Advent Week 4: Love

I am alone in my house this morning. When I grew up, as a middle child in a group of eight, I was rarely alone, even in a room; I was never alone at home. I equated being alone with being lonely, and being lonely with being unloved. 

Fortunately for my peace of mind, I've since learned these are false equivalences. I can be, and am, alone but not lonely. My phone has been lighting up all morning with Christmas wishes. I am not forgotten. It feels good to know this - the Peace of the season is with me today.

That I am loved more deeply than I'd dreamed is the best lesson I took from the hard days of my run-in with cancer. Despite the fact I had a brand new address, my people found me, and sent cards and notes letting me know they cared; I knew I was in their thoughts and in their prayers. When I needed help, they came out of the woodwork to do all they could to ease my path. They walked with me and cheered me on, providing the support I needed to make it through to the other side.

Love Is.

The last Sunday of Advent ran smack-dab into Christmas this year, and I gotta admit I felt just a cheated yesterday when the Love candle didn't get its moment alone in my meditations; I felt like it was crowded out by the Christ candle; a lot like getting rushed through the last chapter of a good book. 

But this is how life works: as one story ends, another begins on its heels and the light has come back into the world! 

Winter's solstice was neatly tucked into the middle of last week, and even though we had just two seconds more of daylight on Saturday than we had on Friday, just knowing I'd made it - again - through the darkest days of the year lifted my spirits. 

Days of Dark are followed by Days of Light are followed by Days of Dark are followed by Days of Light and if there has been a constant in my life this is it. Knowing the cycle will turn both helps me keep taking steps through the Dark, and helps me to treasure the Light.

May the Light of Love be with you this holiday season - whichever holidays you celebrate.

Advent Week 3: Joy

 

Joy.

Even the word itself is fleeting. It's a little bubble of sound, gone almost before it has arrived. Joy leaves a taste of effervescence lingering in memory long after its moment has passed.

I hope to long remember finishing my walk to Fisterre, the end of the world, in September. The cool air on my face during my early morning walk up the long hill to the lighthouse. The warmth of the rising sun at my back; the glint of diamond sparkles on the ocean waves far below. The quiet as I took the last steps of my journey, found the right spot, and settled onto the rocks. The feeling I'd found a precious puddle of holiness; mine alone in that peaceful morning hour. The joy that seeped from the puddle into my soul, quietly filling all the spaces, sending all other emotions elsewhere for a time, leaving room for nothing but exultation. I'd done it!

Such joy, such fulfillment, could not stay; letting go of the moment and continuing on is a required condition of the human experience. (I don't have to like it; I just have to accept it as truth.)

As I lit my candles last night, stilled my mind, and focused on the moments Joy has graced my life, not only the memories returned - to my delight I felt echoes of the actual feeling surrounding those highlight experiences.

And, because it is what it is, Joy dragged along its friends, Hope and Peace, from the earlier weeks of Advent. 

Again this week, I've struggled to keep my balance amidst the tide of hard news coming my way. For a few brief moments, none of it mattered. I wouldn't have thought there could be such power in the light of a few candles, but there it was, and I am so grateful it was there.

May Joy also come to you, my friends.

Advent Week 2: Peace

 

As I sat down to light my candles last night, the night's theme started out as a hard sell. Peace, really???

In the outer world, the news is full of conflicts, ongoing and pending. So many lives lost. *sigh*

In my inner world, yesterday coincided with the fifth anniversary of Libby's death. I miss her. *sigh*

My thoughts tumbled and rolled about, tangled like sheets in the dryer.

But as I watched the candles glow, banishing the darkness, my heart began to quiet, my thoughts to settle. I began to pull one loose end, then another, and the shape of pieces began to separate from the jumble. A favorite church song from my youth came to mind: "Let there be Peace on Earth, and let it begin with me."

There is so much in the world I cannot fix. Despite my best efforts, I've found, time and again, the only thing I can reliably change is myself. So, I turned to my thoughts about Libby.

Survivor's guilt was at the fore. Logic doesn't enter into it, and part of me still thinks God took the wrong person home that day. She was just 51, still had a teenage girl to finish raising, while I was at loose ends, trying to find a new purpose for my days. Why did I survive my bout with cancer (so far), and she didn't? It isn't fair!

Truth. But, could I work to hold two opposing ideas simultaneously? Was it possible to both mourn because there is a Libby-shaped hole in my life, and to celebrate the joys I've found in these past five years?

I worked to find the balance and, to my surprise, the balance I found. (Libby would not have been happy with me for following the trail of should-have-beens anyways.) So, I let some of the tears that had been threatening all day fall freely, and I told her, Someone, of the Good I've found in life since she's been gone. Which freed me to be grateful for the good Libby brought to my life when she was still here. 

My thoughts followed the path to memories of light and laughter. To those long-ago days where I watched her grow up (she's six years younger than I), the sunshine in her hair reflected in her quest to bring that same light to her life. To love shared and treasured.  

And the quality of my tears changed, from grief and loneliness, to gratitude for the days we got to share. 

Peace begins with me.

Advent Week 1: Hope

 

While I've fallen off the church wagon in many respects, I see no reason to throw the baby out with the bathwater, and so went out this week and got myself a set of Advent candles.

I've always loved the ritual surrounding the lighting of the candles as the earth completes its journey to the darkest days of the year, here in the northern hemisphere where I live. (I'm guessing it's safe to say this tradition was not born in Australia...) 

Even though my holiday season is not the hectic rush it once was, it's still good for my soul to pause for a moment in the darkness, then spark a small light to dispel the gloom.

As Martin Luther King, Jr. said, "Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that."

I can extrapolate from there: Despair cannot drive out despair, only hope can do that.

My mind was caught in the darkness as I sat down to light that first candle last night. War, climate change, political divisions, disease; Oh, my! I lit the candle anyways, then turned my mind from those dark paths to retrace the ways Hope has come into my world this past year. After a moment or three the darkness was no longer overwhelming; it was balanced by the light.

My new part time job as a gym rat - and the friends I meet there each week. The many good memories I can now revisit with a thought from all my travels this year. This Thanksgiving holiday just past, when much of my family gathered. It's a long way to travel for dinner, even when there is excellent pie to be had, but they came.

This is not to forget or to deny there are, yes, many ills in my world. But those ills are not the whole picture. Good is also ever present; I find evidence of it every time I remember to open my eyes to see.

Hope Is.

Back to Quiet

 

I woke up this morning and started the process of putting my house back in order after the wonderful chaos of the weekend. As I collected sheets and folded blankets, my mind wandered back over the events of the weekend.

