Browsed by
Author: Anne Cassidy

Discipline

Discipline

Comments 0 Comment

What a solid word it is, the ascender and descender anchoring it to the line, the three i’s a constant, the other consonants rounding it out. Though it’s difficult to see the word without the lens of meaning, even its structure seems no-nonsense.

Discipline for so long my way of life, a particular discipline made for the paid workforce. And now, the freedom, intoxicating and terrifying, an end to the regimentation I chafed against for years.

And yet, some discipline still. In some ways even more, but of a different type, one that I devise and (I hope) enforce. 

Discipline so different it seems to require a new word. Not control, structure or regulation. None of those will do. Some word I’ve yet to come up with. 

I’ll let you know when I do. 

(A deer spotted up close on yesterday’s walk, which has nothing much to do with discipline but was a photo I had handy.)

In Formation

In Formation

Comments 0 Comment

In honor of Memorial Day, the movie channel has been running World War II-era films. I’ve caught parts of several — “The Great Escape,” “Destination Tokyo” — plus a War Department short about the U.S. Army Air Corp.

In the film, narrated by then-actor Ronald Reagan, a young cowboy from the boonies becomes a war hero. We watch him go through basic training, meet the people who knew him back when, follow his improbable journey from ranch life to flying B-17s over Japan. 

What struck me about the flying scenes is the tightness of the formations. The crew members (including my Dad) were not only united within their Flying Fortresses, but were nestled together outside of them, too. They did not fly into battle alone. 

As I embark on another trip around the sun, I’m grateful for the ones who travel with me. 

May in Layers

May in Layers

Comments 0 Comment

I’m hoping this is the last day in May I wear three layers of clothing. I’m typing these words in my winter running tights, merino wool base layer, another wool sweater over that and a sweatshirt on top for good measure. 

I have fuzzy warm socks on my feet. And I think — yes, I’m sure, I can hear it humming — that the heat has just come on. And that means the temperature in the house has dipped down below 65. 

Yes, the planet is warming. And in a few days we may be sweltering. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing I was in shorts and t-shirt right now. 

Japanese Garden

Japanese Garden

Comments 0 Comment

As May gallops to a close, I’m immersing myself once again in the calm oasis of Portland’s Japanese garden. Yes, it’s 2,800 miles away now, but I have it right up here in my noggin, sloshing around with today’s to-do list and other trivia.

It wasn’t difficult to take decent photos at the garden. Everywhere I pointed my phone camera was a beautifully framed shot. From artfully raked gravel plots to gently cascading waterfalls. 

That’s because, in a Japanese garden, beauty is cultivated most of all. 

Feeling Sorry for Cicadas

Feeling Sorry for Cicadas

Comments 0 Comment

I arrived home to the sound of Brood X, the 17-year cicadas that have been biding their time underground since 2004 and are now living the high life in Virginia and other states. 

They are funny critters, singing and mating and getting stuck on windshield wipers, where one got a free ride for a few minutes yesterday as I drove home from the Reston trails. 

The hum they make sounds like a commotion in the next county, like something big is going on somewhere else, which indeed it is. 

But as I dodged their exoskeleton carcasses yesterday on my walk, my amazement at their presence was tempered with pity for their plight. What a life …. 17 years of nothing followed by three weeks of way too much. Theirs is not a path of moderation. 

On the other hand, who am I to judge a bug? My life may seem just as strange to them.

Big Again

Big Again

Comments 0 Comment

I have a habit of not wanting to leave the places I’m visiting, and yesterday I almost didn’t. Confusion about departure times meant we missed our original return flight. Luckily, we were re-routed to another airport and finally made it home — though six hours later than planned. 

The first hours and days back after a trip are always a strange time. Life is mostly as it was but with subtle differences. The old house touches my heart with its creaky floors and familiarity. I don’t have to wonder when I wake up, where am I now? I can tell by the placement of lamp and beside table, by the feel of the covers under my chin. 

But the trip has altered the house and the gaze with which I see it. The roses in Portland are part of me now, the walk around Lake Union in Seattle, too. The Japanese Garden and the Japanese American Museum, Cherry Street and Alberta Street — they’re all in there. The crusty bread and the little dogs. 

It has been almost a year with no travel. The world of house and yard were closing in on me. But now … the world is big again. 

Prevailing Westerlies

Prevailing Westerlies

Comments 0 Comment

Yesterday was a train trip up from Portland to Seattle. Today, we fly east with the prevailing westerlies. Which means that, at least theoretically, it will take an hour less to return than it did to arrive. 

I’m heading back to Virginia with 10 days of dirty laundry, five new books, a passel of memories and plenty of inspiration for the days ahead. 

The best trips never stop giving. 

Sum of the Parts

Sum of the Parts

Comments 0 Comment

Whenever I travel I face the same dilemma, and it’s a delightful one. There’s the exploratory part of the process — finding new trails to walk, new museums to explore, new food to eat. And then there’s the hanging out aspect of it all.  The dilemma is how to create a perfect blend of the two.

This trip has done it effortlessly due to the wonderful family we have in Seattle and Portland. We’ve had lovely at-home dinners, long mornings chatting over mugs of tea, and one big raucous birthday party. And that doesn’t include the boat ride and trips to favorite local watering holes. 

The sum of these parts is even greater than its whole — respite for body, mind and soul. And then … there are the roses!

A Walker on the River

A Walker on the River

Comments 0 Comment

After days pounding asphalt and concrete, we had the luxury of a few hours on the water, where legs are for the most part irrelevant. We left the floating home mid-afternoon for a slow cruise on the Multnomah Channel, a tributary of the Willamette.  

How calm it all was, how evenly the ripples flowed from our wake. 

We cruised under the Sauvie Island Bridge, passed sailboats and motorboats and a contraption that looked like an elliptical on water. There was an osprey nest off our starboard side and an abandoned restaurant farther down. Mostly there was sun and stillness and companionship. When we landed, the light was golden.

Eye Candy

Eye Candy

Comments 0 Comment

Walking through an Eastside Portland neighborhood yesterday, I saw roses and rhododendron, lavender and wisteria, poppies and fuchsia. I saw tall fir trees tipped with new green growth. 

I didn’t actually dig into the soil, but from the profusion of bloom, it appears that most anything will grow here except maybe cactus. I’m not much of a gardener, but with inspiration like this I think I could become more of one. What struck me as I strolled was the pleasure these flowers bring to the eye. Looking at them felt elemental, as if I was taking sustenance from the stems, leaves and blossoms.