I’ve been to Santiago de Compostela in Spain six times, beginning in 2008. In legend, the city was established in the 9th century AD as the burial place for the Apostle James. (He’s known in English as St James the Greater, and in Spanish as Santiago.) The city is the capital of the province of Galicia in northwestern Spain. It’s a World Heritage Site and the destination of the famous Camino de Santiago pilgrimage. Its big draw is the world-class cathedral. In 2008, when I f

It’s Santa Fe, New Mexico, at Easter. How can I refuse an invitation to walk the eight miles from the tiny village of Nambé to el Sanctuario de Chimayó? It’s the largest annual pilgrimage in America! Why would I miss that when I’m house sitting in Santa Fe at exactly the right time of year? There are many starting points for this famous religious trek to Chimayó. Some devotees reputedly start at the Mexico border; others set off from Albuquerque about 91 miles away; some begi

One day while house sitting on Whidbey Island, I notice the recycling boxes in my homeowners’ tidy garage are filling up. I’ll be conscientious, I decide. I google and find the address for Island Recycling. I load up my car and enter the info in my GPS. Little do I know that I’m in for another “unique place” experience. Little do I know I’ll go back to that place several times, just to take pictures. Really? Well, yes. I turn in at the driveway off Rt 525, north of Freeland,

Certainly an advantage to being a house sitter in a new community, rather than a tourist, is that I have unrestricted time to mosey through market and residential areas that aren’t featured in Chamber of Commerce literature. I particularly like to look for people’s art or public art, as opposed to gallery art, all over a town. On out-of-the-way streets in the town of Langley on Whidbey Island, I got to discover what the ordinary (and extraordinary) townspeople think is import

He wrote that I should look for the tall Japanese man with the bald head. Okay. I walked into Counter Culture Cafe in Santa Fe and greeted him, mispronouncing his name. I said it as “jen”— he corrected me, “gen”—as in Genghis Khan. Thus my hour with humble, warm, and inventive Gen Hayashida—who at first glance intimidated me—began. Gen Hayashida, March 2018 Gen is a remarkable man: his parents sent him from Japan to the San Francisco area at age 16 as an exchange student. He

I’ve encountered nothing but kindness and charm in Albuquerque, NM, and I’ve been housesitting in this city for three months already. Here in Albuquerque’s North Valley where I temporarily live, I’ve explored several walking trails, for this historic area is criss-crossed by ditches. These acequias, in Spanish, are long old trenches of varying widths and depths that sometime during the year, I’m told, carry water to agricultural fields. Much of the time they are dry and dusty

An Occasional Post on Art that Thrills Me Boredom is also the mother of invention. Back-in-the-day, we entertained ourselves in the evening—reading, conversing, playing, singing, writing, carving, sketching, knitting, learning, planning, studying, listening to and making music. Back-in-the-day, there was no screen with words and images created by others to seduce us into simply watching others conversing, playing, doing…. Back-in-the-day, our unspoken mottos were this: Out wi

I got to Gate 148 in the LAX International Terminal very early. The lounge was almost empty, thank goodness, for I wanted to sit close to the staffing desk. When the flight check-in people arrived, I hoped to be first in line to ask for an aisle seat. I had a ten-hour flight ahead and I’m an up-and-down-every-hour type of passenger. I sat two chairs away from the only other person in that lounge, a nicely dressed Indian woman, who was doing hand-stitch work on a white fabric.

For years, I shied away from traveling in France: I don’t speak French, the people are reputed to be snooty….and even though I loved my time last year in Paris, I’ve been cautious about that country. Then for a couple weeks recently, Beebe Bahrami’s Café Oc: A Nomad’s Tales of Magic, Mystery and Finding Home in the Dordogne of Southwestern France was my just-before-sleep book choice, and—I don’t know whether to say ‘regretfully’ or not—it kept me awake far more often than I a

I’ve been housesitting in Boulder less than a week, and happily I’ve found a walking trail that fits my three-mile round-trip requirement. Goose Creek Greenway, a stream with a winding path beside it, is well-used by a mix of ducks, geese, pigeons, bicyclists, joggers, mothers with prams, fast walkers, slow walkers, and the occasional homeless person with cart. But… A great deal of care was taken originally when planning this trail. The signage is beautiful. … for the three d