For three days, my home was filled with (up to) 30 of the people with whom it does my heart good to spend time. All weekend, I got good hugs, *ahhh*, filling an empty spot deep within. My stomach is still savoring the delicious food prepared by other people (my favorite kind). My fridge is full of leftovers, so I will get to enjoy the treats over and over again this week. I got to talk with people I love, hear the highlights of what's up in their lives. 

Even the pets seemed to enjoy the change in routine. 

Sylvester's 'real' people came in from California, and he was overjoyed to see and smell them again. He did have a bit of a dilemma when it came to bedtime. We were sleeping on separate floors, so there was no way to guard us all properly. They were here for four nights - he ended up spending two with me, two with them, splitting the difference so as not to play favorites.

I don't normally think of cats as social creatures, but Monster, who normally comes to the kitchen sink for his morning drink before returning to one or another of his nap spots, spent four hours there Thursday, just chilling out and watching as breakfast and pies were prepared. Fortunately, it's a double sink, so dishes and hands could be washed as necessary. I was surprised he didn't leave his post when he inevitably got splashed with water, but he held firm, reveling in the many hands willing to spend a moment or two petting him.

The silence has been quite loud since everyone left. But while the contrast is still jolting, it seems the work I've done to reach a place where I am OK being alone has been effective. Instead of the crash I was more than half-expecting, based on past experience, I feel more of a sense of wistful longing. *whew!*

I was glad, last night, to have the freedom to return to my yoga class; to take time to breathe and attempt to loosen my tightly wound hips. I was glad, this morning, to wake knowing I had the day to bring my house back to its usual state of almost-order. 

I think I might finally be figuring out how a good retirement life looks for me. Slowly, I'm getting there. It's a good feeling.

Again this year, none of my traditional ways to spend Christmas will be happening. The freedom to spend such an emotion-laden day as I see fit feels overwhelming, but also, I can feel the joy behind the lack of structure. Already I have invitations from several people to join their celebrations. I need not spend the day alone unless that is my choice - it does my heart good to know this. 

Ready or not, on to the Holiday Season I go! 

I am Grateful

Each year, as Thanksgiving approaches, I stop and breathe (see? I can do it!) and take a moment to ponder my blessings.

I am grateful for the glow of the red leaves on the trees against the gray of the sky. The leaves are, of course, also beautiful in the sunlight, but it takes a cloudy day to make them glow with a light of their own.

I am grateful for the members of my family who will travel many hours to come join me to celebrate the holiday. I am SO looking forward to the three days of utter chaos, which will, for a few days after they leave, leave me grateful for the often-too-quiet calmness of my usual daily life.

I am grateful for my friends who will be hosting my tribe for dinner on Thanksgiving:

"Hi! I'm bringing 26 people to dinner for Thanksgiving. Does that still work?" 

"Absolutely! The more the merrier. I just LOVE the entire process of planning and preparing for the crew." 

The wonderfully puzzling part is that they mean every word.

I am grateful for our longstanding, gather-every-other-year, Thanksgiving tradition. In one form or another, this goes back several decades. It's been one of the touchstones of my life. It's been so fun to watch the next generation grow from babes in arms to adults with careers and lives and (some of them) babes of their own.

I am grateful for the members of my family who have died. I learned many lessons from them, both in their living and in their dying. I wish they were still here, I hope they have gone somewhere good.

I am grateful I am still here, Kate is still here, our respective cancers are still gone, and we get to wake up in the mornings. I am grateful for the new options in cancer treatments that mean my brother Tony is still here and will be able to travel to join us for the weekend.

I am grateful for the next generations (plural), hope for our world. I am especially grateful for my two grandchildren - I have no words for what they mean to my heart.

I am, still and again, grateful for my morning latte. I've had the drink almost every morning for thirty years, and never tire of it. The smell, the lift I get from that first sip, the always-needed jolt to my system telling me it's time to begin living this new day (which comes with the bittersweet awareness that today is the only day I have) - it's a morning meditation, nicely wrapped in caffeine.

I am grateful for you, the reader of my words. When I was walking across Spain, during my lone Covid days, during the last decade when I had to cope with too many hard things, I know I haven't journeyed alone. You come with me, cheering me on, helping me to take the next step. 

Thank you.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Glimpses of Grace

Last week, I was driving in an area of town where the route I have stored in my memory cannot be relied upon since there are multiple construction projects going on. One of the projects inconveniently closed my side road, so I had to turn left onto a busy street, which also had one of its two lanes closed, so traffic was backed up for quite a ways.

I wasn't waiting long at the stop sign before a considerate driver in the waiting queue provided room for me to make my turn. I waved to thank him, pulled forward, looked right, looked again, and pulled out into the roadway. As I completed my turn someone in a black car had to swerve into the other lane to get out of my way. Why I didn't see them when I looked, I don't know; perhaps they'd pulled onto the street from one of the nearby parking lots after I'd checked for cars. (That's my story, anyways, and I'm sticking to it.)

No collision, no honks, no harm, no foul. 'Just' a near miss.

The incident got me to thinking about the grace inherent in near misses. I long remember the crashes, the broken whatsits, the lost items. But the near collisions, the crystal glass miraculously caught before it crashed onto the quartz countertop, the favorite gloves that were under the seat after all, just pushed to the side - memories of these tend to fade quickly once the moment passes.

In my experience, that's how Grace operates. It doesn't draw attention to itself in a cacophony of breaking glass and crunching fenders. Rather, it quietly steps in, does what it came to do, and withdraws on silent cat feet, leaving behind only the caress of its blessing, a faint impression of a hug.

I've been watching for the near misses this week; I've caught more glimpses of Grace's presence than I'd anticipated I would. Many days, these days, my life feels a bit skimpy in the caresses and hugs category,  and the touches of love have been most welcome; they have soothed the raw edges of my quietly lonely soul just a bit. *grateful sigh*

Grace Is.

A Wrinkle in my Memory

I was cleaning my bathroom this past week, and had just finished cleaning the glass on the shower door, the last step in my process. I had started putting away my cleaning supplies when I saw a streak on the glass, so reached into the trash to pull the damp paper towels back out to take care of the blemish.

The towels weren't there.

Nor were they anywhere else in the bathroom or the hall closet where I keep the cleaning supplies. They were also not in the just-cleaned toilet (*whew*), the laundry basket, or any of the other places I would have set them while putting things away.

It's been several days, and I still can't find them. And, believe me, I've looked.

Normally when I retrace my steps, I have a mental map of the things I just did. When I look at the map for those thirty seconds, instead of a path, there's a blot or a wrinkle. The knowledge of what I did is there, it's just not accessible.

This has happened before a couple of times, but by the time I realized it, enough time had passed it would have been impossible to retrace my steps anyways. This is the first time that I realized what had happened in time to (theoretically) straighten out the wrinkle. If I hadn't seen the streak on the glass, chances are good I'd never have noticed the paper towels weren't in the trash; I wouldn't be aware the blot exists.

