Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Lessons learned in the mud.

Mud! My dear friend and professional mentor Jo Burk told the speech pathologists on her staff "you can do  speech therapy with mud". This meaning of course that the theme or materials do not matter so much as the techniques used in the intervention provided.
So what have I learned about mud on this walk?
The mud I have encountered has primarily been on uphill or downhill sections, and sometimes we have encountered the "steep and deep". Leslie calls it monkey mud, it's sticky and sucks your shoes right off your feet.
Leslie's balance is a little off kilter, much like mine. Mud is particularly challenging for her and the slippery stuff has pulled her down into it more than once.
To get through the mud you need to get a grip. Decent shoes help a lot but moreover you have to take charge and handle the mud in your life. There is no avoiding it so face it, you have to go through. Be level headed and not all out of control.
When taking charge you have to forge ahead, don't spin your wheels in the mud. Reach out those trekking poles and attack that muddy path. Be aggressive and strong.
Carrying the mud around with you adds weight, a lot of weight. On the Camino and in life no one needs extra baggage. Why do we carry so much! Wash the mud off at the earliest opportunity. Don't carry it on.
If you fall in the mud, laugh at yourself. Getting angry uses so much energy, and you need lots of positive energy to wade through the mud. With laughter you charge your batteries and bolster your spirits.
Sometimes when you are down in the mud, others try to pick you up. Plan the rescue well.
If you are not careful you will pull the rescuers right down with you. They are rescuers, not victims.
We are going to get rid of some mud today, as we rest in Nogoro France. We will wash our clothes. My boots are going to get a good scrubbing too. We will feel as if our burdens are lightened.
Until the next time we encounter mud.

Lessons learned in the mud.

Mud! My dear friend and professional mentor Jo Burk told the speech pathologists on her staff "you can do  speech therapy with mud". This meaning of course that the theme or materials do not matter so much as the techniques used in the intervention provided.
So what have I learned about mud on this walk?
The mud I have encountered has primarily been on uphill or downhill sections, and sometimes we have encountered the "steep and deep". Leslie calls it monkey mud, it's sticky and sucks your shoes right off your feet.
Leslie's balance is a little off kilter, much like mine. Mud is particularly challenging for her and the slippery stuff has pulled her down into it more than once.
To get through the mud you need to get a grip. Decent shoes help a lot but moreover you have to take charge and handle the mud in your life. There is no avoiding it so face it, you have to go through. Be level headed and not all out of control.
When taking charge you have to forge ahead, don't spin your wheels in the mud. Reach out those trekking poles and attack that muddy path. Be aggressive and strong.
Carrying the mud around with you adds weight, a lot of weight. On the Camino and in life no one needs extra baggage. Why do we carry so much! Wash the mud off at the earliest opportunity. Don't carry it on.
If you fall in the mud, laugh at yourself. Getting angry uses so much energy, and you need lots of positive energy to wade through the mud. With laughter you charge your batteries and bolster your spirits.
Sometimes when you are down in the mud, others try to pick you up. Plan the rescue well.
If you are not careful you will pull the rescuers right down with you. They are rescuers, not victims.
We are going to get rid of some mud today, as we rest in Nogoro France. We will wash our clothes. My boots are going to get a good scrubbing too. We will feel as if our burdens are lightened.
Until the next time we encounter mud.

When others walk away...

Yesterday I buzzed around Tri Cities, literally with joy and excitement.  Even though I was getting lost while running errands, which is frustrating, I knew what was coming next.  Brandi was home and I was headed to see her!  And little did I know, Abi (her daughter) was there too!!

Friends walk in and out of our lives.  Some walk next to you, or near you, or in front of you or behind you...nevertheless in close proximity for hundreds of miles at a time. As much as it seems you should, you never get to know them. Others share a day's walk and impact your life for ever.

 Although Brandi is a good 15 years younger, and I don't think I  have even walked around the block with her, it feels as if we have  much in common. And yet, if pressed to tell what those commonalities were, I might have to pause and reflect a bit.

I remember the day I met Brandi.  I was making an information booth at the  community aquatic center for the youth swim club. There she was, at the counter, advocating (err arguing but in a nice sort of way) with the pool manager about something or other.  She came over to see what was going on in my little corner of the swim club parent world. And somehow we became friends.

Brandi is an artist.  Her personality matches the flair of her paintings; vivid colors painted on plywood, most often over old ledgers, manuscripts, books (I have one painted on pages from the Pilgrim's Progress) and pages from old hymnals.  Paintings this bright, based on traditions and beliefs strong in her soul...that's Brandi Dayton.  Bright. Vivid.  Alive. Grounded.

Brandi is the type of friend you sit next to on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, sipping a beverage and catching up on the news.  Its like we just saw each other yesterday.  She gives her honest opinion on the latest events in my life.  Sometimes that honest view from a friend can be cutting, yet Brandi knows how to say what must be said so that I laugh and cry at truths revealed.  I leave her home, brightened. I don't walk to my car and drive away.  I drive on to what's next in life's agenda. Our lives travel together along and through "time". .. like in a parallel universe. It all starts      up again next time we meet.

One friend walked next to me day in day out, yet not close enough to hear my soul speak.  Another strolled into my heart and now hangs out there with no intentions.  She just "stays".  Time, space and distance don't matter.  I always feel that connection. Another shared a few days walk and a lot of wine, connecting through a language barrier to discover we had such similar life experiences  although living 10,000 miles away from each other.  Surprised to see her one more time as I was about to enter the courtyard at the Cathedral in Santiago,  I gave her my  favorite "thing",  a piece of my identity on The Way, my bright pink hat (now faded from 30 days on the Camino). "You have walked a long way without a hat, I hope this does you well on the rest of your walk."..."I think of the words you say and I remember and I think of them more and soon I understand their meaning, your meaning". 
One other companion, when her time to walk with me was through, walked away. Not "walked on" but "walked away" that is different. I am stuck in the place I last saw her as if by her walking away I cannot walk beyond.

I can't walk away.  Others can and it is a healthy thing to do, sometimes.  I walk on.













When others walk away...

Yesterday I buzzed around Tri Cities, literally with joy and excitement.  Even though I was getting lost while running errands, which is frustrating, I knew what was coming next.  Brandi was home and I was headed to see her!  And little did I know, Abi (her daughter) was there too!!

Friends walk in and out of our lives.  Some walk next to you, or near you, or in front of you or behind you...nevertheless in close proximity for hundreds of miles at a time. As much as it seems you should, you never get to know them. Others share a day's walk and impact your life for ever.

 Although Brandi is a good 15 years younger, and I don't think I  have even walked around the block with her, it feels as if we have  much in common. And yet, if pressed to tell what those commonalities were, I might have to pause and reflect a bit.

