I’ve become quite intrigued by photography. I’ve taken to carrying my camera almost everywhere with me. Some days it’s frustrating. I can’t seem to get a single decent shot. Other days it’s exhilarating. The Photo Gods of Light and Luck align and voila! Actual pictures emerge!
If my skill level were greater, I’d like to think my efforts to create a good photo would at least be more consistent. But listening to Annie Leibovitz the other day, she talked about passion. She says she does’t worry about the technicalities (although she does). But the magic that she captures in her highly personal pictures is the magic of the subject. The quirks, the wrinkles, the personality of the person or situation. She watches, she listens and she connects.
(You can click here to learn more about this class.)
If I am to have any hope, it is going to be through the connection. The detailed logistics of photo technicalities can be dull, except when you need them. So I’m hoping passion and curiosity will pull me through to the knowledge I need.
On this topic, I joined a photography group. Our task for January is to take a picture of “COLD”.
A photo assignment takes me to Taos where I try to capture the essence of COLD
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What is #CancerRoadTrip and how did it come to be? Read this post to get the backstory!
The end of the year brings with it a milepost of sorts: I have been on the road for six months now. I’ve visited 8 countries outside the U.S, 11 states (some more than once), traveled by car, foot, ship, boat, train, taxi, Uber and plane. I would have gone up in a rocket ship if NASA had let me.
I’ve stayed with friends, in AirBnB’s, in hotels, house sat three times, and cruised in a ship. So far I haven’t had to resort to sleeping my car, which is good because there is no room! And now, for the holidays, I am in a beautiful casita in Santa Fe.
This bench is just outside the French doors, on the patio, in my little casita.
My original plan was to stay in a location for an extended period. Sometimes that happened, sometimes it didn’t. But for now, I am stationed in Santa Fe for a bit which will give me a chance to catch up on all the places and posts I want to share, sprinkled with my Santa Fe forays.
Some of the locations coming up include New Orleans, Miami Beach (think fabulous South Beach architecture!), Key West, Costa Rica, Panama, Columbia, Grand Cayman, Honduras and Mexico. And lots of Santa Fe and environs.
Let me take this opportunity to say thank you to the many people worldwide who have been so supportive! May everyone have a healthy, happy holiday.
Chili adornments from the Santa Fe Farmer’s Market
In the distance, roosters crow at dawn as the thrusters of the ship rumble to life, docking at Key West, home of Hemingway, six toed cats and wild chickens that roam the streets and cafes.
KeyWest
Key West has the reputation of being a laid back island, just 90 miles from Cuba. It’s the furthest west of all the Florida Keys and just 4.2 square miles. But perhaps its greatest claim to fame is as the home of Ernest Hemingway from 1931 to 1939 where he lived with his second wife Pauline. It was here, at 907 Whitehead Street, across from the Key West Lighthouse that he wrote some of his best known short stories and novels including To Have and Have Not and Green Hills of Africa, a work of non-fiction.
His home was built in 1851 in the Spanish Colonial style. It has been fully restored and is now open to tours (bring cash, they don’t accept credit cards). The house and grounds are beautiful. In a small bungalow next to the house, Hemingway wrote. For years a cat walk connected the small office with the main house…
Hemingway’s typewriter and office in Key West
and of course, the six toed cats!
Cats above and cats below at Hemingway’s house in Key West
The six toes cats present on the property today are the result of a gift and a careful breeding program run by the museum management. The original cat, Snow White was a gift from a sea captain named Stanley Dexter in the 1930’s. Sailors believed that polydactyl cats were good luck, and perhaps they are. Irma’s recent Caribbean rampage left Hemingway’s house relatively unscathed.
Howard Hughes, one of the polydactyl (six-toed) cats at the Hemingway House in Key West
Forty to fifty six toed cats wander the grounds at will. All are named after movie stars of Hemingway’s period. So one might find Cary grant chasing Fred Astaire or Ginger Rogers hanging with Lauren Bacall. They are well socialized (except for Howard Hughes who is a bit of a recluse, hanging out alone in the basement).
