Cavorting with Kangaroos in the Wild

Cape Hillsborough

It was dawn.  We stood on a vast beach, just the two of us, next to a dramatically time-sculpted volcanic rock, watching the sky brighten.  Suddenly we heard a “thump, thump, thump.”  What the heck?  A kangaroo went jumping by.  Then another.  Then another.  The trio whizzed by us, along the gently-lapping water line.   We looked at each other:  No way! 

hanging with wallabies and roos

As we followed in their path, tears sprung to my eyes.  I felt the answer to my unasked question:  Why were we doing this again?  Why had we left our home and friends and family and beloved seaside town?

This was why. For experiences like this.

We spent at least 45 minutes watching these exotic-to-us beasts.  At one point, as Dave filmed, they came hopping toward us.  Closer and closer.  Almost like they were charging us.  

I’ve seen scary videos on TV of people getting kick-boxed by kangaroos and for a second imagined that might happen to us.  But earlier we’d seen one kanga and six wallabies on this same beach who’d run up to a guy who had barley to feed them.  So I was pretty sure this trio of kangas was just hoping for a free lunch.  

Dave, on the other hand, wasn't concerned at all. He felt they were just curious.

Still, I positioned myself behind him, just in case.  He fashions himself to be a Dr. Dootlittle, so I let him deal with the possible consequences of being a talk-to-the-animals sort. 

In this video, you can see why I wasn't sure what direction it was going. You can see the animals running toward us with the camera trained on them. When front-runner reaches Dave, he drops the camera down and laughs saying, in Dr. Doolittle fashion, “What do you want, buddy?” Indeed, the kanga sniffed Dave, instead of KO’ing him with a spring-release foot.

After my heart stopped palpitating, I stood in awe.  Did we really just have that experience?  Two California natives interacting with kangaroos for the first time--in the wild?  On the beach at sunrise?  

Exploring Cairns and the Great Barrier Reef

Hundreds gathered every night in the treetops by our Cairns hotel.

After almost a week in Brisbane, it was time to explore other parts of Australia.  So we hopped on a Qantas plane and flew two hours north to Cairns.

(Pronounced Cans.  I noticed that sometimes--as in the case of Cairns--Australians omit the r.  And other times, they add an r where one doesn’t belong.  For example, they call their country Austral-yer.)

surreal Cairns waterscape

Cairns is like Hilo-meets-Honolulu with a dash of Reno.  Meaning:

* it rains when the sun is out;

* the trees are packed with screeching, exotic birds for a Hitchcock-version-of-Jurassic-Park sensation;

* the downtown is teeming with a requisite number of international tourists and hippies (meaning all the food is expensive, even the veggie burgers);

* it boasts a gorgeous public waterfront area;

* and in the shadows lurk sketchy characters and strip clubs.

Cairns public swimming area

At the Cairns harbor, we took a snorkel boat tour to the Great Barrier Reef.  We sat with a newlywed couple--he’s from Spain, she from Lebanon--who were on a 32-day honeymoon.  We also met a young couple who met while they were both taking a “gap year” to travel Europe; he’s Australian, she’s Brazilian. It made me feel very internationale since we, too, are doing the extended travel thing.  

I asked the “gap year” couple for a highlight of their travels, and he said they especially loved Berlin, which happens to be where they met.  Startlingly, though, neither one of them had seen Cabaret or read Isherwood’s Berlin Stories.  Perhaps, based on my recommendation, they will now.

mermaid and merman

The seas were rough.  I thought I was over my seasick days, but I soon learned that ninety minutes on a bucking bronco is my limit.  But popping a couple of pills given to me by the crew fixed me right up.  In fact, the crew was great, and even when I was feeling queasy I was aware of what a privilege it was to be on the Great Barrier Reef--much less in a fancy boat being fed coffee, muffins, and a delightful lunch by an enthusiastic and knowledgeable group of young people.

First stop was Michaelmas Cay, then next was our favorite:  Hastings Reef.  As I watched my husband jump with finesse into the water, I was reminded of how this mermaid married a merman.  Watching him so in his element as he dove expertly down to the reef to snap pictures was a joy.  In that moment, I fell in love with him all over again.

