lilacs and Rosemary
29. Learning something
30. Jazz violin
31. A well turned phrase
32. Books
33. The Bryan YMCA
34. Triad Yoga Institute
35. Reminders of humility
36. Farmers Markets
37. Flax seeds, lemon and ginger
38. Tears
39. Oatmeal and peanut butter
40. The front porch
41. Greensboro
42. Traveling
43. Writing
44. Criticism
45. Patience
46. This moment

My heart is full with the gratitude I feel for the people who surround my life.

Many blessings to all.

It felt more than a little strange to leave my pack in one place for a few days, even more strange to trade in the dirt path for the urban streets, cows for crowds, and small tea shops for coffee shops & eateries on every corner.

I had not planned to leave the path when I did–short of my goal but longer than I’ve ever hiked in one go. I think it wound up around 260 miles, but I still need to put pen to paper for that confirmation.

What I do not have to confirm is my desire to come back and do more. I could say, my desire to come back and finish,but I can’t say that and honestly do not want to. Part of me never wants to finish now and part of me understands that you never really finish a trail like the south west coast path, because it is always changing–due to landslides, diversions, and of course getting turned about off course.

I have always been enamored by the path, the area, and England in general but now there is a bigger draw, pulling me back to the coast. I don’t think I can find the adequate words to give the complete reason why. Perhaps it is the people–the kind souls like Sharon who left her post at St Michael’s Mount to give a personal tour just because of a few inquisitive queries, or Sheila in Lizard who made cheese sandwiches for the day’s journey, or Janet who greeted me at her farm house, taking my wet clothes to dry by the oven and setting me up with hot tea and her special homemade scones.

It might also be how the path can make me feel completely isolated with no one in site for miles enjoying uninterrupted thoughts with only birds calling to one another and waves calmly lapping the rocks. Or it might be how my solitude can be swept aside as another walker and her dog accompany me for a bit and share her tales of being on holiday or pausing to exchange abbreviated histories with the couple who have returned to Cornwall where they were married thirty-three years previous.

It might also be the beauty which can catch my breath at surprising moments or, as one woman told me, the sky. “The first thing I noticed was how big the sky is here. It goes on and on, uninterrupted.”

But if I were to define it in one simple word, it would be the word that came to me on one of my first days, those days when my feet, my shoulders, even my skin was getting used to the physical demands and I was learning the best way to pack by re-packing, and appreciating the act of making a few reservations. These experiences, these surroundings, these feelings I had gave me contentment.

The path has given me great joys and moments of abundant happiness and certain gratitude. But overall, and underscoring everything, is this steady feeling of contentment. It happens, I believe, when both the mind and body work in harmony, in an easiness that is comfort but not complacency.

Perhaps this is why I return and why I know for certain that I will be back to the path again…to walk the dirt trail, the open fields, the rocky beaches, and to meet more of the people who make up this landscape.

I am struck at how amazing it is to discover this contentment… that, and of course, a hot pot of tea.

May you be well. May you be content.

Porthleven UK

It is 5am, the first light of day has been out for almost an hour and the harbor’s waters have receded again. The boats lie abandoned in the mud. I know they will float again but twice a day, the waters pull back exposing the vulnerabilities of the boats and skiffs. They look despairingly as though they know they cannot escape even if their little sailing lives depended on it. Yet, that is not how it’s perceived by the people who live and work around the water. They know the cycles–they chart their days by the tides and by the force of the ocean currents. They know when to head out and when to put the anchor down. The elements teach them and their boats the critical factor of patience.

There is so much to learn looking out at these boats and the people who attend them. There is so much to appreciate and certainly respect. Above all, I have come to see and love and even absorb the mightiness of the ocean. Its allure is both its power and strength as well as its calmness and serenity.

As I walk along the path, I am often overhead the crashing waves below. I pause in amazement as the tides slam against boulders and shore line, the same shore line that miners removed for slate and granite, leaving the sea cliffs vulnerable.

The mining has caused some of the cliffs to plummet into the sea while other parts have colorful succulents and thistle blanketing them in a spectacular earthen carpet. They hold on, even at the cliff’s edge. These cliffs, like the boats and tides, teach me something. That sometimes we hang on even in the torrents of gale force winds and sometimes we just have to let go, allowing ourselves to be carried on by the beauty and strength of what comes next.

As I sit in the upstairs bay window of Mrs Reynolds B&B, I watch three seasons blow by my window. I’d started the day in a jacket, hat, and hands shoved deep in my pockets. After two good climbs and passing around a headland where I came across two wild ponies lying down, the hat and jacket were removed and sweat pressed my wick-away(not) shirt against my back.

Cornwall likes to say you can experience all the seasons in one day. Save for snow, I have seen it all in one day: rain, wind, sun, heat, and repeat.

The coastline changes as much as the weather. At the start of the walk, I was thinking I was training for a future climb to Mt Everest–the ups and downs in one day were too many to count. I could count the people on one hand in these areas though. Not surprising the the narrow steep paths don’t attract a lot of foot traffic.

Once in St Ives, the path changed to more a less a thorough fare with a few isolated spots but surfing is good in these parts and tons of folks are suited up in their wetsuits riding the waves between the big rocks, seals, and lobster traps.

The path became rather flat, speeding up my usual 2 1/2 mile an hour hike to close to 4 miles. The slate of north Cornwall gave way to granite boulders which were replaced with stone beaches. It’s all interesting and keeps you guessing a bit on what will be around the next bend.

The sea is a curious contradiction at times as well. For a few miles it is almost placid, deep blue … Making you think that it is as warm and welcoming as the Caribbean. Then it seems fiercely angry-grey and swirling… Reminding me that I need to respect its power, as the sailors and fishermen have been doing for centuries.

