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Magical Journey: An Apprenticeship in Contentmentby Katrina Kenison
From the author of The Gift of an Ordinary Day, this intimate memoir of loss, self-discovery, and growth will resonate deeply with any/i>/i>/strong>
"No longer indispensable, no longer assured of our old carefully crafted identities, no longer beautiful in the way we were at twenty or thirty or forty, we are hungry and searching nonetheless."
From the author of The Gift of an Ordinary Day, this intimate memoir of loss, self-discovery, and growth will resonate deeply with any woman who has ever mourned the passage of time, questioned her own purpose, or wondered, "Do I have what it takes to create something new in my life?"
With the candor and warmth that have endeared her to readers, Kenison reflects on the inevitable changes wrought by time: the death of a dear friend, children leaving home, recognition of her own physical vulnerability, and surprising shifts in her marriage. She finds solace in the notion that midlife is also a time of unprecedented opportunity for growth as old roles and responsibilities fall away, and unanticipated possibilities appear on the horizon.
More a spiritual journey than a physical one, Kenison's beautifully crafted exploration begins and ends with a home, a life, a marriage. But this metamorphosis proves as demanding as any trek or pilgrimage to distant lands-it will guide and inspire every woman who finds herself asking "What now?"
Editorial Reviews
Warm and wise. . . . Soul searching reflections by a woman coming to terms with the three major challenges of midlife: change, loss, and death." Kirkus Reviews
"This luminous memoir is a gift to any reader searching for meaning, clarity, and perhaps a bit of hard-won joy. Katrina Kenison is the best kind of guide through our life's passages: a thoughtful, fearless friend who reaches out a hand and says, I've been here too." Dani Shapiro, author of Devotion"
Katrina's beautiful observations on love, loss, growth and gratitude will brighten readers' worlds considerably. You won't find a better guide or friend to accompany you through the sorrows, joys, and mysteries we are all meant to share." Priscilla Warner, author of Learning to Breathe
"Deeply personal and gently instructive, this poignant memoir of loss and growth affirms that, in the ways that truly matter, we are all intimately connected, our humble human stories more alike than different." Stephen Cope, author of The Great Work of Your Life: A Guide for the Journey to Your True Calling
"An extended meditation on a certain passage in life - one composed of loss and gain, deprivation and sustenance. She learns the way to relinquish old pleasures and to seek out new pathways. This is a guide that we all can use - warm, intelligent and compassionate." Roxana Robinson, author of Cost "
No matter where you are on the journey, Kenison's own pilgrimage points the way home. She give us permission to stop trying to improve ourselves and invites us to relax into the wonder of who we already are." Regina Brett, author of Be the Miracle
"Soul bared and hand extended, Kenison is right beside us as we, too, face life's next inexorable threshold: the elusive pursuit of self-acceptance." Margaret Roach, author of The Backyard Parables
"After the kids are gone, Kenison faces the question that haunts every mother's empty house and every woman's passage beyond midlife. What now? Deeply wise and courageous, every page shines with beauty and pulses with truth. " Karen Maezen Miller, author of Hand Wash Cold: Care Instructions for an Ordinary Life"
With clarity, honesty, and spirit, Kenison allows readers into the intimate work of self-discovery and renewal." The Concord Monitor
"Moving . . . inspires readers to find their way in a world that can change in the blink of an eye." -Chicago Tribune "
Facing an empty nest, a friend's death, and changes at work, Kenison resists her usual antidote to unwanted change: keeping busy. Instead, she stops and takes stock of her life. It was so beautifully written, I wore out a yellow marker highlighting my favorite lines." People magazine
Product Details
- 9781455518043
- Publisher:
- Grand Central Publishing
- Publication date:
- 01/08/2013
- Sold by:
- Hachette Digital, Inc.
- Format:
- NOOK Book
- Sales rank:
- 417,147
- File size:
Read an Excerpt
Magical JourneyAn Apprenticeship in Contentment
By Katrina Kenison
Grand Central PublishingCopyright © 2013 Katrina Kenison
All right reserved.
Mostly, we play Banana.
It is the last week of July, a stretch of hot, sunny, high-summer weather, and my son and I have six schools to visit in six days, strung from the Northeast Kingdom in Vermont to the southwestern corner of Massachusetts.
We've been arguing for months. Finally, here in the confines of the car, a temporary, wary truce has sprung up. I wonder if he is as tired of the battle as I am, as anxious about taking the next step, as sad about our recent past and as tentatively hopeful about the future.
Driving south on Interstate 91, the highway an empty black ribbon unspooling beneath an infinitely blue sky, we are—dare I say it—happy together, freed by travel and possibility, glad to watch the scenery rolling by. And, as we've done all week, we keep our eyes peeled for yellow cars. The first one to call out "banana" scores a point; the first to get five wins the game. Between yellow car sightings, I tread lightly, avoiding the hot subjects—video games, failing grades, lies—that have led to this unexpected road trip, this rather desperate, last-minute decision to look into private school for our younger son.
We listen to Steely Dan's Two Against Nature on Jack's iPod and keep score ruthlessly, searching parking lots, driveways, the rearview mirrors. I'm grateful for this small, safe haven of a game and glad to hear him singing along to the music. I love his new, deep, rangy voice, his presence here beside me, the fact that after a year of not knowing what to do next, we are finally doing something. That we've set aside our hurts and misunderstandings, and lost ourselves instead in song lyrics and a car game from childhood, seems to me a good sign. I so want to believe we're doing what's best for our son at this vulnerable moment in his young life, even if it means letting go of my own cherished vision of the way our family life ought to be. Right now, the lightness between us, the singing, and this marathon game of Banana give me hope that we are.
Still, the irony of our search for a school that will admit a student a month before fall classes start is not lost on me. I've just finished writing a book about the poignance of children growing up and leaving home, about the importance of creating and protecting family time while we still can, the need to nurture our relationships with one another and to make space in our days for laughter and intimacy and ease.
I spent a year trying to prepare myself for our older son's departure for college, blinking back tears through every "last" of his senior year, anticipating how strange it would be to set just three places at the table instead of four, and wondering all the while how I could possibly bear the end of our day-in, day-out togetherness as a family. My consolation was the fact that I'd still get to be a full-time mom for three more years. I would still be needed to pack lunches, wash uniforms, and have late-night heart to hearts. Henry had had an exclusive on his parents as an infant; Jack would get to enjoy his only-child status on the back end, for his last three years of high school.
"I'm a little jealous, cuz you took a total babe to prom," Jack had written in a funny graduation sonnet for his big brother, "but, hey bro', I'll own the bathroom once you're gone." We would miss Henry terribly, but I knew what Jack meant—he was about to get a lot more space. And I was looking forward to plenty of one-on-one time with him, to family dinners, basketball games, having his friends hanging around the house, marking every milestone of his high school career by being there.
But the reality of our younger son's sophomore year in the public high school a mile from our house never aligned with any of our expectations about how things were supposed to unfold.
While I was sitting upstairs at the desk in Henry's bedroom, writing the final pages of a memoir about family togetherness, our bright, social, athletic fifteen-year-old checked out. He quit the cross country team, quit the youth group at church, quit doing homework, and descended instead to the basement and a stash of video games that became far more compelling to him than anything his real life seemed to offer. His grades fell from As and Bs to Ds and Fs. He said he didn't care, stayed up till three, and rolled out of bed at noon. For the better part of a sleepless year, we looked like a family of raccoons, our eyes ringed with dark circles, our nerves frayed. Yet no matter how much my husband and I worried, argued, talked, cajoled, and insisted that Jack pull himself together and rejoin the world of school and sports and friends and family, he refused. We tried therapy and ADHD medication, handwritten letters and midnight confrontations, carrots and sticks, holding on tight and letting go completely. Nothing worked. He would barely get off the couch.
Sometimes, straining to see beyond his sullen expression, his defenses and excuses, his aimless fury, I would catch a glimpse of the son I knew—a jokey bit of wordplay in the midst of a conversation laced with sarcasm, a sweetness in his eyes as he cuddled with the dog, or a cry of despair from some still-tender place inside. I began to suspect that behind the insolent facade was a boy who was as miserable and confused as we were. Jack's toughest battle, it seemed, was not really with us at all, but with himself. If we were going to get him back, we realized, we would first to have to let him go.
And so we pulled him out of school and sent him off into the woods, to a wilderness program in the mountains of Georgia, where he slept under a tarp for nine weeks, carried a fifty-pound pack on his back, learned to make fires with a rock and bow drill, cooked his own food, and rediscovered the joy of being alive. When it was over, he came home changed, tanned and strong, wiser, thoughtful, and full of good intentions. But his hold on those intentions was fragile at best, and it was clear there was no going back to the way things had been before. He'd lost most of a year of high school. His GPA had plummeted and his friends had moved on. None of us wanted to risk a return to the basement. So, although boarding school had never been in the plan or in the budget, we began looking for a place that felt like a fit, a school that would be willing to give him a second chance and that would challenge him as well, a new community where he might continue to thrive and grow.