Dave has scuba dived in many places all over the world, and we saw something he’d never seen before:  a giant clam, open to reveal its pulsing siphon and purplish blue scalloped edges.  (Later, Dave told me that those blue edges are actually its multiple eyes.  Who knew?)  With its luscious curves and wavering interior, it doesn’t take much imagination to understand why the giant clam is associated with womanly sensuality.

We also encountered a (squool?) of squid, to the special delight of Dave since he’d seen such squidliness only once before.  It was all new to me, so I was in a non-ending state of delight.  

The corals and fish were extravagantly colorful and varied.  When we drifted over the edge of the reef, the sea opened out into an indigo infinity, creating the sensation of flying into the abyss.  Nothingness and everything-ness became the same thing.  I hung there, feeling the moment embrace me.  And I thought of how it all felt like a line by Alan Watts that I’d read just the night before:

“The now-moment is eternity, and one must see it now or never.”

In the Land of Oz

"The French have a different word for everything," proclaimed Steve Martin with faux astonishment in one of his comedy routines.

Smiling in Brisbane, even with burned, straight hair.

That line keeps going through my head as we explore Brisbane.  Ostensibly Americans and Australians speak the same language, but when Gloria gave me half of something that looked just like a papaya and called it a "paw paw," I knew we weren't in Kansas anymore.

Paw paws are very yummy here, especially with lime.

When you use a credit card, you have to proclaim "credit" immediately or the clerk says something that sounds like "saav-ens, creee-deet or xweoimns" and looks at you expectantly.  We figured out that "saav-ens" is "savings," synonymous for "debit card."  The second choice is "credit" and the third must mean, "Pay with your first-born."

We are staying in the home of our generous friend, Mark, while he's in London performing a series of piano concerts.  He left us a lovely welcome gift of a basket of Australian "lollies" (bags of candy) along with three bottles of Australian wine and three of his piano CDs.

And two coffee mugs:  One that says "Happiness is the way not a destination" and the other "I [heart] the universe."  No question, Mark is of our tribe.

He relegated one job to me:  Make Gloria--his 90-year-old "mum" who lives in the unit downstairs--a cup of coffee each morning.  I was delighted to be given this task until I encountered the massive chrome machine.  I felt like a time traveler from 1850 transported to 2013, asked to get behind the wheel of a Maserati.

The directions he'd written out to operate the monstrosity rivaled a Microsoft Word user's manual.  Not only that, but you can't just plug in things here.  You have to turn on the electrical switch next to the  outlet.

Speaking of outlets, the current here is a raging animal.  I discovered that when, while curling my hair, the top plastic piece of my curling iron melted off into my hand.  When I pulled the metal barrel away from my head, a chunk of my hair came with it.

I'll spare you the details of the finding-a-curling-iron-in-Brisbane saga that came next, but if anyone ever came close to a divorce over a hair appliance ...

Fortunately, we chalked up the literal and figurative melt-down to jet lag and quickly re-found newly married bliss.

In the face of these Australian differences, I'm being quite enterprising.  When I discovered that "half and half" does not exist here, I made my own by mixing a carton of cream (which is an eerie yellowish color) with a carton of milk (which is the usual white).

parrot in Gloria's garden

Every morning we wake to cacophonous birdsong emanating from the lush green yard.  That in and of itself reminds me I'm "elsewhere"--the merry old land of Oz.

We've had some lovely days exploring beautiful Brisbane.  One day was in the company of Simone--a former student of mine--and Beci, an Australian we were introduced to via an American friend.  To greet Simone (whom I'd last seen on my California campus) and Beci (whom we'd "met" only on Facebook) was surreal and wonderful.

with Simone and Beci

It's been just a week since we left our home to embark on our world travel adventure.  Yes, there are times Santa Cruz drifts through my mind, and I feel a pang of missing home--even though we no longer have a home there.

It's funny, though, how soon some other place begins to feel like home.  Just this morning as he stood in the kitchen in his cozy sweatpants and sweatshirt brewing tea, Dave said: "It's strange, but it feels like we live here now."

The humongous chrome coffee maker is now my friend.  I  pronounce "Cairns" (where we're headed tomorrow) "Cahns" like a native.  We've done yoga in the living room (on our newly-purchased yoga mats) which adds a home-vibe to anywhere.  It's these little settling-in details that create a wonderful balance of freshness and familiarity.

