on the road to simplicity

Campsite Zen Garden

tkscovill ♦ May 3, 2014 ♦ Leave a comment

           Today’s image of simplicity.

Sometimes I wish I could be this Buddha statue. Sitting quietly, solidly, in an obscure corner, surrounded by flowers, watching my thoughts pass by like clouds…

Finding Simplicity

tkscovill ♦ April 6, 2014 ♦ Leave a comment

It’s been a while. I’ve been busy. Busy walking through spanish moss covered plantations, and riding my bike down sandy dirt roads and collecting shells from the various Florida beaches. While the rest of the country was dealing with unusually cold, snowy weather, those who were able sat outside on their lawn chairs in their shorts and flip flops. Yes, it’s unfair. And, yes, I did feel a little guilty. But I thought it was a good way to end this part of the long journey to…where was that we were going again? Oh yeah, Simplicity.

On the way I gathered a few images of simplicity. Here are just a few:

I somehow knew there would be an amazing sunset when we arrived in this New Bern campground. We waited for at least 30 minutes for the sky to light up. I’m glad we were patient. There’s nothing like a gorgeous sunset to bring you back down to earth.

When I saw this family sitting together I could remember countless times doing the same thing–sitting and watching the river flow by. No words needed. Just breathe.

Florida is full of wildlife, birds in particular. I loved the symmetry and mind-meld between these birds.

We watched this little crane chick grow from a mere ball of puffy feathers to a gangly teenager in just a few weeks. His, or her, parents were always nearby, teaching life lessons.

If I posted pictures of all the beaches we went to, it would get redundant. I love the simplicity of this image.

There is a man at the top of these stairs. He walks up and down 108 times several times a week. He says he has healed his heart doing this. The stairs go up to the top of a sacred Indian ceremonial mound near Clearwater, Florida. His simple journey up and down made me smile.
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Not surprisingly, in the past two years, I discovered several times that there is no place called “Simplicity.” And not much about life is simple. But when you see simplicity, or feel it, or hear it, or know it’s there, you really ought to be ready to capture it for all those ugly, complicated future moments. So, that’s what I did.

So what started as an attempt to help myself through a difficult transition quickly turned into a travel journal that was sometimes dominated by photos. I discovered that I love taking pictures and I think I have developed a good eye for a good picture. They are treasures for me now, memories that will nourish my soul when I least expect it and most need it.

Here is my most recent moment of simplicity. I took this photo with my phone as I was leaving Virginia Beach for Williamsburg a couple days ago. I didn’t expect it to imbed itself so deeply into my consciousness. But it has.

It is symbolic of the need for silent awareness.
You can’t get more simple than that.

Florida: Catching our breath and staying a while

tkscovill ♦ March 9, 2014 ♦ 8 Comments

I never thought much about Florida. The only times I have ever been to Florida was when we took the kids to Disney World and on my way back from the Bahamas a few years ago. After a week of yoga training at the Sivananda Ashram in Nassau, Sam and I spent one day touring around Ft. Lauderdale. I loved the beach, especially the soft white sand and the easy roll of the waves across my bare feet. On that day I ate at Bubba Gump’s for the first time. Other than that, Florida was a vast empty space in my head.

This is an appropriate way to end our 2014 trip across the country. We’re in an RV, and lots of people who live in RV’s go to Florida for the winter. You can’t beat the weather. When the rest of the country is digging out of snow and sloshing around in rain, Florida seems to be in a permanent bubble of sunshine and nice temperatures. Staying a while in Florida made sense. Plus, how can I say I grew up on the east coast with any dignity when I have never really explored Florida? I figured it was about time.

We drove into Florida after spending five days in New Orleans. Between there and here, we went through the bottoms of Mississippi and Alabama before entering the Florida panhandle. The landscape had begun to look familiar to me as soon as we entered Mississippi—marsh, creeks, pines, oaks, long, slender white birds—and the air had begun to smell like what I had grown up with—heavy, salty, primitive mud smells. I could feel myself relax. Suddenly, people drove more slowly, as if they really didn’t have to get anywhere anytime soon. And they talked more slowly, and, most likely, thought more slowly. I’m sure they didn’t realize they were in a constant Buddha state, but I did and I clapped a silent applause for the irony of it all.

So Florida was familiar even though I had never really been there. It’s like meeting a new friend who you know you knew before, but also know you couldn’t have known because you’ve never met. In any case, Florida woke me up. I met my old self again and left Interstate 10 behind.
I’ve already written about this next part, but thought a recap might be good since it’s been a while since my last real post…

Pensacola
We had planned to stay in Pensacola for just one night. No real reason to explore, plus we had just played tourists in Nwaulins and that was quite enough for a while. Pensacola is one of those places I had heard about but didn’t really know what to expect. It is the westernmost town on the Florida panhandle. All along the highway there were palm trees and oak trees mixed in together with white sand beneath them. I could smell the ocean finally and I saw signs that Pensacola had “the best” beaches just down the road a bit.