By the time Jack and I make our way south to the Berkshires and our final school visit, we are both in good spirits. Hesitant at first, he's gotten on board with the idea of a fresh start in a new place and is beginning to think of himself as a student again. He's written an honest, thoughtful essay about his time in the woods, filled out half a dozen applications, and dared to imagine a better future for himself than the virtual existence he'd swapped for reality for far too long. He is serious and forthcoming in an interview, talking about the ups and downs of the last year with a forthrightness and vulnerability that surprises me and seems to impress the admissions director. Sitting down to lunch at a café near the school, Jack is as eager to share his impressions of the morning as I am to hear them. "I can picture myself there," he says tentatively, trying the idea on for size.
As soon as we get home that afternoon, Jack asks for the car keys and heads over to a friend's house, school catalogs in hand, to consider his options. He has until five p.m. to accept the only open spot at his first-choice school, the one he knows will be the toughest academically, the one with a strict dress code and Saturday morning classes, and the only school, it turns out, that is too far away for weekend visits home. We've told him this is his choice to make. Now I have to keep my word and let him do it his way—at the last minute and by his own gut instinct, not mine. At five minutes to five, he calls me: "I'm going," he says. "Call them quick, before I change my mind."
And so it is that four weeks later, we deliver our son to a boarding school three hours from where we live. Would he like some help making up his bed? I ask, as his dad lugs the last of his belongings up the stairs to his tiny shared dorm room on the third floor.
"No, no, I got it," he insists, hanging his new sport coats on the rack, arranging his ties, laying claim to his new space. He is eager to get on with it, clearly ready for us to be gone. And that's when it finally hits me: We are about to get in the car and drive north to an empty house. My life as a mother of children at home is over.
We do not make or create our souls, we just grow them up.
January. It is just before 5:30 a.m. when I slip out of bed, reach into my closet for a pair of socks and an old pink cardigan fleece, and tiptoe down the stairs. Yesterday's snowstorm was followed by rain, then, overnight, plummeting temperatures and clearing skies. Fully alert yet not quite ready to begin the day in earnest, I hesitate to turn on lights, pausing in the shadowed kitchen to look out upon an icebound, silent world. The landscape is so familiar, yet different every time I look out the window, changing not only with the seasons but moment to moment, depending on the light, the hour, the mood of the sky. This morning, all is still inside and out. A fat, creamy moon, just shy of full, hangs low in the west, illuminating the shiny shell of snow on the field, the bowing, ice-encrusted pine trees, the shrouded, silent mountains that are the backdrop to my days here. It is a good place to wake up in, this solid, sheltering house on a wide open New Hampshire hilltop.
Yet there's no need for me to be up at this predawn hour. There's no place I have to be by nine, no work deadline hanging over me, no lunches to prepare, no child in the house who needs to be roused, hugged, fed, and hustled out the door. After years of alarms that always seemed to go off too soon, endless exhortations to "hurry up" and my sons' predictable pleas for "just five more minutes," my schedule is no longer dictated by career demands, school hours, or children's needs.
I've poured a thousand bowls of cereal over the last twenty-odd years; these days, the only breakfast I'm expected to make is my own. I grew so accustomed to the daily stampede of feet up and down the stairs that I ceased to hear the noise; now, silence rings in my ears. I bestowed countless hasty good-bye kisses, my attention already elsewhere as I brushed lips to cheeks—only to wake up one morning and realize that all those little good-byes had led, inevitably, to big ones.
Day after day and year after year, I wrote the tardy note, packed the snack, unearthed the lost glove, hustled boys out the door, then got down to business: cleaning, shopping, cooking, writing, editing, exercising, e-mailing, driving. And, in the midst of all that doing, I found a sense of purpose. I thought I knew exactly who I was: a married woman, a mother of two, a writer and an editor, a homemaker.
Now I suspect I didn't know who I was, so much as where I needed to be at any given moment and what I needed to be doing—raising a family, earning a living, being a good mom, a loving wife. I tried to pay attention, to be present and grateful as I juggled kids' schedules and publishing schedules, housework and "paid" work, writing time and family time, time alone and time with friends.
And somehow—just like every other multitasking mother I know—I managed it all. Most of the time I truly loved doing it all, too, loved knowing I was an essential player in this ongoing family drama: creating a home, tending the hearth, nurturing my loved ones, raising two sons to adulthood.
If vocation can be defined, as theologian Frederick Buechner suggests, as "the place where your deep gladness meets the world's deep need," then for two decades now I have been blessed to have had a calling. Meeting my children's needs, I found my own deep gladness and sense of purpose. Motherhood enlarged my view of who I was and what I was capable of. Being with my children, watching them grow and change and meet the world, deepened my own relationship with the world. In the process, I grew, too, in ways I couldn't have begun to imagine on the day when a flush of pink on a little white stick first told me I was pregnant.
That moment was a turning point, as it is for every mother. Suddenly we go from living for one, to a profound awareness that our existence will forevermore be inextricably bound to another. Now, more than twenty years later, I find myself poised at another crossroad, uncertain of my path, yet once again sensing that powerful inner shifts are already underway.
The little boys whose lives once seemed to consume mine are young men now, their bedrooms as silent and empty as shrines. The communal rhythms of eating and sleeping and being in our household were disrupted as my sons became adolescents and then vanished altogether when, one after the other, they left home. There are no more muddy footprints to mop up, no piano recitals or big games to attend, no book reports to proofread when I'd rather go to bed (although the occasional essay does show up on my laptop late at night).
My two sons come home often. Many of our family traditions remain intact. Yet our togetherness now is not what it once was. Enormous loads of laundry are washed, favorite meals prepared, the occasional game of Balderdash still played, hours of tennis and basketball watched on TV. But always I know: They arrive to leave again, each parting a fresh reminder of a time of life that's ended. What I didn't expect and could never have anticipated was how adrift I would feel without the constant demands of family life to anchor me in place or the small, daily tasks of motherhood to give direction and shape to my days.
I can sit at my desk writing from dawn till midnight, or not at all; who cares? And is it really worth my time and effort to cook dinner anymore—a whole meal prepared, served, and cleaned up after—for just two people? I'm not sure. I'm not even sure when to go to bed, or why I still leap up in the morning to put the coffee on at six.
I tried to sneak past my fiftieth birthday without a celebration, stunned to realize I now had fewer days left on earth than I'd lived already. And, having crested the arc of life and begun to make my way down the other side, I'm a little weak-kneed, unsure of my footing on this scrabbly descent. How am I supposed to feel about aging in a world where beauty is younger than forty years old, where wrinkles mean it's time to consider "getting some work done," and where I often feel invisible when I enter a crowded room? Going down turns out to be harder than climbing up; it seems there's more to this second part of life's journey than meets the eye—and without the familiar landmarks of day-in, day-out family duty to keep me on track, I'm not at all certain of the path.
The ache I feel deep in my breast this winter is not assuaged by any of the tasks that used to add up to a life. I manage to stay busy all day, then lie awake at night, worrying about things beyond my control. I remind myself to live in the moment, yet carry a deep sadness for moments already gone. I reach out to my teenage son and feel not the old, easy intimacy I long for, but an assertion of his new independence instead; our relationship, healing slowly, is still raw and tender to the touch, like second-degree burns on my heart. Henry, busy and thriving at college in Minnesota, takes pride in his self-sufficiency. He calls to say hello, to tell me his news, but rarely to seek my counsel. Perhaps that means I've done my job well—he knows who he is, how to take care of himself, how to create a life—but it also means that, after all these years of dedicated service, I'm essentially unemployed. I answer e-mails, pay the bills, read and write, take care of the house, spend time with my husband, bring lunch to a friend. The days are full enough. And yet, the question nibbles at my edges: What now?
At times, my nostalgia for our family life as it used to be—for our own imperfect, cherished, irretrievable past—is nearly overwhelming. The life my husband and sons and I had together, cast now in the golden light of memory, seems unbearably precious; what lies ahead, darker and lonelier and less enticing. As Franciscan priest Richard Rohr has observed, our egos "prefer just about anything to falling or changing or dying." The second half of life seems to demand that we grow familiar with all three.
Yet, the phrase midlife crisis doesn't exactly apply; crisis suggests a kind of wild recklessness, an urge to overthrow, break free, and create something brand-new out of the chaos. Having spent all these years painstakingly building a life—a life that became ever more engaging and complex as our sons became teenagers—I'm hesitant to dismantle what we all worked so hard to create. At the same time, I have to face the fact that it's already come apart.
My husband and I move around the house these days like strangers, at loose ends, so unaccustomed to living alone as a couple after twenty years of family life that I sometimes wonder if there's anything left for us to say to each other. Has it really been all about the kids? And now that it's not, what will hold us together for the next twenty years?
Emotion wells up and catches me off guard at the oddest times of day, cresting and breaking like a wave. The sight of Jack's old school bus laboring up the hill gives me a pang of missing him; he won't be getting off by the mailbox as he used to do, checking to see if a new envelope from Netflix has arrived. Attending a concert at Henry's old high school, I realize that this is the last year I'll know a single student there, the last year that any other parent will know me. Driving home from the grocery store, my eyes spill brief, sudden tears at the sight of our vacant house. Turning on lamps in the living room as dusk falls, I find myself pausing, staring out the window, wondering if I will ever again experience the passionate aliveness I felt as the center of the universe for two little boys. Wiping the kitchen counter, putting the last dish away, I'm overcome with melancholy, wishing the phone would ring or, better, that the back door would fly open and the sound of teenage voices erase the quiet.