One of the best stories to come out of the house is the story of the massive swimming pool which in 1938 cost $20,000. It was the only pool within 1,000 miles. Poet Elizabeth Bishop, a friend of Hemingway’s wife Pauline, wrote of the famous pool in one of her letters to Robert Lowell:
“ . . .The swimming pool is wonderful -it is very large and the water, from away under the reef, is fairly salt. Also it lights up at night -I find that each underwater bulb is five times the voltage of the one bulb in the light house across the street, so the pool must be visible to Mars -it is wonderful to swim around in a sort of green fire, one’s friends look like luminous frogs . . .”
The swimming pool was also very high maintenance. The salt water would have to be drained every few days, the pool scrubbed down and then the refilling process would start again. According to the Hemingway Home website, and contrary to many stories, the pool was actually the mastermind of Ernest, not his wife Pauline who would be stuck overseeing the project while Hemingway’s travels as a war correspondent took him overseas during the Spanish Civil War. Hemingway is said to have commented “Pauline, you’ve spent all but my last penny, so you might as well have that!” He flipped a penny into the air, and it landed on the concrete where it would be permanently embedded in the patio.
Penny embedded in concrete poolside at Hemingway’s House in Key West
Hemingway is at once a galvanizing and polarizing figure. His larger than life persona of traveler, adventurer, gambler, drinker, womanizer– a “manly man”– the perfect “synthesis of brain and brawn”.
“To me heaven would be a big bull ring with me holding two Barrera seats and a trout stream outside that no one else was allowed to fish in and two lovely houses in the town; one where I would have my wife and children and be monogamous and love them truly and well and the other where I would have my nine beautiful mistresses on nine different floors.” –Ernest Hemingway, letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald, July 1, 1925
There is no doubt Ernest lived with gusto. Yet this 1954 Nobel Prize winner killed himself July 2, 1961 at age 61. He had bipolar disorder and possibly several other psychiatric problems as well. Dr. Christopher Martin, MD, a board certified psychiatrist in Houston, Texas, affiliated with Michael E. DeBakey Veterans Affairs Medical Center and an Assistant Professor at Baylor College of Medicine has written a cornerstone paper on Hemingway and his psychological issues.
In this paper, Dr. Martin points out that some of the Hemingway myth begins to unravel. His war record, for instance. Hemingway was only 18 when he volunteered in World War I. His defective left eye meant that he entered the war not in combat, but as a non-combatant. In Paris, he evidenced mood swings and a tendency to turn against those who helped him. In Africa a string of accidents left a string of questions behind.
Dr. Martin dives deep into Hemingways upbringing and adult bravado to look at the real man behind the legend. The best summary of this study is in the article “Being Ernest.” It’s a fascinating read, about the fascinating, if highly human, man behind the myth.
Regardless of where the truth might lie, Hemingway cut a swashbuckling figure in literature and life. Hemingway was remembered in a 1966 memorial in Sun Valley. The eulogy had actually been written by Hemingway for a friend, but it certainly applied to him as well:
Best of all he loved the fall the leaves yellow on cottonwoods leaves floating on trout streams and above the hills< he high blue windless skies …Now he will be a part of them forever.
And today, the legacy of his six toed cats lives on.
Six toed cat, a descendent of Snow White, at Hemingway’s house in Key West
Roosters–or perhaps I should say chickens– roam Key West at will. That’s because the Cubalya chicken, a beautiful stately bird, was imported into Key West then later abandoned. They were originally imported for cockfighting, a popular Cuban pastime. But when the fighting was outlawed in the 1970’s the birds were left to fend for themselves.
Red topped Cubalaya rooster Key West
But onto garlic. Not necessarily with chicken (although that always has promise) but with shrimp for a spicy, light lunch.
Food is always a part of my travels. I’m inclined towards small bites with lots of flavor. Gone are the days of a plateful of food! Less is more, as long as taste isn’t comprised.
I stopped in a Caribbean restaurant–the name now eludes me–where I enjoyed a plate of garlic with shrimp. More or less in that order. A few roasted peppers, topped with a sprinkling of parsley. And it was wonderful. Just right.
I sat and looked out over the sculpture park across the way. Chickens wandered here and there. One wandered right into the restaurant. No one seemed to mind. They are simply part of the landscape.
