"Look at me and tell me who I am, why I am, what I am..."

Well hello internetland! Long time, no see.

I started this blog when I left for grad school in Ireland 8 YEARS AGO!! I had big dreams for what that would mean, what this space would look like, and the person that I would become.

The song (quoted as the title of this post) from the musical "Jekyll and Hyde" (don't judge me, Broadway shows are the work of our Lord Jesus), has always been the song I return to and belt in self-evaluation. So here I am again, asking the big questions.

Like all big dreams, with hefty expectations attached, things did not turn out anything like I had planned. The deepest reality of this exists in the space since I have returned to the United States and existed in a liminal space of wanting to become "something"--an ideal self--and not really meeting with that reality.

But looking back on the time since I have returned, or even reflecting on the time that I existed in Ireland, a lot of big, hard, beautiful life things have happened that have completely changed my perspective. So sitting here, in Portland, Oregon on a Saturday night, at the end of my Sabbath (a practice I have begun consistently since existing here--more on that later), at the ripe, old age of 35, I am unashamedly proud of the person that I have become even if, in the narrative of the world I live in, I should not be proud.

What has happened in this time, you ask?

• Ramon Viduarri, a dear friend, who held more significance than I can express, died of brain cancer while I was in Ireland. --relational healing tied to this came with my return from Dublin.
• I moved back to California, but San Luis Obispo this time, and I became a bookseller, then a manager at Barnes and Noble.
• My dad died. Trauma. Pain. Facing down the demons of a terrible and unresolved relationship with a difficult man still continues...
• I moved to Portland, Oregon.
• I left Barnes and Noble to try my hand at the Tech Industry...spoiler alert, it did not go well.
• I left a tumultuous living situation to exist in a new space with my doppleganger who was now married. Growth, change, newness ensued.
• I got a job at Powell's City of Books--a dream.
• I fought, and learned, and grew, and cried, and broke down, and struggled, and earned a Master's Degree in education. I am now credentialed to teach High School English.
• I worked as a substitute teacher.
• I had a mental breakdown and experienced paralysis in the face of HOW HARD TEACHING IS! There is a lot to say about this. This is not a job for the faint of heart!
• I jumped into a new church community focused on the practice of the spiritual disciplines or practices--something I have been desperately seeking. 
• I found community and connection in a faith space that I have been looking for since leaving Rock Harbor Fullerton to head to Ireland. 
• I woke up to the real heart and justice inclination and passion God placed in me--especially around women, LGBTQIA+ communities, and communities of color. (in other words, God showed me that smashing white supremacy and the patriarchy is the work of God!)
• I realized that I am called to a life dedicated to singleness and feel free and empowered in this truth. Singleness and celibacy is nothing to be ashamed of sharing. I am a complete and fulfilled person.
• I tentatively and trepidatiously dipped my toe back into the teaching space with an adjunct position at a small, Christ-centered (WHAT?!), liberal arts university. This was the best decision--this is a place focused on community and diversity and the unity of humanity and theology in ways I have never seen. Teaching populations that have historically been told college was not a space for them is life-giving and I grow every day. Creativity and life abound.
• I turned 35 and began to wonder if this would be the year the Parkinson's would get me. This is the age dad was when he began experiencing the disease that would define the rest of his life.  I wonder what work God has for me to do. I want my work on this earth to be good and bring justice and love into the world. I think about the fact that MLK was only 4 years older than I am now when he was ripped from this planet, and look at his legacy.

So here I sit, at 35, a work in progress--still. I want my small life to have ripples for good rather than evil. I want to have adventures, and life this life to the fullest. I want my small life to matter. So here is to being brave with this one wild life. 

I hope to share with you again soon...

Hello again. How are you?

**I discovered this unpublished post from 3 years ago, and decided this dark moment that I was afraid to publish is worth sharing.

Wow, it has been close to two years since I have posted here. I would like to say that it is because my life has been far too full of wandering adventures to afford me time to write, but that is simply not true. As I look over the last post from 2 years ago, I find that not much has changed within me or my experiences.