Instead, the emptiness surrounds me. I am a mother without a child. An aging woman whose arms still feel the weight of small bodies held close, whose hands recall the outlived tasks of motherhood: brushing tears from a cheek, bandaging a pinkie finger, buttering toast, testing a bath, smoothing a cowlick into place.
I wonder if there is some new calling or purpose awaiting me in the next phase of life that might begin to compare with the joys and challenges of balancing work and motherhood and family. I wonder if the best days are behind me, and whether I can find a new sense of meaning and identity in the years to come. And I wonder if other women find themselves as confused and unsettled by this stage of life as I do; whether they, too, are asking: Shall I hold tight to what I know and do what I've always done? Or do I have what it takes to create something new in my life, to discover what is important to me now, and to claim that, become that?
As the first pink streaks appear in the sky on this frozen winter morning, I take my ritual tour through the house, straightening up as I always have: ice cream bowl into the dishwasher, sofa pillows set to rights, the newspaper tidied into a pile, a book returned to the shelf. Then I turn up the heat, sit down in the silent kitchen, and allow my thoughts to drift.
So many of the things that have shaped my sense of self and filled my life over the last two decades have slipped away—my career as an editor and the steady income that went with it; the day-in-day-out responsibilities of parenthood; youthful dreams and ambitions; my bright eyes and smooth, taut skin; even the simple expectation that I would put two meals a day on the table and the family would show up to eat them.
It seems that, just as our children are coming of age as young adults, we women confront some coming-of-age rites and passages of our own. Whether we are eager and ready for change or have it thrust upon us, we find ourselves in new territory, a little lost and fumbling for direction as the years suddenly seem to pick up speed. Thirty, forty, fifty—how could three-quarters of my life be over? Where did it go? A few months ago, I sat at the bedside of one of my dearest friends, holding her hand as she drew her last breath. Not a day goes by without the pang of that grief and an awareness of all she's missing. Losing her, I feel even less certain of my own footing, as if ground that only recently felt firm and solid has turned into shifting sand.
Meanwhile, in my own close circle of women friends in their forties and fifties, I see a breathtaking span of challenges and possibilities—from divorce, illness, and financial crises to new careers, revived passions, and all sorts of creative endeavors; from unexpected romantic relationships to adult children struggling and in need of support; from a new ability to say no to unwanted demands to renewed commitments to community service, friendship, and extended family. My friends are climbing mountains, passing the bar exam, learning to live with chronic Lyme disease, recovering from a husband's early death, taking up the cello, selling the family home, volunteering at a community garden, taking painting lessons, caring for elderly parents. What amazes me most is not the range of these experiences, but the fact that none of our lives today resemble the lives we took for granted just a few short years ago. What we all have in common is a sense of having reached a turning point. And, as we come face-to-face with the realities of our changing bodies, our changing roles, our changing lives, we are aware as never before that our time here is finite. Picking up the pieces of lives that have been transformed by change, rearranging them into new patterns, we wonder how to make good use of these remaining years, how to live now in order to avoid regret later. And we are compelled to meet our true selves at last.
I'm startled these days to catch sight of myself. Can that really be my own face reflected back at me in a shop window? "Who's that?" is always my first response to this aged person, so different from the youthful, unwrinkled woman I still feel myself inside to be. And how can I possibly reconcile this outer, older, matronly version of me with the private, inner one who, confronted now with the specter of age, has a sudden, almost unseemly desire to live more passionately, to feel more intensely, to delve down beneath the surface of my life in search of something deeper?
It's as if, rounding the corner into midlife, I could see the view up ahead abruptly transforming before my eyes. There, off on the horizon, I catch glimpses of the finish line, the inexorable end of life, and suddenly everything is up for reexamination. All my choices seem to matter more. Knowing my steps are numbered after all, I yearn to find my own path, and then to walk forward more thoughtfully, more deliberately, than before.
As a friend from Virginia wrote me a few days ago, "I can only make so many scrapbooks and arrange so many social events and research so many colleges. I'm afraid of those do-gooder organizations where I end up in committee meetings taking an hour to decide on what color tablecloths we should use. Been there! Done that!"
I recognized the sense of urgency beneath the humor of my friend's late-night e-mail. I feel it myself. I suspect we all do. No longer indispensable, no longer assured of our old carefully crafted identities, no longer beautiful in the way we were at thirty or forty, we are hungry and searching nonetheless. Hungry, perhaps, without even knowing what it is we hunger for.
In his classic account of the hero's journey, The Hero with a Thousand Faces, Joseph Campbell suggests that the universal tales, or monomyths, as he calls them, that have survived for thousands of years share a common structure. The hero is given notice that, like it or not, his life is about to change. He can refuse the adventure and cling to the past (in which case there is no hero, nor indeed a story to tell), or he can commit to the quest—at which time a guide, or perhaps a series of magical helpers, will appear. The hero summons his courage and prepares to cross a threshold. A painful separation ensues, as the hero leaves behind what he knows and ventures into an unknown realm, beginning the process of transformation. He confronts a series of challenges, encounters both love and hardship, and undergoes a kind of death of the old self, so a new self can come into being. "It is by going down into the abyss," Campbell writes, "that we recover the treasures of life. When you stumble, there lies your treasure."
Campbell describes a number of possible stages to the journey, including acceptance of the call, rites of initiation, confusion and chaos, achievement of knowledge and understanding, a period of rest and fulfillment, and an eventual return to the starting place, where the wisdom acquired on the quest is finally integrated and shared with others.
It is a familiar, universal plot line, providing the structure for countless tales, from the stories of Odysseus and Prometheus to the life trajectories of Buddha, Moses, and Christ; even the Star Wars trilogy took its shape from this timeless blueprint. But as Campbell himself recognized, the great mythologies and much of the world's storytelling focuses on the masculine journey—male rites of passage, male spiritual development, male archetypes, and male outcomes.
And yet there's no getting around the fact that midlife is a time when women, too, are called to transformation, as our old roles and responsibilities and assumptions shift or fall away altogether. If the first step of the hero's journey is to accept that, like it or not, the winds of change are already wafting through the house, then I suspect that many of us women find ourselves pausing at the threshold, unsure whether we're coming or going, poised between the old, familiar territory of hearth and home, family and children, and the new, uncharted landscape stretching out before us. Having found my own sense of self and satisfaction right here in the consuming roles of wife and mother for so long, I can feel myself hesitating at the door, trembling at the unknown, a little afraid to tie up my shoes, shoulder my bag, and set forth.
And yet, I also sense that this journey is one I have to take, even if I'm not sure yet where I'm headed. As Campbell says, "We must let go of the life we've planned, so as to accept the one that's waiting for us."
And so, although I have no plane ticket in my pocket nor any itinerary pointing the way to some exotic destination, I do feel as if I'm being called to a journey of sorts, a journey that may be more spiritual in nature than physical, but one that feels as momentous and uncertain as a pilgrimage to an unknown land. Having longed for change in the past, only to resist it when it arrived, I know the feelings of restlessness and fear that are part of any major life transition. But I'm not willing to accept the idea that the hero's journey is specifically a male story, nor that growth and change are the provenance of youth, nor that the only journeys that really count require passports and an extra pair of shoes. In fact, I suspect the opposite is true—that the most significant journeys are often inner ones, those that lead not to distant realms but to the discovery of something important and deep within ourselves.
As I contemplate the silent snowfields beyond my window on this dark winter morning, I sense a stirring of intention, movement, and metamorphosis. Deep beneath the frozen earth, new life waits, patiently biding time until the blessing of sun and the benediction of rain call it forth. Sitting here alone in my slowly brightening kitchen, I wonder if my early-morning restlessness could be preparing me for an awakening of my own. And if perhaps what has felt so much like an ending might also be a beginning.
This existence of ours is
as transient as autumn clouds.
To watch the birth and death of beings is
like looking at the movements of a dance.
A lifetime is like a flash of lightning in the sky,
Rushing by, like a torrent down a steep mountain.
She's been gone three months, but I'm still not used to the world without Marie in it. Missing her, I sift through memories, as if by recalling the details that made her who she was, I might somehow keep my friend close. I can almost summon her: the warmth of her voice, her quick smile and lively brown eyes, her slim, competent hands and her peony-pink pedicured toes, the way she danced with joyous abandon to "Love Shack" on New Year's Eve, drove fearlessly through Boston traffic, stretched her fingers to the sky in triangle pose.
But no matter how hard I try to conjure the essence of Marie, I can't fill in all the empty spaces. The stark, absolute absence of her—of her life, her face, her hello on the other end of the phone, her name popping up in my e-mail box, her presence here on earth—has begun to grow, as Sylvia Plath put it, "beside me like a tree." I live in the dark shadow of that loss, the shape and color of my own life changed by the too-early end of hers. And I know now, in a way I never quite did before, that time is contingent and that anything can happen.
A little over a year before Marie died, we went hiking in the White Mountains. The trip was her idea; she wanted a change of scenery and, as she said, to spend a couple of days "where the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning isn't the fact that I have cancer." That wasn't easy anywhere, but a remote hut on the top of a mountain with four women friends for company seemed like a good place to try.
