Emily Rabbit & Easter

 Well! Here I am on almost Bunny Day, which kj said I shouldn’t say, because she said Easter is about something very serious, and religious even, but  I can't help it. All I can think about are:

1. Solid Chocolate eggs
2. Carrots dipped in chocolate
3. One giant chocolate rabbit wearing overalls and a pink hat with a flower
4. Mutilcolored Jellybeans
5. Marshmellow chickens
6. Grape lollipops

 

I hope if you celebrate Easter that you are thinking like I am, and not ignoring the benefit of M&M's and Cadbury cream eggs and Reeces peanut butter cups, if you want be nice to yourself or to somebody who would smile if you gave them one. 

If you don't like sweets (that is very sad), you could dig up a plant in someone’s yard and maybe put it in your own pot and maybe even give the plant to someone nice or someone you want to be nice.

 

I really cannot concentrate on anything right now except candy and jellies and lollipops. I hope you are smart enough to know what your priorities are like I do so you will not waste your time  worrying or working too hard.

Happy Easter from Emily R.

 I'm still doodling. This is my view from the couch. For some reason, my favorite views are through windows or doorways or secret passages. I recently read a book about past lives, and that often gets me thinking about how thin the line is between here and there. I wonder if there's a reason why I've always  liked looking through and beyond. Heck, I wonder if there's a reason why it's so much easier for me to be sedentary than it is for me to hike or walk in the woods or exercise just because. 

My knee rehab requires that I take walks and complete a set of exercises daily. Sometimes I don't, but usually I do. But rarely with enthusiasm! My good friends across the street are out at 6:30 am, in the rain, slugging through the sand dunes here in Provincetown. Their dog Basil is the lucky recipient of amazing free runs, chasing after seals (and always failing, thankfully) and running up and down sandy hills. Our poor Mattie, on the other hand, sits on the couch with me, as patiently as she can muster, until JB scoops her up for their daily walk. Soon, JB will have a hip replacement and I will be (have to be) mobile enough on my own to take over the walks. This is not something to complain about: Provincetown is a gorgeous spit of land, surrounding by the bay and ocean. The bay and beach is barely a block away from our home, and the sky and sunsets and low tides, with all its ripples, is magnificent.

These days my passion is back for writing, and I'm s-l-o-w-l-y learning techniques to improve my drawings. This is all couch work, which doesn't help my activity level, but does give me a cozy sense of contentment.

The last days have been an auspicious week, at least I think so. For the first time in TWO YEARS, my days have felt 'normal.'No crisises, no one to worry about, no long traveling, no challenges. My god mother Marie fell at home two years ago, and then my cousin Maureen got her terminal diagnosis, and from there JB and I have had our hands full. But now, it looks like we may have really, truly turned the corner. 

It's March, the days are longer and warmer, and my miniature irises have broken through the ground. My daughter Jess and my grandkids and my friends and family are well. Along with JB, I'm soon to be rewarded with a mini-vacation at a fancy hotel. A heated pool. A massage. Four star food. 

No complaints. Not today. I wish the same for you xoxo

love kj

February

 This winter I've been editing three books, thinking about another, and dabbling in drawing. Since it's just about the end of February here on Cape Cod, I'm also thinking about our small garden and when and what to plant. These are all things I love to do. 

The writing and editing is the hardest. And the VERY hardest is querying agents and publishers to see if they (one!) may be interested in my submission. The query is as important as the manuscript itself. It has to be impactful, well written, and concise. It has to be a page or less. It's a discouraging project, and the odds of being 'picked up' are tiny. But, I'm determined to test the market. If that doesn't work, I'll again self-publish, and that's okay too.

This drawing reflects the mountain village in Italy where my grandfather was born and raised. I've had various feedback about what to do with the foliage and shrubs. Some folks like it as is; others, including me, think it blobs of green are too flat and blah. This drawing is on page 32 of a book that gives me a creative prompt for all 365 days of the year. I'm psyched to complete it! It will be a surprise Christmas present for my daughter, Jessica.

