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Sea shells via intuition

We had been at the off-leash dog park, my rambunctious pup and I. He’d had a good series of gallops, so I was feeling guilt-free that I had a bunch of quiet time, for him, of online tasks to do when we got home and practice for the open mic I planned on going to.
As I crested the top of the dramatic Keystone Hill Road and headed down the 11% grade, I could see the beach in the distance ahead of me. Ah, a walk on the beach, pick up some more white rocks for my garden bed, and listen to the waves swooshing in.
Nope, my do-it brain said, I had things to do. Yet a calling inside me beckoned: it is early yet, the beach is right here, Pup is happy now. Go to the beach.
So I did.
The tide was in, which left a narrow path of beach rocks between the wall of driftwood and the incoming waves. Within a few steps along the beach, I saw a long-lived sea shell there among the rocks and picked it up. What a gift!

Finding sea shells was always special when I was a kid with my folks and my Grandmere as we walked the Mukilteo or Kalaloch Beach.

What stories could this shell tell? It had clearly been up down, and all around for quite some time.

Recently, I heard Karl Olsen of the Trinity Lutheran Church in Freeland sing “Christmas in the Trenches.” Went right into my heart. His excellent voice and rendition of this song, written by John McCutcheon. An event on Christmas, 1914 that I believe we need to remember and explore. To hear John talk about it a bit then sing it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cIxqJlnH2m8

My grandfather was stationed in eastern France during World War I, which is part of the impetus for the novel I am currently working on. His being there is how this part of my family got here, how where I am and who I am came to be. Oh, to talk with him now.

Walking along the beach, the waves washing up over my boots a few times as I reach down for those white rocks calling to me. I find another shell! How cool is that? Enjoying the walk as I balance myself on the unsteady rocks, hear the waves swish up to me, and keep seeing ‘one more’ white rock in front of me. Then I spot another shell! Woo-hoo! What a remarkable day this is.

Seems about time to head back to the car. I am nearing the logs and driftwood to climb over and there is a fourth shell! Indeed, this is a day to be remembered! Hi Mom. Hi Grandpa! Hi Grandmere (my mom’s mother)!

Indeed, I hold these shells wondering where they’ve been, what beaches have they seen and washed up upon, what creatures and how many lived in them. And what they would tell me if they could.

How fortunate that I listened to my inner voice. I am blessed indeed.
A wondrous, health-filled 2024 to you. Thank you for reading.

“Nothing is Absolute.”

I was sixteen years old, a sophomore in high school. I was walking up the huge staircase of steps in the bleachers of the large gynasium/auditorium to find a seat for the assembly that was to start in fifteen minutes. My Spanish teacher, Mr. Kennedy, had let us out of class a few minutes early so we’d have time to drop off our books in our lockers and get seats in the designated section of the bleachers. It would be crowded as all four grades were to attend.

As I walked up the steps, the sounds of voices, creaking stairs, whistles, and shouts surrounded me. Then I stopped dead in my tracks. The magnificent sound of French horns and timpani drums arrested me. The high school band was doing their last practice of ‘Fanfare for the Common Man’ by Aaron Copland. I had never heard anything like it. I was stunned in amazement.

“You compose because you want to somehow summarize in some permanent form your most basic feelings about being alive, to set down some sort of permanent statement about the way it feels to live now, today.” He composed many magnificent works and worked with many marvelous people.
“To stop the flow of music would be like the stopping of time itself, incredible and inconceivable,” he also said.

Frida Kahlo was unconventional to be sure, creative, artistic, and lived her vision. “I paint my own reality. The only thing I know is that I paint because I need to, and I paint whatever passes through my head without any other consideration.”

photo from Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes y Literatura.


She changed the world with her vision and uniqueness, as well as opened doors for women artists and Mexican artists. She believed in herself. “Nothing is absolute. Everything changes, everything moves, everything revolves, everything flies, and goes away.”

Both she and Django Reinhardt, gypsy jazz guitarist and composer, suffered severely from horrific accidents.
Yet they were called to go on.

“Jazz attracted me because in it I found a formal perfection and instrumental precision that I admire in classical music, but which popular music doesn’t have.” He, too, changed the world and opened entryways for musicians and guitarists to explore, feel, create.

All three of them followed their intuition and vision. They each found meaning and richness in life, amidst adversity.

A close friend and I were talking recently about finding meaning. What is the meaning of life now? As our kids are adults with their own lives, meaning has changed. The question is how do I find meaning? There is no longer a time clock to punch or a supervisor to answer to. I chose my activities. Where can I find meaning? How do I express it for myself? How do I move through the world with meaning?

Uncertainty used to be a place of anxiety for me. Now it is an opportunity. What do you think?

Thanks for reading~ Merci beaucoup.

Does it matter?

Most of us have heard the proverbial phrase, “We stand on the shoulders of those who came before us.” Which I take to mean that those who came before us, teachers, parents, ancestors, historical figures, learned and discovered multitudes of things that help us move forward. We don’t have to re-invent the wheel, as is also said.

