Ancient Egyptians believed that upon death they would be asked two questions and their answers would determine whether they could continue their journey in the afterlife.  
The first question was, "Did you bring joy?"  
The second was, "Did you find joy?"

Sunday, June 29, 2008


Today is the day. The day I finally go home to Seattle, the house, the pets, the wonderful friends and roommates, bills, work, an overgrown garden, driving, my own bed.

I have been in New York City for the last five days, hanging out with family, in a city I know. So, it is like I have still been traveling, but not, home, but not HOME. It feels a little bit like I have been re-entering the atmosphere gradually, re-acclimatizing myself to the familiar, fighting and reveling in the pull of gravity, i.e. easy access to the internet and long non-international calling rates calls to friends.

So much happened on the journey of the last 10 or so weeks that I haven't been able to share with you yet, but I think I have conveyed the truly miraculous wonder and daily experience of having my heart opened more and more by the beauty and wisdom of this Earth and the people who live on it. This trip was everything I wanted it to be. It was expansive and expanding. And I go home tonight feeling as if the work that needed to be done, the work that called me to travel at this time and to those places was done.

It was easy work.

Re-entry to the everyday of "normal" life, that's the challenge. Keeping the heart and mind open and expansive amidst the people and places I THINK I know, is, perhaps, even greater work. And by "work" I mean, "privilege" and "joy", as well as, an endeavor to be diligent in pursuing. I don't expect this to be "hard" work, but I know that it requires presence and stillness and curiosity. It takes the courage to approach the daily existence I left behind with the same sense of adventure and joy as I approached the world on my European trip, and without preconceived notions of what my daily life is, who the players are. Every friend, aquaintance, co-worker I encounter at home deserves to be met with the same curiosity I afforded strangers on my trip. Each day, deserves the same wonder. It is my hope that I can stand in the kitchen of my house, or the classroom I will teach in and say with the same sense of awe that I held in my heart while standing in the coliseum in Rome, "I can't believe I am standing here. How amazing. How lucky!"

Thursday, June 26, 2008

Some Statistics

Well, while I continue to struggle with technology, unable to upload photos until I get back to Seattle it seems, I thought I'd share a few interesting numbers from my trip.

Countries Visited: 6
Towns/Cities Visited: 36, give or take a few little villages I passed through
Beds slept in: 26
Types of Shower Faucets: At least 20, who knew there could be so many ways of turning on water and making it come out of a shower head.

Modes of Transportation that got me from one town to the next....doesn't include inner city stuff:

Planes: 6
Buses: 19
Trains: 25
Ferry Boats: 5
Tour Buses: 2

Pairs of shoes that had to be replaced: 2

Numbers of emergency pedicures, that made it possible to be in close proximity to anyone else: 1, should have been 2
(and by "close proximity", I mean in the same room, nothing more....don't get any funny ideas now)

Suitcases that had to be replaced: 1

Digital Cameras that had to be replaced: 1

Number of calls home: 3

Number of different keyboards I had to try and figure out because the keys get all moved around: 4

Number of times relative strangers, if not outright strangers, proclaimed their love for me: Well I was in Italy 10 days, so lets say: 25

Acts of extreme Rudeness (someone elses, not mine): Well, I was in Italy 10 days.....Just kidding: I'd say, approximately 12

Acts of extreme Rudeness, my own: 2 that I am aware of.

Acts of Extreme Kindness (someone elses, not mine): At least 47.

Small but brilliant acts of kindness: Hundreds

Number of times I said outloud, usually to myself, "I can't believe I am here": 5

Number of times I shed tears because I had realized "I was here": at least 15

Number of miracles personally witnessed by me: 55ish, unless you count the simple fact that the sun rises everyday and things like that, then: countless

Days I couldn't believe my good fortune: 70

Days I wanted to go home; 0

Days I was sad that my trip was over and it was time to go home: 0

Sunday, June 22, 2008

Random Things I Love About the United Kingdom

1. Many places don't have top sheets on the beds...and I mean nice places, with great down comforters and feather beds. The fact that they don't bother with top sheets makes me feel better, because I always put one on my bed, but it disappears immediately, and I always think, "why do I bother, I should just go without a top sheet." Now that I know the English and Scots and Welsh go without their top sheets, I'm gonna start going without.

