My Heart's In the Highland: From an Airport in California

"My heart's in the Highlands gentle and fair/ Honeysuckle blooming in the wildwood air/ Bluebelles blazing, where the Aberdeen waters flow/ Well, my heart's in the Highland, I'm gonna go there when I feel good enough to go. ...Woke up this morning and I looked at the same old page/ Same ol' rat race/ Life in the same ol' cage....Well my heart's in the Highlands wherever I roam/ That's where I'll be when I get called home/ The wind, it whispers to the buckeyed trees in rhyme/ Well, my heart's in the Highlands/ I can only get there one step at a time…."My heart's in the Highlands gentle and fair/ Honeysuckle blooming in the wildwood air/ Bluebelles blazing, where the Aberdeen waters flow/ Well, my heart's in the Highland, I'm gonna go there when I feel good enough to go. ...Woke up this morning and I looked at the same old page/ Same ol' rat race/ Life in the same ol' cage....Well my heart's in the Highlands wherever I roam/ That's where I'll be when I get called home/ The wind, it whispers to the buckeyed trees in rhyme/ Well, my heart's in the Highlands/ I can only get there one step at a time." - Bob Dylan

I sit in the terminal I emerged from four days ago expectant and hopeful. Now, though, I sit with a heavy heart.

But, I have that old wanderlust again. No where is home to me because I feel like I could live anywhere. Other people long for what I have: the job, the car, the house and stability. But for me, that's the last thing I ever wanted.

Movement is the impetus for all things good for me. Movement propels me forward in spirit, makes me happy, stirs my mind and creative juices. There's so much out there. Maybe I was nomadic in a past life. Navigating my way around the country many times, I have been fortunate and blessed by so many gracious people. I've done it cheaper than most, with luck and a gleam in my eye for whatever is around the next corner.

It could be this desert sprawled before me at the foothills of the San Bernardino mountains. It could be the Pacific Ocean. It could be the deciduous forests that surround my home, lush and green.

All I know is, staying still will be the death of me. And the last place I want to be is Cleveland, Ohio. I will get out. Where I'll land, I don't know. But I will get out.

Kayaking with California Sea Lions and ....my first official pedicure

My first official pedicure -- Thanks, Laurie!

Today Laurie and I rented sea kayaks and braved 4-6 foot waves kicked up from the Santa Ana winds. We paddled up the Pacific Coast to see California Sea Lions lounging haphazardly on a giant bouy. Because we were on kayaks, I was able to get within about five feet of the group. One jumped in the water and swam a little too close about two feet under my kayak!

On the windy paddle back, we saw dolphins swimming along the inlet. And then I had my very first pedicure! Look at the pretty toes!

It's a good day!

The Solace of Open Spaces

The view from Suicide Rock trail, San Bernadino National Forest.


A friend along the trail


From the summit of Suicide Rock, circa 7,500 feet


Gretel Ehrlich, one of my favorite writers, wrote a book about traveling, broken-hearted and in need of a change, to Wyoming called The Solace of Open Spaces. When the plane touched down in Vegas, for a second I felt selfish. What am I doing here?

Standing at the gate looking out the window, the mountains loom in a hazy distance, arid and hot. They're the spine of some great beast rising in a jagged horizon. Planes take off in rapid succession every 30 seconds or so, rounding their dark shadow like blue and white toy missiles.

I'm here because I need movement and change. I'm here because movement is my impetus to write.

On the ground, the planes taxi around like slow caged animals, waiting for direction from their keepers - the flight directors. It's 99 degree down there.

They call boarding for my flight; my heart jumps. Trucks drive by with the words, "Southwest: a symbol of freedom" written on the sides and I think how fitting that marketing message is. I watch my plane taxi to the ramp, the plane that will take me to another world, another life.

The flight attendant comes by offering peanuts in a sing song voice.

"Peanuts? Peanuts?"

No one knows the kind of journey I'm embarking on. I feel high. My heart is already in my throat, and every bump and wave of the plane sends a rush of adrenalin to my brain. I set the timer on my watch. Just 33 minutes, and I'll be in California.

From an Airport in Las Vegas - a series of snapshots and random thoughts

Across the small aisle of the Boeing 747, an overweight man in black sits. He wears an ipod with huge BOSE headphones, and a woman, who I assume is his wife, clings to his hand with fushia colored nails. The man chews contentedly on his one ounce serving of peanuts, heavily lidded eyes dozing, gentle as a cow chewing cud. His tan jowls move slowly as he gazes forward toward a universe only he is privy to.