Away from the big towns, it’s nice to find the quieter hamlets like Sennen Cove where many cyclists come to either start or finish their 874 mile ride between Land’s End and Jon O’Groats. There’s also Mousehole (pronounced Muzzel) where fishing once boomed but all the locals complain that only holiday goers fill the town now.

It’s either the flatter terrains or the fact that I’ve put in 16 days of walking that have given the blisters time to come and go. The toenails, however, seem to have decided to go..but just two.

In that time I’ve gotten sunburned, soaked to the bone, and sufficiently chilled to enjoy hot tea like a holy grail offering at the end of the day.

As I enjoy watching the seagulls squawk into the wind, I see the rain sliding sideways and just off to the north blue skies.

Here comes the sun…

Heading out of Padstow a few days back, I was on route for Constaine Bay and Mrs Kennerely’s B&B, a mere 10 miles away. The sun was bright, the air had a slight breeze and there was only mild discomfort emanating from my feet.

Around two miles in, there came the distinct sound of footsteps and brush clearing behind me. Since I had plunged into the woods with no one about, instinct and my over active imagination said ‘sped it up girl!’ I pulled into my hand the ‘loudest whistle on earth’ and picked it up a step or two. Once in the clearing, I looked back and saw a man, with a hiking stick, a blue cap, and backpack-or russet sack, as they term it. It was a quick glance so I got in the range of male 40-65.

As I got to a little farm gate with farm house within whistle shot, I held up and fiddled with my back. I honestly figured the man was harmless, but it is uncomfortable having footsteps in your ears. Not unlike having that annoying runner at a race right at your heels that you just want to shake off. So my choices were to out run my fellow hiker, which the feet forbade or pause and let him pass.

My fellow hiker came on up in a minute or two time and I held the gate for him. We exchanged pleasantries and he didn’t push on through but expanded the conversation. We stood talking at the farm gate a good five minutes–all the time you need to size up a fellow hiker and then pressed on together.
That’s how I met Mike, a retired psychology professor who retired with his wife to Lyme Regis and has now begun walking the trail in sections. He had been with his brother, but brother twisted an ankle so he was taking a bus to their next spot and hoping to rejoin.
Since the cumulative mileage for the day would be manageable and this section of the trail more rolling then plunging, I said yes to both a creamed tea stop and a pub lunch stop. A first for me. Tea always- lunch never.

It was Mark who suggested our first stop as we rounded a headland and saw a beach in the near distance, “if there’s a beac and a carpark, there’s sure to be tea.” And, so there was.

Days end, I left Mark about a half mile from his meet up place from his brother and made my way inward to Mrs Liz Kennerely’s, mother to three, grandmother of five. She had instructed me to come after 5 but it was only 4:30 when I walked up. I figured she meant she’d be out until then, but no she meant she’d be having company for tea. So I crashed the tea party.

Being as gracious as they are a chair was fetched, a mug, and of course a plate for cake! I put my pack down in the grass and asked to just wash my hands. A failed attempt at hair management was given up and I went to the garden, pretending no one cared about the bedraggled looking American hiker.

The tea was English standard good, the cake far sweeter and spongy than I care for and yet had no problems downing the entire huge slice.

At the gathering was a relation of Liz’-her daughter’s mother-in-law and that woman’s daughter, Lucy. Lucy is a writer, an outrageously accomplished freelancer living in Vancouver but flying to the UK several times a year for assignments for the BBC and magazines. I wondered if she could tell by my twenty questions in rapid fire succession that I was totally impressed.
Liz treated me so well. Taking my washed out hiking gear to her clothes line and letting me fiddle with her unbelievable cool Aga oven–a massive boat of a machine with three oven spots and two huge continually burning ranges.

She also took me to the window on the second floor where she showed me the seagull nesting its three babies. Dang, those little guys are cute!

I really hated to say goodbye and a part of me is still hanging out listening to Liz’ stories about her travels she wants to take to Italy next year or how she goes golfing three times a week so she can catch up on the gossip.

I remembered Liz again with gratitude when I caught up with Mark later in the day. He and his brother had opted for the Youth Hostile on the beach. No sleep due to the party makers and burger and fries were the only food option. His brother had decided to take bus home and tend his ankle and Mark was going to finish in Newquay (pronounced Newkeey) and meet his wife. I had stopped for tea and just taken a swallow when I saw Mark across the road, heading up the hill with ice cream in hand. I finished up quickly and headed out, catching up to him once the path took a steep uphill turn.

“Hey stranger!” I yelled and Mark swung around.

“There you are! Cheers.” We hugged and continued on to Newquay where we were buzzed over head by incoming flights to the Newquay airport. We talked of other travels- Edenborough a must, Greece a have to. Made me ponder how possible it might be to grab the next flight out of Newquay.

After tea in Newquay we said goodbye and I went on another four miles to Crantock and the inn run by Mr Rick. Think opposite Casablanca. Rick is a short, ex sailor. Runs things by the books with a little bit of sly humor. He calls me ‘Luv’ at the end of every statement and smiles kindly, but not often. When I jump ahead to ask a question, he holds up his index finger and says, “Wait Luv, we’ll get to that. Let me go through this in order.”
I may laugh a little to myself but I love and respect these idiosyncrasies we all have, like me and my decision to not take a trip to a foreign land and casually take it all in but rather hike it day in and day out–giving way to blisters and sore toes.

But I never would have found Mark or Liz or even Rick had I not taken this path nor the countless others I’ve met and will be sure to meet.

So while going alone may seem a little odd, it sure does open me up to meeting others.

And now as I forge ahead with 167 miles behind me, five blisters healing, two toenails planning an exit strategy, I will look forward to meeting new folks and hope to stumble across a beach I where I’ll hear my friend Mark’s words: “If there’s a beach and a carpark, there must be tea!”