I have, however, taken baby steps to achieve one of the big pieces of my list--to do work that I care about that is (somewhat) outside of the 9-5 office bubble. I fought, cried, stressed, questioned my sanity, questioned my personhood, questioned everything, and completed a Master's degree in education that additionally qualifies me for my teaching credential. This was a long and very fraught decision, but I feel that all roads for me have lead to teaching. But I still don't know if I can do it. I don't know if I am any good at it. I don't know if I can commit to ANYTHING in this life, even a life-giving wonder that teaching can be. But here I sit, waiting to take the risk and jump in, contingent on a job, that is. So, I am scared. But wandering and reflecting on this life I've chosen in the mean time.

Things I've learned at 30

View of the St. John's Bridge from my favourite reflection spot in Cathedral Park.

1. Portland in the autumn is nifty.
2. Living with people is challenging.
3. I am not built for conventionality.
4. 9-5 Monday-Friday is hard for me
5. I need to work for a purpose that I believe in. I need to care
6. Community brings life. When living without it, I fail.
7. I do not want to have children.
8. I do not want to sit at home making dinners and raising children.
9. A person can be intensely lonely in a crowded room.
10. Isolation cannot be blamed on others, it goes both ways.
11. I love coffee.
12. I love beer.
13. I love traveling.
14. There is a lot that I want to do.
15. Doing the things I want requires money.
16. Money requires a job that pays well.
17. Working for things with purpose does not pay well.
18. Will power is hard for me.
19. I do not want to settle for less than... in any area
20. I value authenticity and deep connection—small talk is not for me.
21. I am easily hurt.
22. Isolation is easy. Vulnerability is hard.
23. I want more than this provincial life.
24. I have a lot of fantastic and varied friends from the many different places and phases of my life.
25. I am grateful for the unconventional path and experiences that I have had.
26. I need Jesus. I need Him everyday to guide me and give me peace and perspective.
27. Life is an adventure. Even in the everyday status quo mundanity of it.

Moral of this story: Adulting is difficult. Unconventional adulting is more difficult. Finding who I am and being okay with that person is a work in progress. Grace is necessary. Neverland is calling.

A Lovely Portland Sunday

Sundays are beautiful. Sundays are about lazily opening my eyes and not worrying about when I have to go to work because I have been mercifully granted Sundays off. I meander down the stairs and brew a fresh french press of locally roasted coffee that I bought at a local market, New Seasons, just down the street from my house. I savor my coffee and my lovely greek yogurt with fresh granola and berries—a beautiful start. I get dressed and walk the 15 minutes to church.

Door of Hope is a life-giving place, it says it all in the name. I stop in a few minutes before the service starts so that I can be sure to grab a funky mug off the wall and fill it with a cup of the locally brewed coffee served at church. I find a comfy chair amongst the milieu of mismatched, eclectic chairs and people. The music starts: this includes a piano, a flute, a mandolin, two guitars, and a ginger-bearded singer with new songs to share written from his heart to worship the Lord. It is a beautiful cacophony of song as we all attempt to join in and sing along. I look up to see arched windows with fairy lights and wooden paintings all around: the beauty of human creation as the souls around me cry out to God. I am overwhelmed. Then the scruffy-bearded, tattooed, ex-rock musician of a pastor ascends the stage and begins to share with us. He shares that his road to faith was long and rocky and what made the difference and opened his heart was story. He talked about reading C.S. Lewis' Mere Christianity and G.K. Chesterton's Orthodoxy. He spoke of deep spiritual classics like A.W. Tozer's Knowledge of the Holy and Bunyan's The Pilgrim's Progress. Josh spoke of the deep things he felt and learned by reading Lewis' Space Trilogy. All of these books are the stories on my heart, the books that shaped me, I love this. He went on to speak of the fact that story moves us, this is why Jesus taught through stories and parables. The things

shared were all things I had heard before, but meant so much and moved so deep. I want an open and fertile heart to the story of God and to let my life be a compelling story. I left reeling from the beauty of the music and the message which spoke to me so deeply. I wandered home in the afternoon sun and took a circuitous route to ponder the things said and enjoy the beautiful day. 

I walk up Williams Street, two streets over from my house, a street with many shops and restaurants that is always bustling on a Sunday. I watched the couples and families and friends out to brunch chatting and laughing happily together and enjoying delicious new foods. I notice a bit of the street blocked off, so as a nosy wanderer I decide to see what the commotion is about, it seems to be a film set, not sure what they are filming so close to my house, but rumor has it Grimm and Portlandia are doing some things about town, I wonder if it could be one of them?

