Late night gratitude notes

We had a wild last hurrah wild winter storm this weekend, so when I left to head downtown this morning I found myself trudging through more snow just when I thought the last of it had melted. After my morning dog-walking job I headed down to Young Folk & the Kettle Black for a tea date with a new friend who just got back from a whirlwind trip to Italy. One of the commitments I made to myself when I moved back to Prince Edward Island was that I would make extra effort to get to know new people, so today was my first effort in that direction! My friend Natasha told me the incredible story of her grandparents' escape from Nazi labour camps, and their journey across Europe and then migration to Canada. I am always blown away by the stories of people who by some miracle of life managed to survive those dark times and go on to create a new life full of so much joy in a new land.

This afternoon I migrated over to the public library to do some work for my social media clients. I am really excited about the work I am doing right now, and about the season ahead, and all the possibility that it brings to explore and grow and engage both with my clients and with their customers!

Later this afternoon I again migrated, this time to Timothy's Coffee Shop to brainstorm for a meeting I have with a new client tomorrow afternoon. Sitting in the window of Timothy's with the spring afternoon light flooding in over the page of my notebook and my hot cup of tea as I worked I felt intensely content to have some time to myself to reflect and come up with new ideas that I can share with my client tomorrow. It made me realize both how much I love my work, and how happy I am to be where I am doing what I am doing right now.

Later this afternoon I took Chloe, the dog I walk, for her second stroll of the day. Chloe is always full of so much joy. I do not know many other beings who express such complete and utter joy when they see me. Seeing her bounding across the living room floor and sliding to a halt at my feet every day makes me smile--every single time.

This evening I stopped by the apartment of a good friend, Sonjel. She and her husband recently moved back from Israel, and just moved into a new house this week. It is exciting to see how they are creating their new home -- the space they will inhabit for the next few years as they build a life on Prince Edward Island together. It is also exciting to see someone else doing what I hope to be doing too in the next two months....finding a new apartment or house for myself and creating a new home here on the island. Watching my friends settle into their new home I can feel my own yearning for a place to call my own rising steady from somewhere deep inside me.

This evening Sonjel and I walked to the Baha'i Centre for the Nineteen Day Feast together -- the gathering that marks the beginning of a new month. It was a lovely Feast with beautiful, uplifting readings, some great stories, and lovely social time after the formal portion of the evening. Sitting there listening to the voices of people who I love deeply recite such beautiful verses I felt something joyful surge in my chest. I feel so incredibly grateful to be part of a community that is so awesome. And I feel grateful to have a faith that is such a constant source of inspiration and joy.

I am home now, listening to the sound of wind outside and thinking about the remainder of the week, stretching out ahead of me. I cannot wait for the week ahead. For all the work and the moments of play with friends. But in this moment right now I cannot wait for sleep, and for dreams to carry me through the clear starry night.

How about you friends? What are you feeling grateful for today?

Where I hang my heart

Yesterday was Gratitude Monday. Unfortunately it was also the final hurrah for the virus that has been clinging to me for dear life for the last week, so I was not up for my regular blog entry.  Tonight, having enjoyed a delicious home-cooked supper and some gluten free chocolate chip cookies still hot and soft from the oven, I am in much better shape for blogging :-).

The home-cooked meal, the cookies, and the heavenly bed I am lying in as I type this entry are all thanks to my good friends Ann and Stephen, who are, at this point, really more family than friends. It has been dawning on me lately that someone, somewhere in my extended family must have done something very, very right at some point, the effects on which are for some reason unknown to me manifesting themselves in my life in the form of exceptionally good fortune in the friend department. I am certain that Ann and Stephen will be simply thrilled that I have chosen this photo of us to post. Fortunately I am equally certain that they will forgive me by tomorrow morning -- it isn't in their genes to be irritated long.

Since returning to PEI a number of my friends have had me sleeping in their homes so much that it really is a miracle that they haven't had a restraining order taken out against me yet. The friends in the photo above are two such people. Although I did, for the record, move into an apartment a few weeks ago, when I came down with the virus that I have been fighting for the past ten days, Ann and Stephen suggested that I come stay at their place for a few days until I was feeling better. Little did they know that I would still be here five days later. Still.... after five days of good food, a cozy bed, hot baths and lots of hot tea and sleep, I am finally feeling a lot better, and am planning on moving back to my current home tomorrow afternoon.

