STORIES (1-25).....from the road

I had this framed quote on my wall for many years before I started traveling, and now it is traveling with me in my little camper. There is a color photograph of a red-winged black bird clinging to a tall, long-stemed weed which slants precariously in the wind:

Story # 25......Entertainer of the Week.....Quartzsite, Arizona.....5/20/10

    There is always movement in the desert: assorted birds, lizards, and of course bunnies.....lots and lots of bunnies. I look forward to my meals at the porch table and have come to expect the animals to entertain me. I've owned my home for five years, and the wildlife is a major attraction, among many.
   Across from my home, there is a dry-camp area, fortunately for me seldom occupied; so I have an unobstructed view of the desert and distant mountains. The area is mostly rocky soil with occasional clumps of green bushes. The space underneath the bushes is quite busy. There are small, brownish-gray creatures scurrying in and out of deep holes about three inches in diameter. Like most of the wildlife here, they travel alone. I want to call these appealing creatures ground squirrels, but I'm not quite sure. Perhaps you know. They are about a foot long with bodies close to the ground and a long tail. They can run very fast and are at their most charming when they stand on their back legs, similar to meercats as seen on TV. They have Type A personalities!
   I have become personally connected with one during the past week....or maybe just one at a time....but I like to think it is the same one. I first met it when I saw it standing up on its hind legs and looking through the glass door to my porch. It was there for quite a while, taking in every inch of my living room and no doubt "casing the joint" for when it is cool enough to leave my door open. (Sorry the screen door doesn't fit.) I squatted down to look it in the eye, but it looked right through me, ignoring me completely.
   The next encounter was a day when it WAS cool enough to leave the glass door to my deck open. I noticed something scurrying across the floor and was at a loss as to what to do about it. How could I get it outside? It ran into the computer room and into the closet. I closed the closet door, thinking I had it trapped. WRONG! A minute later it was back in the living room. I checked the closet door and discovered about a one-inch gap between the door and the floor. So what could I do but just leave the porch door open, hoping it would find its way out? Apparently it did because I didn't see it for a day or so.
   I noticed it looking in the glass door again today, but it was closed. As before, it was very interested. I stopped what I was doing and watched fascinated for about 20 minutes. It checked out the porch and then went over the edge which is about three feet from the ground. I watched it climb the trunk of the tree by my porch and up into the branches. I had never seen this little animal climb before. It paused at an upper branch and started nibbling the tiny green leaves. Then fearlessly climbed to a higher branch. I didn't think they were climbing animals, and indeed, it was having trouble hanging on -- one time, seriously, so that it's hind legs were hanging in the air while its front legs hung on for dear life. I could just see it falling 10 feet to the ground, but had no doubt that it would scamper away unharmed. It made its way even higher and then started back down, nibbling tender, bright green shoots along the way. It went head first down the trunk and headed straight to the water bowl. Even though the water bowl is only about four inches high, it had to kind of hang over the edge to drink. I've seen this many times with different animals. Then, apparently satisfied with food and drink, it scampered across the road to its own hole in the ground. Right now, it is probably bragging to its roommates about its second home!

I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contained, I stand and look at them long and long. They do not sweat and whine about their condition. They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins. They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God. Not one is dissatisfied; not one is demented with the mania of owning things. Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that liveth thousands of years ago. Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth. ~Walt Whitman

Story #24.....THEY'RE GOING TO HAVE TO CARRY ME KICKING AND SCREAMING FROM THIS PLACE.....Coos Bay, Oregon.....11/1/02 (rev. 8/9/03)

    On Monday, October 21, 2002, feeling a bit sad and apprehensive, I placed the pink cosmos in the hand of my guardian angel on my dashboard, put on my rose-colored glasses, and MADE myself leave Seattle. It is always this way -- this leaving. If I've stayed some place more than a week, I have to drag myself kicking and screaming outta there.
    And I had things planned to encourage my leaving: the $3.95 buffet on Mondays at the Lucky Eagle Casino in Rochester, Washington that friends in Port Angeles had raved about. And the next day, Tuesday, lunch at my favorite restaurant: Mary McCrank's in Chehalis, Washington. It's an old mansion with good home cookin', and I never miss eating there on my way to and from Seattle. The beautiful fall color along the highway beckoned me onward. It was a gorgeous day; the sun was shining (in Seattle!). The autumn leaves were there on every ribbon of highway, kind of pulling me on and on and on. All this, but it was still hard to leave.
    When someone asks me the question, "What's the hardest thing about your travel? I always reply, "Leaving." The only reason I was able to leave Port Angeles, Washington after four wonderful months there this summer was that the weather turned rainy in early October. Then I headed to Seattle, and the only reason I was able to leave there was that it got really cold in mid-October. Without heat in my camper, I had to head south and warmer weather. (My pattern seems to be if it's sunny and warm, I stay. If it's too cold or too hot or rainy, I leave.)
    I asked myself, "Why is it ALWAYS so hard to leave a place?" I know the answer. It is something that we live with throughout our lives: the unknown. No matter how bad something is (e.g., relationship, job, city), we hang on and on and on because changing -- moving into the unknown -- is always worse. We KNOW what's HERE; we don't KNOW what's out THERE.
    That's when I stop and give myself a good talking to. I remind myself that it's ALWAYS this way when I leave a city. After all, I wouldn't be in a city for a while if I didn't LOVE it; now would I? And, most important of all: The NEXT place will be just as wonderful and maybe even harder to leave. Yes, I know that to be true. It's happened over and over and over again...in Durango, Colorado; in North Conway, New Hampshire; in Tallahassee, Florida; in Port Angeles, Washington and many more towns along the way.
    It was still hard to leave Seattle, that is, until I was about one-half hour out of town. Just that quickly I had left Seattle and my wonderful four months in Port Angeles, Washington behind. I was eager to get on to my next destination -- not at all sure what that would be. I was looking forward now....not back. I thought of where I might go and started getting excited about all the possibilities. I was glad to be back on the road.

Story #23.....RIGHT AT QUEEN, LEFT AT WAVERLY.....Coos Bay, Oregon.....11/1/02

    When my friend Lyn wrote asking me, "How's it feel to be back on the road?" I started thinking about being on the road again. "Yes, yes, yes," I replied. "It's back to finding...." Then I made a list of all the things I have to do when I get to a new town. The list was long. After I made the list, I went back to the top of the letter and added: "Sorry I got carried away with the following list -- a new story idea, doncha know." The title will be either "It's Not ALL Play" OR "Want to Know How to Do It Free? Ask Me" OR "Right at Queens, Left at Waverly" OR "They're Going to Have to Carry Me Kicking and Screaming from This Place" OR from the ee cummings' poem "i thank you god for most this amazing day," but I've decided the last two are really two more stories. (See stories #24 and #25 above.)
    As you can see, I chose the title "Right at Queen, Left at Waverly," which happen to be the directions from the YMCA in Albany, Oregon to the movie theater. My friend Lyn is a BIG movie fan. It's one of the things we have in common (but you can read more about that in my story about her "My Friend Lyn: Stand-up Comic and Movie Critic" started some time ago and not finished).
    So here goes. When I get to a new town, where I plan to stop for a while, I have to find:

...my way around in a new city (I've found I have a good sense of direction, and I've learned to love and depend on the maps I used to hate!)

...a place to plug in my Sonicare electric toothbrush - VERY practical in a camper without electricity (usually the library while I use the internet)

...a place to hook up my Multi-Pure water filter and fill my six one-gallon water jugs (usually the YMCA; senior centers also work)

...a place to fill my three water jugs for washing dishes

...a place to sleep where the cops won't knock very loudly on my door in the middle of the night and wake me up so I don't sleep the rest of the night (I never pay to park. I am very discreet -- driving into a neighborhood after 11:00 p.m. and leaving as soon as I wake up around 6:00 or 7:00 a.m. This is the main reason I can travel so cheaply. My best month so far has been $379 for everything. Even if I eat out once a day, that's only $150 a month! My choice is to eat one meal out or gas money for traveling.)

....A PLACE TO TAKE A SHOWER! YMCAs are the best because they are usually free with membership. I've had free showers at community swimming pools. Other possibilities are hostels ($2) and marinas ($2). I have a friend (who chooses to remain anonymous) who pops into state parks.

....A BATHROOM! Say what you will about McDonald's and Wal-Mart, but they are everywhere and easy to spot -- priceless when you are on the road. (My friend Lyn says, "Those golden arches are really up-side-down toilet seats! My, how my friends DO inspire my writing.) And, of course, there are many 24-hour grocery stores now-a-days.

...a free telephone (usually the Y, senior center, churches) Recently, I just popped into a church during the week, said I was traveling, and asked if I could use the phone to make a local call. "Of course," the minister replied. (He obviously practices what he preaches!) I don't have a phone so I use a phone card from Wal-Mart. Beware of these, however, because they charge about nine minutes if you use a pay phone.

...a way to brush my teeth in my camper without running water (Flossing is the big challenge.)

...a way to keep from freezing in my camper without heat (I figured out I can turn my propane stove on for about five minutes to take the chill off. I realize this is very dangerous, and people have died this way; so I stand up by the stove the whole time it is on and make sure a vent is open.) Actually I never get cold in my camper. I have two comforts: one I sleep on and one I can double if it gets really cold. I also sleep with socks and a cap if it's really cold. I ALWAYS wear earplugs.

...free ice for my icebox. Every time I buy gas or groceries or eat in a restaurant or stop at a store to ask directions, I take in my two very large plastic glasses (from Wal-Mart) and ask if I may have some ice. They always say yes and will not charge you 99% of the time.

...a place to dump my garbage (This isn't too hard; trash cans are everywhere.)

...a place to do my washing (Just ask anyone.)

...grass out my back door (rather than pavement) so I can do a week's worth of dishes (and I don't have to keep moving them from the counter to the bed to the counter three times a day)

And much more fun:

...a quiet park for meditation, walking, and napping (preferably with a stream, lake, river, or ocean)

...a movie theater with movies I haven't seen (The internet is good for this. You just have to know the zip code.)

...a YMCA (or gym) where I can stretch and workout daily (other alternatives are community centers or outside in a park) The YMCA, however, has Nautilus-type machines and classes (or empty rooms for doing aerobics). I have the almost two-inch-thick book of all the YMCAs in the U.S.; last year's version was given to me at the Y in Belfast, Maine -- new they cost about $35.

...a Unitarian Church service on Sunday (The internet is good for this. Most have websites so you can not only find out what the sermon is but times and directions.)

...an organic grocery or farmers' market (Organic is not easy to find on the road.) I bet you could find farmers' markets on the internet too.

....unlimited use of the internet (with free printing)

    Since my friend Lyn lives in New Hampshire and travels south during the winter months, I added, "YOU KNOW THE DRILL!" (She does the motel thang, however.)

    Ah, life on the road....and YES, IT'S WORTH IT!

