My worker guy

Now that my husband Art is older, Washington State's climate in fall, winter and spring is troublesome. For one thing, he has allergies too many to name. Just about the only thing he's not allergic to is Larisa, our Designer Cat, who is hypoallergenic. For another, he has arthritis when there's a lot of moisture in the air. On those days, he mostly sits and reads or watches TV and I think he's going to become one with the sofa.

Arizona is a different story. Once he's been here for three days, the arthritis melts away. Art feels no pain and his "worker guy" persona comes to life. In less than two months, he has finished his chores and everything on my "honey do" list. It has been a remarkable thing to watch.

His first challenge was participating in the removal of the javalina living under our park model. The "javalina whisperer" worked with us for a couple of weeks, in person and via text. Art found it necessary to drive to Ace Hardware for a headlamp and a pair of knee pads just in case. He didn't need them for that project, but they were required the day he crawled underneath the animal-free zone to repair the dryer vent.

We had a palo verde tree on our back property that had grown so large that its limbs were scraping on our metal roof.

It also shed needles, to the annoyance of the neighbors. Our summer care guy said he didn't want to keep us as customers because of the tree. The park said removal of the tree was our responsibility. So we got four estimates ranging from $350 to $1200. Then we flew home for Thanksgiving.

When we got back, I encouraged Art to call the tree guys to come out, but he wanted to make their job easier. He bought a stepladder at Ace Hardware, and a set of new saw blades for his little electric saw. I came home one afternoon and saw that he had climbed the ladder into the tree, and then climbed the tree into the high branches. Art was an electrical lineman when he worked, but he was older now, and a bit out of shape, and without a hardhat or a spotter. I said, "It scares me when I see you do that." He said, "Then go in the house." My neighbor Dellann was just as worried. She said his risk-taking behavior was causing her blood pressure to go up!

Art limbed the tree on two days, then called the tree guys. They came out. Art decided to stand on our metal roof to supervise the cutting down of the tree. He has a pretty good eye for how and where to cut so the branch falls in a safe place rather than on the motorhome 12 feet away. While he was on the roof, he swept. I stood in the driveway with my cellphone, listening to the screech of the metal shingles, ready to call 9-1-1.

The palo verde tree in the back yard taken care of, Art turned his attention to the palm tree in the front yard. For the five years we have lived here, Christmas lights have been wound around the trunk. None of them worked. I had asked Art to either fix them or take them down, but he had other things to do instead. But now that he had a ladder - and three strings of solar lights I'd bought after Christmas last year - he spent an hour or two on the ladder taking down the old and putting up the new. This time I stayed inside and didn't look.

If we put a bag or a box on the floor, our cat Larisa gets into it. We call it a "cat trap". If boxes of unassembled furniture are dropped off by UPS or USPS or Fedex, Art opens them and begins to put the contents together. I call that a "man trap". It happened twice this month; I ordered a TV shelving unit and a new dining set. Art put them both together with nary a curse word. So I knew the directions were easy to follow and all the parts and bolts and washers were included in the packaging. And now I have just want I want in the Arizona room and in our little dining area.

I used to say that Art could fix anything. In Arizona, he still can. There is nothing like a dry climate!

In March I am going back to Oinofyta, the refugee camp in Greece. This time I am going for a month, and I am taking Art with me. He will be part-time handyman, driver and shopper and dinnertime cook. All things he loves to do. He will be very appreciated by people other than me.

The whiteboard on the fridge is blank now. Art has completed every task. Maybe now he can read his book in peace.

The Bag Lady's 2016 Christmas letter

Christmas 2016

We’re in Tucson again, year five, for the winter. This time we arrived on November 4^th. Longer each year, it seems. But we have no plans to move here permanently. We are Washington people!

Since we got here we appear to have dislodged the javalina who’d made a home under our park model. We’ve successfully removed a palo verde tree that, while beautiful, was a nuisance to the neighborhood with its messy needles and plentiful pollen. Art was delighted to be able to climb the tree to limb it before the professionals came in, and to supervise those pros from the roof.    

Indoors, we’re enhancing our winter home little by little, with silk plants and other touches. Just 620 square feet. Just right.

At home, we had a full house for most of the year, but that is changing. My sister Alyx and her husband Virgil found a place of their own in Snoqualmie – a rural house with plenty of room for their cats and chickens. They moved in November after two and a half years in their RV in our back yard.

And Peter, Art’s son, will be graduating from nursing school in March, taking his boards and then, he hopes, finding a job and a place of his own.

It will be quiet with just Art and me and the cat again. And more work for us, since we’ll be responsible for the garden after two years of other residents tending it. We were spoiled with good organic vegetables grown on our property but produced by others.