G'day from Australia!

Dave and Gloria

I actually slept on the plane, with the medicinal help of my doctor. Yay, Doc! We both feel pretty good even though we crossed the international dateline, flew for 14 hours, then took a train and a cab into Brisbane.

The 90-year-old mother of our friend Mark greeted us. Mark is out of town but letting us stay at his place. His mother told me she wants to trade Mark for Dave. 

I said "No way, I just married him last year." 

She said, "Too bad you didn't marry him 10 years ago, then you might be willing!"

We went on a walk in the neighborhood, had a lovely breakfast/lunch/dinner (my internal clock is making no clear categorizations), and drank caffeine in the hopes we can stay awake until bedtime to allay jet lag.

I like how the young barista called me "sweetheart" and how people here say "no worries" in place of "no problem" or "you're welcome."

It's cool and sunny here, kind of like Santa Cruz. The birds sound tropical, and the lush vegetation adds to that sense. The hilliness and urban chic in this 'hood remind us of Seattle.

Now we are chillin' in Mark's place, listening to him play piano on CD (he's a concert pianist).  Just a few days in, and I'm already very inspired and have been writing like a maniac on the new Travel Adventure Book.

Cheers!

You know you're in L.A. when...

Nancy & Kate, friends since high school, in Nancy's studio.

You know you're in L.A. when:

* You are the only pedestrians on your three-block walk to the store.

* Your friend takes you for a spin in his new Maserati--and then lets you get behind the wheel.

* You valet park at the grocery store.

* You play with puppets at your friend's art studio.

* That friend takes you to a vast art gallery complex where you have a fabulous organic salad in the outdoor cafe.

* And then you walk around, taking in a wild array of art.

* And as you walk into each gallery, the person behind the counter (the "gallerist") may or may not acknowledge you.

* The most expensive clothes look like stylishly tattered rags.

Dave with the boys in the band.

* You pop in on a dive bar, and your friends are playing in the band.

* You say to a guy you just met, "Has anyone ever told you that you look like Dustin Hoffman?" and he says, "Yeah, I've heard that.  But when I met Dustin and we stood side-by-side, people didn't really think so."

* The dinner guests are a) a photographer and b) an artist whose sculptures are installed all over the world.

* The dinner party is outdoor at night, followed by communing around the fire pit and a dip in the jacuzzi.

Next stop:  Brisbane, Australia!

"Step by step, we make our way." ― Kate Mosse

Step by step, walking the labyrinth in Avila Beach
(where we went a few weeks ago for Dave's birthday).

You know it's time to leave when you've used up the barbecue sauce, mayonnaise, and salad dressing.

We just ate our last dinner in our Santa Cruz Love Nest:  Dave's succulent ribs, roasted veggies, and colossal artichokes.  We like to dip our artichokes in mayonnaise (our only use of it)--and, miraculously, we finished off the ancient jar.

What a red-letter 24 hours, considering I also signed my retirement papers this afternoon!

As I write this on the couch in dim light, I'm aware of how we gave away our standing lamp.  Other things we gave away today include  deck chairs, beach chairs, a beach umbrella, two bags of clothes, and a potting table.

I remember buying that potting table years ago when I was living on my own for the first time in fifteen years, following my divorce.

Now here I am, happily married to Dave and about to embark on a world travel adventure.  The past me could barely dream such things.  I'm grateful to have learned and grown so much that I can see how creating the life you want is possible.

Friday morning, the movers come to put our stuff in storage.  Friday afternoon, we fly to L.A., and then two days later we'll be in Australia.

Step by step, we've made our way to this point.  We don't know how long we'll be living a traveling life.  What we do know is that for at least a year we will be seeing what it feels like to live as adventurers without a home base, visiting friends all over the world, and making new ones wherever we go.

Start with this idea: "It's Possible."

Taking the leap while zip-lining with our friend Stella!

The grocery store clerk asked me what I was up to today.  I said, "Packing."  This led to my sharing with him that we are leaving home in a week to travel the world.

Most everyone says they are excited for us.  Some tell me about a time they traveled extensively or lived overseas.  

The rest say one or all of these things:

"I'm jealous!"