I find this disconcerting, to say the least, especially given my frequent visits to Bob. Is this my first step on the path to his fate, or is it a normal part of aging?

Stop. Breathe.

There is no way to know the answer, and either way, it doesn't affect my life today. As it often does, my Libby lesson jumps to the fore of my mind. 

Today is the only day I have; tomorrow is promised to no one - so live the days I have.

I feel vulnerable, putting this blog entry out for the world to see. You mean !? I ?! am experiencing the effects of aging???? Yes, clearly, I am.

It would be easy to hide this memory glitch - the dog and cat were the only other ones here, and they're not talking. But in acknowledging the incident to you all, I acknowledge it to myself. And, in truth, I'd rather do that than keep my head firmly buried in the sand.

I'll keep looking for the towels, only because I can't imagine where else I might have stashed them. Fortunately for me, dried glass cleaner doesn't turn into a toxic mess.

Wish me luck.

Bloom Anyways

 

My backyard native plants were beautiful the day I arrived home from Spain. Over six feet tall, their purple blooms had just opened, and the bees, butterflies, and even hummingbirds had begun to sip the goodness within. Beautiful.

Then, the next day, we got some heavy rain. I walked outside the following morning to see the largest of the plants fallen over onto the driveway; its roots were too shallow to hold in the newly softened ground. 

I sighed sadly, and started to pull up the remains of the plant. Then I noticed the blooms on the plant, instead of wilting, had already begun to turn their faces to the sun. I stopped short. Who was I to deny the flowers their chance to adapt? So, instead of pulling the plant, I kicked some dirt over the exposed roots, trimmed the edges so it wouldn't get driven over, and left it to live if it could.

It could.

I've been home for a month, and the plant has thrived. Lazing about as it stretches across the concrete hasn't seemed to bother it in the least. (Thankfully, the extreme heat of the summer had passed by the time it fell over.) Not only did the blooms it had already formed continue to open, it continued to grow.  Over the past month, it created even more flowers, as if it were still standing tall.

There's a lesson or two here for me, I know there is.

Something about beauty not having to be perfect to be beautiful. Something about the possibility of still being able to find a place in the world, to fulfill the purpose for which you grew, even when you've been knocked permanently off balance. Something about giving things a second chance when they're down because they've been hit by the storm. 

Something.

I'm glad I didn't pull it up when it fell. *happy sigh*

Flatware

Back in the olden days, when I was a kid, we had lots of people in the house and not lots of money. Not surprisingly, we also had a motley set of mismatched silverware. For reasons now unclear to me, this bothered me, and I longed for our silverware to match.

Also in those days, one could collect Betty Crocker coupons, embossed on assorted General Mills boxtops, and redeem them for a variety of household goods. I was an inveterate cereal box reader, and noticed one day that if one gathered enough coupons, they could be exchanged for silverware! So, I started intercepting the boxes on the way to the trash (Mom helped - she was not opposed to this project) and cutting out the coupons.

My task was helped along by the fact that all eight of us kids had cereal for breakfast every day, but it still took a good long while to amass the required points. I was singled-minded in my focus, however, and stuck with the task until I'd accumulated enough points to buy service for twelve. (I don't recall ever bothering to order the service pieces - they meant nothing to the ten year-old kid I was then.)

I still remember the day my loot arrived; opening all the boxes of brand spankin' new and shiny place settings. The smooth heft of the decent quality pieces, the orderly look of the table once the place settings were laid - these did my heart good.

Fast forward a decade or two. I'd, of course, left the original flatware behind when I left home. The stuff the kids and I used matched, but the forks were not high quality and bent easily. My old longing for quality tableware was intact, and so when I found some 'extra money' on the same day I happened to be in an outlet mall that had an Oneida store, I gave into my craving for order, and purchased service for 12, plus the serving pieces I now had gained an appreciation for.

After getting my loot home, I was no less enamored with the pieces than I had been as a child, and I've jealously guarded my matching flatware for a couple of decades now. Sadly, despite my best efforts, over time, a few of the pieces have been lost. Not discarded maliciously, but lost all the same.

I've tried not to care, but in my heart, I do.

Last month, I decided my heart would be happier if I made an attempt to find replacement pieces; it wouldn't hurt anything to look. My hairdresser scouts out antiques on the side, so I enlisted his help, sent him a photo of the missing items, and asked him if he knew of a way to replace them. He did know, but the cost for just those three items, plus shipping, was going to be almost half the cost of an entire new set of flatware. ($50 for ONE spoon???)

Sadly, I tried to set the notion aside. I reviewed the options. I could pay the king's ransom the internet was asking for the pieces. I could buy a whole new set and give my partial one away. I could see if I could sell my eleven remaining spoons for $40 each (a bargain!) and finance new silverware that way. Or, I could live with what I have. 

Reluctantly, I decided to just live with what I have; to pretend I have service for ten, plus extra pieces. The world will not end, most probably, just because I don't have Oneida service for twelve. Since getting the sad news from Dennis, I've been working to just let it go. Or, if not, to just buy new stuff. Either way, quit obsessing over it!

But then, but then. 

Last week, when I went in for my haircut, Dennis motioned to the sideboard. "I have a present for you," he said. My heart leapt. Surely not, but, maybe??? I opened the bag to find my three missing pieces of flatware. He had done what I couldn't convince myself to "waste the money" and do. He'd listened to the longing of my little OCD-leaning heart and re-completed my set.

I don't have words for how loved this makes me feel. I feel seen. And I feel it over and over again - every time I open my silverware drawer, and happily count to twelve. 

Good Is.

Why the Children?

I've been trying not to follow the news too closely this week, but the headlines and photos keep catching my eye. 

After so many years of relative quiet, peace in the Middle East has been shattered once again. War is awful in all the ways in all the times, near as I can tell, but surely, when one purposely targets the children, a new level of hell is created.

I can't unsee the images of the Israeli children taken as hostages. The image of a frightened baby, just into toddlerhood, being brandished like some sort of obscene trophy, by a man who seems to think such behavior is justified. Why????

I can't unsee the photo of the children of the Gaza Strip, caught up in a conflict they can't possibly understand. A middle-sized boy, perhaps seven or eight years old, standing in the courtyard of a 'safe' school, his younger sister held tightly in his arms, fearfully scanning the sky after the sound of warplanes was heard. Not purposely targeted, I hope, but from the look on his face, he knows he could easily be the collateral damage on tonight's news. 

And elsewhere in the world: A picture of a woman trying to negotiate a razor fence on the southern U.S. border, toddler clenched firmly in one arm, the baby's body just inches from the deadly edges of the wire. Sunday's lead story in the local paper, mercifully without photos, about a two year-old found dead just a couple of miles from my house, from fentanyl poisoning.

