A Friend has suggested that although travel is one way to ‘deepen life experience,’ attempting to live simply may be a better choice. These thoughtful ideas deserve a thoughtful reply.

I have experienced frequent internal struggle between my climate activism, living simply (as a Quaker), and my desire to explore the world. Last week, I was interviewed with two other Quaker climate activists about our ‘leadings,’ the internal call or pull to do this work.

In preparation, as I considered the questions, I recognized that my superficial expectations did not match my reality. Superficially, my expectation was that a true leading would be constant, unchanging, steady, and fearless. In fact, my inclination to be active in climate action and protests, although alive for many years, wavers, depending on my changing physical, mental, and emotional energy levels. My decisions to take part (or not) in a particular action are not uniform, but affected by both my energy levels and expected demands.

The simplest explanation is probably simply that I am human. The images that I carry of a hero or heroine are not realistic, but imagined. Another of the activists interviewed with me also expressed his dramatically changed perspective on his activism, that he is not likely to continue in his leadership role. In a later conversation with him, he assured me that if I called on him to stand with me in front of another coal train, he’d be there.

This may sound as if I’m going in circles. What I want to say is that we are each individuals who fluctuate in intention, ability, and desire. Furthermore, we must each be attentive and receptive to our own internal calling. This is especially true in light of the multitudes of external forces constantly demanding our attention.

I am not suggesting that travel is a necessary component of a good life. However, if it is one that speaks to you, it can be a powerful, effective way to both touch other lives and to be expanded in our own. We live on a astonishing planet with many magnificent creatures and cultures. If you are pulled to explore other parts of the globe, then, please, do it and do it consciously. If you choose to stay at home, please don’t make that choice from fear. Rather, do it consciously, choosing internal inspiration over external. Either choice may be the right choice for you.

Possibly because my bed is next to a window where birds are currently nesting, I awoke this morning with a strange thought: wondering about the experience of a worm being fed to a bird. I want to be fully conscious of my experiences, aware, and I want to consciously choose experiences. The opportunity to be alive on this planet today should not be wasted.

Copyright ©️ 2023

Considering whether to finish writing my book, I ask you, my blog readers, if this might be of interest to you and to others you know. My introduction may include some of this:

In her evocative memoir, The Empathy Diaries, Sherry Turkle, MIT professor of Social Studies of Science and Technology, explores what process might allow or cause someone to see themselves differently: “their past, their present, their possibilities for change.” (P. 198) Although Turkle’s focus was on technology as the propagator of change, in my life, I have had the opportunity to observe myself change with travel as the mechanism. Furthermore, travel creates, but does not mandate, the opportunity for change, beginning with making the decision to travel.

DJ DiDonna imagined new possibilities for his life after his 900-mile Buddhist pilgrimage in Japan. (2/16/23 Harvard Gazette article) After being a successful entrepreneur, DJ was beginning to burn out. Sometimes the downside of a successful life is imagining being confined within it forever. Even within a wonderful life, we need change.

In her 2/16/23 Radcliffe lecture, Jennifer Finney Boylan asked, “How do we become ourselves?” Although she asked the question as a trans author, she suggests that this process is universal, that we all seek “the next best draft of the self.”

Rick Steves, travel writer, adds another layer to this by suggesting that travel not only changes the traveler, but indeed changes the world. (Travel as a Political Act, 2021, Rick Steves.)

Not being quite as bold as Rick, the basis for this book is that my life and its direction have been remarkably altered by my travel and also by my decision to travel. It’s not intended as a travelogue, although the travel descriptions may be of interest, but as a narrative of some key moments of my life that were uniquely affected by my travel choices, alternating with descriptions of that travel. It’s very clear to me that my life has been affected by my travel choices. My strongest wish is that, as a traveler, my effect on the world has not been as an ‘ugly American.’ (The Ugly American, 1958, Burdick, Eugene and Lederer, William)

In this book, I will describe four particular trips, very different from each other, and how they each changed me, by changing my ‘possibility for change.’ The four trips were 1. A trans-Atlantic sail with another couple in their 43-foot cutter in 1995, 2. A month traveling solo in Thailand in 2001, 3. A three-week visit as a volunteer in a Kenyan orphanage in 2012, and 4. Eighteen days in Israel and Palestine in 2019.