Here in Arizona, Art had a leading role last March in the Voyager’s production of Oklahoma! Our winter last year was scheduled around his rehearsals. Art’s daughter Laura and son Peter flew in for the production, which delighted Art.  

Summer was full of travel. I flew from Seattle to Tucson in May to go to the dentist in Mexico. I needed a root canal and a crown, and even with the airfare the cost was half of what it would have been in Washington.  

In June Art and I took a road trip ending in Bend, Oregon, at a family gathering planned by Art’s daughter Melissa and son-in-law Scott. We especially enjoyed a moonlight canoe outing.

I took solo trips to Muskoka, Ontario to visit my friend Judy; to Chautauqua, New York for a fascinating week themed “The Future of Cities”; to Oinofyta, Greece to volunteer for a week at a refugee camp; to a five-day writers’ workshop on Vashon Island, Washington; and back to Oinofyta for two weeks in October.

Art and I flew to Maine in September for yet another cruise on the Schooner Heritage.

Now, back at the Voyager, it’s not even high season yet, but already Art is busy with rehearsals for this year’s Evening of One-Act Plays. I’m helping out as assistant producer.

In late March I’m planning to return to the refugee camp in Greece for a month. And Art will be coming with me. He’ll be very useful as handyman, driver and shopper/cook.

We’re wishing you all a Merry Christmas!

Art and Linda

A bunch of good things

It's been nearly two weeks since my last blog post and nothing large has happened. Just a bunch of small things.

• We flew home to Washington for Thanksgiving. Our daughter and son-in-law live in San Diego, and they had asked to take over our house for a family Thanksgiving. We said "of course!"My husband Art cooked the turkey, but otherwise we did just nothing of the hosting activities. The 18 who sat down to dinner included one of my children, four of Art's, various spouses and grandchildren, my sister and her husband, Art's ex-wife and her husband and their son. The day was full of talk and laughter and excellent food from scratch.  

• I traveled more than usual this year and I realized a few weeks ago that I was only about 2,000 miles short of MVP status for next year on Alaska Airlines. So one day during our week home I flew to San Jose, California, sat at the gate for 15 minutes, and flew home. I got my "Congratulations on your MVP status" email four days ago. That means an extra suitcase I can check for free, priority boarding, upgrades to first class if available and - most important to me - an extra half mile for each mile I fly next year. Frequent flyer miles can be very helpful. One year I flew to Houston and back in a day to pick up the extra miles. 

• When we got back to Tucson, we found out the javalinas had vacated the premises. They haven't been around for at least a week now, so yesterday the "javalina whisperer" removed the strobe lights he'd placed under our park model. Art will be boarding up the hole and replacing the siding in the next couple of days. I was glad the animal/s decided to move on so they didn't have to be relocated.

• Tucson friends are returning to the Voyager. Today I walked to the activity center with a flyer to put on the bulletin board. I had conversations with three people I know along the way. Not just acquaintances, either. Friends. I especially like that about our winter home in Arizona. It is easy to make friends, and we all live close enough to each other that it's easy to get together.

• I have an active behind-the-scenes role in this year's theatrical production. Rather than a musical, we're presenting an evening of four one-act plays. I'm kind of the right arm of the producer. I do the money and the liaison with the activity office, plus "other duties as assigned".  It will be fun, I think, and not as time consuming as last year when I was responsible for ticket sales. This year the activities office has taken that on. Art has a role as well; it will require he dress in Shakespearean costume and be a "diva". I expect he can pull that off.

• I explored online and bought three silk plants to mask my computer wires in the sitting room and the TV room. Also replaced a table that was here when we bought the place with a TV table. Looks much better, with shelves for books and a wicker basket to hold our recycle stuff. I am still on the lookout for a rectangular table in our dining area to replace the round one that was here. Art says, "Why do we need a table? We already have a table." He has yielded to my preference but says he does not want to participate in choosing it. Fine by me!

• I met my new neighbor today. I was astonished to hear that she decided to drive from Kentucky to the Voyager this year after reading my past descriptions of the place on my blog. It amazes me that people make vacation decisions based on what I've written about! As I sit here in my living room, putting words on my electronic page, I try to be interesting and engaging and upbeat. But I'm always surprised when someone says, "I want to sail in Maine" or "I want to go to Greece and volunteer in a refugee camp" or "I want to spent two months at the Voyager" because I've written about my own experiences. I always feel honored, I hope readers use my words only as a starting point for their own explorations. 

• I believe I have talked my husband into going to Greece with me in March, to work at the refugee camp for a month! Last night I said, "Have you decided to go to Greece with me because you love me?" He said, "No." I said, "Have you decided to go to Greece with me because you want to be with me?" He said, "No." I said, "Have you decided to go to Greece with me because you're curious?" He said, "I think so." I think that is wonderful. 