I walk up the stairs and into a rarely empty house all to myself. I do some dishes that have been sitting, clear out some space and decide to sit for a bit with my thoughts in my cozy upstairs room with all of its familiar items that made their way up to Oregon with me. It is all new here in Portland, but there are still bits of the familiar in this room, I like that.

That top, right window looks like the perfect room, does it not?

Glamorous roommates at Portland Prom.

Rommates: Me, Alina, Josiah

I decide it is too beautiful a day to stay cooped up inside so I once again venture forth out the front door. This time I head the other direction, toward the vibrant fun of Mississippi Avenue. I decide to head to a popular local chain called Blue Star Doughnut and indulge in a Matcha Green Tea doughnut, I know it sounds strange, but trust me, it is delightful! Then I decide it is time to sit for a bit with my book, A Moveable Feast by Hemingway, and dream about wandering Paris with Hemingway and Gertrude Stein and the Fitzgeralds. I stop at Fresh Pot cafe a little up the road, grab a latte and sit on the bustling street with my book and my coffee. I stop reading every now and again to watch a dog walking his owner down the street, or folks window shopping and checking out the funky, vintage-y wares along Mississippi. I finish my coffee and decide it is time for more wandering. I happen upon a fantastic little bookshop, Another Read Through, complete with overflowing shelves of used books, a stairway up with bookish quotations painted on, and overstuffed chairs upstairs to stop and read a bit, I love it!

After an hour or so, I leave with a little local purchase, and continue my wandering. I see that there is a so-called “ Mac n' Cheesery” next door that I will certainly be returning to try, but I am not hungry enough just now, but I am very intrigued. I continue walking until I discover the holy grail: Mississippi Records. This is a very out-of-the-way record store, and a rather small one at that, but inside they have a wealth of obscure folk, country, soul, rock, and a whole lot of punk records. The proprietors are friendly, but not in-your-face, so they allow me the space to peruse, and peruse I do! There is so much good stuff from Dylan to Cash to Miles Davis to Fugazi to every good thing. But after a good while of perusing, I decide that I have spent enough money today (also, they only take cash, and I have none...) so I make my way home through the back streets of old houses and lovely gardens of the Alberta Arts District. Yep, I like it here.

What a happy lazy, beautiful Sunday I have had. I like Sundays. Portland has so much to offer me, and I have only hit the tip of the iceberg. I love sharing it with you, my readerly friend.

Portland or Bust.

    I'm baaaaaaaack! I mean this in more ways than one. As my lovely Roomie pointed out, it has been a year since I have posted on this blog. Wow, a year? How did that happen? Is that ever indicative of the season I have just left behind: radio silence. It was a time of goodness and love and support as I was in San Luis Obispo living with my mom. It was the perfect place to land as I returned from Dublin with no idea what was next (and no money to make any of it happen). I landed the perfect job for this season: bookseller at Barnes & Noble, what a dream! Every day I have been able to talk books with coworkers and friends, to recommend books that I love and get books in the hands of people who will truly love them, and for whom worlds will be opened up. I did not intend for this season to last as long as it did: 3 years, to be exact. But so much happened in the time I was in San Luis Obispo: my Aunt's life partner of 40+ years, Kip, contracted ALS and passed away; I got a few promotions at work that made my soul soar and caused great joy as I got to do even more with the books I love; and, my father passed away, this took a lot of time to grapple with, and doing so in a peaceful, supportive place was perfect. I also made some lovely friends with whom there were many fun SLO adventures, and emotions and connections and heartbreaks, but it was a season that had a lot of beauty and joy in it.

    While walking in this season, however, it felt very stagnant and quiet and alone. I did not allow myself to settle in until a year had passed—I did not intend to stay. As I grappled with all of the emotions that filled this phase, I felt very alone at times, as all of my dearest friends and the community of people on whom I had come to depend were hundreds of miles away. I had been away across the world, and then across the state, so, naturally, people had moved on, but they had done so without me. This was very hard for me to see and feel, especially as I needed that to get me through the pain and confusion of being fatherless and looking for the next right best step. I see now that this forced me to lean in on the support of God and really look at what was going on within me. And then, once I did that, doors opened.