Some of my other travel not described here includes multiple two to three week trips to France and Italy; Panama and cruising its canal; Turkey, England, the Camino pilgrimage in Spain, Egypt; and a year traveling throughout the United States, including two months in Mexico, with my first husband, our 5-year-old son, and our dog. Each of those trips must have changed me and my possible futures as well, but in this book, I am choosing to focus on the sail, Thailand, the Kenyan orphanage, and Israel/Palestine for three specific reasons. First: the changes generated in me by those trips have been very apparent both to me and others; also, because I have some written records of each, and, finally, because something I wrote after the Israel/Palestine trip has just returned to remind me of that trip’s influence on me and on others who heard about it from me. . .

Do you want more?

Copyright ©️ 2022

As I’ve aged, I’ve had fewer days when I feel like this, bursting with energy. (See my earlier blog, Aging and Ageism.) But, today I do, so I’m going to dissect it, or at least try. Here are some of the seeds of this burst, as there are multiple threads.

First, I must describe a string of events that is clearly one of the seeds, beginning with my ongoing, unfulfilled need and desire for physical activity. Although I do not have athleticism in my past, during my fifties, I, by chance, became a rower with a fabulous group of people, mostly women in Gloucester, the Gloucester gig rowers. We rowed in heavy boats called gigs, six rowers and a coxswain, who guided the path of the gig. As rowers, we each faced away from the direction we were going, each manipulating one heavy oar. Initially, one of the challenges was to synchronize with the other rowers, to the timing set by the coxswain. After mastering the synchronization, the next challenge was to gain speed by using more force. This was quite challenging and exhilarating.

As I aged and, without realizing it, approached having a heart attack, recognizing my diminishing energy, I left rowing and began tap dancing at local senior centers throughout my sixties. This was, again, nothing I had done when I was younger and I completely loved it! In fact, after class, when I had a heart attack followed by a triple bypass, I couldn’t wait to return to class. After physical therapy, I was delighted when I was finally told it was safe to return to tapping. However, my energy level was lower than it had been; I just couldn’t keep up the pace needed, despite the encouragement and acceptance by Debbie, my beloved teacher.

Today, this morning, I’ve started another physical activity that left me as excited as I was about rowing and tapping — water aerobics! During the past few days, one tapping friend told me about these classes at my local Y. I investigated, learned that my health insurance would fully cover the membership fees, signed up for class, and showed up this morning. The 45-minute class was much more of a workout than I expected and more fun, especially knowing that my body really needs this exercise. Today’s class is one of about fifteen offered each week. Additionally, I’m anticipating my next cardiologist visit, knowing that she’ll be very pleased that I’m doing this. And, I won’t have to experience guilt that I’m not doing what I can to improve my health.

Among the positive sparks that I experienced in the water was appreciating the fact that I could see! The last time I was in a water aerobics class was decades ago, long before my cataract surgeries. I was extremely near-sighted without my eyeglasses, so could never see the instructor clearly. Now, post-cataracts, I could see everything, including the smile on Scott, our kind instructor. One more tiny extra was this amazing contraption that I used afterwards, that squeeged my bathing suit, squeezed almost all the water out!

Another recent change in my life is my new participation in a city tax abatement program available to seniors. In return for about 75 hours of volunteer work, just a few each week, I’ll receive $1000 decrease in my property tax bill. I’m excited about performing this work at BevCam, our local television channel. Despite not having a television for the past fifty years, I’m a fan of BevCam, because, among other things, they broadcast the city council meetings. I don’t need to watch them, because, when one is of interest to me, I’m there. Occasionally, someone says to me, “I saw you on television!” The only thing standing between me and beginning work at BevCam is a CORI check. I hope that my recent arrest for civil disobedience doesn’t prevent me from getting this new job!

