By the Sea, By the Sea, By the Beautiful Sea

Well, I finally made it to the beach. I had intended to visit the North Carolina Outer Banks soon after I bought the motorhome, but gas was going for $4.00+ per gallon and campground fees in that area were around $40-$60 per night, so I stayed closer to Asheville while waiting for my daughter's October 25 wedding.

I've been in Florida since Thanksgiving week but had had no more than a glimpse of "big" water (Tampa Bay) when I decided it was time to take advantage of a friend's offer to stay in her condo at Satellite Beach, between Cocoa Beach and Melbourne Beach on the Atlantic coast. I took my friend Annette, in whose back yard I've been staying since the first week in December, and it was a quick two-hour drive from her home north of Orlando to the beach.

"On the Atlantic coast" is an understatement. We arrived in late afternoon as the high tide was just turning. As we sat in our second floor living room and looked out across the small balcony, there was no beach to be seen, just rough sea. Waves lapped at the stairway leading down to the beach, and sand completely covered the bottom step. I've never stayed in a place so close to the water. With the angry December surf and gray skies I felt rather uneasy, or was it the memory of the lifeguard's sign at that public beach--"rough surf, rip tides, man o' war, water temp. 66"--that was making me feel fearful and exhilirated at the same time?

It was a great three days. The surf calmed down a bit, the sun came out, and the bird watching was incredible, the highlight being the glorious sight of an osprey swooping into a wave and climbing back into the sky with a flashing silver fish wriggling in its talons. Of course there were the scooty-legged sandpipers in several varieties, the ubiquitous gulls, and squadrons of pelicans

doing aerial maneuvers up and down the beach. I became a cloud watcher, too. The surfers were out in their wet suits, which I didn't expect to see since the east coast waves are relatively benign, but I guess if you're a surfer who lives on the Atlantic you take what you can get. Me, I never got in the water and I was happy as a clam.

The Ghost of Christmas Past

It's now Saturday, December 13. Time I finished the post I started nearly a week ago.

I've been visiting friends and relatives in Florida since the week of Thanksgiving, and since they attend church, I have been joining them, mainly for something to do and to "be folks," you know? At least, that's how it started out. But I've discovered that my study of Eckhart Tolle's writings has given me a new perspective on the sayings of Jesus, and that being immersed in Christian doctrine of the Presbyterian variety on Sunday morning (no pun intended, since Presbyterians don't immerse, they just sprinkle) has become less...well..."doctrinaire" when filtered through the lens of my new spiritual understanding.

A couple weeks ago I joined my cousin Peggy at her church in Tampa and even sang in her choir. I've been a choral singer nearly all my life until the last few years. It was the first Sunday in Advent, the first of four Sundays leading to Christmas, so even though the tree was not up yet, the Advent wreath of evergreens with purple, pink and white candles was on display, and the Christmas spirit that Walmart has been trying to instill since the day after Halloween finally was validated in the church sanctuary. A child was chosen to light the first purple candle and as I watched and listened to the familiar words, I harkened back to days of yore (about 1958) when I and my fellow girls' junior choir members sat together in church in our blue robes and I believed that Jesus was the son of God.

I don't remember the title of the minister's sermon, but he held my attention when he recalled his experience of being on retreat at a monastery just before Advent a few years ago. He said he had arrived for the retreat with his usual collection of essential communication devices: cell phone, laptop computer and Blackberry, intent on keeping up with his work while becoming spiritually renewed. He described how he and his fellow attendees did everything the monks did every day, including retiring at 8 p.m. and rising at 4 a.m., prayers, meals, church services and long periods of silence. It was during the silences that he answered e-mails and kept up with correspondence.

The minister then recounted his meeting with the director of the monastery, an audience that all attendees were given during their week-long stay. When his host asked how he was enjoying the retreat, he confessed to the monk that he felt he was not "getting it," that even though he was doing everything the monks did, he was not having the kind of spiritual experience he had expected to have.

"Well, duh," I said to myself. "This comes under the heading of, 'I don't believe I'd have told that.'" (I was feeling rather self-satisfied in my new-found knowledge of being in the stillness.) "Anybody should have known that," I thought.

My very next thought was, "See how quick you are to judge?" Sometimes I wonder if there is any hope for me at all, ever. And don't ask how the "no complaining/gossiping/whining" thing is going. "Today is day one" has become my mantra.

But that is not the point of this post. What I really want to convey is how being in church lately has become almost bearable because what I've heard makes more sense to me now than when I heard it back in my choir days (it was the singing that kept me going back), even as an adult. In his books, Eckhart Tolle often interprets the words of Jesus in such a way that I can almost believe again, if not that Jesus was the son of God, at least that he sure had it goin' on. If you believe in what the Bible says, I encourage you to read A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose by Eckhart Tolle. You may get an enhanced perspective on what it means to be a follower of Christ.

