Memoirous

  Tuesday June 9, 2026, 47 miles (76 km) - Total so far: 311.5 miles (501 km) This a.m. Carol, my Warmshowers host, said to me: it's mostly downhill today. My response was reserved, I'd like to believe that. But, first, about yesterday. I've never felt so miserable. And scared, I might not finish. Believe me, I love the hiker biker sites where you can pull into a state park campground without a reservation and, despite it being full, always have a spot. But not all h/b are equal. Such as at Elk Creek. I was especially worn out when I arrived. All that adrenaline from the climb up from Crescent City and the traffic right next to me, no bike lane, then the wrong turn. I could not stop shivering after arriving. Yet, once again, there were no restrooms close by. The sun had slipped below the trees, no direct sunlight to warm up or dry clothes. The Blue Jays and ravens are pests and will steal your food, as well as the bears. I truly felt done. Then yesterday the rain. All day. ...

Saturday June 6, 2026, 50.5 miles (81 km) - Total so far: 172.5 miles (278 km) When I lived in Eugene five years ago for 9 months, I dreamed of riding the West Coast. I'm so amazed to be here, doing it. Here I am sitting in something that looks like a bus stop shelter, trying to stay out of the wind. Each hiker/biker site is different. This one has food lockers and charging station. I'm finishing up my tea sans chain oil and eating a snack before I make tonight's ramen. I'm glad the tea is still hot because the brisk wind is cold. I'm also grateful for the miles and hills I achieved. San Sebastian was a 2-mile climb. But first. I was the only one at the hiker biker site last night. I just pretended to stealth camp. Except for the amenities of water and a trash can. After eating and freshening up, I went to bed early,knowing that today, though shorter, would have some big climbs. I got off at 8:10 and because it is Saturday, traffic on the 101 was light. It built as ...

Sunday June 7, 2026, 57 miles (92 km) - Total so far: 229.5 miles (369 km) What a day!!! Pretty much all good. Last night at the hiker biker Scott and I chatted. He, too, had a daughter named Grace and lives off the grid in a trailer. I'm not off the grid, but live in a tiny house. He kept saying over and over that I was riding my ass off. He meant it nice. He was just shocked at how many miles I was doing and the various tours I've done. Today, I felt like I was riding my ass off--not right away. The first 30 miles were easy. Hardly any uphills. A few steep inclines as I was off the 101. The Adventure Cycling maps had me on quiet back lanes. After leaving at 7:30 ish, I crossed the state line within an hour. Fun! I arrived at Fort Dick, a gas station, around 10:30. I stopped because there were picnic tables, where I could eat the last of my Subway (from ). I'm thinking I'll see if there's a Subway in Crescent City when it hits me: there's picnic tables here bec...

  Day 2, Sunset Bay SP to Humbug Mt. SP, 62 miles Saturday June 6, 2026 Today was a hard, beautiful, majestic day. Really I'm in awe of where I am and what I'm doing. Before I left I tried to talk some unsuspecting co-workers into coming. I thought just because they were young they could likely do it. I think today's climbs would totally shift our relationship and they'd end up hating me. Seven Devils Rd. lived up to it's name. All day, though, there were climbs. Seven Devils was intense. The climbing began immediately and steeply. I barely had time to get into my low front sprocket--which performed like a charm all day. Over an hour I did 8 miles of climbing. Intense. At the "top" there was a break in the foliage and I got a pic of how high I was. Definitely not the coast,sea level. I made it to Bandon around 11 and went to Subway for another foot long. The two halves last me all day. Or in this case--I finished my half from yesterday at the top. They sta...

  Day 1, Florence to Sunset Bay State Park, 60 miles Thursday June 4, 2026 Oh boy, what a day! All so good, but also terrifying. Sam saw me off this a.m. I left around 7 a.m. for the Lane Link, where for $5 I can ride to the coast. As I was loading the bike on the front rack a woman appeared out of the bus to lend a hand. Chloe had also just arrived in Eugene and while her sister finished up work in Blue River, Chloe planned a day at the coast hiking. Very smart. Well, as we chatted I learned we had a dozen or so connections. She's from Michigan, grew up in the same small area as my son-in-law (very random), and now lives in Chicago. She is a sustainability geek. We chatted the whole way to Florence so I forgot to worry about things blowing off my bike. Which, btw my trip computer was not clicked in all the way and fell off as I was unloading. Chloe helped find it in the bushes. She watched my stuff while I ran to the bathroom. Always an issue. Anyway, I finished putting all the ba...