I remember the day I met Brandi.  I was making an information booth at the  community aquatic center for the youth swim club. There she was, at the counter, advocating (err arguing but in a nice sort of way) with the pool manager about something or other.  She came over to see what was going on in my little corner of the swim club parent world. And somehow we became friends.

Brandi is an artist.  Her personality matches the flair of her paintings; vivid colors painted on plywood, most often over old ledgers, manuscripts, books (I have one painted on pages from the Pilgrim's Progress) and pages from old hymnals.  Paintings this bright, based on traditions and beliefs strong in her soul...that's Brandi Dayton.  Bright. Vivid.  Alive. Grounded.

Brandi is the type of friend you sit next to on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, sipping a beverage and catching up on the news.  Its like we just saw each other yesterday.  She gives her honest opinion on the latest events in my life.  Sometimes that honest view from a friend can be cutting, yet Brandi knows how to say what must be said so that I laugh and cry at truths revealed.  I leave her home, brightened. I don't walk to my car and drive away.  I drive on to what's next in life's agenda. Our lives travel together along and through "time". .. like in a parallel universe. It all starts      up again next time we meet.

One friend walked next to me day in day out, yet not close enough to hear my soul speak.  Another strolled into my heart and now hangs out there with no intentions.  She just "stays".  Time, space and distance don't matter.  I always feel that connection. Another shared a few days walk and a lot of wine, connecting through a language barrier to discover we had such similar life experiences  although living 10,000 miles away from each other.  Surprised to see her one more time as I was about to enter the courtyard at the Cathedral in Santiago,  I gave her my  favorite "thing",  a piece of my identity on The Way, my bright pink hat (now faded from 30 days on the Camino). "You have walked a long way without a hat, I hope this does you well on the rest of your walk."..."I think of the words you say and I remember and I think of them more and soon I understand their meaning, your meaning". 
One other companion, when her time to walk with me was through, walked away. Not "walked on" but "walked away" that is different. I am stuck in the place I last saw her as if by her walking away I cannot walk beyond.

I can't walk away.  Others can and it is a healthy thing to do, sometimes.  I walk on.













Monday, October 21, 2013

What is it worth?

The plane took off to the west tonight. Orange streaks faded into the black horizon, the sun's  "good night". North, then east, the plane took me towards home. A shadowed figure of half a mountain came into view. Memories of standing "oh too close" to the cornice and peering down the throat of the volcano...  St. Helen's. And next, Adams glows white in the night with its recent covering of snow. Standing on the summit I remember thinking "Carol you will climb higher mountains than the one you did today" And I did and I am.  A few years later a physically and emotionally spent Amy and I rested just below the summit. "Amy If you can do this you can do anything" and she did. She finished and climbed high in the world of academia. To the north now, I barely make out Rainier. After my hysterectomy and a tough year in our marriage, Charlie and I climbed to Camp Muir at 10,000 ft and pitched our tent below at Moon Rocks. I felt rather small on that big mountain. Memories swell in my mind. I feel alive,  real.

Backpacking, peak bagging, walking  the horizontal mountains along the Camino in Spain and France, I loved it all.

Each climb, each Camino, each encounter with nature has been etched in my memory banks. When Charlie mentions "Snowgrass Flats" (along the PCT in Goat Rocks Wilderness of Washington State}, I remember the smell, the taste, the feel  of that place.  It's hard to forget such beauty and wonder.  When I am asked why I would want to hike or climb or walk  or any other adventure... what do I get from such craziness...I don't know what to say.  There are not words to describe the gifts these adventures have presented me. And unless you have been to the top and said to yourself  "Now I know why climbers climb", you cannot understand.  These lessons of mental and physical determination are now what guide me through the symptoms of Parkinson's disease.

Immeasurable worth. Pilgrim Robin introduced me to that term yesterday. I am not sure I can fathom the depth of those two words. Immeasurable worth. All through my life I have been presented with gifts of immeasurable worth.

Today I saw Dr Amie Peterson at OHSU. She has been treating my Parkinson's for nearly 5 years now. Her smile of recognition as she walked by me in the waiting room put a spear of warmth into my heart. She was as excited to see me as I was to see her.

When she was done with her exam she smiled, and looking me straight in the eyes said "Carol, you are doing good. Really good."

I inquired "how much longer are you going to be here?" " My grant last two more years". And I said...."you had better stay"...not finishing it...what I really wanted to say..."until I am cured of Parkinson's.  You had better stay at OHSU to see me cured of Parkinson's".

The plane starts to make its descent.  Almost to Pendleton I spotted it...  The moon. Orange, waning slightly, rising from the black horizon, welcoming the evening, preparing to illuminate the night landscape of the place I call home.  Beautiful. Etched in my memory banks.This moment in time.

I have been given gifts of immeasurable worth. Parkinson's included. Yes, even that.

What is it worth?

The plane took off to the west tonight. Orange streaks faded into the black horizon, the sun's  "good night". North, then east, the plane took me towards home. A shadowed figure of half a mountain came into view. Memories of standing "oh too close" to the cornice and peering down the throat of the volcano...  St. Helen's. And next, Adams glows white in the night with its recent covering of snow. Standing on the summit I remember thinking "Carol you will climb higher mountains than the one you did today" And I did and I am.  A few years later a physically and emotionally spent Amy and I rested just below the summit. "Amy If you can do this you can do anything" and she did. She finished and climbed high in the world of academia. To the north now, I barely make out Rainier. After my hysterectomy and a tough year in our marriage, Charlie and I climbed to Camp Muir at 10,000 ft and pitched our tent below at Moon Rocks. I felt rather small on that big mountain. Memories swell in my mind. I feel alive,  real.

Backpacking, peak bagging, walking  the horizontal mountains along the Camino in Spain and France, I loved it all.

Each climb, each Camino, each encounter with nature has been etched in my memory banks. When Charlie mentions "Snowgrass Flats" (along the PCT in Goat Rocks Wilderness of Washington State}, I remember the smell, the taste, the feel  of that place.  It's hard to forget such beauty and wonder.  When I am asked why I would want to hike or climb or walk  or any other adventure... what do I get from such craziness...I don't know what to say.  There are not words to describe the gifts these adventures have presented me. And unless you have been to the top and said to yourself  "Now I know why climbers climb", you cannot understand.  These lessons of mental and physical determination are now what guide me through the symptoms of Parkinson's disease.

Immeasurable worth. Pilgrim Robin introduced me to that term yesterday. I am not sure I can fathom the depth of those two words. Immeasurable worth. All through my life I have been presented with gifts of immeasurable worth.

Today I saw Dr Amie Peterson at OHSU. She has been treating my Parkinson's for nearly 5 years now. Her smile of recognition as she walked by me in the waiting room put a spear of warmth into my heart. She was as excited to see me as I was to see her.

When she was done with her exam she smiled, and looking me straight in the eyes said "Carol, you are doing good. Really good."

