Waterfalls: a window to the divine. By the way, Oregonians pronounce their state as ‘orkin’. Don’t ask me why. Like ‘pair’ of Pierre, North Dakota. Des Moines is ‘da moin’ but Des Plaines is ‘des planes’. ‘Lou-a-vul’ for Louisville, although no one pronounces the ‘s’. Anyway, you are forewarned. What is so fascinating about waterfalls? The sense of abandon as water dives into a misty pool, sometimes catapulting among rock structures? The unbridled sound? The visual display of

Morro Rock. Truly impressive and fun to explore the beach when the tide is low. There was a time when travel planning involved writing to Chambers of Commerce and consulting dated travel books from the library, perhaps a visit to AAA. Our recent three-week road trip up the California-Oregon coast, over to Portland then home through Boise, taxed me with weeks of online research, sifting through a plethora (I like that word) of subjective information, knotting my aging brain. I

Look carefully; you can glimpse Mount Hood Waiting for the pink hop-on hop-off trolley in Portland, Oregon, I initiated a conversation with another visitor. She was from New Jersey and confessed to having traveled extensively. Curious, I asked for her opinion of Portland. It has some beauty. But I’ve seen beautiful. Yes, I thought. I too have seen beautiful. Portland has pockets of beauty, but nothing wowed me. Am I becoming inured to modest attractions? Had views of the coa

I'm sure this didn't take 28 years to build. When William Randolph Hearst became too old to sleep in a tent, he commissioned female architect Julia Morgan to design a modest home on the site of Hearst’s childhood camping trips with his father in San Simeon. The project, expected to take no more than two years, evolved into a behemoth requiring twenty-eight years of work for the talented architect and is now a California state park thanks to the messed-up heirs who wanted noth

Fake but delightful. With time to explore, Mike and I ventured over to the Danish enclave of Solvang. came to fame thanks to the movie “Sideways”, a movie I watched many times, suffering a headache as I followed the neurotic alcoholic played by Paul Giamatti consuming too many bottles of wine while he searched for a way out of his self-imposed rut of a life. The horse-drawn trolley tour was down due to its driver recovering from surgery. (My mother’s voice: You mean in all o

No lack of sea lions and seals. Looking for a nice town with a great beach? Ventura, California seems to be it. Mike and I started our coast drive in Ventura for two reasons: it was within a day’s drive from home, and no one recommends it. One for out-of-the-way places, I chose Ventura. Ventura, often paired with Oxnard, lies approximately 60 miles north of Los Angeles. Because the state of California has secured most of the coastline for preservation and public access, beach

Awe-ful beauty of the California Central Coast. It’s July. Time to get out of Phoenix. Mike and I set forth on an extended road trip, leaving 112o+ in Peoria in search of cooler temps and views of water. Thankfully, the state of California has done a good job of securing the coast for conservation and public use, allowing us easy access to the coast. We picked up California Highway 1 in Ventura about which I will write more extensively in another post. Avoiding Highway 101, w

Aren't these puffins adorable? We didn't see any. “The sky is large and bright, but there is an ominousness; a sense that this is not a place to relax, but to feel energized by the dynamic forces of the mountains and rivers.” — The Raven’s Nest: An Icelandic Journey Through Light and Darkness by Sarah Thomas My friend Nancy noted that I had posted no blogs about Iceland during my recent travels. Being acknowledged even for an absence is an honor. So here goes: I would pass u

Not us, but you get the idea. Miraculously, for the second time within a year, the entire Milton Pfeiff clan came together. We were on the dance floor, jiving the night away, in our long gowns and dark suits, atypical for the Pfeiffs but honoring the request of the lovely bride who was joining our family. Many of us will wear the same clothing to next year’s wedding, saving the photographer time, not needing to repeat photos. Our mother’s presence was felt. In life, Gerry wav

Not rose colored, are my new eye lenses. I underwent my second cataract removal and toric lens placement a few days ago. For the past two weeks, following the initial left eye correction, one eye saw the world as bright white, the other as if dusted in an off-shade of yellow. Wearing my glasses, my left vision was clear, the right fuzzy. Without glasses, it was reversed. My brain bounced around trying to decipher the world. Now all is blue. Not bright blue. Clean blue. And al

