MY NORTHWEST PASSAGE

I had long hoped to travel to the Northwest where I have a number of friends, but the circumstances of my life during the past few years always seemed to forestall any chance of getting away for an extended period of time. But finally, last fall, everything fell into place and I began to make plans for my trip. Though I was excited, the logistics of arranging visits to Seattle, Victoria, Olympia, Portland, and the San Juan Islands, all within a nine-day span, seemed daunting, and I was a bit nervous about having to do a lot of driving alone in strange territory. I also worried about my energy. At age seventy-nine I was more than a little concerned that I would become too tired to fully enjoy my long-delayed visit. Somewhat irrationally, I reassured myself that if I became exhausted, I would just rest when I got home.


Victoria, British Columbia

So, early on a Sunday morning in October, 2007, I took a plane from St. Louis to Seattle. Luckily, my flight arrived on time, the weather was fine, and I easily made my connecting flight to Victoria, where I was to visit Vera and Keith, whom I had not seen for at least twenty-five years. Keith was in graduate school at Washington University when Norm and I became friends with him and Vera. At that time they had two children, Kirsten and Paula, who were a few years younger than our two daughters. Keith grew up on the Isle of Man, and Vera was from Staffordshire, England. I have always been amazed that we should know someone from that small island in the middle of the Irish Sea which has a total population of only 80,000—plus or minus a few souls—or someone from Staffordshire for that matter.

Since we had not seen each other for such a long time, there was some trepidation for all of us on that sunny Sunday. Would we recognize each other? Would we still like each other? Would we find vast changes, or would we face familiar idiosyncrasies? We need not have worried, for I immediately saw my friends waiting for me as I emerged from the gate at the small airport in Victoria, and they greeted me with the kind of warmth and affection I remembered from our past encounters. On the drive to their home, as our conversation flowed easily, I found that Keith has retained his acerbic wit and Vera remains the gentle, soft-spoken woman I knew. Though I was in a different landscape, where the trees were ablaze with fall color and fields of bright orange pumpkins delighted my eyes, my friends were reliably still my friends.

After Keith received his Ph.D. in English, he accepted a position at the University of Saskatchewan in Regina, where Norm and I visited him and his family a few times. One particular visit stands out, for it was in the middle of winter, and I experienced cold such as I had never known. The temperature dropped to forty degrees below zero, and one morning we awoke to see outside our hotel room an enchanting spectacle. It looked as if there were millions of twinkling stars hanging above the roofs and treetops. The cause of this fantastic display was an ice fog, meaning that every drop of moisture in the air above the city was crystallized, each particle reflecting the light of the sun. It was an unforgettable sight.

At some point our friends decided to add to their family by adopting a native Canadian child whom they named Anya. As our families grew and our lives became consumed with more pressing demands, we did not see our Canadian friends as often, though Keith was always diligent about sending his annual Christmas letters, which were unfailingly funny and entertaining. Keith is a gifted writer. Vera in the meantime went back to school and got a degree in Social Work, a field for which she has great innate ability, for she is the very essence of caring concern, compassion, and empathy.

When Keith retired from his teaching position at the university in Regina, he and Vera moved to Victoria which has a milder climate and where many of their friends and colleagues have also retired. Their oldest daughter Kirsten married a Norwegian and currently lives near Oslo with her husband and their three children. Paula became an actor and lives in Montreal. Anya married and lives in Regina.

Several years ago I began a correspondence with Kirsten and our email friendship has flourished as we have shared ideas and exchanged reflections on such topics as complementary medicine and indigenous healing techniques. This past summer Anya gave birth to a baby girl. I was deeply touched when I learned that she named the baby Leah, after me. Anya wrote that I was always good to her and was special in her heart. I do not remember being especially good to this child (she was still a child when I last saw her), but I am reminded that we never know what mark we are leaving on the life of another human being, so it behooves us to always be kind and loving. I am honored to know that I have a namesake growing up in Saskatchewan. Perhaps some day I shall get to meet her.

Keith and Vera are much the same as when I knew them in St. Louis, and they remarked that I also seemed to them basically the person they recalled from our earlier years of friendship. Perhaps our fundamental personalities do not to change, though I admit I had harbored the illusion that somehow I had learned and grown in many ways since I last saw them. I felt that surely my increased knowledge and maturity would be apparent. Not so, at least not in any immediately discernible manner. I must be content with my own sense that some inner spiritual growth has taken place, but must also accept the fact that there is some part of me—just as for Vera and Keith—that remains forever the same.