Another contributor to my high mood today is that I’m having lunch with my son this afternoon, always an enormous pleasure for me. I don’t ever want to take for granted that we enjoy each other’s company and mutually seek time to spend together. The final contribution to today’s mood is merely a possibility, but one on which I think I’m going to act: an upcoming Celtic spiritual retreat in May, which is totally inviting. Anyone interested in joining me as a roommate?

So, these four threads, a new aerobics class, working with BevCam, lunch with my son, and the possibility of a retreat in Ireland, have intertwined to push my energy level to bursting. It feels wonderful!

Copyright ©️ 2023

Simply the thought of Valentine’s Day conjures up visions that remind us of love. Well, I have both strong memories from the past and good plans for this Valentine’s Day that I am happy to share.

In 1976, not on Valentine’s Day, but on Father’s Day, my son was born. Because it was Father’s Day, because I adored my father, and because our son’s father agreed, we named our son after my father, John Valentine. I have no idea why that was his middle name. He was a Junior and perhaps his dad had been born on Valentine’s Day. Nevertheless, my son’s name was John Valentine and, 56 years later, I continue to love him dearly. I always send him a special Valentine’s Day card, but this year he’s getting something different.

A few weeks ago, I attended a local concert featuring a group of barbershop quartets. As I was leaving, I picked up a flyer describing a Valentine’s Day special. For a relatively reasonable price, I could arrange for a quartet to arrive at my house at a designated time on Valentine’s Day, sing two romantic songs, present a rose, and take a picture of us. My husband and I aren’t much for gifts any more — he never was! — but this offer seemed too good to ignore. We’ve been married for 32 glorious years, I feel more blessed every year, and I love the thought of surprising him with this.

I arranged for the quartet to arrive between 10 and 11 am, a time Paul is generally home. Unexpectedly, as a follow-up to his recent knee replacement, he arranged for his next physical therapy appointment to be at 10 am on Valentine’s Day. When he told me, I asked him to change it to a different day, with no explanation. He seemed a bit confused, but consented. I’ll need to keep him from making any other plans for that morning.

I also texted my daughter-in-law (and I rarely text) and asked her to call me when John wasn’t around. During our phone conversation, I asked what time they would both be home on Valentine’s Day, because I wanted to arrange for a surprise delivery. She would know the timing, but not what was being delivered, as it will be a gift and surprise for both of them. I asked her not to divulge any info to John.

So, I have these two Valentine surprises planned for the most important valentines in my life. If you read this before Valentine’s Day, please don’t spoil the surprise!

Then, when I contacted my quartet group to put in this additional order, I learned it was out of their territory. Fortunately, they gave me contact information for another quartet group in John’s area, which promised to deliver a similar set of songs, with a rose, a dozen chocolate kisses, and a picture at 4 pm, the time they needed.

Copyright ©️ 2023

For about fifty years, I have been attending weekend retreats and workshops, one every year or two. Until Covid, that is. Sometimes I make my selection based on a skill I wanted to develop or lessons to be learned, sometimes based on exploration or simply self indulgence. Always the location, its food, and its philosophy influence my decision. Among my favorite destinations are Woolman Hill, a Quaker facility and Kripalu, both in western Massachusetts, and Omega, in upstate New York. Kripalu and Omega are quite well known, large, and well-regarded. Woolman Hill is smaller and a treasure. Among the topic focuses that have attracted me have been activism, writing, mysticism, music, meditation, and self-development. During my working years, many workshops focused on developing management skills. I’ve never returned home disappointed, always feeling expanded and enriched. Also, I often led workshops, helping to expand participants’ knowledge, understanding, and skills.

