Beach Walking

The coast has always been ours.  She's a Florida girl by birth, raised between the warm tranquility of Gulf Coast beaches and the raucous waves of the mighty Atlantic. Some of her very first steps were in the white sands of Sanibel.  Now living across the Gulf in Texas, the murky waters of Galveston call us home like the proverbial moth to flame.   Like me, being raised on the Connecticut coast, the beach is our soul soother.  No matter the weather, our feet hit the sand in search of inspiration and rejuvenation. 

 

As much as Kev and I struggle with our empty nest, Emily is having a difficult adjustment to life outside the nest.  College classes, autonomy, and living 300 miles away is taxing and Emily's mind hit overload in recent days.  So this weekend she made the trek home and we immediately hit the shore.

Walking in the waves, picking at half torn shells washing ashore, the worldly woes fall away.  There is no need for words, no need to hash out life's problems.  Only the need to be remains.

On the beach words are useless.  We both see the dolphins playing in the wake, the gulls wading patiently. We both understand the beauty of this landscape. 

To interpret it verbally removes its magic. So we stand together absorbing the world, healing in its simple complexity.

These are the days I treasure.  Watching Emily grow into her own reasoning.  I see so much of Kev in her, and so much of myself.  And though there are essays of logical advice I want to give her I know this is my time to be still.  To just be there as she figures it out for herself.  Hoping she will take flight.  Knowing she will soar.

LOVE  &  SOUL WALKING

Two Photographers, One Car

I've been down this road before. Bright blue skies, wide open Texas in seasonal change, one map, 4 cameras, one brand new convertible, and one husband (also a photographer)....... in the driver's seat.  Oh he's left me on the road before! Taking that slow roll away as I am knee deep in wild flowers waiting for the breeze to stop blowing my perfect shot out of focus. Expecting peace on today's drive was unrealistic at best but we hit the road with good intentions.

Texas reveals her autumn with subtlety.  Sturdy yellow flowers rise in rolling pastures, green crops are harvested leaving brown stubs behind, and tractors recline with ease along barn sides.  Even barbed wire fences take on a rusted orange hue. 

As we twist through empty county roads, the perfect shot is around every corner.  The trouble is knowing where to stop.  I know the spot instinctively.  I notice small details, the tree line opening, the lone remaining corn stalk spared, or the longhorn whose cinnamon coat catches the afternoon sun. 

 

  My husband is a big picture guy.  He jokes he's "the one who knows the perfect shot". So when I say "here"!  He keeps rolling.  Inching along at 5 mph as my shot gets smaller in my rear view.  We playfully bicker away another 300 feet of asphalt.  And when he finally says "here's the shot"- I am hoofing it back to my muse while he checks his phone.  (Smoke billowing from my ears.)

I get my revenge when I am in the driver's seat.  There's no stop I won't make, no U-turn too sharp for the right composition in nature.   Loose pit bulls threatening that shot of the bayou curving off?  No problem!  And those antique stores my husband slows near and asks, unimpressed, "Really?  You want to stop here?" as he rolls on by.....  Oh yeah!  I'm stopping when I am behind the wheel.

 No wonder our photo explores wear us out!  But after 20 years, we've got this photo sharing thing figured out.

LOVE  &  BACK ROADS!

The Great Wide Open

The Great Wide Open

 

  I wonder if all women long to be free?

 To hop the fence and charge the horizon!

Where the great wide tears open

                     And clouds float like lazy rivers;                                             

Where greens grow brighter

From grass to reed to leaf

To reach summer's sky.

 

Where hawks fly circles

Steady like clock hands;

Far overhead, never seeing

 Still spiders silent at my feet

Just outside my steps

As I walk through doorways

Worn out by winds and winter rains

 Of decades passing, decades decaying.

 Nature reclaiming spaces she had lent.

I look through jagged broken panes

seeking souls who once settled here.

Women who raised families here.

Who loved and lost here.