• It has been sunny almost every day since we arrived in Tucson on November 7. The sun sets in brilliance. I can hear the trains. What a fabulous place to live in the winter!

Javalina saga

Here in Arizona, javalinas are part of the native wildlife. Here's what they look like.

They are a collared peccary, most closely related to pigs and hippopotamuses. We think they're both cute and ugly, probably because Bud, our potbellied pig who lived nearly 19 years, was also both cute and ugly.

A month ago we got a text message from Bob, our summer care person. He said, "I think you have a javalina living under your park model. I will keep an eye on it." The reason for his suspicion was a torn place in the skirting at the back of our park model. Bob and his wife Sue boarded up the tear and used a couple of cement bricks to hold up the board.

Two weeks later, just before we arrived in Tucson for the winter, another message from Bob: "They are back. Best give me a call." He included a photograph showing the animal had broken through the barrier. Strong and determined javalina!

Art repaired the tear in the skirting and boarded it up.

The next night the javalina broke through the skirting along the side of the park model.

This skirting was boarded up and the javalina broke through another spot in the back. By this time it felt like a chess game between the javalina and us. We felt a grudging admiration for its tenacity.

We called a wildlife animal expert to discuss next steps. Mark came out, crawled under the park model, and confirmed he'd found the nest but that the javalina was not in residence at the moment. He laid down red pepper just outside the park model. The next morning, javalina tracks leading to the park model confirmed the animal had returned but had not been deterred, as there were no departing tracks.

Mark came out again. He taped strips of plastic to the opening in the side of our place; we'd be able to tell whether the javalina came through them, and whether they were coming or going.

The answer was "both coming and going", as we discovered. Each morning the lowest strip of plastic was torn away. Sometimes the strip was torn inward and sometimes outward.

Mark came out yet again. He installed strobe lights beneath the park model. He'd had success getting raccoons out of attics with this approach, though he'd never tried it with javalinas. Apparently the javalina didn't mind the flickering lights!

By now we were seriously considering the possibility the animal would have to be trapped and relocated. I contacted the park manager and presented our case as one of safety for older residents. He agreed to pay for the relocation. I called Arizona Fish and Game to get approval for the relocation; javalinas are a protected species in Arizona and Mark told us we'd need to get permission from them. We did. The Fish and Game guy suggested Mark send away for mountain lion urine, but Mark convinced the guy that we'd been dealing with the issue for long enough.

Mark asked us to put out some food so we could see what the animal was eating this time of year, so he could bait a humane trap with something that would be attractive. We  bought a small pumpkin, a carrot, an apple and a potato - and added half an avocado from the fridge.

That night? None of the strips were torn away, and none of the food was eaten.

The next night? Same thing.

The next morning we left for Thanksgiving week, and we're still away. I'm hoping the javalina has decided to take up residence elsewhere.

Thoughts on this experience:

• I believe the javalina has just as much of a right to shelter as any other creature. Just not underneath where we live.
• I have a friend who's a shaman. Last week she and several others took a shamanic journey to meet up with the javalina. Apparently the animals - she believes there are three, not just the one - felt displaced and were strongly attracted to something under our park model that needed to be "rooted out". The journeyers asked the creatures to find another place to live. I'm pretty open minded; it's possible we have seen the last of the animal as the result of the journeyers.
• The "rooted out" piece brought to mind the oversized palo verde tree in our back yard that has become a nuisance and needs to be cut down. Could it be growing roots under the park model that might do damage?
• It helps to be patient!

Abdul tells me his story

Abdul and his wife and daughter live in Room 24 at Oinofyta refugee camp. They were our hosts for dinner last week.

I met Abdul when I volunteered at the camp in August. I remembered him because he was one of the tallest men, and because he carried his daughter almost everywhere he went, and because he has a beautiful smile.

I have heard the stories of some of the residents of Oinofyta, but not his. I was curious. Abdul is a tailor by trade, so I figured he hadn't left Afghanistan because he'd worked for the U.S. government and was now in danger. Last Monday I asked him if he would tell me his story. In August, Abdul didn't speak any English, but by early November he spoke enough for basic communication. He told me he would come the next day and bring a translator.

Abdul showed up on Tuesday afternoon but I had another commitment. I asked if Wednesday would be okay. He said he would be in Athens with his wife for a prenatal doctor's appointment, but that he would be back by 5 p.m.

He was. And he brought Ali, another resident and a translator, with him.

The three of us met in the computer lab. Abdul and Ali sat on one side of the table and I sat on the other. Abdul's first words, through Ali, were, "If I tell you my story, can you help me?" I had talked and laughed with Abdul before, but across the table his eyes were grave and his face more serious than I had ever seen it.