I look, and I cry tears of helpless rage and frustration. I want to gather each and every one of those innocents into my arms and hold them tight and tell them it was all just a bad dream. I know life is hard and cruel and not fair, but given all the wrong ways we treat each other, some of the wrongest ones are when we treat these precious lives as if they were used Kleenex. How can we not remember that when we destroy our children, we destroy our future?

Stop. Breathe.

I am angry because I am powerless. If I knew which direction to toss, I'd throw some money at the problems, hoping against hope my drop of help would join other drops to make a difference, but the roots of the actions which placed these children in such danger are so widespread and disparate that my drop would turn to mist and evaporate before it ever got into a bucket. 

So, I pray. Mostly because it's all I can think to do. I pray to the God I can't quite believe in. I can't find words to formulate the prayer, so I have to trust the Spirit to translate the cries of my heart.

Will you help the children? Please???

Reestablishing Rhythm

This is the start of my third week home, and I have a nagging urge to start figuring out what I need to pack. No, I don't have any trips planned, but I've been traveling on and off all summer long. That sense of comfortable daily rhythm I'd grown to like last winter and into the spring is nowhere to be found, and I fear I've gotten hooked on the adrenaline boost that comes with travel. 

There's a part of me that really likes avoiding the tedious and boring parts of life. When I'm on the road there's no time for excessive navel gazing or worrying about pesky questions like "am I spending my time or wasting it?" I don't need to worry about the home maintenance tasks that aren't urgent, but do need to be done to keep the house in shape. When I'm home, I give the chores a lick and a promise. On the road, I just worry about getting to where I'm going in one piece, and enjoying the moment I came for once I get there. Turns out, traveling is a great avoidance tactic. 

I've really noticed the travel letdown this past week. I got back into my exercise routine, and spent some time washing the windows, so I'll be able to see outside this winter. (Must let ALL the light in...) I caught up on my laundry, bought some groceries, mowed the lawn. I cleaned up the dead plants from the yard, and started putting another coat of oil on the back fence. Blah, blah, blah.

As I've worked, I've tried to keep the lessons from Spain from getting lost in the shuffle. The part of me that says I can't own my strengths? It also has some strong opinions about resting on one's laurels. "I know you walked to the end of the world, but that was last week. What are you doing today?"

Hmph.

I DO want to reestablish some rhythm to my days, but I DON'T want that rhythm to be a drumbeat of dull chores. I want the rhythm of my days, each of my days, to contain an element of fun, of joy, of rest.

So, I started to stop. I stopped to enjoy the flitting, fleeting presence of a Monarch butterfly feasting on my flowers. I stopped to read a book, a beach-read type of book. I reached out to my friends, adding lunch and dinner dates to my calendar. 

Work, yes, but also:  Stop.  Breathe.  Relax.

Yes.

Reentry

Has it really been just ten days since I got home? It seems like it's been months since I arrived, footsore and on cloud nine, at the end of the world.

I've still been waking during the night, surprised to open my eyes and find myself back in my familiar bed. (I'm always happy to be home, once I figure out that's where I am.) My subconscious is busy integrating the lessons I learned on the trail - I can tell by the surreal quality of the dream fragments I can remember. 

I knew, when I got home, I needed to spend a few days off my feet, to let them heal up, but also had a pile of deferred chores to be done and I am not the world's best at taking it easy when there is work calling my name. Fortunately for me, whether she knew it or not, Rose, who had been watching my house, had the key.

"I started this puzzle," she said. "The pieces are all turned over, and I've sorted out the edges. If you don't want to finish it, just scoop them back into the box," she said.

Ha! Fat chance of THAT happening. Puzzles, especially when I don't have to share the joy of putting them together, are one of my addictions. So, I spent the first few days after I was home assembling the picture, and doing just what the doctor ordered, letting my feet rest up.

I'm happy to report they've healed beautifully. Even the worst of the blisters are almost gone, the no-longer-needed outer layer peeling off to show tender, but healthy, new skin beneath. *whew*

I'm discovering one doesn't come back from an adventure like the Camino and just pick up life's pieces from where they were left scattered about the house and go on as if nothing happened. Like an old dress pulled from the back of the closet, my old life no longer quite fits; I've changed shape! It's been the oddest sensation - almost as if I were settling into someone else's life. I've been looking at my daily activities in a new light. These things I like, keep doing them. Now, why was I doing that??? Perhaps I no longer need to spend my time that way. 

I am SO grateful for all I learned last month even though it's clearly going to take some time to sort it all out. It's a good job to have.

El Camino: Home

It was the longest of days.

I started my morning at 6 AM in Madrid, and ended my day at 11 PM in Kansas City. Given the seven hour time difference, I was up and moving for 24 hours. (Less the 30-ish minute nap I finally managed to grab once safely in the air on my last flight home.)

The hardest part was the time between flights in Atlanta. I was already exhausted, and was afraid I'd fall into a deep sleep at the gate and miss my flight. So, I got me some coffee, and spent 45 minutes walking up and down the length of the terminal. I was pretty out of it, but have not yet fallen asleep while walking. I figured it was a good way to both stay up and to work a few kinks out of my legs. 

That said, travel was uneventful - the best kind. The planes were almost on time, we didn't hit any awful weather, I got to watch a couple of movies and read a book. The crying baby and restless toddler were not directly behind me on the long flight from Madrid. (The parents were good, and did their best. I fully understand the desire to scream for a while after sitting for ten hours, but at my age, people are less understanding regarding outbursts like that, so I kept my opinions to myself.)

Once safely ensconced in my own bed, I startled awake several times last night, disoriented, not sure where I was. When I opened my eyes to see the familiar outlines of my bedroom around me, it took me a minute to remember how I got there. My mind, my heart, my dreams were still on the trail. 

For a moment, as I half-woke, I was afraid I'd dreamed the whole trip - that it hadn't really happened. Then I accidentally bumped my heel blister with my other ankle, promptly finished waking up (ouch!), and was happy all over again to know I successfully completed the trek.

It'll take me a few days to readjust - despite my exhaustion, I was wide awake at 5 AM - almost lunchtime in Spain. It's all good - I purposely left myself a lot of empty space in my calendar this weekend. 

Buen Camino, indeed!

Photo: People had the most interesting reaction to getting bussed across the tarmac to our plane in Madrid. Me, I felt like I'd skipped back to the fifties for ten minutes.

El Camino: Madrid

I got up early this morning to take a taxi back to Santiago, then a train to Madrid.