But, unfortunately for us, we arrived during a crippling ice storm. (One of many this year as it turned out.) For three days the whole gulf coast was trapped in an unusual cold weather system that blew in from the west and ground everything to a sudden halt. Highway 10 was shut down because the authorities knew that they didn’t know how else to deal with such an anomaly. It never snowed. It just dumped ice, and the roads became one long thick sheet of frozen accident waiting to happen. The day before it hit we heard some locals joking about the “big storm” and how they would just wait and see. I guess after the parade of hurricanes the last few years, they have a right to wait and see. However, we were cautious enough to just sit still and wait for it to blow over. So, one night turned into three nights, but we were glad to be safe and not stranded. Pensacola is still a bit of a mystery to me even though I spent four days there. Maybe next time I’ll make it to one of those beaches.

The next Florida town we went to was Tallahassee. It was an overnighter in a place called Big Oak RV Park. We weren’t the only ones driving east after being stuck in the ice. The woman at the park office seemed completely overwhelmed by the numbers of people wanting to stay the night. I counted three RV’s in line when I got there. Apparently she’s not used to so many at once. The weather felt more seasonable: 40’s at night and 60’s during the day. But the big story there was the oak trees. And the Spanish moss. I started to feel at home again. I had to take pictures. I just had to.

Tallahassee is the capital of Florida, and if we had had more time we would’ve looked around a little more. Again, maybe next time. One more stop before Orlando…then what? Well, you never know what you will find around the next corner now do you?

Next, we stayed at a cute little Thousand Trails in a town called Wildwood. Now this place left an indelible mark. Really, Wildwood was pretty non-descript, but all along the way we kept seeing signs that said, “The Villages.” We figured it was one of those new shopping malls surrounded by condos and gas stations and grocery stores and restaurants. Well, it was, but it was more like a hundred of them all spread out across eighty square miles. Each little community had a golf course circled by medium sized houses with large screened in porches and little paved roads for the golf carts. There were as many golf carts as cars, and they meant serious business.

We had breakfast at a place called “SonRise Café,” where they are known for their fresh, healthy foods. People were pouring in from church, mostly older folks, but they were all dressed in their Sunday best. And oddly, they all seemed to look the same: men in starched cotton shirts with creases down the front of their khaki pants, women with short, salon styled hair and smart outfits with just enough bling to say they still feel worth it. Of course, they all had perfect tans and teeth. I wondered about peer pressure among today’s grandparents…maybe a topic for a later blog post?

We sat next to an older man with his two daughters who were from New Jersey. They were all very chatty and offered a lot of information. There are indeed about 2500 golf carts in this little town of “The Villages.” From one end to the other it is 14 miles long. People in golf carts really do think they own the place, according to the older gentleman. They don’t use blinkers or hand signals and they take up all the good parking places. He seemed bitter. I asked him if he liked living here and he said it was his wife’s idea…and then he trailed off to somewhere else where I wasn’t invited. I guessed he and his wife lived here a while, then she died and now he’s stuck. His daughters seemed oblivious to his grief, but I didn’t pass judgment since I was just guessing after all.

After breakfast, we drove around and I started to get inspired again for the first time in a long time. No longer are retired people simply tired. They are active, sometimes more active than when they actually worked. I see it every day: people playing tennis, riding bikes, swimming, hanging out, really enjoying their “golden years.”

I realized that I could live in a place like this: dominated by “active adults,” surrounded by swimming pools and golf courses, and clean shopping centers and restaurants, just down the street from anywhere. I saw my future again, teaching yoga, tai chi and meditation to people who could have easily been my parents. And working with people who already know themselves and aren’t afraid to look a little deeper is a gift to any teacher.

Just like the oak trees and the smell of the ocean, this knowledge of what I need to do settled into me and opened my eyes again. This is it. This is what I’ve been waiting for….Now all I need to do is find a way to make it happen.

Sun through the Spanish Moss: Today’s Image of Simplicity

tkscovill ♦ February 20, 2014 ♦ Leave a comment

The Florida Panhandle: An Ice Storm?

tkscovill ♦ February 20, 2014 ♦ Leave a comment

Pensacola: Warm beaches, soft sand, gentle sun? Not this time!