I inquired "how much longer are you going to be here?" " My grant last two more years". And I said...."you had better stay"...not finishing it...what I really wanted to say..."until I am cured of Parkinson's.  You had better stay at OHSU to see me cured of Parkinson's".

The plane starts to make its descent.  Almost to Pendleton I spotted it...  The moon. Orange, waning slightly, rising from the black horizon, welcoming the evening, preparing to illuminate the night landscape of the place I call home.  Beautiful. Etched in my memory banks.This moment in time.

I have been given gifts of immeasurable worth. Parkinson's included. Yes, even that.

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

My Camino Theme Song The Road Goes Ever On



[SAM]
There's a Road
Calling you to stray.
Step by step
Pulling you away.

[SAM/FRODO]
Under Moon and Star
Take the Road
No matter how far.

Where it leads
No-one ever knows
Don't look back
Follow where it goes.
Far beyond the Sun
Take the Road
Wherever it runs.

The Road goes on
Ever ever on
Hill by hill
Mile by mile
Field by field
Stile by stile.
The Road goes on
Ever ever on

The Road goes on
Ever ever on
Hill by hill
Mile by mile
Field by field
Stile by stile.
The Road goes on
Ever ever on

[RANGERS]
Mountain and valley
And pasture and meadow
Stretching unending
For mile after mile.
Fenland and moorland
And shoreline and canyon
Bordered by hurdle
And hedgerow and stile

[PIPPIN]
One more mile
Then it's time to eat
Pick some pears,
Succulent and sweet.

[PIPPIN/MERRY]
To the farthest shore.
Take the Road
A hundred miles more.

[MERRY]
Sweet pink trout
Tickled form a stream
Milk a goat,
Churn it into cream.

[MERRY/PIPPIN]
Far beyond the Sun
Take the Road
Wherever it runs.

The Road goes on
Ever ever on
Moor by moor
Glen by glen
Vale by vale
Fen by fen
The Road goes on
Ever ever on.

[FRODO/SAM]
See the Road flows past your doorstep
Calling for your feet to stray
Like a deep and rolling river
It will sweep them far away.

[ALL]
Just beyond the far horizon
Lies a waiting world unknown
Like the dawn its beauty beckons
With a wonder all its own.

[ELVES]
Númenna!
Auti i ré.
Yallume! Hilya!

Númenna!
Auti i ré.
Yallume! Hilya!

Hilya! Hilya! Auta. Hilya!

Númenna!
Auti i ré.
Yallume! Hilya!

[RANGERS]
Mountain and valley
And pasture and meadow
Stretching unending
For mile after mile.
Fenland and moorland
And shoreline and canyon
Bordered by hurdle
And hedgerow and stile.

[Thanks to Muzzy for lyrics]


"Remember what Bilbo used to say: It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door
©2012 allmusicals.com. Lyrics & video are property & copyright of their owners & provided for educational purposes only

My Camino Theme Song The Road Goes Ever On



[SAM]
There's a Road
Calling you to stray.
Step by step
Pulling you away.

[SAM/FRODO]
Under Moon and Star
Take the Road
No matter how far.

Where it leads
No-one ever knows
Don't look back
Follow where it goes.
Far beyond the Sun
Take the Road
Wherever it runs.

The Road goes on
Ever ever on
Hill by hill
Mile by mile
Field by field
Stile by stile.
The Road goes on
Ever ever on

The Road goes on
Ever ever on
Hill by hill
Mile by mile
Field by field
Stile by stile.
The Road goes on
Ever ever on

[RANGERS]
Mountain and valley
And pasture and meadow
Stretching unending
For mile after mile.
Fenland and moorland
And shoreline and canyon
Bordered by hurdle
And hedgerow and stile

[PIPPIN]
One more mile
Then it's time to eat
Pick some pears,
Succulent and sweet.

[PIPPIN/MERRY]
To the farthest shore.
Take the Road
A hundred miles more.

[MERRY]
Sweet pink trout
Tickled form a stream
Milk a goat,
Churn it into cream.

[MERRY/PIPPIN]
Far beyond the Sun
Take the Road
Wherever it runs.

The Road goes on
Ever ever on
Moor by moor
Glen by glen
Vale by vale
Fen by fen
The Road goes on
Ever ever on.

[FRODO/SAM]
See the Road flows past your doorstep
Calling for your feet to stray
Like a deep and rolling river
It will sweep them far away.

[ALL]
Just beyond the far horizon
Lies a waiting world unknown
Like the dawn its beauty beckons
With a wonder all its own.

[ELVES]
Númenna!
Auti i ré.
Yallume! Hilya!

Númenna!
Auti i ré.
Yallume! Hilya!

Hilya! Hilya! Auta. Hilya!

Númenna!
Auti i ré.
Yallume! Hilya!

[RANGERS]
Mountain and valley
And pasture and meadow
Stretching unending
For mile after mile.
Fenland and moorland
And shoreline and canyon
Bordered by hurdle
And hedgerow and stile.

[Thanks to Muzzy for lyrics]


"Remember what Bilbo used to say: It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door
©2012 allmusicals.com. Lyrics & video are property & copyright of their owners & provided for educational purposes only

Monday, July 8, 2013

Two pilgrims climbing

It was not advised by the pilgrim's office in St. Jean Pied de Port. Going past the albergue at Orisson and on the Napolean route over the Pyrenees mountains could be dangerous. Pilgrims were advised to bus or walk the lower route to Valcarlos. 

It was Leslie's call.  I had walked this route last June 4 and 5 in beautiful clear weather. I was prepared for the weather and had the experience. This was her Camino. We headed to Orisson and would make the decision about the next stage in the morning.

In our very first conversations about meeting up on the Camino we  discussed the location of St Jean Pied de Port. I made reservations to coordinate the dates she would be there. I did not know at that time I would walk with her from France into Spain. Leslie showed some trepidation about the climb.  I suggested that by doing it together we both would be fine.


As expected, once she was told "no" Leslie became more determined to go over Napoleon's route. She also wanted to walk down the challenging descent through the forest to Ronscesvalle, even though the safer road route was available. I was working on an argument for that one.

We kept our reservations at Orisson, and made an early start out of the Gite  L 'Espirit Chemin. . 8 kilometers, not too bad in distance.  Yet in the 8 k we would gain like 300 billion meters  in elevation.

"Frickin steep." Leslie said.  "Steeper than anything in France."  I didn't think so. Time to distract.  I told the stories of my first walk last June.  "This is where I stopped to pee in the barn and the dog let me know that was not ok."    "We stopped for ice cream here." "Where this road crosses the cows came running down and the herders yelled at us to get out of the way." "This is where we leave the road for awhile and climb straight up." " Ah ha, I laid down here and took a nap." "There are some switchbacks here".  "We are almost back to the road." "Look back now, the fog has cleared.  See how far you've come." "Be amazed Leslie. You are amazing.  Be amazed." "There is a water fountain  coming up." "When we got here we started singing Yellow Submarine. " "Wal ah. Orisson."
We made it. We shared a room with 4 other people. The man in the bunk overhead snored so loudly I thought an avalanche was rolling down the mountain. And perhaps there was no water for a shower. Phew!