Key West has a strong tourist vibe, but when you get off the main shopping streets the roadways and architecture are captivating. The island’s Old Town historic district is comprised of almost 3,000 buildings and is believed to be the largest predominantly wooden historic district in the U.S.
Shuttered house in Key West
Part of the architectural history of Key West is the conch house. Conch houses are built of wood, set up on posts. This allows air to circulate, and water to pass under. Weatherboarding, low gabled or hip roofs and double-hung sash windows are common features. Later victorian ornamentation would also be integrated into the island’s architecture resulting in a charming island mix of color and style. There are numerous house pictures in the gallery on Key West.
In “To Have and Have Not”, perhaps in one of Hemingway’s more mercurial moods, he predicted the death of all that brought charm to the island:
“What they’re trying to do is starve you Conchs out of here so they can burn down the shacks and put up apartments and make this a tourist town. That’s what I hear. I hear they’re buying up lots, and then after the poor people are starved out and gone somewhere else to starve some more they’re going to come in and make it into a beauty spot for tourists.” —To Have and Have Not
Thankfully he was wrong and Key West remains a gem of an island, particularly as you wander away from the tourist shops and into the neighborhoods and streets that lay beyond.
Las Vegas, NM is about an hour from Santa Fe. Santa Fe is a town that I’ve been through numerous times over the years and each visit, I love it. So, after my tour of Central America (which I’ll be posting about shortly) I thought it would be a good place to spend the holidays.
After getting back to the States, I picked up my car and started driving. North from the Gulf Coast, to the cooler weather! Texas rolled by. I stopped in Amarillo only to realize that I didn’t want to dally. Something within pushed me forward. I wanted to get to New Mexico.
But I was a few days early for my AirBnB reservation.
I’ll figure out something. I always do.
Route 40 is long and straight. Across the Texas panhandle, I start to count the miles. Surely New Mexico must be close.
I ask Siri how many miles to the New Mexican border.
She gives me the mileage to Mexico City. 1,280 miles due south.
Siri is not the best navigator. I decouple the navigation between my phone and my watch. I don’t want to be zapped because I am heading to Santa Fe, not Mexico City.
I continue west. The road goes by.
There, in the distance, I believe I see a line of purple. My heart skips a beat. The Sangre de Cristo Mountains. New Mexico.
It’s rather like spying the line of hills that define Napa as you approach from the east. The vast Sacramento plain seems endless until the promise of wine country is seen on the horizon. One’s heart quickens with the promise of wine and food, beauty and peace.
I pass the New Mexican border and nearly miss the turnoff for the information center. But I manage to make the exit. Barely.
I always like stopping, to chat and investigate. The rangers that often staff the areas are always polite and helpful. Today, a woman greets me. She seems rather stern, but we start chatting.
I tell her how much I’ve always enjoyed New Mexico. I feel deep emotion well up as I say this. I’m not sure where it comes from. Perhaps it’s just a need to be someplace after the nearly constant travels of the last six months. Perhaps its a need to be someplace where it’s not 100 degrees with 100 per cent humidity.
I try to contain my unexplained emotions. I think I am feeling rather homeless. And I’m thinking back to the past.
New Mexico is not new to me. Nearly twenty years ago, during my Whiskey Oscar foray, I house sat for a renown artist Alvaro Cardona-Hine in a small town called Truchas. He and his wife Barbara (a noted artist in her own right) were off to a showing of his work in New York City.
How had I wandered into their gallery? I try to recall the details now, twenty years later.
The ranger interrupts my recollections.
I refocus my attention on the now.
“Where are you going?” she asks
“Santa Fe,” I respond.
She nods.
“But I have several days before I have to be there.”
“Have you ever been to Las Vegas?”
“Nevada?”
“New Mexico.”
“No.”
“You should give it a try.” She pulled a map and a few brochures.
“The Plaza Hotel,” she suggested.
That seemed to be the end of her desire to interact, so I decided I’d give Las Vegas, New Mexico a go.
I returned to the car and called ahead for a reservation at The Plaza Hotel. I should be there by nightfall.
Now I have a game plan.
West of Cuervo, just past Santa Rosa, New Mexico Route 84 heads north. I head north with it.