Sometimes I'm not sure I'm spending my time wisely. These are all activities I enjoy, a lot, and why I judge whether or not they're worthwhile is beyond me....

love kj

Hello!

 I've breezed through summer, and fall, and Christmas, punctuated by the challenging homecare and sad death of my 106 year old Godmother Marie, and a new knee operation that's had too many complications. I haven't written a new word until this week, and hopefully, finally, I'm back!  

I have a novel to edit and query, a poetry book to promote, a revised version of The Light Stays On to land somewhere, and all kinds of new ideas to ponder and write about. That's one important thing about writing: there's no need for boredom. I can always write. 

This year, probably because I've been on the couch and in physical therapy rehabilitating my knee, I've also started drawing and painting. I have this book called Draw & Create 365 that instructs me to create something every day in 2024, and I'm having a grand time doing that so far.

I chose this image today because the USA and the world is such a mess.  It's a challenge to be optimistic in this time, but it's important to hope for and work for kindness, hope, community. Almost every single person I know is a good human being: that has to count,.

I yet again apologize for being absent on my blog for so long. I'm still determined to do better!

With love, kj

 

Thoughts on Taylor Swift

 I’m definitely not an average fan. I ‘discovered’ Taylor Swift and her music not even a year ago, and besides that, I’m seventy-five. You won’t find me climbing up to Section H, Row 32 in any stadium. But I’m a writer, I love words that rhyme, and I like music. I’m also a counselor who senses that Taylor Swift is a nice person. At this point, I still don’t know which of her song titles go with which of her songs, but I’m learning. Her talent is amazing. It’s obvious that her sexy moves and glittered leotards are just window dressing for her incredible, multiple talents. Her song writing, her story telling, her catchy musicality, her stage presence, her physical movements, her connection with her fans—each of these are skill sets, and they’re extraordinary.

        That Taylor Swift is thirty-three years old with a seventeen year career is an incredible achievement. That she is filling 70,000 person stadiums night after night, presenting a forty-five song, three hour concert, on stage constantly moving and emoting and singing, without a break, is ground-breaking enough. The reviews I read and the video clips I see have catapulted her fifty-two city Eras Tour into a generational once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon. Taylor Swift has released over two hundred songs and her legion of fans know the sing-along words to all of them. 

            I should add that her phrases and images are also extraordinary: ‘They told me all my cages were mental/So I got wasted like all my potential…,’ ‘They say all’s well that ends well, but I’m in a new hell every time you double cross my mind…,From sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes…,’You kept me like a secret, but I kept you like an oath…,’ ‘You call me again just to break me like a promise…,’And if I get burned, at least we were electrified…”Cuz there were pages turned with the bridges burned, Everything you lose is a step you take…’

 

            These are words from an observer and a participant in life; from someone who knows how to frame and share images that we all understand.

                                                                        ***

 The Eras tour began with Taylor Swift snugly in her almost seven year relationship with Joe Alwyn, or so it seemed. For all that time, this couple kept their private life and relationship private, a remarkable feat for the performer of the Century (Century, not decade.) The breakup, announced on the opening night of her filled stadium in Tampa, was a shock to Taylor’s fans, who were quickly concerned about how she was doing. With a thumbs up from the stage, she made it clear she’s doing fine. Word has it that 'Taylor and Joe' actually decide to move on in February, and she’s looking forward to being more open in her personal life and relationships. She’s confirmed this so far by hanging out publicly with friends in New York City, more than once, and, as of two weeks ago, enter the rocker, Matty Healy.

            I don’t know any diehard Taylor Swift fans to check with, so I only have my own opinion, but only three months after ending a seven year partnership, and dealing with all the emotional feelings and fallout in leaving someone you truly loved, and jumping quickly into another relationship, isn’t usually the healthiest or smartest thing to do. Surely Taylor Swift knows this, because she’s smart and introspective and observational. Yes? So, what’s going on?