Once I arrived in Madrid, I managed to find the Metro Station, figure out which subway I wanted to take, purchase the ticket, and make my way to the platform and then to my hotel, all without assistance. Or getting nervous about the whole thing. (Ok, the purchase the ticket part took me about ten tries, but I did manage to figure it out.) Am I the same person who left home just a few short weeks ago?

One of my Camino friends, Stephy, from Holland, talked me into taking a sunset cruise around the bay and out to the lighthouse last night. I was tired, and tempted to pass, but quickly came to my senses. Like I’m going to get another chance anytime soon?

The ride was chilly, but beautiful. We snagged a spot near the front of the boat, and just sat and enjoyed the ride, one last chance to share a bit of each other’s stories. A wonderful close to a trip I will long remember.

In the last three days on the trail, I learned why I came on this walk.

I walked to claim my strengths.

I know they, the ubiquitous they, meant well when they taught me not to focus on my strengths. They wanted me to be well-rounded; to avoid the sin of arrogance, to not rest on my laurels, to always keep striving. And they thought the best way to do that was to often remind me of the ways in which I could do better, to treat the things I’d done well as just meeting expectations. 

I learned the lesson well, too well. As I shared my story with them one evening, Stephy called me brave, Mal said I am strong. In both cases, I cringed a little. I deflected their praise. But, why? Surely the tools I carry in my life-coping kit would be more effective if I decide to own my strengths with my whole being.

There is no need to cringe, no need to hide.

Today, I can say it out loud.

I am strong, I am brave, I am tough.

I can walk 20 km one day, despite the pain that comes with every step the latter part of the walk, and then get up the next morning and do it again.

I am resilient, creative, intelligent, resourceful.

The Universe was right when it nudged me to undertake the second half of my walk. I needed to go the whole distance to understand the lesson. I am so glad I was able to finish; that my sores and aches were not so great they prevented me from continuing on. The trek was enough to test the depths of my grit and determination, but not enough to break me.

I am worthy, I am good enough. 

I can walk to the end of the world!

Photos: The lighthouse from the bay; doorways to heaven, highlighted by the setting sun

El Camino: Faro Fisterra

Today, I completed my walk to the end of the world.

How cool is that???

I left soon after sunrise, hoping I could have a bit of time near the lighthouse to myself-ish, before the busses started arriving and disgorging their crowds of people. It worked as I had hoped - I had only a few people for company during the 3 km walk up the hill; when I arrived, I walked to the pile of rocks marking the border between the lighthouse and the sea, and sat down for a long spell, just me and the sea. 

The air was cool, the sea breeze refreshing, the view indescribable. I mean, ocean, boats, yeah, all that - but knowing I looked across the water to *nothing* stilled my thoughts and quieted my soul. 

To the delight of my order-loving soul, unlike the square in Santiago, there actually is a marker showing 0,000 kilometers left on the trail. Yes! A finish line!

As I was leaving the plaza, so I could get a picture of myself with the marker, I joined the line of people just arrived off the latest bus, who were waiting for their chance to take a photo with it. The person behind me was more than happy to snap the shot when I handed her my phone. 

In my head, my photo with the stone meant more than theirs, because I’d EARNED that shot, dad-gum-it. But I kept that thought to myself, no need to disturb their moment and all. I know what I did. I know the price my feet paid for me to stand there for my moment in the sun. And that’s really what counts here, no?

Tomorrow, I get up early to take a taxi back to Santiago, where I will then catch the train back to Madrid.

It’s over. It’s really over. *she types with a sad sigh*

Photos: my moment with the marker; a bronze boot honoring those who have walked the trail; the sea at the end of the world

El Camino: Fisterra!

Today’s walk was like none of the others I’ve done on this journey across Spain.

Reason number one is that my feet didn’t hurt. Because there was no rain forecast, I was able to wear my backup hiking shoes. They're Hokas; though they're not not water-resistant, they do have extra toe room. My blisters have been healing up, thanks to my hard-way acquired knowledge of how to properly bandage the sores. And, the expensive bandaids I bought yesterday seem to have been worth the price of admission. I walked 12 km today, and my feet didn’t hurt when I got here! Did I mention my feet didn’t hurt???

There was no rain forecast, but it did rain, just for thirty minutes or so, not hard enough to get my shoes too wet, but enough to give everyone a good drenching. The rain dimmed my mood not a whit. As I counted down the last kilometers, I was so happy to be here. Up hills and down hills, rain and sunshine and fog and cool mornings and hot afternoons. Sore feet and calves and tired legs and upset stomach. Beautiful remote countryside and small hamlets and big towns. Good people, so many good people. The kind of people who wake up one morning and think perhaps it might be a good idea to go walk across Spain.

I did it!

Well, almost, I’ve done it. The town of Fisterra is 3 km from the end of the trail, and I decided to put off going to the very end until tomorrow, for several reasons. One: My feet don’t hurt, but I wasn’t sure that would still be the case if I added another 6-8 km trek to my day. Two: I want to go in the morning, when I think the trail might be quieter. (There are a lot of people who bus it here from Santiago, and just walk the last few kilometers.) Three: I’m out of clean clothes. Laundry needed to happen.

There’s something bittersweet about reaching the end of my long walking days. I mean, I thought I’d be totally thrilled to put my limping entries into town after town in my rear view mirror. I didn’t anticipate the sense of loss, the same sort of feeling I get when reaching the end of an excellent book. No matter how tidily the author has tied up loose ends, it’s still a jolt to realize the world of the story is not the world in which I spend my days.

Thanks to my friend Rose, who has been watching hearth and home for me, I’ve been able to walk without a single concern about problems on the home front. (If any arose, she’s been kind enough to handle them without letting me know anything happened.) In fact, I must admit, outside these daily missives, there have been several days where home hasn’t even crossed my mind. 

I have been able to be here. In this place, in this now. Before and after were of no concern, there was only now. It has been a wonderful gift.

Tomorrow, just a short walk… 

Photos: One of many roosters I’ve seen on this trip, announcing the morning; my morning cup of café con leche - a “I can’t quite believe I am here” moment; Fisterra, on its narrow strip of land (that line in the background is the sea)

El Camino : Cee

The weather gods were with me today. I’ve been watching a huge rain mass just offshore in the Atlantic edge its way onto land all week long; today it was time for it to come ashore, with its gusty winds and hours of rain. Last night, when I went to bed, the rain was supposed to start mid-morning. I’m guessing it stayed up too late drinking wine with its friends, because it didn’t arrive in earnest until after I was safely done with today’s hike, shortly before 1. It threatened to rain, I could see rain in the hills all around me, I got spit on a few times, but I mostly stayed dry.

