Christmas on Amelia Island

Tiamo selects Christmas lights





It's quite amazing how time slips by. My excuses for not writing more are not even worthy of mention.

Instead, I will take this opportunity to share this Christmas before the New Year rolls in.

 



A long winter's nap

Don and Barbara invited me to spend Christmas with them on Amelia Island, Florida. Tiamo stayed at the clinic with Ann - spending her first Christmas in a cage, but it was good to know she was safe and warm. She did enjoy all the early stages of Christmas, such as putting up Christmas lights and

wrapping gifts. 



Wrapping gifts is fun

 



Tux was thrilled to have the house to himself, able to come and go at will, with no pesky little sister bothering him.



Ghost Gums on the Ridge

 I missed Tennessee's white Christmas - but we'd already enjoyed our first snow on December 14, so I was fine with a walk on a sparkling beach instead!

Amelia Island - Christmas Eve




Black Skimmers

  Christmas in Florida - invigorating walks on the beach under a cold, blue sky criss-crossed with contrails.  The beach where I always feel so close to Bill. The sea was the reward - sparkling silver in the sun. Migratory birds wheeling and soaring in the brisk wind. Black Skimmers sporting orange bands on their long beaks sharing the same spot of sand with resident flocks of gulls, brief transients on their journey southward.



St. Peter's Episcopal Church



Barb, Kendall and I attended a Candlelight Service on Christmas Eve at the beautiful little Episcopal Church (built 1881) in Fernandina Beach, enjoying the procession and ritual and singing as the clock ticked over to midnight.



Rick teaches Debi how to play the drums

 The most memorable Christmas gift was the drum set nephew Dennis gave to his brother Rick

Dennis eyes Don's helicopter

- and the remote controlled helicopters that kept the "boys" entertained for hours!

My thrill was a ride in Rick's 427 Ford Cobra, followed by a fast drag run down Rick's airplane runway in Dennis' Corvette. These guys are the experts on fast cars!


Don carves the turkey in Debi's kitchen

We had two Christmas dinners, with great company of family and friends. Don and Barb hosted the first dinner on Friday, and Rick and Debi the second one on Sunday. Linda's Bread Pudding is the recipe we all want - maybe I will have it to share next posting!



Debi and Kendall









 



  Lots of great food and wine, cozy fires, comfortable hours spent reading and   chatting. I am blessed to have family to share this time.



Christmas is best shared with family and friends























 





Lessons From a Seagull

God seems to know when we hit the wall. Stress mounting so high it feels like my head will fly off my neck, pressure mounting outside my control. Not managing it very well at all. And then God says “Let’s go,” and I fly away with him, leaving it all behind.

Amelia Island has been our getaway since Don moved to his home in a little piece of heaven. The view from my bedroom is early morning mist, dappled shadows, a faint breeze stirring palm fronds, the ocean’s deep-throated echo.

First footprints in the shallows, covered in swirling foam. If you stand in one spot in the wet sand for very long, you sink in deeper and deeper, pretty soon off balance and teetering. You have to move forward or step back, but you can’t stay in the same place. It’s a strange sensation, the sand disappearing beneath your feet, tide rushing back, leaving you stranded. Just like life.

A dog walks its owner along the beach, a broad stretch of shimmering wet sand, a mirage lapped by rippling waves, their energy almost spent. Two dogs – one the mirror image of the other, wet and glistening. Crab holes fill and gurgle as the sea washes them clean, little speedboat wakes as the water recedes. The sky is criss-crossed with contrails, dreams scattering in every direction in pursuit of adventure.

A feather floats on the tide and I reach for it. Held between my fingers, it hangs soggy and straight. I have stolen its life. Instantly regretful, I release it to float free again, and it quivers in delight, fluffing out its quills, off again.

Pedaling hard, a bare-chested cyclist rides along the beach, playing the drums on his handlebars with two drumsticks, to the accompanying symphony of the sea. A group of women walk a muscular greyhound, one sipping wine from a glass on their Sunday afternoon stroll.

The cheeky sandpiper digs for crabs, running from the rippling eddies of foam flecked water that wash in on the rhythm of the sea, a game that goes on for hours.   

