We motored into St. John's Harbor among massive tankers and rickety old fishing boats to the biggest town in the Canadian province of Newfoundland. Houses on hills, ships, tall banks and hotels. At 250,000 people, this town boomed when oil boomed, and has since dried up into 2-3 months of tourism and fishing. Inhabitants are … Continue reading Newfoundland, Canada
“A story is a meaningful pattern of events. Through finding a story’s shape within your life’s shape, you could know what your life means.” It’s 4:45. Something woke me. I think my phone buzzed, and now I have to pee. I duck out of the mosquito net and cross the sagging, uneven plywood floor, just … Continue reading I Am A Writer
Exploring a hidden Irish glen. (Backtrack to Europe exploration.)
I am developing a roll of forgotten snapshots. I am tracing a dark line over the faded route we took when I was eight, connecting dots of scattered memories that still flash up through layers of time. It’s taken me years to return to this place. It is a good story, one I will write … Continue reading Trapped in Paradise
Just an hour from Union Island, smashing upwind, motoring at three knots, we pulled into the open bay at Mayreau. The flocks of boat boys in their brightly painted launches circled and touched down for just a second, much less insistent than in Chatham Bay. Their easy attitude left me wanting to buy something from … Continue reading Frank the Security Guard
We were a group of five gringoes standing beside the main road, a strip of narrow, pale pavement, unlined although there were supposedly two lanes. Flexible lanes, determined by the route best to avoid potholes or other cars. Steve, the Kiwi, and Cammie from Luxembourg, both off Proxima Vida, our buddy boat. Chris, one of … Continue reading Barbados By Bus (And Mini-bus)
Today I know what I need. I feel it in my cells. They are thirsty for it, aching for it. To soak it in, to soak in it. I swim to shore. The water is too watery, too salty, too dry and windblown and barren. Today I do not need the sea. The sea is … Continue reading Almond Energy and Rasta Reasoning
Comfort in the creation of a craftswoman.
We leaned against the chrome railing overlooking the beach and watched dozens of surfers wobbling to their feet, toppling over, shooting boards at each other through the foam. The waves looked nice again, as they had in the morning, but just the sight of the bright ocean puckered my sunburned eyes and lips. My left … Continue reading Committed to Write
PEAT FIRE ON A WOODEN BOAT * WALKING, AN IRISH PASTIME * CABIN FEVER, TIME TO DRY OUT * All is quiet and dark in the cabin, the others are in bed. Wet clothes hang with high hopes of drying. Spare drops of rain thud on the hatch, which I have cracked to release smoke … Continue reading Ireland is for Walkers
