Today I saw a young woman with Down Syndrome light up with pride and happiness after she completed a horseback riding class at Stirrups ‘n’ Strides Therapeutic Riding Center. I have been leading her on a sweet quarterhorse named Jasper each Saturday morning, but today the instructor gave me the go-ahead to unclip the lead rope. I looked up at the student and said, “You’re the boss now!”
Taking up the reins, she gave Jasper a little kick, and said, “walk on.” She kept him walking around the arena, steered him through a line of poles, and completed an obstacle course with only a little help. At the end of class, I said, “You did that all by yourself. You’re a real cowgirl now!” She beamed and gave me a timid high-five.
For the last few Saturdays, I have been getting up at the crack of dawn to feed the menagerie before I head off to volunteer at the morning classes offered by Stirrups ‘n’ Strides. The organization provides therapeutic horseback riding to people with physical, mental, or emotional challenges and aims to “improve the quality of life for these individuals with the opportunity for emotional, educational, and physical growth through horsemanship, competition, and the healing power of the horse.”
This guy greets visitors to the stable.
When I arrive at the barn each week, I chat with other volunteers and check the clipboard to see which horses and riders are assigned to me. Most weeks, I’ve worked with the same two students and the same two horses, Lilly and Jasper. I’ve enjoyed getting to know them all.
We groom and tack the horses, and then bring them out one at a time as the students arrive. Most students use a mounting block, but the facility also has a wonderful ramp and hoist for moving people from their wheelchairs on to the horses. We all head in to the main arena at the start of the class. Once the whole group is ready, some students stay in the main arena and others ride a short distance to the trail course arena. Halfway through the class, the two groups switch.
In the main arena, students walk and trot their horses, practice steering around barrels or through a row of poles, and receive instruction to build their riding skills. In the trail course arena, riders tackle obstacles that build physical strength and balance, offer cognitive challenges, and teach horse handling skills. For example, one obstacle simulates opening a gate while on horseback. That requires riding up to the gate, positioning the horse, reaching down to remove a rope looped over the pole, backing up then moving forward through the gate, and hooking the rope on another pole. Another obstacle features an archway with dangling pool noodles. In my early days here, I just led the horse under the noodles, but the instructor encouraged me to challenge my student a bit more. Now I ask questions such as, “How many noodles are there? What color is the biggest noodle? Can you reach up and touch the green noodle?”
Initially, I thought the whole goal was to teach horseback riding, but now I realize there’s so much more going on, as evidenced by one of today’s activities. Students balanced a plastic egg on a spoon while walking around the arena, which required them to sit up straight and concentrate to keep their spoon balanced while steering their horse. I’m not sure I could do that!
This was only my fourth week of volunteering, but I have already learned so much. I feel more confident saddling and bridling the horses with a variety of western and English tack, and I understand better how to interact with the riders to keep them engaged and challenged during the lessons.
I fully appreciate the therapeutic effects that horses are having on my body and spirit during this time out of the classroom. It’s rewarding to be part of an organization that spreads the love!
This video offers a great overview (ignore the promotion for last year’s fundraiser).
This article has some editing errors (sigh…), but it tells the backstory of how Betty Gray started the organization after her 3-year-old daughter, Kathy, was kicked in the head by a horse. Today, Kathy is an accomplished 46-year-old horsewoman who has clearly benefited enormously from therapeutic riding and her leadership role at Stirrups ‘n’ Strides. She always has a smile and story for everyone at the barn.
Where the magic happens.Buckets with grooming supplies. This place is a well-oiled machine!Inside the barn. Scenes from Stirrups ‘n’ Strides
Here’s the promotional flyer for this year’s fundraiser, coming up soon. If you are in this neck of the woods or know someone who is, please spread the word!
I almost hate to tell you how wonderful my mornings are.
My cat Ella wakes me up around 4:30 a.m. Hold on … that part is most decidedly not wonderful. It gets better.
I go back to sleep till about 6. Then I get up, make a cup of tea, and crawl back into bed to read for a whole hour. At 7, I set aside my kindle, sit cross-legged at the head of my bed, open the Calm app on my phone, and click on a short guided meditation.
Afterwards, I head to the barn, where the minis greet me with the most appreciative whinnies. They know breakfast is coming. Once they’re fed, I grab the broom, pitchfork, shovel, and wheelbarrow and get to work.
My office and gym.
As I sweep the stalls, clean up manure, scrub water buckets, and shovel sand back into the holes dug by barn dogs Zeus and Athena, I try to practice what I learned in my morning meditation.
I pause and lean on the spade handle to watch the gray dawn dissipate in the rising sun. I notice and feel gratitude for a sapphire sky with one puffy cloud, a pasture full of white ibis aerating the grass, a bright watercolor grasshopper resting on a fence post, an expansive V of honking geese soaring overhead, or the smell of pine when I crunch through the trees. Instead of letting my mind wander and speculate about the future, I try to focus on the moment, finding delight in the world around me. Of course, the challenge is to hold on to that feeling for the rest of the day.
Nature is cool.
Every morning, something makes me laugh. Zeus, a lumbering behemoth of an Anatolian shepherd, begs for a belly scratch. Aprille, one of the mini mares, sticks her face in front of the leaf blower, tossing her long mane like a fashion model. Mischa, the female Great Dane, transforms into a spindly kangaroo, bouncing with excitement at the prospect of going outside.
There’s no subtlety with Zeus.
As for exercise, the barn is my gym. I have lost 20 pounds and developed abs and never-before-seen biceps. I don’t exactly feel like me, but I like it.
I never eat out because … well … money and the lack thereof. Instead, I cook nutritious, vegetarian soups and other freezable meals, eat farm fresh eggs from a lady in the neighborhood, and load up on veggies from a nearby produce stand. (That said, I recently discovered that you can buy single pieces of cake at the supermarket!)
The latest glorious addition to my self-care routine is yoga. Just across the dirt road behind the farm, I discovered an oasis: Wind Horse Yoga. Three days a week, I wander through my gate to join a lovely little yoga community, where owner Knan and her four dogs create a climate of fellowship and zen. Instead of a bell or chime at the end of practice, we are roused from savasana by wet noses and wagging tails.
Ankle kisses mark the end of yoga class.