Meeting my cousins recently, separated by a couple generations and a few thousand miles, has continued to resonate within me. Does meeting them matter? Absolutely. Not only are they wonderful people, they are family. How does it matter? That I am still pondering about. When will I see them again? Will my children and grandchildren meet them? Qui sait?

Charles Dessein

My mother’s grandfather was Charles Dessein. I had no idea who his parents were, nor did I give it any thought until I was at the family crypt near Langres recently. His parents were my great-great grandfather, Alexander Dessein and great-great grandmother, Marie Billant. How does that matter now? Obviously, I would not be here without them, nor would a lot of other people! Do I stand on their shoulders?

famille crypt

What legacy, shoulders to stand on, do I leave for my grandchildren? For great-grandchildren I may or may not be here to meet?

Maybe this is as much or more about being present in the moment, being conscious of my choices, being aware of what I have learned in the last twenty years so I can make wiser choices now.

Chia seeds are reportedly healthy for you on many levels. I made some pumpkin chia pudding this afternoon. Sounds a little dicey to you? I’ll try it and let you know. Pondering takes nourishment.

Thanks for reading!

So … where is Home?

Bon jour.
Having traveled a bit over the years, lived a few months in Italy in my early twenties, and lived most of my life in the Pacific Northwest, it is an interesting question for me now. Where is home? My adult children have lives and families far from me. I live in a comfortable home with a nice view. Is this my forever home? A new thought for me.

My recent trip to France was wondrous in every way. Paris is beautiful, historic and has endless things to do. Including sitting at an outside bistro enjoying watching the world of people bustling past, cars, and busses on their journeys. The Louvre, the metro, the Orsay, the Eiffel Tower, the crepes!

This cruise on the Seine river was fantastic. Another opportuinity for me to learn to be present and not rant about the unexpected obstacles. We got lost in Paris, missed our connection to enter the Eiffel Tower, and so were a couple hours late. If we had not been late, we would have completed our Seine cruise during the afternoon and missed the stunning sunset on the river.

The Apollo Gallery at the Louvre. Oh yeah, pretty impressive. It was the model for the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles, which was completed in 1684. Versailles and the Louvre have been home for scads of people over the centuries. Things are still being discovered. Walls of the original medieval fortress were found under the Louvre as they excavated for the glass Pyramid in 1985.

Have you ever, or how many times, have you asked Where is my home? Is where I am now my forever home?

In Langres, the ancient town of my maternal ancestors, the question arose for me in a new and vibrant way. I re-connected with all four of my third cousins, and their families, after twenty-five years. Third cousins as our grandmothers were sisters. Rich, wonderful experience. Their children and grand-children are my fourth and fifth cousins! Yes, it matters. Family matters. Finding where we belong matters. Right?

Here is my new favorite refrigerator magnet: my four cousins and I at the Langres train station as I head back to Paris.

Am I going back to Langres? You bet!
Am I finishing my novel set in Langres? Oh yeah! Watch for it to be out early next year~

Thank you for reading my blog.
Merci d’avoir lu mon blog.

Flying Backwards in Time

Flying from Paris to Seattle means going back in time nine hours, as noon in Seattle is 9 p.m. in Paris. We left Paris in the afternoon, the sun never went down, it simply got more brilliant. Wish I could say that about myself.
Nor did I get any younger traveling backward in time. Perhaps a good thing.

As I gazed out the window at the endless expanse of white cumulus clouds, the wonder of it brought a peacefulness to surround me. The ice crystals on the window were exquisite. They glittered delicately as the air rushed around the plane.

Nutella, the chocolate hazelnut cream, is very popular in Paris. I sure get that, I don’t keep it my house as a jar is gone in a day. I had not seen Nutella B-ready treats before. O la la! A crunchy delight. I munched on a couple of them as I gazed blissfully through the ice crystals at the soft white expanse.

As the plane shifted direction a bit, the sun moved a tad more to the other side of the plane. In watching the ice crystals, I noticed the wing of the plane looked like a shark. A shark in the sky. Stay with me here.
What do you think?

Time on the plane with no responsibilities other than staying in my seat. My mind drifted, dozed, wondered, and remembered all the wonders of France. Of Paris. Of Chartres. Of Langres. Of reconnecting with my French cousins. Gathering all I could about Denis Diderot, my grandparents, the American soldiers in the Haute-Marne district during WWI (thanks to an amazing, dedicated man, Franck Besch, who has gathered so much information, artifacts and memorabilia for the museum he created and maintains in Marac, ‘Le Petit Musee du Doughboy’), and the ramparts around Langres.

Sparkling ice flakes, a shark, peace, connection to my family. What more could I ask?

Thanks for reading!
Yes, you can follow me on Instagram, LinkedIn, and f/b. My novel-in-progress is set in Langres. O la la, I am planning the next trip.