Morning came and we missed getting out with the early group.  The guy from the kitchen was guiding some pilgrims from the point where the Camino leaves the trail through the pass.  We meet him coming back.  The climb was less steep, yet the the wind, fog, sleet brought out the level of difficulty.  At one point my walking buddy sat down.  "That's  it,  I am not going on." To which I responded "You aren't hurt and I am not calling the rescue team here.  Get up. One foot  in front of the other.  We'll stay close".  And she did. She got up and walked We met up with a cute American teenager coming up from the other side.  He was so sweet when he told us "If I had to do this over, I would take the road."  For whatever reason, his sweet smiled warmed Leslie, and inspired by this Camino angel she had new life!  We kept climbing until we came to a little hut where there were 3 young people from Great Britain  huddled out of the wind.  I had taken a nap outside here last summer.  Not today. And I had to go to the bathroom quite bad here last summer. Yes, that too, today.

The next people we met were an older couple who warned of 3 km of wretched mud.  They were not kidding.  We walked into Spain, past Rolands fountain, and along the path with the closely set marker sticks so you would not stray in a white out. One would expect that Spain would take care of its mud problem, especially since France did not.  Hah!

We reached the paved road.  This is the point people  are mistaken about a landmark  in Brierly's  guidebook.  Here the trail goes steeply down  on the right and crosses the paved road.  At that crossing  point you have the choice to continue left down through the forest or take the windy road right.

We met up with a  kind gentleman from Ireland with whom we had the discussion "which way".  The marked trail crossed a steep snowfield.  We decided to see where the road went.  My instincts were correct that it just met up with the trail.  At the crossing we stopped to see pilgrims struggling down the snow field, falling. One tumbled a few times.  They regrouped and I was able to report from experience that the trail down was steep.  We could see that it had recently been closed and roped off. All decided on the road.  They took off and left me in the fog. Perfectly OK. Down is down.  The road switched back and your could cut directly down to save time. Reaching the bottom, we could not find the route to Ronscesvailles.  After about 50 feet of highway walking we heard shouts calling us back.  Down the draw we went, through a lovely forest.  I dragged myself into the new albergue.  It took awhile to get my bunk, a few cubbies away from Leslie.  The abby was warm, and filled with excited pilgrims just starting out.  They were surprised to hear I was finishing my walk now.  A dinner of trout and wine followed.  Leslie found the green bag full of our extra stuff.  I stayed up until lights out and then drifted off into seamless sleep.

What will tomorrow bring?

Two pilgrims climbing

It was not advised by the pilgrim's office in St. Jean Pied de Port. Going past the albergue at Orisson and on the Napolean route over the Pyrenees mountains could be dangerous. Pilgrims were advised to bus or walk the lower route to Valcarlos. 

It was Leslie's call.  I had walked this route last June 4 and 5 in beautiful clear weather. I was prepared for the weather and had the experience. This was her Camino. We headed to Orisson and would make the decision about the next stage in the morning.

In our very first conversations about meeting up on the Camino we  discussed the location of St Jean Pied de Port. I made reservations to coordinate the dates she would be there. I did not know at that time I would walk with her from France into Spain. Leslie showed some trepidation about the climb.  I suggested that by doing it together we both would be fine.


As expected, once she was told "no" Leslie became more determined to go over Napoleon's route. She also wanted to walk down the challenging descent through the forest to Ronscesvalle, even though the safer road route was available. I was working on an argument for that one.

We kept our reservations at Orisson, and made an early start out of the Gite  L 'Espirit Chemin. . 8 kilometers, not too bad in distance.  Yet in the 8 k we would gain like 300 billion meters  in elevation.

"Frickin steep." Leslie said.  "Steeper than anything in France."  I didn't think so. Time to distract.  I told the stories of my first walk last June.  "This is where I stopped to pee in the barn and the dog let me know that was not ok."    "We stopped for ice cream here." "Where this road crosses the cows came running down and the herders yelled at us to get out of the way." "This is where we leave the road for awhile and climb straight up." " Ah ha, I laid down here and took a nap." "There are some switchbacks here".  "We are almost back to the road." "Look back now, the fog has cleared.  See how far you've come." "Be amazed Leslie. You are amazing.  Be amazed." "There is a water fountain  coming up." "When we got here we started singing Yellow Submarine. " "Wal ah. Orisson."
We made it. We shared a room with 4 other people. The man in the bunk overhead snored so loudly I thought an avalanche was rolling down the mountain. And perhaps there was no water for a shower. Phew!

Morning came and we missed getting out with the early group.  The guy from the kitchen was guiding some pilgrims from the point where the Camino leaves the trail through the pass.  We meet him coming back.  The climb was less steep, yet the the wind, fog, sleet brought out the level of difficulty.  At one point my walking buddy sat down.  "That's  it,  I am not going on." To which I responded "You aren't hurt and I am not calling the rescue team here.  Get up. One foot  in front of the other.  We'll stay close".  And she did. She got up and walked We met up with a cute American teenager coming up from the other side.  He was so sweet when he told us "If I had to do this over, I would take the road."  For whatever reason, his sweet smiled warmed Leslie, and inspired by this Camino angel she had new life!  We kept climbing until we came to a little hut where there were 3 young people from Great Britain  huddled out of the wind.  I had taken a nap outside here last summer.  Not today. And I had to go to the bathroom quite bad here last summer. Yes, that too, today.

The next people we met were an older couple who warned of 3 km of wretched mud.  They were not kidding.  We walked into Spain, past Rolands fountain, and along the path with the closely set marker sticks so you would not stray in a white out. One would expect that Spain would take care of its mud problem, especially since France did not.  Hah!

We reached the paved road.  This is the point people  are mistaken about a landmark  in Brierly's  guidebook.  Here the trail goes steeply down  on the right and crosses the paved road.  At that crossing  point you have the choice to continue left down through the forest or take the windy road right.

We met up with a  kind gentleman from Ireland with whom we had the discussion "which way".  The marked trail crossed a steep snowfield.  We decided to see where the road went.  My instincts were correct that it just met up with the trail.  At the crossing we stopped to see pilgrims struggling down the snow field, falling. One tumbled a few times.  They regrouped and I was able to report from experience that the trail down was steep.  We could see that it had recently been closed and roped off. All decided on the road.  They took off and left me in the fog. Perfectly OK. Down is down.  The road switched back and your could cut directly down to save time. Reaching the bottom, we could not find the route to Ronscesvailles.  After about 50 feet of highway walking we heard shouts calling us back.  Down the draw we went, through a lovely forest.  I dragged myself into the new albergue.  It took awhile to get my bunk, a few cubbies away from Leslie.  The abby was warm, and filled with excited pilgrims just starting out.  They were surprised to hear I was finishing my walk now.  A dinner of trout and wine followed.  Leslie found the green bag full of our extra stuff.  I stayed up until lights out and then drifted off into seamless sleep.