Immediately, the sun steps from behind the clouds and pours its radiant light on the surrounding land. The grasses on either side of the two lane road glow golden and move with the stiff cross wind. The pinion trees pop throughout the landscape. And the mountains appear, mysteriously, majestically, beckoning, not too far ahead.
The moment is almost surreal; other-worldly. I almost have a chill in the warmth of the sun. There is something about the beauty of New Mexico that always touches me deeply. Something welcomes me here.
Las Vegas, NM is home to numerous film and tv shows. Its classic Spanish style plaza shows up in silent films during the 1913-15 period and later in numerous productions including Easy Rider, Speechless and Wyatt Earp, and more recently, Longmire.
The locals are non-plussed by the fuss. But the sheer volume of films filmed here is incredible. The film below captures some of the essence of this unique town. Be a bit patient with the slow start; it’s worth the watch:
Las Vegas owes its founding to its position on the Santa Fe Trail and to the railroad which came to town on July 4, 1879. This brought with it business and development, not to mention a few outlaws. Legends such as Doc Holliday, Big Nose Kate, Jesse James, Billy the Kid, Wyatt Earp, Mysterious Dave Mather and others poured into the eastern side of town.
The railroad brought business, but it also divided the town, with east Las Vegas (“New Town”) near the tracks, with west Las Vegas (“Old Town”) located near the square. Today the municipality is one, but with two separate school districts.
The Las Vegas, NM Plaza
Las Vegas isn’t posh like Santa Fe and it’s a very small town. It has a coterie of arts, some of which are available at el Zocalo, the Cooperative Art Gallery on the square in town. I really enjoyed the work of Sarah Frazier who had a number of items that could have found a home with me!
One of the many artists at El Zocalo on the plaza in Las Vegas, NM
And nearly next store is Plaza Antiques, a wonderful jumble of possible finds. Everything from jewelry to old silver to rugs cover nearly every square inch. There is a find waiting for you in this shop!
Plaza Antiques in Las Vegas, NM
Also on the square is the The Plaza Hotel, a regal building finished in 1882. It’s grand facade is decorated with elaborate scrolls across the roofline and the spacious rooms have fourteen foot ceilings. Like the rest of Las Vegas, it has a victorian flair. The pueblo style that is associated with New Mexico is notably absent in most of this town.
The Plaza Hotel sits at the corner of the Las Vegas, NM plaza
The Plaza is notable for variety of reasons. The staff is friendly; the rooms spacious; the dining room and bar food excellent. It’s on the National Register of Historic Places.
And it also has two resident ghosts.
The more well known ghost is that of Byron T. Mills, the original builder/owner of the hotel. He is said to haunt his former office, room 310, as well as the saloon. One of the innkeepers tells the story of a cleaning person who was in Byron’s old office. She left briefly and when she returned, the pillows on the bed had been thrown to the floor. Numerous other stories persist, as, apparently, does Byron’s ghost.
The other ghost is less well known and it is that of a small girl. Once again, people report brushes with someone or a feeling of a presence on their legs and there is even a picture of the girl in the lobby, sitting with a woman. But when the woman was asked about the child next to her, she said there was no child.
For the ghost chasers in the audience, this place is worth checking out. For the rest of us, it’s a great place to enjoy this wonderful small town in spacious, well restored rooms.
The bar and dining room offer good food at a good price. After months on the road and the vagaries of road food, I was so delighted at the site of a good kale salad, I ordered it two nights in a row.
Kale Salad at The Plaza Hotel
My stop in Las Vegas wasn’t really planned, so I was curious to see what was around. And I have to say that the warmth, friendliness and kindness of this small town was absolutely restorative.
Speaking of restoration, Las Vegas boasts over 900 properties on the National Historic Register, including the Plaza Hotel. In its heyday Las Vegas was bigger and richer than any other town in New Mexico. And the architecture reflects it.
“New Town”, Las Vegas NM
Elaborate Victorian homes populate the town. Some are restored, some need some work. But the sheer volume of buildings with historic value is stunning. I stopped down at the train station where The Casteneda is being restored. The Casteneda was part of the Fred Harvey Company’s chain of restaurants, hotels and hospitality services that grew alongside the railroad.