Working full time, I dabbled inconsistently with self care. I took a mindfulness course and embraced meditation wholeheartedly, but life’s commitments soon pushed that practice to the back burner. I downloaded workout apps, joined gyms, attended fitness classes, and tried to maintain a regular schedule of exercise off and on over the years. I became a vegetarian and tried to eat healthfully; it’s just that cooking is so time-consuming and falafel wraps with garlic sauce delivered to my door are so delicious and convenient. My point is that I basically failed at self care for most of my adult life.
These days, I’m blissfully unemployed, and my college classes are challenging but not overtaxing. This midlife crisis or “gap year” or whatever it is has handed me the most wonderful and unexpected gift: time to take care of myself, mentally and physically.
It didn’t start out that way.
For the first six weeks, I cried a lot. If I wasn’t crying, I was on the brink of tears. I barely made it through my classes before falling apart in my car on the way home. Everything triggered tears, and I didn’t even fully understand what I was sniffling about. The tiniest frustration or inconvenience overwhelmed me. While working around the barn, my mind zipped and zoomed in all kinds of crazy directions, looping back and getting lost. Looking back, I realize I was processing a great deal of change: giving up my career, sending my husband halfway around the world, not having an income, living in a small apartment, and caring for so many living beings who wanted my attention all the dang time.
Those changes continue to trigger moments of panic, confusion, and anxiety. I realize this gift of time has an expiration date, and to be honest, sometimes visualizing where this is all going sends me on a downward spiral. No, it’s not nirvana, but every day I try to appreciate this opportunity to slow down, learn, and grow.
Tranquility in my backyard.
Who would have thought I would find mindfulness in manure?
After two decades of learning and growing as an educator, I feel quite confident in front of a classroom. Presently immersed in something totally new and unfamiliar, I am beginning to realize how much I took that expertise for granted. Developing a solid skillset takes time, patience, and humility. Why did I think I could jump right in to the horse world like a pro?
The amount of learning my poor old brain absorbs each day, both in my classes and at the farm, makes my eyes twitch. Book learning and lectures frequently raise more questions than they answer. I latch on to some random concept and lose myself in a digital scavenger hunt on that topic, such as when we studied the circulatory system and I got fixated on the size of a horse’s heart. Human hearts weigh about 10 ounces. The heart of an average 1,000-pound horse? 10 pounds. And remember racing legend Secretariat? His heart was reportedly a whopping 21 pounds! So there’s a good hour I can’t get back.
Reviewing with a model before dissecting the horse heart.
The minis also teach me a lesson every day. These two guys, Timmy and TJ, are among my most dedicated teachers.
They seem determined to trick me into a variety of rookie mistakes. TJ (on the right) is a rapscallion of a gelding with a strong sense of entitlement and crazy eyes. Timmy is TJ’s dad, the only stallion in the little herd. He is generally sweet and gentle, but TJ brings out his naughty side.
Every morning, when I clean the barn, they follow me and intentionally block my path. I keep telling them, “The sooner you let me sweep out this sand, the sooner I can feed you!” Yet they persist. Here’s one example of their determination.
After all this time, I had the brainstorm yesterday of shutting myself in the stalls. Shoulder-high doors lead from the barn aisle to the stalls, and metal gates lead from the stalls out to the sandy paddock. The horses roam freely in and out of the paddock but have no access to the barn’s interior.
TJ and Timmy glared at me through the gate while I efficiently swept out the sand and loose hay. When I opened the gate, they rushed in, and I quickly shut myself in the neighboring stall. Smug with this new power, I forgot to latch the door from the first stall into the barn, and those two made a break for it. Before I could stop them, they gleefully knocked over a bucket of pellets and scarfed down a few bites. Touché, little men. Lesson learned.
Later in the day, it was bath time. Timmy loves to hang out in the water mister until he is soaking wet, and then he rolls in the sand. He was filthy, and his tail was matted with poo and sticks from the field. I tied him up and hosed him down before getting to work with shampoo, sponge, a rubber curry mitt, and a comb. Afterwards, I used a mystical concoction called Cowboy Magic to detangle his mane and tail. He was so handsome!
And then he did this. I think I heard TJ egging him on.
When I texted their owner, she wrote, “That’s why we leave them in the stall until they dry off.” Well, rats. Another lesson learned.
Although my eyes ache from the pressure of my rapidly growing brain, I love this stuff. I may not reach expert status as quickly as I had hoped, but for now, I am focusing on the journey instead of the destination.
It’s been awhile. (Insert sound effect of long, dramatic sigh.) I just haven’t had much to write about. No, that’s not true. I just haven’t had the urge to write.
I remember traveling to incredible places and feeling eager to share stories about my adventures. On some of my favorite journeys, I spent the morning exploring with Tony, and then I hunkered down in the afternoon to write. Stupid covid! Not only did the pandemic limit our travel, it also sucked the joy out of my daily life to the point that I didn’t even care about documenting it. In fact, I found myself struggling to care about anything.
We felt lucky to live in Chile during the first two years of the pandemic. The government rolled out a plan with free, easily accessible vaccines and a set of rules for social distancing that fluctuated depending on the number of reported cases. Some weeks we were in full lockdown; other times, we could go outside during designated hours but only to exercise. When the number of new cases dropped, the restrictions eased. Everyone watched the “paso a paso” website religiously. Would we have to wear masks outside this week? Could a group of us sit together on a restaurant terrace? Would our classes be live or online? We definitely felt safe, and I’m grateful for that. However, the constant uncertainty took its toll.
This wasn’t the way middle school was supposed to be, and some of my kids felt robbed. I don’t know which came first: my apathy or theirs. Regardless, we seemed to feed on each other’s gloominess. I tried to put on a happy face and stay upbeat, but I know I failed. I still don’t know how some people took it all in stride while I couldn’t. I can’t say why other teachers showed grit and resilience, and I didn’t. Looking back, I can admit it really wasn’t that bad. We were healthy. We had jobs. Nobody close to us was hit hard by covid. Nevertheless, by the second semester of the 2020-21 school year, I found myself googling alternate career paths.
It was kind of funny really. At one point, I was ready to apply at Colonial Williamsburg to be an interpreter. I love history, and I love acting. It sounded like my dream job! Until I read further down the job description, where it clarified the historical person I would be depicting was a black, male, Baptist preacher. So much for that plan. Then I got excited about being a tour guide at the Biltmore in North Carolina. They were looking for someone to dress in costume, ride in a horse-drawn carriage, and share stories with tourists. History, acting, and horses! Yes, please! Until I realized the job paid minimum wage. I have been out of the United States for a long time, so at first I actually thought that was feasible. It wasn’t.
