In the days following Katrina, when one of my friends was still missing, I picked up JoAnn Ross’s Magnolia Moon in which a hurricane plays a significant role.  I did the same thing again this week with her High Risk series which features soldiers who’ve just returned home from Afghanistan, none of them whole.

I take a lot of comfort from her books. She writes characters that resonate with me*, obviously. I know they’ll overcome whatever horrible things she throws at them, save the world and find love.

It’s been rough over here at the Bar and Grill for many folk lately.  I was lying in bed last night, unable to sleep as I thought of all the things we do to comfort ourselves.  And I know this is a group that dives into a book every chance they can get.  Or chocolate.

Chocolate is my main comfort food. I ate it even when I was sick this week.  Not a lot but enough to soothe my battered soul. I stretched out on the couch and let the cat’s purrs send healing ultrasound through my belly.  I scratched Ky’s ears a lot. I’m very tactile and surround myself with textures.

I listened to Some gave alland watched I want you to live which was filmed at Canadian Forces Base Trenton. Strange comfort indeed. 

It’s important to use all the senses, remind ourselves of our connection to this world so that we can find our way out of the fog of grief. When we’re ready.

And of course, there are the CBs. Chatting. Listening. Hugging. Whipping up hot chocolate, chili, guacamole, margaritas.  Whatever we need.

Thank you.

Now what can I do to offer you comfort?

Friday, I caught the 2pm train down to London, and after a short ride on the Underground from Kings Cross to Paddington station and then a bit longer of a wait, I was on the train to Cardiff!

Once in Cardiff, I gave Xenia a call to let her know I’d arrived.  It was about 10:30pm.  It’s a LONG train ride from Edinburgh to Cardiff, but I blatantly ignored the opportunity to do work and instead spent the time reading Kushiel’s Dart, which is a LONG book. (I’d been working on it for a while, and finally finished it on the train ride back. A good, but EPIC story.)  Xenia had a much shorter train ride, and had arrived earlier in the evening.

I initially started to walk to the B&B where we were staying (Beaufort Guesthouse, I would recommend it), but shortly realized that this was a stupid thing to do at this time of night in a strange city and caught a cab.  And so, I arrived in Cardiff at the B&B after an uneventful day of traveling and a productive day of reading.  Xenia didn’t want to come down to open the door for me — something about already being in her pajamas — but luckily, someone did come when I rang the front bell.

Saturday morning, after a yummy breakfast in a fancy, fancy dining room, Xenia and I were off to collect our rental car.   The plan was that Xenia would drive and I would navigate.  Unfortunately, navigation relies on other things than being able to read a map, namely adequate signage and maps that do not look like this.   It also helps if all the roads are not mixtures of the letters A and B and numbers.  In the end, it took us about an hour, and I swear we went around the same round-a-bout three times, but we did eventually make it out of Cardiff and on to our first destination: Caerleon!

Caerleon was the site of a Roman Legionary Fortress.  It is also believed by some to be the location of King Arthur’s Camelot.  Sadly, there were no legionares or knights left roaming around, only the remains of a Roman bath, soldier barracks, and a Roman amphitheatre.  Admittedly, these were pretty cool. If ever given the chance, I do recommend seeing historical Roman sites with Xenia.  Being an archeologist of Roman stuff, it’s like having your own personal tour guide!

After exploring the amphitheatre (to the soundtrack of some seriously disturbed cows from the farm right next door) it was off to our next sight: Raglan Castle!

Raglan Castle was just amazing!  It’s in ruins, but there is enough there to get a feel for what it must have been like once upon a time.  The atmosphere sparked a sense of romance and adventure, and Xenia and I spent maybe a couple hours exploring.

After Raglan Castle, our plan was to find something to eat in Monmouth (which I still can’t say properly, for some reason).  And while there were plenty of places to eat in Monmouth, there was a dearth of places to park, so we decided to continue on to Tintern Abbey, and munch on our provisions once there.  (I always travel with food.)

Like Raglan, Tintern Abbey is in ruins now, but still an amazing sight.  Whereas Raglan Castle sparked feelings of romance and adventure, Tintern Abbey evoked feelings of tranquility and reverence.  I could have just sat and soaked up the quiet there for hours I think.  What it must have been like way back when!

By now it was about 3:30 in the afternoon, and we had seen our fill.  Xenia and I were both ready to head back to Cardiff.  It was an uneventful drive back with no episodes of misdirection (yay!).  We dropped off the car, then droped off our stuff, and went in search of an early dinner.  This involved passing by Cardiff Castle,  which was protected by many fierce beasts,  as well as a few not so fierce beasts.    Walking back after dinner, Xenia was tempted to hurdle the baracades and make a dash for the still open doors to the castle, but we worried about the time it would take to transfer the bail money to pounds sterling.