After two delightful, nostalgic days and nights in the charming city of Victoria, I flew back to Seattle where I rented a car and headed south to my next destination.


Olympia, Washington

There were two persons I wished to see and spend some time with in Olympia. One is a young man who is a professor of physics at Evergreen State College. I know Don because of his friendship with Norm. I am not sure when the two of them met, but Don shared Norm’s interest in the Seth material and he also understood (to an extent many of us could not) the scientific concepts in Norm’s book Bridging Science and Spirit. On a number of occasions Don invited Norm to speak to his class at Evergreen on the philosophical views expounded in his book. When Norm developed Alzheimer’s disease and was no longer able to travel or lecture, Don visited us whenever he was in St. Louis. (His mother lived here until her death.) His continued kindness and tenderness towards Norm demonstrates what a good-hearted person he is.

Don keeps in touch with me periodically, and when he learned of my trip to the Northwest he invited me to be a guest at his home which he recently completed building. Though I appreciated his offer, I decided that I preferred to stay at a hotel, so when I got into Olympia in mid-afternoon on that Tuesday, I checked into the Red Lion Inn, Olympia’s finest, though far from elegant, hotel.

Don invited me for dinner at his home, and offered to include my other Olympia friend, Denis. He picked up both of us at the hotel, stopped by the local grocery where he bought some fresh salmon, and then drove us out to his home. He owns about forty acres of land that he has planted with thousands of seedling trees. His home is both esthetically pleasing and a marvel of environmentally sound principles. He is also a lover of wild life, so birds, raccoons and other creatures are frequent visitors. While preparing our dinner, and later as we enjoyed indulging in it, Don regaled us with stories of the design and construction of his home and also talked about his remembrances of Norm. He was an extremely gracious host.

After being dropped off at my hotel, Denis and I sat and talked for another hour or so. Denis is a graduate of Pacifica Graduate Institute, where I did my late life study, and we received our doctor’s degrees the same year. On the occasion of being hooded and at another Pacifica gathering we found that we held many common views and interests, both taking special pleasure in drinking good wine and in sharing serious conversation. We exchanged dissertations and in the years since leaving school we have continued communicating via email and telephone. An unusual, soulful friendship has developed between me and this man who is at least fifteen years my junior.

Denis came by the hotel the next morning and took me on a tour of the city and its environs. We visited the campus of Evergreen, a place I especially wanted to see since my grandson-in-law, Raven, graduated from there, and also because Norm had been a guest of Don’s at the school. It is a beautiful place, as is the entire area. Again, as in Victoria, the fall colors were spectacular, the brilliant colors of the deciduous trees contrasting strikingly with the dark green of the evergreens.

Denis and I had lunch at a small café which caters to left-wing political activists and folk artists. It had a charming, though somewhat hap-hazard, ambience and the food served was unquestionably organic and wholesome. Afterwards we did more sight-seeing before going to Denis’ house for further conversation and for dinner. Denis lives alone in a lovely split-level home with a particularly lush, well-designed and well-cared-for yard and garden. His son and young grandson live not far away. We talked and talked and talked—about our families, about politics, about religion, about our beliefs and backgrounds. Sometimes we cried as we spoke about matters close to our hearts. Denis is a man unafraid of tears.

At five o’clock, Denis offered cocktails, and we agreed that a good martini would be ideal. He carefully measured Tanqueray gin and the requisite splash of dry vermouth into a shaker with ice. After expertly shaking the container just the right number of times, he poured the liquor into our glasses, which were generously garnished with both a lemon twist and an olive. The chilled warmth of the gin combined with the geniality generated by our shared stories turned an ordinary martini into a magical elixir. It was a drink unlike any other I have known.

After we finished the final drops of our pre-dinner cocktail, Denis went into the kitchen to prepare dinner, leaving me alone to relax and enjoy some moments of silent contemplation. The martini left me feeling calm and mellow, and made me aware of how grateful I was to have found a friend with whom I could talk about such a broad range of topics and ideas—from the personal to the political to the philosophical to the archetypal.
I felt then, and still feel, greatly blessed by this friendship.

Dinner was marvelous—lamb cooked on the grill, salad, vegetables, good bread, and an excellent red wine. After a dessert of ice cream and raspberries, and a bit more after-dinner conversation, Denis drove me back to my hotel. I needed to get an early start the next morning for my drive to Portland.


Portland, Oregon

At about 8:30 AM, I headed south on Interstate Highway 5. I wanted to arrive in plenty of time to accompany my friend Dianne to a gallery lecture she was giving at noon. Dianne is a fine art photographer and she was speaking at a gallery that was showing a retrospective of her work. I wanted very much to see this show, for I have long been an admirer of Dianne’s photographs.