 It's been five years.  But as soon as I stepped outside of the airport, the smells came back to me. The magical year I spent here, getting better physically, mentally, and in my soul. Getting here. There's been some naysayers, not saying who, but mostly folks wishing me well on my "adventure." I like that category. It's not a trip or vacation or a bucket list. It's life plus. I took the Michigan Flyer to the airport, which takes about 2 hours. I've always had luck in the past grabbing a curbside cart. No dice this time. I left the bulk of my stuff by the bus to look for one (remember I'm doing this solo, one of the negatives is no one to watch your stuff). I ended up renting a cart for SEVEN DOLLARS! A little shocked, but again a necessary expense. I rolled up to Southwest counter where the agent said you can't fly with that. My heart dropped but I collected myself. The bike policy states I can. She read it through in front of me, jumped over the ...

Those are the words I tapped into my phone as I rounded a corner in Seaside heading to the Turnaround Monument at the end of my Lewis and Clark bike tour. Three little words that conveyed my bursting heart. I was almost done! After over 40 days of riding halfway across the country during the pandemic—where, perhaps, I shouldn’t have even been alive. There was so much misinformation—I wasn’t a skeptic, I social distanced and wore a mask—and, maybe, it wasn’t misinformation about congregant living and those over 60 being the most vulnerable. I mean all that did apply to me, even the part where I purposefully decided to work at our homeless shelter, where avoiding contact with the infected was nearly impossible. All this to say: I didn’t die or catch COVID. Then right as lockdown restrictions lifted, I hopped on my bike and rode to the Pacific Ocean. On my way—can also mean I’ve done all the prep, I’m ready, again, almost there. I’m down to sorting through my gear and planning wha...

Late fall I brought inside any plants I didn’t want to freeze. I attempted to hold over the chard and kale under a flimsy Tyvek plastic tarp—which went okay. The plants I brought inside were spearmint and chives. Throughout the winter the chives thrived and I used them in salads, on top of baked potatoes, and quiches. I was a little disappointed—tasteless. But it was deep winter and everything tasted washed out and bland. The blahs. Recently, I’ve begun returning the herbs back outside. I decided to keep the greenest and lushest one inside as I was about to make a dish that I’d brighten up with the chives. But the more I looked at the white pot topped with a green bushy crop, I thought: That looks like grass. I bent over, it smelled like grass. I got my phone and, using an identifying app, discovered it was grass. The two other pots were chives, the ones I ignored in lieu of not chives. Which means all winter long I was using grass as a condiment on a number of foods. I wanted to...

As an old(er) woman it’s easy to be invisible. I can walk down the street or at the grocery store and no one sees me. Especially when people are only looking at their phone. I noticed this starting about ten years ago—in my late 50s. I became irrelevant. Many women have described this. Perhaps, they were used to the attentions of men. I remember as a teen walking down the street with a friend and cars honking. Finally, I said, Why are all these cars honking?! And, she said, Because of these, pointing to her boobs. Ahh, I thought, yes, that’s why. Alone, no one ever honked at me. But, the feeling comes over me when standing in line at the bank or checkout. Incognito. Overlooked. Oh, you were here first? Oh, there’s a line? Oh, you’re actually here in front of me? Yes, and yes. Sometimes it bothers me, but after awhile I forget about it, just like the people around me forget to notice me. When riding my bike, I also disappear, and this, I found, is a good thing. I retreat ins...

Intervals (description below*) put out a call for work reflecting places no longer there. Not abandoned, but lost now to time. Erasure. * Intervals  is an experiment in call and response—between prompt and reply, between  Pictura  and its contributors. Each exchange becomes part of a continuing conversation, carried on in the spaces between our regular issues. Hidden Valley Ranch is an example of something tucked away in my writing portfolio, a flash memory/vignette of family vacations to central Kentucky to Hidden Valley Resort. The word resort here used very broadly to mean a family-owned and operated seasonal tourist “destination” featuring a swimming pool, barn dances, outdoor game area, and guided horse rides. I thought I was the only one, but when I first wrote about Hidden Valley and posted it on my blog over 12 years ago, I was surprised at the number of responses from readers Googling and finding my memoir post. These folks also remembered Hidden Valley and ...

