Let the day begin…rituals, routines, rhythms, mundane, necessary, daily, wander, gather, realign, follow the path, find your way in, find your way through, no need to find your way out; it will appear–be apparent, it might look like a turn, a storm, a peaceful passage, a long journey or just an obvious, clear ending. (excerpt from my journal)

I left a part of my heart in Alaska. Looking through the photos we took actually hurts. In a good way. I miss those days of discovery and being immersed in another world.

We’ve been home since September, quickly jumping into home improvements, catching up with family and friends, preparing for the holidays, traveling for Thanksgiving, coming home again, staying healthy, and beginning the job hunt for Les.

In the meantime, I’ve been getting ready for souldare classes 2022, and I took a part time job at our community center. I really like interacting with patrons, co-workers and being out and about. With the flurry of activity, I carve out time for my own creative pursuits, making collages and writing in my journal. This morning, as I sit drinking coffee and mulling over the day ahead, I notice my tattoo, which is the word: “write” with a hook attached.

What should I write? Why do I neglect publishing my writing? Does it really have to be so complex? Maybe I already wrote my book. Maybe the blog is enough. Who knows?

In writing class on Monday, I told the participants that writing in a journal can be a place to generate ideas and collect inspiration. Raw material. We played with words by using a word association exercise. Write 8-10 random words in a column. Cover those words with a sheet of paper. Reveal one word at a time and write an associated word next to it. When we finished, I invited anyone who wanted to read their words out loud. They read them in pairs down through their list. I made the observation, and encouraged them that there could be a seed of a poem in those word pairs. It was a fun discovery.

Writing does generate ideas. We can collect inspiration in our journals. Maybe writing in my journal is enough. Maybe encouraging others to use a journal for self-discovery is my mission. Maybe writing leads to telling stories.

We did another prompt. What if you met a person you admire in an elevator? What would you ask them? I set the timer for three minutes. Some started writing immediately and others seemed stuck. I jokingly, but honestly said, “It might take the whole three minutes to figure out who you admire.” We laughed together.

I chose Maya Angelou, because I do admire her. And because a friend had shared a quote of hers with me, and we contemplated it in class.

“You can’t use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have.”

Maya Angelou

In my imagined dialogue on the elevator with Maya Angelou, I did most of the talking. She smiled and nodded at me. Just before I got off, after I had told her that I admired her for telling her story, she said to me, “Tell your story, too.” Maybe that’s why I want to write; I have a story to tell. It might be fiction. It might be short. It might be in the form of a play. It might be memoir. Who knows? But my tattoo, which took me many years to make sure it was really what I wanted, reminds me at the core of my being, the word “write” inspires me.

GOD made my life complete when I placed all the pieces before him. When I got my act together, he gave me a fresh start. Now I’m alert to God’s ways; I don’t take God for granted. Every day I review the ways he works; I try not to miss a trick. I feel put back together, and I’m watching my step. God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes.

Psalm 18:20-24 (The Message)

We spent the week of Thanksgiving making memories, eating well and hanging out with family in California. Before we left for the holiday, I gathered my December creative practices into one volume, plus all the other ephemera and found items I’ve been collecting. My cozy journal is waiting for me to create vignettes, follow online challenges at my leisure and to blog or record its journey whichever way I choose.

As I prepared, I felt pressure and stress. Then slowly as the pieces came together, I paused and asked myself a searching question: “Why December Daily?” My first answer was “I don’t know.” Then I thought maybe because it’s fun and a way to connect with other creators online. Finally a small, quiet voice whispered to my soul, “because it’s an invitation.” Oh…yes! And so I invited myself to take it easy, have fun and gather and meander and enjoy December in ways that bring me (and possibly others, as I share) the joy, hope and peace of the season all wrapped up in the beautiful comfort of grace and rest.

What invitation do you sense this season?

“ Comfort, yes, comfort My people!”

Isaiah 40:1 NKJV

Kel’s Musings

It’s taken me three weeks to mull over what I wanted to say about our trip back to St. Louis, and our subsequent resettling into living in our home, after being away on such an epic adventure.

One thing I made myself promise before we even started boating was that the packing and unpacking had to be part of the fun. In order to sustain and enjoy a boating life, we had to realize that along with the adventures comes the nitty gritty truth that maintenance, cleaning and taking things off and on the boat are part of the whole package.