            Certainly, I have no idea. I have no agency into the private life of Taylor Swift. But do I think there’s some cause for concern? I’d say yes to that. It doesn’t help that the press and paparazzi are all over the Taylor-Matty story. There’s good evidence that she’s keeping herself pretty busy. That’s often a good coping tool to get through a break up. But also, major life changes need time to percolate. Even when a breakup is mutual or expected or healthy, all kinds of feelings come with it: attachment/abandonment issues, loss, old wounds, triggering  memories, outdated beliefs, old and new fears. A sudden jump into ‘dating’ again, and especially intimate dating, doesn’t allow time to process all this, and a guy who by all reports has been a ‘bad boy,’ who’s publicly made racist and homophobic statements, seems, well, a surprising choice. My guess is many (most?) of Taylor’s fans expected (hoped?) to witness a strong, amazingly talented woman rebuild her life as now-single and independent, with determined courage to move forward, on her own. 

            It’s so presumptuous of me to question the decisions of a woman I have never met, and whose relationships I know nothing about. So why am I writing this? Honestly, probably because, for what it’s worth, I have (unsolicited!) advice. I’m holding up a flashing yellow slow-it-down light. It’s my experience talking, just in case.  Don’t rush, Taylor Swift. Take your time, alone, and with your family and friends. Have fun. Breathe. Feel. 

            But don’t let passion drive you, not yet. 

            

Refining JOY

 

Lately I’ve been thinking about joy. I chose this card to enclose in our Christmas cards last year, because the unsettled times seemed to call for a reminder of how much joy matters.

But I’ve been rethinking this advice. It’s not that joy doesn’t matter–it matters a boatload, but let’s face it: it’s increasingly hard to hold on to joy when there are so many worries and crisises all around us. The climate is bringing devastating floods and high winds everywhere; a political breakdown still allows automatic guns and mass murders; our schools and movie theaters and churches and shopping malls and get-togethers no longer feel safe. This is real stuff. 

I’m not an alarmist or a pessimist. I truly believe that positive energy and happy connections with ourselves and others promote a joy that is our human right. But I’ve come to  believe that an emphasis on joy, contentment, self-satisfaction–without acknowledging what happening around us, doesn’t work. I think it’s time to say that out loud. 

Joy lives in the little things: gatherings with family and friends, a job well done, the scent of garlic on your fingers, the sound of rain on the roof, the excitement of a blossoming garden, the passion of romance, the pride of recognition, the feeling kindness brings to the giver and recipient. 

But these days, I think it’s a mistake to pursue ‘joy’ as if it’s achievable without coming to terms with the many factors that aren’t joyful at all. Yes, it’s painful to watch the evening news. Yes, we’re in a major climate crisis. Yes, women’s rights are threatened. Yes, our kids aren’t safe in school. Yes, our government has broken down. Yes, our country and world have huge problems. 

And yes, of course joy matters. My point is this: I don’t think most of us are going to be successful if we don’t also acknowledge that there’s a  canope of anxiety over us these days. The anxiety is real, and there are real reasons for it. I think it helps to recognize that. 

So, I offer some unsolicited advice: be realistic. Cherish your life and the people you love, practice gratitude, and snatch and welcome joy whenever and wherever you find it. But also, these days, be extra gentle with yourself and your hopes. These aren’t easy times. Don’t let anyone mislead you about that, or tell you that the ‘canope of anxiety’ isn’t real. No sing-songy messages are going to change that until we humans collectively change what’s happening around us. I just think it’s healthy and helpful to know that…..

October

OMG I finally have a new Apple MacAir and already my inferior computer skills have become so much easier. This includes being able to post photos on my Blog without Herculean effort. 

Here's home: where I'm nesting these days. It's a beautiful place to be inside and out. Our house isn't fancy but it's comfortable and welcoming. I spend a lot of time looking on this scene, from the couch, often writing. It's a big deal that I've added Microsoft Word to my laptop. It's been a foolish disadvantage I saddled myself with since every agent and publisher wants manuscripts and queries and everything in Word. So now I can stop worrying about how a document or file will look when I export it. Not to say that I know what I'm doing even on Word, but I'll learn. I'm motivated. 

The time of day and the tides here in Provincetown determine the light of scenes like these. I'm amazed every time. The third shot is just outside my front door. Sunset. 