As I was walking back to Ann and Stephen's house yesterday afternoon that old saying "home is where you hang your heart" came to mind, and I realized that Prince Edward Island is home because of the exceptional people living here who have opened their hearts and homes to me. And then I realized that in reality exceptional people are not exceptional here at all. Since returning to the island everyone I meet has been exceptional. Strangers help me out or offer a kind word on a regular basis. The public bus driver worries when I am not on the bus. People give me discounts or do not charge me knowing that I am living on a tight budget until I find full time work. People offer rides when I am tired. Friends turn up to walk with me when I take the dog that I am currently walking as a job for her daily walk when they can tell I am not feeling well. Friends invite me over to supper. Friends help me get to the doctor. Someone offers me paid work for the day at the farmer's market. Friends invite me into their homes to give me the chance to rest and heal when I am sick. I am surrounded by so many exceptionally kind and loving people that it has become the norm.

Many people have asked me why I moved back to Prince Edward Island after having left two years ago. Many of my friends do not really understand how I could choose this seemingly remote island in the north Atlantic over the sunshine state of California. I love islands because they are small and tightly knit. Everyone knows everyone else. Because there are so few people, every single person is important to the health and well being of the community. This means a greater degree of responsibility  on the one hand, but also a greater sense of mutual support and recognition of interconnectedness on the other. It should be this way everywhere, and some day I am sure it will be. For my part I am just grateful to know what it means to belong to a place and community. To want to be an active, responsible, engaged member of this island family. To love and know, without having to ask, that the love is coming right back at me. And to be certain in my core that I have a place and a valuable role to play on this vast and infinitely beautiful planet earth.

First taste of Santo Domingo

The courtyard outside my hotel room in Santo Domingo

It has been an incredible last couple of weeks. So incredible that I am not entirely sure where to start. I think the best way is to do it in a series of short posts so that you get a taste of the richness of colour, culture, hard work, dust, humidity, heat…of the sweetness of the cacao and fresh pineapple and bananas. Of the sound of laughter and music.

I arrived in Santo Domingo on March 26^th at 9.30pm. It was a hot, humid night. The air was so heavy with moisture that it left a thin layer all over my skin and hair. Myself, Leo and Arielle were met at the airport by Raleigh International’s Costa Rican Country Director, Julian, and our medic for the trip, Carolyn. Leo was coming from southern California. I was coming from northern California, and Arielle was coming from New Hampshire. Julian and Carolyn ushered us out of the airport into the hot night. The smell of burning rubbish was pungent, and the air throbbed with loud music on every corner. Neon lights. Street vendors. Cars and buses and motorcycles darting every which-way. The raw smell of the ocean wafting in the open car window told me that we must be very close to the shore even though the sounds of rubber on asphalt, horns beeping, and music rhythmically pumping away obliterated the soft push and pull of waves up and down the beach.

We exited the “highway,” and the road followed the curve of the harbour, florescent lights flooding the bay, a giant cruise ship so enormous that made me feel like I had stepped into a chapter of Gulliver’s travels loomed, a solid white wall, above us. To the one side was the harbour. To the other, the thick, impenetrable wall of the old city of Santo Domingo. We drove through a gate, winding our way through narrow streets, between mopeds and parked cars, swerving to avoid women teetering in heels, their bosoms blossoming full and ripe out of low-scooped necklines. The small of cigarette smoke curled in through the window. Horns. As the car slowed in traffic, I caught glimpses of bar after bar, their ornate doors thrown open to the night, warm dim glow of light flooding out onto the cracked sidewalk. Inside they looked like caves filled with bare limbs. Limbs flopped into chairs around tables, hanging limply over the backs of chairs, around the dark bare shoulders of sweet smelling women. Limbs dancing rhythmically in and out of shadows that climbed the stone walls, then fell, sliding smoothly across the cool stone floors.

Just when I thought we would never arrive, the car pulled up outside the Beaterio. A refurbished Monastery, our hotel reminded me of something I might have expected to find in Barcelona. Stepping through a thick wooden door, I entered a room bathed in warm yellowish light. A number of the other participants were lounging around in a living-room type atrium. After introductions, we were ushered down a hallway into the kitchen. I pulled my heavy hiking boots off, my feet loving the cool rough stone floors. Bunches of ripe bananas hung from the ceiling. A platter of freshly cut pineapple and melon was sitting on the counter. Arielle, Leo and I, ravenous after a long day of travel, dug in – sweet pineapple juice dripping down our chins. We were all tired and a bit giddy, but also excited for what lay ahead.

Arielle and I were given the last room on the ground floor, which opened up onto a courtyard lush with palms and vines climbing up to the second story. Our bedroom, complete with two four poster beds, felt like a fairytale. Lying in bed, the blades of the ceiling fan spinning endlessly above us, agitating the heavy air around us, we talked about our lives back home. Our work. Our friendships. Relationships. We also talked about the day ahead. Exploring Santo Domingo. Getting to know everyone in the group better. I do not remember falling asleep. Just being woken by the sound of morning in the capital – the clatter of plates, laughter, and the inability to keep myself from leaping out of bed, even after only a few short hours of sleep.