2. They have a tv program here called something like: Trees That Made Britain. It's all about cool trees and why they are so important to this country. It treats trees like celebrities. There is nothing wrong with a country that elevates it's trees to star status. Except maybe what this guy is talking about....

3. There is this big-wig politician here named David Davis, conservative as far as I can follow, who just resigned his post as a way of protesting the way the governments seems to be systematically taking away the civil liberties of, well, everyone. This happened the same day I said to myself, "geez, there are CCTV cameras everywhere in England." And they are, almost everywhere you go there are cameras watching you. That's just one little part of it, it's a wee bit 1984 around here. So this guy resigned to force a new election, where he will run again in hopes of proving that his constituents are as fed up with the governments antics as he is. You can read more about it here. Why can't I imagine that happening at home?

4. Scones.

5. The accents. It's like a symphony of music everywhere I go. I've begun to get a feel for what accent belongs to which part of the country, which is exciting. Though people from Bristol and people from Ireland sound strangely similar....

6. It's green everywhere. Okay, not everywhere. The cities can, some of them, feel like strange black holes where the color green has been banned. But maybe that is because there is so much green everywhere else.

7. I was in a pub the other day being flirted up by the five guys who were having a wee tipple and had invited me in as I walked by. They were perfectly harmless and very funny and among them there was a guy who worked on the ferry, two fishermen, one builder, and the last was a world class weaver. He weaves cloth that is sold all over the world ("Very top drawer stuff." imagine that being said with a Nottingham accent, which means the "r"s become "w"s.) That's just not a combination of blokes I think I'm likely to meet anywhere else.

8. From almost everyplace I've been, except the big cities, I can get up, walk out my door and walk through stunning fields or mountains or right near the seashore. There are trails that link all the towns, whether you have to climb over a mountain or through a field full of sheep poo (speaking of...why the tourism board doesn't hand out complementary boots to all visitors is lost on me), you can walk from anywhere to anywhere thanks to the handy dandy signposts that guide you through wilderness and forest.

9. The pet names total strangers have called me: love, my love, duck, duckie, pet. Better watch out, I'm bringing that back with me. Hope that's okay with you, eh Duck?

10. Digestives....thank goodness I don't know where they sell these yummy little biscuits at home. These after dinner-what-we-would-call-cookies can be plain, or covered in chocolate (milk, white or dark), some have caramel, I'm sure there are other kinds, but I kinda got stuck on the Dark Chocolate ones and pretty much settled in right there. If you live in America and know where these little delicacies are to be found, DO NOT TELL ME!

Okay, I'm gonna go eat a digestive now.

Thursday, June 19, 2008

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

I want so much to tell you the story of Iona, of my time with... interaction with....what do you call it when an island almost literally speaks to you, when the Earth answers a call....I guess I'd say, my conversation with Iona.

But this story has visual aids that cannot be accessed on rented computers.

This story and you deserve the whole shebang.

So let me tell you this: The Earth Is Listening. The Earth Is Talking. All we have to do is remember how to speak the language. It is a romance language. It has everything to do with Love.

I assure you I have not gone off my rocker, but something so amazing has happened that I find it staggering to fact, when it happened I almost fell over, and had to stumble to a seat.

Enigmatic, Yes?

I am home in two weeks. Then all will be revealed.

Sunday, June 15, 2008

"Strange Travel Suggestions Are Like Dancing Lessons from God." Kurt Vonnegut

A while ago I received an email from a dear friend family friend, Judy. She told me I should go to a place called Iona off the coast of Scotland. She hasn't been there herself, but a friend goes there and has reported an intense spiritual energy and connection to the place. Somewhere in the haze of my memory, I seemed to have heard that somewhere else, and my guide book happens to say the same thing. So, following Kurt Vonnegut's implied advice I decided that I would make Iona a part of my trip. As it turned out through the twists and turns of scheduling from the road I was able to book two nights on the magical isle for this coming Tuesday and Wednesday. Fortuitously, these happen to be around the full moon, which seemed right. And they also happen to be very near the end of my trip, which seemed even more right.

After I booked Iona, I worked backwards and found someplace to stay on the island right across the water, The Isle of Mull, for the three nights before hand. That is where I am now. If I walked outside I could stare across the water at the beautiful Abbey on Iona, one of the many Christian churches erected prominently on old Pagan pilgrimage sites so that the church can show the world who they think is boss. That's okay though, spiritual energy, when it's really clicked on has no boundaries, no names, and we can all sit together and commune with it whether we are under a stone temple or sitting next to an oak tree by a well.