I took a deep breath and chose my words carefully. "I cannot help you with money, and right now I cannot help bring you to the United States." I told him that right now there is a lot of fear of Muslims in the US because of 9/11 and subsequent terrorists attacks around the world. "I know it is not right to be afraid of an entire group of people because of the actions of a few, but that is how it is."

I continued. "What I can do is tell your story. On my Facebook page. In my blog. In conversations with people I know and people I have just met. In interviews, if they are requested. Often people think of Muslim refugees and immigrants as a mass of blurred faces, a large and anonymous group. Not people they know, with faces that remain in their minds. I can make you real. And sometimes, in the United States, if enough people get together and express their opinions and their convictions, the government will change its mind. That is what I can do for you."

There was a moment of silence. Then Abdul said, "I will tell you my story."

Abdul is 29 now, and his wife is 16. "My wife's mother died of cancer when she was two. And her father was kidnapped when returning from Pakistan to Afghanistan, and we do not know whether he is alive.

"My wife had a brother who was in the army for the government. It was a dangerous job but jobs are hard to find. One day he was coming home from work and my wife was watching him. All of a sudden a man appeared and shot my wife's brother. The bullet went in one side of his torso and came out the other, and he died. My wife was an eyewitness so the man was caught. There was a trial and he was put in jail. But he bribed someone and he was released from jail."

Then Abdul said, "So the man was looking for my wife. We borrowed money from family and friends and left Afghanistan."

When I asked Abdul to tell me his story, I expected he would tell me about the journey from Afghanistan to Greece. All I know about that, from a previous brief conversation, was that part of the journey was in a large kayak where everyone was standing and he was holding his daughter in his arms. What Abdul wanted to tell me was why he left.

Abdul told me that his wife, now seven months pregnant, needs some blood tests as part of her prenatal care. "I have no money to pay for it."

Then Ali added, "When my son was born three months ago, my wife was in the hospital for five nights. I slept on the streets." He continued. "In Afghanistan, I had a nice house and two cars. Now I have nothing. I am not the same man."

I said, "Ali, you are the same man now as you were then. The only difference is that now you have no money and few possessions." I added, "And the only difference between me and you is that you were born in Afghanistan and I was born in the United States."

I cannot give money to the residents. As I told one once, "I can give you my time, and my listening ears, and my voice, but I cannot give you money." There are many generous donors and I imagine there may already be a fund for prenatal care. But I didn't know of one, so I couldn't tell Abdul about it.

Then Abdul asked me this question: "If I get to the United States, will there be refugee camps there?"

I told him no, that in many communities in the US there are organizations that help refugees get settled. I talked to a coordinator of one of them, in Seattle. He said, "We have resources to help once the refugees arrive." I said, "How do they get there?" He said, "I have no idea."

I have no idea either. I just know that Abdul is just one man in an Afghan refugee camp. He has a story, and he has a dream. And Ali is another man, and he has a similar dream. To be able to move from the refugee camp, with its tiny rooms, to a permanent home where a man and his family can be safe, with a good life.

Two days ago I got an email from a journalist writing for a local online newspaper in my county. She wanted to interview me about my volunteer work in Greece. I said yes, I would meet with her, but I didn't want the interview to be about me. I wanted it to be about a resident of Oinofyta. That afternoon, over coffee at Starbucks, I told Oinofyta's story. And Abdul's story, and Ali's.

I will keep telling the story. My hope is that, several years from now, Oinofyta and all the other refugee camps in Greece will be closed down because all the refugees will have moved on to permanent places and safe lives.

So Abdul and Ali and I have the same dream. We are all in this together.

A day in my life at an Afghan refugee camp in Greece

Yesterday was Friday. Usually not our busiest day. However, one of our long-term volunteers left unexpectedly for home in the morning for a family emergency. And one of our short-term volunteers was sick, at home in the volunteer house in Dilesi. While she was taking it easy, she was tasked with other volunteers’ laundry. A gift, since we have a washing machine but no dryer, and we’re gone from the washing machine until late in the evening. However, the washing machine is temperamental so the laundry didn't get done.

