Karen's stories have appeared in *Newsweek*, *The Christian Science Monitor*, and *Pack and Paddle Magazine* and she's the author of *Are You Taking Me Home Now?: Adventures with Dad*, *The Second Hundred Years: Further Adventures with Dad*, *The Brush of Angel Wings*, *The Madcap Christian Scientist* series, *A Poem Sits on my Windowsill*, *Finding the Rainbows: Lessons from Dad and Mom*, and co-author of *The Humoristian Chronicles: A Most Unusual Fellowship*. Her photos are featured in the spring 2014 edition of the *Bellingham Review*, and the "Photos from the Field" page of the April/May 2017, December/January 2018-2019, April/May 2019, and June/July 2020 issues of of *Mother Earth News*. Her photos can be found here: https://www.flickr.com/photos/60803140@N06/
Her books can be found here: http://www.amazon.com/Karen-Molenaar-Terrell/e/B0044P90RQ/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1312060042&sr=8-
Hear’s a spot of fun four my fellow English teachers, what?
Wants upon a thyme, their lived a wee girl in a we town on a we planet. The we girl wanted two make a difference too the whirled, butt she didn’t no what she could due two make the whirled a better place.
Sew she thought and thought and thought about it.
Won mourning, she woke up after a good knight’s sleep – feeling full of joy and hope. She’d had a suite dream about her grandparents, who had dyed before she was borne. She’d never bin able two meat them in the person, butt she’d always felt like she new them because of the stories she’d herd about them. In her dream, she felt like she’d finally met them, four reel.
They’d smiled at her in the dream, and she’d felt there love fore her. She felt they’re love bloom in her hart.
And the we girl woke up from the dream no-ing how she could make the whirled a better place!
She wood love! She wood love everyone, everywhere, like their was know tomorrow! She wood love without distinction or discrimination. Know won wood be outside her love. She wood love the rich and pour, the old and young, the people on the left, and the people on the write, two. Everyone wood feel her love, and the love would bloom in the whirled just like it had bloomed in her hart.
And sew she loved. And the love bloomed. And their was peas.
(Originally published in Newsweek on November 2, 2006.)
In 1953, my father, Dee Molenaar, went on an expedition created in hopes of making the first successful ascent of the world’s second highest mountain, K-2. The leaders of the expedition, Charles Houston and Robert Bates, chose their teammates not only for their climbing skills, but their ability to get along with others. When the team was finally assembled it consisted of Bates, an English instructor at the University of Pennsylvania and Phillips Exeter Academy; Houston, a medical doctor and graduate of Harvard and Columbia University; Art Gilkey, a doctoral geology student from Columbia University; George Bell, a 6’5″ physicist from Cornell; Bob Craig, a ski instructor from Aspen; Tony Streather, a British officer; Pete Schoening, a chemist from Seattle; and my dad, a Seattle geologist and artist. Most of the men on the expedition were strangers to each other when they met for the first time, but it didn’t take long for them to become friends. They all shared a love of the mountains and the desire to do whatever they could to help the team reach the summit.
But a series of catastrophes kept the team from reaching that goal. During a storm, Art became ill with blood clots in his lungs and as the others tried to maneuver him down a treacherously steep and icy slope to a lower camp, one of the climbers slipped, three ropes tangled, and five men – my dad amongst them – found themselves hurtling down the mountain with no way to stop themselves. Fortunately Pete, the youngest and strongest man on the team, was anchored above them and performed a rope belay – a technique climbers use to stop another climber from falling by winding the rope around a secure object, in this case, an ice axe. The daring maneuver has come to be known as “The Belay” in mountaineering lore, stopping the five falling men from plummeting to their deaths.
As I was born more than three years after “The Belay” I’ve always been personally grateful to Pete for his remarkable feat. And through the years I’ve sometimes thought about the other descendants of the K2 expedition – all of them impacted as I had been by that moment when our fathers had been pulled back from the brink of death. I wondered if the other climbers’ kids felt the same gratitude to Pete that I did. Would we feel the same instant bonds of friendship that our fathers had felt if we ever met?
