I wake up and reach for my phone to find the time and moments later I’m bobbing along in the Eff Bee whitewater with my fellows posters – good morning, world! – and I’m trying to dodge the flotsam and jetsam of a culture that seems Intent on keeping the world’s hatred and fear fueled. I’m dodging words: “libtard” and “Karen” and “POS” and “asshat” – and there’s talk of violence – mob mentality – coming from both sides – all sides – and, of course, there’s the logjams of the “experts” appearing periodically to provide background info on the history of Nazis and the Civil War. I was a history major myself and I can relate to the urge to show off my expertise on these things, but my intuition is telling me that, for the people flailing in the whitewater with me, now is not the time to pause to give a history lesson – maybe we can do that later when we reach a quiet eddy in the river. Right now the roiling current pulls us towards the boulders – tribalism, greed, me-firstness, bigotry, bullying, ego – and I point my feet down the river as the whitewater guides told me to do – and I choose to keep my survival simple for myself – Love. Love is my lifevest. Keep it simple. I don’t have to choose sides or who to love. Keep it simple. I choose Love – all-encompassing, all-enveloping, universal, unconditional, all-inclusive Love. I let Love guide me through the whitewater.
-Karen Molenaar Terrell
Below: Anderson Creek. Photo by Karen Molenaar Terrell.
I felt the need to go to a quiet place – somewhere away from the crowds and noise. I headed for Clayton Beach.
I’d gotten about half-way down the trail to the beach when I heard happy laughter and chatting behind me. I turned around to see about a dozen women coming down the trail. I pulled off to the side so they could pass, and they stopped to chat for a bit. I learned they were a hiking group from Hillcrest Church in Fairhaven. And then one of the women in the back stepped forward and I recognized Francine – the mother of three of my former eighth graders – and the pediatrician who’d been called in at the birth of my oldest son. Francine is one of my favorite people, but I haven’t seen her for years. It was cosmic to run into her in the middle of a trail in the Chuckanut woods!
But wait! There’s more!
The group of women went ahead of me, and I followed behind, stopping to snap pictures every now and then. When I crossed the bridge over the train tracks, I found one of the women waiting for me on the other side. She asked me if I’d ever lived in Kitsap County. I told her that I’d actually graduated from high school there. She said she had, too, and then she asked me if I’d ever taught there. I almost answered no, and then I remembered that year I’d taken over a fifth grade class a month into the school year, years ago. It had been my first real teaching gig, and it had been a challenge for me. I told her the name of the school that had housed my fifth grade class, and she said she’d gone there, and so had her younger brother, David. She said she thought I’d been her brother’s teacher, and gave his last name. Immediately the face of her brother came into my thoughts – I remembered him, and I remembered what a cool kid he was!
I asked her where David was now, and she let me know he’d passed ten years ago. My heart sank. I told Julie how much I’d enjoyed her little brother. And then Julie told me that she remembered me as being a positive part of David’s life, and she remembered her parents had liked me. That meant a lot to me – I hadn’t felt like a success that year. To know that I’d had a positive impact on even one child’s life was a healing thing.
I went on down to the beach, took a right between the big rocks, and looked out at the water for a while. There was a nice breeze blowing down there. I always feel Love speaking to me when there’s a nice breeze, and I feel the love of loved ones who have departed. I thought about David and Francine and Francine’s children. Sweet memories. Sweet connections.
I moved back to the main beach. A pup came bounding down to the beach from the trail, leaped onto a log, bounced onto another log, and scampered back to her humans. She was delightful. Her humans gave me permission to take more photos of Tulia, and I managed to capture one of her as she peeked over a log at me.
I met up with the women from the Hillcrest church again before I started back up the trail. I told Julie that she had David’s eyes, and she smiled and asked, “I do?” I told her yes, I remembered David’s bright eyes. Francine and I hugged again, and she took a picture of us together to show to her daughter.
When I got to the bridge over the train tracks, I moved to the mesh wires to take a picture of the tracks, and just at that moment an AmTrak train came around the curve as if just for me! Grinning, I waved to the train and snapped pictures as it moved towards me.