Sunday was race day!  With the 5k race not starting until 10:30, it was a leisurely morning.  It turned out to be an almost perfect day for a race, with temperatures around 50 F.  The race was held in Bute Park, which is basically the grounds of Cardiff Castle.

I ran the race in 37:12 minutes, according to my watch, which I was quite pleased with.  (You can read Xenia’s race report here.  I still need to write mine.)  After the 5k race,
I hurried back to the B&B for a quick shower. (I asked for a late checkout, because an 8+ hour train ride back to Edinburgh without a shower, eeeew. No time to fix my hair though, so had weird curls going on for the rest of the day.)  Xenia stayed so that she could run the 10k race as well.  Go Xenia!

After a quick trip back to the B&B to get our stuff, it was time to head in the general direction of the train station, via Bute Park, and a quick stop for lunch.  Unfortunately, our walk to the train station was a bit too leisurely, and we ended up having to sprint at the end to catch our train!  (Not fair, we’d already done our running that day!)

There was one worrying train delay on the way from Cardiff to London, but thankfully I’d left enough leeway in the schedule that I was still able to make my London train back to Edinburgh.  Xenia had switched trains at Didcot Parkway, and was home before dinner.  For me, it was a late night, and I wasn’t pleased by the delay when a couple of taxi drivers started arguing and nearly came to fisticuffs. (Ok, maybe a slight exaggeration, but I’ve always wanted to use that word.) Eventually, around midnight, I finally got home.

And that’s the end of our Wales adventure. It was a terrific weekend and great to see Xenia again!!

McB and Wapak

The excuse we had for getting together in Dayton   – the three Goddesses at the table.
The round from G-G at The Cheesecake Factory

The Whack after the cilantro and margaritas

And Wapak’s favourite bar where I got my fix. Check out the incredible wood work.

How we wish you all had been there.  The next North American Whack should be Louis’ porch. What do you think?

‘Twith just a few days before Hanukkah and inside the ‘Grill
me stirred margaritas, Andi minded the til.
GP hung her flannel by the chimney with care
It got soaked in a snowball fight …who would dare?

The CBs were nestled all snug on the couch
A shelf full of books falling on their heads … ouch!
With Scope in her eyepatch and CMS spinning thread
It was a vision to send most sane people to bed.

When outside the building came a car horn blast
And BCB was yelling, “We found Canada!  At last!”
The moon on the brim of McB’s festive sombrero
Gave doubt to that statement, and sported an arrow.

Then what to innocent bystander eyes should appear?
A caravan of cars, with Orange Hands in the rear.
Ms. Merry, directing traffic, was lively and quick
“Let me out of here.  I’ve done my time with this clique!”

More rapid than Spartens the drivers they came
As Cary whistled and shouted and called them by name
“Now K.L., now Eidhle, now Lou and JenB
What the heck did you do with Theresa and CC?”

As wild geese before a hurricane fly
So, too, did Jenny and Bob, (was that a swear or a sigh?)
Then into the parking lot the caravan they came
All loaded down with CBs, Portland was never the same

And then in a twinkling was heard from the back
“I’ve got pics of the grandkids!” called out Wapak
As she was pulling out the pack, and gaining some ground
Down the pole came GAM Louis, swinging around

He was dressed like a cowboy and carrying loot
From which spilled Cerise (but still no sign of Moot)
His bag was quite plump, a gift from an elf
Who, it turned out was Dee’s DD, her very own self

A wink of her eye and a twist of her head
Told Dee, a little wary, she had nothing to dread.
Her eyes how they twinkled, her dimples how merry
“I had to drive,” she laughed, “RSS got into the sherry.”

GG wore the tiara, in her hands held a bow
As she helped MNO decorate, it started to snow
They spoke a few words and put TT to work
CBpen filled the stockings, JenT came to lurk

Then pointing a finger, Xenia stood on her toes
And giving a shout, to the chimney she goes
Btuda spotted a sleigh the color of thistle
It held men in kilts! The gals started to whistle 

Brian just shook his head as it came to a hault
’cause he knew that somehow this was all Lori’s fault.

A couple weeks ago I went out to eat dinner at a Mexican restaurant. The food arrived and I started to take a bite. And was suddenly, unexpectedly, swamped with memories of Margaret. When she and I first arranged to meet each other, more than two years ago, we decided to have lunch at a Mexican restaurant. At the time, Margaret’s appetite was “off” due to the chemo treatments. Nothing tasted right and she didn’t have much desire to eat, but she thought spicy Mexican food sounded good. So I was delighted that day when, after a couple hours of talking, she looked at her almost empty plate and could not believe she had eaten so much food. It was a small thing, but it felt like a triumph. She had been so busy talking and laughing she’d forgotten that food had lost its appeal. Sitting in the restaurant two weeks ago, I couldn’t help but remember. I had to set down my forkful of food and swallow a lump of memory, and tears, instead.