Who sought the great wide open,

Longing to be free.

 

        

The Even Side Of The Street

Something happened this weekend on the roads between Goliad and Galveston.  I realized that after 20 years of marriage and 40 years of friendship, my husband and I don't agree on the basics.  Oh we love each other with a kind of love that just feels like we've traveled through many lifetimes together.  We are true soul mates. But ask us to agree on something like artistic vision and we will defend our separate grounds with gusto. 

 

 
 Standing in the middle of the empty road somewhere outside of Tivoli, Texas, as I was framing up a perfect shot of the sun kissed fields with my iPhone, Kev put the car in drive and started moving on down the road.  He'd had enough of my artsy ways.  I've come to expect these limitations from him.  After all, he was from the even side of the street.

 

Growing up across the street from one another, his house number was 360, mine was 363.  He was from the even side of the street.  The OTHER side of the street. One of THOSE kind. It's the fundamental difference that has divided us like an asphalt river all these years.  It's as black and white as his thinking.  The even side of the street was home to the engineers, the mathematicians, and the architects.  My odd side of the street was where all the historians and free thinkers lived. We were the preservationists, the art teachers, and the activists. 

Road trips lend credibility to the even/odd debate.  Kev prefers a map.  I prefer driving on instinct.  Kev likes Willie Nelson where I like Sublime (though one could argue these two artists are joined by their mutual affinity for weed).  Kev enjoys righting the wrongs of offensive drivers whereas I am just thankful no one caused an accident.  I will stop the car every 5 feet if the sun changes the photo composition ever so slightly.  Kev will roll down the window so I can catch the sun's changes at 80 mph.  If Kev finds a souvenir he likes, he buys it.  I will consider the price and determine I can make one myself... and then regret not buying it because I know I have 654 "things I can make" ahead of it.  You get the idea. 

Luckily we don't sweat the small stuff.  And though there are days we wonder what it would be like to find a mutual fascination somewhere between Shakespeare and the poetic voice behind Eminem's twisted lyrics, we've always enjoyed a healthy debate on even and odd.  But every now and again, we are tempted to drive off into the Texas sunset, leaving the other in the middle of the road.  But we'd always come back.  At least I would.

 

LOVE  &  SOUL MATES

Ghosts of Goliad

When I need to get away I hop in my car and drive.  Texas country roads are full of breathtaking scenery, mysterious landscapes, and sudden surprises.  Miles and miles and miles of twisty turns and straight shots from one ghost town to another.  There is so much pasture land and forgotten space in Texas that when one gets out of the car under the massive Texas sky the sound of the wind is sweet melody ripe for losing oneself.

 On a 30 mile stretch of road between Tivoli and Goliad I passed only two cars, and no one was ever in front of or behind me. I can't help but imagine I am lost in one of those "end of the world" scenarios where the population has died off  in an urban science experiment and I am left like a peaceful Mad Max roaming the countryside seeking other survivors. The falcons high in the sky swirling close to the sun add credibility as I push the petal to 80 mph.  After all, I need to get to Goliad before the Mission Espirtu Santo Zuniga and the Presidio La Bahia lock their doors for the day.

Goliad immediately joins the ranks of my top 10 Texas towns!  A key player in the War for Texas Independence, this tiny town packs volumes of history in a very short distance.  With tragic battles, a game changing massacre, and a famous hanging tree in the town square, Goliad was prime pickins for a ghostly explore. 

First stop was the Mission Espiritu Santo; a beautiful restoration of the original structure on the grounds of Goliad State Park.  A docent in Monk attire explains how the Mission was moved several times due to Indian raids before settling on the San Antonio River. 

A comprehensive museum shows the recovered artifacts and illustrates how artists replicated the works that had been destroyed by nature or locals who sourced the stones in construction of their homes.  Thanks to the WPA and progressive efforts of community leaders in the 1930's, the Mission was granted protection and preservation funds. 