I have not gone across the water yet to Iona. I feel that I want to look at the island for a few days. I feel as if I am preparing myself. I want to take some time to journal and to remember this trip as it has been up till this point. Then I want to go across the water and step into what I feel will be one of those profound doorways from "what was" into "what will be". Don't ask me to explain that, it is just an intuition, I don't know what it means or what it will entail.

What I do know is that as I drove from the ferry dock that brought me to Mull to the little town I am staying in that houses the ferry terminal for Iona, my heart started to ache and open and tingle.

Then I got another strange travel suggestion. The innkeeper where I am staying, Jillian, said while holding a little pamphlet, "Well you should take this boat to Staffa while you are here." I didn't know anything about it, but I thought, why not, I have three days on Mull and not a lot to do. So, I went this morning.

I must go back to a third travel suggestion that three people gave me right at the start of my trip. They all said that I had to go to The Giant's Causeway when I was in Northern Ireland. That strange place is a mass of hexagonal rock formations that stick up out of the earth for miles around. The pictures of it look breathtaking. So when I was in Northern Ireland I kept trying to go. I got The Paperboys interested in going. We kept talking about it, but could not get there. At one point I thought about going by myself on a bus, but my suitcase prevented it.

So, I had to let The Giant's Causeway go. I was gracious and zen about it, but deep down, I was kind of disappointed. No, I was really disappointed. It was the one place on this whole trip that I'd really invested an interest in going to and I didn't make it.

So, today. I got on my little boat bound for Staffa. As we set off the Captain told us of the wildlife we would see and about the massive cave that Mendelssohn wrote a symphony about, but he mentioned nothing else remarkable about the island. And off we went.

As we neared Staffa I could hardly believe my eyes. Can you guess?

The whole island is made of the same geological, hexagonal formations as The Giant's Causeway!

I was stunned. I thought, "this can't be, there's only one place in the world with those formations, isn't that what all the guide books said.....? "

Then the ever-helpful captain came on the speakers again and told us that this island was made out of the same geographical formations as The Giant's Causeway in Northern Ireland.

It was confirmed....someone, something, somewhere was nudging me where I needed to go and I am so glad I listened, because at that moment I could feel how this whole trip has been a series of dancing lessons and somehow The Giant's Causeway, that particular hexagonal splendor of the Earth had simply sent me out in a spin and patiently waited for me to find my way back....not to the same place on the dance floor....but never-the-less, we made it in to each other's arms safely and with ease, as if I'd known the steps all along.

Friday, June 13, 2008

Reason to See the World Number 1012

To see how other countries do Television.

Yes, the BBC is infinitely more classy, less sensational when it comes to the news than it's US counterparts. But watch out when you watch the other stuff.

Just last night, while trying to chill out and make myself rest for a bit, I watched a documentary called, "Brother's and Sisters In Love." Fascinating. I've also seen more than I'd like to admit of a night time soap opera called Coronation Street. Bad...but oh, so good. It's the kind of show you can pick up and watch at any point and instantly know what is going on. Next time you are in the UK, check it out. You really can't miss it, cuz it is on almost every night, as a far as I can tell.

Then there are the quiz shows, countless variations. My favorite is the one where normal folks are pitted against celebrities and they compete doing all sorts of crazy stuff....kind of like fear factor, only there are only two contestants and one of them is famous. The episode I saw had Martina Navratilova vying for athletic supremacy against some giggly young jock girl. I stuck it out for one inane stunt where they had to balance on a very large disc, then rotate the disc by running on it without falling off. The person who completed the most rotations of the disc won that particular challenge. Martina did not win. Humiliating.

But my favorite show so far is one that has this real estate agent who picks houses out for people who want to move from the city to the country. She finds out what they are looking for, picks four properties that the people (and the audience) see via a cyber tour, then they choose two to go to personally. We follow them along while they critique and wiegh the pros and cons of each property "privately". Then they sit down with the agent and discuss which house they want to buy. They always say they are gonna make an offer. And then the post-script inevitably tells us, the viewers at home, that the buyer decided not to buy any of the houses we saw. Instead they fell in love with some mystery home, one we did not get introduced to. I do not get it. Where is the satisfaction for the viewer at home. We want to see house and buyer united. I've seen this show something like three times, and never do the buyers buy. Strange. That would never happen in the US.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Coming to the Surface

Something strange has been happening. As I traipse along, fairly merrily, through the British Isles visiting some pretty cosmic hots pots, my body and my mind seem to be wigging out just a little bit.