"Bruce is pissed," she told us as she adjusted her backpack in the parking lot, dismissing her husband's objection to her adventure as a bit of unnecessary fuss. "But there was no way I wasn't going to do this. He's worried about what could happen if I have some reaction to this new drug. Well, if I do, I'll turn around." Then she said, with typical matter-of-factness, as if willing it to be so, "I'll be fine." And she was.
Although we were prepared to take it slow on the way up, there was no need. Marie never did want anyone waiting around or changing a plan on her account. She'd been in the hospital that morning, had had her blood drawn for tests and received the first round of yet another experimental treatment. No longer holding out an expectation for a cure, she wasn't about to abandon all hope either, and so she'd become a willing pioneer in uncharted medical territory, game to sign on for any clinical trial willing to admit an advanced stage-four ovarian cancer patient. If some untested drug held the possibility of stalling the disease for a while longer and buying her so much as another season of life—another child's birthday, or a walk on the beach, or a trip to the farmers' market—she was there.
On this day, she'd put in her time at the doctor's office; now, she didn't want to be treated like an invalid, or to think about her husband's fears, or to consider the fact that this might be the last hike she ever took. She just wanted to climb a mountain and enjoy the scenery and laugh with her friends.
It was easy for me to forget Marie was as sick as she was—in part because, when she wasn't recovering from surgery or the latest round of chemo, she still seemed so much herself. So healthy. And so much more engaged with the myriad details of living than cowed by the prospect of dying. As Marie liked to point out, she never even got a cold; apart from the fact that she had stage-four cancer, she was in "damn good shape." She also had three children who still needed her and a lifetime's worth of plans. So much living yet to do. If anyone could beat the odds, if anyone could lean into her faith and call down a miracle, she could—and, well, the alternative was still too hard to picture. And indeed, with every setback, Marie had managed to brush away the tears, gather her resources, and assume her whatever-it-takes attitude—102 pounds of tenacity. Three years into the disease she wasn't expected to survive for six months, Marie had become an expert in pulling through and moving on.
This summer, she had her own hair back along with her energy, her legs were tanned and strong, her sense of humor was as sharp as ever. The years of chemo treatments and surgeries and relapses had taken their toll, but you wouldn't know it to look at her as she cheerfully clambered up through the rocks, pausing every now and then to eat a handful of trail mix and exclaim over the view. If we'd asked a stranger on the trail to guess which one of our group was sick, Marie—fit and vibrant and so obviously happy to be where she was—might well have been the last choice.
In the hut that night, the two of us had top bunks, just across from each other in the crowded dorm room. And this is what I remember: seeing her sit up in the dissolving darkness of five a.m. to swallow her new pills. She can run, I thought to myself, but she can't hide. No matter how positive and full of life she is, there aren't any mornings now, not anywhere, when cancer isn't her first thought. I gave a little wave, blew her a silent kiss across the aisle, and we snuggled back down into our sleeping bags.
In the morning, it was pouring rain, windy, and so foggy we could barely see the trail at our own feet, let alone make out the path ahead. At some point during our slippery, sloppy, painstakingly slow descent, I snapped a photo of Marie and our friend Carol, wind-whipped and drenched, rain hoods plastered to their heads, two frozen specters emerging from a swirl of mist. We all loved that picture, not only as a record of the hellish weather but even more for what it so clearly says: that our ideas of the "perfect" day, the ideal hike, the peak experience, mean next to nothing. It's the experience of being alive, even if you're soaked to the skin and shivering on the side of a mountain, that means everything.
Marie and I were pregnant when we met for the first time, our bellies nearly touching as we joyously discovered that we were backyard neighbors with much more than autumn due dates and a shared bit of white picket fence in common. Over the years, as our children grew, traditions were born—neighborhood cookouts and fireworks on Town Day, candlelit harvest dinners in October, annual ladies' overnights in Maine, champagne toasts, seats at the ballet, berry picking, and birthday scones. The memories accumulated as our friendship lengthened—eighteen years' worth of pristine hand-me-down clothes delivered from her house to mine in paper shopping bags, stories shared, child-rearing advice dispensed, marriages dissected, meals eaten. Eighteen years' worth of the everyday stuff of everyday life with a backyard neighbor who was supposed to be a friend forever. Circumstance might have thrown us together, but intention was going to be the glue that held us fast, through all the ups and downs of all the years to come.
When I was torn between a dream of moving to the country, in search of more space and time and quiet, and wanting to stay forever in the beloved suburban house where my husband and I had raised our sons; when I was driving myself and my family and my friends crazy with indecision, it was Marie who patiently helped me sort through my conflicting fears and desires.
Our best time for problem solving was always six a.m., no matter what the season. The makeup of our early-morning walking group changed from day to day, with various neighborhood friends appearing, rain or shine, to walk and talk our way around the hilly loop encircling a nearby golf course. If we timed it right, we could get up to the top in time to see the sun rise over the lake and still make it back down again to our own kitchens just as our children were waking up.
The men never did get it, could not comprehend why their wives would prefer a hike in the dark to a roll in the hay in the morning, but at least they could commiserate with one another. "They choose to walk," my husband, Steve, once said to a few of the other guys, shaking his head in mock disbelief. It became our slogan, the words we repeated to one another on all those ridiculously cold or snowy or rainy dawns when we put on our sneakers anyway, slipped out our back doors, tried in vain to shush our wildly excited dogs, and joined one another in the driveway. "We choose to walk!" And walk we did, for years, sharing the news of our lives as we made our way through the waning darkness, the dogs forming a companionable pack of their own out in front of us.
"What will you miss most of all if you move away?" Marie asked me early one morning as we huffed up the first hill. I didn't hesitate. "You. Carol. My friends," I said.
"Well, you should just go ahead and move then" was her quick reply. "Your friends aren't going anywhere. We'll always be here and we'll always be your friends, even if we don't see you every day. And besides, it's not that far. We can visit anytime."
The call came out of the blue, as such calls usually do. I was making dinner in my parents' kitchen, where we were living until our own house got built in a nearby town. My thoughts at that moment were all about getting the meal on the table, wondering whether Steve and my dad were on their way home from work, whether I should run upstairs to see if the boys were actually doing homework.
When the phone rang and I heard Carol's greeting on the line, I missed the catch in her voice and launched immediately into some inconsequential tale of my own. "I have some news," she said gently, as if apologizing in advance for being the one to interrupt my domestic doings and send me into freefall instead. "Marie is sick. And it's serious."
And with that we were all in a new place. I instantly remembered Marie's words to me when she'd urged me to follow my heart: "Your friends aren't going anywhere." And I remembered what I'd thought silently to myself that morning nearly two years earlier, as we walked on toward the sunrise: "But someday we're going to really need each other, and then what'll we do?" Of course, I'd also believed that "someday" meant the very distant future, a bridge we wouldn't have to cross for a long, long time.
As it turned out, Marie and I were both prescient. Our friendship easily survived physical separation. And, after she was diagnosed, it seemed to me that I had but one thing to offer in the face of her devastating prognosis: a willingness—no, a certainty—that I would be there for her. "Your friends aren't going anywhere," she'd told me, and I wanted more than anything to take her at her word. I might have moved away, but I wasn't going anywhere, either. I could write, I could call, I could drive the hour and a half from my house to hers. One way or another, I would figure out how to show up, just as I knew she would have done for me.
Perhaps it is human nature to train our focus upon the slightest beam of hope when darkness threatens to overwhelm, to set our sights on good outcomes even in the midst of trials and fear, to believe in a better future in order to survive the worst days. For Marie, the cultivation of a steady, clear-eyed hope became her best defense against a disease that appeared out of nowhere and for no reason and began to chip relentlessly away at everything she loved. Hope was what gave her courage to persevere against the odds, and hope was the place in which I gladly met her—for even hope with slender roots in reality seemed preferable to despair.
Marie had never taken her life for granted; she had just assumed, as we all do, that there would be a lot more of it. When she was first diagnosed, the result of a colonoscopy that turned up a suspicious-looking mass in her colon, she was shattered. The sublimity of simply being alive was brought into sudden, high relief. Less than two weeks earlier, Carol, Marie, and I had been sitting in the early-autumn sunshine having a picnic lunch for my birthday. Three longtime friends chatting about mundane, forgettable things. We had complained grievously about our wrinkles and frown marks, debated the pros and cons of eyelifts. Now one of us was fighting for her life and no one was thinking about crow's-feet anymore.
None of us knows, really, how we'd respond to a diagnosis that brings us face-to-face with our own mortality, to an illness that means that the arc of life might be bisected and our time on earth cut short. Marie struggled to get herself oriented in this new landscape, but it didn't take her long to go into action. She set herself resolutely on the path for aggressive treatment—chemotherapy, surgery, whatever else was in her doctor's arsenal. She cleared a space in an upstairs room and began a daily practice of yoga, meditation, and prayer. She gave up red meat, alcohol, sugar, and caffeine. And then she reached out and embraced her life as it already was, only more fiercely.
Not for her the overseas trip of a lifetime, fancy dinners out, or a string of intense experiences. All she wanted was her own ordinary days, the more of them the better. She wanted to read the newspaper at the breakfast table, take a walk with her friends, weed the garden, make her son's favorite chocolate cake, go to her daughter's swim meet, write a grant proposal, cook dinner, watch TV with her husband, take the dog outside, and head upstairs to bed with a book in her hand. She wanted more of what she already had.
