As I write this post we are in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.  Myrtle Beach, not Asheville, North Carolina which is where we’re supposed to be, where it’s about 36 degrees and where the rain has been falling in torrential buckets for the better part of the day.  We spent over two hours this morning in a nearby coffee house nursing cups of hot steamy goodness while watching the downpour.  Now back in our hotel room, we are basically here in Myrtle Beach to wait out the storm.

I can’t be 60-years-old.  I simply cannot be 60.  Six-oh-no!  When did it happen?  How the hell did it happen?  I remember my mother at 60.  Sixty was my mother, not me.  Sixty sounds so old. But, the day has arrived. No matter how I fought it. It arrived. Today.  My birthday.  Can I just skip this day?

On Being Thankful

I’m thankful.  At a time when the world at large seems to be caught up in a manic spin cycle, I’m taking a moment to remember the good in the world; goodness we’ve been gifted with in our lives. I think it’s something we all tend to forget to do, I know I’m guilty of it.  Especially, in the past few weeks with the fueling of ignorance spreading like wildfire by presidential hopefuls and the mass media.  Why not lead the news with acts of good and kindness such as the little boy who wants to personally thank all of the NYPD?

I had you at the word, chocolate, right?

I caught the gist of the phrase based on what I was hearing on the news, but I have to admit I still went to everyone’s back-up source and Googled the term.

We walked away from Estella on the morning of day seven, after spending a 2nd night in an attempt to allow our bodies to get used to the idea of walking… walking… walking.  It was the first of only two times we would spend a second night in one place while walking the Camino de Santiago.

If you’ve been fortunate enough to visit Lake Tahoe, you know of what I speak when I say it can’t be summed up with a few unworthy descriptors.  Sitting majestically in the Sierra Mountains, Lake Tahoe is simply stunning with the bluest – and coldest – water you can imagine.

Kashan, Iran. “To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug.”  – Helen Keller

Standing in the kitchen preparing stir fry veggies and fried noodles for dinner, I giggled to myself as I watched Abi slice a piece of sourdough bread for himself.  Homemade Chinese food with a slice of bread.  Makes me smile every time.  Life’s bread.  I swear it’s in the Persian gene pool.

Put me on a train and you can pretty much color me happy.  I’m still waiting for someone to build railroad tracks across the Atlantic Ocean and I’d never fly again.  Love trains.  Hate planes.  It’s that simple.