A dozen seagulls face into the wind on their private stretch of shallows.

A lone gull stands apart, two broken wings hanging like heavy grey suitcases on either side of his white body. It breaks my heart. On this horizon of freedom and beauty, he is damaged and earthbound. He gazes over his beloved ocean, wanting only to feel the breeze ruffle his feathers and the salt air fill his nostrils. He nestles into a spot on the damp sand, resting, kissed by the sun and caressed by the wind. But not for long.

Another gull approaches, menacing, chases him with evil intent. My broken bird scurries on, bravely carrying his heavy burden. I remember scenes from Jonathon Livingston Seagull, the ruthlessness of the flock, unforgiving when one of their brothers falls from perfection. I wish I could give him new wings. That would show them! He’d be the bird that would suddenly appear on that distant shore, advanced lessons already learned.

*                          *                            *     

My last day at the beach. No camera, no notebook, no backpack, no people. Just me walking along the seashore. Sun on my face. Sun on my shoulders. Footprints in the sand erased by the incoming tide.

Tiamo Steals the Show

Tiamo's First Day

Last night was like one of those wonderful September nights I remember so well. Warm, but no longer the baking heat of summer that has been so oppressive. The window open and a misty rain falling, tires of a passing car squelch on the wet road. Tux and I are no longer just survivors. With the arrival two nights ago of Tiamo – our sweet little Siamese girl – we are a family again. Life has returned to our home.

Her name, Tiamo, means “I love you” in Italian. And she really is a lover.

Looking for mischief

Tux glares at the Interloper

Now I delight to sit on the sofa in the original part of our home, notebook on my lap making notes for the book, while Tiamo scampers around chasing toys, climbing the scratching post, and playing tag with the blinds cord. Tux is reluctant to admit this little interloper into his domain, but I tricked him earlier.

Tiamo was asleep on the sofa, nestled under my arm, when he suspiciously crept in, sniffing for any signs of her. Up till now, as soon as he sighted her he’d bare his sharp white teeth with a vicious hiss, and skulk out of the room, furious with me, enraged with jealousy. Then I would go and pet him, reassure him he was still my #1 boy, and he’d purr happily, all forgotten.

Tiamo has settled right in!

This time he was oblivious to her presence, and finally perched contentedly on the scratching post, watching out the window as daylight faded, convinced she must have left. What a surprise when she finally stretched and mewed! He hissed with a toothy snarl, while I snapped pictures and the flash disarmed them both. I think we’re making progress! He stayed quite a while before miaowing to be let out the front door. While young mischief pranced around the room, Tux reclined on the front porch listening to the night noises, still king of his domain.

Hard at work at the Chamber

Today Tiamo had her first day at work – accompanying me to the Chamber of Commerce, where she was cuddled and spoilt royally by Kathy.

Her life of adventure is just beginning!

Time for a catnap

The Art of Enjoyment

Funny how too much pleasure can be seen as an indulgence. We work at such a crazy pace, fill our lives with responsibilities – but slowing down to enjoy life, to savor the moments…we’ve almost forgotten how. Even my chiropractor says I need to learn how to relax. I can hardly remember the last time I sat in front of the TV for a couple of hours watching a movie. If I’m not being industrious in some way, I almost feel guilty.


But last weekend (a week ago), circumstances contrived to pack in the most fun weekend I’ve had in the longest time. I played all weekend, it’s true. And since you’re all probably so disciplined that you wouldn’t take a whole weekend off, here are some pictures to remind you that life is to be lived, and even though I don’t have my soulmate to share the moments with anymore – God fills them with the joy of His presence that draws me onwards.

The weekend begins…

EAA (Experimental Aircraft Association) Fly-In Breakfast at Gallatin airport Saturday morning. I belong to the Gallatin chapter, and it was our turn to host the fly-in, so I arrived at the airport around 7:30am to help Carolyn. She had cooked up the most incredible breakfast, that everyone declared was like a fantastic Sunday brunch! I helped collect the money, then prowled around some of the beautiful airplanes that had flown in from the surrounding region, most of them from Lebanon, TN.

1958 model Cessna 310

This immaculate Cessna 310 was a ’58 model, similar to the one Bill would have flown in his days doing the stunt flying for Sky King. It was always his favorite airplane.