Though I haven't talked about it, my back started to give me trouble all the way back in Italy. I have been to two massage therapists, a Chinese acupuncturist, a blind back pain specialist, that I thought was going to be a chiropractor, and a physio...which is the UK way of saying, physical therapist. I cannot find a chiropractor. But this back pain, which really lives at the base of my neck seems to have a mind of it's own, sometimes responding brilliantly to therapy and calming down for a few days, other times it rages on, and then, quite unexpectedly it will just up and vanish for a few days or hours. Nothing that I do, or don't do, appears to make much difference to this neck strain's behavior.

That was the first thing. Later my body started having what you might call a rash...unseen, but felt, at the base of my spine. This little rash comes and goes, causing no distress, but making me aware that something is making it's way to the surface.

The most unnerving thing of all started happening while I was in Cornwall, after I had been to the Tor in Glastonbury. I haven't talked about this yet, and it deserves more time than I probably have now, but the mystical nature of some of the places, the lands that I have been communing with is one of the biggest reasons I am making this voyage. I didn't really understand that before, but it is becoming clearer everyday. And Glastonbury, where some believe Avalon lies shrouded in the mists and Camelot once stood, is an energetic hot spot that draws thousands of pilgrims each year. There, too, is the Chalice Well, said to hold healing powers. I drank from that well, sat with it, and then climbed the Tor, or hill, that seekers have been climbing for centuries.

The next day I went on to Cornwall, land of Morgaine, and, if the myths are to be believed, the place where King Arthur was born. This land, as I have said, spoke to me so loudly, so deeply. And as something ancient within me, stirred by the land, by the energy of so many pilgrims who had traveled to these places before began to resonate and wake up, my mind started to fight back.

Little digs, the way our little demon voices can, began to fly at me out of the blue. Self-doubts about all aspects of myself, my body, my creative abilities, my chance for love, all of it, started hurling themselves into my brain. It's as if the more I connect to something bigger, deeper, perhaps something more powerful which has shown me glimpses of the way I might focus my life and my light in years to come, all the fearful places in me are flooding to the surface, trying to unfocus me.

Fortunately, I have a lot of strength these days, willing me to walk towards the light and the life that is trying to show itself to me. For the most part, I have been able to dismiss the little voices with relatively little effort.

Though, occasionally, I have engaged in a bit of a wrestling match with the fear. Just yesterday this happened when I was getting dressed and all the old and experienced voices started telling me how bad my clothes fit me, telling me, as I waked down the streets of Edinburgh that I was old and invisible, basically attacking me at my weakest spot--my body. I had moments where my self-esteem would start to tumble like dominoes: first my body, then my acting...writing..., then my lovability. So quickly the tumbling can happen. I would then sort of puff myself up trying to make myself appear more powerful and bat at the feelings, ineffectually, creating a sort of shoving match inside. Ultimately, I tried inviting the negative feelings to go through me, as the self-help books tell ya to, I stopped fighting and tried living with the discomfort that comes from listening to the fear, instead of trying to pretend it isn't there.

Then today, I woke up, not feeling solid quite, but more comfortable in my skin than I did yesterday. However, my skin is looking a wee bit like a teenager lives in it. The rash is a little more visible.

I've had a couple of different naturopaths who have said that when the skin breaks out it is a good thing, it means the toxins are coming to the surface....releasing themselves from the body. This is what it feels like, like years of toxins, both of the body and the mind, are making their way to the surface. And I have a choice, I can let them go, finally, or I can continue to puff myself up, pretending they don't exist while they continue to poison me.

I am telling you all this in hopes that by writing about it I can speed up the letting go, the releasing of these voices, these fears that no longer serve me well. Hopefully by bringing these feelings into the written light, without shame or embarrassment, they will lose their hold on me. They will know that I have made my choice; I am no longer willing to spend my energy fighting the fears. I am ready to relax, let them in, and let them go.

Monday, June 9, 2008

Edinborough? Edinburough? oh, Edinburgh....

