This is my last Facebook post.
Well, sort of.
I’ve decided that if I have anything worth saying, I’ll say it here in my blog. A notice will go up on my Facebook timeline, so at least you’ll know I’m still around. If you want to engage with what I’m saying, join me here, at Virgin Territory. I just can’t swim in the Facebook newsfeed any longer. That river is polluted.
If you are specially dear to me, (especially people who make me laugh) I will go to your timeline and see what you’ve been doing, but I don’t have to know everything about everybody I love every day. Frankly, it’s crazy-making. If it’s really important, call me. Or (old school) send me an email. I’ll stay connected in those wonderful closed groups, where I’ve made really dear friends who have common interests. You may also be able to reach me on Messenger. I get little dingdings when someone posts there, and that’s the only way I’m connected to some of you. But life in the mainstream newsfeed, for me, is OVER.
The last two months or so I’ve been pretty much off the grid. It’s amazing how refreshing it was.
Mid April, I left for the Holy Land with a group of ten other women for two weeks of exploring places particularly associated with the women who played major roles in the life of Christ Jesus. I have lots of photos and stories I’ll be writing about.
While I was in Israel, I got a call from Larry. You know, he-who-would-rather-be-shot-than- get-on-an-airplane. He had booked us on a cruise. It was leaving May 10, just a few days after my return home. It was on the Norwegian Bliss, an inaugural voyage of two weeks, out of Miami, through the Panama Canal, landing (is that the right word?) in Los Angeles.
OK! I’ve got my bucket list. He’s got his. Glad he wants me to go along with him.
It was amazing. We went with friends Virginia and George, the people who bought our house in Guayabitos. Virginia found these fabulous fares, which were evidently offered at the last minute to fill that huge ship COMPLETELY. Onboard, we met people who had booked this journey almost two years before, when construction on the Bliss had begun. They’d paid almost three times what we did, for the same accommodations. All in all, we were a total of 4,000 passengers from all over the world. Ports of call were Cartagena in Colombia, then through the Canal, Puerto Arenas in Costa Rica, Puerto Quetzal in Guatemala, Puerto Vallarta (fun being there as a tourist, instead of getting the car fixed or going to COSTCO), and Mazatlán (which I’d never seen before and with which I was very favourably impressed!).
I flew home from Los Angeles and Larry flew to New York with George and Virginia. From there he joined up with his friend Danny, who was taking his boat on its last trip before it was sold. So this is the year for Larry to go through canals. He’s been through the Erie Canal twice in the last two weeks. He’s headed home (as I write) and will be here in San Miguel this afternoon.
I’m ready to have him home and I look forward to spending some time reconnecting and reassessing. There have been deaths — the public ones that have hit us all hard. Kate Spade. Anthony Bourdain. There have been deaths closer to home. I need some time to think. I need some time to pray.
There’s nothing like treading stones that have been there for millennia, dipping back into first century Christianity at its roots, and then having hours to gaze at ocean and horizon with no internet, news or interruptions. A poem of Langston Hughes was quoted in an inspirational article I read yesterday in the Christian Science Monitor. The poem’s title is “Suicide’s Note.” It has only three lines:
Cool face of the river
Asked me for a kiss.
I get that. I think a lot of us do. But that kiss leaves ripples the size of tsunamis in the psyches of those left on the river banks. I can’t believe personal peace can be gained when it leaves such turmoil in its wake.
So this is my prayer for today:
Make me a river. I will do all I can to keep the current of my thought clear, strong and approachable. Navigable. A blessing, not a danger, to those I come near. Make me mindful of my unpolluted source. Let me honour it always, and in all ways.