In two weeks there will be mid-term elections in the United States. It's horrifying to think that people who lied and still lie about our Presidential election still have a following--and a violent following at that. It's a troubled time in the world. I don't know if I can even write about it. I keep thinking that too many people don't understand what it actually means if Democracy fails. 

This glittering scene is one block from our house. It's hard to feel anything but grateful when I pass by this. I'm an optimist. I hope reality doesn't force me to reconsider. Already I'm no longer a loyal fan of  the human race.

 And finally today, this little tree in the front porch is my reminder that the holidays will soon begin. I'm all over that! For some reason I'm far more creative during the Christmas season. I draw more; I search for interesting presents; JB and I bake and decorate our almost-famous sugar cookies. And we have little get-togethers and pot-lucks. This time of year, I do my best to offer some much needed cheer. 

Davoni

His name is changed but this is a true story. I was a psychotherapist some years back and I could tell you a hundred stories like this. 

The spacing didn't turn out correctly on this post but for some reason it's right as it is. 

 Davoni never answered. No matter what I asked him, he grinned and shrugged. “I don’t know,” he always 

said. This was his response when I asked him if he missed his mother, when I  asked him how he felt when his 

foster mother told him that she didn’t want him anymore, what he thought when the new foster family shaved his 

head and he had to he start a new school in a new home. I told Davoni that I would pay myself  a nickel every 

time he said “I don’t know.” and I’d soon be rich.  “Oh another nickel—that’s fifteen cents so far today!”  I joked

and and we laughed together, the way we sometime laughed for no reason when we walked to the little room 

holding hands and  tickling each other’s palms. He’s only six and he’s been in three foster homes so far. 

Davani only cried twice in front of me, once on the last day of kindergarten, when two of  his teachers kept showing him his special music award and told him how great he sang.. But later, in the school library room where we sometimes met, when I  asked him about the award and, he began  to cry and couldn’t stop. Finally he sobbed, “It should have been in spelling, not music. I didn’t try in music.” 

Last week he cried like that again, this time because he scratched another kid in his afterschool program and was suspended for five days. The teacher aide told me he cried so hard he couldn’t talk. She said he seemed like a good child, and smart; that she understands that he is in  a new school with new teachers and a new foster family, new faces, new  rooms, new rules. “But,” she said, he had to be punished. She also said he’s falling asleep in class.

“Do you sleep okay in your new room?” I asked him.

“I dunno,” he said.

            “Oh! Another nickel!” He laughed. We laughed. 

“Devoni,” I put my hands on his head and rubbed  his stub of hair. “About scratching that kid at afterschool, I can teach you how to use your words instead of your hands. I think that will help a lot, what do you think?” 

He looked up.“ I dunno.” He smiled and  paused. “Yes,” he said.

Betty Bird

 This is Betty Bird, made by my partner JB from a piece of driftwood and embellished to her heart's content. JB is finally realizing her passion and dream as an Artist. She's in a local gallery and she's as happy as a clam. 

Time to Chill

 

Hello from Sebago Lake in Maine. JB and I are here on a five day mini-escape from chores and obligations. Life is finally settling down after months of unexpected and important demands. During that time, I've done nothing to promote either of my already published books and instead, I've started a new one!  I've already shared a couple of chapters of our pre-Covid Road Trip across America, but as of today, I've finished a draft one run-through and I'm beginning to edit. But the really fun part comes when I start  adding photos. This will be a different kind of book for me; the pictures alone will make it different. But it's also personal, almost a memoir, and sometimes it's hard to know what to include and what to leave out. Other people and their feelings and reactions to my descriptions of them matter, but so does the honesty of my writing. And once something's in print, there it is--so I want to be extra careful about boundaries. 

None of this is easy for me. My computer skills are lacking. Even the most basic formatting--setting up margins and indentations and paragraphs--is often too confusing, and sometimes I end up messing up what I already have.

But, aside from legitimate guilt in not promoting my existing books, this process of new writing is such a joy for me. I can tell that my writing has gotten tighter and more descriptive, all good, but I'm never sure whether anything I write is good enough. I know that's common and I know that's not a reason to avoid writing. 

