My first visit, but surely not my last. Isle of Man is a delightful, enchanted place, made even more so because of time spent with dear friends who live there. Our time there felt like being transported back in history, in a good way, without the racism or misogyny. Just stress-free life, friendly people who talk with you at the shops or on the trains. Small roads where no more than two cars can travel. Drivers following the speed limit and not riding your bumper (and who use turn signals consistently). Pubs filled with neighbors chatting over a pint before heading to dinner. Castles, both restored and not, rich with history. A flag with a triskelion.
And the Fairy Bridge. A tiny bridge that the fairies live under. With a sign that reminds you to “Say Hi to the Fairies” as you pass over. Which we did. Any place that invites whimsy, and magic, and fantasy is one that I will revisit over and over. ❤
The view from our living room window. Spectacular!The beach in Port ErinBreakfast of a sausage and bacon bap and a latte. So incredibly delicious.View from a two hour hikeLook closely and you’ll see seals!Me and my shadowIsle of Calf in the distanceWho doesn’t love a place where they serve chips/french fries for breakfast??? YUM!Riding the electric train to the highest point on the island, SnaefellThe Laxey Water Wheel, the largest operating water wheel in the worldView from the steam train compartmentLeftover tweed bitsOne loom at Laxey Woollen MillsThe castle at CastletownWho doesn’t apprecitate a good pun?The triskelion on a hot chocolate!The beach at Peel
He said he was going blackberry picking the next day to gather berries to make wine. I couldn’t think of anything I’d like to do more. Not the traditional holiday activity, but one that spoke to my soul, and the perfect last day activity to cap off four amazing days on the island. We agreed on a time and the next day the four of us set out, to abandoned train tracks lined with blackberry brambles (and stinging nettles – eek! and thistles – eek!).
Our goal was 2.1 kg of berries between the four of us. As we walked further from the road, the air breathed cleaner, the sun seemed to shine brighter, the birds’ songs filled the air. We worked in silence, each absorbed in the task of finding the perfect berry, the one that practically fell from the vine as you touched it, the berry still intact, plump with juices.
My fingers shone with black, and blue, and red stains. My fingers ached from accidentally encountering thorns and thistles and nettles. I shed my jacket, welcoming the warm sun on my bare arms.
I added my bag of berries to the collective bucket, the last one to do so. 1.2 kg. We still had work to do. We continued walking down the path, each claiming a section of brambles to work. Each time we added berries to the bucket, the weight varied tremendously. 1.5 kg. 4.0 kg. 3.2 kg. 2.6 kg. We collectively decided the bucket looked reasonably full, and walked back to our cars.
Final weigh in – 3+ kg of berries. Enough for wine, and then some. And a delightful morning with dear friends, fresh air, and sunshine.
Walking along the abandoned railway pathCareful not to disturb the spider’s beautiful webAn aphid, perhaps?Adding berries to the bucket!Sticky, stained fingers
Last year, my dear friend Kayla sent me a postcard from the LA Independent Stationery Store crawl on Stationery Store Day (yes, there is such a thing). I immediately committed to flying to Los Angeles for this year’s event. Which was yesterday.
I arrived to LAX on Friday afternoon. Over dinner, we mapped out our route for the next day (well, Kayla mapped it out and I watched; I have no concept of Southern California geography). There were 16 stores participating, in multiple neighborhoods in Los Angeles, Culver City, Hermosa Beach, Pasadena, and Santa Monica. Kayla estimated the time to travel between locations, and the ideal amount of time to spend in each store. We debated whether our goal should be to attempt to visit every store (there was a passport, and raffle prizes to be won depending on how many store stamps were collected) or to enjoy the journey (and still try to visit as many stores as possible). We opted for the latter.
We left shortly after 10 am on Saturday morning – bottles of water, snacks, sunscreen, and enthusiasm in tow. Giddiness enveloped us. We were on a stationery adventure! Kayla and I write to each other regularly (really write, not email) and we were excited to see what we might add to our stashes. All of the stores were independently owned, and most were tiny, and with bespoke collections of all manner of stationery: cards, paper, pens, ink, journals, stickers, and so much more! In many of the locations the owners were there, and the people working there were delightful. We had conversations about letterpress and printing methods, cardstock weight, pen silkiness, graphics, postage. We ran into many of the same shoppers throughout the day. We geeked out on how much we love stationery – the tactile pleasure of choosing just the right card for someone, of slowing down and taking the time to write a message, knowing that you won’t receive an immediate response (or maybe no response, and that’s okay), of picking just the right stamp, of physically dropping it in a post box.
Many of the stores had free treats or giveaways. Grab bags of individual cards or card sets or paper. Pens in various colors. Stickers. A Plinko token for a game to see what prize you might win.
And the inventory in each store! Oh my! Artistic cards. Funny cards. Beautiful cards. For birthdays. For bar/bat mitzvahs. For sympathy. For engagements. For weddings. For anniversaries. For new arrivals to the family. For new homes. For friendship. For giving thanks. For holidays. And then all the blank ones that you could send for whatever occasion you wanted. Gift tags. Stationery sets. Envelopes. Journals. Loose paper. Bound paper. Pens in the entire rainbow of colors and more. Ink wells. Pen holders. Pen stands. Pen pouches. Stickers, and stickers, and more stickers. Washi tape. Special Stationery Day merchandise (bags, journals, pencils, notepads, postcards). And the aesthetic was different in each store. I was surprised that we didn’t see much overlap.