In 2004 Pete died at 77 after a brave battle with cancer, leaving behind five remaining survivors of the expedition – Bob and Charles, both in their nineties by then, Tony, Bob, and my dad. George had died several years before from complications after surgery, and Art had been swept away by an avalanche on K2 during the expedition. As the men of the 1953 K2 expedition began to pass on, the urge for me to meet their descendants grew.
In 2005, at Pete’s memorial service, I found that his children shared my desire to meet our fellow “Children of the Belay” (or “COB” as I’d dubbed the K2 climbers’ descendants). Soon e-mails were flying from one COB to the next and the idea of a COB get-together began to become a reality.
In August, 28 descendants of the expedition members – coming from Germany, New York, Colorado, New Mexico, and Washington State – along with spouses and partners, my dad, and the widows of George and Pete converged on the small town of Leavenworth, Washington.
As my family pulled into Leavenworth, we saw the husband of Kim Schoening, Pete’s daughter, standing on the sidewalk outside the Forest Service Station and he waved us into the parking lot. The lot was bursting with lively, laughing COB. There was George’s daughter, Carolyn, and his son, George, Jr. And there were Pete’s children: Kim, Kristiann, Mark, Lisa, and Eric. I’d never met the Bell offspring until now, but without hesitation I found myself getting out of the car and introducing myself to them, shaking Carolyn’s hand and giving George a hug. It was like we were old friends meeting again after a long separation.
On a hike through the woods to Icicle Creek, we chatted and learned the basics about one another: Jobs, hometowns, educations. Afterwards we ate lunch and then splashed and swam around in the Wenatchee River. There was a young lad there with a wakeboard and we took turns trying to stay upright on the thing. Later we celebrated one of the grand-COB’s birthdays, singing happy birthday to her in honor of her nineteenth year.
But for me the standout experience came that night as we watched videos on the K2 Expedition that had been shown on the BBC. When Pete’s face appeared on the screen a little voice excitedly piped up, “There’s Grandpa!” And it hit me that for the first time in my life I was in a roomful of people who could relate to the story of the expedition in the same way that I relate to it. Here were other spawn of those adventurers, as familiar with the personalities and events of the expedition as I was. As we watched the videos, we all laughed in the same places, and shared the same respect for the courage and camaraderie shown by the climbers. Even the littlest children listened quietly.
The next day, as we prepared to leave Leavenworth, the adieus were bittersweet – although we’d only been together for two days it felt as if I was saying good-bye to family. The members of our fathers’ expedition had gone into the mountains as strangers and had come out as friends. Maybe it’s not surprising that the same was true for their children.
The Ending Writes Itself is such a fun read! So very meta! – authors inside the heads of authors inside the heads of authors – that really tickled me. The pacing was spot on, the plot believable, and the characters stayed in character when voicing the dialogue. The authors give the readers enough background on the characters that we care what happens to them – but not so much information, that we’re emotionally shattered at the end.
As a writer myself, I enjoyed the authors’ perspective on the publishing industry. Long ago, I submitted a manuscript to a literary agent – not actually expecting anything to come of it, but just thinking it would be interesting to experience that part of being a writer. To my surprise, the agent actually agreed to represent me! He was great and did everything he could to get my manuscript into the hands of publishers. But, in the end, I reread my work and realized I didn’t WANT it to be published – and told my agent he didn’t have to try anymore. I think my decision was a relief to both of us. I’ve since found self-publishing seems to work best for me – I keep control over what I write, and publish it when I’m ready to publish it. After reading The Ending Writes Itself I was reminded of how grateful I am for my autonomy as a writer.
When I came to the last page of TheEnding Writes Itself, I felt sated. The ending tied up the loose ends in a very satisfying way.
I recommend this book to all my friends – but especially to those of my friends who are writers. I think this book will resonate with you.
Karen Molenaar Terrell, author of The Madcap Christian Scientist series, the Adventures with Dad series, and the Cosmic Celebrations series.
A couple of weeks ago I saw a pair of red-haired women walking on the boardwalk and was struck by how much they looked alike. I asked them if they were family and learned that they were mother and daughter – Roxanne and Hallie. Hallie, I learned, had come from Denver to perform as one of the leads in the Pacific Northwest Opera‘s production of *Ariadne auf Naxos*, and Roxanne had driven up from Olympia to spend a few hours with her daughter before her performances began.