What will tomorrow bring?

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Estella

It is very quiet here at the Monastario San Benito. An occasional sound of the nuns singing,  echoing footsteps or doors closing is all that is heard.

My room is at the end of the long hallway of guest rooms.  The floors are marble and the walls are seemingly freshly painted white. When I walked into my room I gasped!  A single bed with starched sheets.  They smelled so good!  A small nightstand, chair and desk with  a lamp. A throw rug in the floor. A  huge window that opened to the view of the city. A small closet on the right and a small bathroom on the left with a sparkling white toilet, sink and shower bath.

There is no one else here this first night.  The sisters are very good to me. They feed me and make me comfortable.   

I join them in the second prayer of the morning,  Laudes, at 8:30.   Then breakfast.  At 2 pm is lunch and at  7 pm is vespers and mass.  Dinner is t 8:30 pm.

Through  a lot of discussion with an African sister, Hermana Augustine who speaks a little English and Hermana Marie Theresa who speaks even littler English I learn the work of this monastery

These cloistered nuns devote their entire life to prayer. Every day all day they are praying for all of us who are struggling in this world. They pray for the sick, the well, the youth, the old, families, parents, prisoners soldiers, Christians, non Christians, Germans, Koreans, pilgrims and police. They pray for the sanctification of the whole world.

There is a bit of comfort there, knowing we are being prayed for. There is such love and joy in these sister's hearts. They are not of this world, yet pray for the world.

After talking non-stop the last 4 weeks, this silence strikes me.  I feel alone, yet very full. 


 

Estella

It is very quiet here at the Monastario San Benito. An occasional sound of the nuns singing,  echoing footsteps or doors closing is all that is heard.

My room is at the end of the long hallway of guest rooms.  The floors are marble and the walls are seemingly freshly painted white. When I walked into my room I gasped!  A single bed with starched sheets.  They smelled so good!  A small nightstand, chair and desk with  a lamp. A throw rug in the floor. A  huge window that opened to the view of the city. A small closet on the right and a small bathroom on the left with a sparkling white toilet, sink and shower bath.

There is no one else here this first night.  The sisters are very good to me. They feed me and make me comfortable.   

I join them in the second prayer of the morning,  Laudes, at 8:30.   Then breakfast.  At 2 pm is lunch and at  7 pm is vespers and mass.  Dinner is t 8:30 pm.

Through  a lot of discussion with an African sister, Hermana Augustine who speaks a little English and Hermana Marie Theresa who speaks even littler English I learn the work of this monastery

These cloistered nuns devote their entire life to prayer. Every day all day they are praying for all of us who are struggling in this world. They pray for the sick, the well, the youth, the old, families, parents, prisoners soldiers, Christians, non Christians, Germans, Koreans, pilgrims and police. They pray for the sanctification of the whole world.

There is a bit of comfort there, knowing we are being prayed for. There is such love and joy in these sister's hearts. They are not of this world, yet pray for the world.

After talking non-stop the last 4 weeks, this silence strikes me.  I feel alone, yet very full. 


 

Journey to the end of the earth.

When there is nothing to distract you, your mind is freed  and memories thought forgotten return as clear as yesterday. Unbelievably, so many memories and ideas returned to me and I shared them in one of the many stories told as Leslie Edmiston and I walked through the countryside of France.

One of the electives offered in my Educational Leadership and School Administration Program was titled  "Finding your Personal Voice in Professional Writing."

I had no idea what that title meant. . . And I still am not sure. It should have been titled "Finding Yourself" because, in a way, that's what these new school administrators were doing. Finding themselves in new roles that not only affected their professional lives but also impacted all their relationships.

A school administrator I love and appreciate even now in my retirement is Shawn Worstell. To me, Shawn represents an educator who has a heart so full of open space, that there is room to hold close all the teachers and students in her building. The school district placed Shawn in many administrative roles, but she found her way back to where she belongs, an elementary principal.

I took this misnamed class with Shawn. We car pooled. I wonder if she ever thinks about it now. Was it as pivotal in "finding herself" as an administrator as it was for me.?

Somewhere in this same time frame  in my life,  I read an article in a magazine published for early childhood educators.  It was a different type of article than the technical reports or professional development materials I usually read.  Across the top of the page there was an old map...written out in the ocean were the words "Beyond here, there be dragons".   In times before the great explorers navigated the world no one  knew what was out there beyond the horizon.  It was uncharted  territory full of mysterious sea creatures ready to devour anyone who dared enter their territory.

Reverend Jane Spahr, a Presbyterian minister and gay/lesbian rights activist speaking at a conference of educators. told the stories of Saint George and Saint Martha to illustrate the different ways we think about courage. She explained  that Saint George slew the dragon because the dragon was bad, but Saint Martha tamed and befriended the dragon. She went on to say, “This is one of our feminist myths that has been lost. Courage could mean to slay the dragon. But could it also mean to tame our fears?”

I hope I can tie this together for you..

School administrators reach into unknown territory. Decisions are made at the district, building and individual level.  Gut feeling decisions and common sense are sometimes released in the wind and the use of research and data  drive many decisions. Yet does research really help with the struggling teacher  or underachieving student. Do the scores and numbers tell the real story? We don't know what is or isn't in a child's mind.  Is that mind not engaged because of an empty belly, a battered body, an aching ear, an unloved soul. That teacher, did she send her sick kid to school today because she had to work? Is her mother dying? Is her marriage falling apart: Is she,waiting for medical test  results? Bravely, the administrator ventures out in attempt to chart those waters, the ones beyond PLCs, evidence based practices, data driven decisions.

"Children know instinctively who have slain their dragons and who have tamed their dragons".    The article reads.  (which is better I ask) They are drawn to adults like Shawn Worstell, who have room in their hearts for children.   Children don't necessarily need adults who slay their dragons. They need adults who have named their dragons. Naming a dragon  diminishes its power over you. And when it raises its ugly head to spit fire and steam, you gently call its  name. It turns, and having been scolded walks away. We don't bury these dragons. We learn from them, and deal with them when they come around.


One of the readings during the class was about a woman who wandered a little bit into the Alaskan bush.  She heard a noise, and immediately  imagined a moose tearing after her.  She turned and ran, not ever really knowing what it was. She didn't face her fear to identify it. She just ran.

To conclude the class, the  instructor asked us to find a common theme in all our writings from the weekend.  As Shawn drove us over the snowy Cabbage Hill pass, I reread my writing, circling words and ideas that seemed connected in some way.

Fear. 