We arrived home around 7:30 pm; a full day of all things stationery, lots of giggles, and priceless friend time. We were tired, but the good kind of tired, the kind where you’ve spent hours doing something you love with someone you love.
A recent fortune in a fortune cookie I received said, “Collect experiences, not things.” While there were some things collected on this trip from the 11 stationery stores that we visited, it’s the experience of making a somewhat crazy plan (flying to LA for 36 hours for a stationery crawl), seeing virtually all of Los Angeles in a day, and spending the day with a dear friend that will be forever etched into my memory.
Now, time to write some letters!
Stop 1 – Shorthand in Larchmont Village. Where a man asked us if we were at a bachelorette party….Stop 2 – LandisStop 3 – Flax Pen to PaperStop 4 – Sugar PaperStop 5 – Lundeen’sStop 6 – HighTide Store DTLAStop 7 – Shout and AboutShohei Ohtani mural – I think I’m in loveStop 8 – The Social TypeStop 9 – Parchment PaperAs soon as we left, they hung the “closed” sign on the door …Stop 10 – Shorthand, the original storeStop 11 – Be Nice Have FunOur completed passports!
The days themselves aren’t as hard as I thought they would be. It’s the eves that do me in. Maybe it’s the anticipation. Of thinking about the day, of all the past days, of all the memories.
We didn’t often spend Easter together, so I thought perhaps this holiday wouldn’t impact me as much as others, such as Christmas and birthdays. But Easter is synonymous with Dad’s passing. He passed on Palm Sunday, and because it was a busy week for the holy folks, we didn’t hold his celebration of life until Easter Monday. The dates are different each year, yet the season reminds me these were our last days together.
And Mom loved Easter. I gave her a basket each year with treats and lots of chocolate, her favorite. I didn’t keep many of her clothes after she passed. There was a sweater I gave her one Easter, lavender with bunnies on it. She loved to wear that sweater. I kept that one. It’s too small for me; maybe I’ll repurpose it into a scarf. Or maybe I’ll simply pull it out of my drawer and remember how much Mom loved it and smile.
I was invited to a friend’s family get together on Easter eve. It was bustling, NCAA basketball was on the tv, and dozens of guests came throughout the evening. I made little treat boxes for the hosts. It was such a fun, joyful evening, the sadness of anticipation wasn’t dominant. When I got home, I reflected on our favorite Easters and fell asleep very grateful.
We were finishing dinner, and heard the boom of fireworks. We walked towards the Omni Grove Park Inn, and stood in awe as display after display mesmerized us. A pickup truck pulled up beside us on the street. They set up chairs in the bed and watched the lights, oohing and aahing with each explosion. When it was over, they commented it was an appetizer for tomorrow’s show. I prefer to think of them as an amuse bouche, preparing our palate for what’s to come.
Mom was in her element. She loves socializing. She loves children. She loves candy. We sat on the porch in rocking chairs, 6 feet away from the small table with a huge bowl of candy on it. As soon as she saw children approaching on the sidewalk (a good 30 feet from where we were sitting), she started gesturing, inviting them to our porch, “Come here! Come here!”
“How many can I take?” the unicorns, Cruella DeVils, Spidermen, and vampires asked.
“As many as you want, sweetie!” I tried to explain to her that we’d likely get hundreds of children over the course of the evening, so maybe we’d want to limit them to 1 or 2 pieces. “Oh, yes, that’s what I was thinking.”
The next group of children arrived. “Look at you! Aren’t you just precious! Take as much as you like!” Fists emerged with overflowing handfuls of miniature candy.
It was more important for her to enjoy herself that for us not to run out of candy. Mentally, I started thinking about what else we had in the cupboards. A box or two of granola bars. Some small bags of peanuts. Possibly some hot cocoa packets? If nothing else, I had some one dollar bills we could give out if we ran out of everything else. Do kids use Venmo at Halloween?
The kids would leave and she’d exclaim again, “I don’t know when we’ve seen this many children!” Then she’d laugh and laugh and laugh.
“We’re having a good day today, aren’t we?” I often say what I want her to believe.
“I haven’t had this much fun in ages!” Me, too, Mom. Me, too.
I’ve just eaten the traditional New Year’s lunch of collard greens with bacon, black eyed peas with ham, and cornbread. Supposedly this will bring a year of wealth, fortune, and prosperity.
2019 was perhaps my most difficult year yet. Witnessing my Dad’s health decline, and his passing, was heartbreaking. Moving my Mom to Asheville, out of what she considered her forever home, was heartbreaking. Watching her cognitive struggle as Alzheimer’s progresses is heartbreaking. Grieving for a co-worker who passed; grieving for a friend’s spouse who passed. Grieving for the state of our nation and the hate that has rooted. It’s felt as though the year was overshadowed by loss.