    A bonus of finding the answers to the above questions is: I get to meet a lot of people this way!
    So, this story started out as a letter to my mostly cyber-friend Lyn. I closed my letter to her with, "Well, I'm sure this is all much MORE than you wanted to hear, but then that's the price of friendship."

Love,

Jane

Story #22.....THE MYSTERY LETTER.....Port Angeles, Washington.....8/22/02

    When I got back to my seat at the library, there was a letter on my chair. The envelope was jagged and looked like it had been ripped open in haste. There was a postage stamp in the upper right hand corner, which was strange because there was no address on the envelope. Where the address would be were the words "To the poet who read so beautifully" in my own handwriting! So it couldn't have been mailed, I thought.
    In the upper left hand corner, a bit of the envelope had been cut away, and a tiny, silver, upside-down heart, not a perfect heart but skewed, had been placed in the opening. I didn't put it there. I also noticed something shiny and beautiful showing through the envelope. As I looked closer, it was a sparkly, sliver of some sort of stone. Good thing it didn't come by mail; it could never have survived. But how in the world did it get here? I hadn't been to any poetry readings in this town.
    Obviously, I had sent this to someone I admired -- a poet I had heard read his poems in some city in my travels. But who? And where? I took the letter to a more secluded place in the library, fearing my excitement would disturb others nearby, although it was a quiet kind of ecstasy. I wanted to go over the letter thoroughly, read what I wrote inside, and try to remember who the poet was and all the details.
    I moved to another seat and went over the letter again, relishing every moment. Yes, that was my handwriting on the envelope. And I noticed again, the stamp, the little silver heart, the sparkly sliver of stone, and the way the letter was ripped open, obviously enthusiasticly. But still, I could not remember the poet I wrote to or what city I might have been in at the time. I sat for a while, just enjoying the magic of it all, then decided to read the letter inside -- a letter I obviously wrote but didn't remember where or when or to whom.
    Before I could take the letter out of the envelope, a man walked by. He had a big grin on his face, and I responded with the same. Of course, I remembered him: the poet I had written to! There was a lot of electricity in the air at that moment. I didn't say anything. He said, "To quote a Japanese poet, 'Perhaps we should decide where we're going before we go there.'" I said, "I've got some suggestions."
    I am writing this story within an hour of it actually happening. And I need to tell you, dear reader, that I haven't been to a poetry reading in my more than two years of travel! You see, it was all a jut a beautiful, magical dream -- a rare jewel of a dream -- a fantasy. When I awoke from my nap, the dream in all it's detail was vivid in my mind -- less than an hour since I started writing this.

Story #21.....SEALS & SUCH.....Port Angeles, Washington.....8/15/02

    As I walk by the shore at sunset, I often think I see a seal --just barely poking its head out of the water. I stop, watch, and debate for a while whether it is really a seal or just a rock that appears and disappears in the bouncing waves. And I can never decide for sure.
    This evening while meditating by the water's edge, a slapping sound kept creeping into my consciousness. When I looked up, a seal came to the surface and then dove into the depths with its full body showing, kind of like a dolphin or whale. It was most unusual. Always before, I've just seen seal heads above the water. Then I discovered where the slapping sound was coming from. Just as the seal disappeared into the water again, it gave a joyful little twist of its tail, as if it were intentionally making that joyful slapping sound, tail against the water. This was followed by another seal and another and another, not all at once, but one after another. It reminded me of watching shooting stars: If you look here, one is there; if you look there, one is here. There were lots of seals and lots of slapping sounds. I have never seen this before and wondered if I were privy to some sort of seasonal mating ritual. Then as quickly as it began, it was over -- ten minutes max -- now not a seal in sight. What a show! I stayed longer than I had planned, but I was mesmerized by this unusual seal activity. And there wasn't a trainer in sight. The seals themselves had choreographed the whole thing: no training, no rehearsals, no practicing, no rewards, no paying audience, and most of all no fences. Swimming, surfacing, twisting, turning, tails slapping the water, just for the sheer joy of being free in the open sea. I watched until the last seal vanished with the evening, releasing me to the next thing, while once again marveling at the wonder of nature.

Story #20.....M & Ms (MAGIC MOMENTS).....Port Angeles, Washington.....7/22/02

    This was originally an entry in my journal, but as I wrote, I heard a faint cry: "story." Then louder: "Story." Then a persistent inner voice shouted: "STORY, STORY, STORY" until I got the message, and here it is.
    On Sunday, July 21, 2002, I drove to the Unitarian Church in Port Townsend. It's what I call "a lovely country drive," the road alternating between tall evergreens and fields and with wildflowers of all colors growing rampant beside the road: lavender, white, red, yellow, and orange.
    As usual, always unexpectedly, the Unitarian Church service touched me in many ways. The first reading was by Rilke:

    MAGNIFICENT! I love it when someone catches the very essence of life in so few words. Later there was another quote, which also spoke to me because of experiencing it in my travels:

WOW!

    As I looked through the faces of the congregation, I saw one that looked familiar. When I realized it was a friend from EarthSave Seattle, Normal Davidson, who I hadn't seen for years, I moved to the seat next to her and said, "Do you remember me?" Since I was rushing off to Seattle right after the service, we agreed to get together later to talk.
    So right off, it was beginning to show signs of being an extraordinary experience. There were definite signs M & Ms (Magic Moments). One of the speakers mentioned a friend of his, Peter Kechley, a dear man and fellow choir member in George Shangrow's choir at the Unitarian Church in Seattle. Peter was the lead tenor, and we sang together for many years until he died suddenly of leukemia at a very young age. I attended his beautiful memorial service. When I stopped by the Unitarian Church in Seattle the next day to make a few phone calls, I discovered a free tape of Haydn's "Creation" with, wouldn't you know, Peter Kechley as one of the soloists. Coincidence, oh yeah! I didn't really want the tape, but a nine-year relationship of mine, Peter Henry, popped into my mind. I thought about taking the tape to Peter, who sang in the choir with me and was into classical music in a big way. I hadn't quite decided for sure yet, but the next morning what I was going to do became quite clear what. If we listen and wait, life always provides the answer.
    I was driving to my yearly eye exam at about 8:30 in the morning. For some reason, I didn't take the freeway or any of the other routes to my destination, deciding to travel along 5th Avenue near Northgate. I saw a biker coming up the hill. I thought, "Could it be Peter?" I looked long and hard at the biker, and he looked long and hard at me, asking the same question, "Could it be Jane?" By the time we realized it "could be" and it "was," we were long past each other. "He probably has to get to work," I thought, "and I have to get to my appointment." But I knew then, that the tape was his. After my appointment, I drove to his house. It didn't look like Peter lived there; so I knocked on the door and inquired of his landlady. "Oh, Peter hasn't lived here for more than two years," she said. About the time I started my travels. I called his work, and the owner said, "Peter doesn't work here anymore. He's teaching now." I sat down. Was this the Peter who never changed? The Peter who, when I learned he wanted to go back to school to become a teacher years ago and said, "Great! Let's go to a university somewhere else. You can go to school, and I'll work," was not at all interested in doing that. But in less than three years, he had moved, quit his job, become a teacher, and (hold on to your hat) gotten married! Will wonders never cease?
    So, I left the tape in an envelope with his former landlady, who listened with relish as the story unfolded. I wrote his phone number and a note on the envelope: "Yes, that was me today." She kindly offered to call him to pick it up. Soooo, another amazing chain of connected events beginning with the mention of Peter Kechley at the Unitarian Church in Port Townsend, continuing with finding the tape at the Unitarian Church in Seattle with Peter Kechley as soloist, and seeing Peter Henry biking up the hill the next morning. The synchronicity of life continues to amaze me, and, as I've said many times, is tangible evidence that I am leading the kind of life that is exactly right for me -- continually confirmed by the M & Ms of life -- the Magic Moments.

P.S. The idea of "M & Ms" (magic moments) originated with Joyce, Founder of the CRONE chapter in Seattle (women growing older with power, passion, and purpose).

Story #19.....I DON'T CHOOSE CITIES; CITIES CHOOSE ME.....Port Angeles, Washington.....7/8/02 (Revised 7/8/02)