The common theme that ran in all my stories was fear. In my final paper, my dragon, fear, was changed to a moose, munching casually in the bush until I came along to disrupt its meal. When it raised its head to charge at me, I gently called his name, Bullwinkle" . His power over me greatly diminished. He became a cartoon character I can laugh at. Fear that once filled my heart was replaced by space. Space for children, love...courage...being brave enough to walk the Camino. 

Leslie is walking to the end of the world as it was known in ancient times. From Finisterre and Muxia, she will gaze out in the ocean ....finisterre...the end of the earth. She will see dragons out there. Some she has already named. She has greatly diminished them. Others she lives with, yet to be named.  Leslie, like Shawn Worstell, has room in her heart for children, her children and grand children, other people's kids.  Her heart is open to puppies, horses and even a injured hedgehog.

Leslie will have walked 1000 miles on her journey to the end of the world. Each day when she starts out on the camino,she knows she has walked further than she has ever before. She will overcome pain,  exhaustion, frustration and she will name those fears that suck up energy and cloud her big heart.

Children know instinctively who has room for them in their hearts. Instinctively, they also know who has slain their dragons, and who has named them.

Shawn Worstel
Leslie Edmiston
And do I dare add this name...
Carol Clupny



Journey to the end of the earth.

When there is nothing to distract you, your mind is freed  and memories thought forgotten return as clear as yesterday. Unbelievably, so many memories and ideas returned to me and I shared them in one of the many stories told as Leslie Edmiston and I walked through the countryside of France.

One of the electives offered in my Educational Leadership and School Administration Program was titled  "Finding your Personal Voice in Professional Writing."

I had no idea what that title meant. . . And I still am not sure. It should have been titled "Finding Yourself" because, in a way, that's what these new school administrators were doing. Finding themselves in new roles that not only affected their professional lives but also impacted all their relationships.

A school administrator I love and appreciate even now in my retirement is Shawn Worstell. To me, Shawn represents an educator who has a heart so full of open space, that there is room to hold close all the teachers and students in her building. The school district placed Shawn in many administrative roles, but she found her way back to where she belongs, an elementary principal.

I took this misnamed class with Shawn. We car pooled. I wonder if she ever thinks about it now. Was it as pivotal in "finding herself" as an administrator as it was for me.?

Somewhere in this same time frame  in my life,  I read an article in a magazine published for early childhood educators.  It was a different type of article than the technical reports or professional development materials I usually read.  Across the top of the page there was an old map...written out in the ocean were the words "Beyond here, there be dragons".   In times before the great explorers navigated the world no one  knew what was out there beyond the horizon.  It was uncharted  territory full of mysterious sea creatures ready to devour anyone who dared enter their territory.

Reverend Jane Spahr, a Presbyterian minister and gay/lesbian rights activist speaking at a conference of educators. told the stories of Saint George and Saint Martha to illustrate the different ways we think about courage. She explained  that Saint George slew the dragon because the dragon was bad, but Saint Martha tamed and befriended the dragon. She went on to say, “This is one of our feminist myths that has been lost. Courage could mean to slay the dragon. But could it also mean to tame our fears?”

I hope I can tie this together for you..

School administrators reach into unknown territory. Decisions are made at the district, building and individual level.  Gut feeling decisions and common sense are sometimes released in the wind and the use of research and data  drive many decisions. Yet does research really help with the struggling teacher  or underachieving student. Do the scores and numbers tell the real story? We don't know what is or isn't in a child's mind.  Is that mind not engaged because of an empty belly, a battered body, an aching ear, an unloved soul. That teacher, did she send her sick kid to school today because she had to work? Is her mother dying? Is her marriage falling apart: Is she,waiting for medical test  results? Bravely, the administrator ventures out in attempt to chart those waters, the ones beyond PLCs, evidence based practices, data driven decisions.

"Children know instinctively who have slain their dragons and who have tamed their dragons".    The article reads.  (which is better I ask) They are drawn to adults like Shawn Worstell, who have room in their hearts for children.   Children don't necessarily need adults who slay their dragons. They need adults who have named their dragons. Naming a dragon  diminishes its power over you. And when it raises its ugly head to spit fire and steam, you gently call its  name. It turns, and having been scolded walks away. We don't bury these dragons. We learn from them, and deal with them when they come around.


One of the readings during the class was about a woman who wandered a little bit into the Alaskan bush.  She heard a noise, and immediately  imagined a moose tearing after her.  She turned and ran, not ever really knowing what it was. She didn't face her fear to identify it. She just ran.

To conclude the class, the  instructor asked us to find a common theme in all our writings from the weekend.  As Shawn drove us over the snowy Cabbage Hill pass, I reread my writing, circling words and ideas that seemed connected in some way.

Fear. 

The common theme that ran in all my stories was fear. In my final paper, my dragon, fear, was changed to a moose, munching casually in the bush until I came along to disrupt its meal. When it raised its head to charge at me, I gently called his name, Bullwinkle" . His power over me greatly diminished. He became a cartoon character I can laugh at. Fear that once filled my heart was replaced by space. Space for children, love...courage...being brave enough to walk the Camino. 

Leslie is walking to the end of the world as it was known in ancient times. From Finisterre and Muxia, she will gaze out in the ocean ....finisterre...the end of the earth. She will see dragons out there. Some she has already named. She has greatly diminished them. Others she lives with, yet to be named.  Leslie, like Shawn Worstell, has room in her heart for children, her children and grand children, other people's kids.  Her heart is open to puppies, horses and even a injured hedgehog.

Leslie will have walked 1000 miles on her journey to the end of the world. Each day when she starts out on the camino,she knows she has walked further than she has ever before. She will overcome pain,  exhaustion, frustration and she will name those fears that suck up energy and cloud her big heart.

Children know instinctively who has room for them in their hearts. Instinctively, they also know who has slain their dragons, and who has named them.

Shawn Worstel
Leslie Edmiston
And do I dare add this name...
Carol Clupny



The Statstics

April 23,24.     Gite de Lestos.     Montcuq
14 k
April 25.          Gites Chambers d hotes Les Figuiers     Laurazette
8.5 k
April 26.          Gite du Soleil Levant.         Durfort-Lacapelette.     
 next day Turned wrong way.  Walked 5. Extra km   Took cab from Gite St Martin to Moissac
April 27,28       Gite chambre Ultreia    Moissac
Took train to Lourdes, returned via hotel clerk to Condom
April 29,30.      Lourdes hotel.   Condom
11.5
May 1,             Ferme de Tollet.        Near Larresingle
                       Burros horses and Armngac 
11.8                
May 2.            Gite Compostello. Anita. Montreal du gers
17
May 3.           Gite l arc en ciel.   Elizabeth.   Eauze
11.                    
May 4.           Gite Mathieu                Manciet
10.5               where Mathieu identified me on the street
May 5            Gite  D'Etape. communal.           Nogoro 
10.5 
May 6            Ferme. Dubarry.   
15.1 
May 8.           Hotel de la Paix                            Aire sur l adour
17.                     
May 9.             Gite communal               Miramont sensacq
10                     Go Ducks!
May 10             Hotel la vielle auberge      Arzacq-arraziguet
 5.                      
May 11            Ferme de l Hounde de Lacoste      Near Louvigny