And for all the grieving, and difficulties, and losses, there was incredible joy as well. I work with a team who are simply amazing. They are smart, compassionate, supportive, and bring a smile (and usually a guffaw) to my face every day. I visited friends in San Francisco multiple times. I celebrated milestone birthdays with friends I’ve know for decades. I witnessed the investiture of a dear friend onto the North Carolina Supreme Court. I visited Cape Cod for the first time (and ate my weight in lobster). I completed so many jigsaw puzzles (an activity which brings me overwhelming feelings of calm and peace). I completed a Sunday New York Times crossword without relying on any hints. I spent time in person with Mom several times each week. I celebrated EJI’s 30th anniversary and heard Bryan Stevenson speak in person. I saw Elton John in concert. I witnessed two dear friends get married in a stunning ceremony in the UK. I celebrated a bat mitzvah with dear friends who feel more like family. I welcomed many visitors to Asheville, making my cozy house feel more and more like home.
I search for things that Mom will enjoy. Experiences that are relatively short and have a visual or musical element to them. Conversations can be hard. Crowds and loud noises can be upsetting. I saw an ad for “Winter Lights” and thought that could be a hit. The NC Arboretum strings thousands and thousands of Christmas lights on the trees and plants throughout the grounds. I asked Mom if she’d like to go, and she said, “Sure.” So tonight we bundled up and walked the grounds, oohing and aahing at the displays. We came to an area which, from a distance, I thought was a S’more making station, so I steered Mom that way (I have a soft spot for marshmallows). Once we got closer, we were informed it was a “wish station.” The volunteer encouraged us to write a wish on the tags provided, and then hang them from the trees. I asked Mom if she’d like to make a wish. “Sure,” she said and took a marker. She finished and I told her to choose a tree to hang it from. We hung it and I read the wish. “ThiNGs will Bette Nest year.” And my heart broke just a little. I want things to be better next year, too.
We walked a little more, and found a bench in front of the centerpiece of the Winter Lights display, a tree made out of lights that changed patterns with each song that played. We sat, not talking, and watched the light patterns. “I like that one,” I said, when a multi-colored pattern appeared. “It looks like a Lite-Brite.” Mom looked and said, “Dad and I used to come here. We loved the lights.” Again, my heart broke just a little, as this was the first time either of us had visited Winter Lights. “Tell me about when you visited.” And she did, recalling imaginary visits, where they went, what they saw, what they loved. I listened quietly and when she stopped said, “That sounds really lovely.”
Christmas Tree Lights Purple and Pink
Christmas Tree Lights rainbow
Christmas Tree Lights red and green
Christmas Tree Lights green
Christmas Tree Lights cascading rainbow
“WORSt YEAR IN MY LIFE”
This is what I saw when we returned to Mom’s apartment tonight, stuck on the wall just to the right of the doorway. It was right below another post it note that read
“SADDIST Thanks GivviNG”
I asked her to tell me about the notes. We sat on the couch, her head leaning on my shoulder. She whimpered and said that she just missed my Dad so much. That she didn’t understand why he had to die. And why he had to die so quickly. And that she felt completely lost without him. I held her tight, tears running down my cheeks, and said, “I know. I know.”
As I sat around the table, looking at so many people who I am incredibly lucky to have in my life, I wondered at what point traditions become traditions. I couldn’t think of any other way I’d like to spend Easter, even though it’s essentially a repeat of every year prior. I love spending it with my godson, and love the comfortableness that comes knowing there will always be lamb to eat, the egg game, and red eggs.
We start the evening with cocktails and everyone catches up with each other – who’s traveled where, how school is going, how jobs are going, what people’s plans are for the summer. Over dinner, there continues to be animated conversation, then after dinner (but before dessert) is the egg game. Each person chooses a plastic egg at random, and when it’s their turn, opens the egg, which contains a slip of paper with a question. The questions are meant to provoke answers that could be potentially humorous, potentially embarrassing. When the person answers the question there’s often banter from around the table, either in agreement or disagreement. My question this year was tame compared to some of the others – “What actor or actress creeps you out the most and why?” I’m not good with names, but it was the killer in No Country for Old Men. Whenever I see him, I can’t get that role out of my head. Questions that provoked great conversation this year were, “What was the worst thing someone overshared with you on a first date?”, “Would you rather not use your phone/computer/electronics for a week or not take a shower for a week?” and “What was the worst travel experience you’ve ever had?”
After dessert, we pass around a basket of hard-boiled eggs, all dyed a brilliant deep red. We pair up with the person next to us and position the eggs pointed end to pointed end. One person says, “Cristos anesti!” and the other replies “Alithos anesti!” and the first person taps the other person’s egg. One of the eggs cracks, and that person is out of the competition for the pointed end. You flip your eggs over, and do the same with the blunt end of the egg. As long as you have one end of your egg that isn’t cracked, you continue around the room, tapping eggs and exclaiming, “Cristos anesti!”
The night ends with hugs and kisses, and hopes of seeing each other soon. It’s the same every year. Despite that, or maybe because of that, it’s one of the holidays I treasure most.
LoriLoo 