I’m just now getting the memo, but happy to make the scene. You see, I’m of a generation of oatmeal and cold cereal, the occasional eggs and bacon. Avocado toast wasn’t a thing. Neither were avocados. I don’t remember my mother buying them  This week they were on special at the grocery store and I picked up two. Oddly enough, just the night prior on YouTube I’d seen a clip on avocado toast and thought yum! Weird how so many algorithms lie up. Anyway, I mashed up half and spread it on toast with a bit of cheese and pickled onion/cucumber and a dash of Dash. Something as simple as breakfast, as benign as toast, as colorful as spring grass—and I was in love. This blog is about memories—the most ordinary the better. So I landed on the topic of avocado toast this a.m. You might already be there or struggling to find a happy place, I adjoin you to try out avocado toast. Thank you Mexico and sun and rain and avocado trees!

I’m not sure how I thought I could do this in one day. The weather has gradually gotten better and not so cold in the a.m. I did a bit on Friday and a bit on Saturday with momentum building to finishing up today. Almost. I got the raised beds seeded and a few tomato seedlings transplanted. But there are NUMEROUS pots I use for what doesn’t fit in the raised beds. At one point I used my bike + trailer to go get more garden soil—not knowing the bags were 50 pounds each—and brought home two. The pots just kept coming. At a certain point, I told myself the rectangular ones would wait till tomorrow. 2 kinds of cucumbers 2 kinds of kale 2 kinds of chard Sweetie, Big Daddy, and another kind of tomato Pole beans Dill Thyme Summer savory Peppers Still to go—carrots, radishes, and basil Sooooo tired from the sun and exertion.

Leafing Out   Everything is leafing out While it only seems like a week ago The trees were bare And the jubilant buds far off Today the blossoms are a memory and Everything has leafed out   Sitting out While only a week ago A bitter wind blew and the trees shivered Today the verdant canopy is thick And we sit out, basking in the sun   Every bone in the body relaxes in warmth And the eyes cool in the shade Next week will be better As we leaf out, laugh out, lean Into summer  

I’ve been feeling very stressed lately—but, to be honest, I’m always feeling stressed. It’s my go-to reaction to pretty much everything. A physical second guessing. The cataract thing hasn’t helped. One, it presents as an old-person problem and I’m not old. At least I don’t feel old. Nevertheless, it came on quick and are fast-growing. I had an eye evaluation scheduled end of last September and things were fine. They noted my distance vision had worsened, but there was nothing said it was because cataracts were clouding my vision. Then, fast forward to December: And I’;m having trouble driving and at work I keep saying it looks like snow. To be fair, it did snow a lot—just not inside the building. I went back to the eye doc and asked about glasses. I got a pair in February and was told it might take some getting used to. March and April and I’m not seeing any better. So I go back to talk things over. That’s when I’m given an appointment to meet with an ophthalmologist. The process...

Here in Kalamazoo Does anyone else get Glenn Miller déjà vu when they hear Kalamazoo? I got a gal (in Kalamazoo) Don't wanna boast, but I know she's the toast Of Kalamazoo-zoo-zoo-zoo-zoo-zoo Years have gone by (my, my how she grew) I liked her looks when I carried her books In Kalamazoo-zoo-zoo-zoo-zoo I'm gonna send a wire, hoppin' on a flyer (Leavin' today) So, today I hopped a train to Kalamazoo—not exactly by choice. As mentioned in my last post: I recently found out I have cataracts. Not a little, but a lot. I was told not to drive and I knew I had a presentation in Kalamazoo in less than a week. Nothing upsets me more than to think I’ll disappoint someone. So, with the little agency I still possessed. I booked a morning train to the city/town and figured something would work out. It did. First off: the train was only $9, less money than I was planning to give to someone to drive me. Second, my husband was here visiting and was going back ...

Stink Bugs I was emptying a box the other day to get ready for a reading I was doing. Hopefully. Things these days feel very tenuous. Finding out I have cataracts and trying to schedule a procedure also has something to do with my mental makeup. Everything is cloudy and on hold. Anyway, in a corner of the box was a dead stink bug. Who knows how long it’s been there! It’s not like I was unpacking the Dead Sea Scrolls but, yes, it was back stock of my books. It’d been a minute. A Chicago minute. (I’ve been in Michigan now for about 4 years, time flies.) The last time I saw some of these books was packing them up to leave Chicago and wondering if my writing life was going to continue. Inventory is always about how much do you think you’ll need/want. It was hard to imagine going through so many copies of Orphan Girl and some of the other titles, but I packed them all into a U-Haul and trucked them to Okemos, Michigan where who knew what was next!? So, this was a Chicago stink bug? ...