"I dream of doing that one day!"

"I wish I could do that!"

I say, "Well, you should!"  

Sometimes they smile.  Sometimes they look at me like, You are crazy...you have no idea how impossible that would be for me because of x, y & z.

For years Dave and I have traveled a lot.  Before we met, he went scuba diving and followed his favorite band all over the world.  When I was 29, I sold everything I owned and moved to Japan to teach English.  I also spent time in Mexico, and traveled alone to Hawaii and Europe.  In other words, we unknowingly were preparing for this moment.  Wherever you put your energy, there you are...

Also for the past few years, I've been looking at a lot of pictures of lovely places I want to visit and things I want to do.  I began cutting them out of magazines or printing them out, and pasting them into a scrapbook.  

When I came across that scrapbook recently, I realized most everything in it had come true:  I'd learned to ski and spent a lot of time in the mountains, we'd gone on several cruises, we'd ziplined and wine-tasted, we swam with dolphins and a manta ray, we'd enjoyed beautiful gatherings with friends old and new, and we'd gotten married on the beach in Hawaii...I'd gathered images of versions all of those things because I thought they were lovely, not because I was attached to them happening.  But indeed, they did.

Also the past few years, I've been reading a lot of blogs written by people who live a traveling life.  One couple rode their bikes from Argentina to Alaska...with their twin 8-year-old boys!  One family has lived in eight countries and grown their family by five children along the way.  One is a single woman who goes wherever the winds take her.  One followed her dream to move to Costa Rica without being exactly sure how it was going to work...and years later she takes people on whale and dolphin tours.

For a few years, when I'd bump into to my friend Tiffany at the California university where we both taught, she'd talk about loving to travel and wanting to teach overseas.  That desire, that focus, led to her living the dream when she got a job teaching in Korea.

There are so many ways to make the world your home.  Some people have specific jobs.  Some people make a living online. Some create new jobs where they are.  Some work a little here and there.  Some live on their life savings.  Some join the Peace Corps.  Some live happily on a shoestring.

I noticed that many people experienced a specific event to prompt them to change their lives:  loss of a job, a divorce, death of a loved one, an illness. 

Powerful stuff.  Then again, why wait for such a harsh reminder of the evanescence of life?

One thing all these travelers have in common is that they took the leap.  

So many of these people share their adventures online.  That's why the internet is such a great resource for how to get ideas to make it happen for you.

At the same time, no one can tell you how it can work for you.  You have to start with the idea that it's possible, without worrying about wrestling all the details to the ground.  

Start with the feeling, then the knowing, that you can create the life you want.  Then everything will start to fall into place.  

The minute you say, I'd love to do that, but I can't, you've roadblocked your dream.

Why not say, I'd love to do that! without attaching a "but"?  Focusing on your limitations makes them feel insurmountable.

Instead, use the magic of stories and pictures and conversations to inhabit your wishes.  If extended travel is what you crave, relish short road trips and live your daily life as though you are an adventurer.  Joyfully swimming around within the space of your desires will help your dreams to become your reality.

Sexiest Koala Alive

Proof you can Google anything and find it.

I just discovered that my blog entry with the most all-time hits is "How to be a Chick Magnet."  I'm imagining how many Googlers are disappointed when they hit my site and find no pictures of hot chicks, and no advice on how to pick up women.

As we're traveling and I'm blogging, perhaps I need to create spicy titles for my pieces to increase my blog traffic.

In Australia:  "Sexiest Koala Alive."

In Hong Kong:  "Land of Lingerie."

In Chennai, India:  "HOT!!!!  (And I don't mean just the food and weather!)"

I just Googled "Hot in Chennai", and the results display an interesting mix of weather, food and other hot things with links that look like one click would blow up your computer with viruses.

Perhaps the labels I just attached to this post will boost it to the #1 spot in short order.

At any rate, since people have been asking:  Yes, for sure, I will be writing as Dave and I trot the globe.  You can follow me by putting your email in the little box at the right-top of this blog.

Or follow me on Google or Facebook or Twitter.  Or go to my website and click on "blog."

Obviously, I'm all over the internet.  So even if you don't want to follow our travels deliberately, you'll probably trip over one of my stories somewhere.  And if that happens, I hope you enjoy it and aren't too disappointed that the story doesn't live up to the racy title.