I’d say I was a “runner” yesterday. Here’s what I did:

• Swept the team trailer.
• Straightened and reorganised the team trailer, getting guidance from Lisa, the camp manager, with every step.
• Fed and watered Jackie, the camp dog.
• Dumped all the trash - one load with the help of two boys, who carried the box with glee on their heads and didn’t drop it until we were right in front of the dumpsters.
• Ran a computer charger and a floor mat to the computer lab and an unneeded watering can to the warehouse.
• Surrounded by six Afghan men (personal space is nonexistent, so I felt like I was in what I imagine a mosh pit to be like), signed them up for photos to be included in their lottery application. They have to have a high school diploma to qualify, and they all insisted they did, though I knew for absolute certain a couple of them were not telling me the truth. Oh, well, the next-step person will call them out. Nine million people around the world are competing for 50,000 opportunities to emigrate to the US. Every family in our camp is applying. They have half a percent chance of getting an interview, but it is worth standing in line for up to two hours.
• Hid in the volunteer restroom for 20 minutes so no residents would see me with my red notebook and want to add their names to the list, even though they’ve had two days to do it and the photographers are leaving this afternoon.
• Washed the volunteers’ dishes at the cold water sink used by the residents. Standing side by side with an older resident (actually, she’s probably close to my age but looks much older and is missing a few teeth), I used cold water and no sink stopper to wash our dishes. I was closely watched by the older resident and a couple of young girls, who pointed out soapsuds on a bowl I had neglected to rinse off. 
• Listened to Lisa recruit one of the photo crew members to work as a replacement long-term volunteer.
• Put on my mediator hat and talked to the photo crew member to help her clarify her values and thoughts about accepting the volunteer opportunity. The young woman has decided to stay.
• Welcomed a young couple just arriving at the camp. They looked very tired.
• Listened to my friend and fellow volunteer Jann tell me how she has trained three computer-savvy residents to enter the data for lottery applications. She was able to take a ten-minute break for lunch while they continued work on the applications. She is really good at empowering teams, in the US and in Greece. I am so glad Jann wanted to come with me this time.
• Listened to Lisa mourn her inability to get online to send critical emails because the computer lab is using most of the wifi bandwidth.
• Listened to a resident tell Lisa about a nearby family where the husband and wife fight every day, and heard her tell the resident she would take care of it.
• Had a conversation with a resident to clear up confusion between her and the team handling lottery applications.
• Worked on the accounting books for 45 minutes out of ten hours.
• Went to dinner in Room 24. When we are invited, we always go. We want to honor the Afghan tradition of hospitality. They have so little, but they want to share with us, who have so much.

• Returned to the volunteer house to sleep in a real bed, with hot running water and quiet all night long.

The first five days at "my" refugee camp in Oinofyta, Greece

I left Oinofyta refugee camp on August 27 after volunteering for six days. I returned on October 19 for another two weeks.

It has been less than eight weeks since my first visit ended. Some things are the same: children chasing each other and kicking a soccer ball and riding bicycles and roller skating and playing with Jackie, the camp dog. Women hanging laundry and cooking and gathering. Men gathered in clusters and playing volleyball in the evening.

But some things are quite different.

There is a sewing room now. Donations of sewing machines and fabrics and notions mean women can make fleece linings for their babies’ sleeping boxes, and clothes for their children and themselves. I notice that both men and women Afghans sew, and that they use no patterns when cutting fabric. They’re freeform and they look good. I brought fabric and notions donated by my friend Lillian in an extra suitcase and they are already being used.

  

There is a beauty/barber shop now with simple furnishings, two chairs, mirrors and the equipment and sundries needed. One of the volunteers is going around the camp with a translator to identify the barbers and stylists and manicurists. These people can volunteer for hours they’ll work. They will not be paid, but they’ll receive certificates so that, when they settle in a final place, they’ll have proof that they kept their skills up while in the camp. One of the camp residents will carry the key to open up and close the shop.

There is a simple kitchen now, so women can prepare meals inside rather than on cement outdoors. There are sinks for washing food and dishes.

Washing machines have arrived and are being prepared for use.

There is a small library, with books in Farsi and in English, for children and for adults. I brought a Richard Scarry picture book and a copy of Goodnight Moon. I hope I’ll have a chance to sit with a child and read one of those books before I leave.

I hear more English being spoken. The children are picking up the language quickly and they practice their new skills with the volunteers. English classes are offered and more of the women speak at least a few words.

The men who play volleyball had a competition with those of another Afghan camp nearby. They played at Malakasa on Monday and the home game was on Friday night. Numerous residents and volunteers attended to root for the home team. We lost both games, but some fine volleyball was played.

Yesterday it poured down rain and everyone got wet. The building roof isn’t completed yet so many rooms leaked. Water dripped into tents. Even the volunteer office.

Lisa Campbell added 5 new photos.

Lisa Campbell is the camp manager. Here's her Facebook post from Saturday, two days ago:

Today it is raining - no, pouring. The families living in tents are working feverishly to direct the rain away from their tents. The temperature is 51 F and bone chilling. These families need to move inside and even though I have had an architect draw up plans, no large government organization has funding available so they have asked Do Your Part to do it. Does anyone have a spare €120,000 laying around they would like to donate? Sigh................ www.DoYourPart.org  or, on Facebook, search Oinofyta.