Who would’ve guessed? We knew we might run into some sort of winter weather at some point on this trip, but in Florida? What a surprise. We stayed in a small campground called simply, Pensacola RV Park. People were nice, bathrooms were clean and cute, the “office” was really a house with a room dedicated to campground business. When I walked in I felt like I was at home. Someone was cooking something in the oven, a woman and her daughter were making some crafty thing at the table and a sewing machine was set up on another long table with lots of fabric scattered around. I thought I might come back with my beads and hang out later.

Well, that night a huge storm swooped in and covered the whole southern part of the country around the Gulf of Mexico. We woke up to icy steps and a frozen ground. Here’s proof:

*****
It was all over the news: Atlanta at a standstill; Cars abandoned on the side of the road; derailed train in Mississippi. We decided to stay put till Mother Nature told us it was time to go.

Tallahassee: Big Oak RV Park

After four days basically hanging out in the RV it was nice to get on the road again. Tallahassee is only a couple hours from Pensacola, so it was a nice trip. When I saw the Big Oaks I knew I was headed in the right direction.

Only one night here, but that oak tree will live in my memory for a long while.

Heading South and staying awhile

Highway 10 goes all the way from one side of the country to the other. We could’ve gone to Jacksonville if we wanted to, but our plan was to go to Orlando Thousand Trails and meet our new bosses. So, off we went. And what a different reality we found…

Bird in Paradise: today’s image of simplicity

tkscovill ♦ February 16, 2014 ♦ Leave a comment

Today’s image of simplicity

tkscovill ♦ February 14, 2014 ♦ Leave a comment

Just fishin’ on a fine Friday in February.

French Quarter, part three: Treme, Bubba Gumps and Waiting for the Bus

tkscovill ♦ February 12, 2014 ♦ Leave a comment

Treme: The saddest place in the Big Easy

If you haven’t watched HBO lately you wouldn’t know much about this place. It is the oldest African American neighborhood in this country. It was where free, and recently freed slaves were able to buy land and start over. It is where the Southern Civil Rights Movement began, and it is the birthplace of jazz. Not too shabby. By 2005 Treme, or the Sixth Ward had morphed from historic gem to urban decay. After Katrina the place was simply abandoned.

Signs on plywood said “Beware of Aggressive Dogs.” These “projects” were added in the 1950’s and 60’s and quickly led to a conjested, impoverished inner city.
This was an appropriate way to end our “tour” of the oldest cemetery in New Orleans. Treme and St. Louis Cemetery are next door neighbors. There is such a sense of loss and sadness on these streets. Only a few blocks from “party city,” lies the heart of pain in a town that walks a thin edge between life and death. Here is a good website for more information on Treme’s history. http://www.tremedoc.com/

Bubba Gumps: Something familiar
After walking back from the graveyard and Treme, we found ourselves with a little time on our hands. The problem was that our feet really hurt. So we went into Bubba Gumps for some tea and a place to “set awhile.” This guy behind the counter was in full Forrest Gump character.

Sometimes, it’s the fool who has the real wisdom. I love that movie. It is one of my top ten favorites. I also love the shrimp tacos and the corn hush puppies, and the tea, at Bubba Gumps.
*****
Waiting for the bus
So, after a long day of walking, taking pictures and eating great food, we were pretty tired. We headed down to the parking lot early to just sit and wait. The sun was sinking behind the skyscrapers, so it started to get cold, but we were there in time and wouldn’t have to “pay.”

Just as the rest of our group started to arrive we heard a loud horn blow. It blew and blew, long and loud. Of course, a train, right through the middle of the parking lot. This train went by at quite a fast pace, but it lasted for a good 15 minutes. I wondered if the KOA tour guide knew this would happen and just wanted to make sure we were there when he was.

As the train ambled on and on and on, our attention was diverted for a few mintues toward the river and this huge cruise ship. It seems that wherever there is a large body of water you will find some sort of cruise ship.

I think I’ll leave the cruising to my more social friends. I prefer wandering around a place on my own, following my own thoughts and directions.

In the end, I guess I’m glad I went to Nwaulins. I could’ve lived the rest of my life satisfied without it, but now I have a better appreciation for its energy and uniqueness, for better or worse.

French Quarter, part two: Ironwork, Voodoo, and Tombstones

tkscovill ♦ February 12, 2014 ♦ 2 Comments

*****

“Iron lace”
The thing that caught my eye right away in the French Quarter was all the ironwork. I spent most of my time there looking up at the porch railings, window coverings and various doors and gates. There seems to be an unending variety of styles. Here are a few:

There was so much of this stuff, I could have stayed there for a couple weeks and still found more…I think I can add iron lace to the inanimate objects that I might be in love with!