Last weekend, I attended another retreat at Kripalu, ‘Awakening the Wild Woman’s Soul.’ Some, including my husband, would argue that my soul was sufficiently wild and awake already.

I left home Friday morning in high spirits in my electric car, my beloved Mini Cooper, knowing I would need to recharge twice along the way. On these trips, there’s always a bit of anxiety, wondering whether the charging stations will be working and available. The first stop was uneventful, thank goodness! The next stop was a single charger at a Dunkin, inviting me to indulge in a donut, a guilty pleasure, sure, but allowed under these circumstances. I hooked up my car. Once, twice, three times, it appeared to connect, then stopped. I called the charging company. A friendly voice answered quickly, then asked me to hold while she checked the location. Hmmmmmm. Not working. However, the friendly voice asked me to wait another minute while she located another nearby charger. Success! She gave me the address of another one, six miles away, that she assured me was working.

I didn’t get a donut, got back in my car, drove to the other location, and quickly recharged. Well, thirty minutes worth of electricity, about twelve dollars, then continued on to Kripalu, with two chargers available to clients. When I arrived, they were both in use and I pulled into a nearby parking space, considering whether to leave a note on one of the cars with my contact information.

Wait! One of the drivers returned to his car, unplugged it, and drove away. I pulled in, tried to connect the plug, without success. The mechanism was different than usual and I couldn’t figure it out. The other driver hadn’t left, but came over to me and helped me hook up. What a relief!

The drive had felt long and uninspiring. Arrival and the aid of this man completely changed my attitude. I checked in, had a delicious, nutritious dinner, then walked up to my meeting room on the second floor. Sixty-five of us were seated in a large circle, Renee, our leader, among us, with a headset and a microphone.

If I describe the activities in which she engaged us — singing, dancing, coloring, meditation, foot and back massages, small group discussions — none of it sounds very special. What made it special was Renee. Renee is exceptional, a fully present, beautiful woman, who invited my own energy to soar and fill to overflowing. She invited me to see, recognize, and release my best self. She occasionally asked questions and asked us to write our responses, later giving us cues to circle a particular phrase. Also, we sometimes separated into groups of three or four for discussion. Somehow, she made it easy for me to pluck out of myself what I really want to do and my next steps to accomplish that. In a random pairing, I left with one other person agreeing to be mutual allies with me. We will connect, perhaps weekly, for mutual support in our individual promises to ourselves.

I’ve told several friends about this retreat, raving about it, encouraging others to take it. I cannot imagine anyone I know who would be disappointed, perhaps because Renee was so reinforcing to everyone. My group including women from their twenties to their eighties. Age didn’t matter. We were all nourished! In this photo, I’m seated in the center, behind the woman in the pale blue shirt.

Although I have experienced sexism in my life — being turned down for a job because I am a woman — I am not aware of being a victim of ageism. At 76 years old, I have had the opportunity to work until I was ready to retire at 70 years and I have enjoyed some of the benefits of aging, without its disadvantages. Of course, I am leaving out the physical disadvantages of declining health, which I experience. Let me describe three advantages of aging that I have enjoyed.

The first that I experienced was participation in the local Council on Aging (senior center) that I approached tentatively in my sixties, because of course, that was for old people, not me. Despite my age, I did not yet see myself as part of that age group. I don’t remember the first activity that I joined at the Beverly COA, though it was probably an exercise class. Soon after, I learned about a tap dancing class in Marblehead, where beginners were welcomed. Yes, never having taken a dance class, I began tap dancing in my late sixties! My success was not measured by public performances, though I participated in some, but by the joy I experienced by dancing with incredible women and a teacher, Debbie, who brought us together as a community of love. For more details, see Goodbye to Tap Dancing.

That was among my first deep connections to area COA’s, before joining a writing class with Barrie, who continues to encourage me. Additionally, during Covid isolation, I joined a COA class in Holyoke, in which I continue to participate remotely. For more on this, see Thank You, Teachers!