Do Your Part is a small nonprofit. Every dollar donated goes directly to where it’s needed. No middleperson. No administrative fees. My friends Vicki and Monte sent a check last week. The money was deposited in the bank in Virginia and, the next day, it was taken out via ATM in Oinofyta, Greece. Part of the money was used to buy medication for children suffering with chicken pox at the camp. Just as I’m working “on the ground” as a volunteer, any donations go the same way. I love the directness of this giving.

The volunteers this week were from Spain, Germany, and the US. We range in age from 18 to 68. We form a quick community, an international group engaged in a common cause.

From standing in a field to walking down a hall

The Vashonistas met for five days last week at Lavender Hill Farm on Vashon Island, across the bay from Seattle.

We met the first time for a weekend four years ago, when we were all bloggers. Now we've expanded our time together from two nights to five, bonding further each time we gather. This year, for the second time, we formed a writing workshop, guided by Deb, who is one of us and also a facilitator for the AWA (Amherst Writers and Artists), a protocol for writing based on prompts - phrases, poetry or evocative objects.

This year we added a new activity: kayaking!

In our writing, each of us had some kind of insight during our workshop. For me, the change in my life from last year is represented by a comparison of last year's writing imagery with this year's.

Last year, I saw myself standing in a field, my gifts at my feet, waiting for whatever comes from the Universe telling me what I should do, how I should serve. Since I wrote that piece, I've become involved in working with refugees - an outcome I would never have imagined.

This year, the image in my writing is in walking down a long hall, lined with closed doors. Each door can be opened. Each represents a choice I can make - or not - for my life. And we all know what's at the end of the hall.

That's what happens in these writing workshops. We write because "The person writing with pen to paper knows more than the person sitting in the chair." What comes out during these writes is sometimes quite surprising. 

Next Tuesday I leave for Greece again. This time I'll be at Oinofyta refugee camp for two weeks rather than just six days. Part of the time I'll be setting up their accounting system. For the rest of the time, I have no idea whatever. It might depend on what door I open.

I'm curious about which door it might be.

Quietude

Last Monday I got a massage and vertigo. For four days I was quiet. I canceled half of the activities on my calendar, including a volunteer session at small claims court. The vertigo wasn't too bad, but I thought it would be wise not to drive.

Inside my house in the cooling autumn weather, I went through a file cabinet and threw out half the paperwork we've accumulated over the past 20 years. I read. I slept.

I have had a very busy summer, with lots of travel. I am slowing down now.

I am thinking about my five guiding values: spirituality, health, community, curiosity and purpose. Those values still hold. My spirituality is shifting and stirring. I've been thrown out of my own orbit by my August volunteer experience at a refugee camp in Greece. I feel oddly isolated; the only people who understand what happened to me there are people who have had a similar experience. The isolation is not a bad thing.

In two days I'm going to Vashon Island -- just across the Puget Sound from Seattle -- for five days, with four other bloggers. We will be doing a lot of writing. My mind is so quiet I don't know what's in there to write about. That's not a bad thing either.

Then I return to Greece for another two weeks. I expect it will be different the second time, and that is fine.

My mind is full of quiet. Not peace or bliss or joy or enthusiasm. Quiet.

Actually, that's a good thing. 

A bigger place called home

In last week's blog post, someone commented, "It is an amazing age that we live in, where we can meet people from the other side of the U.S. in person because of the internet." Earlier this summer, in upstate New York at Chautauqua, I told someone I was from Seattle, and they said, "You are a long way from home."

I have thought about those comments. And I've realized that these days, home is just a bigger place for me.

Our primary home is about 1900 square feet in a Seattle suburb. It's where we raised our family, where we have a garden on a third of an acre. It's the address we list in our business and financial dealings. We live in this house from May through October, with slushy dates at the beginning and the end.

Our second home is 620 square feet in a 55+ RV resort in Tucson. It's where we spend Washington's dark and rainy months, engaged in multiple fun and interesting activities like plays, water aerobics, current events and foreign policy discussions. We fly down this year on November 7.

Then we have other places that feel like home because we've been there multiple times: the schooner Heritage in Maine and Arroyo Roble resort in Sedona, Arizona and Waikoloa on the Big Island of Hawaii. Even a week once every year or two assumes a deep familiarity after a decade or so.

Or places where we visit friends regularly, like Roseburg, Oregon.

We don't feel like we're away from home when we're in any of these places.

In the last few years we've traveled outside these familiar places: to Italy, Ecuador, Eastern Europe, Greece and Africa. My experience is that the places feel "away from home" for a few days. But just for that long. Because I quickly see the similarities. No matter where people live, or how they look, or dress, or eat, or what kind of dwelling they have, they're all pretty much like us. They have the same hopes. The more I go to different places, the more they all seem like home.