Eventually, I narrowed my search to jobs with horses, using wine-inspired search parameters such as: “jobs with horses that pay well without a lot of additional education.” After many visits down that rabbit hole, I had a few epiphanies. (1) I wanted to go back to school. (2) We own a house in Florida where I could live. (3) It turns out there’s a college not too far from our house, and that college has an Equine Studies program!
And suddenly I had a plan. I use the term “plan” loosely. I took online classes for two semesters, and my former riding instructor in Santiago let me use one of her horses for the hands-on assignments. As our final year in Chile came to a close, I felt both excited and terrified to put my “plan” into action.
The “plan” has deviated a bit. Tony wisely pointed out that if I lived in our house, then we could no longer use it as a vacation rental. As that is presently my only source of income, I thought it wise to seek out other options for housing. Luckily, I had connected with the owner of a small farm in Ocala, where I would be going to school, and she was looking for a long-term pet sitter. And that’s how I found myself living in a tiny apartment connected to a barn, caring for my cat, Ella, as well as another cat, two Anatolian shepherds who guard the barn, two Great Danes, and nine miniature horses. Although it seems I spend most of my day either feeding someone or cleaning up someone’s poop, I greatly appreciate the opportunity to practice what I’m learning on real, live (albeit tiny) horses.
What about Tony? For a minute, he contemplated pursuing his own dream of studying luthiery, the art of building and repairing stringed instruments. However, when a friend reached out with a job for him in Bangkok, he took it. Yes, Tony is living in Bangkok. Without me. I alternate between bouts of debilitating jealousy and overwhelming relief that I don’t have to write lesson plans or attend meetings. We talk every day with no idea where this is all going.
I’ve lived at the farm for 10 weeks, and I’m not going to lie. I kind of miss the international lifestyle. I miss the cadre of automatic friends in your “newbie” group when you start at a new school. I miss hitting the road on the weekend to visit a beach, historical site, cultural attraction, or even another country. I miss teaching a class full of kids from all over the world. I’m not 100% sure I’m ready to give that up forever. For now, though, I want to focus on finding my joy again.
Every day, I learn something absolutely fascinating. Did you know horses can’t breathe through their mouths? So they can’t cough or vomit, which can be a big deal. Did you know the horse’s front legs are not attached to any other bones? They are suspended from muscles, ligaments, and tendons that connect to the body. How crazy is that? Don’t get me started on how complex their hoof is … I have a whole class just on the hoof and lower leg. Well, I could go on all day …
I hope I can document something each week about my experiences at the farm and at school. I wish I had started doing that from the beginning of this journey, but I needed to pull myself out of the apathy abyss first. I know the time will fly, and I also know my short-term memory is trashed. If I don’t write it down, it didn’t happen. Maybe I’ll even dig deep and try to document a bit about my missing year.
Time to feed the horses! And the dogs … and the cats … and myself. Stay tuned. And please send good vibes as I navigate so much newness.
Our cat, Ella, who lives with me.
My sister and her kids feed apples to the boys.
Barn dogs and a photobomber.
Noelle, the owner’s cat, lives in the big house with the Danes.
The 2021-22 school year appeared out of nowhere. Before I could fasten a clean mask to my face, students were streaming onto campus. Although I always resent the end of a vacation, I must admit the energy felt fantastic. The difference between starting school on Zoom (as we did last year) and starting in person was palpable, and even though we couldn’t see their smiles through their masks, we could hear the laughter.
School kicked off on Wednesday, July 28, and I spent much of the first day herding sixth-graders, those little lost lambs new to middle school, and helping them find their classrooms. Many of them were students I knew from my days in elementary school, so it’s been fun to reconnect. This is our sixth year at Nido de Aguilas, the longest we’ve ever stayed at any school. What a treat to watch these kids grow up!
Needless to say, Tony and I were both exhausted that night. We lounged on the sofa, eating dinner and watching old episodes of “Star Trek Voyager.” Around 8:30 p.m., I couldn’t keep my eyes open, so I plodded to the kitchen with my dirty dishes and plans to hit the hay.
“Why is there water all over the floor?” I called out to Tony. Then I realized it was gushing from the laundry room. At first, we thought our washing machine was leaking, and we spent some time sleuthing around the hoses and filters. We mopped up the water, using most of our clean towels, and then I crawled into bed.
Two hours later, Tony shook me awake in a panic. “It’s flooding again!”
In a haze, I wandered to the kitchen, where dirty water was pouring from the drainage pipe in our laundry room. Not sewage, but still quite disgusting. We began sopping up the water, but we couldn’t keep pace with the geyser. Finally, I called the upstairs neighbor and, in very broken Spanish, explained what was going on. Her English-speaking daughter finally intervened and promised to turn off the water. That solved the problem temporarily.
The next morning at school, I asked a Chilena colleague to write a message to our building administrator, Jaime. She also tried to call him. He didn’t respond. That evening, he wrote to say a plumber would come the next morning. Whew!
However, when I got home from school the next day, I talked to Jorge, the building’s conserje, who is a doorman, handyman, and gardener, all rolled into a kind, cat-loving, gentle man with incomprehensible Chilean Spanish. No plumber had visited during the day, he said and asked if he could take a look at the problem. He came up to our apartment and ran some water in the kitchen sink, but I explained that the flooding happened when we weren’t even using any water. He went upstairs and ran the neighbor’s washing machine, and sure enough, along came a deluge. The neighbor, Anita, agreed not to wash clothes or dishes till we could fix the problem.
Jorge came back down to our apartment and told us he needed to remove a metal plate from the wall to access a pipe that ran down the length of the building. He suspected there was a clog under our apartment. He hammered and drilled and pounded and fussed with the bolts on that thing for hours. No luck despite some big chunks missing from the wall.
Jorge told me I needed to call a plumber. When I pointed out that the problem didn’t seem to be in our apartment, he shrugged and said, “Es su responsibilidad.” I couldn’t process HOW this could be my responsibility, but I talked with our fabulous landlord (a Canadian and former Nido teacher), who tried to help from afar. I even tried to rally the neighbors on the building’s Whatsapp chat.