I’ve always had a soft spot for the simple, basic airplanes, like this sweet little Piper Cub. Glad that all my early flying was basic stick and rudder in a glider. The pilot has promised to take me flying in this one sometime, so need to get myself back current to take full advantage of such an opportunity.

This beautiful aerobatic biplane is available for lease for anyone wanting to go through the paces of experiencing the real art of flying.

For those of us who didn’t get to fly that day, I came across this delightful video of those magnificent men enjoying a Sunday afternoon flying at Bucks County airport, Pennsylvania. Enjoy!

I was due at Gail’s place around 9:00am, where several of us saddled up the horses for a three hour ride through fields and woods adjoining her property.

The Magnificent Five

Emma & Dayle

No day’s ride is ever short of an adventure, and as we blazed a trail through thick woods and scrub up a steep slope, Julie was knocked clear off her huge Belgian horse, Caylee, by a tree limb stretched right across the rocky path. Always the brave horsewoman, she climbed right back on for the ride home. I was riding Red, an old gaited gentleman horse that used to pull a wagon for the Amish. Gail had been feeding him alfalfa, so he actually had more zip to expend than all the other horses that day, and we had a few nice gallops.

Time to go home and clean up, and then I met up with 6 friends for a Girl’s Night Out at the movies. Chef’s Market was doing a three-week menu special to coincide with the movie Eat, Pray, Love –serving Italian dishes the first week, Indian the second, and Indonesian the third.

We enjoyed some Italian specialities, then went to the movie based on the book, which is a woman’s journey to explore pleasure, spirituality and balance in Italy, India and Bali.

Sunday I explored my own spiritual growth in church, then later that afternoon took friends sailing on the Wanderin’ Star – including a really special family to whom sailing was brand new. That is always fun!

Kesia - first time sailor

It was a perfect afternoon, the wind filling our sails, water sparkling in sun-dappled irridescence. Laughter, exhilaration, and once again that incredible sense of inner peace I so often shared with Bill on our boat, when I could quite happily forget time and sail carefree and happy into the velvet softness of night.

"I fly, I sail, I throw caution to the wind"

The Furnace of Life

This morning while I was praying I asked God to help me see things through His eyes. The sun rose through the pine trees and poured its heat and light onto my closed eyes, and in that moment I saw the glass in the furnace, fire blazing, burning hot. I was that molten glass on the long rod of the Venetian glass blower.

He expertly turned it this way and that, dipped it in cold water, then began fashioning it to a form only visible in his mind’s eye. Returned it again to the fire.

Flames, heat, molten glass, colors melting, flowing, screaming in the agony of change. Always, at the perfect moment recognized by the master, he pulled it again from the furnace to sizzle in relief in cooling waters. Then more molding, fashioning, drawing out the beauty and artistry of this one unique piece. His perfect creation. No two the same. We watched in wonder, mesmerized by the flames, the burning heat, the sizzle of steam rising, the emerging beauty.

Thank you, Lord, I whispered. This is how you transform our lives. You hold us in the furnace of life, turning us this way and that while the fires sear us and consume our arrogance. We are overcome with the trials of life, the pain and the agony, the heartache, the loss, the broken dreams, the grief, the failure. Yet you keep turning this molten glob of glass, knowing just how much heat to allow before cooling us in the waters of your love, molding us expertly with your fingers, unafraid of being burnt as you tenderly shape us into a creature of beauty only you could envisage.

The colors of our life bleed in misshapen swirls, our mistakes dark streaks, our personal agonies drops of blood in pools of blue and indigo and violet.

The glassblower finally removes the glass from his rod and caresses it into its final form. Searing heat, sizzling cold, stretching, molding. We watch in wonder as a work of art unfolds in all its beauty. All the pain forgotten.

This is how I see each one of you, the Lord spoke to my spirit. You live the pain and the struggle, the loss and heartache. I see beauty emerging through the furnace of life. Allow me to transform you through these trials into a creation of exquisite beauty.