 

Less than a 1/4 mile up the road is the Presidio La Bahia, an 18th century fort and Mission that became the end point for as many as 400 Texan soldiers massacred by Santa Ana's troops in the Texas War for Independence.

 Though I didn't encounter the wailing woman ghost or hear any mournfully departed cries, here I fell in love with the early Texan flags and found inspiration for a future needlework project.  Both the Mission and the Presidio were history buff bargains with the entrance price for both setting me back $7.  A small price to pay for the privilege. 

Goliad's town square is lined with picturesque shops, many named to playfully reflect the dark ghost on the courthouse lawn: the hanging tree.  After Texas won independence from Mexico, the towns were in shambles from the battles.  Looting and lawlessness abound.  The crime spree came to a sudden end with the decree that these criminals be captured and hung.  And so they were. 

I am pretty sure the "orb" is just a sun spot, but perhaps the figure in the lower left right window isn't so natural.  (Insert eerie music here.)

Like a specter itself, Goliad rises from the dead at dawn and closes back into herself at 5 p.m. Rumor has it Goliad's ghosts prefer the night. But that explore will have to wait for another day.

As evening hours settle in not a soul is seen on the streets and again I am back in my "end of the world" scenario.  Having learned what I could from Goliad, it was time for me to leave town, pack up my Mad Max Honda Element and speed on under the wide open Texas sky, to chase the sunset and find the next glimpse of civilization. 

 

LOVE  &  TOUCH HISTORY DAILY

A Good Psychic Read

I am a firm believer in seeking advice from neutral parties; people who stand to gain nothing by telling me something good, bad or handing out reality checks.  Usually I seek out a good therapist to help me untangle my path.  But from time to time I seek someone who can reach beyond what's snarled up in my brain.  Someone who can consult my spirit guides and unclog the mental drain of over-plundered creativity, life events, and frustrations.

Image property of The Witchery

On Post Office Road, just off the Strand, in Galveston, is The Witchery.  A fantabulous occult shop that features weekend psychic readings.  This lady is goooooooooood.  No hocus-pocus generic boardwalk shenanigans.  She is the real deal.  She is specific, on point, and direct.   Starting with an aura read while I shuffle the tarot cards, she tells me I have a strong spirit guide standing in front of me helping me to reach my goals- sort of like my own personal line backer.  Awesome!  I am offered a helpful exercise to strengthen the weaker side of my aura before getting into the meat of the read.

 

I go with a set of questions I need answered but the read always treads on the fields I go out of my way to avoid.  Currently I have revived a project I have contemplated, attempted, and scrapped repetitively for the past twenty years.  It is a deeply personal project and one that I've known for years will set free many demons locked up in my psyche. When she told me this time I would see this project to fruition, I knew it in my soul to be truth.  This knowledge nugget was an unsolicited gem that I see as the prize of the read. 

 

I am fortunate.  My life is good.  My marriage is strong and our daughter is healthy again and set to remain that way.  My reading forecasted this happiness o continue and grow, opening a path for me to truly focus on my own journey.

Papaya!

As the reading wrapped up, the psychic asked what I was recently so disappointed about.  I explained my shallow hurt of exerting lots of energy helping people around me to achieve a common goal.  I was harboring icky green monster feelings when everyone but me received the glory.  She cocked her head and gave me a look I used to see on my mother's face after some sort of adolescent upset and said, "Well I guess maybe next time you should put yourself first."  Okay.  Point taken.  But it's something incredibly difficult for me to do. Gulp!  Looks like I will have to call my therapist first thing Monday morning.

Kemah Strolling

Morning walks along the water are so refreshing.  The salty air, sail boats and laughing gulls set a cheerful tone for the day.

 

Kemah is a strolling fave as its gentle currents pour itself into the Texas Gulf against a backdrop of brightly colored amusement rides hushed silent by the early hour. Morning here is quiet, peaceful, and void of tourists.