Lunch

All that walking and photo taking made us hungry pretty much at the right time. Just as we were heading down a street that looked like it had more restaurants than bars, we both decided we were hungry. Just like breakfast, The Coffee Pot seemed like iconic Nwaulins. It looked like it had been there for at least 100 years, but it was obvious that someone had done some serious decorating to keep the old world look fresh. In any case, it was authentic cajun food…good for Sam, not so good for me. I forget what I had for lunch (something with red beans and rice, which were perfect) but dessert was homemade red velvet cake. Sam had real, made by auntie so and so, soaked in rum, bread pudding. I loved the way this place looked and felt.

Reverend Zombie’s Voodoo Shop
After lunch the crowds had really picked up, so we just wandered aimlessly, trying to avoid bumping into anyone who might be just a little tipsy. We did come across a few interesting sights:

You get the point. New Orleans definitely vibrates to the beat of a different drum. Now, on to the cemetery!
St. Louis Cemetery

There are three of these above ground cemeteries in New Orleans. The rumor is that they are above ground due to problems with the water table. Apparantly it is also true that big tombstones on top of the ground are a tradition in France and Spain. In any case, some famous people are buried here: wealthy landowners, politicians, and one famous voodoo priestess,Marie Laveau. I thought it was interesting that Nicholas Cage will also be spending his afterlife there.

French Quarter, Part one

tkscovill ♦ February 10, 2014 ♦ Leave a comment

Our pattern has been to arrive somewhere, get settled, figure out what we need from the store and go on a GPS-led exploration to find it. Usually this introduction to a new place is pretty frustrating. Our first excursion into New Orleans was just like that: frustrating. Bumpy roads, winding through neighborhoods filled with stoplights, and bridges over marshes, creeks and rivers, just to get to a decent grocery store landed us in the middle of downtown. After replinishing our supplies we decided to drive around a bit. Of course, there was nowhere to park, so I took pictures out the window while Sam drove and pointed things out. The roads were bumpy and people were taking care of business, so we couldn’t really get the “money shots” we wanted. We decided we needed a better plan.

*****
Luckily, the KOA we stayed at offered free transportation into the French Quarter, so we took it. Our “guide” seemed to know everything there was to know about the place and spewed it out as fast as he could breathe while navigating through traffic. We found out later that many of his “facts” were incorrect. One of the members of our group had gone on an official tour and had the real stuff in writing. Apparantly, he had mixed up Sandra Bullock’s house with Brad Pitt’s and had gotten Nicholas Cage’s backrupt property wrong as well. He talked so fast I stopped listening, so it wasn’t an issure for me. In any case, it was nice to have a free ride through the major high spots.

*****

Before I go on, let me say that Highway 10 through Lousiana contains more bumps, cracks and potholes than any road I’ve ever been on. New Orleans is not somewhere you want to take a leisurly drive on a Sunday afternoon, especially with an open coffee sitting between your knees. According to our KOA travel guide, the roads around the Big Easy flood every ten years and no matter how many times they get fixed, they always end up like this, bumpy and full of holes. It’s part of the charm, he says. Well, I wouldn’t say charm, but it did make us slow down and appreciate the smooth roads to come later in our journey.

*****

We were dropped off at 9:30-ish in the morning and told to be at this specific parking lot at 5:30 p.m. on the dot or it would cost us. So, we planned our day accordingly. The first order of business was to find something to eat. What a gem of a place we found. The Camellia Cafe.

This place looked like it had been there for hundreds of years: rows of counters with stools for customers, no tables, just counter seats, pink speckled fifties style floors and pictures of camellias everywhere. The staff seemed to be actor wannabes, making a big show out of everything from setting up your silverware to ordering your food, to pouring your coffee. One guy came in after a long night of partying and all the waiters and the “chef” started badgering him about his habits. They gave him some orange juice and coffee and told him to watch himself in the future.

*****

In the short time we had allotted to us, we immersed ourselves in the French Quarter Sunday culture. It was quiet in the morning, with certain people nursing obvious hangovers, but by noon the energy was ramping up. No one is shy about admitting that they’re just here for the party.

People who weren’t there to drink seemed to be frantically decorating for Mardi Gras. I thought the big day was sometime in March, but it changes every year. This year it comes near the middle of February. Locals take the Mardi Gras as seriously as most people take Christmas or the Super Bowl. Everything is decorated in purple, green and gold.

*****

At some point the houses and porches started to look the same, so we took every side street we could find, loaded up the camera with pictures of all the beautiful “iron lace” and courtyards and funky signs. I will highlight these in my next post.