An old postcard of the Casteneda, Harvey’s famed hotel in Las Vegas, NM
This town peaks over the roofline at the under-restoration Casteneda in Las Vegas, NM
The Casteneda under renovation today in Las Vegas, NM
During the early days of the railroad, there was little in terms of food or amenities for rail passengers. Fred Harvey changed that. His restaurants and hotels boasted great food, large portions and pleasant service in the form of the Harvey Girls. The chain which traces its routes to 1875, was later popularized by Judy Garland in the 1946 movie of the same name. But today, at least in Las Vegas, this beautiful building is but a ghost of its former self.
Allan Affeldt –who also renovated La Posada, located off Interstate 40, old Route 66, along the Amtrak railroad tracks in Winslow, Ariz.–acquired this historic Mission Revival property and is in the process of renovating it. His efforts have spurred redevelopment interest in other nearby properties.
I pulled up to the property, curious. Mr. Affeldt had also restored The Plaza Hotel where I was staying. There wasn’t much to see, other than a lot of construction paraphernalia. Across the street I noted another building under renovation, the Rawlins Building, circa 1898. Parts looked beautiful; parts run down. A man waved at me; I waved back.
I got out and shot a few pictures.
Detail of the Rawlins Building in Las Vegas, NM
“Would you like to see the building”, he asked.
But of course!
I think my interest in architecture and renovation dates back to my early exposure to European architecture. Paris left an indelible imprint on the aesthetics of this six year old girl, as did the many, many months I spent in and out of Paris and environs over the years. In New Orleans I took a year long history of architecture class. In Pennsylvania, I was active with the Historic Preservation Trust, and even helped fund a survey of area architecture, presented in a beautifully bound book.
Architecture reflects the economics and times of a locale, and I always find that association interesting. Here in a town like Las Vegas, the vast amounts of wealth that founded the town moved on, leaving behind a most unusual architectural legacy in northern New Mexico, where most buildings are adobe/pueblo/Spanish mission or some combination thereof. Not in Las Vegas! This is not your typical New Mexican town.
I crossed the street and met Thomas Clayton, the Chief Deputy District Attorney and the grandson of the owner of the Rawlins Building. The building is partially restored. The beautiful facade facing the street has been lovingly refreshed. Inside, much of the work to date has been structural.
Tom was kind enough to take a bit of time off his work and show me around. Partly in anticipation of the re-opening of the Castaneda across the street, Tom and his wife will also be re-opening this family building, with retail below and either apartments or AirBnB’s above.
It’s a beautiful building, with fabulous space. I can’t wait to see the finished product.
I’m frankly stunned that this town hasn’t been “discovered” gentrified or whatever verb you want to apply to apparent progress. Tom explained the locals don’t really want any change. And Santa Fe is just an hour away, with all its adobe charm and all the tourists as well.
***
Las Vegas, NM and Environs
Stopping in Las Vegas was great travel serendipity. I am simply not a heat person and I was exhausted from the constant heat and humidity of Central America. All in all, the open, unending beauty of New Mexico coupled with friendly people, high altitudes and dry air was just what the doctor ordered.
And of course, the kale salad.
My room at The Plaza overlooked the plaza and every morning I was greeted with a beautiful sunrise. I’d pull back the heavy victorian style curtains and their lace underlay and watch the explosion of color in the sky.
Sunrise over the plaza in Las Vegas, NM, taken from The Plaza Hotel
Las Vegas is small and quiet. It was a perfect refuge for three days, but I started wondering what was about. Fort Union wasn’t far away. I decided to check it out early one morning.
The drive takes you north and east into the flat plains. The site sits near that geographic divide where flat plain becomes the Sangre de Cristo Mountains .
The 900 mile Santa Fe Trail was an important “highway” for trade and transportation.
Fort Union’s importance grew out of the need to protect the Santa Fe Trail. This major highway was a 900 mile trail from Independence, Missouri to Santa Fe. Travelers faced brutal weather with no place for shelter, rattlesnakes and Indian raids. Over time, larger caravans helped provide better protection from raids, but issues of exposure, uncertain food and water remained.