So here it is, fall in New England. I am currently looking out onto a vast shimmering calming lake. Around me I have my manuscript and laptop and colored pencils and a moleskin and a coloring project I just might finally finish. All good ways to spend a few days creating. Because we're on an island, JB and I have stocked up on interesting food and treats. Mattie is with us and where we are is isolated and private and beautiful. No TV, no heat. No demands! 

I'm aware that this kind of 'escape' is essential from time to time. Otherwise my head fills up and my body gets depleted and I explode. Last week I got so frustrated over nothing important that I threw a coffee box and then a paper bag across the kitchen. That sounds ridiculous and harmless enough, right?--but I was mad and actually out of control. Too many problems that needed fixing were piling up and I reacted. Lucky that I didn't throw a plate or a bowl. I could have. So I'm aware that anger is too close to the surface for me, and I'm at least smart enough to know I have to break that cycle.

So here I am at Sebago Lake. It's been a brilliant decision. I wholeheartedly recommend a change of pace and a change of scenery from time to time. Especially now, with so many political and moral challenges adding to the human pot. 

More to come about the road trip book. I'm excited to have the first go-round done!

Thanks always for stopping by. 

love kj

Two Homes

I currently live in Provincetown, at the very tip of Massachusetts, where the bay and ocean is barely a block from home. Before that, for more than a decade, JB and I lived in Western Massachusetts, in farm country that also had the benefit and vibe of six local colleges. 

I don't think I'll have to tell you which photo is from which location. What I will say is that the Universe has blessed me with wonderful homes. I love having the sea a part of my daily life--JB and I check the tides every day--and at the same time I miss the farm stand that was barely a mile from our house, where we bought just picked strawberries and just picked peaches and just picked corn on the cob, all of this following the rhythm of the farm seasons. 

My life here is Provincetown is a new chapter for me. I've 'retired' from my paid consulting work, although my 'volunteer' schedule is still pretty busy. I have the skills to help people get through tough times, and I can't (yet) justify not jumping in to help when the need is right in front of me. In any case, 'retired' isn't the right word. I write now: I've published two books and am working on two, maybe three more. I garden, sometimes I cook and bake, I have more local friends than ever before in my life, and I have a precious family--my Jessica and her husband and four awesome kids, and our extended family, and JB, my loved and loving partner of how long is it?--37 years? 

Here are some random photos of my life in both places. You'll know which is where.

love 

kj

xo

 

Thursday 13

Who remembers Thursday 13? This was a time on the blogs when every Thursday, artists, writers, photographers, nature lovers, and gentle chatterboxes (all of us!) posted 13 of whatever we felt like. If there was a theme at all, it was often snippets of our lives.

So here's my Thursday 13 this week. It's a lot random, because I'm at the mercy of bad computer skills (my own), but these photos do come from my life, one way or another. 

 1. This first shot is the Seagull Motel in Truro on Cape Cod, where my Godmother Marie vacationed twice a year for two weeks each time. Marie used to talk all the time about this beloved corner rental, on the Bay, where she and her 'friend'/partner Jean rode their bikes and picked blueberries and made blueberry pies for their local lucky friends.

Now, Marie doesn't talk as much about her time there or her many travels. She seems to be thinking more about her childhood, about her sisters, and growing up with my Father and my Grandfather, who took in and raised Marie age 12 and her four sisters when their remaining parent died.

I'm mentioning this because Marie is 105 years old and last week we managed to get her back home from a nursing home. She has a live in full time aide and she's much frailer than she was even a year ago, but she's remarkable. She's smart and observant and interesting. And she's transitioning, a respected elder, needing help in walking and self care and meals. I'm witnessing a life well lived. 

2. JB's artwork  is now in a prestegious gallery. This is a dream come true for her and she can hardly believe it. She's making incredible art. No doubt about that. 