A couple hours into today’s walk, I was passed by one of the energetic young people making the pilgrimage. Shortly after she passed by, she let out a whoop of joy, and jumped a good two feet into the air (pack and all), clicking her heels on the way down. I smiled for her. Clearly, whatever it was, it was good news. But then I saw something drop from her pocket as she landed. It looked like a bit of trash, and when I got to that spot a minute later, I bent down to pick it up. No trash, it was her charger cord.  “Senorita!”, I called after her. She turned around at my shout, and I held the cord high where she could see it. She hurried back to me, then stopped to share a moment of her story. She had just gotten news that she’d passed a big do-or-die test for her future life’s path. She hadn’t believed she’d ever be able to get over the hurdle. We shared a brief hug, I laughed as she tried to apologize for her tears of joy, and she paused to gather herself. As she made sure she’d zipped up her pockets, I hobbled on down the path.

Sophia caught up with me again, just a short time later - there was a statue of some sort of monster off to our left. I gestured to it and said, “There it is - the monster you have overcome! Do you want a picture of yourself with it?” She laughed, and said, “No need. I have won, and will leave it in my dust.” 

And off she flew down the path - I am not sure her feet even touched the ground.

My feet, on the other hand…. Because of the impending rain, I didn’t stop to rest the poor things as I walked. Turns out that piece of my usual routine was an important part of not developing new blisters, and by the time I arrived here in Cee, I’d acquired a few new ones. Which means my dwindling supply of moleskin would not be enough to keep me on the road for the next couple of days.

I hobbled into a nearby pharmacy, where the kind pharmacist helped me to find some bandages that will work to get me down the home stretch. She advised that I wear only sandals until the sores heal; I promised I would, after two more days. Her rueful returned grin told me I was not the first to make this promise to her.

This afternoon, I have been good, and have been resting my toes. The rain outside my window helps; it removes the temptation to walk around exploring this adorable fishing town. The rain is supposed to clear up for tomorrow’s final long trek. I’ve almost made it to the end of the world!

Photos: the promise of a rainbow to start my day; the ocean!; the village of Cee, where I am staying tonight 

El Camino: O Logoso

Into every life - or long walk adventure - a little rain must fall, and today was my turn. And, it wasn’t so bad. The first hour or so of my day’s trek was uneventful, and I made it up today’s long hill before the rain moved on in. By the time it started raining in earnest, I was on a part of the path that walked along a busy road, and the rain was welcome. Instead of baking as I trekked along hot pavement, I got to watch the rain come down from beneath the brim of my trusty Tilley hat (still waterproof after all these years!) and rain poncho. The shoulder was wide enough for me to avoid spray from the passing cars, so I wasn’t unhappy in the least. The clouds moved in and out for the rest of the morning, the rainfall never heavy enough to make footing treacherous. No problem on this front.

My feet, on the other hand, were pretty seriously unhappy. I’d heard the phrase “my blisters have blisters”, but didn’t realize that actually happens. It does. My new and improved attempt at bandaging kept the sores from worsening, but the damage is already done. I was ok for the first 7 km, but from then on, my feet were talking. And I was again alone on the trail, so had nothing except the view to distract me from the throbbing.

But, despite all the things, my overarching emotion as I walked was contentment. I am here. I am doing a hard thing. But, for the first time in a decade, the hard thing I’m doing is of my choosing. I want to be here. I want to walk to the end of the world. And I’m doing it. Without causing any permanent damage to my feet, near as I can tell.

I met up again with Mal, the man with the bum leg who makes his way along the trail using crutches, last night at dinner. We had a long talk about life and doing hard things and not giving up. I am so close. I can’t give up on this now.

At the end of today’s walk, I came into the small hamlet where I was to spend the night, and found a place with the right name. When I went in, she told me, “No. The place you actually want is across the valley.” And went with me outside to gesture at a beautiful building another 500 meters away, down a long hill and up another one. I wanted to cry, but smiled, thanked her, and started gathering my will to continue just a little further. Then, she said, “My daughter owns that place. I see your feet hurt. Can I give you a ride over there in my car?” Could she??? Trust me, I didn’t make her ask twice.

Two more days. I am so close…

Photos: sunrise; a stunning river valley I was very happy to get to walk along the rim of, rather than through; if you know any giants who forgot where they randomly dropped the rock they were carrying, I found it for them.

El Camino: Santa Marina

I spent the last half of today’s walk promising my poor abused baby toes that we only have to do this for three more days - I promise! They were not amused.

I stopped a little over halfway through today’s walk for ice cream and a bite to eat, in that order, and took advantage of a shady nook to take off my shoes and rest my feet on a nearby chair for a bit. The rest helped ease a lot of my aches, but after I finished eating and set off again, my toes cried foul! The next kilometer, every step I took, I felt like someone was sticking pins into an open wound. I was concerned - this was going to make for a long 8 km - but the pins subsided to dull outrage after a while, and I was able to continue on.

The trail was quiet today, peaceful. I walked alone for at least an hour without seeing another soul. It also wasn’t as pretty as it has been; a good deal of it ran along the roadside.

As I was on this section of the trail, a butterfly fluttered out of the brush beside me. As I was taking a moment to appreciate its fragile beauty, I heard the roar of an approaching truck. I frantically tried to shoo the insect out of the path of the roadway, without success. Just as the truck arrived, it flew into the path of the vehicle. I thought sure that delicate life had been squashed - but then the truck roared by, and I saw the butterfly spinning in a crazy spiral before making its way back to the brush; it had managed to get caught in the wind stream and survive. *whew*

The people I did see were friendly; the camaraderie from those first couple of days on the trail returned. I met Mal, who is making his way along the route on those permanent half-height crutches. He has a bum leg. 

And, for the last few kilometers, Barbro was kind enough to slow her steps to walk me on in to our night’s lodging place. It seems she and I are carrying the same question on this quest - “Now I’ve reached this point in my life, where I’ve done so many of the things I set out to do, how do I want to spend my days?” I was glad to meet a kindred spirit, and managed to completely ignore my sore feet for those steps. No small gift.

Tomorrow’s walk is shorter, 16 km. I have thought of another new way to try to protect my sore babies with the moleskin. (Because of where the blisters are and the way my feet are formed, keeping them protected has been a losing battle.) Wish me luck!

Photos: a church in the morning mist; a spiderweb, outlined in dewdrops

El Camino: Negreira

I must admit to being relieved that today’s journey was a lot more prosaic than those final kilometers into Santiago. I walked, I talked to a few people along the way. I got hot and tired and footsore, and stayed entirely grounded in a familiar world.

I got up early enough to leave Santiago with the sunrise, which means I left before I could get coffee. Fortunately for my caffeine addiction, there was a charming cafe about two hours into the walk, and I was able to get a banana and a latte. *whew*  

I must say, nothing adds a bit of spice to a 21km jaunt like climbing a 2km hill with a 10% grade (they were kind enough to post a sign warning cyclists of the grind ahead, I also took it to heart.) about halfway through the hike. Thank goodness it came after the coffee stop. It was enough to make me question, all over again, “what do I think I’m doing here?” The answer, somewhat to my surprise, was, “I’m walking to the end of the world - and I didn’t really expect the ground to be level along the way. So, "shush!” I shushed and kept climbing.