Sometimes, aging generates a reduced travel cost, which I first experienced in Canada, with their trans-Canadian railroad, half price for seniors. My husband and I flew to Vancouver, then traveled by rail to Jasper and back from Banff, an incredible trip, with spectacular views in comfortable glass-domed cars, connected to dining cars with excellent food and service. Although this happened more than ten years ago, we have remained connected to a Japanese couple from San Francisco, who were celebrating a special anniversary. Sadly, he has died since then, but his wife continues our connection.

A much more local rail discount (and more often used) is the T-card, my Charlie card, facilitated through the Beverly COA, which made it easy to apply for and receive locally. This provides me with half-price MBTA subway and commuter rail tickets. Related to this, recently riding the crowded subway in Boston, a young man, recognizing me as an old lady, offered me his seat. I was pleased to accept it, once again receiving a gift from aging.

My final example concerns travel security or the TSA. When I was in Egypt (Notes on Egypt) last November, removing my shoes once again there before a local flight, another traveler mentioned that, at least in the US, being over 75 eliminated the requirement to remove shoes when passing through a TSA site. Because I turned 76 while in Egypt, I noticed her comment and recalled it in New York, before boarding a flight to Boston. At the TSA site, when asked to remove my shoes, I declared with pride, “I’m 76!” “Ok,” the TSA agent said, “Come on through.” Just one more advantage of aging!

I am aware that ageism exists, that sometimes, perhaps often, someone is discriminated against because of increasing age. Fortunately for me, I have not personally experienced that. Perhaps that is because my facial skin, like my mother’s, enjoys smoothness cultivated from our Italian background, resulting in a younger look. Note this picture of my mother and me on her eightieth and my fiftieth birthdays.

Even when a major holiday contains many familiar elements through the years, it’s never identical from one year to the next. However, this year’s Christmas for me retained essentially none of its usual components. Nevertheless, it was not a bad Christmas, simply different. The essential elements of a holiday are not confined to the actual day, but begin before it and continue beyond it. It may be useful to recall that the twelve days of Christmas occur after December 25, so we are dwelling in that space now.

Let me begin with an event from yesterday, connected because of the timing and because of my feelings when it occurred, which could be labeled ‘seasonal.’ I had just pulled into the parking lot outside my local hardware store. Before I’d opened my door, a smiling man approached me, talking. I began to open my door and he said, “I’ve just gotten out of detox and I’m taking a train to visit my daughter. Can you spare something to help me buy lunch?”

Now, I give routinely and generously to multiple helping organizations, but rarely contribute to people begging on the street, standing or sitting with signs. So, what did I do? Remembering a recently watched animated version of “A Christmas Carol,” I opened my purse, took out a twenty and handed it to him. He thanked me and continued walking, allowing me to feel like Scrooge, reformed after the ghosts’ visits.

When I arrived home and relayed this experience to Paul and his physical therapist, there because he was three weeks post-knee replacement, they each frowned, certain that I had been hood-winked. Now, I agree with them. I’m generally a rational, sensible person, also trusting, knowing that dishonest people exist. I’m certainly an optimist, often trusting people. When that man was standing there, telling me his story, it didn’t occur to me that he could be lying to me, or that he could have reached into the car and taken my purse, which, fortunately, he didn’t do.

So, that wasn’t a very happy part of my holiday. Let me share more pleasant parts. Christmas Day was to be for Paul ten days post knee replacement surgery. Knowing that I would be immersed in helping him ice his knee and assisting with his chores, until he was physically able to do them, I couldn’t imagine hosting Christmas dinner. Neither would Paul even be able to get in the car to go anyplace. Fortunately, my soon-to-be daughter-in-law, Ginger, volunteered to prepare and deliver Christmas dinner to share with us, asking only that I bake sweet potatoes and steam asparagus. It turned out that I forgot to bake those potatoes, but there was so much food that I never noticed. And, Ginger was too kind to remind me.