Over the next couple days, Jaime continued to avoid doing his job. The neighbors pressured him to take care of it. After all, only a few months ago, a first floor apartment flooded so badly, the renters just left for good. At one point, Jaime posted a ridiculous message about how he had TRIED to schedule a plumber but then he found out we weren’t home so he cancelled it, implying it was OBVIOUSLY our fault. I was so angry, I wrote some caveman Spanish about how we didn’t even KNOW a plumber was coming, so how could we be home?!
In the meantime, the laundry piled up, and Tony resorted to doing dishes in the bathroom sink.
Jaime finally scheduled a plumber for Tuesday. I took the day off work to be home. The guy was very nice and respectful. He listened to my story and then spent the day popping in and out of the apartment. At one point, when I was alone, nasty water started gushing from the laundry pipe at full force. All my towels were in the bathtub, so I grabbed the kitchen trash can to catch the water. I ran out into the stairwell and enlisted a neighbor to help me find the plumber, who wandered in and stared at the quickly filling trashcan, obviously perplexed. I kicked a bucket under the water while I ran the trashcan to the bathroom to dump the water in the toilet, but the laundry room was fully flooded before I could return. Long story short, at the end of the day, Jorge came up to my apartment with the update. I called a friend to translate. “He says the plumber gave up,” she told me.
At that point, I burst into tears. We had gone six days without using our kitchen water or doing laundry, and I just felt like nobody was trying very hard to solve the problem. A couple hours later, Jorge returned and assured me a different plumber was coming the next day.
I couldn’t take another day off work, so we arranged for one of Tony’s former students to hang out at our place for the day. Around 1 p.m., she texted to say the work was finished and everything seemed to be working. I just couldn’t believe it!
Sure enough, life is getting back to normal for Tony and me. Suddenly we don’t resent doing laundry. And who knew how fabulous it would feel to spend the weekend cleaning toxic waste from our kitchen floors and sinks?
Let’s just hope this stinky start to the school year portends better times to come.
Since my new friend, Laura, turned me on to the Libby app, I have been reading like a maniac! I mean, I read a lot anyway, but this app lets me borrow books for free from my public library in Florida. Am I the last person on earth to learn about this? I’m afraid amazon’s stock might crash now that I don’t pay for books.
What does this list say about me? It comprises predominately literary fiction with a smattering of fluffy beach reads and trashy detective novels. Historical fiction is one of my favorite genres, but I also relish a book that makes me pause to savor a cleverly crafted twist of phrase or fresh perspective.
We head back to school in person with real live students on Wednesday. That is as it should be, I know, and yet, I sure will miss all my time lounging on the balcony with a beer and a book.
Look how many books I’ve read so far this year! Do you have any recommendations for what I should read next?
The Witch Elm by Tana French
The Water Dancer by Ta-Nehisi Coates
Everything Inside by Edwidge Danticat
The Island of the Sea Women by Lisa See
Deacon King Kong by James McBride
The Lantern Men by Elly Griffiths
Tricky Twenty-Two by Janet Evanovich
A Murderous Procession by Ariana Franklin
Grave Goods by Ariana Franklin
The Splendid and the Vile by Erik Larson
The Alice Network by Kate Quinn
Murder in Galway by Carlene O’Connor
Migrations by Charlotte McConaghy
The Stranger by Harlan Coben
Basket Case by Carl Hiaasen
Perestroika in Paris by Jane Smiley
The Fifth Season by N.K. Jemisin
Unsheltered by Barbara Kingsolver
People Like Her by Ellery Lloyd
The Consequences of Fear: A Maisie Dobbs Novel by Jacqueline Winspear
Invisible Girl by Lisa Jewell
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
American Dirt by Jeanine Cummins
The Soul of a Woman by Isabel Allende
The Brightest Star in the Sky by Marian Keyes
Perfect Little Children by Sophie Hannon
The Awakening by Kate Chopin
The Invisible Life of Addie Larue by V.E. Schwab
A Man Lay Dead: Inspector Roderick Alleyn #1 by Ngaio Marsh
Day 4 of hotel quarantine here in Santiago, Chile. They brought our breakfast coffee at 11 a.m., by which time I was ready to launch myself out the window. We get sprung tomorrow, but then we have to do five more days of quarantine at our apartment. Apparently, the government makes unscheduled visits to make sure you’re home.
The whole last year has been a blur, but I looked over photos, messages, and Facebook to try to resurrect my life. Here goes:
The second semester of our 2019-20 school year was nuts. Covid arrived on March 3, 2020, and our last day of school in person was March 16.
Here’s an example of what teaching on Zoom looked like. This was my advisory, a group of 8th graders. Notice only four showed their faces enough to be recognized. (I blocked them here for privacy.) We finished out the semester like this.
Our short summer break passed, and I was still in Florida.I stayed longer than planned after my flight was canceled and I realized school would start on Zoom because of Chile’s lockdown. I rarely left my house, filling my time with sudoku puzzles, yoga, learning ukulele, and studying Spanish. My mom popped over for happy hour on my back porch most evenings. I also visited my sister, Megan, in Destin, when my other sister, Kate, drove with her kids from Michigan for the July 4th weekend.
I launched an English teaching project as part of Heart for Venezuela, a foundation started by teachers at my school to help Venezuelan immigrants settle in Chile. My program evolved into a high school club, where I train Nido High School students how to teach English and then match them with children from our Venezuelan families. I thought we might get 5-10 volunteers, but it quickly exploded. Soon I was working with around 50 students! This was, without a doubt, the most rewarding experience of the last year.
I returned to Chile August 30 and reunited with Tony and our cat, Ella. I got out of quarantine on Sept. 14, but Chile’s on-and-off lockdowns continued. In July, the country had adopted an approach called “Paso a Paso.” It assigned each communa a phase that determined how open it could be. For example, Phase 1 was full quarantine. Phase 2 offered more freedoms, but we still couldn’t travel to other regions of Chile, and we had evening and weekend curfews. And so on.
At this point in the pandemic, it felt like an experiment that would run its course, and then life would get back to normal. We chuckled at memes like this:
We fashioned homemade masks, and mostly stayed home. We stood in line to get in to the supermarket and laughed about how we had plenty of toilet paper here in Chile but very little meat. (Chileans love their asados!) The front desk of our apartment was roped off. I joined the throngs learning how to bake bread (a couple fails, but eventually it worked).
In November, assuming we would return to school in person before the end of the semester (we didn’t), Nido issued masks and face shields. We joked around with them. It all felt so unreal.