    I had a wonderful day last Saturday. Originally I was just going to write it in my journal, but it was a story begging to be written, and the writing gods had their way with me...
    The first person I saw at the Port Angeles Farmers' Market was Jimbo. Actually, it was not an accident. He is the "Great Answerer of All Unanswered Questions" for me and has been since the minute I arrived in Port Angeles about a week ago now. I can't remember what those original questions were. Suffice it to say that he answered them, and they have now become a routine part of my life here. Jimbo greeted me warmly, and said, "I've been thinking about you this week." Well, what could be a better greeting than that? Of course, my still present ego wouldn't let it go at that, "In what way?" I said. "I have a place for you to stay." The second offer I've had of a place to stay free within the week.
    I was starting to get those feelings I get when things are too easy, when life gives me everything I need and MORE, when I start to like a place too much and think I won't be able to leave -- and I'm nowhere near ready to stop traveling yet. I tell people, "I'm suffering from overabundance." And I love it. It's a sure sign for me that I'm doing EXACTLY what I should be doing.....my love affair with life.
    Next I visited Steve, an organic farmer, who I had bought rhubarb and arugula from at the Wednesday market. Now Steve is a terrific dancer, and I had also danced with him at the outdoor concert on July 4th at Waterfront Park. I chatted with him for a while, "I have lettuce, but I don't think I can wait until next Wednesday," I said. He said, "Here take this one; I don't want to take it back with me." After that, the least I could do was buy some arugula for $1. Before leaving, Steve told me about the entertainment currently at the 7 Cedars Casino just outside of Sequim where he went last night. The band was called "Timebenders" and played music from the 50s to the present. The band members dressed up as the singers: Elvis, Buddy Holly, Tina Turner, etc. I thanked Steve and told him I'd probably be there. (More on this later.)
    Next, I spotted a new friend, Joanne, who I had met at a dance last week and had run into at a park concert also. She bought three live chickens for her farm. I said, "How wonderful! You can have fresh eggs." "Would you like some?" she said. "I'll be back in 20 minutes." (I had those eggs for breakfast the next morning, and they were delicious -- with those rich, bright orange yolks that only free-range chickens have.)
    After stopping at another vegetable stand, where the woman gave me a fresh, foot-long, young garlic sprout to try, I found the band "Tongue and Groove." Do you think they met on a construction project? They were the headliners at the 4th of July concert in the park, and I loved their music. I listened to them until 1:00 p.m. when the market closed.
    I stopped to chat with the person I bought a beautiful, broad-brimmed sun hat from on Wednesday -- purely for health reasons -- to protect my face from the sun. RIGHT! It WAS for health reasons, but it was also beautiful with a print of red roses and green leaves and with a red polka-dot lining. Besides, I hadn't bought myself a birthday present yet. I was wearing the hat when I approached the booth to tell Susan how much I loved the hat and that I wore it everywhere. She makes the hats herself and has such uniquely beautiful and interesting prints. There's a hat with red lobsters and one I almost bought with all kinds of vegetables. It was a hard choice. The hats are both practical and lovely. I enjoy wearing mine immensely and do so whenever the sun comes out. I always get comments on it, and I am delighted to tell them about Susan at the Farmers' Market. These sun hats are important to Susan because her husband died of melanoma (skin cancer) about a year ago, and she is adamant on the subject -- more power to her!
    Before leaving I stopped at a booth I had noticed at the Wednesday market. The big sign that said "Peace" caught my eye. I asked the woman if she knew about the Peace Pilgrim, and she didn't. So I told her about Peace and said I would bring her the booklet "Steps to Inner Peace" on Saturday. I took her the booklet, and she was so pleased that I remembered,"You mean I can have this free?" "Yes," I said, "but first I'd like you to open up the booklet to a page near the front and just read a paragraph out loud." Amazingly, she chose one of my favorites (on page 11 of the small booklet) which quotes Thoreau. She was obviously moved by what she read and thanked me profusely.
    I don't just give these booklets to everyone. First, I have to sense spirituality in the person and that they are open to the Peace Pilgrim's message. Then I tell them about the Peace Pilgrim. If they seem enthusiastic, I hand them the booklet and ask them to open it anywhere and read a paragraph out loud to get a taste of what the booklet is like and if they would like to have one.
    AND, it doesn't end there! That morning I had written a story called "Myra, My Guardian Angel" (see the "People" link), and I wanted to visit Myra to read her the story and to check out the place to stay free that she'd so kindly offered me. I loved sharing her story with her and said I would make a copy for her once I'd finalized it. She showed me the place I could park my camper, right by her garage, in which there was a small bathroom I could use. Perfect! The bonus is that it's right across from the YMCA where I'm at every day. This is too, Too, TOO good!
    I wanted to check out the other outdoor market in town "Gertie's." There were some wonderful home-made pesto samples, and when I offered to buy four of them to have with my lunch, the man gave them to me at no charge.
    Next to the pesto stand, there was a bread stand. I asked the woman, Renee, if her bread was organic, and she told me not only was it organic but the healthy way it was made. I will buy my bread there from now on. Even though it costs a bit more, it is obviously made with love and concern for health, and I don't mind paying a little bit more to support the things I believe in.
    Another woman, Patty, was buying bread also. Well, once we got to talking about health, there was no stopping us. All three of us fed into each other; we were definitely on the same wave length. After Renee said the water was so bad in her area that it actually killed the yeast, I mentioned that I sold Multi-Pure Water Filters. They were so interested that I went to my car to get some brochures. They not only wanted the brochures but all the other printouts I had comparing different filters and even one entitled "Are You Drinking Enough Water?" The three of us were so engrossed in conversation that several times I had to point out to Renee that there were customers who needed help! In the course of events, I mentioned that I was traveling and that the Peace Pilgrim was my spiritual guide. Patty knew about her! She said that I could borrow the video which I've never seen. Since I don't have access to a VCR, Patty said I could watch it at her house. She also said she had some friends who would love to hear about my travels. I gave her my e-mail address and look forward to hearing from her. By this time, I was on a serious HIGH.
    I know this is beginning to sound like a fairy tale, but it's all true. That night I drove to the 7 Cedars Casino to hear the music Steve told me about earlier in the day. I had to be in Seattle the next day, and it was on the way. Besides I could park there overnight, and visit the Port Townsend Unitarian Church the next morning before driving on to Seattle. Well, the show was absolutely marvelous. It started at 9:00 p.m. and lasted until 1:30 in the morning -- three or four different shows. I stayed until the very end, dancing, Dancing, DANCING. I knew I would be dancing; so I didn't do my aerobics that day.
    The whole day just couldn't have been better. That's why I say: I don't choose cities; cities choose me!

P.S. So within an hour at the Farmers' Market, I had an offer of a place to stay, a head of lettuce, great music, eggs, and a garlic sprout -- all free -- plus introducing someone to The Peace Pilgrim. By the end of the day, I had added: delicious pesto samples, a place to buy healthy organic bread, an enthusiastic discussion about water and health, a kindred-spirit Peace Pilgrim follower, and an evening which included four hours of entertainment, a delicious dinner, and overnight camping for $6. It just doesn't get any better than that! I'd like to meet the person who said, "The best things in life are free." We could have one hellofa time!

Story #18.....SEND SYNONYMS!.....Des Moines, Washington.....6/28/02 (Revised 3/31/04)

    What can I say? Literally. This trip, this miraculous journey, has been beyond my wildest dreams. As many of you know, it has been a life-long fantasy of mine to just get in my truck and GO -- no agenda, no plans, no schedule -- just playing the whole thing by ear -- being aware of everything around me and being open to whatever the world serves up. Perhaps you have learned, as I have, that THE most wonderful things are not planned but happen because you are open to whatever comes your way. I call them open windows (opportunities one can either accept or refuse). One can choose to fly through open windows or shut them tightly. I usually choose to fly through them, feeling that things are placed in my path for a reason. And, I think VERY seriously before closing one and maintaining the status quo.
    The same is true with things that continue to come up in our lives. For instance, if I hear something three times from three different people, I KNOW I need to seriously consider it. Most often, on this trip, this manifests itself in different people telling me about different places to visit. That happened with Durango, Colorado. Someone said I should visit there even BEFORE I left Seattle. Then Durango kept coming up again and again. I went there, and Durango turned out to be one of my favorite places. This is a magnificent way to live!
    And that brings me back to the title of this story "Send Synonyms." I'm serious! There just aren't enough words to describe this wonderful, fantastic, great, terrific, amazing, happy, serendipitous, synchronistic, grand, once-in-a-lifetime adventure. And there aren't enough synonyms to describe nature either: beautiful, exquisite, lovely, breathtaking. I've used those same words over and OVER since I started this journey. So, I need your help. PLEASE send synonyms!

Synonyms for beautiful: exquisite, lovely, gorgeous

Synonyms for wonderful: spectacular, fantastic, splendid, great, terrific, amazing, grand

Synonyms I especially like, especially when they happen (!): serendipitous, synchronistic, coincidence, magic, miracle

Story #17.....THREE SARDINES AWAY FROM VEGAN.....Bend, Oregon...6/8/02 (Revised 4/6/04)

    I'm only three sardines, a carton of whipped butter, and two packages of powdered milk away from being vegan. What is a vegan? Well, first let's start with, "What is a vegetarian?" A vegetarian is someone who does not eat meat of any kind, including fish. For me the meat part is easy. (As for the sardines, I'm using those up. I can't just throw them away. After all, I am a depression baby!)
    Vegans take it a step further; they don't eat meat OR dairy products or honey, for that matter (anything having to do with animals). That means no dairy products of any kind: NO eggs, butter, milk, cream, or anything made with those ingredients. And worst of all: NO CHEESE OR ICE CREAM! This is going to be hard, but when I thought about it, there are lots of substitues for dairy. (See "Substitutes for Dairy" on the "Food" link.)
    My friend Bruce is a vegetarian, and he says after reading John Robbins, EarthSave founder, he's seriously thinking about becoming a vegan. I am too. I'm going to re-commit. That doesn't mean that I won't slip occasionally. I'm only human. So, if you see me in a restaurant NOT being a vegan, please be kind, sympathetic, compassionate, and forgiving!
    It all startd when I was voluntering at a ZPG (Zero Population Growth) booth at an environmental fair one Saturday more than ten years ago. The booth next to me was EarthSave, a group that encourages people to eat a plant-based diet. During the day, I chatted with the EarthSave volunteer and browsed the literature. By the end of the day I was miserable. My life had changed forever. I thought, "It's tofu and brown rice for the rest of my life!"
    You see, I had planned to go to Leavenworth, Washington for the annual Autumn Leaf Festival, which is very German and very sausage -- thick, juicy, brown, mouth-watering sausages! The autumn leaf trip is something I do every year. I was really looking forward to the leaves AND the sausages. Now I knew there would be no sausages in my life, and what is a German beer festival without them?
    It gets worse. I was at a loss as to what to eat. We all know the singles' diet consists mostly of eggs, milk, and cheese. I thought I was doomed to a diet of tofu and brown rice for the rest of my life. Then I went to an EarthSave meeting,a potluck. I expected about 20 people to be there. To my surprise, there were more than 100; the room was bulging at the seams. And the food! The food was wonderful! And so much of it! I was encouraged. Also, EarthSave has a very supportive and gentle approach to people wanting to move to a plant-based diet. Nice people, good people, kind people, gentle people! (In fact, I met my best friend, Charles, there.)
    People have three main reasons for becoming a vegan, and I support all three of them. First, there's the health thing. Animals now-a-days are raised with all sorts of antibiotics and hormones. Do the hormnes in meat thave something to do with girls reaching puberty at such a young age? Also, meat and dairy mean cholesterol, and a lot of people have that problem. Secondly, it's what domestic animals are doing to the earth, particularly cows who need lots of room to roam. The acres of rain forest being cut down daily to create grazing land for catle is frightening -- a loss that can never be regained. Thirdly, there is the atrocious way some animals are raised in factory farms where overcrowding is common. This is the battle call for animal activitists. So, vegans may have one reason, or they may have several.
    Hey, I'm talking myself into it as I write! There is one place I draw the line, however: THANKSGIVING! Ah, the smell of the turkey roasting in the oven, the stuffing, the gravy over real mashed potatoes, and those mouth-watering turkey sandwiches for the next few days. Sorry, I just can't do tofu turkey...

Story #16.....MOM'S APPLE PIE (NOT!).....Burns, Idaho.....6/7/02 (Revised 4/2/04)

    I left Boise, Idaho and drove for a while past green farms reclaimed from the arid sagebrush land that surrounded them. The magic of irrigation! Eventurally Highway 20 followed a river, meandering through low, brown mountains on either side of the road. It was an idyllic drive. I noticed a sign that said "Next gas 78 miles." My gas gauge said one-half full. Could I make it? I'd already passed the last gas station where gas was a whopping $1.50 a gallon -- the highest I'd seen since Key West, Florida. I decided to risk it. The road climbed gradually, and when it started down (maybe half way to Burns), there was a panoramic view of the valley below. Beautiful! I hadn't counted on climbing which uses more gas than flat; so I decided to coast down. When my gas gauge hit one-quarter tank, the sign to Burns said 48 miles. YIKES! It was touch and go. Coasting down Hill at every opportunity, I arived in Burns with the dial on empty. And guess what? Gas was $1.51 a gallon there. I bought $10 worth when the gas station attendant said it was 25 miles to Bend. Let's see, seven gallons time 20+ miles per gallon equals 140+ miles. I should be able to make it. I hope I'm don't play the previous scenario ever again -- way too stressful!
    I stopped in Burns at an appealing restaurant which turned out to have exhorbitant prices. I decided to just have dessert: "Apple Peddler's Dutch Apple Deep-Dish: Dutch apple topping and deep-dish delicious for $2.95 with scoop of ice cream #3.45." "It's awesome," said the waitress. Doesn't it sound good? Don't you envision sliced apples mixed with cinnamon, sugar, topped with bits of butter, and baked in a flaky, melt-in-your-mouth crust? Well, think again! After one bite and a second to confirm it, I asked the waitress if the apples were out of a can. She acted vague, but the customer next to me said, "No, they were out of a bucket." It was obvious to me that they'd put canned apples (you know the crisp, crunchy, undercooked kind) in a deep dish, sprinkled it with packaged crumb topping, and put a very small scoop of ice cream on top -- a long way from Mom's apple pie (the ones I make or the ones I USED to make when I was just a mother), and they charged $3.45 for it! Outrageous! The manager voided the bill, and I asked him if he'd ever eaten it. When he nodded his head "yes," I said, "Twice?"
    When I got to my daughter's home in Portland, Oregon, she asked if I would like her to bake me an apple pie for my birthday. I don't know what pleased me more, the fact that she had read this story on my website or that she baked me an apple pie. I was very touched. She couldn't have given me a better gift!

