There seems to be a lull, a quiet time in my life that I've chosen to fill with writing and searching for that spark of inner peace that is so illusive in this modern day, fast paced world. I have taken to listening to TED talks. I would highly recommend them to all. The subjects are varied, the speakers interesting, the talks entertaining. There's a category for almost anything you can think of. I've listened to stories about personal growth, art, education, and technology. These fifteen minute talks have renewed my faith in man. They have restored my soul, given me inspiration, and educated me on many new and different levels. Instead of watching some banal tv show or playing another computer game, I'm letting my grandchildren ages 13,11 and 9 watch talks on floating cities, robots, stage sculptures, air quality, health and science.  The app is free. The talks are fascinating and its better than anything on TV. I began watching them when I was browsing the book by Chris Anderson about how to give a TED talk. I thought it might help me when I give my author reading speehes. And they have. But the best part of the book is how it made me curious to hear one of the talks. The first talk that I listened to was Michelle Kuo on the Healing Power of Reading. Wonderful story. The talk that brought me to tears and helped me most, was Nora McInery- "We don't "move on" from grief, We move forward with it." This TED talk has helped with my deep sorrow. After the tears I realized that I still had life ahead of me.  I think I want to get an electric bicycle. I want to learn a language, I want to move into the future and take my love for Dave with me. Maybe I'll get to travel with my grandchildren. Maybe I'll write more books. Thanks to Ms. McInery I feel more alive.
It's mind boggling to encounter such remarkable people who are helping to build a better society. If you aren't interested in social change, how about giant squid, or black holes. There are talks about this as well.
I will be joining other speakers at the Harbor Lounge, Commercial St. in Provincetown on Friday June 28th  between 2 and 4pm. I will be reading chapter 4 Swimming and Racing, from my yet to be published work entitled: "Arethusa"  The reading is part of the Provincetown Portuguese Festival. My favorite weekend at the tip of Cape Cod.  Portuguese music, dancing, food, boats and parades fill the most beautiful place in the world. I love Provincetown.
I hope to see you there. Wishing you festive days and fair winds.

How about a poem today?  I remember I was working with children, teaching health classes, when I woke in the middle of the night and wrote this poem. I think the kids had an effect on me.

For the Young at Heart
There's a magic place so of't forgot
Where no line is drawn between real and not
How I happened there I'll ne'er understand
But I found myself in Elften-land
T'is seen on the horizon at dawn's first light
To those with perfect, fearless sight.
Most often they laugh then call you a fool
Whimsy and mirth are favorite tools
An elf will tell you, we don't comprehend
What it means to have an Elften friend.
A slight disbelief and they won't appear
Then the magic words you'll never hear
With them you meet the most bizarre
As you journey beyond the farthest star.
They live in the realm between time and space
And you'll never find a more wondrous place
The deeper you go the more shallow it gets
And to catch your fancy there's a variety of nets.
Elfs sprinkle star dust in your eyes
And have you laughing at all their lies
So if you're around when an elf comes by
Ask him to teach you how to fly

WOW, another speaking engagement. Truro Library, May 14, 2019 at 6:30.  I'm excited, a little nervous, but mostly I'm looking forward to the event. Someone asked me how I can get up in front of a room full of people and talk. Well I just remember the very first time that I had to speak in front of a group. That was a long time ago and probably the worst experience of my life. I was the school nurse in Truro at the time and had to talk to a group of sixth grade boys about reproduction. I was so nervous. I blushed, my hands were wet, and I stuttered. They asked me the most intimate questions about sex. I'm sure they had talked it over before the class and decided what they would ask. I got through it. The following years were much easier and I was more prepared for what twelve year old boys could throw at you. Since then talking to adults has been a piece of cake. They don't ask questions that make me blush. Not that it's easy, its not. Just as with the health classes there is preparation, thinking, planning. But at my age and with the number of times I have had to speak in public it has become more fun.
I don't want to read from my book. I think most adults can read it for themselves so I will tell a couple of stories that hopefully will be entertaining, enlightening, and enjoyable. My granddaughter will join me at the front table to assist with any book sales and I hope there are a few. I think she's more nervous than I am.
I continue to write. I'm working on two books. Depending on my mood, how much time I have, and what new ideas have occurred, determines what book I work on. The Arethusa is a memoir.  I love writing about the days of youthful enthusiasm. David at the helm of the forty-five foot yawl as we flew across the water on a wing and a prayer. The memories bring him back to me. I can see him and sometimes feel his presence when I write about him. Until recently I had a difficult time with that, I'd just cry, but now it's a pleasure to be able to reach into the past and bring him back. The stories are mostly fun. We were so innocent and unprepared for the real challenges that sailing brings. But it was such an adventure.  My life has been full of adventure. I wouldn't trade any of it, even the most frightening, life changing experiences. I'm going to tell a story at the library tomorrow about an adventure I had with Dave. The day we caught the thousand pound tuna fish. What a day, what an adventure that was.