For entertainment, we met friends for socially distanced outdoor and/or Zoom happy hours and book clubs, went on walks in town and hikes in the countryside, and watched a lot of Netflix.
On the first anniversary of my father’s death, I took the day off work and headed to a nature sanctuary in the Andes foothills. I hiked for a few hours and later rolled out my yoga mat next to a stream, where I also ate lunch, read, and took a little nap. I guess I thought my dad would manifest as a hawk or even a lizard. I was hoping for a sign that he was nearby. I even shouted for him from the top of a deserted hill. Nada. Anyway, it was rejuvenating to get outside and stash my mask for the day in honor of my dad.
I got out of town for two weekends in November: first, a ladies wine escape, and then Thanksgiving at the beach.
The weekend of Nov. 14, seven of us headed to an incredible Airbnb in one of Chile’s wine regions, Santa Cruz. The sprawling home sat adjacent to a small reservoir surrounded by idyllic farmland. We took turns making meals, and everyone brought their A-game to the kitchen. (Disclaimer: I only contributed a cheese platter.) We also practiced yoga, had a raucous dance party, sipped wine on the terrace, and visited three wineries: Vino Bello, Montes, and Laura Hartwig. It was wonderful to escape from the city, but I felt a degree of social anxiety brought on by so much uncertainty related to the pandemic.
For the long Thanksgiving weekend, Tony and I traveled to Matanzas, which combined many of my favorite things: the beach, horses, yoga, wine, and friends. We got an Airbnb with our frequent travel partners, Stella and Ian, and their girls. Always a lovely time with that clan.
In December, we moved to a different Santiago apartment, owned by former Nido teachers Pi and Laura, who had started teaching at a school in Panama. Our new place is smaller, but bright and cozy with a much shorter commute to school. In addition, it’s right at the base of Cerro San Cristobal, a part of the Andes foothills with a huge city park featuring lots of hiking and biking trails. In the other direction, we have easy access to fun parts of the city (during normal times) with restaurants, bars, shops, museums, markets, and more. The only drawback is our tiny parking space, wedged between a wall and a neighbor’s SUV. Tony and I have each broken a taillight learning to navigate this parking garage.
*#!^&* parking garage!
Lovely terrace overlooking the mountains
Blankets and space heaters
For the semester break, Tony and I traveled to Florida for two weeks, leaving Ella in the care of one of Tony’s former students, Tami. Christmas was lame. No family, no tree, no presents, no fancy meal. I don’t even remember how we spent the day. My mom was invited to a friend’s house for dinner, and my sister Megan was entertaining her in-laws. A few days later, however, we drove to Destin to hang out with Meg’s family, which made up for the boring start of our vacation.
My mom’s backyard becomes a sanctuary for migrating birds during the rainy season.
Hibiscus in my front yard.
Playing Sequence!
At the beach
Turkey Creek, FL
Quiplash!
Hot tubbing
My sobrinos
Back in Chile, we took off for another beach outing with Stella and Ian, not realizing at the time that it would be our last trip together, thanks to Covid. The road in and out of Puertocillo essentially involved driving down a cliff face on rutted dirt roads and hairpin curves. Our little Toyota barely survived the journey and ultimately couldn’t handle the final approach to our Airbnb, which was perched at the top of a steep hill. We had to park at the bottom and march like sherpas with our stuff up to the house.
House on a hill
Sequence!
Sunset dance party
Yoga and cloud-dough
Lucy’s 4th birthday
We named him Gary.
Happy hour
During the school year, we taught on Zoom, in a hybrid model (Room & Zoom at the same time), and in person with all kids present. However, I’ve lost track of how long we used each model. All I know is that it was exhausting. Here’s a shot of an outdoor assembly during our in-person stint:
The day after my birthday, I got my first Covid vaccine, which was a huge relief. A month later, I was fully vaccinated.
At international schools, the end of the school year is bittersweet. We celebrate the year’s accomplishments and look forward to the upcoming vacation, but we also have to say good-bye to friends moving on to other adventures. Usually, the calendar fills up with farewell parties, weekend get-aways, and other special events. Thanks to Covid, this year was different. I didn’t even get to say good-bye to some departing friends.
I attended one fiesta clandestina for Genevieve, a friend who is moving to Kuwait.
And we managed to plan one last ladies weekend for Stella before she and her family moved to Morocco. Nestled in the mountains next to a river, our Airbnb was like a salve for my soul. The caretaker, Francisco, lived in a small house on the property with a horse, a dog, and a coop full of chickens. My heart soared each time he let the chickens loose to run around the property scratching for bugs. One day, Francisco led us on a path crunchy with autumn leaves to reach a paved trail up the hill. He also built a big fire for us outside at night. Otherwise, we hung out, ate, drank, read, danced, and napped.
We may have gone off the trail…
The property was full of surprises like this.
The Support Services team (EAL and Learning Support) also had a gathering for Stella. It’s always hard when a great colleague decides to leave, but it’s even harder when that colleague is also a great friend.
Well, that was supposed to be a year in a nutshell, but it was a much bigger nut than I had anticipated.
Who would have thought? I haven’t blogged in more than a year because there wasn’t much to blog about. Sure, I had an occasional fun moment or illicit getaway weekend, but my heart wasn’t in it. Still isn’t, to be honest. But I find I don’t remember my own life unless I write about it, so here goes.
I’ll work backwards chronologically, starting here , in quarantine at the Sheraton Santiago Hotel and Convention Center. Our view from jail (too bad we can’t leave our room):
Tony and I arrived Friday (July 16) after spending a month in the States. Chile’s borders remain closed, so as our school year was wrapping up in June, we had to get special permission to travel. I wrote a plea intended to tug at the heartstrings of some bored government official, begging for permission to attend a family reunion for my father’s memorial. Although my dad died in 2019, Covid-19 has prevented the family from getting together.
I submitted my father’s death certificate, his obituary, our house rental reservation in New Jersey, and our airline tickets, along with my passionate request (in Spanish, no less). We were approved in minutes, much to my relief! We know people who had to submit several applications before receiving approval to leave the country.
Next we had to find a cat sitter. We usually use a website called Trusted Housesitters that matches us with travelers who want to visit Chile. Unfortunately, nobody’s visiting Chile these days. Our cat, Ella, is so spoiled that we wanted someone who would stay at our apartment instead of just popping in to feed her. Finally, we found a young Korean teacher, who can’t get back to Asia right now (Covid!). Stuck in Chile, she agreed to hang out with Ella for the break. (Thank you, Hyejee!)