It was a lovely walk back through the woods and to my car. My heart was all filled up with the wonder of the unexpected gifts the Cosmos continually sends me.
Pop was born on June 21, 1918, and lived 101 years after that. He died the day before the first case of the pandemic was reported in this country. He had impeccable timing.
But more important to me, personally, than his mountaineering achievements, was who he was as my dad. In the last years of his life, he lived near me, and we were able to spend a lot of time together – going on drives, and exploring the highways and byways of this part of the state.
Dad: Let’s head out into the open countryside, head towards the coast. Karen: Let’s do it! Dad: I don’t want to go into the city. I don’t want to run errands with you. (I nod my head in understanding.) Dad: (His voice cracking.) I love you. Karen: I love you, too. Dad: It’s nice that we have each other to love. Karen: Yes, it is! Dad: Thank you for including me when you take these drives. (I smile – I take these drives FOR Dad.)
I turn onto Samish Island Road, thinking maybe I’ll go to Bayview State Park. Dad: Have you ever been to that little island that’s connected to the land? Karen: Samish Island? Do you want to go there? (Dad nods his head, and I head out to do the loop around Samish Island.) Dad: Is Mom alive? (I shake my head no.) Dad: I had a dream that she’d died. (He starts tearing up.) I think I’ve already mourned her. (Dad’s quiet for a bit. We’ve almost finished the Samish Island loop now.) Dad: Can we see Mount Rainier from here? Karen: I think it’s hidden behind those hills. Dad: Let’s go someplace where we can walk on a beach. (I head for Bayview State Park.)
After parking, Dad and I make our way to a bench near the beach. When I’m getting Dad’s walker out of the back of the car, I see the cans of root beer I put in there months ago – I’d bought them for Dad, and had forgotten about them. Now I grab one, join Dad on the bench, and hand the root beer to him. His face lights up and he smiles and takes it from me. Dad: Do you ever dream about Mom? Karen: Yes. I had a dream that she was sitting on the top bed of a bunk bed, dangling her feet over the edge. She had a happy, mischievous smile on her face. There was an open casket on the bed behind her. She said, “I’m done with this!” and hopped down. I felt like she was done with the whole dead-thing, and was happy. Have you had a dream about Mom? Dad: Yes. I dreamed she died. Karen: She loved you, and loves you very much. Dad: She was such a wonderful person. Karen: Yes, she is! (Dad and I are quiet for a while, just enjoying the sunshine.) Dad: This is nice here. I’m glad we made this stop. That’s a nice, gentle breeze. It smells like saltwater. (He belches and laughs at his own belch.)
When we get back in the car, Dad says he had a dream where he had to fart once, but there was no place to fart. He starts laughing – cracking himself up. I’m laughing, too. Then Dad asks, “Do you and Mom have a lot of nice conversations?” And I tell him that we do.
As we’re heading back to Dad’s home, he turns his head and points, “That would make a happy picture! That house all covered in flowers! But I don’t have my camera with me…” I turn the car around and head back to the flower-bedecked house, and get out my camera for Dad to snap a photo.
We get back to his home, and Dad doesn’t recognize it at first – he has moved three times in the last year, and it’s all a little confusing. I explain that their last home couldn’t take Mom and him back when Mom got sick. And then when Mom passed, we had to find another home for Dad. I tell Dad that I felt that Mom had directed us to this place – a place with hummingbird feeders and cats and dogs. Dad asks, “So Mom knows these people then?” And I think about this, and then nod my head yes. (I believe Mom does know these people, even if they never actually met in the person.)
Dad gets back in the house and doesn’t recognize anything. I ask him if he wants to go to his room – and he asks, “I have a room here?” I point the way, and once he enters he says, “Oh! I remember this place now!” He sees his paintings on the walls, and pictures of his friends and family. He realizes he’s home. He starts grinning at himself and says, “I’ve been thanking these people for allowing me to stay here.”