P.S. An experience is always improved when I get a story out of it...

Story #15.....ROCK 'N ROLL IN THE MORNING (a story in three parts)....Lava Hot Springs, Idaho.....5/31/02 (Revised 4/7/04)

    I admit it; I'm an addict -- addicted to exercise that is! There's no better way to start the day than rock 'n roll in the morning. This morning I found a perfect place to exercise in Lava Hot Springs, Idaho, a darling little town, apparently supported entirely by motels with hot springs. I saw the little park when I first left the highway. I usually drive through small towns first to check them out before deciding to spend time there. It didn't take long for me to decide I LIKED this town!
    So, I drove back to that first park. It had everything I needed for my exercise routine: green grass for my stretches and a covered shelter with a cement floor for my aerobics, PLUS beautiful scenery and a chorus of birdsong. The park was right on the river with soft, green mountains rising above it.
    During my exercise session, I watched a very small bird working hard to build a nest in the rafters of the shelter. It would fly down to pick up one of the numerous twigs on the floor, deposit it in the rafters, and fly down again to repeat its exercise (along with mine). More times than not, the bird would drop the twig and have to fly down again. One time it picked up quite a large twig (compared to the size of its body). It made it up to the ceiling and was trying to walk backwards up a slanted rafter. It would progress an inch or two, and then its feet would slide down, the twig still in its mouth; so it wasn't making any headway at all. Still, it persisted.
    My favorite is the woodpecker I'm watching (and listening to) as I write this. It is dressed in black and white with a touch of red on its head. It's rat-a-tat-tat is musical rather than like a drum beat. I don't think it realizes it is perched on a hollow, metal post! Ouch! Or, maybe it likes the musical sound its bill makes as it taps the metal, certinly very different from that of a tree -- not much progress on a hole though. Ah, he's back again. I haven't seen many woodpeckers this trip.

    I always warm-up before exercising -- a 5-10 minute walk. This morning, I deided to walk to the main hot springs down the road a piece form the park. It was a pretty fancy place with many pools of varying sizes and probably temperature. The cost for me would be $4.50 -- more on weekends -- more for an all-day pass. I decided not to do the hot springs. I'm spoiled by the wonderful, free, 24-hour hot springs at Tecopa Hot Springs, California (You can read all about those on my "Places" link.)
    I just can't get over the fact that people can buy and sell hot springs! Hot springs are part of the earth -- part of nature. To me it would be like charging to climb a mountain or swim in a stream or walk in the woods. Hot springs are part of our heritage. And to think that some people are denied access to this gift of nature because it's somehting they can't afford -- a luxury -- another way we separate the rich from the poor in this country. It just doesn't sit well with me. I find that there are more free things to do in this world than I can possibly do; why should I pay for others? And you know, we vote with our dollars. I won't support things I don't believe in or things that are way overpriced (like concert tickets that can sell for $100 or more). What in the world to people DO with all that money? I've heard that when you reach a certain standard of living, there's nothing you can buy that makes you any happier. A friend signed her letter to me, "I wish you enough." YES! Not too much or too little -- just enough. I like that.
    Besides, natural hot springs are best anyway -- sitting in a hot pool in a natural setting. That's the way it was meant to be -- not all cement and showers and dressing rooms and massages and snack bars. Apologies to Tecopa, which is one of my favorite places on earth. The hot springs there ARE in buildings -- very rustic ones, -- but there's none of that other stuff there.)

    So after my warm-up walk and before aerobics, I do stretches for aerobic exercise from the great book Stretching by Bob Anderson. (Stretching is one of my four favorite books; I talk about each one on the "Jane Sez" link.) The stretches take less than 10 mintes. There was plenty of green grass in the park to use as a cushion for my mat. While I was stretching, I had a view of the mountain next to me -- all green grass and trees - and could hear the sound of the river that runs by the park. An idyllic setting! It's times like these that I feel so grateful to be alive.
    Now I'm ready to rock 'n roll! The covered shelter with picnic tables and a cement floor was just what I needed for my half-hour of aerobics. So, I put on my headphones and push the button that starts the tape. Once the tape begins, I'm hooked. Songs like: Love Potion Number Nine; My Boyfriend's Back; Splish Splash I was Taking a Bath; and Do the Twist. And all those great singers: Buddy Holly, Chuck Berry, the Big Bopper, and Elvis to mention only a few. What can I say? I'm a product of the 50s. This particular tape was one from an aerobics class I took at the Thomasville, Georgia YMCA. I loved it so much I asked the teacher where I could get one. It's a dyn-o-mite recording!
    Maybe the greatest thing about rock 'n roll is the way it lifts your spirit. No matter where you are on the happiness scale, you will feel better after listening. As for me, there's no way I can't move to the music. I just have to jump right out of my chair; as the song says, "It just makes me want to shout!"
    A half hour of aerobics seems like a long time when I start, but once I hear that rock 'n roll music, I really get into it. When 25 minutes is up, I find it hard to tstop. That's when I do the cool down, which is usually a slow walk around the park. I have to turn the tape off before I walk. If I don't, it's not a cool down 'cause I find myself bopping along to the music. Cool downs are supposed to be slow downs -- a transition period after strenuous exercise.
    I can't say I really look forward to exercise, but I'm convinced it's keeping me alive, and I really miss it when I don't do some sort of exercise every single day. In cities, it's a class or weight-bearing machines at the YMCA. In small towns, it's the five-pound hand weights, elastic band, or exercise tube with handles that I carry with me in my truck. I add 100 or so sit-ups. I do aerobic exercise one day and conditioning with weights the next -- Monday through Friday. The weather can be a problem. It's harder to find a space inside. On weekends, I usually do some sort of fun activity (e.g., biking, hiking, dancing) for exercise. When I'm in Key West, Florida, I just dance every night to live music -- one of the few towns with live music seven days a week. Sure beats aerobics class!
    I took my heart rate after aerobics, and it was right where it should be for my age. So, all I had left to do was my final stretches. I'll write this and be off to walk the length of the town before breakfast. I feel good that three of my four daily priorities will be satisfied (stretching, exercise, and walking). That only leaves meditating for later in the day. Now, I get to PLAY! (For a summary of my daily exercise program, see the "Jane Sez" link.)

Story #14....."I'M DANCING THROUGH LIFE RIGHT NOW".......Rock Springs, Colorado.....5/30/03 (Revised 3/31/04)

This was my e-mail to my friend Bruce:

The "Re" line in the e-mail said: "THE MOST IMPORTANT THING"

The body of the letter consisted entirely of one question: "DO YOU LIKE TO DANCE?"

"Hmmmmmm," came the reply, followed by, "Well, I've been known to dance and have even occasionally enjoyed it - probably need a bit more practice - but then, I'm dancing through life right now. Keep those toes twinkling - Bruce"

I wrote back: "Dancing through life, eh? Do you find, as I do, that life just gets better and better?"

And being a Unitarian, I began to thinkk about that and ask myself, "Why?"
    Is it because it just gets shorter and shorter?
    Or, is it because we're more laid back and better able to accept what is?
    Or, is it because we've finally learned what's important -- what really matters in the great scheme of things?

Story #13.....A SILENT CHEER FOR THE COYOTE.....Laramie, Wyoming....5/26/02 (Revised 3/31/04)

    What a day! Sunny and in the high 60s -- almsot short-sleeve weather. And the sky! The most beautiful blue, dotted with an occasional puffy, white cloud -- the kind you see in story books. The University of Wyoming is not in session now; so I was the only car parked in the campus parking lot -- soooooooooo quiet.
    I was in the back of my camper, fixing an early dinner, when I noticed an animal at the far end of the lot coming toward me. When I first saw it, I thought it was a dog. But as it got closer, I noticed its scroungy appearance, bouncy gait, pointed nose, and thin frame with a scraggly tail. I began to think it might be a coyote; I HOPED it was a coyote! And it was! It got within 20 feet of my camper before noticing me and stopping. We stared at each other for a few minutes. Then, I guess it decided I was safe because it continued on its route smack dab into civilization. It passed within ten feet of my camper. What a thrill!
    Sometimes when I'm driving on a lonely road, I catch a quick glimpse of one -- a coyote all alone, way out in a field somewhere. When I turn the car around, it's always gone. Coyotes, to me, epitomize the last vestige of freedom in an increasingly smaller world. I rarely see one, and when I do, I let out a silent cheer!