Spring is the busiest time of the year.  Everyone around here is getting ready for the summer tourist season. I'm cleaning out, painting the deck furniture, raking leaves, sprucing up the flower beds, trying to keep up with grandchildren, and writing in my spare time. I like a routine, stretching, walking the dog, and unless there are appointments, lose myself in another book. Although I read daily, afternoon and evening, I mean I get to write that book. I write as soon as I can get to the computer. I've begun another adventure, going back in time to 1938. Watch for the Crows is the title. There will be fishermen, some history about the town, some fun, maybe romance, but the main thrust is the murder.  James Crowley is back. I realize now that this fantasy man of mine is a cross between David Dutra and Tom Selleck. He's the town cop, the man who solves mysteries, and the man of my dreams. Visit Provincetown before WWII, when a telephone operator knew where your mother was, when cars were were just beginning to crowd the narrow streets during the summer months, when people spent their leisure time listening to the radio, when the country was coming out of a great depression, and when war on the other side of the world was hardly noticed by most Americans. It takes time to write a story.  It has to have a good beginning, an interesting middle, and a surprise ending, and as with the adventures I've had throughout my life, I'll keep the faith.  For faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

I want to invite everyone to the Truro Library on May 14, 2019 at 6:30 for a meet and greet. I will be speaking about adventure and how I came to write.  The adventures in my life have taken me to mountain tops in Mexico, the Pyramids of Giza, the Monasteries of Metore in Greece, but some of my best adventures were with my husband onboard the F/V Richard & Arnold. Adventure comes in many forms. Reading can take you on an adventure and writing is where my imagination takes me when I let go. It is my adventure. Wishing you the best and fair winds.

Provincetown Town Hall, Thanksgiving weekend craft festival, 2018
I had the pleasure of sharing a table with Peter R. Cook whose documentary film "Dad, I Want To Go Fishing" captures the Town of Provincetown in the 1950's, 60's and 70's. He told me that some of his film was used in the Netflix documentary Rotten, the one about fishing. If you haven't seen "Dad I Want To Go Fishing, you should check it out, especially if you enjoy Cape Cod history.
It was a windy, cold Thanksgiving weekend, but people were out and about enjoying the town, visiting the craft fair, and waiting for the Lobster Pot Tree in Lopes Square to light up. The late Jules Popko was the orininator of the tradition. His family and friends carry on each year,  stacking local lobster pots in the shape of a holiday tree. It is then decorated with ribbons and lights, and lit on the Saturday evening following Thanksgiving. I'd like to thank the Popko family for keeping the tradition alive, along with our memories of Jules.
I hope everyone had an enjoyable Thanksgiving. I am thankful for the love of my family. They give me purpose, lift my spirits, and help with all sorts of things from cooking the bird to bringing wood  into the house for the stove. I've been using a wood burning stove for forty years, but without the strong arms of my husband, it falls to me to get the wood in. This weekend while I was at the crafts fair, my eight year old grandson filled my wood box, while his dad, Jackson put a new door knob on my front door. I am grateful to my family. I ate fresh fish and lobster this week, brought home by my son, Bob. I am thankful for family, friends, and the strangers who read my books and send me notes. The holidays can be difficult if you are feeling the loss of a loved one. We are together in that we each know the sorrow that comes with the death of a loved one, it connects us as people. Throughout the year we keep busy with work, chores, hobbies, but during the holidays the pain of loss is sharper. And so I am sending you thoughts of love and peace for this holiday season. God Bless and Fair Winds.