I finished the hill intending to stop for one more extended break, but this is where my habit of sticking with somewhat arbitrary decisions came back to bite me in the already sore toe. I randomly decided I was going to stop when I’d reached the marker showing 72km on the countdown to the coast. There was a lovely little area with tables in the shade at marker 74km, but I pressed on, determined to make it the extra 2km before stopping. Well, I made it that far, then ended up continuing the final 4km without a break, because there was not a single quiet, shady place to rest between there and my hotel for tonight. The path was either in the sun or next to traffic, and there was not a large rock, where I could rest my feet for a moment, to be seen. 

Perhaps, just perhaps, this will teach me that it’s ok, sometimes, to stop short of a goal. Especially the arbitrary ones!

That’s ok. I’m here, showered, and doing all the things I need to do to convince my feet they do, in fact, want to take another walk in the morning. At least it’s ‘just’ 20km. I mean that’s a whole kilometer less than I walked today…

Photos: the welcome return of my trail guides; a golden morning goodbye to the cathedral; the only old church with a bell I saw today - at least there was the one!

El Camino: Santiago Rest Day

And after she arrived in Santiago de Compostela, she rested.

And her feet are SO glad she did.

Yesterday, for much of the day as I walked, I was aware of being immersed in the stream of people who have walked this path over the years. I could see the flow of pilgrims on their chosen routes, like water droplets gathering from tributaries. I saw clearly the moment where all come together - some leaping for joy, others just slipping in quietly, without notice - for a brief moment to form a pool of energy. One drop then leaves, and another arrives - the pool does not empty. But it does change all (yes, I think, all, not just some) who enter its waters.

Then, for a short while, I was accompanied by the pioneers back in the US, headed across the vast midsection of the country, hoping their lives would be better for having taken a huge chance on the unknown. I’ve long known the wagon trains made it ten miles on a good day. Now I understand why this is so. 

Then, as I walked, I felt the echoes of the many I’ve read about from history who were forced to take long walks, many to their deaths. The Bataan Death March, the Trail of Tears, the Nazi death marches. I saw the soldiers fall. I saw mothers desperately clutching their frightened children. I saw, within the horror, people still doing what they could to help their fellow travelers along the road. I was afraid with them and for them. And I asked them what they wanted of me. They said they wanted me to honor their lives by remembering they lived and loved and ought not to have died as they did.

And so I walked along that part of my path with tears falling freely to the trail beneath my feet, remembering these, who I never knew.

Finally, I walked with the refugees and immigrants of today’s world. Knowing they are not welcome where they are going, if they know where they are going, but unable to live any more in the lands of their roots. I felt their hope and their desperation. My heart ached and cried with them, and rejoiced with those who managed to find a new place to land. I also asked these what they wanted of me, but if I received an answer, it was lost as I neared the final steps of the pilgrimage.

It’s no wonder I found my arrival at the city’s limits so disconcerting. One moment I was in a place not quite of this world, and the next I was walking over a bridge looking down at eight lanes of traffic.

Yes, I do believe I needed today to reground my spirit. 

Tonight, the trail ahead once again seems daunting. I understand why most people don’t attempt this part of the journey. Even to have come this far, for me, is the hardest physical challenge I’ve ever tackled. And I want to do more? Yes, for some crazy reason I don’t pretend to understand, I do. At least my digestive system seems to have settled down for now, so I won’t have to contend with those issues as I walk.

Tomorrow’s walk is the longest I’ll tackle on this segment of my journey - 21k.

One step at a time.

Photos: the cathedral at dawn, from the window of my room; a statue at the cathedral - I feel the same way; the park where I sat to rest and read for a couple of hours this afternoon 

El Camino: Santiago de Compostela

 

I made it!

It was a long night. After lunch mostly stayed in yesterday, I decided to get dinner. It didn’t stay in at all. I didn’t count how many times I startled awake in the night telling myself, “Don’t fart!!”, before scooting to the toilet to divest my innards of yet another portion of dinner, but it was way more than three.

I got up in the morning determined to finish the walk anyways. I didn’t come all this way to take a taxi the last 20km if I could avoid it. So I doubled down on my dose of Imodium, packed extra clothes and a bunch of toilet paper in my bag, just in case, ate a piece of toast for breakfast, and set off down the road. I figured, worse case scenario, I’d become well acquainted with all the brush screens on the trail.

Fortunately for my dignity, my system decided to settle down, and while still being careful not to cut loose a fart, I made it to Santiago without trouble.

I walked, as did those around me, with a sense of heightened anticipation - Today, we reach a goal! Most of the scenery on the walk was what I’d become accustomed to this week, and the change, just 3km from the end of the walk, from quiet countryside to jam-packed city streets was jarring to my senses. As soon as I hit the city, I lost my friends, the concrete signposts which had showed me the way to go all week. And, with so many people of the streets, I lost sight of my trail people. Thank goodness for Google maps, or I’d have gotten lost at the last turn before the cathedral.

It felt almost anticlimactic as I finished the walk and stepped onto the plaza. Where was my finish line? Why was the crowd of people not cheering me on?? No high fives???

A bit sad, I found my way to a seat on the edge of the plaza, and sat down to rest my feet. As I sat, my sense of disappointment lifted. The sight of the magnificent face of the the cathedral before me, something I never really thought I get to see outside of photos, soothed my soul. I felt it welcome yet another pilgrim home.

My feet were too sore to even think about going inside, so after sitting entranced at the sights and celebrations surrounding me for a time, I wearily got to my feet, and trudged off to find my alburge, which turned out to be just ten minutes away.

My room here is adorable; he put me on the third floor, so I could have the best view - I can see the spires of the cathedral from my window. I took a chance on lunch around three (it took some doing to convince my now leery stomach that food was a good idea, but I’m good this far), did my laundry and came back to my room to write this update.

I have a rest day tomorrow before heading off to begin the second portion of my hike the following day. I will try to give my feet a break, so won’t do a lot of sightseeing, but do plan to get back to see the inside of the cathedral. I’m sure it’s beautiful beyond description.

I’m here!

Photos: me, celebrating (I can do my own high fives, thank you very much); one of the way markers; one more ancient church 

El Camino: O Pedrouzo

I swear, the last ten minutes of each day’s walk takes longer than the first five kilometers. 

Today’s 18km walk was definitely easier than yesterday’s 13km. The steep downhills I tackled then were (mostly) replaced by a long steady slope down. Much easier on the legs.