I shared with Roxanne and Hallie that my mom had earned her degree in music performance back in the 1950s. Mom had been accepted into the Portland Opera Company after she graduated from the University of Montana, but had chosen to marry my dad instead, and move with him to Colorado to start their life together. They’d soon moved back to the PNW, though – to Olympia, in fact – and that’s where I’d spent my first years.
We swapped stories about Olympia and music for a bit then – I shared that I’d met my husband at a wedding – he’d been the photographer and I’d been the wedding singer – but I’d never had the kind of musical training, skills, or discipline my mom had had.
Hallie told me more about *Ariadne auf Naxos*. *Ariadne auf Naxos* was a comedy, she told me – and, as she described the plot, I found myself laughing out loud. It sounded like a hoot! I told her that I was going to google more about it, and I might try to get tickets for it.
But then life happened, and two weeks went by, and I never purchased tickets, and it didn’t look like seeing the opera was something I was going to be doing.
But yesterday, as I was sitting on a bench with my son in Fairhaven, I saw a pretty copper-headed woman walk by with a young man, and I realized it was Hallie! I called out to her, and she turned and grinned – she recognized me, too! I gave Hallie a hug, and met Gyan – who is the pianist for the opera.
Hallie offered to set aside a ticket for me to today’s show – but I still wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to make it. When I got home, though, it felt like running into Hallie again had been too cosmic to ignore, and I immediately purchased two tickets for today’s show.
Scotty and I got there just before the curtain rose. As soon as Hallie stepped onto the stage, I think we both knew we were looking at a star.
During the intermission, I happened to run into Gyan. I wasn’t sure if I was going to see Hallie again, so I asked Gyan to let Hallie know that I had made it to the performance.
The second half of *Ariadne auf Naxos* was where the vocalists really had a chance to shine. And Hallie’s performance blew me away! She was spectacular – her vocal range was extraordinary; her role as a coquette had me laughing out loud; she had incredible stage presence. Hallie is a unique talent.
After the performance, I stayed around to see if Hallie would appear. I didn’t see her right away, but I got into conversation with two of the other opera singers and asked them to let Hallie know that Karen had made it to the show. As I was talking to them, they pointed to my left, and said, “There’s Hallie!”
I gave Hallie a hug, and I got to tell her, in person, how wonderful her performance was. Then Scott and I, star-struck fans that we are, made sure to get our picture with her.
Hallie Schmidt. Remember that name. This woman is going to be famous one day. And I got to see her at the beginning of her career!
Driving away from that world-class performance in beautiful McIntyre Hall, past the strip malls and Starbucks on College Way, and in twenty minutes back in our home in rural Skagit County, seemed sort of surreal to me.
My ego gets pulled into the false narratives – wanting to set the record straight – who started what and who did it first and who is the most violent and who is the worst.
And my ego’s input feeds the beast, feeds the narrative, feeds the hate-feast. It becomes a finger-pointing frenzy of sleights and wrongs and fear, with everyone only hearing what they want to hear.
I think I’ll get off of this crazy ride. I think I’ll focus on what’s true. I think I’ll spend my time and energy in loving you and you and YOU.
When I was going through a clinical depression in 2007-2008, one of the most prominent symptoms for me was a debilitating, overwhelming feeling of guilt – I felt unworthy, undeserving of joy, ashamed of my human foibles and flaws, afraid I might unintentionally say or do something that would hurt someone else. I contemplated ending my life because I thought – in my unhealthy mental state – that it would make life easier for others if I just wasn’t here.
So I speak from a place of personal experience when I say: Let’s STOP SHAMING EACH OTHER. Let’s stop throwing guilt on each other. We don’t know what anyone else is going through – but, trust me, EVERYone here is working their way through some challenge(s). What we see on each other’s FB walls is just a slice of a person’s life, and some people choose not to publish their struggles here – but that doesn’t mean they don’t have them.
Let’s assume that EVERYone could do with some kindness and tenderness and grace – even those people who seem to have “perfect” lives.