I missed her so much that day. So I went back and read several entries in Margaret’s blog, something I haven’t been able to do until recently, read again about her courageous fight with the cancer she ultimately couldn’t beat. And I was struck anew by two things. First, that she was so strong and determined and positive, so certain that the cancer was just an evil blip in her life, one that could be vanquished by a combination of good drugs and sheer will. And second, I was reminded of her dry self-deprecating humour that prevailed even when she was in the grips of pain and fear and uncertainty. Good lord, she was funny — and never more so than when she was facing a reality that was unspeakably grim.

She wrote this October 24, in what would be her last post, barely a week before she died:

This chemo gives me a red face, a strange rash, a bloated, pregnant-looking belly (oh, relax!), fabulous fingernails, and fatigue. Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays I literally sleep 13-15 hours a day (12 hours at night frequently), and I rest on the couch for the rest of the time. I’m also gaining weight. I told my doctor that I don’t eat enough to be gaining weight at this rate, and when he just looked at me, I allowed that all 40+ women say that, but when I recapped just what I do eat, he had to agree with me. He reminded me that fluid (in my lung, around my heart, in my feet), has weight and volume and perhaps that may be what’s showing up on the scale. Of course, he’s not concerned–he’s not the one who has to go shopping.

Margaret had a rare ability to discern what was important without giving it undue weightiness, and to look lightly at the rest. She demonstrated how to face the prospect of death with dignity, recognizing its inevitability without acknowledging its imminence, yet at the same time, she lived life with gratitude and optimism. And with humour. So today, as difficult as it may be, please do take a moment to remember Margaret. In whatever manner you deem appropriate. She is a person, and hers is a life, worthy of remembrance.

There is an observance in the Jewish faith called Yahrzeit that calls for saying a prayer on the anniversary of a person’s death and lighting a candle, letting it burn for 24 hours. I’ll leave the saying of prayers for each of you to decide on your own. Prayers are meant to be personal and private. But I think we can light a virtual candle here in honour of Margaret’s memory and carry its light and warmth within us for one day. At least for one day.

While randomly clicking my way across the internet recently I came across a series of articles from Time Magazine on the study of happiness.  Here’s the first link I stumbled on, in case you are interested in following the bouncing ball.   Ironically, although many studies have been done down through the ages on unhappy people, the idea of studying why so many people are generally happy seems to be a fairly recent one.  Sounds pretty backwards to me.  Anyway, the articles had much to say about the state of happiness, including the question of just how much control we have over it.  Some say that happiness works like personality, and that to some extent it’s preordained.  Which doesn’t mean that good or bad events are preordained, just how we handle them.  One thing I really did agree with is that most people have a kind of median happiness, a general level that they tend to return to eventually, even after thrilling or devastating events. 

What does this have to do with CherryBombs?  I think that one of the biggest things we all have in common is that we are generally happy people.  I don’t mean annoyingly perky; centered might be a better word.  By and large, all things being equal, taking everything into consideration and all those other stock phrases (did I miss any?) we are a fairly content group.  We have all gone through, or are currently going through, tough times; but we keep returning to our median state of being, generally, positive.  We like being happy and, in spite of whatever else is going on we don’t give in, but, rather, we keep trying to get back there.   The B&G is kind of like our lighthouse in that respect:  a promise of dry ground, a place to rest if only for a short time, and the knowledge that we aren’t alone.  Not so surprisingly, one of the things that came out of all the studies is the importance of social contact.  Well, we already knew that, didn’t we?  That’s why we’re here.  There also seems to be some connection between happiness and a willingness to be distracted.  That is, even while going through bad times, a predominantly happy person will still occasionally laugh, smile, be happy for other people and just plain think about other things from time to time.  Every CherryBomb knows how important that is.  And while we enjoy the margaritas, chandeliers, and poles to swing on, I don’t believe anyone here confuses things with happiness. 

What’s your take on this?  Do you think you are preordained to be a happy person or is it a choice you’ve made?

A good time was had by all at the Chesapeake Bay Whack. 4 CBs and 2 guests. I personally worked hard on indolence, and I think maybe everybody else did, too.

We didn’t work very hard on laughter. It just came naturally. This time we all brought meal fixin’s. Supper Friday was spaghetti, fancy salad with weird colorful things in it, and bread. RSS and McB did that one. Saturday breakfast was scrambled eggs, bacon and more bacon, and biscuits by Dee. Saturday supper was bean and tortellini soup and chicken Caesar salad by moi. The really big food surprise was when I got up Sunday, tiptoed down stairs all packed, only to discover Dee had already got up and made coffee and started her sausage and egg and cheese and biscuit casserole baking so that I could leave at 8:00. Just about made me cry, someone getting up and fixing a meal to accommodate me*. She’s a jewel.