I met Dianne in the 1980s at an Ansel Adams workshop in California where she was one of the faculty members. I was becoming more serious about my own venture into photography and wished to get some feedback on my work and to learn some new techniques. On the first night of the workshop there was a showing of photographs taken by staff members. When I saw Dianne’s photographs, I knew we were kindred spirits, at least artistically speaking. I bought one of her pictures that night (which is still one of my favorites), and asked if I might make an appointment with her. She was already fully booked, but agreed to see me at midnight! We found we had more in common than just our photographic interests. Thus began our friendship, which has endured to this day.

As with my friends in Victoria, I had not seen Dianne for a very long time—perhaps ten or fifteen years. We had kept in touch sporadically, but though I eventually phased out of photography and moved in other directions, Dianne remained dedicated to her work as both photographer and teacher. She is unusual in that she has an artist’s vision and a scientist’s affinities, as demonstrated both in her complete mastery of photographic techniques (now including digital) and in her photographs which are largely of the preserved remains of animal and plant life. As one observer put it, she is fascinated by “the mysterious beauty of bones, the delicacy of preserved insects, dried algae, pressed plants, and other elements of the natural world.” That first photograph I purchased at the Ansel Adams workshop was of a collection of dragon flies impaled on long pins; it was delicate and mysteriously beautiful.

I arrived in Portland in ample time to accompany Dianne and her husband Jack to the gallery for her lecture. I delighted in seeing so many of her works on the walls, some of which I was familiar with, but many of which were new to me. One room was filled with her recent work, luminous color images of algae and botanical specimens. I stood in this room, enthralled and entranced by the sheer beauty of the images. There was an uplifting energy in the room which seemed to emanate directly from the photographs, all lovingly and meticulously framed by Jack.

Jack and Dianne have both retired from their teaching positions and have purchased a home on Obstruction Island in the San Juans where they will move in the spring. (They have placed their home in Portland on the market.) Dianne was eager to show me their new home and the studio they have built for her not far from the house. So the next morning we got up early and headed north to Anacortes, where we left the car and took a water taxi out to the island, which can only be reached by boat.

The San Juan Islands, nestled off the shore of Washington State, are gems of natural beauty. The terrain varies from fairly flat land to low mountains, and the landscape appears to be densely wooded. Some of the larger islands, such as San Juan and Orcas, have urban centers and sizable permanent populations, but Obstruction has only residential sites, and very few full time residents. (The 2000 year census said there were eight, but Dianne could only think of five.) Most families leave during the winter months when the winds can be strong and the weather cold. Dianne and Jack will soon become permanent residents, living full time in this exquisite, quiet, but remote place.

My visit was magical. The house is not large, but is designed such that each window provides its own spectacular view—either of the magnificent trees or of the tranquil water. Soon after our arrival I lay for awhile, somnolent, on a hammock they have hung between two trees near the edge of the water. The sun was setting and its rays sparkled across the water. All outer concerns dropped away as I marveled at my good fortune in being in the presence of good friends and benefiting from their kindness in sharing with me this place of great natural beauty.

After dinner and when darkness had descended, Dianne suggested that we take a walk. She brought along a flashlight and I stumbled my way behind her sure-footed guidance. Soon we found our way to a pier, and walked out on it to better see the night sky. We lay down on the bare boards and looked up at a canopy of stars, including that great swath of light, the Milky Way. I could hardly believe my eyes, for I had not seen the Milky Way since I was a child, living on a farm in North Carolina. What a thrilling experience it was to once again gaze at the mystery of the cosmos.

The next day we walked some more around this island, which felt like a mythical paradise, filled as it was with grottos (which surely were hiding places for fairies and other woodland creatures), stones, fallen trees, hollowed out stumps, and deep green moss. Many of these places looked like naturally formed altars, and their appearance engendered a reverence and awe which made me feel worshipful. And, perhaps most miraculously, we found some chanterelle mushrooms which we carefully picked and had for dinner.

All too soon my visit came to an end. On Sunday I took the water taxi back to Anacortes where I found my car and drove back to Seattle. I spent the night at a hotel that Norm and I had visited many, many years earlier. It looked much the same, but this time I was alone. After a restful night’s sleep, I drove to the Seattle airport for my flight home.


Reflections

To my great astonishment, not only did I not return home exhausted, but I seem to have gained in energy as I moved from friend to friend and place to place. I actually came home feeling younger and stronger than when I left! Each encounter, each conversation, each new experience, seemed to add vitality to my body and to my spirit.