"I'm not going to ask, 'Why me?' " Marie said as she steeled herself for the first of her surgeries, "because I know it could just as well be anyone. So, why not me?" And that was the chilling truth of it. Life and death: two sides of the same coin, flipped at random, heads or tails, win or lose. I wished I could somehow share my friend's burden or see some scrap of meaning in this illness that seemed so meaningless. What I was coming to realize instead was that the illness was just what it was; creating a sense of meaning was up to her, and up to all of us who loved her.
I thought about how lonely she must feel—she was sick, her friends were healthy. And that constant, inescapable fact isolated her no matter how much love and support I or anyone else might try to offer. Cancer created a new, unbridgeable distance between the busy, mundane workaday world we'd all once inhabited together and her new one, a bleak medical landscape through which she had no choice but to journey alone. The healthy can travel only so far into the territory of illness. We can bear witness to a loved one's journey, walk alongside and hold a hand, offer books and pots of soup and words of encouragement, but we can't wear someone else's shoes or carry even a part of their burden. Only yesterday, my friend's life had been simple and negotiable and seemingly boundless. Now it was complicated, finite, precarious. Precarious. It is an old word, with its roots in the Latin precarius, meaning "obtained by entreaty or mere favor, hence uncertain." Suddenly, what had felt certain was not, not at all. Little wonder then that an adjective that originally meant "full of prayers" now seemed to describe everything. It seemed that if I was going to be of any help to Marie at all, I would have to renegotiate my own relationship to prayer and to make my own peace with this randomness. To confront the precarious nature of everything head on myself, just as she was being forced to do.
"The hardest thing to deal with," she admitted soon after she was diagnosed, "is the fear." And so I prayed for strength—for her and for her family and for me, too. If grief and gratitude are kindred emotions, two sides of a coin, then courage is what it takes to accommodate both at once, to stay focused on what is beautiful and abundant even as illness carves more and more of what you love away.
Excerpted from Magical Journey by Katrina Kenison Copyright © 2013 by Katrina Kenison. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Meet the Author
Katrina Kenison is the author of The Gift of an Ordinary Day and Mitten Strings for God: Reflections for Mothers in a Hurry. She has appeared on Oprah, as well as other shows. Her writing has appeared in O, Real Simple, Family Circle, Redbook, Better Homes and Gardens, Health,and other publications. From 1990 until 2006, Kenison was the series editor of The Best American Short Stories, published annually by Houghton Mifflin. She co-edited, with John Updike, The Best American Short Stories of the Century (Houghton Mifflin, 2000). She wrote, with Rolf Gates, Meditations from the Mat: Daily Reflections on the Path of Yoga (Random House, 2002).
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Beautifully written book! I've loved all of Katrina Kenison's books, but this might jut be my favorite. A must-read for any woman facing midlife, or otherwise reaching a crossroad, this book is a thoughtful, soulful reflection on what makes a life well-lived. You'll want to read it again and again.
I am a big fan of Katrina Kenison's writing, and "Magical Journey" met my very high expectations. Poetic, authentic, deep but relatable -- I turned the last page of this book and then flipped right back to page one and began it again. I knew I'd read it too fast the first time, and this book is one to slow down and savor. So many threads resonated deeply with me -- themes of grief and loss, friendship, parenting, mid-life. And Katrina's writing is so warm, so accessible, it's like sitting down with a good friend over a warm cup of coffee and a plate of scones. I highly recommend "Magical Journey" as a beautiful book to read yourself AND give as a gift to someone you love.
All of Katrina's books are my favorite, but "Magical Journey" is my "most recent" favorite. Warm, honest and poignant, Katrina's writings leave the reader feeling as though they are far from alone on their journey. Having her insight has been so comforting, particularly with "Magical Journey" as I, too, struggle with an empty nest, and trying to figure out "what's next"? I consider Katrina and this book to be a gift, a much needed balm for the soul.
For me, this book is like having a very best friend who is going thru exactly what I have been feeling and experiencing. Especially if you are anywhere around the "empty nest" age, I'm sure you, too, will bond with Katrina Kenison. When I read these words, I knew I had found a kindred spirit in her writing: "From the moment I walked into my first yoga class more than a decade ago, I had a profound and completely unanticipated sense of homecoming. It was as if, after a lifetime of avoiding gym class, being inept in my body and adrift in a sea of self-consciousness, I'd finally sailed into a friendly port and dropped anchor in a welcoming harbor."
I have read and loved all of Katrina's books, but hands down this is my favorite. Wise and warm, her books always delight me but Magical Journey is special. She exposes the raw and vulnerable side of her life where things get ugly. Her struggle with hard times drew me in. We humans meet on this planet with our very humanity bumping up against the humanity of others. We are not perfect, we experience loss and pain, times are sometimes very tough. Showing us these parts of her life made her memoir so much more real to me. I don't want to know how perfect someone's life is, I want to know how they get through the times that are hard. I want to understand what they held onto and what they let go of when they were struggling. I want to see how their human-ness was engaged and enlivened by diving into (and eventually getting through) the rough patches that life inevitably throws at us. That's what Katrina did in this book and she did it with grace and beauty. I am so happy to have read it and to recommend it to my friends. And now, it's in paperback so there is no reason to wait to read it!
From Katie Wedding: I love Katrina Kenison's books- I have found nothing else that compares to her writings. I discovered 'The Gift of an Ordinary Day' last winter, and devoured it in a few days. I quickly ordered 'Mitten Strings for God'. I find myself reading, not wanting them to end- but I can't get enough! She speaks to my thoughts exactly. I loved her newest I felt as though I was spending a cherished week with an old friend while I read it. I am a 35 year old mother to 3 young ones- yet I related to her search and questioning. I envision that I will be in the same space in 10-15 years. Thank you, Katrina, for starting my journey I am working to carve silence, reflection and simplicity into my daily life. Please keep writing!!!!
Magical Journey is a soulful, introspective, and beautifully written memoir. Katrina's words inspire you to examine your own journey and provide comforting reassurance along the way.
The underlined, dog eared pages of my copy of Magical Journey are a testament to how deeply Katrina Kenison's writing has touched me. Reading her work is like talking with a wise and gentle friend who is willing to share her story to provide you with companionship and guidance for your own journey. A book I continue to pick up and re-read and one that I have shared with many of my friends.
I highly recommend this book for those adjusting to the empty nest and wondering "What's next?" or "What now?" This book was a great companion and comfort to me last year when our two kids both left the nest within a month of each other. Books have a way of finding me when I need them, and "Magical Journey" found me when I was feeling lost and alone. I hope you find it as helpful a companion as I did. Best Wishes, Linda Marten
GREAT book group selection! Our best discussion about life, next chapters..and the choices and situations that lay ahead for ALL of us. And as a bonus, Katrina Kenison is an incredibly gifted writer, it's a lovely book to read. The author Ann Patchett even tips her hat to Katrina in her latest book! I highly recommend it.
Katrina Kenison's beautiful words carried me along on her mid-life journey and showed me how to cherish and nurture the magical moments in my own life.
Katrina has a beautiful way of putting into words what, I believe, so many women feel at their core. A wonderful read.
LIFE IS A GARDEN ~ As a gardener living in New England, I can't think of a better way to spend a long winter than curled up with a hot cup of tea and Magical Journey....the timing could not be more perfect! Katrina strikes a chord deep within my soul with this passage..."As I contemplate the silent snow fields beyond my window on this dark winter morning, I sense a stirring of intention, movement, and metamorphosis. Deep beneath the frozen earth, new life waits, patiently biding time until the blessing of sun and the benediction of rain call it forth."
Though I am not experiencing the same life challenges that Katrina writes so beautifully about (I am still in the midst of young children, soccer games, basketball practices, and preschool.), everything she writes resonates with all of my fears, my insecurities, and my anxieties about watching my children grow, about letting them go little by little, and about what my life will be when that process finally comes to an end. Katrina's captivating writing has helped me to stay more present in the process, to be gentler with myself as I grow through it, and to really experience the time I have with my children around me. Her message is universal; it is about valuing ourselves and about growing in ways we never imagined.
I've read all of Katrina's books and loved everyone but confess the last one is my favorite. Now that it's out in paperback I intend to give it to many of my friends and it's a great book group read as the discussions are relevant to us all. Katrina inspires me to live in the present and to be grateful for both the joys and sorrows in my life, who have been my great teachers. She reminds me to seek beauty, contentment, comfort, wisdom, understanding and joy when I forget. She reminds me that loss is as important as joy and that growth continues every moment of every day. She reminds me that we stand together and that through our collective sharing we grow wiser and deeper. She reminds me that we are not alone. She reminds me to step into my fears. She reminds me to take care of myself, to honor myself as well as others. She reminds me that dreams are possible. She reminds me that falling is part of the process. She reminds me it's okay to be just who I am. She reminds me that life is fragile and short. She reminds me to appreciate the moments. She reminds me to be silly, to play and to laugh. She reminds me we can find peace and comfort despite our flaws, mistakes and struggles. She reminds me to forgive others and myself. She reminds me to be grateful, and to listen, look and feel. Her words are sparse, simple, clear and beautiful. They often leave me speechless. These are the gifts of her words, her writing, and generosity of spirit and heart.