And speaking of Dee, she attempted to catch a fish and succeeded in catching a sunburn instead. Meanwhile McB and I listened to the trials and tribulations of RSS’ wonderful work in progress. It’s gonna be a winner. By the way, I took them on a little trip in the Geekmobile and didn’t even force them to take off their shoes to get in. The gracious Geekmobile Goddess did speak to them all about plotting our trip into uncharted territory.

Another by the way, the Geekmobile had to have an infusion of 10% ethanol + gas, since that was all that was available at the Bay. The mileage is noticeably lower, but it would only be a calculated guess since I topped the tank off with the stuff and would have to assume complete mixing of gasolines, etc.

We had a marathon discussion after Saturday supper on … Ta Da … novels, good and bad and writers, good and bad. They’ve convinced me to try Dick Francis.

Thank you, OH; none of us could remember who wrote the Malory series. I tell you true, if we did Trivial Pursuit on novels with that Whack of CBs, I would definitely be the loser.

For instance, I lived in southern Oregon for 4 years from 1989 to 1993. I drove back and forth between Eagle Point, OR and Berkeley, CA several times because my Mom lived in Berkeley. I also, on an incredibly stormy night when it was raining so much I could hardly see, drove to Sacramento, CA, because my friend in Texas sent me a puppy, and it was too darn expensive to fly the little thing into Medford, OR (which used to be the most expensive city in the US to fly into). So, I had memories of the drive – steep hills, fabulous views, Shasta Lake, etc. 

When it was decided that some of us would caravan from California to Oregon for summer solstice, I told edelweiss of the incredible view from the summit of the Siskiyous into the valley on the opposite side of the freeway from Ashland (Oregon) and promised that we would stop at the summit so that she could take pictures. Then I regaled OH with tales of the Oregon Highway Patrol and how they didn’t like cars with CA licenses and would pull a person over for any infraction of the rules, especially speeding (I was once pulled over for a broken tail light – mind you no one else was on the road at the time). 

So, edelweiss and OH arrived at my house, we set out the next morning and drove through CA… Because the scenery between the flatlands and the mountains is uninspired, it seemed like a long time before we got to the climb up the Siskyous. Finally, we start up the mountains. Hummm..I don’t remember driving down into this canyon before we had to drive up the next hill. And… I thought the hill before the summit was one straight line on the CA side – apparently not. And… where is the view from the summit?? Ah, there it is halfway down the other side, but… ack – there’s no place to pull over to take pictures. 

Meanwhile, I don’t see an Oregon Highway Patrolman anywhere. Where are those California license hating cops?? Nary a one in sight… So instead of driving the speed limit, I go faster, thus confusing OH who is still looking out for OR cops. Then, I thought I had a clear memory of the placement of certain cities (like Eugene), but my memory wasn’t as clear as I thought it was. Huh… 

We all know that places change with time, that’s a given. But placement of views, hills, and entire cities usually don’t. Do you ever have what you are certain are clear memories, then revisit and find that the road doesn’t curve the way you remember, or there’s an extra hill you forgot about, or the river is on the right side of the road instead of the left? 

It was a dark and …

starry night.  It had been stormy earlier, but the front had moved on and left the night sky clear.  It was about the only thing that was looking good at the end of this long day.  It had just been one danged thing after another, one of those days when everything had gone wrong and everyone had been getting on my case.  When I could finally come up for air I knew just where I needed to be; my favorite Bar & Grill. 

The B&G is a bit off the beaten path, one of those cozy joints known mostly by word of mouth and hard to find.  Even as many times as I’d been there, if I was headed there from a different neighborhood I might have trouble finding it.  Fortunately I knew where to look for the trail of breadcrumbs.  But tonight it wasn’t necessary.

I cruised through the parking lot first, looking to see who else might be around.  The usual crowd was there, as far as I could tell.  And it looked like Lori and Btuda had dropped in, too.  I was glad to see that as we hadn’t seen them around much recently.  When I went to open the door, I had some trouble.  That was unusual and I wondered if the door was becoming warped from all the rain we’d had.  I took a good grip on the handle and put my shoulder to the door until I felt it give a little.  As I stepped into the place I could hear laughter and snatches of conversation.  TwinkleToes was at the bar, bemoaning the fate of her tomatoes to GP who was listening with a sympathetic ear and dispensing advice.  RSS was bartending tonight and I signaled to her for my usual – rocks, lots of salt – and took my glass over to the big corner booth where everyone habitually congregated.  There were several conversations going on all at once and the air around the big table was filled with overlapping voices.  A few of those voices had been out of town for a few days, but folks always found their way back to the B&G eventually

I heard someone say, ” …