    I was always thinking about what would happen next: where the next adventure would take me. I thought a lot about London, but how to find a way in and a job to support an expensive London lifestyle? I thought about the East Coast: Boston? New York? How fun and new, but that felt more like a trip I need to take, not where I was meant to land. But my mind, heart and soul kept returning to Portland. Before heading across the pond, Janelle and I had several conversations about the draw of Oregon: either Ashland or Portland. Then, when in the British Isles and talking about returning to this U S of A, we asked the question “Where is the States has a climate similar to Ireland/Scotland?” and we, once again landed on Portland. But I returned home with no money to my name and I missed my mom and needed some time to re-adjust, so I went to SLO, Nella went to Orange County and there was no further talk of Portland. But it always remained in the back of my head. Then my father died. It felt like a strange change and a sort of emotional closure in my life, and I realized that it was time for me to move on, to forge my own trail once again, so I began seriously dreaming about Portland. I had decided that between the beautiful green spaces, the lovely soul-filling, mind-quenching rain, the coffee culture, foodie culture, and the literary and very literate subcultures, Portland would be the place for me. And I decided that what I really needed was another solo journey, like Dublin, to go to a strange city all on my own to forge my own trail and to meet people and become who I am going to become on my own.

    As it turns out, 2015 is the year of the wedding for me. I was going to be (and in fact was) in the beautiful, lovely, ineffable, leafy wedding of my darling Roomie in January. Which, anticipating this, I decided to look toward February as the time to move up to Portlandia. This would be perfect as I was to turn 30 in January and with that I could start this new chapter of life. Ta-da, I'd made a plan!! I was so looking forward to this! And then, on August 31 I got a crazy, exciting phone call from my delightful doppleganger, Janelle, that she was engaged! Wow! That was unexpected. And the wedding was going to be in Sacramento in March. Woah, soooo do I participate in a wedding in Napa Valley in January, move in February and then another wedding in March? This seemed like a bit much. So, I decided that I would move to Portland after my second bridemaidly duties of the year were complete. And, it turned out, since Joel, the now husband to Janelle, is from Portland, Janelle and he were planning on settling in Portland after the wedding. So it wouldn't be a solo adventure at all, but one experienced with people who I care deeply about who will be going through some beautiful life changes and adjustments.

    Even crazier than this, I made some lovely friends in SLO. I got invested. But as I got to know my fantabulous friends, Nick and Kyrie better, we discovered that we had the same dream: Portland! They wanted to move in the spring, so did I! This was so cool! Maybe we would even all do it together! I was stoked and began realistically thinking and planning and turning my heart toward Portland, it turned out that it didn't have to be a solo journey. Then some plans changed, due to some extenuating circumstances, they were going to have to leave their apartment in September, so they, amazingly, inspiringly, awesomely decided to just leave San Luis Obispo for Portland then, rather than waiting 6 months! So cool! And I had a momentary crisis, do I go too? Drop everything and go? I decided that the answer was no as I really wanted this to be a wise move for me and for the right reasons, not just because friends were going and I wanted a change. So I said “see ya in a few months” to Nick and Kyrie and continued dreaming about Portland.

    All signs pointed to Portland. At one point I thought this might have been a silly whimsy of mine to head up this way, but it was so much more than that. I believe that God was orchestrating this time and place for me. I needed a change. I needed a place to sit and be an adult and settle, but He knew that alone was not the best way to do this. So, even before I left the house in the packed-to-the-gills rental van with Mom and Aunt Dori, I knew I was running to community amidst newness. God had a Portland plan orchestrated for me. On top of this, He had a beautiful church community that, I certainly feel, He created just for me, waiting here. I spent some time with a dear friend, Allie, on my last trip to Orange County before I moved, and she reminded me of a church that her husband, and my good friend, Ramon had mentioned. This church is called Door of Hope. (yes, yes, I know, I should totally go to this church because my last name...) This church is a place of beauty and grace and art and coffee and a deep deep love for literature and all centered simply on Jesus. I love it. It is a place where people write original music, perform it, and produce albums. There is fresh coffee and mugs at every service, to make it feel home-y, and a collection of mismatched eclectic chairs to choose from. The messages are poignant, and delve into real issues through the lens of CS Lewis and Victor Hugo and the Bible. I absolutely connect to this. And, as if that wasn't home enough, this summer they are launching book clubs as a way to jump into community: everything from fiction to nonfiction to spiritual classics to poetry to SciFi, I could not be more ineffably ecstatic about this. This is a place built for me in a beautiful converted old building across from a park. Sigh. It is just right.