Are you Excited? Frantic? Scared? (The One We Feed)

"Are you excited?"  That's what many of my friends ask me when I mention we will be leaving to travel the world in less than two weeks.

Also:  "Are you frantic?"

And:  "Are you scared?"

For the most part, my answer to all three is "No."  Here's why:

Excited?

Actually, the answer is "yes and no."  I think this is because I'm seeing every bit of life as part of the journey.  So I'm not waiting for the journey to start.  I'm experiencing it now.  And when we step on the plane June 2 to fly to Australia, I think it will feel less like being shot out of a cannon and more like turning a page.

There are so many things to be excited about right now:

Bon Voyage Mode

I'm excited about all the get-togethers with friends. Many of these were planned prior to our decision to travel, so they have serendipitously turned into bon voyages.  And I find myself cherishing this time with friends since who knows when we'll meet again?  Knowing we are leaving adds an extra sweetness.  But of course, even if we're not leaving, we never know what the future holds.  So perhaps the trick is to always be in bon voyage mode!

Dave's surprise birthday party in bon voyage mode

Gifting Mode

I'm also cherishing gifting stuff to friends and strangers.  Yesterday, when Dave and I went to the home of friends for dinner, we brought them our fireplace accoutrements and a set of china I knew I'd never use.  These friends have just bought a new home (with three fireplaces!) and are very much in the nesting mode.  We knew these items belonged in their house.  It was lovely to see them happy about the gifts and to know pieces of us will be incorporated into their lives.

One of my friends posted on Facebook that he wanted camping equipment.  Dave said, "How about I give him mine?  I won't be using it."  So the other day, the friend came over to collect the tent, backpack, and various other equipment.  He stayed for a beer, and we had a rich and fun conversation.  Probably the most amazing conversation we've ever had. 

I've been giving books to friends I think would like them.  And recently I posted on Facebook, To keep or toss my yearbooks, that is the question?  And two high school classmates mentioned they lost their yearbooks, so I am going to mail a couple to each of them.

I'm learning that gifting stuff in a meaningful way is a powerful human connector.  This is part of the journey that, yes, I'm excited about.

Relishing-the-Page-I'm-On Mode

I've also been relishing my last days of teaching, including bringing a bottle of champagne to my final creative writing meeting, and hanging out in my office during finals week so students could come by with their papers and to say goodbye.  One student brought me flowers, and several brought me heart-felt cards.  It was so gratifying to see that many of them were inspired to write and live more richly as a result of my class.

There's nothing like champagne to make a meeting fun!  (I guess we all got a little blurry...)

As I posted on Facebook, here's how I felt the last day of class:

Yes I cried in the last class today, my last after all these years at SJSU. Yes my students gave an amazing poetry reading where we all laughed and cried and applauded. Yes I read a piece inspired by that very class. Yes we all group hugged. Yes it was more amazing than I ever dreamed it would be. Yes, my heart keeps expanding beyond dimensions I ever dreamed possible. Yes, I say yes to life.

Frantic?

Dave and I decided we were going to focus on our physical, mental and spiritual health during this time.  So we've been eating well, doing yoga, meditating, and getting a lot of sleep and fresh air.  Oh, and laughing a lot!

I believe this is why all of our preparations have been like buttah.  We take care of details when we are inspired to do so:  some packing, throwing something in the car to give to a friend, putting something on Craig's list to give away, confirming a flight, making a lodging reservation, communicating with a friend we're staying with.  And if things ever start to feel hard or jagged, we stop and come back to it later.  I have a list with some items to take care of--and when I look at it, I'm pleasantly surprised that I can strike off a few things.

Every once in a while, certain thoughts creep up on me like, Oh my god I'm going to forget something crucial!  Or Holy crap, what the hell are we in for?  Then I employ my best version of a yogi and watch that thought swim by.  I recently read that if you don't repress or act-out on a thought, it will dissipate within 90 seconds.  Ah, such freedom from my monkey mind!

Two tigers

Scared?

If a fearful thought enters my mind, my mantra is this:  I can freak out, or get curious.  Example:

Fearful thought:  Oh my god, we are going to be without a home!