I celebrated Earth Day in Fairhaven today, and it was glorious! My day was filled with green paths, spring blossoms, and happy earthlings – a squirrel, a robin, a towhee, a couple of deer, and some way cool humans.
I parked in front of The Landing at Evil Bike store, and took the trail up to the path that goes to the Post Point dog park and the heron rookery. There weren’t any pups in the dog park, and there weren’t any herons in the rookery, either. But there was a towhee on a branch, and a robin in the crook of a tree, and a hummingbird on a fence three feet away – flexing his wings, and posing – who flew away as soon as my camera focused on him.
I walked on down to Fairhaven Coffee, where Lauren fixed me a honey and cinnamon latte, while we chatted about her experience as a scuba diver and her hope to one day do underwater photography. She made me an excellent latte, and I sat down with it at one of the tables.
At the table next to mine, three gentlemen were talking about subatomic particles, how they relate and communicate to each other, and what it is that defines life. Whoah.
“Are you talking about quantum physics?” I asked, intrigued.
They nodded their heads, and one of them explained that they were talking, specifically, about consciousness. And then I threw in my thoughts about a universal consciousness of Love, and, to their credit, they did not laugh at me. We talked about teaching, and science, and outer space, and the viability of colonizing Mars, and species going extinct, global warming, glaciation, and how the land is slowly rising after being flattened from years of being covered in ice. Marshall, Mitchell, and Larry were fascinating. They seemed the perfect people to be chatting with on Earth Day.
I walked to the ferry terminal, and then down to Marine Park, and headed back to the Post Point rookery and dog park. At the sign leading into the rookery, I paused to ask a gentleman about the Arroyo Park trail that was listed on the sign. We got to chatting, and he learned I live in Bow. Bill said he used to go to the Edison Inn all the time, but he hadn’t been for a while and he wasn’t sure if everything was the same. I told him Edison is a foodie heaven – we have the Edison Inn, Tweets, Mariposa, Terramar for pizza…
… and Bill said, “And Breadfarm!”
…and I said, “And Slough Food!”
Bill was fun. He was wearing a hat that said: “It’s weird being the same age as old people!” That got me cracking up. I could relate.
Bill continued on his walk, and I continued on mine.
A runner went by me at a good clip. My sons had been x-country runners in school. I’d gone to a lot of their meets, and I could recognize good runner’s form when i saw it. This runner was good!
When I got to the dog park, I could see the runner was doing laps around the park, and, as he went past, I snapped a couple photos. I knew I probably wouldn’t be able to use the photos, though, because – even though the runner had grinned at me and my camera as he ran past – I hadn’t officially gotten his permission.
I continued on my walk and, when I got back to The Landing at Evil Bike shop, who should I see running towards me from the opposite direction but the runner I’d seen in the dog park? He stopped and chatted with me – I learned his name is Ian and he ran for WWU – but he said he was now “retired.” He said it was fine to post his picture.
I decided to take Chuckanut back to my home, and this is when I saw the deer casually grazing on the lawn in front of Fairhaven Park. It seemed fitting that they should be there on Earth Day.
“EARTH. A sphere; a type of eternity and immortality, which are likewise without beginning or end. To material sense, earth is matter; to spiritual sense, it is a compound idea.“ -Mary Baker Eddy, Science and Health, p. 585
Went up to Concrete today to pay a visit to the 5b’s Bakery. 5b’s owner, Em, came out of her office and sat down with me for a coze. It was so good to see Em again – she is a remarkable person who’s led a remarkable life, and it’s always fun to talk with her. Em introduced me to her sweet therapy-pup-in-training, Hugo, and gave me the okay to take Hugo’s picture. And a friendly young man named James who hails from NY and works as a forest ranger gave me the okay to take HIS picture, too.
As I drove home from Concrete, I impulsively turned off onto the Baker Lake Road to see what I might see. I ended up at the little Shadow of the Sentinels interpretive trail. This trail holds special memories for me – it was my first hike with my youngest son when he was a week old; when my dad was 100, his care-giver, Gwen, loaded her van with Dad, another man in their adult family home, me, and a couple of wheelchairs and took us all up to the trail because she knew Dad and Joe were in desperate need of a trip to the mountains; and when my granddaughter was not quite one, she’d hiked the trail, too. I was surrounded in sweet memories: Xander trying to focus his new eyes on the trees; Dad pointing to the tops of those trees and checking to make sure I’d gotten a picture of the forest canopy; and my little granddaughter toddling along the boardwalk, holding her mama’s hand, and grinning at her papa who waited for her at the end of the trail – a trail he’d hiked with me when his little brother was just a week old.