* * * * * *

When I spy a Starbucks just outside my gate, I quickly run up to the barista, debit card in hand.

"Triple venti skinny vanilla latte please," sputter. My regular.

She looks at me. Venti? Extra large? with a triple shot...before a four-hour flight?

I later regret my decision. With lots of turbulence, the fasten seatbelt sign comes on and stays on for the first two hours of the flight. I squirm, then finally bust out of my seat like a breathless swimmer gasping for air. I bob down the isle as the plane dances through the clouds, heading for the restroom.

The stewardess eyes me with disapproval.

"Is it okay?" I ask meekly, though hand already on the knob of the lavatory.

"It's at your own risk because the 'fasten seatbelt' sign is still on," she says condescendingly.

Bathrooms on planes amaze me. Flushing the toilet, a gust of wind rises up from God knows where so strong it blows all paper products in the little room around wildly. And everything is micro: tiny waste basket, tiny soap dispenser, tiny mirror. I head back to my seat dutifully, relieved.

* * * * * * *
I want to be a bush pilot in Alaska.

I want to climb Mount McKinley & pack in Denali

I want to be a white water guide in the summer and a dogsled guide in the winter.

I want to write.

I want to teach my kids how beautiful and expansive and amazing life is...teach them how to track animals and fish and learn from the land.

* * * * * *

Flying over the Grand Canyon, the Colorado river looks like an aquamarine serpent slithering through the desert. The Las Vegas airport looks and sounds like a casino. Who thought to put a mecca of this stature in the middle of a desert? It's all decadence and sin. And noise.

God is here

Floating on the peaceful lake by my house

The water is like dark glass. The sun casts a wide shadow of conifers across the dark water. It is quiet, except for the sound of song birds, a flock of Canada geese flying overhead and the sound of the paddles moving water. They cut clean. My skin glows brown under the pink evening sun and a small yellow dragon fly lands on my knee; I don't mind the bugs. Because here is my "church," floating around silently on the smooth water. I come here to connect.

So many smells waft through the air: spicy spruce, fragrant lilac, the smell of the water, the smell of a campfire burning in the distance somewhere. Fish randomly jump, sending small ripples across the water. The breeze moves my hair as I cut through the water and I take in the scents.

Even though I don't catch even one fish, I am more content here than just about any place on earth. This is the most peaceful place for me; it always has been since I was a girl. The place where my heart and mind come to rest has always been on the wooded lakes of the midwest.

Here, on the water, the mind settles, just like the water.

Muddy Mudskippers

Sophie has poison ivy. She claimed a mudbath would help! Nice!


EW!

Follow Your Bliss: Making friends with summer, kayak style

Kayaking on the calm evening waters by my house

Okay, so if it’s got to be summer, these last few days are as blissful as any dogsled ride. I grew up boating in many of the waters in NE Ohio, so my toes are no strangers to the many lakes and rivers around these parts. And nothing is quite as blissful to me as hearing the ripple of cool water languidly lapping on the hull of a boat. So, I was in Heaven this past weekend when we spent three whole days at West Branch State Park camping, eating marshmallows by campfire and kayaking with the kids. I fished for hours and explored many a nook and cranny too small for any motor boat on the lake. I didn’t catch anything, but that didn’t matter, because the water was positively breathtaking. Sunday, I went out with the intention of fishing, but an intense wind kicked up 2-foot waves on the lake. So I bobbed around, paddling steadily and watching for wildlife.

A kayak affords one views of wildlife rarely seen on foot. I have seen more painted turtles, turkey vultures, sand hill cranes, and muskrats in the last few weeks than I have in years. Kayaking is quiet, allowing one to ease up on wildlife and get a close-up view of these creatures. And, like dogsledding, it’s eco-friendly.

Like last winter when I felt a distain for snow machines, now I feel the same for noisy motorboats and jet skiiers zooming past. But the most disgust I felt all weekend came as I pulled onto an island, tucked away down a watery alcove. As I climbed out of the kayak to scout around on foot, I was amazed to find a half-a-dozen Pepsi cans haphazardly jettisoned on the ground, along with an empty Marlboro pack. How can people pollute and squander so much?

Regardless, we had a great weekend. Now if only I could find a way to connect a team of dogs to the kayak’s hull….

Yeti is seven months!

All ears and legs