3. And here I am soundly asleep and so is Mattie. HaHa. 

4. I KNOW certain people will recognize this painting right away. It graced Renee's blog, right to the end. Losing Renee to the cancer she did her best to kick around was an irreplaceable loss here on the Blogs. The way she befriended and uplifted dozens and dozens and actually hundreds of followers on her blog, as she wrote love letters to her family and wrote about the 'damn bats' that caused her relentless pain, was nothing short of amazing.  Renee was a lover of life and an optimist and so much else. Her blog Circling My Head is still up. It goes back 11 years. And its worth every fantastic word.

5. Enough said during this dark strange time. I cannot truly explain how we got here. 

5. Ahh my poor neglected poetry book. I am so thankful for so many kind reviews and kind words. I had every intention to take promoting it seriously. But in January my cousin Maureen became terminally ill and Marie fell and ended up in a nursing home, and JB and I stepped in to help both women navigate and plan. We are both exhausted even as I write this, but we are also honored and grateful. And the book, it's on Amazon. 

6-10 Family xoxo

 

an oldie but very very goodie!

11. And another book by yours truly: this one I can just about guarantee is a good summer read. 

12. Once there was a Magic Cottage

13. Where I happen to live: a most glorious beautiful light-filled funky town.

Signs from the Road: Chapter 3

January 24

Provincetown MA

Janet and I have decided to start our road trip today, a day early, even if all we do is drive thirty minutes to Orleans and head back home! But as of today, our kitchen is closed and we’re acting like we’re on vacation already. So on Day 1: 

We give the car a good cleaning.

We have a burger and carrot-cashew soup at the sweet Sunbird Cafe. 

And we both get pedicures and I get a manicure too.

There is a painted rock was in a corner of the bathroom at lunch. It says, Our days are happier when we give people a piece of our heart instead of a piece of our mind.

I make another split-second decision to follow that advice. 

We live at the very tip of Cape Cod, and it’s a mini-milestone when the next day we cross over the bridge and are officially off the Cape. We're headed to see our family before we head out in earnest.

We live at the very tip of Cape Cod and it's always a big deal when we cross the bridge off Cape. 

Especially now. 

January 25th

Natick MA

We’re giddy on our way to Jess and Mike’s house. We’ve planned a Chinese buffet dinner that includes Mike’s mother Pat and our four great grand kids. We have to soak in an extra dose of each of them, enough to last a couple of months. There is nothing especially special about our visit, but it's significant because this will be the longest time ever I've been away from Jess and the kids. (Fast forward: we send a half dozen or more postcards along the way, which for some reason don't arrive until two months later, when we're back home!)

January 26th

Greenfield MA

Before we lived in Provincetown we lived in Florence, a section of Northampton, in Western Massachusetts. Greenfield is a small city about thirty minutes up Route 91, populated by gardeners and activists, and home to our friends Marsha and Norm. Both are officially retired, although Marsha is an LPN, Chair of the Building Department at her temple, Co-chair of the local Garden Club, member of a local chorus, assistant manager of the Farmer’s Market, and self proclaimed leader of her improvisation group. She can't sit still. Norm is a City Counselor and a board member of the Greenfield Food Co-operative and gardener and extraordinaire bird watcher. He moves and talks a whole lot slower than Marsha, and his day-to-day life is simpler. He's as frugal as Janet and I are impulsive. These two friends are like family: sometimes we snip at one another, usually involving our kitchens and our collective meals together, but mostly we operate like a family. A few times a year, we go to their house and they come to our house.

We have friends to see. We four meet our mutual friends Kevin and Ginger for dinner at Hope & Olives, a local favorite restaurant. Kevin and Ginger are just over the newlywed threshold: it’s not their first rodeo. We find them over the moon excited because they’ll soon be performing a reading ofA.R Guirney’s Love Letters onstage. We won’t be around, but I make a note to remind Marsha to be sure to buy tickets.  As if she needs my advice. 

January 27

Northampton MA

The next morning, Janet and I meet our friend Lori at Jake’s Cafe in the our former very funky, very lesbian college town of Northampton. Janet and Lori worked together for a Disability Management firm until both of them broke off and started their own consulting businesses. Lori’s has grown internationally and we love hearing about her ventures and ideas and successes. She tells us to be sure to visit Cambria when we get to California. “It’s where I’d live if I could live anywhere in the world,” she says. I write this down in my appointment book.