She delivered, as promised, leaving me certain that John was making a good decision to marry this woman now, who he’d first been engaged to 35 years ago! They’d split up before that planned wedding, married others, and eventually divorced, freeing themselves for each other again. She’s smart, thoughtful, AND an excellent cook.

And holiday cards? For the first time ever, I had cards printed with images from Egypt! It felt like too significant a trip to simply mention in an annual newsletter. So, the cards have pictures of the pyramids and of us, plus I wrote a half-page of description to insert. Now, into the first week of January, I have just completed addressing, signing, and stamping them. By the time I got to the post office, there were no more holiday stamps — I really liked the gnomes — so, I used Webb telescope images, which I love. So they are ready to mail, late, but with love.

The normal part of our holiday was Christmas night, when we gathered at my niece, Shannon’s house. Of course, Paul couldn’t go, but it was the most normal part of the day for me, a happy, lovely party.

Paul’s knee continues to heal beautifully. John and Ginger will get married in our home next week, marking the end of this Christmas season with shared joy. Those potatoes are yet to be baked, my holiday cards are almost ready to mail, and that twenty that I gave away, may it carry love, yet to be unleashed.

Copyright © 2023

In early December, I had the honor and pleasure of lobbying with ECCO. That’s an abbreviated way of saying that I flew to Washington, DC with three other members of the Essex County Community Organization (ECCO) and two United Interfaith Action (UIA) representatives in order to urge Massachusetts legislators to support the path to citizenship for immigrants. ECCO is part of the largest faith-based organization in our country; other groups from around the country were in DC, as well, including folks from New Hampshire, Arizona, and California.

Of the other five members of our contingent, I knew only one, Reverend Elizabeth. The other four are immigrants: Oscar and Dinorah of ECCO; and Roselia and Maria of UIA. We met early Monday evening during travel to or arriving at our hotel, the Holiday Inn Capitol, convenient to locations where we would be lobbying, under the banner La Red, our organizer’s name. (I have no idea the significance of that name.)

During and after that first dinner, when we each settled around a ‘state’ table with our new compatriots, we shared in a meeting intended to clarify our intentions, our goals, and our methods. The overall plan was to hold an eight-hour vigil on Tuesday, visit our legislators on Wednesday, then return home on Thursday. You’ve probably heard the expression, ‘The devil is in the details?’ Well, yes, the devil was definitely in the details.

For Tuesday, the plan was for each state group to meet in the morning, continue to make legislative appointments (which we had begun the previous week) and develop roles and messages for each person to use during the visits. If you’ve ever worked in any organizational or development capacity, just imagine this: six people just meeting, with different communication styles, from multiple cultures, no designated leader, establishing relative roles in pursuit of a shared goal — a change in US legislation regarding immigrant status. Two hours were allowed for this planning meeting.

This was seemingly impossible, but we did it! I felt so proud as I watched each person extend him- or herself, offering possibilities for sharing the responsibility, while including each person’s strength and skill, risking ego with humility. Among the roles were maneuvering between appointment locations (because the Capitol locations were spread out over large blocks), time-keeping (because we had five appointments from 11:00 am – 3:30 pm, with lunch somewhere), offering a centering prayer, personal stories (from two immigrants), facilitating (managing introductions and introducing each presenter), asking for the legislator’s support, and taking a group picture.

Maria offered to facilitate, suggesting other roles for each of us. Each person completely rose to the challenge, stretching as needed to practice and modify when constructive criticism was offered. It was only hindsight that allowed me to see the challenge that we met in accomplishing this! I felt honored to be asked to provide the centering prayer. As a Quaker, instead of a word-prayer, I invited each legislator to join us in listening to Divine Presence during a moment of silence. Each meeting was in a different location, including offices, one zoom call, and a noisy cafeteria. Nevertheless, each time, the silent moment resulted in a deep, powerful shared presence.