Dead Low Tide is historic fiction and the second in the Crowley mystery series. The story follows James Crowley, Provincetown Police Chief in 1938. When a body washes up on a beach in the east end of town, the chief receives help from patrolman Lewis, his friend Dr. Rice, the Boston Police Detective Shiff, and an undercover cop named Harry Enos. World War II is looming in the distance and unrest is building across America. The murder leads to a militant group of Nazi sympathizers who plan to import munitions using a local fishing boat.  Chief Crowley finds a love interest and discovers that sometimes justice meeds to be balanced with mercy.

I will be discussing the book with Tina Lynde on her WOMR radio show, Memory Lane this coming Saturday November 17, 2018 at 9 AM.

Dead Low Tide is available at ArchwayPublishing as well as Kindle, Ibooks and Amazon. I hope you enjoy the read.

Changes

Everyone tells me the summer is flying by. I've been enjoying the warm days while not paying  attention to how fast or slow things move. Meditating helps, walks on the beach help and the family and grandkids keep me moving. Thinking about time makes me miss what I consider my old self, the person I was with Dave alongside me and what I am now missing: trips on the boat this time of year, traversing the Cape Cod Canal, visiting friends in Menemsha, Woods Hole and New Bedford. Captain Dave was the center of it all. Not only for his stories, his wit, and his charisma, but also for his knowledge. My time on the boat has come to an abrupt halt. After spending all our time together, living onboard the Richard & Arnold for five months I've have begun a second year without him. Change comes to us all.

My heart goes out to the people living on the Gulf Coast, Puerto Rico, and the many islands that have been affected by the horrendous storms and flooding. To lose everything, relocate, start fresh is  difficult. Hold tight to each other for nothing is as important as our loved ones. It is possible to begin anew and to make changes, big and small. Hold onto each other. Things come and go. We all know what is most important in our lives and it's not the things we accumulate, nor the homes we live in.

I was counting the number of times I've moved in my life, from place to place, home to home and I found eleven - not counting the Richard & Arnold for that would add infinite numbers of places where I have lived. We all know that change is inevitable in life. We win, we lose, we hold on. A person can use the change to make life better or to let the changes bury them. We choose our paths. I have always been a strong independent person, but I empathize with those who are not. I understand that we have varying amounts of internal strength and I'm not sure what the magic ingrediant is.  I don't know where faith comes into the mix or  how we  attain it.  I only know that the more you have, the easier our trials and tribulations. Hold on to faith. Faith in yourself, in each other, and in your Spirit God.

I'm still writing. That's my escape route. It's the place I go when I need a place where I am not me, before or after the death of my favorite captain. I enjoy bringing Chief James Crowley to life on the page. He's become some kind of weird part of me. Hard to describe my relationship to this fictional character.

I'm also working on another memoir, the story of our Arethusa. When I think of that time in our lives, many emotions are brought back to me. Many of the people who I now write about are no longer living, except in my mind.  We had so much fun.  It's worth remembering. The scary part didn't come until the last chapter. My friend Bobby G.  was visiting me a couple of weeks ago. We talked about the boat and the trip we took from Provincetown heading for St. Thomas in the Virgin Islands on board our 45 ft sailboat, Arethusa. I told him that Dave always felt responsible for the lose.  Bobby said to me, "Are you kidding, Dave saved our lives on that trip. If he hadn't rebuilt the stern before we left, the waves that curled over and into the cockpit would have broke the boat in half. And Dave knew how to slow the boat down when we were surfing down seas of forty feet. Dave brought us home." Bobby G and I reminisced about the voyage that ended three hundred miles off the coast of North Carolina when a Coast Guard Cutter took all four of us off the boat.  I told Dave many times that he shouldn't feel guilty about the boat, he didn't sink it. But he said he shouldn't have taken us off shore in a forty-five foot boat.  I wanted to make that journey. It was a risk that I was willing to take. It was a chance of a lifetime and there was no stopping me.  Now, so many years later,  I get the opportunity to relive  happy times with Captain Dave and dear long lost friends.