May12.             Boulangerie Brousse.                Arthez-de-Bearn
9.5
May 13.            La Halte.                                     Maslacq
8
May 14.            Gite de Abby    De Sauvelade                           Sauvladle
12                     not a favorite
May 15.           The Alchemist.                   Navarette
12                    my favorite
May16.            Lauga Alain private home              Lichos
13                    awkward
May 17.           Gite le escargo.             Larribar Sorhapuru
11                    great place, kind people
May 18.             Ametzanea Ostatua.       Ostabat
16                     anyplace in a storm
May 19'20.        Hotel Mendy.                   St jean de Vieux 
4                        generosity
May 21.             Lespirit Chemin.              St Jean Pied de Port
8                         
May 22.             Rufuge Albergue Orisson.  Orisson
19
May 23.             Roncesvaille  Abby             Ronscevalle 
May 24.             Hotel.                                 Ronscevalle
                          Bus to Estella
May. 25-28       real Monasterio de San Benito.   Estella 
                          Bus to Madrid
May 29.             Madrid airport hotel
   

Approx 250 km.   11 km a day.   Shortest 4 longest 19

The Statstics

April 23,24.     Gite de Lestos.     Montcuq
14 k
April 25.          Gites Chambers d hotes Les Figuiers     Laurazette
8.5 k
April 26.          Gite du Soleil Levant.         Durfort-Lacapelette.     
 next day Turned wrong way.  Walked 5. Extra km   Took cab from Gite St Martin to Moissac
April 27,28       Gite chambre Ultreia    Moissac
Took train to Lourdes, returned via hotel clerk to Condom
April 29,30.      Lourdes hotel.   Condom
11.5
May 1,             Ferme de Tollet.        Near Larresingle
                       Burros horses and Armngac 
11.8                
May 2.            Gite Compostello. Anita. Montreal du gers
17
May 3.           Gite l arc en ciel.   Elizabeth.   Eauze
11.                    
May 4.           Gite Mathieu                Manciet
10.5               where Mathieu identified me on the street
May 5            Gite  D'Etape. communal.           Nogoro 
10.5 
May 6            Ferme. Dubarry.   
15.1 
May 8.           Hotel de la Paix                            Aire sur l adour
17.                     
May 9.             Gite communal               Miramont sensacq
10                     Go Ducks!
May 10             Hotel la vielle auberge      Arzacq-arraziguet
 5.                      
May 11            Ferme de l Hounde de Lacoste      Near Louvigny

May12.             Boulangerie Brousse.                Arthez-de-Bearn
9.5
May 13.            La Halte.                                     Maslacq
8
May 14.            Gite de Abby    De Sauvelade                           Sauvladle
12                     not a favorite
May 15.           The Alchemist.                   Navarette
12                    my favorite
May16.            Lauga Alain private home              Lichos
13                    awkward
May 17.           Gite le escargo.             Larribar Sorhapuru
11                    great place, kind people
May 18.             Ametzanea Ostatua.       Ostabat
16                     anyplace in a storm
May 19'20.        Hotel Mendy.                   St jean de Vieux 
4                        generosity
May 21.             Lespirit Chemin.              St Jean Pied de Port
8                         
May 22.             Rufuge Albergue Orisson.  Orisson
19
May 23.             Roncesvaille  Abby             Ronscevalle 
May 24.             Hotel.                                 Ronscevalle
                          Bus to Estella
May. 25-28       real Monasterio de San Benito.   Estella 
                          Bus to Madrid
May 29.             Madrid airport hotel
   

Approx 250 km.   11 km a day.   Shortest 4 longest 19

Sunday, May 26, 2013

Saying goodbye to my Camino friend.

Over fhe past four+ weeks we spent almost every waking moment together. Walking on the Chemin le Puy turned into a comedy act performed by two middle aged, slightly plump women with disabilities. I don't know when last I laughed so long or so much.

And I don't know when last I cried as hard and as long as I did today, standing at the bus stop in Ronscevalle, watching my Camino sister walk past the sign that reads "Santiago de Compostelo 790".  Passengers on the bus must have wondered about me, yet no one asked. I cried, holding back sobs as best I could, until I fell asleep. The bus stopped at Puerta le Reina.  I woke up, disoriented, asked a man getting off where I was. He looked at me like was from another world. I arrived in Estella, alone, in the middle of a huge festival.  With a companion I would have joined in the party. But there were no pilgrims there. Locals, families and friends joined together to celebrate.  I felt out of place, longing for my own family at home. Thinking about my camino sister.

Many start the Camino alone, and complete it having developed incredible relationships. Walking all those kilometers there is so much time to talk, or listen or just experience a comfortable silence as the hiking poles click in rhythm. 

I love to tell stories. Some made up, but most true. And when I run out of stories I bring up topics for discussion....like "what is your favorite animal and why"...that is how we discovered we both like giraffes.


I dreampt last night that I looked ahead on the Camino and saw two young people crossing the Path. Walking with them was a baby giraffe.


The giraffe looked down the Camino at me, deep brown  eyes, and the puzzled pattern of rusty brown hair  in the creamy white background glowed in the sun. For a moment, there was a connection. The puzzle seemed less challenging with someone there to share.

Two pilgrims we are, with our bodies disabled by progressive  neurological disease, sharing struggles no one else can understand. Not understanding ourselves the puzzle life can be, as strength and endurance fade. We are both mules...stubborn as all get out, filled with tenacity and courage, more than  enough to walk the Camino. I think we are as puzzling to each other as the disconnected pieces of the giraffes coat. 

Leslie said  "Goodbye Ladybird." She knows I do not care for that term of endearment.
We both turned and walked away.

I stopped and shouted.  "You girly girl."   (She is and she knows it)
She turned and looked for just a moment and then I watched as she headed on the Camino towards Santiago,

Someday these disabled bodies will be transformed. Our scarred hearts and battered souls healed.
In the resurrection of our bodies in the second coming of Jesus we will be remade, perfect and new.

We will be young, crossing the Camino, walking with the baby giraffe, it's rusty coat gleaming in the sunlight, no longer a puzzle to be solved.

Thanks Leslie, for sharing your Camino.






Saying goodbye to my Camino friend.

Over fhe past four+ weeks we spent almost every waking moment together. Walking on the Chemin le Puy turned into a comedy act performed by two middle aged, slightly plump women with disabilities. I don't know when last I laughed so long or so much.