Graduation Day Sheet Cake   Here’s to all the graduates Sheet cake Thick plastic icing Rosettes mounded, impermeable We wish you the best but Not the very best, not A bundt, or bakery 3-tier The world is your oyster Here today, gone Tomorrow, like the sheet cake Congratulations!

 So on the way up to Grand Rapids for a writing conference while on the bus, I saw that I got an acceptance. Great! It was for a flash I'd written awhile back and then largely forgot about. Then while out running, I remembered it at exactly the same place in the run that I was inspired to write it. That's how I think or rather remember. If I forget something, I'll remember it again if I go back and stand in the same place where I remembered it. So I was running and remembered the piece and that I'd forgotten about it. I pulled it up on my computer and decided to add another line, then sent it to my critique group, who liked it except for the line I added. "You don't need it; it sounds like you added it." Yup, okay. And I sent it off.  A week later an acceptance. But now I have to figure out how to bring up my submission grid/tracker and update it and inform the other places I sent it to that it is no longer available. I did this the next day after picking ...

  The sky is a seashell Alabaster-pink luster mauve-fringed clouds wavering baby blue the luminous moon a pearl

 Yesterday, in my sunny courtyard it snowed the gauge read 77℉ and we had our shoes off and pants rolled up, arms out to the sun, while all around white petals drifted speckling the deck   A few weeks ago, we had actual snowflakes and the backyard was covered in grey sooty white the daffodils were brave to poke their head out   Today, I track the crushed petals inside, sweep them up like parade confetti and toss them outside to join the other reminders of spring

In the Low Honest Prayers for Dark Seasons by Justin McRoberts and Scott Erickson There’s always surprises at the Festival, small delights and big discoveries around books and authors I’m not acquainted with—same goes for this year. I’ve often wondered: does timing matter? The algorithm is all over the place. Upon first arriving, the energy is there, while on Saturday the last day, the emotional levels are depleted. Am I more open to the universe at the beginning or end? Just like the Michigan spring—there’s no predicting. I picked up my name badge at registration and sat down to scan the beautifully designed program. Then I visited the Exhibit Room where there were very few literary journals represented. Hmmm, why? Time remaining before the noon plenary, I wandered over to the art space at Calvin, where Scott Erikson a Festival speaker had an exhibit. I wasn’t familiar with his work. Apparently, he is big on social media; his Instagram is wildly popular. The bio on the wall at th...

This has become a thing—for almost 12 years. I believe my first ride home from the Festival of Faith and Writing in the always unpredictable month of April—the weather, that is. I’ve had snow, sleet, rain (of course!) and sometimes too much heat. Heading home to Chicago, the ride took 4 days. It’s much more manageable going back to Okemos. Once again, I took Indian Trails up, prepped bike and took off for my host’s house—fabulously only 3 streets over from Calvin University, making getting back and forth during the Festival easy peasy. There’s always surprises at the Festival, small delights and big discoveries around books and authors I’m not acquainted with—same goes for this year. I’ve often wondered: does timing matter? The algorithm is all over the place. Upon first arriving, the energy is there, while on Saturday the last day, the emotional levels are depleted. Am I more open to the universe at the beginning or end? Just like the Michigan spring—there’s no predicting. The b...

I knew you before Smartphones in analog time for over 40 years we are witnesses to change. Incarnation. In the basement of The Rock (youth hangout at First Baptist Church) Kool-Aid, Cornerstone, rock music Our hearts burned, Praise Him! I knew you before marriage, children before heartbreak, despair in the 70s, last century on bikes and junker cars cross country runs when our bodies moved— flown open to the Holy Spirit. Let’s forget and remember who we were, used to be friends . . . see you next time.  

Not sure how much I’ll be blogging this week. The Festival of Faith and Writing starts Thursday and I leave Wednesday by bus to get up to Grand Rapids. The big news: Spring is coming. After the historic rainfall—4 inches in 24 hours—and intense backyard flooding, we’re down to a 4 foot in diameter puddle that the sump pump is slowly trickling down. We can’t seem to keep the 2-year-old out of it. There are multiple clothing changes throughout the day. But the tilt of the earth has shifted, we’re over some kind of hump. I believe. Today I noticed magnolia trees about to burst forth. The forsythia bushes are leafed out. The tree outside my door has hard little buds on it. I took a little over 2-hour bike ride this a.m. It was 43 degrees when I started out 70 by the time I walked into our courtyard at home. I needed to get some miles in as I’m hoping to ride home from Grand Rapids next Sunday. I write hoping because every time I try to train it’s either snowing, raining, or hailing. ...