Freak Out:  You'll feel lonely and lost! You're living too much on the edge! If you keep this up, you'll be homeless not by choice but for real some day!

Get Curious:  I wonder what new thing is around the corner?  I wonder what amazing people we will meet?  I wonder how we'll grow?  I wonder what new ideas of "home" we will foster and explore?


This reminds me of the the old Indian tale, in which a grandfather tells his grandchild:

"You have two tigers inside you.  One is love and compassion.  The other is fear and anger."

The grandchild asks, "Which one will win?"

He answers:  "The one we feed."

Grading Papers: The Life of an English Teacher

We all do it.

This morning I was curled up on the couch with my coffee and a stack of student papers to grade.  This scenario has been part of my life for many years.

Being an English teacher is like having perpetual homework.  In the mid 1980s, I was a high school teacher.  And everywhere I went--Sunday to my parents' house, a road trip, an afternoon at the park--I brought a stack of papers.  Not that I always graded them there.  Often I'd set my alarm for 3:30 a.m. to finish grading in a haze before I jumped in the shower.

I left teaching once, in 1989.  I said I was sick of grading papers. I got a job working for a computer publishing company.  Sitting in a cubicle under florescent lights from 9 a.m.-6 p.m. made paper grading look not too bad.  So after a year, I went to grad school and re-launched my teaching career as a college professor.

Over the years, I've tried all kinds of paper-grading tricks, such as:

* Standing while grading so that I don't get too comfortable and spend unnecessary time on the papers.   (That bombed.  It made grading feel too much like punishment.)

* Going to a cafe to grade.  (I found out if I'm going for comfort, I tend to prefer my own home.)

* Grading only in my office; never taking a paper home.  I found this not to my liking for three reasons:  1) It doesn't allow me to take advantage of one of the great things about the job:  flexibility.  I like that I'm on campus 2-3 days a week, which would have to be more if I graded only there.  2) After teaching, I am often not in the head-space to grade.  3) Before teaching, if I'm frantically grading papers, I walk into class agitated. I prefer to walk slowly to class, hot tea in hand, meditating on being open to whatever comes up. 

* Having my students write 3 strengths and weaknesses on the last page of their paper.  They are usually spot-on.  And then I don't have to write out the obvious; instead, I write "yes!" next to their comments. 

* Stapling a grading rubric to a paper and checking-off the strengths and weaknesses.  But I'm such a verbal communicator that I found it hard to replace words with checks.  A supposed time-saver became an extra step.

* Instead of correcting grammar and spelling errors, I mark an X next to the error.  I then return papers and have students (in small groups) find the problems and fix them.  If they can't figure it out, I help them.  Usually they can fix 95% of the errors this way.  And it saves me huge amounts of "editing" time.

* Having students share first drafts in small groups.  They read aloud their papers, and the group discusses questions on a worksheet.  The writer listens and takes notes.  This is one of the most successful ways to assure better quality papers because I'm honoring the writing process.

* I also have students reflect on the experience of having written by completing these statements:  "I discovered...", "I was surprised...", and "I wonder..."  We then go around the room and have each person share one insight.  This isn't a time-saving device, but it often has some amazing results that get me psyched to read their papers.

However you slice it, though, paper grading takes time.  It has its ups and downs.  It can feel like a psychological drain, but it can also be powerfully rewarding.

This morning, for example, I was reading student papers reflecting on campus literary events they attended this semester. The student wrote about poet Mark Heinlein, and how--as a result of watching Mark in action--the student feels he has found his tribe:

"I have always wondered if I was one of the only people to look at some of the smallest things in life and think about them as being something bigger than face value.  Sometimes I thought I just over-analyzed and thought about things too much, but after hearing Mark speak, and also being in a creative writing  class and getting to know Professor Evans throughout the semester, I realized that I am not alone."

This is my last week of teaching.  I'm wondering who I will be now with no stacks of papers looming on the coffee table, with no student voices resonating in my head and heart as I read on the couch, coffee in hand.

Most of my teacher friends would answer that I will be free to do more of my own writing.  This is true.  And yet I know this:  much of what I will bring to my own writing as I move to the next chapter of my life will be touched by those thousands of students whose words I responded to with my own.