Fort Union was actually a succession of three structures. The first outpost was built in 1851-61. The second structure (1861-62) was traditional star shaped fort built with defense in mind during the Civil War. This second fort had 28 cannon platforms and a central magazine.
“With 30,000 Indians in or near the District and a native population very hostile to them and continually giving rise to quarrels, it is obvious that a permanent military force is necessary in the Territory.
–George W. Getty, Commander, District of New Mexico
The third fort, built in 1863-91 was simply massive, encompassing a military post, a quartermaster’s depot and an arsenal. Each had its own commander.
By 1879, however the railways had replaced horses, wagons and stagecoaches, trade replaced much of the hostilities, and Fort Union became unnecessary.
The remains of the fort are remarkable for their sheer size and scope. One can imagine the magnitude of the operations at their peak, as soldiers, traders and travelers converged on this outpost. This National Park is worth visiting simply to realize the massive size and scale of its former operations.
View of the surviving adobe at Fort Union, NM
Remnants of the past in the plaza at Fort Union, NM
A doorway at Fort Union
***
A final architectural note: Las Vegas is the location of not one, but two Fred Harvey buildings. The Montezuma, built in 1881, six miles west of Las Vegas was originally built to accommodate those that came for the hot springs. It’s now the US campus of the United World college and a stunning building:
Montezuma, A Frank Harvey building near Las Vegas, NM
You can visit Las Vegas in the movies, but it’s so much more charming in real life. If you go, stay at The Plaza Hotel, wander and enjoy the small town ambiance of this delightful little town. There aren’t many places like this. I just hope this small town continues to survive and prosper just the way it is.
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What is #CancerRoadTrip and how did it come to be? Read this post to get the backstory!
I had originally titled this post “Homeless: Traveling the Timeline of Now”, but I find that I often get a very strong reaction to the word homeless.
When people ask me where I live, I say I am homeless. I say it with a smile and a sense of humor, I’m usually well dressed and drive a decent car, and I follow my quip with a brief explanation. If I get my delivery right, I get a laugh. But I’m learning that I need to be careful.
The notion of homelessness strikes a deep unease. People feel …what? Fear that it could happen them? It can happen to any of us.
I have to admit I felt like a bit of a hobo with that title. Wearing a bandana, carrying a backpack. As if I am jumping on trains, going hither and yon without any particular plan. But there is a plan. And I’ll be sharing it in the months to come.
In the meantime, some thoughts on travel, life, cancer and time.
***
The road goes on
Travel is a journey and a metaphor. For some travel is about a place; for others it’s about an experience. Or perhaps it’s a cause for reflection.
But no matter your destination, you always travel with yourself. So what is the point of it all?
“One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.” Henry Miller
Traveling homeless is perhaps a bit extreme for some. For me it suits, at least for now. I want simply to be, to experience this moment and to be free of the horrible betrayal that started this journey.
Travel is my way of healing.
Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash
As I start this post I am in St. Augustine, looking out the window of my beautiful room, overlooking a lovely, trickling fountain on the grounds of The Collector. A palm tree frames the picture. It is late October, it is cool and gorgeous. The snowbirds won’t arrive for another 3 weeks.
If I were traveling alone, I would linger here a bit. To enjoy the weather and to write. But I’m on a road trip with someone else, and the agenda is set. Perhaps one of the things I need to learn is to set fewer agendas.
Yet one has to plan. And I am. Against the uncertainty of homelessness, cancer and my very uncertain future.
Do my words betray me? Does one plan for or against? Does one move in faith or in fear?
“The most important question you can ever ask is if the world is a friendly place.” -Albert Einstein
Photo by Dickens Sikazwe on Unsplash
I pass other homeless people on the sidewalks. One stations himself across from the ATM machine, near the Cathedral Basilica of St. Augustine.
Another marks his spot with a cardboard box and shoe, at a place along the water.
What separates me from them? What broke them? What has broken me?
Rather than broken, I think of myself as being mightily scarred. I think of a woman in California that helps people heal their cancer experience through art. She has one lovingly plan, design and paint a clay plate that is then fired in the kiln. The final work emerges, smooth and perfect.
Then she has you smash it.