It could have been really easy on the trip home to get into a mindset of dread. Dread of cleaning off months of algae on the hull, the long drive home, sleeping on the boat in parking lots and just all the work that awaited us upon arriving back to our base camp in St. Louis. Instead, the word delight popped into my head, and I decided to delight in the tasks ahead, enjoying hanging out with friends and family along the way, and finding more souvenirs.

The cleaning of the boat hull took us most of a morning, but it was a nice sunny, comfortable day for doing it. The drive home had its highs and lows. The highs of seeing the landscape of northern California and the desolate, yet spectacular scenery through Nevada and Utah. I especially enjoyed seeing the Salt Flats.

We had a great visit with Kurtis and Christina, our kids in California, who we hadn’t seen for awhile. We ate good food, visited a cool local brewery, played board games, binge watched Smash and went to see a movie together.

Another highlight of driving through rural Missouri was discovering the “home of sliced bread” in Chillicothe. Highway 36 claims to be the route of American geniuses like Mark Twain, J.C. Penney, Walt Disney and the inventor of the bread slicing machine: Otto Frederick Rohwedder. After waking up from a restful night at the quiet Chillicothe Walmart parking lot, I asked Les if we could pick up some sliced bread for souvenirs. He agreed. At first the grocery store attendant directed me to the bread aisle, then he realized I wanted the loaves that had been especially made as souvenirs. They were small 1/4 loaves; I bought all four that were on the shelf. The delight on my families faces when I gave them their bread was priceless.

As we neared home on a Friday afternnon, I asked Les if he was up for having my extended family over for pizza. He agreed. We had to have dinner either way. I really missed everyone, and it was a blast to hang out and catch up. Before they joined us, we did unpack some things, and got reacquainted with our pets.

Everything has been unpacked from the boat, and we even have done some needed maintenance while the fall weather cooperates. I have deep cleaned the house, rearranged furniture, and painted some walls. Les and I also resealed our hard wood floor in the room where I offer art classes. To be honest, we got back and jumped right into the fray of living life in St. Louis.

Homecomings, going to see a play, eating out, visiting friends and family, and all the usual routines on top of that have kept us occupied. We really haven’t even begun to unpack all the moments, memories and emotions of being away for an extended time.

We’re having Les’ family over this weekend to share stories and photos from Alaska. I think we’ll be unpacking Alaska for quite some time, with the ever present hope of returning someday for another adventure.

Les’ Notes

We spent a few days cleaning and packing up in Everett, Washington along with a couple side trips to visit friends.

Thanks so much to Tom and Susan Elliott for watching over the truck and trailer for the last three months. We had a fun visit with Tom, Susan, and Tom’s parents Monday evening. When we returned to the boat after dark three seals had hauled out onto the dock before our slip. They sort of growled at us and weren’t eager to move.  We walked slowly around them, but they were not nearly as cute as during the daytime. 

After loading the boat Tuesday morning, we spent a little over an hour scrubbing almost a month’s worth of growth off the hull before hitting the road.

We took an indirect route home via Woodland, California to visit our son and daughter-in-law for a few days. From there we elected to veer off I-80 past Reno and take US-50 through Nevada. “The Loneliest Road” is stark, beautiful, and not entirely lonely. We spent the night in Eureka and took Nevada Highway 93 north at Ely, from which we rejoined I-80 to retrace the route back to St. Louis.

One near miss: In Eureka, NV, I noticed that both starboard trailer tires were very unevenly worn. From Ely I called a few tire shops around Salt Lake City. Discount Tire in West Valley City (west side of SLC) had two Goodyear Endurance tires in the right size. We arrived there at 4:30pm and were on the road with two new tires by 6:30.

Other stops on the way home were Walmart in Evanston, WY, Cabelas’s Campground in Sidney, NE, and Walmart in Chillicothe, MO. We needed to plug in and charge the batteries every other night to keep the refrigerator running for our entire drive home. You see, Kel, collected bergies from the Margerie, Johns Hopkins, Reid, and Le Conte Glaciers as souvenirs and gifts. The small freezer section remained cold enough and all survived intact.

Final Stats for the geeks:

Total Boat miles: 3237

Total motor hours: 404

Fuel purchased: 1070 gallons (actual fuel used is at least 1130, since we haven’t refilled)

Overall statute miles per gallon: 2.86

Miles driven: 5314

Fuel used: 537 gallons

Cumulative mpg: 9.9

We truly enjoyed sharing our trip with you virtually this summer. Thank you again for all the kind words and affirmations that this truly was an experience of a lifetime. Come back for other stories, some about everyday life and also some fiction that is brewing in Kel’s ever percolating imagination.