    I could tell you a lot of stories about the amazing way a perfect house in a perfect location fell into my lap (after much stress about not finding anywhere to live!), a house walking-distance to Door of Hope and loads of restaurants, bars, music venues, cafes and other goodies. I could tell you about how a position as a bookseller at a nearby Barnes & Noble opened up, and, after a bit of back and forth, I stepped down from manager, and took the risk and came up to Portland with a job that I know and enjoy (though I am hoping to get a job as a Community College Professor in the near future). I could tell you how one of my roommates is a dancer and the other makes jewelry in our basement. I could tell you about the puppy and the 5-year-old that I also share the house with. But mostly I want to tell you that I am content. I know that I made the right decision in moving up here. Everyday I discover something new and weird and wonderful in this city. There have obviously been some lonely and scary and weird adjusting sort of moments, but I am confident that it is all worth it.

     I will be sharing more about my adventures in Portlandia. As I am now a resident of a new state, I want to be intentionally engaged in this time and in sharing this with you, whoever you may be, my lovely reader. I hope to share pictures and experiences. I would love for everyone to experience the joy of Portland though, so come visit me!

“I want you to get into the deep, beautiful melancholy of everything that’s happened.” –Elizabethtown

     I feel like this is exactly what has been forced upon my emotional state of late, and let me tell you, it is not pretty. To be forced to deal with the deluge of pain and change and fear and, frankly, crap, that has been thrown my way is not an easy thing (most especially for a non-confrontational avoider such as yours truly). But the death of a parent is not something that one can easily ignore for long; it somehow seeps into the very marrow of your everyday life, thought, and interaction, even if you do not realize it is happening. I feel like this is especially true even though, or possibly, because, I had a troubled relationship with my father, it makes his death all the more difficult to process, and so much easier to avoid thinking about at all. UNTIL those lovely moments of break down where it all catches up and catches me off-guard. I can’t help but think of that Dane Cook sketch “Crying” where he describes this experience as the world just surprising you by tapping you on the shoulder and all of a sudden “I’m the world and I need to tell you something: you’re gonna C-R-Y."

   

     This is me moment-to-moment lately, and it feels like I have no idea why this is happening, and then I remember, and I have to tell myself: your father just died, this is allowed.

     How do you mourn such a difficult man? A man who antagonized every person he ever met. A man who did whatever he wanted no matter the cost to those around him. A man who never once took on the responsibility or, dare I say it, the blame, for any mistake he made. A man who took the initiative to do the things he was interested in, the things he wanted to do, and lived. A man who studied well, to an obsessive point, and was a wealth of knowledge. A man who helped to bring me into this world. A man, who,despite all his faults, I can say with confidence, loved me. A man who I loved and hated in equal measure. My father, David Albert Hope.

     I have been watching “Elizabethtown” a lot lately. It is a great film that really perfectly (and quirkily) puts into a story a lot of the things one faces at the loss of a parent. The loss, the failure at not really knowing my dad and not patching up what we had between us. Most of all this film forms a sort of perfect  release, as I  have not really found any sort of closure in his death. It all happened so fast. But no services were held. No words were said. Many head-tilts and “I’m so sorry”s and “how are you doing”s were aimed at me, and frankly, these are terrible questions to answer and reactions that leave me feeling racked with guilt for not feeling more sad about the passing of my father.

     If I am honest, the most overwhelming feeling is one of freedom. I no longer have to have an anxiety attack when he calls me, or when I have to visit him. I no longer have to take a deep breath and prepare for the conversation that will no doubt leave me feeling like a deflated, unintelligent failure. But I did love this intelligent and stubborn man. I so deeply wanted healing and to have a “daddy.” But these are wishes that can now never come to pass. This is something I am going to have to come to terms with and as I do, I need to open my hands and let go of these regrets because there is nothing I can do about them now and holding on and playing the “what if” or “if only” game just leads to insanity.

     What I really want is what Orlando Bloom’s character in Elizabethtown  gets—closure via a personal trip with his father, even if it’s a posthumous trip. It is beautiful. I cry every time, such a great moment of catharsis.

      So, here I sit, getting into the deep beautiful melancholy of everything that has happened in my life in the past months. And friends, thank you for your care and questions, please keep them coming, please remind me to reflect and not to avoid, I need you still.