Story #12.....THE HORRIBLE, AWFUL, TERRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY.....Greeley, Colorado.....5/21/02 (Revised 4/7/04)

    I drove 540 miles today through Texas, Oklahoma, and Colorado from six in the morning until ten at night. I didn't plan to, and I don't recommend it -- any of it! It was quite a day. The reason I kept driving and Driving and DRIVING north along Highway 287 was because Colorado had EXTREMELY strong winds ALL DAY LONG. I mean hard-to-stand-up-in winds. I mean wind so strong there were "brown outs" on the road where I couldn't see a thing. SCAREY! I breathed in dust for hundreds of miles, and it was very hot. The choice was to keep the window closed and breathe less dust or open the window to get a little air and breathe in lots of dust.
    It wasn't the best two days. The beginning of the horrible, awful, terrible, no good, very bad day actually started the day before when I was on the way to the college library. It was Amarillo College, but every time a Texan said it, it sounded like "Emerald" College to me....so much for accents. Approaching the library, carrying my backpack, computer, and my plastic grocery bag full of computer tasks, I stepped on what looked like a perfectly innocent, very thin layer of mud, slipped, and landed on my bottom. Mud was EVERYWHERE: caked a half-inch deep on my Birkenstocks, on my computer case, on the knee of my pants, and on my right bum. It took me at least 20 minutes to wash up (and off) in the library restroom -- not too god if you're trying NOT to look like a transient, derelict, or homeless person -- which is very hard to do if you've been several days without a shower and refuse to change your clothes until you've had one. After I asked the librarian about the internet, I discovered mud down the front of my shirt, but a little spit solved that.
    I should know about that kind of mud by now. Thinking back to when I slipped on mud once before, I remembered I was in Colorado -- Durango this time. Sooooo, it's not just ANY mud but Southwest mud that's responsible. Make a mental note of that, Jane; how many tiems will I have to relearn this lesson? Anyhoo, I was biking to my aerobics class in Durango when I hit the same kind of mud: thin, shiny, and slippery. My bike went out from under me sideways, and I fell to the sidewalk, hitting my head on the metal railing. Even with a bike helmet, I was stunned for a few minutes. I had also chipped my front tooth, which required a dental appointment later (one of seven this year with three different dentists, but that's another story). I sat on the ground feeling very sorry for myself, trying to decide if I should sit there and cry or bike on to my aerobics class. I didn't want to be late. Being the tough "broad" that I am, I got up, got back on my bike, and with gritted teeth, and an "I'll-show-you" attitude, I biked up the hill to class, did aerobics, and called the dentist who got me in right away. Now I know about Southwest mud for sure!
    Back to the horrible, awful, terrible, no good, very bad day: Still on Highway 287, after driving only a few miles, I turned west at Lamar, Colorado. The sign said Highway 50. When I pulled off the road to look at my atlas, I discovered I'd made a wrong turn, but Highway 50 would get me where I was going. Instad of going north and then west, I would go west and then north.
    Some time later I stopped for gas at a small town before taking Highway 71 north to Limon, Colorado. When I got out my credit card to pay for the gas I'd already pumped, the clerk said, "Not valid." The machine insisted on saying "not valid" a second time. Now I wasn't too concerned about that because I have credit cards, checks, a debit card, and cash as back-up, but I knew it meant a call to the bank. With the clerk's permission, I sought out the pay phone outside.
    The automated voice on the machine told me the card had been switched to another bank and gave me the 800 number, which by some miracle I was able to remember; I didn't have a pen. I dialed the 800 number (which worked!), and at least six voice messages later, I reached a live person. "We mailed your new card last July," she said. After asking me three times if I'd received it and my replying "no" each time, she said, "If you'd like us to express one to you, I'll have to switch you to another department." I did, and she did. (Lord, give me patience, but hurry!) The new person said she would be glad to Fed Ex another card to me, and it would be there by tomorrow. Things were looking up. "Where," she asked. Well that was a good question because I've learned the hard way that Federal Express does not deliver to General Delivery at the Post Office. I thought hard and came up with the idea of picking it up at the Fed Ex office in Cheyenne, Wyoming, my next destination. But, Cheyenne is a huge city, and I didn't relish trying to locate the Fed Ex office at the airport. "Could you wait a minute while I get my atlas?" I asked. She said she would. Obviously this woman was trained by a saint -- probably Saint Fed Ex herself.
    During the conversation on the pay phone, I noticed something strange on the back of my camper. My bike sticks out a bit, and I thought, "Oh dear, what did I run into and pick up as I traveled along?" As I tried to remove what appeared to be about a two-by-three-foot sign perched on the top of my bike, I realized that it was the solar panel from the top of my truck! YIKES! My very first thought was: Thank goodness I didn't lose it! Solar panels are not cheap. As I was struggling to lift the panel, I asked the man in front of me at the gas pump if he would help me lift it. When we realized it was hanging by its cord, we placed it back on the bike. The man offered to attach it for me. It was then I remembered the woman at the bank was still holding! I told G.S. (for Good Samaritan) I'd be right back, grabbed my atlas, and ran to the pay phone. She was still there! I apologized and explained about the solar panel. I said, "What else can happen today?" And we both laughed -- but half-heartedly.
    "Is there a Fed Ex office in Brush, Colorado? How about Fort Morgan, Colorado? There must be one in Greeley, Colorado," I said. There was; she gave me the address of the Fed Ex office and assured me my credit card would be waiting for me the next day (at no charge). I thanked her for her patience and good humor and rushed back to G.S. who was still waiting for me at the gas pump. I asked him how much he would chage to put the solar panel back on; he said, "Nothing." In this mercenary age, nothing? I was amazed. I said, "I want to pay you." He gave me directions to his daughter's house while he went home to pick up his ladder. Then I went back into the store to pay for the gas, where they had been waiting good naturedly for at least a half hour. They shook their heads when I told them what was happening. No one laughed.
    At his daughter's house, G.S. asked me to park by the garage; so as to have some respite from the still strong wind. He climbed to the roof of my camper and attached the solar panel. Since it wasn't very secure, he suggested I go to the auto store in town to buy two straps to hold it down. I thanked him and tried to push a waded-up $20 bill in his hand, but he would have none of it. "Pass it on," he said. As I left, I said, "You know it always comes back to you. I had my own business in Seattle. I do the same things now as I travel, but I never charge." I sure wish I'd gotten G.S.'s name. I thought about it later on the road and felt I would have liked to write a letter to the town newspaper about his kindness to a stranger.
    The auto store was very close; that's one nice thing about small towns: EVERYTHING is close. The guy at the auto store found two straps in a catch-all bin for less than $5 each. He even got a ladder and put the straps on for me at no charge. So for less than $10, I was back on the road: the credit card and solar panel problems were under control.
    As I continued north to Limon, Colorado, I noticed what a smooth ride I was having. My little truck, which I usually pushed to go 55 miles an hour, was going almost 80! Unbelievable! The strong wind from the south was at my back and pushed me right along. I hardly used any gas. That was fine until I changed directions; then I fought the wind all the way. Fortunately, I was headed north most of the time. If my route had been south, going into the wind, I would not have driven that day.
    When one is on the road, there is a lot of time for reflection, and I had a lot to think about after what happened that day. In a Tennessee William's play, Blanche says something like, "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers." And I thought of the times in my life when I needed help and what made it not so bad was that people, even strangers, were so willing to help. Like the time I fell off my bike in the middle of traffic in Seattle and all the people who rushed over to pick me and my bike up, and the stranger who drove me home -- and other times. And I thought that one of the best things about getting older is the ability to take things in stride -- not trying to avoid problems or wishing I didn't have any (which is so unrealistic) but just handling them as soon as they come up -- with good humor. It's kind of like playing catch: You get a problem, solve it, and throw it back -- ready for the next one. There is a saying: As I get older, it takes more to make me cry and less to make me laugh. I find that to be true. Since our minutes are numbered, we really HAVE to make the most of them.
    I can't help but think how I might have handled these problems when I was in my 20s: "Why did this happen to me?" or "What ELSE can go wrong today?" and maybe been depressed for days. But back then, time was endless, and I hadn't had the chance to see how minor this all is in the great scheme of things. I like the saying: Don't sweat the small stuff....and everything's small stuff. It's all in how we choose to look at it. One reason I can be fairly calm during unfortunate happenstances is that I say to myself, "It could always be worse." And, I didn't lose my solar panel; did I? SO, because of the kindness of strangers, the day turned out NOT to be such a horrible, awful, terrible, no good, very bad day after all!

Story #11.....I'VE EATEN EVERYTHING!.....Texarkana, Texas....5/15/02 (Revised 4/2/04)

    Sometimes I think I should rename this website "Eating My Way across America." I've been known to stay in cities just because I wanted to eat through their entire menu, and I limit myself to one meal out a day. For example, when I was in Taos, New Mexico, I wrote about the Los Alamos fire (May 2000). I had to leave Taos because of the smoke BEFORE I ate through everything on the lunch menu at a family-owned restaurant where you can get lunch for about $5.00. I went there every day for lunch and had only one more item on the menu I wanted to try, but because of the Los Alamos fire, I had to leave.

    I've been thinking recently about all the places I've been and the food I've eaten there -- food these states are famous for -- another part of the diversity that makes this country great. Here are a few:

Maine: lobster
Vermont: maple syrup bought right at the farm
Georgia: boiled peanuts; pecans I picked up right off the ground
Florida: key lime pie; cafe con leches
New Mexico: stuffed sopapillas; green chili cheese omelettes
Washington: alder-cooked salmon
Louisiana: cajun cooking; cafe au laits; beignets; pralines; po boy sandwiches; muffletas

P.S. No doubt I'll be adding to this list soon....

Story #10.....NATURE'S PAINTBRUSH.....Biloxi, Mississippi....5/9/02 (Revised 3/31/04)

    The colorful macaw (which I mistakenly called a parrot when I first wrote this story) was the first thing I saw and HEARD at the Wildlife Rescue of the Florida Keys located at Indigenous Park (across the street from White Street Pier) in Key West, Florida. The thing I noticed about it was it's brilliant colors: bright yellow chest and legs, electric blue back and wings, and green on the very top of its head. It's face was white; it's eyes were what I noticed most. The eyes were about the size of a shirt button, but it was the markings undeneath that amazed me: three long, wavy, black, horizontal lines started at the beak and continued under each eye. Then there were several short, wavy, black, vertical lines between the beak and the eye, extending to the top of the head. It was as if someone had taken a narrow paint brush, dipped it in black paint, and painted those eye lines -- very carefully but with a not-too-steady hand.
    I fantasized a black line drawing of a macaw with many pots of colorful paints all around. Nature was there and longing to create. She looked at the drawing for a while before dipping the brush in the bright yellow and painting the breast and underside, then chose the electric blue and painted the wings, adding a touch of green to the very top of the head. The face was still white -- not quite right.....a pause to consider what was needed. Then with a small brush and shaky hands, Nature added the three narrow, black lines horizontlly under each eye. "Hmmmmmmmm," Nature thought, and dipped the brush in the black paint again. "Perhaps a few black lines, vertically, between the beak and the eye to just where the green starts." Then Nature stepped back to admire the MASTERPIECE. Finished! (Knowing when to stop is important...)
    As the bird drip-dried, it gradually came to life, letting out ear-piercing squawks, as if to announce it's arrival to the world. It rocked its whole body back and forth toward me -- maybe to speed the drying, but I prefer to think it was a way of saying "hello" to me. Pretty soon we were both bobbing back and forth towards each other and tilting our heads from side to side. Next time, I think I'll wear my T-shirt with the bright yellows and blues; so that I will look more like a macaw, and perhaps we can have a real conversation. (Later the attendant said the rocking was a sign of affection. YES!)
    I've been watching the bird for a while as I write this. Fascinating! How it picks up an unshelled walnut or almond or pecan out of its dish and with its foot brings it to its mouth where it crushes it with its powerful beak. The act of eating is carefully coordinated between beak and claw, constantly turning the nut and bringing it towards its mouth. Sometimes it pushed a pecan through the bars. Was the bird offering it to me?
    There is tattered cloth on the sides and top of the cage. A favorite macaw activity is grabbing the cloth with its beak and ripping it off. I don't know how long I sat and watched the macaw. I tried to tear myself away several times to see the rest of the sanctuary, but then the macaw would start some new activity, constantly moving, and he captured me again. I was mesmerized by the bird's antics and awed by its grandeur. Eventually the bird's keeper came by and answered my questions. As she left, she said as much to the bird as to me, "Yes, he's a good boy," in a voice that sounded as if she were talking to her own baby.