The Last Magic Carpet Ride

Schooner in his Magic Carpet

It could only be to one place. Our usual haunt at Books-a-Million, where Schooner hung out happily in his truck while we – or, as it’s been reduced to in this new life – I would indulge in a good book and a latte. Extra hot, extra cup of foam on the side. This was our ritual.

Bill sharing the spoils of a Magic Carpet ride

For years it was the three of us. Our little escape. Schooner and I kept it going these past two years. He always eager to be boosted up into his magic carpet.

Fun on the Wanderin' Star

Oh, the places it had taken him! Sailing, camping, swimming, visiting dog friends, feeding the horses, church, collecting firewood, shopping, cappuccinos, every trip a new adventure.

Camping at Big South Fork

As the truck rumbled down the road, King Schooner always barked excitedly, standing legs apart, perfectly balanced, flag tail blowing in the breeze, golden furry pantaloons flying.

Neighborhood dogs emerged from every house, insanely jealous and driven to frenzy. Occasionally Schooner would snap at overhanging branches. It was a fine game.

This last magic carpet ride was a touch subdued. Schooner stood for a while, but soon subsided in a heap, breathing in all the great night scents from a reclining position that was easier on his arthritic hips. I handed him the usual dog treats while I went into the book store for my latte. It was late, nearly closing time. In fact, they had already cleaned up the cappuccino machine for the night. But in deference to a regular customer, they obliged with my favorite caffeine fix.

Funny how those memorable occasions just don’t work out in the perfect way we think they should. I tipped generously for their trouble, and, feeling guilty for leaving Schooner out in the truck alone, I decided to share our last night together. Took my coffee and sat in the bed of the truck with my companion for a seeming lifetime. Schooner was a bit puzzled at the attention. If I returned to the truck, it must mean we were ready to leave! What was I doing sitting up there with him?? And then, wouldn’t you know it, while reaching for something out of my purse, I knocked the coffee over, and now sat in a warm, wet puddle, while my barely tasted latte soaked my shorts and dribbled out of the truck bed onto the ground. So much for those final memories. I gave up, and we drove home for the last time.

Now it’s just over a week later. They gave me Schooner's ashes at the clinic a few days ago. They still sit on the kitchen table in the black gift bag, the wooden box wrapped in paw-printed tissue paper buried inside. Is that supposed to be Schooner? It's all rather odd, and my mind hasn't quite accepted that dramatic transformation. I'm sure I'll walk outside soon and find him lying contentedly on the back deck.

My gentle spirit, so full of love, those adoring brown eyes and soft golden fur. The sweetest companion, ready for anything, or content to simply lie close by. My last special connection with Bill. He was always a Daddy’s boy, and I regret I have not been as attentive as Bill always was.

A thousand memories scroll by. I remember the day we brought him home. Schooner was a rescue dog, and had spent the first year and a half of his life tied to a post. I can still see him running the hills in our woods, exhilarated in his new-found freedom. Boat days were his absolute favorite. While we cleaned the Wanderin’ Star, he would leap off the dock retrieving sticks, sometimes swimming way out into the middle of the lake, startling the Canadian geese. Then he would blow dry on the way home, always stopping for a cappuccino, where shoppers would stop to pet him in the back of the truck.

Snow dog

Often I would find him sleeping on the floor beside Bill napping on the sofa. Funny moments – vacuuming up sawdust from the kitchen floor while Bill constructed my desk; licking up champagne that had overflowed on to the carpet. Happiest when his truck was being used for some important job. Schooner lived life to the full - every moment of his 16 years. He was a true Fergusson. Youthful, exuberant, loving, with an insatiable zest for life.

The hands of time advance imperceptibly, and the chimes that mark the moments often catch us by surprise. Just too many goodbyes in recent days.

Sprinkling Bill's ashes

Tonight a romantic crescent moon slips below the horizon in another hot August night. From the perfect family of two people, two dogs and two cats, we are now down to one person and one cat. Hanging on by a thread. The champagne cork shoots high into the darkness, and lands with a thud on the deck, bouncing twice. Bill and I declared we would always celebrate life, no matter what. Even in the loss and sadness, the life of those we have loved continues on.

So here’s to you, Schoon, and To Whatever Comes Next. For all the memories, for all the love and joy and adventures we shared. For all those magic carpet rides. I will miss you, my friend.