I visited Oinofyta, Greece for the first time in August. I'm returning in October. In my mind I see where I'll be spending my days. It feels like home already.

So when people say to me, "You sure do travel a lot," I think to myself, "Really, it's just a bigger place called home."

I've heard it said that "home is where the heart is." I am all over that.

Seventh sail in Maine - meeting new family and friends

Tomorrow around noon we will disembark from our six-day sail on the schooner Heritage. It has been typical in a bunch of ways: our familiar cabin, number 1, with the skylight that keeps me from feeling closed in in our tiny cabin; breakfasts and dinners in the horseshoe galley, lunch on the deck (soup from leftovers of the previous day, fresh-made bread and fixings for best-in-the-world peanut butter sandwiches; a hand-held shower in one of the heads (this year I finally remembered to put the toilet paper behind the wooden door rather than soaking the paper); long afternoons napping on deck or in our cabin; chatting with passengers I’ve known for years and those I met just this week; glorious sunsets. And the feast on Lobster Island - always a different actual physical place, but with the same name, where lobsters steam in a huge metal pot beneath a bed of seaweed. As Captain Doug says, “We’re in the business of making memories.” He is so right. Check out the Heritage webpage.

Two out-of-the-ordinary happenings: right now we’re anchored in the Stonington harbor rather than sailing, because the cook has an infected finger and is waiting for a 12:30 doctor’s appointment in town. It’s sunny here, and passengers are in their usual places: in deck chairs, chatting or reading or snoozing. And two days ago, on Wednesday, in the rain, an elbow in the water system wore out, and we were without water pressure for a couple of hours. All part of the adventure.

We have sailed several times before with friends Bruce and Sally from California and Theo and Melanie from England. And two of the passengers - and their husbands - are here because of me.

Anne and I share genealogy as a hobby. Three years ago we found each other online. My great great grandmother Edmonia Jane Ellett McNeal and Anne’s great grandmother Willie Ann Ellett Bates were sisters. That makes Anne and me third cousins once removed.  Once Anne and I began to correspond, she started reading my blog. She came upon one of my posts about our trip on the Heritage. She and her husband Roger decided to sail last year for the first time - the same week as Art and I were in Eastern Europe, so we didn’t meet them until this week.

Pamela found my blog last year during one of her internet forays. She liked what I had to say and went back FIVE YEARS and read all my posts from the very first one! I was unbelievably flattered. Pam read about our travel adventures and, as she told me, “Reading about your trips on the Heritage, I was willing to try it myself." She and her husband Dale also sailed last year for the first time.

I’ve asked Anne and Pem to say a little something today:

Anne: My first introduction to Linda was when my daughter reported to me “Some lady is wanting to know if she was related to a Willie Ann Ellett Bates. She told me that she told the lady, “You need to talk to my mother. She’s the one that knows all the family tree.” So I did. I heard from one Linda Myers. I had been looking for - and had never found - the sister Edmonia of Willie Ann Ellett. All of us on the east coast in the family heard she had married and gone west. We didn’t know who she married or where she went. Suddenly, Linda appears as the missing link, with all Edmonia's side of the family that’s been missing for generations on the east coast. Linda told me about her blog and I began to follow her. She started blogging about the adventures she had had on the schooner Heritage. It greatly interested me because the other side of my family were schooner captions for several generations in Chesapeake Bay, I thought it would be fun to go on a schooner to further explore the lifestyle of my ancestors. I was in hopes of meeting Linda too. When we finally got on the boat last year there was no Linda. I was asked, “How did you hear about coming on the schooner Heritage? And I said, “From Linda Granholm Myers’ blog. Another passenger perked up and said, “Linda Myers’ blog? That was how I heard about it.” And that was how I met Pamela.

Pamela: I found out about Linda Myers’ blog when someone from another site posted a link. I started reading and found that I could not stop! She made the schooner trip come alive for me, and I had my husband read it, and and we decided to go on the schooner Heritage last year. We met Anne and Roger then,and this year were able to finally meet Linda and Art. It is an amazing age that we live in, where we can meet people from the other side of the U.S. in person because of the internet. I have thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

Ah, yes. Old friends and new. Such a trip!

In Maine. "Nothing" to report.

We are at our friends Beth and Brian's house. They live in Searsport, Maine. We are reading quietly. Their three dogs are sleeping at the moment. The washer is getting our clothes ready for our schooner trip which begins tonight when we board.

We sleep in a loft with skylights just above our heads. We awoke at 4 a.m. to close-by thunder and brilliant shards of lightning. It was beautiful. The sky is now clearing just in time for our six days on the schooner Heritage, among the islands of Penobscot Bay.