^1-10 Hallelujah!
I give thanks to God with everything I’ve got—
Wherever good people gather, and in the congregation.
God’s works are so great, worth
A lifetime of study—endless enjoyment!
Splendor and beauty mark his craft;
His generosity never gives out.
His miracles are his memorial—
This God of Grace, this God of Love.

excerpt from Psalm 111 (The Message)

The following is written by Kel Rohlf using third person perspective:

Day 100: Final entry. Les and Kel Rohlf moored at Port of Everett on September 10th, 2021 and woke up on their boat on September 11th, 2021. Aware that it was twenty years after a national tragedy AND their 100th day away from home. Very aware of the gifts and privilege they have experienced day in and day out.

Kel sought and found many souvenirs on their journey, always with Les’ caveat in mind: “You can get it if you have a space to stow it.” Kel is very creative.

Before embarking on their adventure she purposely packed fewer items than usual. For instance, she only brought a dictionary, a bird guide book, a book of poems and a Bible. Along the way she collected other books, some to collect, some to read and some to transform into journals.

As part of the routine they had developed on their trip, Les kept notes and Kel rambled on about one aspect or another regarding their experience. She usually read Les’ notes, then composed her thoughts. Yesterday she read his description of the waves as they crossed the open waters of Cattle Pass and the Strait of Juan de Fuca. He wrote, “The waves were not too high, but were confused as we made the transition.” His descriptive choice of confused waves caught her attention.

She knew what he meant because she was rocked by those waves as they cruised along. The word confused intrigued her enough to pull out her dictionary. The dictionary sheds this light on the word: “unable to think clearly, bewildered, lacking order, jumbled.” Its roots in Latin offer this layer of meaning: “mingle together, mix up,” which evolved into the word confound.

Very aware of how her sorrow at the end of their journey mingled with her great joy of having experienced it, she felt both gratitude and a keen ache for more. She also felt more than confusion regarding the griefs recently poured over those close to her. And even the pain of strangers, more than bewildered her, as sense of hope burbled up, despite the brokenness.

She tried to bury the memory of twenty years ago. She worked hard cleaning to assuage the pain and helplessness she felt. Weary from the hard work of cleaning and preparing the boat to take it home soon, Les asked what she wanted to do for dinner. A sub sandwich sounds good, she offered. Les found a local place, and with less than 30 minutes until it closed, they drove to the shop, got confused by the directions and finally parked with 5 minutes to spare. As they walked up to the door, a man, who seemed to be the owner, looked to be closing up early. He was. Their faces must have looked hungry. The man said, “You hungry. I’ll make you a sandwich. It’s okay, you come in.” They gratefully accepted.

As he took their order, and shuffled around his shop, he remarked on how unbelievable that twenty years had past since 9-11. They nodded; Kel winced, because she had avoided the topic all day, and felt some remorse for not being more moved by the significant anniversary. As he slathered mayo on the rolls, sliced fresh deli meat and offered them chips and soda as part of his meal deal, he began to share his story.

He came to America 46 years ago, and had his sub shop for 36 years now. He pointed to a laminated newspaper clipping on a table, remarking that his shop was the longest lived small business in Everett. He wrapped their sandwiches and told them he was from China. They didn’t have to ask why he left, he volunteered the reason.

To give them background to his journey to America, he started with a history quiz of sorts. It was the early 70s, and a U.S. President opened relations with China, making him aware of opportunities not considered before. He paused for the quiz, do you know your U.S. President who did this? Kel quickly answered Nixon. He was impressed, telling her most people didn’t know. Maybe he was kidding or maybe he was applauding her knowledge, she wasn’t quite sure.

He placed their sandwiches in a bag, and finished with a little more information on how he got here. With a dramatic pause and the incredulous memory of it, he told them, he and three friends swam from China to Hong Kong to escape Mao’s Cultural Revolution.

Kel asked him his name, as he handed them the bag. He answered, Wai, but everyone here calls me “Sub Man.” She smiled and thanked him once again for the sandwiches. As they walked back to their truck, Kel found it hard to express her feelings.

The Sub Man made them sandwiches for their hunger, and refreshed their appetite for hope in a world that seems so famished for it these days.

To read more about Wai Eng, the Sub Man click here.

Know this: God is God, and God, God.
He made us; we didn’t make him.
We’re his people, his well-tended sheep.

Enter with the password: “Thank you!”
Make yourselves at home, talking praise.
Thank him. Worship him.

Psalm 100:2-3 (The Message)