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All the Places

Taroko Gorge, Taroko National Park, Hualien Taiwan

This morning as I thought about what I’d write to you, I was sad to consider leaving Taiwan. Again. Now I’d be leaving behind my writing of it, having left the actual place over a month ago. I’m not sure I’m ready to do that. This got me to thinking about how certain places continue to live inside us long after we’ve left them.

I’m reminded of the lovely Beatles song, “In My Life.” Listening to this song now is bittersweet. I suppose it’s always meant to have been. I love so many of the places I’ve been, both humble and grand, and the people who were with me. I’ve continued to keep Akumal and Taipei in my phone’s list of weather forecasts, along with places my sons and siblings live. More importantly, I keep them in my heart.

There are places I remember . . .

The farmhouse at Jughandle Creek Farm and Nature Center

I remember Jughandle Creek Farm and Nature Center on the California coast near Mendocino, where my sister and I once stayed for a couple of nights. Great big old house with huge common areas, a rickety upright piano, and cozy bedrooms; tiny cabins on the property if you’re willing to walk up to the house for the bathroom. The best thing is, it’s across the road from the ocean! Beautiful beach at hand, breathtaking views from the headlands above. We picnicked at both spots.

I remember the Grand Canyon and Phantom Ranch, where another sister and I stayed. That’s a very hard trek with a great big fat reward. I remember us doubled over with laughter on the way back up, just as some miserable looking backpackers carrying God knows how many pounds came trudging by. And I can still picture the crescent moon hanging above the ridge as we started out early in the morning.

I remember green, gorgeous Scotland. My son Peter lived there for fifteen years and I managed to visit him there twice. Of course I fell in love with Scotland and every last thing about it, too. I adored the kilts, the bagpipes, peaty single malt scotch whiskey, millionaire’s shortbread, the Isle of Skye, the Highlands, neeps and tatties, the charming accent, and of course the local idioms. Och! It’s a bonnie land!

I remember New York City, the Met, Central Park. I remember Pt. Reyes. Yosemite with my sisters. Yosemite with my boys. Ogunquit, Maine. Acadia National Park.

San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge. Paris! Florence, Rome, Lake Como. Roundup Montana, my father’s birthplace.

Acadia National Park in Maine

All the places. I’m amazed that I’ve traveled as much as I have, and that all these places now live inside me. Now Taiwan tugs at my heart, even moreso as it’s so far away and getting there is so not fun (although I’d do it again) and I might never be there again–but most especially because it was with my son and he arranged the whole trip for me.

So the places are beautiful, grand, evocative, amazing and humble . . . And then there are the people. Almost all of the places in my sentimental wanderings come with people who are dear to me. Sure, there were a very few sojourns I’ve taken that have given me something else completely that I’ve treasured; and I do love wandering our woods alone with my thoughts or commenting on this or that to my dog Miles. (Or singing. He loves that.) But for the big trips, I want to be with people I love. All the places. And all the people.

I know I’ll often stop and think about them.

“Haud yer wheesht!” (Hold your tongue!) – Scottish saying

“A place belongs forever to whoever claims it hardest, remembers it most obsessively, wrenches it from itself, shapes it, renders it, loves it so radically that he remakes it in his own image.” ― Joan Didion

“Regular maps have few surprises: their contour lines reveal where the Andes are, and are reasonably clear. More precious, though, are the unpublished maps we make ourselves, of our city, our place, our daily world, our life; those maps of our private world we use every day; here I was happy, in that place I left my coat behind after a party, that is where I met my love; I cried there once, I was heartsore; but felt better round the corner once I saw the hills of Fife across the Forth, things of that sort, our personal memories, that make the private tapestry of our lives.”

― Alexander McCall Smith, Love Over Scotland

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Gentle Highlights

I’m not talking about hair color. I’m thinking of all the soft high points to the events of a life. In the last couple of weeks I had my solo show opening and reception; family and friends visiting; Thanksgiving; and then my Holiday Open Studio. Although the show opening was a very big life event for me, the things that stand out today, after all is done and dusted, are those small things that mean so much.

My son Peter and my sister Mary flew in from the East and West Coasts. Many friends and acquaintances showed up for the opening and Peter put the hard sell on a few of them. He poured wine at the reception, took photos, bought paintings himself. His girlfriend sent flowers. At dinner after, with family and friends, I looked down the long table at all these important people in my life, loving how much they were enjoying each other, and I made a little speech of thanks, especially for everything my two sons had done to make this happen. Oliver had seen me through the early days of trying to paint, photographed all the pieces, tried to salvage my homemade frames and ultimately framed and wired the paintings properly. I wanted to thank them publicly.

Peter putting the hard sell on his former PE teacher

Mary and Peter stayed on for Thanksgiving, which was so much fun for me. They doubled our usual number for Thanksgiving dinner. The four of us, my two sons and we two sisters, worked hard but convivially together to make a fabulous meal, along with hand cranked ice cream. We ate like great pigs. The four of us played games after dinner, and Mary won all of them! She and I played Christmas duets on the piano when the boys were out. We took many walks in all my favorite places. The dogs were loved upon.

It was the first Thanksgiving in many years that I had not made a list of all I’m thankful for. I really didn’t need to write anything down. All the things are very present with me.

After Mary and Peter had both gone, I jumped right into getting ready for my Open Studio. It twas great, but again, it’s the small moments that I will remember, the people, the friends, old and new, the ones who surprised me as well as the faithful. All the little things stand out. An artist sent me a note, thanking me for sending people to her sale, despite uncomfortable history between us. A neighbor who didn’t realize I’d started painting came to see, and looked carefully through my book from the show. A young abstract artist I barely know looked through the book, too. He was full of praise, invited me to come and talk art with him! And there was so much more. There always is, I think, so much more.

Yes, having a solo show of my paintings is a very big deal to me. But all of the quiet moments are, too.

“Life is not measured by time. It is measured by moments.” ― Armin Houman

“Everyone has the desire to freeze a wonderful moment they are in, just like a camera, and stay in that moment forever!” ― Mehmet Murat Ildan

“You must collect moments. Those will be the true wealth of your soul.” ― Liviu C. Tudose

If you’d like to see my paintings online, go here. If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Three Sons

All three of my sons together for once

it happens so rarely and I took no photo

but there is always today tomorrow and then

who knows when again the wedding barring

any unforeseen happenstance anyway I love

the luxury of it I eat it up with a spoon when

I can the friendly wrestling the boyhood

jokes ridiculous banter of puns wit and barbs

the wild differences among them the

continued wonder I hold of the fact that

these are my babies who once grew inside me.