If you don't believe but you're still searching for "the peace that passes all understanding," (Phillipians 4:7 and A New Earth, page 56) like I am, Eckhart says you can stop searching because you already have it in you to be at peace if only you will stop the thoughts in your head and be still. And the best part is you don't have to sit on a cushion with your back perfectly straight in the pretzel--I mean lotus--position for what seems like hours but is really only 30 minutes (not that I'm complaining)... in order to experience the stillness. All you have to do is ask yourself, "Am I still breathing?" That focuses your attention away from the voice in your head ("What voice?" you ask. "That one," Eckhard replies.) and puts it on your body. Beathing in...breathing out.

Live in this moment. Be at peace. And have a holly jolly Christmas.

Complaint-Free Zone

My friend Patti Digh suggests that we strive to eliminate all complaining, whining, gossiping and griping from our lives for 37 days. I've been working on that one myself recently so when I saw it in print, about halfway down the left sidebar of her blog post for today, I decided to really focus on it for the next 37 days.

Here are several examples of things that I have managed NOT to complain/whine/gossip/gripe about in the past couple of days:...but wait...oh heck! And they are all really good ones, too! Each one infinitely justifiable and designed to allow ME to appear superior and oh, so right.

Gee-whiz, what's there left to talk about? Uh...okay, I've got it...I'm thankful that I won't have to spend Thanksgiving with those people ever again. That didn't count, right?

I'm a Baby Girl!

Two nights ago, having been delayed until the evening rush hour and not wanting to join the line of ants with headlights crawling along I-26, I spent my second night in the City of Columbia, SC, at yet another WalMart. In the morning I took my usual walk around the parking lot. I try to walk a mile or two wherever I am and a WalMart parking lot is the perfect place if you get out early in the day. I always do some stretches when I'm finished, and since I like to lean on something while stretching my leg muscles, I often assume a position at the front of the motorhome with hands on the hood, head down and one leg extended behind me. I probably look as if I were trying to push the vehicle backwards. I also do some Tai Chi moves that I learned in a class for seniors, to help me retain good balance and leg strength.

Yesterday morning, as I was "pushing the motorhome," I heard a distinctly African American male voice call from a passing car, "Hey, Baby Girl, are you okay?" Since I began doing this very public exercise routine, I had expected that someone might ask if I were having trouble with the vehicle; I hadn't anticipated that my head-down posture, gray hair falling over my face, might be mistaken for a different kind of trouble. I looked up and barely got, "Yeah," out of my mouth when my would-be rescuer rolled up the window and continued on his way. As I recall the incident now, I wonder what he would have done if I'd said "no" instead.

I'm trying not to make it significant that the man was black, but upon further reflection it seems to me that, in general, African Americans tend to be more respectful of their matriarchs than the majority white population. The same might be said of Latinos, Asians and Native Americans. If you follow this line of thought to its logical conclusion, the fact that the "majority" is predicted to become the "minority" in the U.S. by 2042 leads to the possibility that if I live that long I could become revered rather than ignored; that is, if the new majority has anything to teach the rest, and if they have not become too Americanized along the way. Of course, I'll be 95 by then so it's not likely that I'll care.

Here are some photos of Sesquicentennial State Park in Columbia, where I saw my first live oak grove and my first fire ants. I'm definitely in the deep south now!

On the Road Again

I wanted to wait until after Tuesday to post again, and then things got away from me in preparation to leave Asheville for the next adventure. Tomorrow is Tuesday again and whatever profundities I was planning to lay on you concerning the election of Barack Obama have drifted away like the mist rising from the Great Smoky Mountains. I do have a confession to make: race was the biggest factor in my voting decision. Since Obama threw his hat into the ring I have firmly held to the belief that an African American president would enhance our worldwide reputation and improve race relations here at home. Having often decried the fact that Dr. King's "I Have a Dream" speech, delivered 45 long years ago, seemed to have fallen on deaf ears, I now view those 45 years as but the blink of an eye. How far we have come.


I have another confession: I was reluctant to leave Asheville. The scenery (the photo was taken from my daughter's front yard), the weather, being with my daughter's family after the wedding, enjoying time with friends, all conspired to make me too comfortable and complacent.


But I tore myself away and headed south to get warm. I spent two nights in a lovely campground at Croft State Natural Area near Spartanburg, SC. They have a horse stable: what a treat! Plus a lake and trails and all for only $15/night. Each morning I got up early and walked to the stables to greet the horses and give them a little hay, then down to the lake to enjoy the leaf color reflected in the water and watch the birds flitting about. It's easy to be in the moment when I'm the only human around. And campers are a nature-loving lot, of course, so it wasn't long before I was drowning in nature and wondering how I could have hesitated to leave the comfort of the familiar when the novelty of the unexpected is what fills my soul.


I'm in Columbia, SC, today having spent the night at my favorite last-minute, end-of-driving-day spot. I splurged on breakfast at Denny's, where, I swear, the black folk were happy, happy, happier than usual. I just want to hug 'em all! Soon I'll drive into downtown and visit the state capitol building, one of the things I like to do whever I'm in a capital city. Then on to another state park campground for a couple of days before heading on toward Atlanta.

Catch ya on the flippy flop...