Similarly, when Roselia and Dinorah shared personal stories of how they and their families have been affected in the myriad ways that lack of citizenship imposes, I was reminded of how much I take for granted, including simply having a library card. I was also reminded of the enormous burden lifted by the recent change in Massachusetts law, which now allows an undocumented immigrant to obtain a driver’s license, increasing overall road safety for everyone and making it easier for an immigrant to secure a good-paying job or take a child to a doctor’s appointment.

Being from Massachusetts and knowing our legislators, we expected their support. Perhaps what we did not expect was the consistent message we heard in response. We met with staff from the offices of Senator Warren, and Representatives Moulton, McGovern, Trajan, and Clark. We repeatedly heard about their support for a DACA path to citizenship for the two million ‘dreamers,’ those immigrants who came to the US as children and have grown up here, been educated, and now work and pay taxes here. Despite the fact that they have not known any other country, they are not US citizens. They deserve to be!

Each Senator’s and Representatives’ staff who we met assured us that they fully supported this; however, the challenge they described was reaching agreement with their Republican counterparts, who would only pass a bill that includes elements undesirable to us, such as criminalization or limitations on other possible paths, such as extending citizenship to other relatives. With each visit, it became more clear to us the challenge that our representatives and senators have in reaching this compromise. Now, the hours of this year’s congress are dwindling as the final deals are reached — or not.

Copyright © 2022

Among the myriad after-thoughts in my mind after spending two weeks in Egypt are these that each deserve attention: Cruising the Nile, the food and eating, markets and bargaining, ancient pyramids, tombs and temples; hieroglyphics, highway travel, hotels, the weather, our tour group (A.R.E.) and its security. Here is a beginning account.

I must start with our travel group, the Edgar Cayce Foundation (A.R.E), located in Virginia Beach. I learned about Cayce in the 70’s and now know him as the most documented psychic of the 20th century. Traveling under their care and with others who share this common foundation affected our experiences tremendously and consistently. Perhaps later I’ll share notes on particular individuals with whom I connected. Later . . .

The hotels were all five-star, the days were packed with carefully selected excursions. If I had any ‘complaint,’ it was that there was too much packed in! However, what would I have chosen to eliminate? — not one thing. I had moments when I wanted simply an afternoon at one of the gorgeous swimming pools, but, give up seeing a special tomb, pyramid, sarcophagus, or ancient hieroglyphics, no way!

Our guides included A.R.E. experts, John Van Auken and Don Carroll, plus Egyptians with long connections to A.R.E, Mohammed and Ahab. Our first evening in Cairo, we had dinner on the rooftop of Mohammed’s guest house, directly across from the Sphinx! The hotel where we stayed in Cairo was a half mile from the pyramids. We breakfasted sumptuously in a garden with these pyramids as background. It didn’t feel real.

Our second day was the most magical, left me feeling that I could return home then and be fully satisfied. In the morning, our buses took us the half mile to the Giza Plateau, where we walked around the pyramids, visited the Isis temple, took a group photo in front of the Sphinx, all among crowds, all of us walking on uneven ground, with persistent reminders to hydrate from our guides and unending attempts from vendors to buy their books, scarfs, statues, stones, and more. The desert dryness and the 80 degree temperatures were constant; I’ve never drunk so much water as I did there!

We returned to our hotel, the Mina House, for the most extravagant buffet I’d ever enjoyed. We’d been warned to avoid uncooked vegetables, easy to do with so many other options. Similar meals became the norm for this trip. One of the challenges was facing the dessert options, too many to taste them all!

The best was ahead of us. We gathered at 7 pm to board the buses again, this time for a police escort back to the great pyramid, whose entry street was closed to the public after dark. A.R.E had arranged for us to have private time inside that pyramid, for chanting and meditation. We climbed the steps outside to the entrance, then proceeded to crawl through the dimly lit, four-foot high, narrow corridor leading to the central chamber. Once in that chamber, we could stand, then either lie down or sit, leaning against the walls. We listened to John describe some of the history of these 4000 year-old structures, build with geometric precision that we cannot duplicate today. We chanted, then meditated, before reversing our entry as we crawled out through the corridor again. As we left the darkness of the interior, we emerged from the great pyramid under a full moon with the planet Jupiter seemingly next to it.