Then our flights got cancelled 4 days before the scheduled departure. Arrrggghhh!!! Fortunately, I was able to rebook. Our school provided PCR tests for those of us traveling (the U.S. requires a negative test within 72 hours of leaving Chile), so we did that, but I was stressed that one of us would come back with a false positive. Also, rumors were flying about whether flights would actually leave, so I couldn’t relax until our plane landed at the Miami International Airport. Which it did, on June 19. Whew! (Travel buddies Ian and Berlin sat behind us.)
We picked up our rental car and drove about 5 hours to The Villages in central Florida, where we have a house. (Quick side note: It’s available as a seasonal rental. Check out the listing here.)
Florida’s freedom took some getting used to. After almost two years of donning masks, teaching on Zoom, living in on-and-off lockdown, and generally wallowing in Covid-induced paranoia, we were shocked to find this at the Spanish Springs town square. Crowds mobbed the streets for an antique car show, danced to the live music, and sipped beer with friends. It was like a parallel universe.
Fully vaccinated and starting to relax a bit, we ditched the masks after a couple days and began to enjoy poolside sunshine and cocktails. We even went to the movies for the first time in ages. The musical theatre freak in me couldn’t wait to see In the Heights, and I didn’t stop singing those tunes for days afterward. We ate at restaurants (although we still chose to dine al fresco) and otherwise soaked up the energy of other people, which had been so long absent from our lives.
After a week, I left Tony in Florida and flew north to meet the rest of my family in New Jersey. Although my father was from Seattle, he soon adopted my mother’s love of the Jersey Shore. A Philly girl, my mom grew up vacationing in Ocean City, NJ, and that tradition continues. My father had requested that we scatter his ashes in two places: Washington state and Ocean City.
Washington will have to wait for another time. This summer, we descended on the beach, or rather a few blocks from the beach. One big house for 14 people, including seven kids.
10th & Central, Ocean City
We realized we all felt nostalgia for different aspects of this place. For my brother, it was crabbing at the wharf. For my sister Kate, it was riding bikes on the boardwalk. For my sister Meg, it was the boardwalk, bikes, and breakfast at Uncle Bill’s Pancake House. For my mom, it was coffee with dad on the boardwalk and crabbing.
For me, it was two things: walking on the boardwalk and playing in the water. On our last trip to the shore, my dad and I got up before everyone else for an early morning walk to the Ocean City Coffee Company on the boardwalk and then a stroll on the beach with our coffee. We would grab a bench and chat about life while also providing a snarky running commentary on the other people out at that hour. Of course, the ocean is my passion, and I have many memories of body surfing with my dad in the frigid water of the Atlantic.
During this visit, I got up early most mornings and walked by myself, grabbing a coffee on the way back to the house. I would whip up some eggs for whoever wanted them and eat breakfast on the porch before we all paraded to the beach.
The little cousins splashed in the chilly water, buried each other in the sand, played wiffle ball and beach tennis, and built sandcastles for hours while the adults mostly lounged in the shade of rented umbrellas. Occasionally, someone would wander up to the boardwalk and return with lemonade and corndogs, pizza, or french fries to share. Every now and then, I mustered the courage to brave the sharp shells at the edge of the surf and that first icy blast of sea water. I jumped through the waves with Kate or my nephews, shrieking each time we received a salty smack in the face or a surprisingly strong undercurrent. I tried to absorb that bliss into my bones for later. (Click on the pics to see them full-size.)
Sum and Kate
wiffle ball in the alley
Will on the swings
cousins on the ferris wheel
The sliding Jimenezes
all-American toes
Sisters and mom
Nico with a monkey on his back
Meggy
Gee and grandkids
Me with my lovebugs
Kate and mom
sweet Katie
Mom and me
a girl after my own heart
Katie and Max
goofy cousins
more goofy cousins
giant pizza
thrift shop with cats!
burying Annesley
Annesley lost two teeth!
bikes on the boardwalk
Too crowded for me!
boardwalk at night
Nico was wiped out after a week of scuba diving in the Florida Keys with Boy Scouts.
My sassy, gorgeous nieces.
So much energy!
Mom and Kate
Cousin love
How much do I love these boys?!
Driving the sand cars that Summer made.
The kids entertained themselves back at the house, as well. Kate broke out a tackle box of tiny rubber bands sorted by color, a gift from a neighbor whose child had tired of the craft. The cousins made bracelets and rings for each of us, and then someone told them, “You should go outside and try to sell these to people.”
We all laughed, reminiscing about when mom made us paint clam shells and try to sell them on the boardwalk when we were kids. The rubber band jewelry turned out to be a bigger hit than expected.
The little entrepreneurs went to work making signs to advertise their prices, maniacally building up their inventory, and approaching strangers on the sidewalk to promote their wares.
We adults were touched at how kind everyone was to the wee jewelers. One lady told them she didn’t have any cash but that she’d come back, and she did! Another couple actually stood in line to buy a bracelet. The kids accosted a teen in a McDonald’s uniform, who told them he didn’t have any money, so they offered him a ring for free. He chose a pink one and thanked them with a big smile. Their efforts brought in $54. They were thrilled. We were shocked.
making it rain
When they weren’t making rubber jewelry, they were obsessing about Pokémon. I took a few of them out for a Pokémon GO walk one afternoon.
The munchkins also had fun tie-dying T-shirts. Summer brought all the supplies, and this was the result:
During our stay at the beach, we were excited to get visits from a few extended family members: Aunt Iris (my mom’s sister); Uncle Bill (my mom’s brother) and his significant other, Judy; cousin Amy, her husband, Billy, and their kids, Jake, Dylan, and Alex; and cousin Karen, her boyfriend, Mike, and her son, Robbie. It was great to catch up with everyone!
Mom and Aunt IrisThe gang with Uncle Bill, Judy, Karen, and RobbieAmy’s family at the beach with us
As tradition dictates, we went to breakfast at Uncle Bill’s Pancake House one morning. We had planned to take my father’s ashes to scatter some outside, but we forgot to grab the box. My sister-in-law, Summer, offered to run back to the house to get it. We assumed she’d leave it in the van, but she brought it into the restaurant, which was weirdly perfect in this memorial week. We had the waitress take a shot of all of us, including “Pop.”