With Mattie and her blue cloud fleece blanket comfortably settled in the back seat of our locked car, we have a wonderful breakfast. Jakes is one of those special breakfast places that local residents keep secret. There are no better giant buttermilk biscuits anywhere on the planet. We order an extra six to take back to Marsha and Norm’s. Then, with Mattie in tow, we roam around Northampton and drive the back roads of route 5-10 for hours, through the farming towns of Hadley and Sunderland and Ashfield, waving at the frozen tobacco and asparagus farms and checking out our old neighborhood, where we lived for twelve years. We leave a note for our former neighbor Lisa, hoping she’s well. At six, we meet our friends Teri and Rose at our mutual favorite Milano’s for dinner. We have met them there dozens of times, always ordering off the $10.95 special menu. Rose gets the Bella Canto pasta about as often as I get the Chicken Marsala. Rose tells us to be sure to visit Apalachicola on the Florida Panhandle. Like Lori, she tells us she could live there. I can’t pronounce Apalachicola, but I write it down in my appointment book. 

Signs from the Road Chapter 2

 

 

Neither of us remembers how we made the decision to take a road trip. Most likely we were complaining about winter temperatures and slippery snow in our tiny coastal community of Provincetown, Massachusetts, a peninsula at the very tip of Cape Cod. Probably we were motivated by promising two friends we’d come visit. And certainly we thought about if not now, when? So we mapped out thirty stops: no snow. Warmer weather. Friends and family. Dog Parks.  American cities and small towns. Meeting strangers. Leaving vacuum cleaners and chores behind. Just Thelma, Louise, and Mattie, on the road.

Where to start? Northern Florida serves as our starting point. It’s 1,464 miles, 22 hours driving time to St. Petersburg from Provincetown. We look at a map of the East Coast and we look at each other. Janet and I don’t do well in the car. It’s a hot spot for us. We argue about directions and I complain about her tailgating, which she denies. We also stiffen if we sit too long. So first off, we decide to limit our driving to 4 or 5 or at most 6 hours a day. 

We have to see our daughter and son-in-law and our grandkids, two hours away in Natick before we leave. From there we’ll drive to Western Massachusetts, to Greenfield, to stay with friends for a few days. We’ll catch up with them and several other local friends before we leave for a night in Philadelphia. And then on to Charleston South Carolina. But wait, we’re already breaking our proposed four or five or six hour driving limit, The ride from Philly to Charleston is ten-plus hours. So I look for a midpoint: according to Google, I’m not the first traveler seeking that midpoint—the question has been asked hundreds, maybe thousands of times. The definite winner is Rocky Mount North Carolina.  Okay, that works. I book a pet-friendly hotel in Rocky Mount for a quick overnight and we’ll drive two hours the next morning to Charleston. We know very little about Charleston except for its reputation for Southern hospitality and Southern grits. (Fast forward: We didn’t know then about the plantations and the international  slave trade based in Charleston from 1856 to 1863. That’s a heartbreak.)

From there planning the trip gets increasingly interesting. Thanks to Janet’s fill-in part-time job at one of Provincetown’s hotels, the manager who is also a friend has gifted us with four certificates for free stays at sister hotels, each one for two nights. Tybee Island GA. San Antonio and Austin Texas. And Memphis Tennessee.  Tybee Island is barely fifteen miles from Savannah. We’ll plan on being there three days. The place is dog friendly and right on the beach. Next, we’ll head four hours to Flagger Island, Florida. Mattie has a dog friend there, a black lab named Mary Jane. Mary Jane’s owner tells us Flagger is a quaint coastal town like Provincetown, and we’ll run the dogs on the beach. Then St. Petersburg. New Orleans. San Antonio, Austin. Marfa Texas. Bisbee Arizona. Tucson. Phoenix. Mexico. and three stops in California: Palm Springs, Pismo Beach, and Topanga.