     A dear, darling friend of many years sent me a card this week that really pierced to the heart of all of these things going on in me, and, as she always does, she put it beautifully: 

  “I know the last year and a half have had more than their fair share of questions, and silences, and scrapes, but I was just struck with the image the  way trees are shaped in winter—the way the cold and seemingly barren months  drive the tree’s sap deeper into its center and forms an even stronger core,  stronger roots, so that by the time spring comes around again it finds a  different tree—steadier, harder to blow over, and beautiful.”

    Thank you friend, for these words. I pray and I know that through this season of pain and healing that I am becoming a stronger, steadier, and wiser tree, and I thank God for that.

Five Hundred Twenty-Five Thousand Six Hundred Minutes: How Do You Measure A Year in the Life?

    One year ago today I took a final, rainy walk through Dublin City. I meandered down Grafton Street dropping all the spare change I had accumulated over the year into the cases of the buskers I grew to dearly love. I then walked through the touristy mayhem of Temple Bar.  I crossed the lovely ha'penny bridge and wandered along the River Liffey. I passed the James Joyce statue, and returned to my flat on Henry Street one last time to retrieve my luggage and board a plane back to the United States. After a wonderful, dreamy, hard-work-filled, life-altering year in Ireland I was finding it hard to day goodbye to this city, not to mention to the friends I made while living here. I did not want to go. But I was out of money, and I truly missed my friends and family as well the familiar California landscape. So I breathed in my last fresh Irish air, proceeded to the Dublin Airport, and tearfully boarded the Aer Lingus plane (fittingly called St. Aoife) that was to take me back to the US of A. I could not tear my eyes off the landscape until all I could see was the Atlantic out my window. Thus, I said farewell to the Land of Eire.

Last looks.

        I landed 6 hours later in New York City. I thought it a fitting way to return home: embarking upon another adventure. I met up with my dear friend, Jessica, who had recently transplanted herself to New York from Southern California. It was fabulous (once I got over the shock of the amazingly oppressive heat!!! After a year in Dublin with cool temperatures and the lovely rain, New York in September was a shock! 90 degrees F/32 C!) Wandering around this lively, historic city, seeing a fantastical play on Broadway, "Peter and the Starcatchers," and seeing the melting pot of culture, locals, tourists, and all sorts of interesting people was a wonderful way to spend my first days back in the United States.

Back in the U.S.A.

    The next journey was to fly from the still unfamiliar East Coast to land in California: home. It was amazing to me to discover that the flight from New York to California was almost as long as the flight from Dublin to New York! This is a large country I live in! I didn't really get that fact until I was in Europe which is so accessible and close, trips across Ireland by train only take a couple of hours. I landed in Los Angeles and it all seemed so oddly familiar, yet a year away is longer than I thought it would be, just long enough to adjust and become attuned to the Irish culture and accents and words and foods. It was strange to think things were strange. I flew the hour north to San Luis Obispo, and that is where I have been ever since.

   I have taken many trips to visit friends I had not seen for a year. To return to familiar places. I have attended many weddings, I was even the maid of honour in the nuptial of my dear friend Lisa.

The Wedding of my Lisa Ladybug, now Mrs. Jagers

     This year has been a great time of catching up with people. Of spending time with my mom, who I missed dearly while I was in Dublin. I have gotten a job at Barnes & Noble working with books, arranging them, bring books together with people, answering questions and really enjoying it. But this year seems so strange, to go from a great year of new experiences and significance and travels to a year of sitting still, waiting, working, and wondering what's next is a strange transition.

    I feel like a person who is split. I so desperately miss Europe and I want to return. But in what capacity? How would I support myself? And returning would just mean being in a different place and trying to answer these same questions. I miss the rain. I miss the lovely accents. I miss the slower way of life "don't worry about it, it'll be grand." I miss the pubs with live music all night every night. I miss the ease of travel with public transport and cheap flights all over. But while I was away I missed my community here. I missed many American foods and mostly Mexican food!

    So here I sit, wondering what is next, reflecting on the last year of my life. I have been creating a lot of art as a way of processing. I have printed thousands of pictures and arranged them in books documenting my time abroad. But I refuse to let them tell the whole story of my adventures in travels. I want to travel this country. I want to see so much more of the world that I have not yet seen. I am just wondering what the wisest plan of action for this is.

   A year goes by so fast. There have been many joyous reunions and weddings and adventures in this last year back in California. I do not want to miss the here and now, but I am so looking forward to the next adventure, whatever that may be. But until then I am enjoying connection through correspondence, so please, keep writing to me dear friends!