P.S. Don't ask me about the rest of the sanctuary or Indigenous Park. I never got past the macaw that day!

Story #9.....WE CAN LEARN SOMETHING FROM CHICKENS.....Key West, Florida....4/29/02 (Revised 3/31/04)

    This the third of four chicken stories I've written since I've been in Key West. You might say the stories are hatching as fast as....well...chickens! (See "Stories" link #6, 8, 9 and "People" link #6.)

    I really thought I was through with chickens -- writing about them, that is. This morning, without a title or even a first line in mind, I stopped to drop off a bit of turning (but not quite moldy) bread for the chickens. And, of course, I stayed to watch. I observed the mother hen, the chicks, and the rooster, and I thought, "We can learn something from chickens." That's when this story started writing itself in my head. Admitting helplessness, I went to the camper for my notepad and pen.
    I observed the chickens to a symphony of rooster crows and the coo of doves in the background. Sitting at a picnic table in the shade, in the Florida sunshine, with a coool breeze blowing, I didn't even notice the traffic noise along Highway 1 -- 50% going north and 50% going south. Here's some of what I observed:

MOTHER HEN: When I first arrived, I didn't see chickens. Disappointment! Then I saw her, a mother hen with her feathers all fluffed out, under a picnic table. I knew there were baby chicks underneath. The same nine I saw yesterday appeared as soon as they saw me, along with many other chickens from out of nowhere. (There must be some sort of a chicken grape vine.) The mother hen ate right along with the chicks. I wonder; did she intentionally shake the large pieces of bread to break it up and make crumbs for her babies?

CHICKS: Unbridled joy! Living totally in the moment -- 100%. No thoughts of what comes next. Living on a NEED level. The chicks ate their fill of bread crumbs and then discovered the drip from my camper icebox, which three of the chicks had enjoyed yesterday. Today, when I looked, all nine chicks PLUS the mother hen were under the drip, enjoying themselves immensely. It amazed me how that little drip could provide drinking water for so many. Then I remembered the plastic cartons I used to make a bird bath yesterday. I searched all four garbage cans for the foam, take-out containers I used, but to no avail. I settled for a small, plastic, shallow container I found in the last can, and I filled it with water. The two mother hens discovered it first and drank for quite a while, undisturbed by their rambunctious children. Drinking is a slow process for chickens -- dipping their beaks in the water and then tipping their heads back with each sip -- many times over. Then one chick scurried over and drank a bit before hopping up on the edge and right into the water. A few minutes later the carton was overflowing with chicks.

ROOSTER: All this time, the rooster stood on the perimeter, keeping guard while the mother hen and chicks ate. He marched regally back and forth, back and forth, chasing off any marauding seagulls that dared approach. It was only after the last hen and chick had their fill of food and water that the rooster ate and drank, even though I threw pieces of bread to him from time to time. I had nothing but admiration and respect for him.

    And so, what can we learn from chickens? From the mother hen: protectiveness, caring, nurturing, loyalty. From the chicks: JOY, spontaneity, seizing the moment. From the rooster: sense of duty, bravery, selflessness. And from all three? How to simply live on a NEED level -- SIMPLY.
    I stayed until the chicks, hens, and roosters had their fill of food and drink. They wandered off and so did I, leaving the area to the maintenance crew of doves, black birds, and seagulls. As I drove away, I wondered where the chickens went and what was on their chicken agenda for that day -- probably nothing -- hopefully, nothing. You see chickens don't need plans or schedules or meetings. They just do what needs to be done right now.

P.S. I don't know who had more fun -- me or the chickens!

Note added 3/31/04, a couple of years after writing this story: As I was waiting at a stop sign this morning, I noticed a chicken family crossing the road -- unusual to see a rooster, mother hen, and several babies all alone, all together. It reminded me that I haven't spent a lot of time chicken watching this trip, and I determined to do so soon, before I leave -- just for the joy it gives me; just for the awe I feel from seeing these magnificent creatures surviving in Key West, against all odds.

Story #8.....THE CHICKS GAVE ME THIS STORY.....Key West, Florida.....4/26/02 (revised 3/30/04)

    This is the second of four chicken-related stories I've written since I've been in Key West. (See "Stories" link: stories #6,8,9 and People link #6.)

    I can't tell you the number of times a "wrong" turn in my life became the "right" turn. Like this morning, I picked up a cafe con leche at the take-out window of the M & M Laundry, hopped in my truck, and headed for the beach to enjoy that delicious concoction while enjoying the ocean view. I di Then a passerby, just in Key West for the day, stopped to talk. Then Doug, a regular at the beach, came up to discuss religion vs. spirituality and the water-filter sign on my truck. Next "Bob at the Beach" drove up. I had parked in his place "to save it for him" I said. By then it was nine, and I was anxious to get to the computer; I write every morning when the computers are available. As I was driving along the ocean, I realized I had completely forgotten about breakfast. I had planned to drink my coffee and then make hot cereal. So, about a mile down the road, I pulled into a parking area with picnic tables across from the beach.
    A car pulled up with its radio blaring, and I thought, "Another example of noise pollution that I can use for my story on silence" -- the topic I suggested for the Seekers discussion group at the Unitarian Chruch next Monday night. So, as with most situations, all was not lost, and perhaps the person would drive off before I got my cereal made.
    As I ate my cereal, I watched a mother hen with seven to nine baby chicks; it's hard to know exactly because baby chicks are small and always moving. I counted and recounted and finally decide on nine -- in a variety of colors ranging from an off-white to tan to brown and darker brown. As a rooster approached, the mother hen gathered all nine chicks under her ruffled feathers, not a chick to be seen. I remembered the two, only slightly moldy, whole-wheat rolls in my truck. I tore them into chick-size bites and through them toward the chicks -- all the while guarding against the scavenger gulls. The chicks, in turn, entertained me while I finished my hot cereal. Fascinating to watch -- like birds at bird feeders. And so much cheaper than a psychiatrist!
    Then another mother hen and her seven chicks came from underneath my truck while I was doing my dishes. But, alas, I was out of moldy rolls. I stood in the doorway of my camper, rinsing each dish by holding it outside and pouring water over it. I noticed that the chickens were VERY interested in the water. They were actually drinking my dish water! Those chicks were so thirsty, they would probably drink anything. "Dish water can't be very good for them," I thought. So I found a cottage-cheese carton and started to fill it with water. But wait! The chicks could drown in that. I rummaged around in my cupboard and found a large, plastic lid with a half-inch rim. The chicks loved it and started drinking right away. In fact, they loved it so much they jumped right in, which gave me another idea: a chicken bath! I sorted through a nearby garbage can and found several, plastic-foam, take-out containers. Most had catsup on them, but one had oriental fried rice. Perfect! The chicks sould love that! They could eat the rice on one side of the container and bathe in the other. A regular chicken spa, low budget though it may be.
    Then I sat back and watched the show: chickens drinking and splashing in the water, having a little fried rice on one side, and then jumping right back in the water on the other side. I noticed that the chicken families seemd to be territorial. They didn't mingle or socialize. One family chose the lid and one family chose the carton. I saw three independent chicks standing under the steeady drip from the tube that drains my icebox. They were actually looking up at the drip. Could they really catch the drops in mid-air? No, too inexperienced for that. They just lifted their heads to watch the drip, then lowered their heads to drink water from the tiny puddle underneath. One obviously enjoyed the cool drops which landed on its head. (These three chicks showed definite signs of developing into first-rate, Key West gypsy chickens: self-starters, independent thinkers, the guts to do something different, and as Thoreau said: walk to the beat of a different drum(stick). Sorry -- sometimes I just can't help myself!
    I watched the chicks until the last one left the water. Then I got in my truck and headed for the computer -- to write this. I gave the chicks water, and they gave me this chicken story; it was a good exchange.<

P.S. Now I ask you, "What would have happened if I had remembered to fix breakfast at the first location?" Not this story about the chicks, that's for sure. WELCOME WRONG TURNS! Everything happens for a reason. I'm a believer!

Story #7.....THE MEDICINE GARDEN (a story in four parts)....Key West, Florida 4/17/02 (Revised 4/2/04)

    I was meandering back form town, looking for street signs, trying to figure out where I was in this city where street signs are scarce. That's when I saw the rabbit. I stopped to watch it, being silently grateful for all wildlife that can survive in the city. Then two more rabbits appeared out of nowhere; now there were three rabbits following in a line. I watched them scurry under a ornate metal gate. I looked up, and the sign on the gate said, "Medicine Garden." It said it was open to the public, gave the hours, and that there was not charge, but donations were appreciated. I opened the door.
    When I walked into the Medicine Garden, it was like something out of a story book. Since I followed three rabbits, I felt a bit like Alice in Wonderland. And it was a wonderland! There were large stones in a circle to sit upon; wooden walkways and paths; a small, round house made of stones that reminded me of a sweat lodge (although I've never been to one); a cactus whose arms soared 20 feet into the air, and tropical plants of every kind and size, even one with bananas growing on it. Besides the etherial beauty of the place, the thing that really amazed me was the quotes written EVERYWHERE: on posts, railings, walls, and ceilings. I stood for a long time reading them and letting the magic of this place seep in.

    The chain of synchronicity continues; there was a notice in the Unitarian Church newsletter about a meditation group tht meets, of course, at the Medicine Garden every Friday at 5:30 p.m. Since I practice and teach meditation and am always interestd in the way people go about it, I decided to attend.
    We sat in a circle on the stone slabs at the Medicine Garden. There were readings written by great teachers. When the gong sounded, we closed our eyes in silent meditation. Ah, the loveliness of silence (so hard to find in this world of motor bikes, CD players, and cell phones).
    When the meditation ended, we told about what the experience was like for each of us. The leader said, "It was as if someone was watching me; I felt eyes upon me." One woman said how interesting his statement was because when she opened her eyes during the meditation, there was a gecko sitting close by his side watching him. In fact, she added, we EACH had our own gecko! Five geckos; how wonderful! Of course, the geckos had disappeared by now, along with the silence. I really wanted to know where my gecko had been; so I asked her to tell us where each gecko actually was during the meditation, and she did. "Your gecko was right there," she said as she pointed to the right side of my stone seat. "And yours was on the stone just above you, to your right." And so it went for each of us. It was satifying to visualize each participant with his/her own personal gecko. The geckos were attracted, I suppose, by the quiet and stillness of the Medicine Garden...as we were. And they felt safe there in that beautiful place...as we did.

P.S. Now that's what I call real animal magnetism!