After breakfast, I took out a little packet of dad’s ashes, and poured them into a flower pot outside the restaurant. Kate and I burst into tears. When I got in the van, my niece Katie asked why I was crying. “I miss Pop,” I said. I miss him so much.
Later, I walked to the coffee shop and sprinkled some ashes in one of their flower pots. I hope dad can smell that coffee wafting on the ocean breeze.
On our last evening at the beach, Kate and I found a secluded spot and built a primitive little castle. All the beach toys had already been packed, so we did the best we could with our hands. We poured some ashes into the moat, and sat on a towel to share memories of our dad. Megan and Mike joined us after a bit. We watched the next generation run, splash, and laugh, knowing dad would have loved it. Mom walked down the beach for her own private memorial.
After awhile, the kids found a tide pool full of tiny gelatinous organisms. Kate did some quick research on her phone and discovered they were “naked sea butterflies,” translucent shell-less mollusks with orange heads and tails, which usually live deep in the Arctic and Antarctic oceans. Kate reminded me how dad would often say, “Isn’t that neat?” at times like this. We could both hear him say it as we gazed down at the mesmerizing creatures in the surf.
We all waited for the tide to reach our little castle and carry Pop out to sea. It felt like a beautiful tribute to a man who loved us and loved this place so deeply.
The next day, we checked out, and I drove with Kate back to her house in Michigan. We paused at Chick-fil-A for a parking lot lunch with Meg, who was heading to Virginia to visit her brother-in-law’s family. She joined us in Michigan after a couple days.
Getting attacked in the Chick-fil-A parking lot.
At Kate’s house, we soaked up the sunshine, watched monarch butterflies lay eggs on her milkweed, played in the pool, watched movies, and tried to get out in nature (but the mosquitos were brutal).
Snuggling with PaulQuiet timePlaying chicken in the poolMy send-off
And before I knew it, I was heading back to Florida.
Tony and I realized it was our first time at our house without any family members in town. We hardly knew what to do with our time. We spent much of it reading at the pool, and we tried to go for walks in the morning before it got too hot. We also discovered Eaton’s Beach on Lake Weir, just 15 minutes away. It was the best food I had all summer!
Flying back to Chile was uneventful. Arriving in Chile during a pandemic was another story. Before our flight, we had to get a PCR test to prove we didn’t have Covid, complete an affidavit, and book a hotel where we would spend the first five days in quarantine. It took 5 1/2 hours to complete the arrival process, which included standing at a table where someone re-entered all our information on a form by hand, getting another PCR test, and waiting for a bus that transported everyone to their respective hotels.
And that brings me back to the Sheraton in Santiago, where Tony and I are on day 3 of our 5-day hotel quarantine. Stay tuned for more stories from my lost year.
Now that I have quarantined at my house in central Florida for almost two weeks, I’m ready to get out of here. I want to drive to my sister’s home near Destin, where I can hunker down with her family. I look forward to giggles with my sassy little niece, Annesley, and informative chats about lizards with my precocious nephew, Will. Their new pool is also calling my name. However, I want to be sure I’m virus-free before invading their space.
Everyone has been telling me how easy it is to get a Covid-19 test in the States, and sure enough, when I googled it yesterday, I found an online interface where I could register for drive-up testing at several locations. I filled out the form, chose a location, clicked on one of the available appointments, and was sent to another form. It took all of two minutes to complete the process, but when I clicked “submit,” a message popped up saying, “Sorry, that time is no longer available. Please choose a new time.” When I followed those directions, it wiped all my information off the forms, and I had to start over. Which I did. ELEVEN times!
I now knew my mom’s mobile number, my health insurance membership number, and my rental car license plate by heart, but I still didn’t have an appointment.
I googled again and found the number for the Florida Department of Health. I learned that I could get free covid testing with no appointment at one of three locations between 9 a.m. and 2 p.m. “The Clermont site has already used up all their tests for the day, though,” I was told. I asked about the other two sites. One was more than an hour’s drive, but the other – about 30 minutes away – still had tests available.
It was 9:30 a.m. I grabbed my keys and my mask and hit the road. When I arrived at the health department around 10 a.m., a big sign informed me, “COVID testing closed.” Another note explained the 100 tests allocated for the day had already been used. When I got home, I called the health department office to find out how early I would need to arrive to get one of the coveted tests. “Oh just be here by 9, and you’ll be fine,” the receptionist said.
This morning, I was on the road by 8:10 a.m. I packed a book, planning to hang out in my car till the clinic opened. Instead, I arrived to find a full parking lot and a line of masked test seekers. The “COVID testing closed” sign was still posted, so I almost turned around to drive home. Instead, I parked and started preparing a firm but civil reaction if someone informed me that I was too late. Lucky for me, that didn’t happen.
It should say 9 a.m. to 9:30 a.m. ’cause if you’re any later, you are not getting tested!Waiting in line.
A nurse handed me a baggie with a blank label on it. She told me to write my name, phone number, and birthdate and then proceed to another nurse, Rosanna, who gave the instructions. Open the baggie, take out a swab, and stick it up both nostrils. “How high do we have to stick it?” I asked. I had heard you practically have to touch your brain. “As high as you’re comfortable,” she answered. “Just clean out your boogers.”
Boogerless, I took a little liquid-filled vial out of the baggie and popped my swab inside. I handed my baggie back to Rosanna, and I was finished. It looked like another 20 people behind me in line would get the last of the tests; a health department worker was sending everyone else away at 9:40 a.m.
Shoutout to Rosanna! Thank you!!
Once I got over my crankiness at the state of Florida for making this process so frustrating, I rather enjoyed my drive home. I guess I hadn’t realized how close I was to a beautiful stretch of countryside.
My parents have lived in this retirement community for several years. Although I have visited many times, we usually hung out at their house or the pool. We didn’t venture far beyond the subdivision gates. When Tony and I bought a house just up the street from my mother, we advertised it as a seasonal rental, so we haven’t gotten emotionally invested enough to learn about the area. For example, I had no idea a huge national forest is practically in our backyard!
According to the U.S. Forest Service, the Ocala National Forest “is the southernmost forest in the continental United States and protects the world’s largest contiguous sand pine scrub forest. The forest has more than 600 lakes, rivers, and springs, including three first-magnitude springs where visitors can swim, snorkel, and dive in crystalline waters year round.” (I just looked it up. A first-magnitude spring is the largest kind of spring, discharging at least 64.6 million gallons of water per day.) Wait, what?! How do I not know about this place?