This will be our seventh cruise on the Heritage, which sails out of Rockland, Maine with a maximum of 30 passengers and eight crew. Of all the places we've been, this is Art's favorite. Thus the return every other year or so.

"Nothing" is what I can report. No working except what I feel like doing. No internet service except occasionally when we're anchored for the night near a town. No getting in the car to run errands or meet a friend. 

"Nothing" has been a while for me. This is my sixth trip since late May. This is my "do nothing" trip.

It's about time.

What the Bag Lady learned in Greece

I've been home for just a week. My body, anyway. My thoughts and my heart are still at the Oinofyta Refugee Camp in Greece. Here is what I learned.

1. We are all the same. Really. We all want the same things: food, clothing shelter, family and friends. A way to support our children.

2. Walking among 450 residents who are mostly Muslims feels perfectly safe. In fact, it feels friendly and welcoming.

3. Say you are distributing clothing to 140 families. Six of those families take more than they need and, maybe, go to a nearby city and sell the excess.

• It is easy to get annoyed with the takers, and to pay more attention to them than to all the others who are taking only what they need, and to forget that everyone is doing the best they can. It is a mistake to forget that.
• It is easy to say that "This person who is [fill in a nationality or a religious faith] is stealing, so all [fill in the same nationality or religious faith] are thieves." It is a mistake to think that.

4. If the men play volleyball at 7:30 p.m. and the women play volleyball at 2:00 a.m., you are glad everyone is getting some exercise. You do not suggest they play coed volleyball. The genders are separate in their culture. As they were, pretty much, in your own culture 100 years ago.

5. If a man asks you quietly for money, you say no because you can't give money to every man in the camp, but you know he is not like the panhandlers on the off ramps of your city. He truly has nothing. You offer instead to give him your time and your voice, and he thanks you for that.

6. If you find a camp resident who speaks English, that person is a precious commodity. They, after all, speak more than one language. And they can help you communicate with other camp residents, because you speak only one language. You think about maybe learning a little Farsi. Your native language is spoken around the world, so you don't have to learn another one.You are again embarrassed that you have not made the effort to become fluent in another language.

7. If you ask a group of people to form a line, and they form a swarm around you instead, it is not because they are stubborn or uncivilized. It is because they come from a different culture. They do it differently where they used to live.

8. If you see a group of residents in the camp sitting on a blanket on the ground playing cards during the day, it is not because they are lazy. It is because they have no work because they cannot be hired in this country. They want to leave for another country but they cannot. Apparently the UN does not recognize Afghanistan as a country at war, so these refugees do not have special status.

9. If you see a resident you do not assume that they were a peasant in their native country. You know they are very likely to have been an engineer or a teacher or a lawyer or an IT person. You know they probably worked for the U.S. when the U.S. had many troops in their country.

10. If you see a resident you know they did not arrive by plane and then by rented car. They arrived by foot or by train after many days of hiding or walking or being smuggled by people collecting large sums of money from them up front.

11. If you are the oldest volunteer at the camp by 15 or 20 years, and you do not have the stamina to do physical labor all day, you might be tempted to think you are not useful. But you would be wrong. Your wisdom and your listening ear and your calm presence are of extreme value.

12. If a resident calls you "Grandmother" or "Higher Sister" they are honoring you. You realize you are glad to be around people who respect elders.

13. If a 12-year-old boy stands silently beside you, and then puts his arm around your waist, and then puts his head on your shoulder, and then walks off silently, you do not know who received the greater gift, him or you.

14. If you walk until your feet are swollen inside their comfortable Keens shoes, and you're needed for another task, you tell yourself you can put your feet up when you get home late that night, and you do the next task.

15. You know the bathrooms for the residents were not installed on a floor that slopes to a drain, so the bathrooms are a smelly place even when they were cleaned by the residents the day before. You decide to take the key for the volunteers' bathroom. That bathroom is clean because it is being used by only ten people instead of by 450. And because most of the volunteers are not peeing during the day even though they are drinking lots of water. Drinking water until they are sick of it.

16. If you are working in the warehouse and there are loud noises outside, and it's a fight between two men being witnessed by 75 others, you watch. You know neither of these men would be fighting if they were still living in their own homes in their own country.

17. You are invited by a gracious Afghani couple to dinner. There are 13 of you in a 12 by 12 room. You share a wonderful meal, with smiles and laughter. You do not think about your own home, so vastly larger, with room for half a dozen refugees if they could only get visas to enter your country.

18. You look around at your fellow volunteers - from Canada and the U.S. and Germany and Spain and Italy - and you are grateful to know them and to work with them, even for just a few days.

19. If you try to write an orderly account of what you learned in Greece, you can't do it. You can only put it all down - tell your own story - and hope that your readers will figure it out.

20. You know you will go back in a couple of months, and maybe bring a friend.