     I decide to write and revise all these stops on an 8 by 11 inch envelope. As we keep planning, I add the miles and driving time from one stop to the next and high and low temperatures. For each stop I add the miles and hours to the next stop, the average temperatures, and the dates we’ll be there. (Fast Forward: that envelope worked like a charm, even when we changed plans.)  

Where to stay? Neither of us are hotel chain types. We prefer quaint quirky places. But we’ve never used Airbnb and we have Mattie. As I begin googling, some things become clear: in most cases, we can find places to stay for around a hundred dollars a night. (Fast forward: not exactly.) I choose places that have the greatest number of positive reviews, and I look for those that include a free breakfast, not so much to save money, but so we can eat quickly and hit the road faster. The chains jump out. I choose mostly 3-star ratings, but I let a couple of 2-stars slip in because they look and sound just fine. (Fast forward: In several cases, I’d come to regret those slips.) I spend about ten hours (it might have been twenty. Or thirty.)  booking our stays. I make copies of each confirmation and slide them into a plastic sleeve folder. 

What to pack? Eight weeks on the road. With a dog. And a separate trip to Mexico. That feels like a lot of packing: 

        Snacks for the car. Single bags of popcorn, Kind bars, peanut butter crackers, chocolate, oranges, pistachio nuts, breath mints.  Bully sticks and other treats for Mattie.  We’ll be gone almost eighty days and we’ll happily eat our meals out. But we could easily drop ten dollars a pop on quick road side stops, and maybe we wouldn’t want to take the time to stop as often as we want to munch. Plus we don’t know how leaving Mattie in the car alone in strange places will work out. Our solution is to shop at BJ’s and buy plenty of munchies. I pack a good supply in see-through plastic bag that we’ll keep up front in the car, and the rest goes in a grocery box, stuffed in a corner of the car’s way-back.

Weather appropriate clothes? Figuring this part out is challenging and I feel like a genius when I come up with a plan.. The Rav has a good sized trunk area and should hold our suitcases and supplies well enough, But who wants to lug suitcases and dog supplies in and out of hotels night after night? I’m a light packer (so I thought) and Janet is not (no surprise there!) We’ll start off in cold East Coast weather and warm up in the Southern states and along the Southern border. But none of the temps are exactly sun-bathing weather, except for when we fly to Mexico. Mexico will definitely be pool ware, so we decide we’ll each pack a suitcase specifically for there and we’ll put them the furthest back in the car. We won’t have to touch those two suitcases for weeks. 

For our day-to-day travels, I come up with this idea to pack each outfit separately—for example, a top, a bottom, and underwear-in a see-through plastic bag,  I figure we’ll separate the plastic bags by cold weather or hot weather. So over a few days, an hour or so at a time, Janet and I pull out the clothes we want: summer, winter, sweaters, blouses, tee-shirts, pants, shorts, socks, underwear, pajamas. We sort and match them in some almost random order. Some plastic bags have long pants and long sleeves and others have capris and tee-shirts. We decide to each make a separate bag for beachwear: a bathing suit, a cover, slip flops. All in all, we end up with close to thirty see through bags. Each day, when we check into our hotel or where ever, we’ll simply pull out one bag each, along with one shared suitcase that has our nightwear and toiletries and medicine and Mattie’s blanket and food and munchies.  It seems pretty efficient. 

 We  pack the plastic bags in grocery boxes, upright for easy identification, one box for warm weather clothes, and a second box for cold weather. We quickly realize we have four pretty good sized boxes that take up room more room than expected.They compete for space along with our three suitcases.  I fail to factor in Janet’s ginormous toiletry bag—it’s the size of an adult raccoon. It’s all a tight fit but it’s workable. We put the plastic bags right in front and easy to reach;  the Mexico suitcases go way in the back; Mattie’s supplies and food fits on the left side,   snack replenishments fit on the right side, and my laptop and Mattie’s foldable soft crate are tucked behind the passenger seat.  We make a make-shift shelf for Mattie’s  food and water behind the driver’s seat. She has herself a little apartment back there: a small soft bed, a window to view the world, her food and water, and a squeaky toy and bully stick.

By the time we leave Provincetown the car is pretty darn pretty organized.  (Fast forward: Ha!)