Scribbles and Photos

This series, shot on the Southern Serengeti with Wildebeest grazing peacefully in the background, is of a group of high-spirted young male Zebras engaging in a bit of mock fighting. Ultimately, they headed off into the dist ance -- only to start all over again. Hmm, I wonder if there was a young female around to impress.

We moved quietly through the lush tropical jungle in search of the giant green sea turtle that had come ashore to lay her eggs. Julia and I (separately, we compared notes later) were thinking if only I hadn’t had that last glass of wine this would be a lot easier. Peter led the way, briefing us on the need for quiet and alerting us that our viewing time would be short so that we did not disturb the turtle. Solvay brought up the rear as we made our way to the spot she had chosen to lay her eggs. I had never seen a turtle up close and personal – on water or on land so this was to be a first. Aah, there she was bathed in the eerie red light of a flashlight covered by a filter. And then she was gone. We toddled off down the moonlit beach for our last night in our tropical hideaway. In Unexpected, I wrote about the late-breaking decision that I needed to make around the last leg of my Tanzania trip just six weeks before my niece and I were slated to depart. A long-planned trip w...

It's not what you are thinking, this post of mine. Although hidden -- nay stolen -- kisses are a tempting topic to while away an evening of writing. You know, the kind of kisses I mean -- the soft gentle ones that at once comfort and confirm a quiet steady love. Or the first kiss of a brand new relationship -- the one that makes you tingle all over in anticipation. That leaves you wanting and thinking about what may be. Or the sad kiss of good-bye -- this is it, we were great together, but we are broken and we will never be repaired no matter how hard we try. No, this post is about something more mundane and more profound -- my almost 30-year love affair with holiday cookie baking. I do not know why I started this although I suspect I can trace it back to fudge and friends in college. I can remember mailing a particular package off to London one year (his year abroad) and getting a thank you note some two months later because the friend in question was off gallivanting around th...

In just about six weeks, I’m going to Tanzania. The trip – which has been planned for some months now – is all about the African bush. This will be my 3rd trip to Africa and it is to be the first trip where I did not get sidetracked by other things – like culture, beautiful oceans, or history. As planned, my niece Julia and I are starting out in a mobile tented camp ( Serengeti under Canvas). The camp moves around the Serengeti with the goal of bringing guests within reach of great Wildebeast migration. The great unknown of the trip is that there is no guarantee that we will see herds here on the Serengheti or in one of the other camps. The wildebeast were early this year on their journey – passing across the plains in August as they trudged along on the vast circle that is the essence of the migration. We may see them here on the plains or we may see them up in Klein’s Camp or we may not see them at all. Regardless, this tented camp is to be my Isak Dineson moment – in a tent, unde...

I am a facile writer – by that I mean I am comfortable writing a wide range of documents and can generally write pretty quickly. Lately, at work, I’ve been looking to make every word count, putting myself on a word diet as it were. That kind of work writing is always with purpose – I know where I want to go when I sit down to write. It’s about writing the most compelling grant proposal (show me the money!), the strongest letter of support, the best analysis of a piece of legislation, the most strategic memo. It’s not always easy to write with purpose but I always manage to get it done. I am also an omnivorous reader. It started in the first grade when I read my way through those laminated cards that we had instead of primers. Although I’ve slowed down a bit – too much else to occupy me (work, friends, newspapers, magazines, television), there is nothing I treasure more than a finely written book. I look forward to traveling because that is when I get most of my reading done. And, I ado...

Last week, I went to a memorial service. Filled with memories, music, and love. It was beautifully planned. And there was meaning in what family and friends had to say. Portraits finely drawn -- everyone touching a different piece of this man's life, of his legacy. This was the memorial service of a great man -- a much beloved icon who was the change he wanted to see. The death was unexpected and quick -- a vibrant soul in his 80s with a lot of life left to live. He died as he wanted -- with his boots on. The house was packed with those who had come to pay their respects -- a veritable who's who of the world he inhabited. It reminded me of a memorial service for one of the dearest friends I will ever have. Passionate about what she did -- a natural advocate for her patients, her family, her friends. She grew up with parents who were marching on Washington and advocating on behalf of migrant farm workers. She had a childhood that I, from my safe middle-class upbringing, could on...

Among my obsessions, men have figured large. There was the Irish contractor who showed up on my doorstep to bid on my apartment renovation. Seamus. The kind of man that made my knees weak. I obsessed about his bid for a week and whether he would be the lowest bidder, would I be able to justify hiring him? His bid was low enough. We dated, we fell in love, we broke up. And then I obsessed about that -- what had happened, what had we done wrong? I've come to realize that somethings were just not meant to be. I've also obsessed about my work -- oh, ok, I obsess about my work in the present tense. That obsession varies from day to day. Some days, it's will I ever be able to get everything done? Most days, it is about are we doing the right thing? Could we be doing better? Could I be doing better. A dear friend gave me a copy of Bright Dawn in the hopes of curing this particlar obsessive behavior. That's an uphill battle though -- learning to love my shoes, to love what I ha...