How Do You Really Feel About Your Loved Ones? Ready to write? It was a party, complete with appetizers, wine and beer. About a dozen friends relaxed in our living room on a Sunday afternoon to talk about the end of life. My friend Karen from Camino del Sol Funeral Chapel and Crematorium suggested the get-together to encourage people to plan for their demise. What surprised all of us was the number of questions leading to a two-hour discussion. It is puzzling that people refus

Perhaps we should have a cake for every first. As a self-proclaimed writer, I spend much time thinking, referred to in the industry as lolling about or procrastinating, among other terms. This time leads to deep insights including this week’s: life is a series of firsts. We celebrate the ones that appear early: first tooth, first word, first step, first day of school, first date, first job. Those are the promises of growth and progress. The firsts appearing in the second half

Day Four: the door remains closed. Three days. That is how many consecutive days I can get myself up and out of the house in the morning before I spin a cocoon. I awaken early, sip coffee, play a few games, finish the chapter or video cut short by slumber the previous evening. Then I dress and head out to the gym for exercise or yoga if my Beauties promise to join me for coffee afterwards. If not, I can easily talk myself out of going anywhere. But the fourth day is almost im

Reach out before it is too late. My heart wavers between the joy of life and the sorrow of death. The leaves on the orange tree outside my shed are bright green. A few oranges remain caught in the tangle of limbs high in the tree. The breeze wraps me in a comforting hug. Flowering bushes line our yard which is a mixture of green and brown. Anything green, we call grass. The bougainvillea is bright pink, balancing the pale colors of the oleander. I am listening to music, impri

Happy see see the binding facing out. Sometimes I just need a break. Like when I prepare music for a program, drilling fingerings and timings so they sound natural to the listener, hiding the effort required, I turn to a piece I know well or improvise with no expectations, letting my hands do the work and my ears revel in the sound, to relax my brain. This piece is my writing break. I’ve been working on essays requiring complex thought, the gray cells churning and, I’m convin

What a parent sees when their son goes off to college. Mike and I took a drive to Flagstaff last Thursday. It was a beautiful day to head north, staying ahead of the summer heat pushing to explode. The dry pines testified to the drought. The snow on the mountain peaks assured us that there is water somewhere. It was a turnaround trip, up and back. An unfamiliar young man rode in the back seat. He had arrived at our house the night before, coming after a few days of spring bre

Should I or shouldn't I? That is always the question. In her pursuit of decluttering, a friend offered a stack of books to anyone who would take them. Among them was “Living With Less: How to Downsize to 100 Personal Possessions” by Mary Lambert. It brought to mind a book I read several years ago, “The 100 Thing Challenge: How I Got Rid Of Almost Everything, Remade My Life, And Regained My Soul” by Dave Bruno . It’s an interesting read. If you know me, you know I do not hoar

Shrove Tuesday: breakfast for dinner A death marked my week. With the words no thanks, Pancake Tuesday died. This British celebration has been unique to our American family for the past 16 years. On Shrove Tuesday, I cook up a large batch of pancakes to lead the boys and their friends in games such as pancake toss, pancake run, and pancake eating. The dog enjoys a feast of hotcakes lost to the ground. The winner receives a certificate, photos are taken and shared over a plat

Not exactly my typical audience. It greets me whenever I pick up my phone or open by iPad to read or check messages. Bad news. Often, usually? supplemented by the picture of the orange menace. There are days that I have difficulty getting out of my robe and slippers to do more than read or watch Netflix. The healing power of commitment. I have a gig booked. Yes, a gig. At the assisted living facility where Misha works. I am on the assisted living circuit. With playlist establ

Bane or blessing? I was in awe as I read my aunt’s journal in which she recounts growing up on a farm in Iowa in the early 1900s. These people worked hard but had time for education, music lessons, and social events. As I battled the internet, unable to connect to research and online tools, anxiety and frustration grew until I gave in and transported my equipment indoors. I continued working hard, falling into Google rabbit holes, my keystrokes serving as a machete as I hacke