Dad points to a book by Leif Whittaker about Leif’s father, Jim. “I think I got that book for Christmas.” I tell him that I think Jim Whittaker gave him that book when he came to visit him here. “Jim visited me here?!” Yes, I tell him, also his friends Rick and Cindy, and Tom Hornbein, and Mary from the Mountaineers. Dad is shaking his head in amazement now. He says, “The things I’ve forgotten would fill a book!”
Karen: Are you going to take a nap now? Dad: Yes, I want to make that transition into the dream. Karen: What dream is that? Dad: (Tearing up.) The dream about the real world. (And I know he’s thinking about the world where Mom is still with him.) Karen: I love you, Dad. Dad: I love you, Karen.
I’m going to assume that when Michelle Obama speaks of seeing the “humanity in all people” she really means ALL people – every race, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, age, size, and political leaning – and, yes, that includes the MAGA folks, too. It saddens and distresses me when the inspiring speeches made by the Obamas are used as just another way to vent hate on “the others.” We have enough of that already. Maybe we can take a moment and honor the Obamas by trying to look for the good in EVERYone, and nurturing that.
“So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them… And God saw everything He had made and, behold, it was very good.” – Genesis 1
May 31: Today when I landed in Fairhaven, I got there so early that my car was the first one parked on the block. It came to me that I hadn’t been to the Cafe Blue in a while, and I decided that that’s where today’s adventures would start.
Even that early, the cafe was brimming with happy people when I walked in. Micah, the owner of the cafe, looked over and saw me and greeted me. He remembered me! – and thanked me again for the book I’d given him last year. The counter person who was taking my order asked about the book. I told her that I like to write stories about the cool people I meet on my adventures, and Micah is one of those cool people and he’s in one of my books. She grinned and wrote down my name so she could find my books at the Bellingham library.
The Cafe Blue is one of those places with an abundance of magic.
Micah and his cafe are magnets for kindness and good will. When I was done ordering my mocha and a strawberry pastry, I found one last table that wasn’t occupied, and settled onto a bench there. The young man in the line after me wasn’t going to be able to find an empty table, though, and I told him to feel free to share my table with me. He smiled and thanked me and settled onto the other end of the bench to work on his project.
I watched people come into the shop and greet each other, laughing and enjoying their time together, while soft music played in the background. When it was time to go, I stopped to say good bye to Micah. “This place attracts kindness,” I told him, “and you’re at the center of it all, Micah. Thank you.” Micah smiled his wonderful smile and thanked me for coming back to his shop, and we wished each other good days.
I wandered down to Marine Park from the cafe. A couple coming out of the park told me that they’d been watching a fledgling osprey learning how to fly, and told me where I could find it, if it was still there. Alas, it was not. But I did see my old friend, Dan, and his pup, Jakada – it’s always good to see them. A rousing game of kayak polo was going on in the bay, too, and I stopped to take a couple photos.
I decided to check out the heron rookery and see how the chicks were coming along. The chicks have GROWN since I was last there. Every now and then one would stretch its wings – like it was preparing to fly. That was cool to see.
I went through the dog park, and through the woods for a while, and then, when it was time, back to my car.
I met new pup friends today: Elmer and Hoby and a sweet little blue-eyed pup whose name has slipped into the ether. I met new human friends, too – Luke (the blue-eyed pup’s human), and the couple that told me about the osprey; and about half a dozen people at the rookery who shared the heron magic with me. Bill was there, too, feeding peanuts to the crows he met along the way.
I always leave my walks in Bellingham with a smile on my face, feeling good about sharing this planet with such beautiful earthlings – two-footed, four-footed, feathered and furred.
Fairhaven was all green and sparkling this morning. Everything looked fresh and new. I found wonderful magic up there today.
I got up there early enough that I could get free parking for a couple hours. I parked near the Village Green and then – because the trail is still closed between Fairhaven and Taylor Dock – I hiked up a block and then over and down to the gateway to the boardwalk.