In addition to boasting some gorgeous trees and springs, which frankly were enough to get me super excited, the Ocala National Forest also features several recreation areas, an historic mill house on the National Register of Historic Places, an archaeological site with evidence of pre-Columbian settlements, and an interpretive trail through the area that inspired Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings to write her Pulitzer Prize-winning book, The Yearling. (Check out this story from NPR.)
Hold on … Fun? Nature? Cultural heritage? Literature? Those are my favorite things! Another favorite thing? Horses. And guess where you can find the Ocala 100-Mile Horse Trail? As soon as I win the lottery, I am buying a horse and getting on that trail. Can’t wait.
On my two trips to the health department, I passed through part of the national forest and witnessed other spirit-nourishing scenes, as well. An eagle’s nest, perched at the top of a towering tree. Acres of bee boxes. A flock of shorn sheep (I wasn’t even sure what I was seeing at first!). Sandhill cranes, including a baby (!) strolling through the fields. Horses grazing, cows snoozing in the shade. And lakes! So many lakes. In typical fashion, I was quite giddy and may have shrieked a bit with delight.
So, lesson learned. Every cloud has a silver lining … blah, blah, blah. Instead of moaning about having to drive 30 minutes for a covid test, I am rejoicing to discover so much beauty right around the corner. For now, I will wait for my test results and fantasize about the day when the parks reopen and we can all get back out there to soak it up.
Last night, I dreamt I was getting ready for a family party. As I ran my hairbrush over the top of my head, my hair peeled off like a wig, leaving a bald, scabby patch. I shrieked and showed my sister, who said, “Yeah, that’s pretty bad. But you can probably comb your hair over to cover it up.” This morning, I asked the internet to interpret my dream. Here’s the general consensus:
“Another interpretation of the meaning of losing your hair in a dream is fear of losing control or feelings of helplessness. If you dream about losing your hair it could indicate that you are afraid of a situation in your life or that you feel powerless in a particular situation in your life.” (zeroinonnutrition.com)
Hmmm … You think?!
Do you think I might “have a fear of losing control’ because I have been on lockdown in a three-bedroom apartment with my husband and cat for 14 weeks? We started “distance learning” in mid March. At first, I thought it sounded fun and easy, but I soon realized I would work harder and longer hours than I ever have in my career. I got emails from eighth graders at 10 p.m. wanting feedback on essays that were due at 8 a.m. the next day. At first, I refused. However, it didn’t take long to figure out those teens slept late and worked in the evenings. If that’s what their pubescent brains and bodies needed, I had to play along. I felt gloomy and lonely and hopeless. Finally I stopped wallowing and started getting up earlier to practice yoga. Nothing crazy, just a gentle morning wake-up practice. I felt the transformation right away. I faced each day with a little more optimism, a little less self-pity. Yet, there was no denying I was trapped with an introvert (my husband) and a narcissist (my cat). Both needed a lot of attention, but neither had the skill set to fill my emotional void.
Do you think I am “afraid of a situation in my life” because I am the poster child for Seasonal Affective Disorder, and South American winter is right around the corner? Tony and I had agreed to spend our “winter break” in Chile. We were relatively comfortable and safe. We could and did get whatever we needed delivered to our door: organic produce, beer and wine, groceries, a computer dongle, even two jigsaw puzzles. For a while, we could leave the building with our masks on, but the explosion of coronavirus cases in Santiago led to an extended quarantine. We had to go online for governmental approval to leave the house, which we did three times. It was no joke. I even got pulled over on my bike during one of my outings so the officer could confirm I had legitimate permission. As our beautiful sunny autumn turned gray and chilly, I visualized spending the next couple months in that apartment. I wouldn’t just be lonely and anxious. I would be lonely, anxious, and cold. Despite my reservations about traveling and hunkering down with Floridian covid-deniers, I impulsively got online and booked tickets to Orlando.
Do you think I might feel “powerless” because I put my fate in the hands of a bankrupt airline? To be fair, the flight from Santiago to Miami on Latam Airlines impressed me. The flight attendants all wore masks and ensured passengers were able to maintain some personal space. Passengers were required to wear masks, and some went full hazmat. There was no drink service or complicated meal tray. We got a bottle of water and a tray of ravioli. I took off my mask to wolf down the food and then quickly put it back on. In Miami, we disembarked by row rather than crowding together in the usual crush to get off the plane. The airport felt relatively safe. Nearly everyone wore masks and seemed to avoid crowding together. After collecting our luggage, we were all funneled into a security area where officers completely unpacked our bags, presumably looking for drugs. I had forgotten about the Brita filters I brought home to recycle. They do look suspicious. The officer stabbed one with his knife, releasing a pile of carbon sand, and then politely encouraged me to repack and move on to my connecting flight. That was weird and stressful, but nonthreatening from a virus perspective.
Do you think I might have “feelings of helplessness” because I was getting on a plane with a whole lot of people who don’t seem to care about social distancing and wear their face masks more like chin guards? Once American Airlines started boarding for Orlando, I realized my sense of security was about to evaporate. About half the passengers wore masks; fewer wore masks correctly, actually covering their mouths and noses. I was wearing an N-95 medical mask with another cloth mask on top. Yes, two masks. While waiting for my group to board, I overheard a couple girls snickering behind my back. I turned around to see they were staring at me while wearing their own masks down around their lower lips. I wanted to yell, “I just traveled from a country with 167,000 cases and more than 3,000 deaths. I am terrified that I’m transporting this virus to Florida. I am double masking for you! You’re welcome!” I felt so deflated knowing that whatever I do to protect myself and others, I am at the mercy of these people who don’t take it seriously.
Anyway, I am quarantining at my house in Florida, and it really is a lovely little place. I got up this morning for my usual yoga practice. I drank coffee outside, listening to the birds. I drove to Walmart for a non-contact grocery pickup, which was convenient and safe, much to my relief. I did a sudoku puzzle, worked on report card comments, scrubbed and refilled the bird bath, lounged outside with a book, Facetimed with a good friend, and called my sister to tell her about my dream. I’m about to pop some sweet potatoes in the oven. Life could be worse.
Still, uncertainty is my nemesis. The website’s interpretation was spot on. And so, until life returns to some version of normal, I suppose I will wake from disturbing haircuts with a better understanding of why they haunt my dreams.