A Writer's Crush... This book was so beautifully written that I kept finding myself either nodding my head in agreement or wishing I'd written Katrina's words myself. A writer that allows you to see deep within and discover that really in essence, we are all so similar as women, mothers, friends and humans. Just a true gem!
Highly recommend. Kenison writes with a knowing, candid style about learning to enjoy every moment in your life and, most importantly, how to be present. Recommended for all phases of life for anyone asking the question, "Who am I?". Beautifully written and engagingly personal, this memoir will stay with you for days, weeks, and years to come. A must read!
In this candid, heartfelt memoir, Katrina Kenison chronicles her search for renewed purpose in midlife and lavishes her readers with a veritable gold mine of wisdom with language so lovely and words so true that I found myself reading passages over and over again, just to absorb their resonant beauty. This book is an exploration of what it means to be human, and as Kenison discovers peace, meaning, and self-acceptance in her own life, we realize that we can, too.
So honest... that it helped me look kindly inside myself. Loved it .
I've found a kindred spirit in Katrina - we share not only a first name, we share the same quest of finding our true selves after spending so much of our lives raising children and building a life. Katrina speaks so openly & honestly that you'll feel as though you're sharing an intimate conversation over coffee. In sharing her journey, she'll help you to find your way on your own....
I discovered Katrina Kenison's writing many years ago, when I came across Mitten Strings from God: Reflections for Mothers in a Hurry. At home with two young boys, I was a mom trying to keep our family life to a slow yet manageable pace and I felt an immediate kinship with Katrina. Always a few steps ahead of me on the parenting path, I have found her writing to be insightful and inspiring, and her books beautifully written. Her second book, Gift of an Ordinary Day, provided me with the gentle reminder I needed to keep the pace slow and to cherish every moment with our growing family. While reading Magical Journey, I realized that life's daily pace is no longer as frenetic and the season of letting go has suddenly arrived. Like the author, I find myself experiencing bittersweet moments at a rapid clip. These books have each remained on my nightstand long after I finished reading them and each has provided encouragement during my motherhood journey. A favorite quote from Magical Journey..."To remember that this imperfect, unpredictable life, this day, this opportunity to love and cherish one another, is fleeting, singular, not to be missed."
I love this quote from Katrina Kenison's book: "Learning how to be at ease in the shadows of uncertainty and trusting the path to reveal itself. . ." from Magical Journey I appreciated her raw honesty in sharing her feelings and life stories as she writes about her middle age as a wife, mother, daughter, friend and author. - Shawn
I'd give this book 10 stars if I could! I have been reading Katrina Kenison since she published Mitten Strings for God in 2000 (from which I continue to make her fabulous recipe for Irish oatmeal all these years later!). From Mitten Strings, to The Gift of an Ordinary Day, and now Magical Journey, Katrina Kenison has managed to speak directly to me (and thousands of others, I am sure), in the most compassionate, intelligent, original and moving ways about the challenges and joys of living life. Each book caught me at exactly the right point in my life -- when my children were young, then tweens and teens, and now the prospect in the not so distant future of their leaving home. I find wisdom, solace, validation, challenge and humor in her words. I have read each of her books twice and expect to visit them again. She is a wonderful writer and an astute observer of how to cut through to what is really important in life. I am a VERY grateful reader!


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With a stay at Best Western Bayfront Inn, you'll be centrally located in St. Augustine, steps from Wolf's Museum of Mystery and minutes from Colonial Quarter Museum. This hotel is within close proximity of St. Photios Greek Orthodox National Shrine and Pena-Peck House.
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Running Around InvisableMature
I sigh and start to rock on my bed while rubbing my temples. I should never of come here, never should of came to England. I miss America. I miss the warm sun from Phoenix, my old home. I can tell the tears are still running down my face.
I can hear movement from outside my room. I sigh and get to my feet.
I know I'm still invisable, I can feel it. I push open my door and sneak out.
I don't really need to sneak, no one can see me but I still feel more comfitable to sneak about. I slam the front door and start to run. I need find my mate. She helps me calm down, helps me turn visable again. I bump into a few people going into the fish and chip place.
"Sorry." I mutter and run on. I shake my head, that poor guy probably thinks he's going mad. One minuet he gets bumped into by, what seems like, nothing and then hears a voice even though no one is around. God, I need to be more careful!


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The enlightenment: how flying has made it all my hometown
I realized flying has made it all my hometown. My neighborhood now stretches from sea to shining sea; I am a part of all of it. I thought of a trip from Chicago to Texas where a storm system left me options through Kansas or through Georgia. Either one would work. As easy as picking a bank branch on one of two corners, my choice for convenience now can cross a thousand miles.


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Yo bro channel selection was very good and I was very satisfied with it. It offered most of the premium channels that were available to the local cable provider. The cable service was very reliable and I had very few outages when using it. Overall I was very satisfied with it and recommended totally to the consumer provided it's available in your area. I was happy with the overall value however I felt that the channel selection could have been a little bit greater compared to the money that it was costing me to have. The overall customer support was exceptional even though I really had to use it. The few times I did have to use it I was provided great service and any issues were quickly resolved.
So many great channels at a low price. It's worth having. Never have any problems with them. We love them. Give them thumbs up. They are a great company and they are worthwhile cable company. Very affordable and fast. Never freezes, nothing. I totally recommend. This is a great cable service and it's awesome great channels and everything for one low price. It's pretty awesome. They are always helpful at answering your questions right away. Very well and good indeed. I appreciate their customer service. They are wonderful.
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This will be about the only thing that's above a Very dissatisfied. The selection is ok.. Nothing to write home about.. Hence the dissatisfied. For the price I pay should be more of a selection. I waited weeks for them to hook up my internet. They just needed to fix one cable. Could they do that in a timely manner? No. I was waiting on call backs from supervisors that never came. So unprofessional. Horrible value. You pay so much money for what?? Absolute ** service. The Internet is constantly going in and out and the service I receive from the employees there make the value even worse. If I could give this a negative 100 or a F - I would. Absolute worst customer service.. Right next to COMCAST and that's something to say. Extremely unreliable. Never received call backs. Waited on hold for an hour and other times were too long. And when you finally get through they scam you and mislead you.
The selection is great! They have something for everyone, I would definitely highly recommend them to anyone. My family enjoys them very much. The service reliability is good. They have some issues here and there but it doesn't last long like the others. The perceived value is also good compare to any other ones. I'm very happy. My customer service experience was amazing. The person who I spoke to was able to help me and answer all of my questions and plus some. I'm so grateful for the good service I received.
Premium channels are provided. All of the channels that I enjoy watching along with two additional movie channels that I also enjoy. The movie channels are Starz and Showtime. The service is very reliable and dependable. I think this is the best service out there. Top of the line quality that anyone could ever ask for. The value is very affordable and reasonable based on what you're looking for. For me it is just right. Not too expensive and not too cheap. The customer support system for this network is always available. The store are open 6 days a week but you can always speak to someone via phone or email if needed.
I had a good variety of stations and offered packages that would help combine prices and save money. Customer service was always very good and the staff is resolved problems quickly. The service was reliable and it only went out when there was a big storm or a neighborhood outage. Problems were always resolved quickly. They had good value packages for the price and offer a wide variety of channels and selections as well as on-demand services when needed them. Customer service was difficult to get to a person sometimes but once I was connected with someone my problems rather quickly they were always very professional.
The channel selection is very numerous. You can always find something good to watch. It seems the service is great. I never have a problem finding something to watch. The service reliability is highly rated by me. I've had other services that were so bad. This service is dependable and I recommend to anyone who gets it. The perceived value is all the company says it is. Very dependable. I can't believe I waited as long as I did to have the service. My family and lots of my friends have it also. Customer service so far has been very helpful. They seem to know the business. If one doesn't have an answer to a question they find someone who does. I think they really are tremendous.
They are highly innovative and have a wide variety of high quality brands and products to choose from. They are always good about having everything in stock. This company is absolutely highly reliable and they offer great services and products and they are a company that you can always count on no matter what. This company in my opinion is of great high value as it offers very innovative products and services that will fit anyone's needs and they are high quality. I feel like the customer support of this company is high professional and knowledgeable and I would highly recommend their services to anyone.
It did not have the best channel selection or by far the worst. It did not work all the time in crappy weather but other than that it got the job done. You get what you pay for. It is not the best price or the worst price. Not the most professional people I've talked to. Pretty crappy.
MetroNet Company Profile
- Company Name:
- MetroNet
- Website:
- https://www.metronetinc.com/


text:
May 2012
As the Assistant Deputy Minister of the Culture, Community and Voluntary Services Division of the Government of Alberta, Shannon Marchand led a team brought together to work on the social policy framework in Alberta. His presentation gives an overview of this newly created project, making a connection between the science and the social policy framework in Alberta in recognition of the Government of Alberta's priority for better outcomes for families and children. He outlines the opportunities for public involvement in the creation of a new social policy framework for improving child health in Alberta.