What shall one make of the broken pieces?
It’s now your task to repurpose these broken pieces into something of beauty. It’s a perfect metaphor for many things, particularly life with cancer. Not to mention betrayal.
Overcoming betrayal and finding a new business avenue to support myself, I vacillate between pushing forward and not, although I know myself well enough that I will move forward. Somehow I always do. But the fantasy of no longer being responsible to responsibilities beckons. The thought of just letting the pieces lie is compelling.
Tom Booker: There was a boy from the Blackfeet reservation, he used to do some work around here for a while. Sixteen, strong kid, good kid. He and I were really, really good friends. One day he went swimming and dove headfirst into the lake… and right into a rock. And it snapped his neck, paralyzed him. And after the accident I’d look in on him from time to time. But he wasn’t there. It was like his mind, his spirit, whatever you want to call it, just disappeared. The only thing left was just anger. Just sort of as if the… the boy I once knew just went somewhere else.
Grace: I know where he goes.
Tom Booker: I know you do. Don’t you disappear. You do whatever you have to do to hold on.
While pondering my intent with the pieces of my life, I somehow manage to set goals that lead me forward. Baby steps, I tell myself. I think of the Bill Murray movie What About Bob? and I smile.
My mind deals with the logistics. The world is not set up for homeless people. You’re expected to have an address, a tax home, a home for the purchase of health insurance whose cost is designed to make you homeless.
My ego manufactures occasional bouts of terror and doubt, about finances and health and the practicality of it all. I try to ignore this creature, but some days it’s a bit of a battle.
My soul seems to be happy to just enjoy the journey.
This push and pull between mind, soul and ego is not a disconnect; it’s just a difference of opinion. Of the three, I rather prefer my soul.
“Life isn’t as serious as the mind makes it out to be.” -Eckhart Tolle
After this trip, I will head up to Santa Fe for a few months. My soul loves the culture and geography of this New Mexican haven. In this soul haven, my mind will focus the future of CancerRoadTrip, of creating healing havens for others, to provide education and inspiration for all of us.
Some people say I am inspirational, but I don’t feel that way. I have my share of struggles. I’ve learned many of the tricks and tools that keep me mentally and psychologically fit and on track. I work on this daily. I observe my thoughts and realize that they are just thoughts. What thoughts do I choose? What reality shall I create?
My mind, ego and soul often have different perspectives. But it’s my soul that has depth and wisdom, if only I can just stay atuned.
My soul is both worldly and other-worldly. Her worldly inclinations are towards beauty, peace and a sense of place. Aspects of being homeless are simultaneously stressful and delightful for her. Discovery and exploration is fun. Uncertainty is not.
My soul is other-worldly in that she exists to love the here and now, forever. She takes in the beauty around me with great gusto and feels fulfilled. She is very present moment.
Eckhardt Tolle, one of my favorite authors, comments that “the whole essence of Zen consists in walking along the razor’s edge of Now—to be so utterly, so completely present that no problem, no suffering, nothing that is not who you are in your essence can survive in you”.
In the Now, in the absence of time, all your problems dissolve. Even betrayal and cancer.
***
History is full of traveling souls. Others have come before me. Others will follow after me.
Right now (fast forward from St. Augustine where this post started) I’m sitting on a ship.
Looking out to sea
Yesterday I sat and simply stared out to sea. I wandered the ship and came across an “elite” area for people who repeatedly travel with the cruise line, spending large amounts of money. They are the prize customers. The ship isn’t set up for single people with cancer. We’re not a viable market. (Cancer humor)
What struck me was that my experiences, of looking out to sea, of being a part of a group or not, are and always will be universal human experiences. I think of the prior transatlantic crossings I’ve been on; I think of people a hundred years ago on ships like the Titanic. We all feel the stir of the sea breeze; we all experience the endless vastness of the ocean. I am fascinated by the timelessness and repetition of this human experience which binds us.
Sadly, cancer is an experience that binds more of us each year. And coming to terms with future uncertainty combined with one’s mortality isn’t the simplest of tasks.