There was a gentleman sitting on a bench there with a big backpacking pack and a couple bags, and, as we watched a little bird flitting around under the gateway, we struck up conversation. I learned his name was Mountain Wiserd. He noticed my amber necklace and told me about the rocks and fossils he’s found on his travels. He told me about a piece of amber he’d once found that had a mosquito in it – the mosquito made the amber special, and a museum had bought it from him. He’d also found a fossilized tooth from some kind of dinosaur with a duck bill – and his find had led scientists to the site, where they’d found a whole skeleton, as well as a prehistoric nest.
Mountain asked me if I could buy him a coffee and some food. I told him sure, and we walked together down the boardwalk and to Wood’s Coffee shop in Boulevard park, where I bought Mountain a coffee and a sandwich, and bought myself a lavender green iced tea. We hugged and parted there – Mountain to go to the second floor of Wood’s to eat his sandwich, and me to continue on my walk.
As I was beginning my walk back to the boardwalk, I saw that the new picnic table that’s been roped off while the baby grass grows around it, is now officially available for use. I’ve long been awaiting my inaugural use of the table, and headed that way. Two of the maintenance crew sprucing up the park were standing nearby, and I told them how excited I was to finally use the picnic table. I asked them if I could take a picture – “I’m a Boomer, so this will probably end up on Facebook.” And they laughed and graciously agreed to let me take their photo. I asked them their names – Kyle and Armando – and introduced myself to them. “I am a Boomer AND I’m named Karen.” They started laughing, and posed for me in front of the picnic table.
I settled into the picnic table with my tea and scrolled through the notifications on my phone. I could hear Kyle and Armando chatting in the background, and at one point I heard Armando tell Kyle that “Leo” was his brother. I perked up when I heard Leo’s name. Leo is the man who keeps Boulevard Park and the Village Green clean and functioning. I told Armando that I’d just seen Leo getting the restrooms above Taylor Dock ready for a new day, and I told him that Leo is one of my favorite Bellingham people.
After I’d sat at the picnic table for a bit, I got back onto the boardwalk and headed back to Fairhaven. I met little Charlie pup and gave him a pet, and my old friend, Dan, appeared with Jakada pup. Dan and I hugged and wished each other a good day, and I went on up the ramp from Taylor Dock, up a block to by-pass the trail closure, and back down to my car.
My entire walk I felt like I was enclosed in this peaceful bubble of Love – greeting Leo, meeting Mountain Wiserd, chatting with Armando and Kyle, giving sweet Charlie pup a pet, and running into Dan and Jakada.
I’m so grateful for these reminders from the Cosmos that the world is still a beautiful place.
I just have to share this quick glimmer I experienced today in Fred Meyer’s. I put myself in line behind a little family – a mother, a girl of grade school age, and a little boy sitting in the seat in the shopping cart. The little boy was shaking a tube of candy and making it rattle, and he was having such fun with that, I found myself grinning as I watched him. I asked him how old he was – and I held up two fingers and then three – “Two? Three?” He held up three fingers in response, and said, “Three.” I told him my granddaughter was going to be three in a couple months, too. The little boy’s mother turned around and smiled at me then. She knew she was looking at a grandma.
I asked the little girl if she was a big sister, and she smiled and nodded her head. I told her I was a big sister, too – I have two little brothers, and I know what it means to be the “big sister.” I told her I could tell she was a good big sister, and she smiled.
The mother and daughter talked in Spanish for a moment, then I saw the little girl get out her own wallet. The mother had already paid for her groceries, but now the little girl was going to pay herself for her own art supplies. Her mother patiently helped her count out the money – one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten – the total for the purchase had been $9.93 – so now the mother and daughter counted out three pennies, so that the little girl would get a dime back. They carefully put the cash and pennies in the cashier’s hand, and the cashier smiled and placed a dime back in the little girl’s hand.
And I can’t even tell you what there was about this exchange that so touched me, but I found myself tearing up at the sweetness of it.