“Do you need someone to be the corpse?” I asked the Care-of-the-Body team instructor. “Because if you do, I’ll volunteer. I’d like to doze a bit.” That was hardly an exalted motive, I admit, but it was honest—early afternoon is my usual nap time. “And may I remain clothed?” I pleaded. Yes, was the answer to both questions. I was at an extraordinary training session. I mean, how many people do you know who’ve been trained in how to support a family in creating a sacred space t

Strolling along the Thames near the Tate Modern last evening, near the Blackfriars Bridge Ticket Office I chanced upon the first d-pod in England. It’s been in existence for less than a week. What fun to discover this retail idea! I shot this from outside the window glass, so there’s a confusing reflection of people buying tickets opposite the d-pod, but still you can see the dimensions of the space from the two walls. It’s quite a narrow space. In its windows were open white

Note: I’m just now, in Spring 2017, sorting materials I collected on my trip to Europe in August & September 2016; I’ll occasionally post reflections and photos of that trip, dating my posts as if they were written last year. “I’m puzzled,” I said to the man who sold tickets to Rydal House, the place in England’s Lake District where poet William Wordsworth lived out the last three decades of his life. “I’ve noticed many Asians tourists here in the Lake District,” I said. “Wh

At the Democratic Convention in July, Bill Clinton gave a loving, personal, and illuminating speech about Hillary that included the story of his multiple proposals of marriage to her. I enjoyed listening to it. But what a surprise to have it referenced by a British boatman on gorgeous Lake Windermere in England’s Lake District. Let me explain. As I handed my ticket to a crew member to board a tidy wooden boat to cross the lake from Bowness to the landing site for Hill Top, th

An Occasional Post on Art that Thrills Me I saw an exhibit that made me oogle and cheer in Santa Fe in August 2016. It was “MAIL ART! Priority Mail” at the Axle Contemporary, a irreverent mobile gallery that feeds those starved for unusual art. The Axle Contemporary truck appears at street corners and farmers’ markets, feeding art to the curious and open-minded. I must take photos for Sherry! I said to myself. For thirty years, my friend Sherry has been the lone practitioner

Ever wonder why New Mexico is called Land of Enchantment? It’s because if you take the back roads in the state, you can be transported back several centuries and into almost-foreign lands: it’s time-traveling magic at its easiest. So if you want a day-adventure from Santa Fe, take the High Road to Taos. It’s slower, of course, than the usual US285/84 and NM68 highways that pass through Española, wind through the gorgeous Rio Grande valley, and get you to Taos in about an hour

It was inspired choice—spending July 4, 2016, morning walking the canals of Venice CA with an old friend (as I’m housesitting in LA for a bit). Residents were out, spreading red-white-blue picnic tablecloths in preparation for parties. They responded warmly to “Happy Fourth!” And this year, because of Hillary, I felt unusually proud to be an American. It’s been years since I visited the Marina/Venice neck of the Los Angeles woods. The area, a few blocks from the ocean, now ab

Yesterday was a first for me: I experienced an equine-facilitated therapeutic session led by my friends Erin and Wes. I came away from the session in love with two horses: Phoenix, a dark-brown thoroughbred racehorse who was deserted by unknown owners in the desert and survived by eating gravel until my friends rescued him; and Mystery, a black horse who just showed up in Erin’s life, lost and alone. Phoenix, the beautiful former race-horse I came away from the session smelli

“So,” I said to a Crestone local, opening the French doors and stepping out to the porch where she stood, hose in hand, watering the flowers around the house where I’m house-sitting, “how long have you been here?” “I’ve been here 27 years,” she said. We exchanged names. She was polite, but she didn’t take my question as the bait I intended it to be, that is, an invitation into friendly conversation. I sensed that she had no interest in me, or probably more accurately, that sh

I kissed my mother’s forehead, told her I loved her, and said goodbye at her nursing home in Hesston, Kansas, on Wednesday, Feb 24. Emphatically she ordered, “Come back and visit me!” Mom rarely speaks a coherent sentence any more. I was impressed that she got out those five words. She doesn’t call me by name, but I think she knows who I am. I’m quite certain she enjoyed my two-day visit. She’s 97 now. Then I drove to Newton, KS—down Old Highway 81, recently renamed Hesston R