And I don't know when last I cried as hard and as long as I did today, standing at the bus stop in Ronscevalle, watching my Camino sister walk past the sign that reads "Santiago de Compostelo 790".  Passengers on the bus must have wondered about me, yet no one asked. I cried, holding back sobs as best I could, until I fell asleep. The bus stopped at Puerta le Reina.  I woke up, disoriented, asked a man getting off where I was. He looked at me like was from another world. I arrived in Estella, alone, in the middle of a huge festival.  With a companion I would have joined in the party. But there were no pilgrims there. Locals, families and friends joined together to celebrate.  I felt out of place, longing for my own family at home. Thinking about my camino sister.

Many start the Camino alone, and complete it having developed incredible relationships. Walking all those kilometers there is so much time to talk, or listen or just experience a comfortable silence as the hiking poles click in rhythm. 

I love to tell stories. Some made up, but most true. And when I run out of stories I bring up topics for discussion....like "what is your favorite animal and why"...that is how we discovered we both like giraffes.


I dreampt last night that I looked ahead on the Camino and saw two young people crossing the Path. Walking with them was a baby giraffe.


The giraffe looked down the Camino at me, deep brown  eyes, and the puzzled pattern of rusty brown hair  in the creamy white background glowed in the sun. For a moment, there was a connection. The puzzle seemed less challenging with someone there to share.

Two pilgrims we are, with our bodies disabled by progressive  neurological disease, sharing struggles no one else can understand. Not understanding ourselves the puzzle life can be, as strength and endurance fade. We are both mules...stubborn as all get out, filled with tenacity and courage, more than  enough to walk the Camino. I think we are as puzzling to each other as the disconnected pieces of the giraffes coat. 

Leslie said  "Goodbye Ladybird." She knows I do not care for that term of endearment.
We both turned and walked away.

I stopped and shouted.  "You girly girl."   (She is and she knows it)
She turned and looked for just a moment and then I watched as she headed on the Camino towards Santiago,

Someday these disabled bodies will be transformed. Our scarred hearts and battered souls healed.
In the resurrection of our bodies in the second coming of Jesus we will be remade, perfect and new.

We will be young, crossing the Camino, walking with the baby giraffe, it's rusty coat gleaming in the sunlight, no longer a puzzle to be solved.

Thanks Leslie, for sharing your Camino.






Monastery San Benito. ( in progress)

I just woke up from a deep sleep. Church bells were ringing the 5 o'clock hour. It's the feast of the Virgini of Le Puy the patron saint of Estrella. This has been my day:

As the bus pulled up to it's stop, I caught a glimpse of the parade brewing.  Four tall figures  (people on stilts wearing big headed costumes) were lined up with a couple of bands warming up near by. Parents and children were coming from all directions,

Rockets fired, the children scrambled to collect candy and toys raining down from the rockets explosion.  One boy showed his dad the most cherished prize,  a parachute person, he nabbed falling from the sky.

Brass bands, composed of men in white  shirts and brightly colored scarves, took turns playing songs. Groups of youth in white outfits with colored trim denoting their affiliations gathered in circles to dance.

The tall figures danced down the street followed by several short big headed characters. A local woman approached me totell me   that at one o'clock in the center of town there would be a beautiful dance.  

I observed  groups gathering on the side streets preparing to join the parade. I asked people and looked for signs to the monestrary San Benitos. No one seemed to know where the convent was and told me that the monastery of Irachi did not have  an albergue.  I did not think the office of tourism would be open on Saturday afternoon during a parade, but I took a chance and started searching.  The kind woman inside also wanted to direct me to closer place to stay, saying that the convent San Benito did not have an alburgue.  I insisted that I called ahead and was given a place to stay.  Something rang a bell and she showed me on the map that the monastery San Benitow is adjacent  to the cathedral of the Virgin of le Puy, patron of Estella whose feast day is tòday...thus the big celebration. 

Feeling lonely and tired, I followed the map up the hill to the cathedral.   I walked by a group of men dressed very much like Knights of Columbus waiting for the parade. A police officer regarded me sternly, and viewed my heavy pack. II have learned that a big smile breaks the language barrier. He returned my smile with a warm Hola!   At the top of the hill, i was certain a lovely building was the right place yet I could not figure out how to enter the convent, so I joined the Mass at the cathedral. It's is an amazing modern cathedral.  At the end of mass people were lining up so I joined them. The lined moved to the back of the altar were people were paying respect to their patron
 by making the sign oif the cross, kissing or touching a representation of the 8 pointed star and cross. A star  that guided shephereds to the top of this volcanic rock where they saw a beautiful woman, the virgin of le Puy. I asked the sacristan where the convent was located. He told me that for a place to sleep I needed to go down into the town.  A young woman with two children directed me to a door up a long flight of stairs.  I saw a nicely dressed family entering the door.  That was confusing and I thought it was their home.  A local girl passed by and she said she had never gone there but she believed it was right door.  I buzzed. No one came. I heard people inside.  I buzzed again. Cameras came on a
I heard a voice spoke in typical speaker sound, having no idea what to do I smiled at the camera and said hello I am pilgrim carol.

The door soon opened and a stylishly dressed tall young woman stood there. Confused, I asked her if this was the convent . In a second, a nun appeared.  The young woman was of the family there celebrating the birthday of their aunt, the abbottress. I was shown a beautiful room, marbel floor with a throw rug, dark simple furniture, a single bed with crisp ironed sheets that smelled oh so very good, a big window opening to a view of the cathedral and the city, and a sparkling clean bathroom with a tub! It appears I am the only pilgrim to stay here in the guest rooms on the second floor. 

Hermana Esperanza  is  in charge of hospitality. I sent her greetings from Jen de la Riva, who I walked a bit with last Camino. And she tells me Jennifer will be here June 3,4 as she is coming to walk the camino to the coast. 

Esperanza tells me I must speak in Spanish as there is no one here who speaks English. She speaks slowly to me and I understand her entirely. She invites me to rest while she prepares me some food. Soon the young woman knocks on my door and takes me to a social area where her family is visiting the abbottress. While I eat, the teenaged boy walks by and says "hi" " bye". After the second time I invite him to sit with me  and practice English. He gets a book to show me. He is in his second year of secondary school and has written a fantasy story which is available on amazon.com. Wow! We discuss his book and I  invite him to ask questions about me and my country.

I return to my room to rest and Esperanza comes a little before 7 to show me the church inside the convent.  All the sisters show up and they sing vespers. It is so beautiful I am moved to tears. I return to my room, and cry some more.   It is so good to be here.

At breakfast, laudes prayers and Mass I am  joined by a woman who drives a Coche between here and Barcelona. Although she has no English she helps me follow the prayers. Mass is comfortable as I know the prayers and responses in Spanish. Again the singing is so beautiful I cry. After communion we sing to the tune of How Great thou Art. The nuns, priests and men sacristans boom out voices that fill the building. My heart is touched by the familiar melody. 

I will rest here a few more days.  I need this time to reflect onthis past month. This is a place of reverent prayer. It is good to be here.