I drove from my home near Bellingham down to Olympia to visit with my FIFTH GRADE TEACHER (!!!) and two of my fifth grade classmates – people I’ve known for almost 60 years, but only reconnected with seven years ago. We hadn’t seen each other in the person since our visit with each other back in 2019 – separated by seven years that included the death of my dad, the death of Sue’s mom, Susan’s marriage to Sam, a new granddaughter for me, and a world-changing pandemic.
And oh! It was so good to be with my grade school people again!
I got to Olympia about an hour early, and thought I’d check out the Olympia Farmer’s Market. I met Talbot, who was selling cool artsy candles, and who, I learned, was a friend of one of my Bellingham friends. (I love these connections!) I bought one of his candles – a little snail – which I plan to light only sparingly. It’s too beautiful to let it melt away.
When I got done exploring the Farmers Market, I gave a call to my brother, Dave, who lives in Olympia. I hadn’t called him before because I’d assumed he’d be doing some ultra marathon running thing this Memorial weekend – but, when he picked up, he told me he’d just finished up shopping downtown and could meet me at the Farmers Market in, like, five minutes! So not only did I get to see my old fifth grade teacher and friends, but I got to have a quick visit with my “little” bro, too! (He suggested I stand on a rock for our picture because he is, like, a foot taller than me.)
A couple of fun people things I have to share:
When I got to Lacey, I exited to make a stop at the Safeway for a mocha and a restroom break. Something happened to me there that I don’t think has ever happened to me before – I stepped out of the women’s restroom at the exact moment a bearded and “flanneled” man of about 40 stepped out of the men’s restroom opposite. We looked at each other and spontaneously grinned. It was one of those awkward moments where you find out if someone has a sense of humor or not. He had a sense of humor. I really appreciated that grin.
I’d parked my car at the Farmer’s Market. When I got back to my car after my visit with my friends, a young family had just arrived at their car, too. I asked the father if I could get back on the freeway by going that direction, and I pointed east. He smiled and came over to me with his phone. He opened up a map on his phone and showed me what route he was going to take to get back on I-5. He was kind and helpful and treated me exactly as I hope my sons treat other lost women of a certain age. I shook his hand and thanked him, and asked his name. He told me he was Maurice. He asked my name and I gave my standard line, “I am, of course, Karen” and he started laughing.
I’d found an old Simon and Garfunkle CD before I’d left home this morning, and now I listened to it on my drive back to Skagit County. “Bridge Over Troubled Water” got me through the traffic jam in Seattle. Simon and Garfunkle’s magic still works!
P.S. Do you see the watercolor in the group photo? That was a painting Dad gave to Sue Lyon’s mom years ago, and Sue gifted it back to me yesterday – she thought it should be reunited with my family. That really touched me.
Here’s where I am right now, she said. I need a reason to go on. Does anything I do or say or write make any difference, or fix what’s wrong?
Platitudes and preaching, sermons and lectures from the “experts” – aren’t helping or healing or making anything better.
Why am I here? she asked. The age-old question. I see cruelty, selfishness, greed, hate going unchecked. I see evil rewarded, and true heroes unsupported, and the unfairness of it is killing me.
I see and hear people who I thought were my friends saying the most hateful things – condoning murder and torture – with faces that show no remorse, or recognition of the rot of civilization.
I feel like I’m in the land of the walking dead, she said, like the zombies are already here among us, with their bland and placid faces reciting the lies they’ve been fed.
I feel hopeless, she said. Hopeless and helpless, mourning the loss of decency, and kindness, of honesty and intelligence and grace. I need a reason to go on, she said.
And the Cosmos answered: Love.
-Karen Molenaar Terrell
“There is a large class of thinkers whose bigotry and conceit twist every fact to suit themselves. Their creed teaches belief in a mysterious, supernatural God, and in a natural, all-powerful devil. Another class, still more unfortunate, are so depraved that they appear to be innocent. They utter a falsehood, while looking you blandly in the face, and they never fail to stab their benefactor in the back. A third class of thinkers build with solid masonry. They are sincere, generous, noble, and are therefore open to the approach and recognition of Truth.” -Mary Baker Eddy, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, p. 450
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.
Adventures of the Madcap Christian Scientist 