I finally found someone who walks at my pace. Jack is 78, spent 32 years in the army, and has walked the entire distance from France. We had a delightful conversation for the first 5km, when I dropped him off so he could grab a cup of coffee.

So far, there’s been a something that made each day’s hike more of a struggle than it needs to be. Today’s challenge was the aftermath of an upset digestive system. (I think the culprit was a piece of Spanish omelette I had for lunch the day before yesterday.) I first noticed something off yesterday morning - breakfast just didn’t sound good. I forced it down anyways, figuring I needed the fuel, but by lunchtime food was a definite no-go.  Nothing sounded good; my stomach was in knots. I had some lentil soup for dinner, which went down well, and was in my room and crashed by 8. Somewhere in the night, my system decided it had had enough of this nonsense, and instituted a colon cleanse. You know what I mean.

I took some Imodium, but that stuff needs time to take effect, and I could hardly sit around waiting to see how things were going to come out, so to speak. So, I got up in the morning, and headed down to breakfast, hoping there would be some yogurt and fruit, which were the only things that sounded good. The hiking gods were with me, and I was able to eat a little. I waited a few minutes, grateful there was no line for the restroom and sure enough, I was soon visiting the facilities. But the big ache in my gut stayed gone, so I took another tablet, and set off down the road.

I didn’t dare eat anything while walking today; restrooms on the trail are few and far between, so I contented myself with electrolyte drinks; I didn’t really feel hungry anyways.

When I got to my room for tonight, I ate an orange I had squirreled away, and a couple of protein bars. It was all I had on hand, and I didn’t want to chance a restaurant, just in case. The good news is that things seem to be under control. *whew* - I’ll head out to dinner shortly, do what I can to eat a light meal.

Tomorrow’s walk is about the same as today’s; it’ll be 19km. If my stomach will stay settled, I think I’ll enjoy it - it’s the home stretch for part I of my journey!

Photos: a beautiful stream; there were no man made churches on the first part of today’s route, but nature filled in the gap with this natural cathedral; someone with vision created a garden from old shoes - it was adorable!

El Camino : Arzua

Today’s Camino lesson is that not all kilometers are created equal.

I didn’t walk as far today as I did yesterday, but it took more out of me because it was up a hill, down a hill, repeat, all day long. I’m pretty tired.

That said, I survived the hike in decent shape, except for my calves; they’re pretty tight long about now. Here’s hoping my yoga therapy balls work their magic, because otherwise tomorrow will be a slow slog.

I still, when I finish my breakfast each morning, linger for just a bit, waiting for a general boarding call, I guess. But no, people just gather their gear and leave whenever. Weird!

Yesterday, I didn’t run into any of the people I’d already met, though the trail was crowded. This morning, as I was first headed out, I ran into my German friends from the first night, and they greeted me like a long-lost friend. Big smiles, open-armed welcome. They said they’d been wondering how I was faring. When I heard that, my heart gave a happy little sigh. *friends!*

I saw them several times along the way, until they stopped for one more coffee, and I left them behind, heart just a bit fuller than it was when I started out.

They say the people in the stores and restaurants along the trail are grateful for the foot traffic - it provides their livelihood. For the most part, I have to agree - but there are always exceptions, no?

I needed a pee break, so stopped at a little coffee bar, whose restrooms were for customers only. I was good with that, I needed a little fruit. I tried the door, but it was locked. I waited a bit, figuring it was in use, but then a lady came in behind me, and the proprietor buzzed it open for her. I looked at him, told him I did intend to order a something, but wanted to empty my bladder first.

He just glared at me, but I figured that was his problem and ducked in behind the previous customer when she came out. When I went to place my order, he took a few minutes to clean up a stack of dishes on the counter first, ignoring me. When he finally turned to me, I asked if I could buy an orange. (He was selling fresh squeezed juice.) “No”, he replied. “I sell juice, NOT fruit!” In English. I guess I’m not the first person to try to bend his rules.

To keep peace between the nations, I went ahead and ordered a juice.

Two days left to Santiago, the end point of most people’s Camino journey, the midpoint of mine. It’ll be a longer day - 18km. I think I’ve got this?  Wish me luck.

Photos: me, with one of the German women; the first church of the morning; a peaceful farm, waking up in the morning mist.

El Camino: Malide

I was !tired! today.

Despite my exhaustion, or perhaps because of it, I didn’t sleep well last night. All the noises woke me up, and in a new room in a new town, there are a lot of new noises.

But I got up on time, got dressed, and got my keister down to breakfast and onto the trail anyways.

Each morning, when I first hit the trail, I have a lot of company. But I am one of the slower walkers, especially this morning, and soon the first group leaves me in the dust, and I can meander along contemplating life things.

The Universe is talking to me. Sadly, I haven’t had the sort of revelation I hear others talk about, perhaps because I’m still working to incorporate the life lessons it’s already brought to my attention - like learning that, sometimes, it’s ok to trust other people.

Yesterday, as I walked, I asked myself why I had my journal and iPad in my pack. It’s been drilled into my travel brain that one should NEVER leave such items in checked luggage, and leaving my suitcase behind each morning to be schlepped along certainly feels a lot like checking a bag. But did I really think these hostels were digging through bags of stinky hiking clothes, looking for treasures? Why was I insisting on carrying more weight than I needed to?

Over the course of that long day, the extra weight (around 2 lbs), which I hadn’t even noticed on the first two days, pulled at my shoulders and weighed down my steps. (I think I also had my pack straps adjusted incorrectly, adding insult to injury for my suffering upper back.) The experience was totally a physical manifestation of this aspect of my trust issues. This was necessary because???

This morning, I left the iPad and journal in my other bag. It was the right decision.

I could not have repeated yesterday’s walk today. Not if I wanted to walk on tomorrow. It took a good hour for my body parts to start complaining in earnest, but at some point I realized I had bruised the tips of my toes on all those downhills the day before. My calves weren’t locked up, which I think is the best I could have asked for, but they started speaking unkindly around 7km. Thanks to the moleskin I’d put on, the blisters on my baby toes didn’t scream too loudly until I was almost to Melide, but once they started talking, they demanded attention. With less weight to carry, my shoulders had no new complaints, though they were not completely silent; I can’t blame them for holding a grudge.

I arrived here in Melide in better shape than I deserve and was done for the day in time for rain to settle in for the afternoon. I took a nap, and woke up knowing I have the oomph I’ll need to do all this again tomorrow - it’ll be another shortish day - 13km.

I don’t know I could ask for more right now.

Photos: a determined tree root; one of the many small, ancient churches dotting the landscape; a section of trail - that probably used to be level with the surrounding fields. How many times do you have to walk across a field to dig the level down six feet??