A rustic, rock wall with a wrought-iron gate opens to
pink bougainvillia blossoms
wisps of moss hanging from high branches
vines creeping over rocks and encircling trees
a twenty-foot cactus with a dozen arms outstretched to the sky
two-foot-long pods hanging from high limbs
a tree with green bananas

a wooden bridge
a pond with colorful fish
waterfalls
the sound of water flowing

wind chimes
bird houses of all shapes and sizes
reflected light from mirror mobiles dance around the garden
smiling Buddhas perch precariously on stones
butterflies, rabbits, and geckos pause a moment and then move on

hundreds of wise sayings from the past

Rest comes not from sleep but from awakening.
Enjoy everything - need nothing.
Let the universe take care of the details.
The only aspect of time which is eternal is now.
The best things in life are not things.
Don't just do something, sit there.
All that is not given is lost.
Honor the nonconceptual truth within.
I have no choice but to be glad.
Embrace things as they are.
Tell the truth -- faster.
If it hurts, it's not love.
Nothing real can be threatened. Nothing unreal exists. Herein lies the peace.
It is the nature of the innocent to be forever uncontained.
All that we see is a reflection of our state of consciousness.
Act as if you are separate from nothing and from no one, and we will heal the world today.

Remove the judgement, and the pain disappears.
it is when judgement ceases that healing occurs.

Out beyond ideas of wrong-doing and right-doing,
there is a field.
Ill meet you there...Rumi

This we know: All things are connected
like the blood that unites us.
We did not weave the web of life.
We are a mere strand in it....Chief Sealth

Many, many thanks to Pejuta, the owner of the Medicine Garden for sharing this beautiful place with us at no charge. (The Medicine Garden is located where Windsor and Amelia Streets meet.)

Story #6....THE CHICKEN WAR.....Key West, Florida....4/16/02 (revised 3/30/04)

    This is the first of four chicken stories I've written since I've been in Key West. (See "Stories" link #6,8,9 and "People" link #6.)

    I awoke this morning to the sound of roosters crowing in Key West. Then I saw a mother chicken with two babies outside a restaurant. How unexpected! How charming!
    Now there are bigger wars going on in th world right now, but Key West has its own...involving chickens. Some people want chickens; some people don't.
    Yesterday when I was walking, I went to The Chicken Store at the corner of Duval and United Streets. It's kind of a safe house for chickens; the sign over the door reads "Chickens Are Safe Here." Apparently, chickens now-a-days have bankers hours (10-5). The store was closed, and there wasn't a chicken in sight; it was very quiet. So, I spent a good deal of time reading the letters, news articles, and signs posted in the windows. Even the revered New York Times did an article on the chicken controversy in Key West; The Chicken Store was included. When the article was published, Katha, the owner, wrote a Letter to the Editor of the New York Times. What I gathered from the letter was that The Chicken War is not only about whether or not chickens should become outlaws in the city. It is something much BIGGER than that: the integrity of small towns to pursue their small-town ways and traditions vs. the developers who want to yuppy-ize everything and make it squeaky clean, which they think will attract big bucks. You know the story.
    I'm quoting a lot of Katha's letter here because it speaks to what is happening in towns all across the United States: "The chicken roundup is just part of the ongoing process of spoiling a perfectly good resort town. How? By banning water activities, re-writing history via zoning, regulating spontaneity, controlling artistic endeavor, arresting the dissident press...and by seizing land, paving it, fencing it, and posting it 'Public Property -- No Trespassing.' Federal uglification of this Southernmost City is the creeping collateral damage stemming from our politicians' insatiable appetite for grants -- the fiscal equivalent of crack -- and of a hypocritical embrace of the war on drugs by a town which loves to party. What it it about the wild rooster's call that so inspires terror in the heart of our local Taliban who seek to eliminate fun, funk and freedom? That the rooster is saying, 'Wake up! Wake up! It is not yet too late to fight for the soul of old Key West." GO GET'EM, KATHA! (She definitely has chicken characteristics: the feistyness of the rooster and the compassion of the mother hen...)
    The pro-chicken people argue that it's things like chickens that make Key West unique and is actually one of the very things that attract people to Key West. (I agree; this is NOT an objective article.) Then there are the anti-chicken people. Quoting from "The Key West Chicken City News:" "In June 2001 the City Manager....declared the chickens 'obnoxious and destructive' and invoked the section of the City code with allows him to issue 'permits for the destruction' of nuisance birds." Thems fightin' words; The Chicken War had officially begun.
    I met my first anti-chicken person last Saturday, and it was not a pretty sight. She was vehement! And I was taken completely by surprise. After this encounter, to say feelings run strong about chickens is an understatement. As I remember, the story she told me goes like this: The anti-chicken person is a volunteer at the Key West Botanical Gardens. Since Katha is trying to get the city to set aside a piece of land as a kind of chicken sanctuary, Katha said to her, "The Botanical Gardens might be a good location." To which the anti-chicken person replied, without hesitation: "Over my dead body." Not a lot of give and take here.     Roy (whose picture is in the "Key West Chicken News, Fall 2001, Vol. 1, No. 1" on page seven, and Katha's is on page ten) said it all started for him when Katha started taking in abandoned chickens, like the SPCA (Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals), but exclusive to chickens. She would take care of them, and they, in return, would give her all the eggs she and Roy could possibly eat. Katha's caring for the chickens led to the opening of The Chicken Store. (I'll write more after I visit the store, where I'll ask Katha the questions: "How many chickens do you have?" and "What do you do with them?")
    I visited The Chicken Store again when everyone was on the job. I wondered if there would be actual chickens inside and how that works --for obvious reasons. Answer: The floor is covered with wood shavings. After the floor, the next thing I noticed was the chicken talk -- pretty constant, pretty loud. There is a live-rooster alarm when you walk in the door and an ongoing chicken symphony once inside. I was charmed! I thought this must be the only store of its kind in the world. And the chickens! They are beautiful birds and fascinating to watch -- each one a unique, living, breathing, colorful work of art.
    I met Katha and explained that I was writing a tory about The Chicken Store. The first question I asked was, "How many chickens do you have?:" I could tell she didn't know right off; so I said, "Just a ball-park figure," but she insisted on counting them. I followed her from room to room, and she came up with the following numbers: 48 chickens in the store (and a lot of them have names and are featured in "Key West Chicken City News;" you can pick up a free copy at the store). But she wasn't through yet; counting in her head, Katha said there were about 30 more at home -- that's close to 100 total. The next questions was: "Where do you get them?" She said most of the chickens either need to be rehabilitated, have been abandoned, or people decide they really don't want a full-grown chicken (just the cute baby it once was). My third question, "What do you do with them?" Katha said that a lot of them are adopted; she tries to find good homes for them.
    Katha is passionate about chickens. Here is her statement in The First Chicken Store Book: "To me, they aren't just 'yardbirds' or even 'picturesque Key West chickens.' To me, they are Kiwi and Curly Toes, Pecky Hen, Fluffy, Ranger, Scotty, Tony, and Red Rover. I wish everyone could live -- if only for a day -- the life of a Key West chicken. To be born wild and free. To stop traffic on US 1 on a whim, just because the grass may be greener on the other side (or because you see a handsome rooster there). To eat four-inch scorpions for breakfast, while creatures 20 times your size cower or run from them. To fight and mate on impulse, in the passion of the moment, with no regard for the consequences. We humans have become the prisoners of our own rules, but there still are a few creatures out there who remind us of the breathtaking freedom and unbridled joy we have given up in favor of the safeguards of civilization. Key West's gypsy chickens are the creatures which have reawakened my creative energies, and taught my heart to sing. I hope they will do the same for you."
    Katha says, "I decided to try and make my chicken hobby pay for itself by selling arts and crafts celebrating the Key West gypsy chickens." I've been at the store several times now, and by the number of visitors, it looks like she's succeeded. The Chicken Store sells all sorts of chicken-related stuff (kind of like the Key Lime store near Key Largo ) -- purists. EVERYTHING is in some way related to chickens (or Key Lime depending on which store you're in). A few of the things I saw for sale at The Chicken Store, which you can also order by mail or the internet: hats, postcards, cups and plates, bumper stickers, posters, great paintings by Will Fernandez, and T-shirts. (My favorite T-shirt was: "Why did the chicken cross the road? (Picture of chicken) Because she could not stop for death..." Emily Dickinson. I don't do car signs, but if I did I'd buy the one that says "Choose Freedom" and shows a chicken that is obviously making "tracks" -- getting "outta here." Check out their website at www.TheChickenStore.com.
    They even have eggs you can take home and hatch. There was a picture of a guy from Wisconsin with two grown chickens hatched from eggs he bought in Key West. Examples of posters and bumper stickers with chickens:

(Katha gave me the latter, but since the encounter with the anti-chicken woman, I haven't been brave enough to put it on my camper.)

    Key West, which is only two miles long and four miles wide, is known for its live-and-let-live attitude, EXCEPT where chickens are concerned. Before I left the store, Katha and I talked about the current status of the chicken controversy raging in Key West, which apparently has been going on for years. According to Katha, the people who like the chickens don't speak out; the people who don't like them DO. She says there's about one person on every block who finds the chickens annoying. When that person calls the Commissioners, the controversy heats up again.
    Katha will give you a free sign for your yard that says:

There is a petition in the store people can sign:

We, the undersigned hold dear the heart-stoppingly beautiful wild chickens of the City of Key West and ask they be preserved here forever. Not only are they an established 175-year-old historical feature of this island city, but also they perform a valuable service by eating scorpions, ticks, cockroaches, termites, snails, and other pests. We respect and honor Gallus gallus, the Chicken, for its many gifts to humanity, which include: the Salk polio vaccine and other life-saving serums, life-sustaining food not only for us and our children buy also for our pets, and sentinel service to forewarn people against the threat of mosquito-borne diseases such as encephalitis, dengue and malaria. Truly, the City of Key West would not be the same if its streets were silent and devoid of the proud Conch cocks and their beautiful feathered ladies with chicks in tow. Please hold them fast in your heart, and let there be one place in the world where the deserving Chicken may live safe and free --in the amazing, unique, unparalleled City of Key West."

    I say, "CHEERS ALL AROUND!" A standing ovation for Katha, Roy, The Chicken Store and all its volunteers, but MOST OF ALL FOR THE CHICKENS THEMSELVES, who by just being chickens bring us great joy!

    POSTSCRIPT: After finishing this article, I took myuself out to lunch. And, you guessed it, while I was eating, a Key West gypsy chicken pranced right across the floor of the restaurant and lingered under my table, as if it had just as much a right to be there as I did...

    I've done my part; now you do yours! Please help "Save the Chickens of Key West" by calling the City Commissioners at (305) 292-8200. Then when you get to Key West maybe the chickens will still be here...