As I began to reflect on this strange phenomenon, I was surprised to realize how much my confidence had eroded in the past few years, and how much the trip helped to restore my sense of self-reliance. Though my energy is certainly not what it was twenty years ago, I found that I still have sufficient stamina to handle this kind of travel. But it wasn’t just physical energy that had come into question. I had allowed other certainties to fade away, to be replaced by subtle doubts and reservations regarding my ability to function. The fact is (I am somewhat embarrassed to admit), I had begun to take on some of my culture’s disparaging notions of what it means to be old instead of insisting on assessing my own individual strengths.

My first sense of reappraisal came on the very first night of my journey. I had awakened early on that Sunday morning in order to make my flight to Seattle. By the time I had dinner with Vera and Keith at my hotel in Victoria it was already past my usual bedtime. But the excitement of seeing old friends and the stimulation of being in a new environment must have given me an infusion of adrenaline, for I did not feel at all tired. After our plentiful and pleasant dinner, even lingering over dessert and wine, I went to bed, very late by Central time, but slept well, and awoke the next morning completely adjusted to the Western time zone.

Another of my worries had been about driving long distances alone in a strange area. This concern is especially odd, for, though I am often accused of driving too fast, I am a competent and careful driver. I have driven alone the 300 miles from my home to Chicago innumerable times over the past twenty years. I have also driven dozens of times in the last decade on the incredibly crowded, fast-moving California freeways from Los Angeles south to San Diego and north to Santa Barbara. After those challenging roadways, why should I be afraid? And, as it happened, I was not. I found my way without difficulty. I did, however, get my first ever speeding ticket as I drove from Olympia to Portland. When I told my family, they said was long overdue! I claim it was a speed trap set up along a stretch of highway that was not clearly marked. Every car in the left lane was being pulled over.

But there was yet another misgiving that I had not been aware of until near the end of my trip. It is sobering to acknowledge that I had (unconsciously) feared engaging in intellectual exchanges, feeling that perhaps I had lost my ability to think clearly and rationally. I’m not sure why I had begun to question my mental readiness; perhaps it is that since Norm developed Alzheimer’s I no longer have anyone here at home with whom I can engage in daily discussions, no one to ask my opinion or argue with me, no one to keep me sharp.

The friends I visited on this trip are highly educated, knowledgeable, articulate people. Several are, or have been, college professors. All are marvelous conversationalists, interested in a wide range of topics—politics, religion, art, the environment, personal relationships, whatever might come to mind. I enjoyed my exchanges with them immensely and found I could participate easily, on occasion could even add an insight or a bit of information that I had retained from my reading. I came home reassured that at least some of my brain cells are still active.

There was another interesting component to my visit, which I did not fully understand except in retrospect. I had not been aware of how much I hungered not only for intellectual stimulation, but also for the kind of nourishment that comes from being with old friends—that is, persons with whom I have shared meaningful experiences in the past. I knew that I felt a strong bond with these individuals, and that I treasured their friendship, but I was surprised and deeply touched by how much I felt valued by them. It was that sense of loving and being loved in return that provided the greatest boost to my energy and to my morale.

Each visit along the way had its own essence and flavor. With Vera and Keith it was the comfort of learning that there is continuity to deep friendship, and that these bonds extend into succeeding generations. With Don it was witnessing once again his generosity of spirit and being reminded of his connection to Norm. With Denis it was savoring the companionship of an unusually witty, erudite, and sensitive man. With Dianne and Jack it was being immersed in the world of intellect, art, nature, and spirit. One could hardly ask for more.

Since I am nearing my eightieth birthday, I am acutely interested in how I and others respond to encroaching age. (See I Am an Old Woman on my blog.) I have come to understand that a key element in retaining our sense of vitality as we grow old is an ability to maintain a feeling of self confidence. Before my trip I was suffering a crisis of confidence. I had apprehensions regarding my ability to withstand the demands of travel. I had begun to question my energy, my competence, and my mental functioning. Had I persisted in this loss of belief in myself, I would then have become the very things I feared. Instead, my experiences on the trip revived my waning energy, renewed my feelings of competence, and restored my sense of self. For that I shall always be grateful.

Now my challenge is to maintain that level of confidence, regardless of the challenges I may face. If I can hold on to that, then My Northwest Passage will have been a truly transforming passage. I will have moved from debilitating self-doubt to the certainty that I am an old woman still capable of living life fully—physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.