Well, after a taxi, three trains and a bus, I am about to get on a plane to Scotland. I tallied up how many buses, trains, etc, I have taken so far and I am up to 20 trains and 17 buses. That doesn't include inner-city stuff...just the major get-from-one-city/village-to another stuff. One thing I have learned on this trip is that the more you can go with the flow, the happier you will be. That's really a no brainer; everyone says it. But when you have to make 6 different connections with three different modes of travel, the only thing to do is take one step at a time, hope for the best, and enjoy the trip.

And let me tell you, talking to people along the way makes for some interesting times....just today I've met two missionaries from the church of latter day saints, one from California, the other from Calgary. While they gently tried to convert me to Mormonism, I gently tried to convince them that they should try Paganism.

I spoke with one guy on his way home from St. Ives to Liverpool (he came complete with the Beatles accent), who was trying to get over a girl, vowing to be back in St. Ives by next week (despite the girl being there) after he'd made a few bucks cleaning windows in Liverpool, and who says he is "always undone leavin' this place (St. Ives), cuz its quite spirituul".

I had a long conversation with a train driver who was on his way to his next assignment who lives in a thatch roof home, with another farm house on the french/Spanish boarder, who used to train people how to sail for the British Air Force. He has offered to take me sailing on the Cornish coast the next time I come this way. All the while that he spoke to me, a very strange woman in the seat in front of mine kept turning around and peering at me through the seats....was she trying to warn me that this man is a well known serial killer, or was she just jealous of his blue eyes and attentive nature.....

And just now, I spoke with a family on their way to Spain, for "holiday". The man had the thickest Bristol accent and before his wife and son joined him in the bar, he told me how he thought most people would like to be doing what I'm doing....traveling on my own.

I told him it is a mixed bag. And it is. There are moments I long for companionship, familier companionship. But today, the people I've met have been brilliant and left me feeling quite full up with company.

Now on to Scotland.

Thursday, June 5, 2008

Just In Case

In my post this morning I said that today would be the day that I confirm whether or not Tintagel should be the place that my ashes are scattered (in the very distant future). I will tell you more about the how and why I have reached the following conclusion later, but just in case, you should know that I do not want my ashes scattered on Tintagel Island. However, if they should come to rest, as much as anything can rest at sea, on the ocean off of the coast of Cornwall, my spirit would be happy, I have no doubt.

Now, everybody knock wood....three get back to what you were doing....

Reason to See the World Number 712

To discover that a notion you'd held onto since childhood about a place is nothing compared to the actual beauty of a place once you really go there.


I have finally arrived in Cornwall. I have wanted to arrive in Cornwall for a very very long time.

The first words spoken to me in Cornwall were these: Y'ar right, my love?

They were spoken to me by a taxi driver who was reading the bus schedule standing next to me, as I was also reading the bus schedule. I found it perplexing that he, a taxi driver, was reading the bus schedule. Turns out that he was figuring out how a couple of travelers might get to where they were going, without taking a taxi. Hows that for Cornish hospitality...the taxi driver helping the tourists to take the bus.

Even more mysterious was the way he said, "Y'ar right, my love?" It was so quiet and intimate that I didn't think he was speaking to me, even though I was the only other human there. So I asked him if he was speaking to me. He was. And I knew that I had already made a friend in Cornwall. Even though I got on a bus 20 minutes later, probably never to see him again.

But everyone here is like this, whether they were born and bred here, transplants or just visiting, like me. I swear, everyone has a twinkle in their eye and a warm thought in their heart.

The land itself if perfectly remarkable, as well. Remarkable and absolutely ordinary, in that it looks exactly as I imagined it would. And, Yes, I am in love with Cornwall.

If you are keeping track, I have fallen in love at least three times on this trip. My first love was Vernazza, in Italy. This was like meeting some exotic man, so unlike me, so passionate, yet relaxed. Like certain men I have known, I know that no matter where I go, I will never be able to completely shake off my passion for Vernazza. It calls to me and turns me on and makes me giddy. But I also don't completely trust it, the way you do with certain want them, but your not sure it's good for you to love them.

Then there is Wales. Wales, as I have said, was like going home. Also giddy, and completely unexpected. Everything, every moment in Wales felt somehow electric, as if I'd been plugged into a part of myself I'd long forgotten.

Now, Cornwall. I believe if you could look at the strata of my soul, the way geologists look at tall towering cliffs and see the ages and history of the land in the various layers of rock, Cornwall would be a deep, pulsing vein running throughout my energetic life. I belong here.