Whoa! Wow! No words can convey this experience. So, let me return to earth with a description of highway travel in Cairo, a major city. While enroute to Giza, looking out of the window of our bus, I asked our guide why many vehicles did not have their headlights on. He reminded me that we were not in a first-world country and that headlights were not mandatory. So, we were on a highway at night, sharing the road with pedestrians, motorcycles carrying families, cars, trucks, buses, people on horses or donkey-pulled carts, most of which had no lights. Even the police cars often had no lights!

Right now, home for four days, still jet-lagged, I awake during the night, wondering where I am, where the bathroom is located, my head mixed up with dreams and memories, lacking clarity about my physical presence and my mental state. I have a lucid moment, knowing that this mix of physical and mental confusion is indeed an accurate reflection of reality, where energy flows easily back and forth, between life and death, between heaven and earth. The illusion is that we are simply physical beings.

There is much more to tell, but that’s it for now.

It’s five days before we leave for two weeks in Egypt and my brain is scrambled with thoughts of packing, passports, nailing down details of travel minutiae, and Covid anxiety.

Among all of this was our decision yesterday to drive to the local Logan Express, to make sure we knew the exact location where we will leave our car next week. As we pulled into that parking lot, the ‘low tire pressure’ warning light displayed on the dashboard. I asked Paul to pull over to let me walk around the car to see if any tire was visibly becoming flat. The front passenger tire had three nails right next to each other, sticking out of the side. We mentally postponed the trip to visit his newly widowed sister and drove directly to our local tire place, Hogan’s Tires, about three miles away.

I’d had a flat tire only about a month ago; then, the rear passenger tire was ruined and needed to be replaced. At Hogan’s, the friendly person took a look at my tire, said he wasn’t certain the tire could be repaired and that the tires were worn, so I should consider replacing them. I accepted his judgement, and he called an Uber to take us home, because they wouldn’t have the tires until the next day.

The back story on the nails was that, a few houses away from us, a neighbor was having a new roof installed and Paul recognized the nails in my tire as roofing nails. After the Uber dropped us off at home, Paul walked up the street to talk with the roofers. When he reported that their nails had caused our flat tire, the manager offered to pay for the tire, asking only that we show him the nails. Somehow, this act of generosity dispelled the cloud that had descended on me with the flat tire. The message that stuck was that, yes, unpleasant things can happen, but people are basically good.

Along with my excitement about Egypt, I’m also experiencing a fair amount of anxiety. I haven’t traveled during Covid, so feel out of synch with all the travel habits that were second nature to me. How early do we really need to be at the airport? What’s the most comfortable way to dress for the eleven-hour flight? How many pairs of shoes will I need? I calm down when i remember that, unlike usually, we’re traveling with a group and, not just any group, but A.R.E., the Edgar Cayce foundation, out of Virginia Beach. What makes it special is that the group has a spiritual and psychic basis. Members are similarly minded, aware of an energy that connects us all.

So, I have the comfort of knowing someone besides me has organized everything, made all of the arrangements, and I’ve done my part by sending in buckets of money. Now, all we need to do is show up!

I have always been fascinated with the mysteries of Egypt, knowing that the precision with which the pyramids were built cannot be duplicated today. According to the guide books, many of the temples there are not only standing, but in excellent condition, unlike similar temples and statues in Greece and Italy.

We’ll have the opportunity to be in the pyramids, even to meditate in the great pyramid! We’ll also spend several days cruising on the Nile River. Thoughts of this adventure have been in my mind for more than half a century — next week, they will be real! What stands between the reality of it happening and now is simply packing my suitcase and getting ourselves to the airport!

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