 

 

Hubby has joined me this morning on my walk.  After time in Bangladesh he is wearing off jet lag enjoying the sweet sun sunshine unfettered by the smog and filth of Dhaka. 

Spending so much time apart, Hubby doesn't mind my need to photograph everything I see.  He is tolerant of my bird watching- my fascination with the comic gulls and stoic herons that dominate the pylons.

He understands my excitement as the local fishermen reel in a large black drum fish and show it off to boardwalk spectators before releasing the large fish back to the wild.

There is magic in the morning.  The details visitors don't see.  The simple nuances of time juxtaposed by weather and wanderers. 

 Mornings are meant for the observant and I am simple a steward of the lens capturing ordinary events in all their beauty and significance. 

 For these are the times that matter most- the easy hours spent in the company of those we love reveling in simple joys each day has to offer.

LOVE  &  ORDINARY MORNINGS

Lunch At Hendley

There are few places like Hendley Market in Galveston, Texas.  On the historic Strand, visitors are welcomed in with or without dogs and shoes. An eclectic mix of local artists, antiques, vintage, fine art, witty books and penny candy canisters filled with delights for wee folk.  It is a store for all ages and the chronically young at heart.

Housed in one of the oldest buildings in town, I think some past residents were messing with my camera because very few shots came out with any clarity.  Did I mention the fully charged camera battery died off as well?  It was as if the ghosts wanted to keep Hendley's delights under wraps.  I was hoping the trade off would be a spectral figure in my photos- but no such luck.  Just grainy pics at best.

It is an honor to become part of the Hendley vibe.  Today I was invited in for a light lunch and conversation.  Amongst the fine cheeses, asparagus and taffy, I learned the ladies of the shop share my taste in music and my off beat sense of humor. Exactly the camaraderie I needed as Hubby's extended work trip has prolonged the silence in the house.

My Lydia sure is comfy in her new home, tending shop and handing out strawberries!

There is no greater feeling than becoming a part of the community in which one lives.  I have moved so often that this art of assimilation should be second nature, but I am shy at heart.  Hendley feels like a new home with old friends.  Every guest is well known and as one guest said, "Hendley is just so cool.  It's a place we all come to just hang out."

With spring leaving shop doors wide open to welcome breezes across America it is time to get out and taste the local flavors.  Artists have been working the winter away and are ready to share a story while showing off their wares.  So treat yourself to fresh stroll in a familiar place.  Support local business and increase your hometown identity. Be amazed by the many talents who share your zipcode.

 

 

 LOVE  &  SHOP LOCAL

 

 

Playing In The Dirt

One is never too old to play in the dirt.  In fact, as we get older we hone our dirt playing skills into the fine art of gardening where we play with the hands-on wonder of a child.  Mounds are palm-sanded to smooth perfection, dirty kneecaps prevail, and colors are chosen like crayons from a fresh box.  Yes, playing in the dirt is good for us.  Every gardener knows this.  And the unspoken truth is that much more than we tend our gardens, our gardens tend to us.

Unfortunately, my body doesn't always support my child-like ambitions and much of spring's garden prep work usually leaves me in a head to toe Thermacare body wrap.  But this weekend I was blessed to have two helpers with strong backs to do all my heavy lifting, weeding and mulching.  It was the best gift ever!

  All that remained was the task of setting the flowers in place. 

Having lived in this house for a full year now, the first year plants have secured their roots and have filled in the backdrop.  I added daisies, zinnias, and vinca for color pops.  In between, coriander has exploded everywhere!  Peppers, crepe myrtle, and grapefruit tree seedlings have also been carefully transferred to sun themselves in well fed pots.

You'll have to check back to see what that spider-ish looking thing grows into.  I am constantly collecting seeds and chucking them into the winter garden to see what will take root and offer me a spring surprise. I am hoping it is from the seed pods I gathered back home in Connecticut last fall. 

 

LOVE  & SOUL TENDING