And, honestly, it felt like none of those memories were separated from me by time at all – all the love is still with me, and I can still feel the joy of those moments surrounding me in the woods.
For most of my drive home, I had no one behind me or in front of me on the road. It was lovely. I was in my own little bubble.
I stopped off at the Otter Beans Coffee stand for a lavender green iced tea. The young man in front of me in line was fun. He’s a manager for the local casino and took out his phone to show me some of the shows that will be appearing there soon. “Whose Live Anyway?” comedy show is coming soon – that looks like it will be fun.
I brought home more photos, some new memories, and a perfect lavender green iced tea made by Dani.
I rode my bike to the post office to mail off a card to a friend whose husband has just passed, and then went on into Edison to stop by and see another friend, Maggie, who’d recently lost HER husband. Even though Maggie and I live just a bike ride away from each other, it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other. It was good to connect with her again. We hugged, and Maggie invited me into her house for a quick chat. I love Maggie’s home – as she said, it has “ambiance.” It’s one of those houses that’s probably 100 years old, full of history and cool side rooms.
As Maggie and I talked, her cat wound through my legs and then hopped up on Maggie’s lap and curled into a ball. Maggie has a bird feeder hanging from an apple tree outside her window, and I watched goldfinches, red-winged blackbirds, and red-hooded house finches flitting around in the apple tree. Every now and then a bird would stop and peer in the window, and it looked to me like the birds were asking to be fed. Maggie laughed and said she has to fill that feeder up daily to keep those birds happy.
After I left Maggie, I saw that Tweets Cafe was open. I decided to park my bike in front of it and get myself a treat.
A customer in front of me had ordered a raspberry pie with cream, and, once I saw that, I knew what I was going to get.
I took my pie out to a picnic table in the little green between Tweets and the Mariposa Restaurant. Oh, my friends, it was so peaceful there. I sat on the bench and listened to the birdsong and watched the sparrows hopping around in the apple blossoms above me.
Pretty soon a little family came out to the green – mama, papa, and four-month-old baby. I learned that Louie’s parents – Ali and Stephen – had come down from Bellingham, and that they were both nurses at Saint Joe’s. They let me touch Louie’s hand and he wrapped his little fingers around my finger. Awww…
Apple blossoms, birdsong, raspberry pie, AND a baby! Life does not get much better than that.
As I was leaving Tweets, I saw that a duo of musicians had set themselves in front of the restaurant and were playing a lively tune with a fiddle and guitar. I found myself grinning. Apple blossoms, birdsong, raspberry pie, a baby, AND live music!
I left the duo a tip in their hat, and then got back on my bike for the ride home – feeling refreshed and soul-filled from my excursion into town.
Edit: David Holzemer on violin/fiddle. Still hoping to learn who’s on guitar.
My husband and I have lived in Bow since 2002, but today I found a trail just fifteen minutes from us that I’ve never been on before. I guess I’ve known it was there – I’ve driven by it (and over it!) for years – but I never took the time to actually check it out until today.
After my walk on the Padilla Dike Trail this morning (see previous post), I headed back to Bow. But I hadn’t gone far when, on impulse, I pulled into the Breazeale (Padilla Bay) Interpretive Center. I found myself grabbing my camera, and pretty soon I was headed for the path that goes under the Bayview-Edison Road. I’d never been on this path before, and was curious where I’d end up.
I passed apple blossoms and Oregon grape blossoms, and found myself going through a tunnel under the road. At the end of the tunnel there was a platform with a spiral staircase that went down to the beach. I took the staircase down to the shoreline – stopping every now and then to take photos of the herons I could see hanging out in the bay.
It was so peaceful on the beach. I was the only person down there. It was just me and the herons, a couple seagulls, and a crow or two. It was lovely.
Adventures of the Madcap Christian Scientist 