The problem with cancer is that it suggests an end point; a finite horizon. It brings the choices of the past into bold relief and takes away the future without removing it. It creates an unknowable void. Will I have to face more chemo? Immunotherapy? How sick or weak could I become? I’ve done this three times now. It’s had horrible repercussions in so many ways. Can I do it yet again?
Do I want to?
You’ll notice that the fear I juggle isn’t about death. I came to terms with that long ago. My fear is about what it may take to “live”. The fear is about treatment and survival with the inevitable after effects of the therapy that’s supposed to save me.
***
Cancer has caused me to cultivate the present moment. This has been a connection of immense value to me on many levels. Through the simple act of being present, I can choose not to run in circles in my mind, but to just be.
It’s a decision that frees so much energy that otherwise would be poorly spent. I recently read that judgement is negative energy, and that thought hit home. So it is that the zen of the moment lies in acceptance, not judgement.
And by simply being present, the joy of possibilities outside the limited mind open up. The simultaneous complexity and simplicity of being present is endlessly fascinating.
When I was diagnosed in 2009, I googled marginal zone lymphoma. Some of the results weren’t so hot. Potentially manageable, not curable. May transform. Transplant. Five years, the stats said.
I refused to be powerless.
Taking charge of my cancer led to many changes in my life, all of which have been good. A vegetable rich diet gives me energy. Green tea and matcha provide antioxidant support. Connecting with others in the cancer community through Anti-Cancer Club has provided me with friends around the world, all of whom “get it”. Social media rocks when it comes to cancer.
Perhaps equally importantly, a meditation practice taught me to still my mind and that stillness comes with me in my day to day life. It reinforces that sense of being deeply, exquisitely, timelessly present.
“The art of living… is neither careless drifting on the one hand nor fearful clinging to the past on the other. It consists in being sensitive to each moment, in regarding it as utterly new and unique, in having the mind open and wholly receptive.” – Alan Watts
Photo by Jared Rice on Unsplash
If I set aside this unknowable future that my mind, health and ego periodically conjure up, I can see that I am here, now. Now, for the moment, is quite good. I can enjoy now. Now is sailing the Caribbean en route to Cartagena this perfect morning. This morning the sun rose, a perfect rising. The sea continues its gentle surge under the boat. In the distance, land is starting to appear.
Sunrise in the Caribbean
Life lived out of sync with the present moment is always uncertain. But now is very known. In now, I can usually find timeless peace. So I think I’ll just quiet the doubts in my mind, still my trouble making ego, and be here now, traversing the Caribbean, traveling my timeline of now.
For those of you with cancer, I suspect you’ll understand my ramblings. For the rest of you, I beseech you to try. We are separated only by three small words and a deep realization of the reality of fleeting time in this very human life we lead.
I’ll end my reflections with this video which is for my music loving friend Robin (The Cancer Olympics) who, after everything she’s been through, is sadly undergoing yet more chemo to deal with metastatic colon cancer due to unforgivable, gross malpractice (Read her book; the story is unbelievable.)
To Robin and to all of us:
I hope you never lose your sense of wonder,
You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger,
May you never take one single breath for granted,
GOD forbid love ever leave you empty handed,
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,
Promise me that you’ll give faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.
I hope you dance….I hope you dance.
I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance,
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Livin’ might mean takin’ chances but they’re worth takin’,
Lovin’ might be a mistake but it’s worth makin’,
Don’t let some hell bent heart leave you bitter,
When you come close to sellin’ out reconsider,
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.
I hope you dance….I hope you dance.
I hope you dance….I hope you dance.
(Time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along,
Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder where those years have gone.)
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,
Promise me that you’ll give faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.
Dance….I hope you dance.
I hope you dance….I hope you dance.
I hope you dance….I hope you dance..
(Time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along
Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder where those years have gone)
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Traveling the Timeline of Now
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What is #CancerRoadTrip and how did it come to be? Read this post to get the backstory!
Inspiration, joy & discovery through travel. Oh, did I mention with supposedly incurable cancer?
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CancerRoadTrip is about making lemonade out of lemons.
As you read my story, you may want to start at the beginning to "grok" how CancerRoadTrip came to be. You can click here to start at the end (which is actually the beginning) and read forward! The posts are chronological, with the most recent posts appearing on the front page.