In the winter I’d come home from work, fix food, and go to bed. These days I stay up later. I’ll have a tea and take a walk in the yard or around the block—depending on the moonlight. The blood flows faster. The senses sense. Spring. I cup the cup of hot tea and listen—wind ruffling the top of the pines. The ground is still cold, mossy wet but there’s something there—a hidden green.

New Work Out Chariot of the Gods combines a childhood memory of a neighbor girl falling out of a tree and me volunteering to run to her house to get her mom and my son-in-law’s father who I refer to as my father-in-law. Removed. Anyway, their house is the fun one. The center of the universe for the family. When there, there’s always a story unthreading taking us through the night. None of the story is true, only true-ish. Find it here at Wild Greens : https://www.wildgreensmagazine.com/archive/april-2026-vi-vi#h.z2znarx3yh0i

Friday night to Saturday morning—apparently it rained. I was up under the eaves fast asleep. I awoke early to write and found the world weirdly silent. I opened the door and even without the drip drip of rain sensed wetness, the smell of water. I grabbed a headlamp which did nothing to penetrate the darkness, but I knew: the backyard was flooded as happens in the spring. Vernal ponding because of the amount of clay underground. We’re also in a little bit of a bowl. The last owners left us with a sump pump—for good reason. We’ve needed it in the spring and after large rain events. This time we had both. When the sun came up, dreary and bleak weak, I was able to see the edge of the pond licking the fire pit only feet from my Tiny House. At just that moment my daughter called to say there was water in the basement. They have a sump pump but it must’ve failed—just as we have a sump pump in the backyard and at the moment it too must’ve failed. I texted our neighbor to say we were bailing ...

It’s been a while. A struggle. But, there’s been a breakthrough. I’m not sure what happened— For so long I’ve felt like I was being dragged around by my hair, going from one thing to another without agency, like a monkey on my back. It wasn’t one thing but a million unnamed pressures. A sense of why bother. Fear and self-doubt. I didn’t know where to start. I cleared off my desk, I cleared out my head. I sorted through scraps of paper and opened a file on my computer meant to organize my thoughts. I started with making lists. In January I ordered a used copy of Art & Fear by co-authors David Bayles and Ted Orland. I once had this book but must have given it away or left it behind somewhere. I was reminded of it the end of 2025 and thought: the title alone is worth reading over and over. The fear doesn’t keep me away, I keep reaching, but the state of my soul is brittle. I needed to get beyond a certain paralysis. The result of reading this small book turned into a Su...

I was there in heart and spirit. It seems like every community held a gathering. I went online after I got home from work to see how things went in Minneapolis/St. Paul. It was a rally, a call for resistance=all the things you’d expect. But there was also a somber note, a reference to loss, saying names out loud. A reminder of this past long, hard winter. Calling forth spring, hope, change. When Tim Walz introduced Bruce Springsteen, he was dressed down in a flannel and wind ruffled his hair. He seemed so everyman. I know he’s taken a lot of grief these past few years after stepping into the political limelight. He’s taken a few punches. One has the feeling the job has worn him down. Then, when Bruce Springsteen took the stage, you could hear the crowd, but it didn’t feel like a rock concert. I sensed anticipation, like when a priest comes out, someone to say the words and hold up the cup, to lay it all out on the altar. What we need to hear—whether good or bad, something to take...

  Once again, I am prepping for a familiar trek: To Grand Rapids for the Festival of Faith and Writing. I did a search and so much of this blog is dedicated to that biennial event where so many of my favorite things collide. Reading Writing Meeting other readers Staying with Andy and Natalie Quick convo with Luci Shaw—sadly now, no more Riding my bike home Starting in 2014, the first time I attempted to ride my bike home (then it was Chicago and took 3 days), I would bring a bicycle and commute to the conference. Now in 2026 at age 67 I’ll, again, be bringing a bike. I can bring it on Indian Trails and unpack at the station and ride to my host’s house. I’ll stay again with Natalie—except this time they have moved east of the city, so on Saturday I’ll journey to their house and then go on from there on Sunday morning on side roads back to Lansing. Rereading past posts at this blog about the FFW, I’ve remembered authors I was introduced to through the festival and decided to add ...