I am about to walk three hours along the Cornish coast to Tintagel, a place I've wanted to go as long as I can remember. Some believe King Arthur was born here. When I was young, very young, I wanted my ashes to be scattered on Tintagel's coast. Later, I thought that foolish, to want to be left somewhere I had not been, a place that belongs to fairy tales. Now, I suspect that that young intuitive pull, the desire to let this body rest somewhere so resonant with my spirit might have been a wise one. I shall see soon.

After Tintagel I will hike to a water fall that my Waiter last night informed me has healing powers. He said it won't be a big shiny gift, but it will leave me changed none the less. He also used the word so many have used in the last few days about Cornwall: Magic.

And it is. As tedious as it may be to say, I have once again discovered myself surrounded by magic. I send it home to all of you.

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Reason to See the World Number 9

Finding yourself standing someplace that you have read and dreamed about for years and hearing yourself say (outloud), "I'm here. I'm really here."

Monday, June 2, 2008


When I last left you, Jane and I had arrived at a little Tapas Delicatessen called Olivas. We were fairly hungry, but in good spirits. Though I think both of us were very conscious that this was going to be our last meal before Jane returned to London and home again. With that knowledge there was, I would conjecture on both parts, a good deal of sadness and also a bit of resolve to start thinking ahead towards what comes next...for me that was three weeks of traveling on my own...for her that was the sudden return to London and home again to work and good things there.

We walked into the Tapas bar and found a frazzled beautiful Colombian woman named Xiamena and her daughter Isabella, no customers, but bowls of beautifully marinated mushrooms on the two long communal tables. We asked if we could have a bite to eat and Xiamena immediately started apologizing in rapid broken English. After a bit of translating we discovered that Xiamena had been about to close up for the night when a party of 12 that was supposed to arrive the next night showed up a day early. Working alone and on a few hours of sleep, Xiamena asked the party to go away for 1/2 an hour and she set about trying to cook and decorate and generally work a miracle. That's when we walked in. She kindly informed us that there was no way she could cook for us, as she didn't know how she was going to cook for the Cotswold dozen that were due back in a minute. As I found myself wishing we could help her...Jane said, "Can we help you?"

Xiamena looked at her flabbergasted. "No," she said half heartedly.

I said, "Yes, let us help you. Jane is a waitress."

Well, after a bit of awe struck stuttering, Xiamena finally relented and let us help. She was absolutely beautiful in her acceptance...once she said Yes, she hesitated no longer and immediately started telling us what to do.

We sprung into action eagerly, donning aprons, pulling out glasses, chilling wine, chopping bread, slicing pepperoni on the professional meat slicer. Isabella helped out too, pointing out where Jane and I could find extra napkins, strawberries, that sort of thing. At one point, Jane was whizzing around the kitchen chopping bread, taking it out to the customers, pouring wine, while I was melting chocolate, dipping gooseberries, and Isabella was sprinkling the confections with coconut.

On one pass through the dining room one of the women said it was good of me to come in at short notice. I just smiled.

Later, Jane broke it to the patrons that we were actually tourists who just came in for dinner and ended up working. It took some convincing, but finally they believed her. When I came out from the kitchen they still thought I was a regular employee, so I had to convince them all over again that Jane's story was true.

"You're not really from America....not REALLY."

It was priceless.

Afterwards, Xiamena made Jane and I dinner and the three of us, with Isabella buzzing around us, drank wine and ate and laughed about the miraculous way the evening, and Jane's trip had ended. Instead of being sad that we were going to say goodbye the next day, Jane and I had had an evening unlike any other and ended her trip with a story that all involved will be telling for years to come.

Throughout the crazy night Xiamena was often muttering under her breath about what a gift it was that we had showed up and she kept thanking us. But it was I who felt like a gift had been dropped into my lap. As soon as she accepted our help, I realized how hungry I had been to be of use, to work, to share the common goal of making a gracious and happy event for someone else, not just myself or my small circle.

I have been learning so much on this trip about the daily ways we can all make the world better for the people we encounter, both through the souls who give me a bed for the night, or through the unexpected ways I find myself being of use as I walk through strange towns. There will be more on this later, when I get home and can process it. But needless to say, the extraordinary events in Painswick were massively educational and uplifting.

The next day, after Jane left I stopped by Olivas for a coffee and a bite to eat and ended up staying for a few hours and working again...making cappuccino and serving pastries. Those two days shall go down for me as two of the happiest days of my trip.