Story #5.....SYNCHRONICITY.....Key West, Florida.....4/12/02 (Revised 4/6/04)

    It was a magical day from beginnning to end. For those of you who have trouble believing in magic, let's just say it was very synchronistic, a day of concurrent or connected events.
    I parked my camper at Higgs Beach and walked to town for exercise. First I checked to see how much sightseeing tours cost 'cause I really wanted to see this confusing city that has very few street signs, and I wanted to ride on those cute trams or trolleys. When I found out both were $20, I picked up a brochure and decided to go to those places on my own. Not only do I save $20 and get exercise, but it eliminates the things I don't want to see and allows me to spend all the time I want at places I do want to see.
    SYNCHRONICITY #1: Next stop was to find the YMCA on Virginia Street; there were two Ys listed in the phne book. The address on Virginia Street was on my way back to the beach. I found, and then lost Virginia Street, at a dead end. I was fairly sure I could pick it up again if I just went around the dead end to the next street. As I was walking up that Street (Amerlia), the first amazing thing of the day happened. I saw a man jogging toward me with a YMCA T-shirt on. I thought that was encouraging; I must be near the Y.
    SYNCHRONICITY #2: And that's when I saw the rabbit -- then three rabbits following in a line. (The whole story is Story #6 "The Medicine Garden," a story in four parts.) I stopped to watch them until they scurried under a metal gate. I looked up, and the sign on the gate said, "Medicine Garden" (located at Amerlia and Windsor). It said it was open to the public, gave the hours, and that there was no charge but donations were appreciated. I opened the door.
    SYNCHRONICITY #3: Earlier that day, I was considering three possibilities for the evening. One was to write at the libary which was open until 8:00 p.m., another was to attend the Bite of Key West from 6:00 until 9:00 pm. at Higgs Park, and the third was to attend a discussion group at the Unitarian Fellowhsip at 5:30 p.m. on the subject "What is Real?" Now, I'm really big on REAL; so the later interested me a lot, but I hadn't decided for sure. Beginning at the wooden bridge in the garden, I noticed quotes were written everywhere: on walls, on ceilings, on bridges, etc. -- EVERYWHERE. And what do you suppose was the very first quote I read? "Nothing real can be threatened. Nothing unreal exiss. Herein lies the peace." I knew then where I'd be that evening.
    SYNCHRONICITY #4: When I went to the discussion group that evening at the Unitarian Fellowship and told them the story of why I was there, they told me that their meditation group meets at the Medicine Garden on Fridays at 5:30 p.m. (And I'm writing this on Friday; so if I'm going to get to the Meditation Group in the Medicine Garden, I have to pause this story for now...)
    SYNCHRONICITY #5: The discussion group ended at 6:30 -- still time to get to the Bite of Key West. For one reason or another, I didn't get to the Bite until 8:30 p.m., and it ended at 9:00. A lot of the food was sold out, but the good thing was that at 8:45 most of the booths were giving food away or charging very little just to get rid of it before closing. First, I found three food tickets on the ground (worth $1 each). Then I was offered a bowl of mango gazpacho free, and a guy told me he'd bought too many tickets and offered them to me free To make a long story short, this is what I got free: a bowl of black beans; a bowl of the most divine, puried, portobello mushrom soup -- so I got another bowl; two different kinds of apple crisp at two different booths. I did pay $1 for a bowl of magnificent seafood chowder; so I had a second. Next, I went over to the tamale booth which was one of the few remaining open. While I was waiting in line, the guy next to me reeled off a string of tickets and asked if I'd like some; he gave me a lot. I bought all the tamales I could with my remaining tickets. Of course, I couldn't eat all that food; so I came back to my camper with two apple crisps, portobello soup, black beans, and several tamales. The next morning I ate the apple crisp, had the tamales for lunch, and made black bean soup that night for dinner.

Story #4.....MISSION: KEY LIME PIE.....Marathon, Florida.....4/6/02 (Rev. 6/11/03)

    "Your mission, should you choose to accept it; is to eat Key Lime pie at every opportunity throughout the state of Florida." I hesitated about two seconds before committing to this awesome assignment.
    I LOVE KEY LIME PIE! (In spite of the fact tht every time I write Key Lime, I never know whether to capitalize it or not.) I had my first piece of Key Lime pie when I got to Everglades City, which is in southern Florida. The last piece was two days ago at the Key Lime Store in Key Largo. Then there was the fantastic Key Lime cheesecake I had at Chili's in Naples and the fabulous Key Lime milkshake at Robert is Here produce stand -- my favorite of his 20+ milkshake flavors. (Strawberry, made from strawberries picked from his field out back, is a close second. No, I think it's a tie.)
    I ask myself why I waited so long after arriving in Florida to eat Key Lime pie because when I think of Florida and food, Key Lime pie is the first thing that comes to mind. While I love all of Florida (especially Tallahassee and the three Everglades areas), northern Florida is quite different from southern Florida. I never thought of Key Lime pie until I got to the southern part -- maybe because it's close to the Florida KEYS, and the word KEY is in both.
    So this trip, my search for the Key Lime pie is going quite well. What you have to remember about Key Lime pie is that it can be different every place you eat it. Most of the time it has a creamy, cheese-cake-like base, but in the city of Key West, it was like a lemon meringe pie. Yesterday, on my way north up the Keys, I ate my fifth piece at the Key Lime Store in Key Largo. Magnificent! I will say one thing, no, two things about Key Lime pie: 1) It is my favorite pie (although I'm also partial to lemon meringe IF it's made with REAL lemons which it hardly ever is, and 2) I've never met a Key Lime pie I didn't like!

P.S. See recipe for Key Lime pie on the "Food" link on my home page.

Story #3.....THE POPCORN LAWS.....Homestead, Florida....4/1/02 (Revised 4/1/04)

    Today I made popcorn in the middle of the day. NEVER in my life have I EVER made popcorn in the middle of the day; BUT that's the beauty of retirement and of reaching a certain age.
    Now everyone knows the popcorn laws:

1) Popcorn is to be consumed only at the movies, OR

2) when the family is gathered around the TV set watching Disney on Sunday night (which we haven't done for some time now since the kids are in their 30s).

    There is absolutely NO reason for blatantly popping popcorn at 4:00 p.m. in the afternoon. Besides it will spoil your dinner! I ask myself, "What kind of person would go against the popcorn laws?"
    BUT, I WANTED POPCORN, and I wanted it RIGHT NOW in the middle of the day. I hesitated a few moments to consider this radical action. Then, I asked myself, "Why not? Why am I following the stifling popcorn rules? I'm an adult and consider myself a free spirit, and I'M HUNGRY -- for popcorn."
    I went iinto my camper, dug out the popcorn, sprayed the oil in the pan, closed the door (for privacy), and popped away. And, laughing in the face of convention, I ate every last kernal (WITH salt AND real, melted butter)! YUM! (Please don't tell anyone about this...)

Story #2.....PENNIES FROM HEAVEN.....Homestead, Florida.....3/19/02 (Revised 4/1/04)

    I find money almost daily. While in Pagosa Springs, Colorado, I found two $20 bills in one week. I know it's unbelievable; I had trouble believing it myself. Mostly I find pennies because they aren't worth much, and no one wants to make the effort to pick them up. But, I'm of the "old" school that says finding a penny means good luck. On the contrary: find a penny, let it lay, and you will have bad luck all day...or some rhyme to that effect.
    Once I went for a walk with a woman from New York; she's the only person I've ever known who picked up pennies. Maybe there are other people, though, and I just beat them to it.
    Sometimes I find bigger coins, and I go through stages. I just passed through the dime stage. That was followed by a nickel stage; then this morning dimes again. Sometimes I find quarters but not often enough to call it a "stage." Quarters are my favorite (next to paper money, that is.) I think of them as free washing-machine money.
    One time in Seattle, where I used to make my home, I was walking back from town one night. Just for the fun of it, I decided to take a side trip through a narrow, covered walkway in front of a building entrance. There on the ground was a $20 bill. Now, what led me to take that route?
    The most fun thing about finding paper money is holding your breath while you open it to see how much it is. Of course, I am always hoping for a $50 or $100 dollar bill, but it never is. I usually find twenties, but I've also found ones and fives -- never a ten.
    The funny thing is, I don't just go out looking for lost money. I am ALWAYS amazed when I see it. One time in Bangor, Maine, I was on my evening walk when I saw pennies in the middle of the road -- LOTS of pennies! I started picking them up, counting them as I went along, and there were almost 100! They were easy to spot in the headlights of cars as they drove by. Just when I thought I'd picked up all of them, a car would drive by, and another glistening penny would show up. I wondered, "Where did they come from?" I looked up and realized I was standing under a bridge. Someone standing on the bridge had a good time. My guess is there was a penny-pitching contest to see who could get a penny closest to the target, whatever that was. But, you know, I was the one who won the game in the end -- 100 pennies from heaven.

Story #1.....LONG LOST FRIENDS & PURPLE TOE NAILS....Everglades City, Florida....2/8/03 (Revised 4/2/04)

    Niki Butcher, with her husband Clyde, runs the Clyde Butcher Big Cypress Gallery. It is located on Highway 41 west of Naples, Florida on the way to Shark Valley in Everglades National Park. Niki told me this story: Clyde and Marshall were college roommates. (I don't know how long ago, but I will tell you that Clyde sports a very bushy, long, white beard.) Clyde and Marshall lost touch over the years; Clyde to pursue his love of black-and-white, nature photography and Marshall to do some big-time career thing.
    As the story goes, one day Marshall was driving along Highway 41 when he passed the sign for the gallery (just east of the Visitor's Center in Big Cypress National Preserve). He read the sign as he passed, and Clyde Butcher, his college roommate, came to mind. Could it be? Could there be more than one Clyde Butcher? He didn't think so.
    He'd driven past by then and decided to turn around and check it out. Long story, short: It turned out to be the very same Clyde Butcher, his college roommate! Niki was ecstatic as she told me how close the friendship has become and how important Marshall is in their lives. She didn't say this in so many words, but I got the feeling that she feels he was "sent" to them at a time when they were contemplating major changes in their lives. Becoming reacquainted with Marshall was a serendipitous happening -- a gift from the universe...

    Niki said Marshall has purple toenails. When I looked puzzled, she continued, "What's the first thing you look at when you get out of bed in the morning?" She answers her own question, "You look down at your feet and see your toenails." She took off her shoe and sock, and sure enough, she too had purple toenails! She says one is bound to notice purple toenails first thing in the morning. Marshall told her that purple toenails are a daily reminder to "stay on the path -- to stay on YOUR path."
    Many people will ask, "Where is the path? What is MY path? How do I find it?" To this I answer: Hear your inner voice; listen to your spirit. To do this means to cut out all the busy-ness. It means taking the time to breathe. It means sitting quietly and seeking serenity wherever you can find it. And LISTENING -- not only to yourself but everybody (and everything) around you. (These are messages from the universe.) And, doing things that inspire you, like reading inspirational and spiritual books, listening to music of the masters, and walking or biking in nature.
    There is one piece of music that absolutely DOES IT for me: "The Swan" by Saint Saens. I have a recording with Yo Yo Ma on the cello. When I play that piece of music, it takes me to another place -- a place of such bliss that it is truly awesome. That one piece of music is reason enough for me to be alive!

P.S. Niki's toenails are really lavender, not purple...