This resource remains copyright of the author. The AFWI encourages sharing by linking to this page, but republishing this content is prohibited by law.


text:
HYPEBEAST 100: The innovators from all realms of creativity in the spotlight.
With in-depth interviews, focused features and fashion-forward editorials, our print publication features long-form coverage of the topics valued by readers.
Explore and be inspired by the latest women's fashion news and trends.
Merging the aesthetics of vintage racing, classic cars and clothing.
Fairfax Avenue has been an iconic street in Los Angeles for the better part of the last century.
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text:
Beginnings to the Ends
Auvrea nodded, looking at the notebook, she passed it back to him. "Here, Why did the..." She almost choked at the word. "Vampire want it?" She looked at him tilting her head. She wasn't oblivious to the fact he liked her. But she thought it was for the wrong reasons.
She looked towards the back of the bus, towards Alex. "Is that him?" She motioned towards the vampire who reeked of blood, death and oddly time. Sort of like a musky old smell. That is why she hated vampires. They weren't meant to be here. Not in her eyes.


text:
Sensex snaps 7-day losing streak, closes 23 pts higher
Volatility may remain high on the bourses this week in view of expiry of futures and options (F&O) March contract on Thursday.
Mumbai: The BSE benchmark Sensex on Tuesday snapped a seven-day losing streak by rising 23 points on buying by funds mainly in consumer durables and FMGC stocks ahead of monthly expiry in the derivatives segment amid a firming European trend. The Sensex closed 23.11 points up, or 0.12 per cent, to close at 18,704.53. The index moved between 18,758.88 and 18,612.37 points. The gauge had lost 890 points in last seven trading sessions.
Similarly, the broad-based National Stock Exchange index Nifty rose by 7.75 points, or 0.14 per cent, to 5,641.60, after moving between 5,655.30 and 5,612.05. Brokers said trading sentiments improved on investors covering their pending long positions created in last seven sessions of losses before the settlement in derivatives segment on Thursday and some winding up their positions on ending of the current financial year.
They said the market received another boost on reports of higher opening in Europe before US data that may show durable-goods orders increased and new-house sales held close to a four-year high last month. Confidence among global investors also received booster after the government approved six FDI proposals, including that of AirAsia Investment, Malaysia, totalling over Rs 732 crore.
The market will remain closed on Wednesday and Friday on account of Holi and Good Friday, respectively. In 30-BSE index components, 15 stocks closed higher led by Hindustan Unilever, ITC Ltd, Infosys, ICICI Bank, HDFC Bank, HDFC Bank, Bharti Airtel and Coal India.
However, the most heavy on the benchmark Reliance Industries tumbled by 3.25 per cent to Rs 783.40, Hero MotoCorp by 2.69 per cent to Rs 1,572.50, Larsen and Toubro by 2.24 per cent to Rs 1,337 and BHEL by 1.76 per cent to Rs 176.30. The stock of Hindalco remained unchanged at Rs 88 in limited deals.
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SET 1: Punch You In the Eye > Possum, Bathtub Gin, Bill Bailey, Won't You Please Come Home?[1], Boogie On Reggae Woman, Destiny Unbound, Backwards Down the Number Line, Bouncing Around the Room, Stash, Joy, Buffalo Bill, Dog Faced Boy, Run Like an Antelope[2]
SET 2: Down with Disease[3] > Prince Caspian > Twist, Roses Are Free > My Friend, My Friend > My Problem Right There, Tube > Mike's Song > The Horse > Silent in the Morning, Mexican Cousin, Weekapaug Groove, Suzy Greenberg > Slave to the Traffic Light
ENCORE: Character Zero
Add a Review
Trey Anastasio Band: May 28, 2017
1 day ago
Three Sisters Park
Set 1: Gotta Jibboo, Mozambique, Sand, Soul Rebel, Drifting, Burlap Sack and Pumps, Cayman Review, Curlew's Call, Magilla, Money, Love and Change
Set 2: Night Speaks to a Woman, Ocelot > Valentine, Plasma > Liquid Time -> Midnight Rider[1] > Dark and Down, Simple Twist Up Dave > Goodbye Head, Mr. Completely > First Tube
Encore: Clint Eastwood > Push On 'Til the Day, The Parting Glass
[1] TAB debut.
Phish.net is a non-commercial project run by Phish fans and for Phish fans under the auspices of the all-volunteer, non-profit Mockingbird Foundation.
This project serves to compile, preserve, and protect encyclopedic information about Phish and their music.
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text:
West MI SportsCenter Morning Edition - 08/25/2014
Victor Martinez tallied three hits with a two-run homer and four RBI to help the Detroit Tigers to a (13-4) win yesterday over the Minnesota Twins at Target Field. Torii Hunter totaled four RBI as well while Rajai Davis left the yard for Detroit. Max Scherzer threw five innings to pick up his 15th win of the season. The Tigers have the day off today, and will open a three-game series against the New York Yankees at Comerica Park on Tuesday.
George Winn scored the winning touchdown on a one-yard run with half the time gone in the fourth quarter as the Lions defeated the Jaguars (13-12) on Friday night. Matthew Stafford threw for 98 yards and an interception for Detroit, which moved to (2-1) in the preseason. The Lions end the preseason Thursday at Buffalo.
Detroit Pistons center Andre Drummond is on Team USA for the FIBA World Cup. He's one of six big men to make the 12-man roster. The Americans play one last tuneup against Slovenia before starting the World Cup in Spain on Saturday against Finland.
Closer to home, the West Michigan Whitecaps lost at South Bend yesterday (6-3). They will take on the Silverhawks again tonight starting at 7:05pm.
And just a reminder that the Wendy's High School Football Game of the Week kicks off this week with 2 featured games. On Thursday night, East Grand Rapids will host GR Catholic Central with coverage beginning at 6pm. Then on Friday night, the Sailors of South Christian will visit the Eagles of Grand Rapids Christian with pregame coverage beginning at 6:45pm right here on ESPN 96.1 and streaming live on PrepsMi.com.


text:
ED Magedson – Founder
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800 Flowers. com5600 NW 12th Ave Internet United States of America
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text:
Having problems with your Toshiba Satellite A205-S4617 Notebook ?
My toshiba A205-s5851 won't boot and the display won't come on.
\015 I have tried rebooting from the ms vista recovery iso disc. I have tried\015\012powering up and pressing F2 to get into the BIOS. I have even tried the ms vista update disc, all with no success. The power light comes on when you power up and you can see the HD light come on momentarily and you can hear it accessing the CD for about 10 - 15 seconds. Then\015\012the unit just sits with nothing else happening.\015\012Please help! Any ideas?\015
Answers :
This sounds like a hardware problem. Some devices like CD drives if not seated properly will cause the computer to hang. Also, I would disconnect all external devices (USB, Firewire, COM Ports, etc.) and then try to power off the machine followed by a cold boot. Another problem would be RAM, it might not be seated properly. Try removing it and re-seating it.
Repair Help & Product Troubleshooting for Toshiba Satellite A205-S4617 Notebook
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Suggested Questions/Answers :
My toshiba A205-s5851 won't boot and the display won't come on.
This sounds like a hardware problem. Some devices like CD drives if not seated properly will cause the computer to hang. Also, I would disconnect all external devices (USB, Firewire, COM Ports, etc.) and then try to power off the machine ... Toshiba Satellite A205-S4617 Notebook
I turn my l300 on and than stops at toshiba leading innovation. it won't do any thing when i press f2 or f12 thanks
I have had this problem several times with other Toshiba notebooks to the extent I almost cringe when anouther person tells me they are once again having the same problem. Hopefully, the following steps I give you will correct your problem... if not ... Toshiba Satellite Pro L300-EZ1005X Notebook PC
No boot No fan noise no display but lights come on
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Toshiba Satellite A55-s1066 wont boot
Check out this Toshiba document - http://askiris.toshiba.com/ToshibaSupportSite/search.do?cmd=displayKC&docType=kc&externalId=571487xml&sliceId=&dialogID=19454183&stateId=0%200%2019450573\015\012\015\012Look about half way down the document to the se ... Toshiba Satellite A55-S1066 Notebook
Toshiba Satellite A205 laptop will not boot - black screen
You need to clean out your CPU Fan and add some thermal paste to the processor and the GPU. Just had this problem and that was my solution. ... PC Laptops
M35X does not boot up
Several model Toshibas had this problem including M35X and M75X. There is a small power chip under the top cover bezel(above keyboard) that overheats and comes off the MB.This is a Maxim IC which Toshiba unfortunately used in several models till they ... Toshiba Satellite M35X-S349 Notebook
Toshiba satellite L25-s1194 wont boot windows
Is it giving you any error or out of the ordinary "beeping" as it is booting?\015\012Usually the BIOS screen comes up if it cannot find an acceptable boot device.\015\012Can you boot from an XP cd?\015\012Can you boot into set up mo ... PC Laptops
My toshiba 2455-s305 wont boot up
If you are familiar with your laptop, i.e. the locations of hard drive, try to take it out of the its bay and put it back again. Also, if you can have someone check your battery packs, because from my experience with this laptop, when the battery pa ... Toshiba Satellite 2455-S305 Notebook
Randomly lost display on my pc.. and its not a faulty card.
