The Disconnected Blog




Hmmm. The Disconnected Blog. No service. No bars. We are on Lopezian time today. Things are simpler here, but I’m recognizing the symptoms of withdrawal. A sort of twitchiness, a yearning to check Facebook for a peek into my kid’s lives – Piper’s new scooter, Nathan’s job, Libby’s Mexican sunburn and Carrie’s newest discovery, the latest of which is the surprise of a slug in the bottom of her washing machine. Or maybe there are new baby pictures of Isabella, Lily and Katie, an inspiriting quote or an interesting link. I’m not typing this, I’m writing it in a little notebook – what a concept!

Do I need a always need a link to someone else’s interests and life? Am I neglecting my own interests, living vicariously through texts and Tweets?

My soul really needs this quiet. Here on the beach in the San Juan Islands the birds are singing, the waves gently slapping the rocky, gently sloping shore and the sky is the kind of surprising blue that makes everyone you meet comment about it.

Jim looks only about an inch high from here. He is on a high rock watching the tide and feeling the day soak him with its healing, restful serenity. I’m sitting on some well-bleached driftwood marveling at the multitude of colors represented in the smooth stones all around me. From deep rust and maroon to speckled grey, the rocks are set off by white pieces of clam shell, dried seaweed and an occasional pine cone – all clean and lovely.














The tide is coming in. The view across the bay is framed by craggy, evergreen-topped cliffs to the right and left and ahead by hills in blues that start out nearly navy and fade to a paler cornelian with each successive range until the finale, the encore is the glorious Olympic range.

The only other two people nearby are slowly getting ready to push their orange kayak into the water. Chatting quietly and comfortably, enjoying the warm sun on their shiny hair, they seem to sense a long, pleasant day ahead – no reason to hurry.

Some kind of hawks are riding the thermals on my left. The sun shines through their perfect pinons as I memorize the shape of their wings and tail so I can look them up in my bird book at home and add them to my list of sightings.

Last night, at our bed and breakfast, we watched several types of hummingbird fight for the feeder. The hostess had filled the feeders with red nectar and I decided to try that at home in spite of dire warnings against it. You know, Red Dye warnings. Our hostess is a talker. We know a lot about her now. Our breakfast included the tip that she always uses self-rising flour in her cookies and sweet breads – a tidbit worth tucking away, I decide.

Our flight over the Cascades yesterday was uneventful – the best type of flight. I’m grateful that I’m no longer seized with fear at the mention of an airplane trip. I used to be relieved when landing in our destination only to be gripped immediately by the fearful thought of the return home, effectively unable to enjoy the moment where I was. This time, only when flying through the snow-covered, close and jagged mountains did my heart skip a beat or two as we looked for mountain sheep in nooks that few people ever glimpse. I love to watch the back of Jim’s head as he scans and skillfully flies through the passes. He is a great pilot. Not good. Great.

What a gift this weekend was in a very busy spring. Two Texas trips coming up and one to New York are things to look forward to, but bittersweet when one of us has to stay at home alone. But this weekend was all ours. Not only did we have perfect weather to fly, the island was empty. We laughed, we talked, we rested.




Coming into Yakima in the early evening, the unseasonably warm evening air starts to fill the plane. This valley is as beautiful as anything else we’ve seen. Patchwork orchards blooming their heads off, newly plowed, fertile soil, rivers running high. This valley is home and it’s always good to come home.

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Published in: on May 22, 2009 at 12:19 am  Comments (1)  

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  1. I’m always thankful for rare opportunities to disconnect–but I’m also thankful for the opportunities the internet gives us to stay in touch. I’m so glad you shared about your time away–it sounds wonderful. It was fun to see your photos and experience your get-away through your word pictures. Thank you for sharing! Welcome back to the world of connectivity!


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