For Mother's Day

Mom in her 20s (circa early 1950s), when she was a nurse in Hawaii.

With the first Mother's Day approaching since my mom stepped to the other side last August, I've been thinking about what a cool person she was.

After nursing school, she worked in Hawaii as a nurse before it was a state.  Her next job was as a nurse in Yosemite, where she met my dad. 

Later, she became a school nurse.  In that role, she taught a Sex Ed class to middle-schoolers. The kids wrote anonymous questions on cards, which she’d pull at random out of a box:

What’s an orgasm?
What do two men do when they have sex?
Can you get pregnant if you have sex standing up?

Mom would answer these questions straight-faced and seriously. I'm sure her deportment conveyed to the kids that all these taboos they giggle about, yearn for, and worry about are no big deal. They’re just part of life.

In mid-life, she took up piano lessons.  And then, with even more passion, writing.

Most evenings after dinner while Dad cat-napped in front of the TV, Mom sat before her computer. One of her first articles—“Is Your Child Ready for Kindergarten?”— came from her knowledge of screening kids for school readiness. Mom researched freelance writing, reading numerous books on how to write articles, how to publish them, how to market yourself.

Later she wrote many other articles and two books about Color Blindness (which she screened kids for as a school nurse).  Still later, she wrote stories, and then romance novels.  Her love for science and California crept into her fiction.

My favorite is Love’s Golden Song, a historical romance that takes place in the Gold Rush era.  The heroine is a spunky, ahead-of-her-time newspaper reporter who decries hydraulic mining; her nemesis, who becomes her love interest, is—of course—a hydraulic miner. Mom did a lot of research to write this book, and the authenticity of the details is a pleasure to read.

That one was never published, but another one was:  Dinner For Two. Taking place in the Northern California towns of my youth, it’s about a woman named Misty, her love-interest Gene who is a colorblind (!) chef, and a mystery they get embroiled in involving food poisoning at the state capital in Sacramento.

I'm glad my mom got to use her mind so much before it began to drift to another plane due to Alzheimer's.  I'm grateful we were able to spend so much time together as she shifted and changed, while she still had language.  Until she couldn't write anymore, she kept a journal about what Alzheimer's felt like.

Eventually she couldn't speak anymore.  Given how much we used words as writers and consummate communicators, this lack of language shifted our relationship onto a new plane.  It became about presence.  Eye contact.  Energy.  Touch.

My mom is still very much alive in me.  From her I've inherited a love of travel and writing and laughter and mentoring. 

I know she wants me to thrive.  I can feel her rooting me on. 

Teaching and the Butterfly Effect

Chaos Theory tells us that the movement of a butterfly's wings can affect weather patterns on the other side of the world.  Henry Adams offered similar idea when he said that "teachers affect eternity; they can never tell where their influence ends."

Here's a potent example that happened, poignantly, just a few weeks before I leave teaching:

Kirubel and me

First:  A woman I met twenty years ago in a poetry class--Carmen Gimenez Smith--was coming to our campus as a visiting writer.

As so:  I taught her memoir, Bring Down the Little Birds, in which Carmen explores her mother's interior life by writing her mother's imaginary journal entries.

And then:  I assigned my students to write three journal entries as though they were written by one of their parents.

And then:  When my student Kirubel started to write from her father's point of view, she realized that she knew his stories, but not his feelings.

And so:  She sat down with her father to talk about his rough childhood in Ethiopia with a cruel step-mother.

As he talked:  He began to illuminate his feelings more keenly.  While he could not excuse his step-mother's abuse, he realized she had been so young--only 19--when she became his step-mother.  And in short order she gave birth to eight more children.  As he spoke, he began to feel like he wanted to call his mother who was now old and ill.  He hadn't talked to her in years.

As so:  He called her. 

And:  Across continents, they talked for a long time.  Son told Mother how he felt.  Mother told son she'd always wanted to ask for forgiveness but didn't know how.

Later:  Kirubel's father told her he felt lighter, freer.  He was glad that he and his mother had talked about something that had been weighing on them both all these years.

And three days later:  His mother died.

And so:  The butterfly flapped its wings in a poetry class.  Twenty years later--through the empathic gift of stories--a daughter has connected more deeply to her father.  And her father can rest knowing there is nothing left unsaid.