Try to set your PCI-E card as a first one in BIOS. There also should be an option to turn off onboard video. ... Gateway GT4022 PC Desktop
Toshiba Satellite M35 Laptops Problem and Potential Fix
Sounds like your problem might be your keyboard ribbon cable coming loose. Since you already opened it up pull the ribbon connecting the keyboard to the motherboard, off the motherboard. Make sure it is flipped in the right direction, look to see t ... PC Laptops
Cant do anything, I turn it on, get windows screen, next says windows restarting
With the hard drive removed power up the system and enter the CMOS setup utility. Make sure that it is working properly. If not then get an external monitor and plug it into the VGA port on your laptop. (should be D-shaped with 15 holes for pins). In ... Toshiba Satellite 5105-S701 (PS511U-02WYJX) PC Notebook
Wont recognise disk drive ide error
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Vertical Lines Display - Recovery shows setup not complete
As per my experience, the problem is not because of your Video Card/Driver. Such a problem arises due to faulty RAM. Change your RAM and enjoy computing.\015\012Thanks ... Toshiba PC Laptops
Toshiba Satellite A100 PSAA2C video boot
Have you tried installing or running the drivers disc for your laptop right after the windows installation without restarting it first? that might do the trick... it's either the driver for your laptop's board/ chipset or the vga driver... ... Toshiba Satellite A100-S8111TD Notebook
Toshiba Satellite M30X/m35x
Try an external monitor - if that works then your screen or cable is faulty. If not try replacing the ram - if you are using two sticks of ram try booting with each stick individually to see if one of them is faulty. If it does not show a display wit ... Toshiba Satellite M30X Notebook
HP Pavilion DV2036e Wont Boot
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The computer wont boot up. and the screen wont display anything!
Take a multimeter and verify the AC adapter. If it is ok, remove the battery. When you push the power on button do you have any activity ? If there is no activity the motherboard is defective. If you have some activity (leds on, fan activity etc.) : ... Dell XPS M1210 Notebook
My computer wont boot up the fan and light turn on for a second then goes right off....
Follow these steps to determine why your computer won't turn on.\015\012\015\012Computer shows no sign of power ... HP Pavilion dv9000z Notebook
I have a toshiba satellite m105-s3041 and the operating system wont start , it comes up with windows could not start because the following file is missing or corrupt: windowssystem32configsystem i get all the safe mode stuff and tryed everything else that comes on screen . i've downloaded the xp recovery disc for that model and cant get it 2 start even going into bios and booting from cd , i also burnt it as an iso file
Windows Start-up Errors\015\012Step one, you need a Windows XP CD. If you only have a recovery disk set like the ones from HP or Compaq they will not do what you need done. Under normal circumstances however, you can use a De ... Toshiba Satellite M105-S3041Notebook
Toshiba Sate. M35X-S19 - Blank Display
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HP Proliant ML350 G5 wont boot ,just spining.
The G5 Series is fairly new, if you're within warranty, call 1800-okCompaq.\015\012\015\012Could be a bad cable, a bad monitor, or bad computer hardware. Any display at all or any beep codes?\015\012\015\012On the back, the m ... HP Compaq ProLiant ML350 G5 Server
The disc drive will no longer pop open - Toshiba PC Desktops
This happens from time to time. Could be time for a new disk drive. In the mean time, \015\012\015\012Shut down the computer for about five seconds and then turn it back on. Start pressing the key that gets your computer into its BIOS s ... Toshiba PC Desktops
Toshiba Satelite A35-S1592 won't load XP. Toshiba screen comes up and then black screen.Tried booting from CD. No luck.
· First troubleshooting - When you turn the laptop on, are you able to see the splash screen? This would be the computer manufacturer's screen display that usually shows a ... Toshiba Satellite A35-S1592 Notebook
Diplay will not boot up toshiba satellite laptop
You could have a defective screen - a defective inverter or a CCFL lamp or simply the video cable needs reseating. After reseating the video cable and the problem is still there then :- To determine if you have a LCD screen or video card problem, rea ... PC Laptops
Toshiba A75 Wont Boot up
It sounds like you may not have made a good connection to the motherboard from the screen when you put everything back together. When you press the power button does the screen come on and then go off or does it not come on at all ? ... Toshiba Satellite A75-S226 Notebook


text:
New Pokémon smashes sales record in Japan
Pokemon Black and Pokemon White show that the little pocket monsters are more popular than ever in their home country after becoming the fastest-selling DS game in Japan.
Pokemon Black and Pokemon White show that the little pocket monsters are more popular than ever in their home country after becoming the fastest-selling DS game in Japan.
When Call of Duty: Black Ops hits the market November 9, look for it on Nintendo DS as well as every other system under the sun (excepting PlayStation 2). Activision announced a Black Ops companion game for the handheld, developed by n-Space.
The latest business news, reviews, features and whitepapers
Visit our shop for the best deals on hot products
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Comprehensive buying guides, features, and step-by-step articles
HP OfficeJet Pro 8730
A smarter way to print for busy small business owners, combining speedy printing with scanning and copying, making it easier to produce high quality documents and images at a touch of a button.
HP OfficeJet Pro 8730
I've had a multifunction printer in the office going on 10 years now. It was a neat bit of kit back in the day -- print, copy, scan, fax -- when printing over WiFi felt a bit like magic. It's seen better days though and an upgrade's well overdue. This HP OfficeJet Pro 8730 looks like it ticks all the same boxes: print, copy, scan, and fax. (Really? Does anyone fax anything any more? I guess it's good to know the facility's there, just in case.) Printing over WiFi is more-or- less standard these days.
HP OfficeJet Pro 8730
As a freelance writer who is always on the go, I like my technology to be both efficient and effective so I can do my job well. The HP OfficeJet Pro 8730 Inkjet Printer ticks all the boxes in terms of form factor, performance and user interface.
Windows 10 for Business / Dell XPS 13
I'd happily recommend this touchscreen laptop and Windows 10 as a great way to get serious work done at a desk or on the road.
Windows 10 / HP Spectre x360
Ultimately, I think the Windows 10 environment is excellent for me as it caters for so many different uses. The inclusion of the Xbox app is also great for when you need some downtime too!
Windows 10 / Lenovo Yoga 910
For me, the Xbox Play Anywhere is a great new feature as it allows you to play your current Xbox games with higher resolutions and better graphics without forking out extra cash for another copy. Although available titles are still scarce, but I'm sure it will grow in time.


text:
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text:
A Night in the CemeteryMature
Just a short, fun revenge story.
It's cold. I can't see anything. Something – a bug, maybe – is crawling up my leg. I feel something gritty on my face. Dirt. Where am I? I wonder frantically. I feel around. I'm in a wooden box. A coffin. I'm running out of oxygen. I punch the lid. It doesn't budge. My heart starts pounding against my rib cage. I keep trying. No success. I scream and punch the lid again. The wood cracks, spilling a little dirt into the coffin. Coughing, I hit the lid once more. My hand bursts through, allowing splinters to dig into my skin. My arm starts to bleed a bit. It stings, but I bite my lip hard and repeatedly punch the wood with both of my hands. Dry soil pours into the coffin. Some enters my mouth. I dig quickly, desperately trying to reach the surface. Sitting up, I finally poke my head above the ground.
I'm in a graveyard. The headstones look menacing in the orange glow of the harvest moon. I climb out of the casket and wipe the dirt off my clothes. I know who left me here. Max Centilus. He invited me to dinner last night. Or was it tonight? My memory is hazy. I cry tears of happiness. I avoided death. I exit the graveyard and head toward Feldspar Street. I'm going to kill him. He won't escape. I smile grimly as I wander down the streets. There aren't any street lights. Small neighborhoods don't get the luxury. I'm standing on his front porch. I feel a funny feeling down below. He raped me. I'll make him fucking pay.
I open the window in the front and climb in. Stupid bastard doesn't know how to lock windows apparently. I walk to the kitchen and grab the butcher's knife from the block. I know how I'll kill him. It'll be great. I creep up the stairs and down the hallway to his room. I can hear him snoring. It sounds like a damn chainsaw. It'll stop soon.
I open the door and step in. His wife is home. She's beautiful. Too bad. She has to go as well. I go to Max's side of the bed and take off the blanket. He's naked. Anger fuels my adrenalin. Swiftly, I castrate the monster. He screams. The next cut severs his jugular. Choking, he dies slowly, drowning in his own blood. His wife, Angeline, is still sleeping, which surprises me. Perhaps she doesn't have to die . . . In his blood, I write the word "rapist" and "scum" on his forehead. I then return home.
The End


text:
Sara: A Speech.
"For those who don't know me, I'm Asha..." the girl continued. She explained how she had been banished for killing two vampires. "The Shadow... the shadow was me" she finished, tears pouring down her cheeks. There was a sudden outburst of noise that nearly knocked me off my feet. The pureblood I had smelled earlier came down to forgive Asha. Jay went up and forgave her too. I felt like I needed her to know that I didn't mind whether she was the Shadow or not. I went up to her. I didn't want to announce it. I remembered how I'd felt when Sylvester hadn't forgiven me. I couldn't imagine how Asha must feel now. I stood next to her behind the desk.
"Hey" I said quietly "I'm Sara. I just want you to know that even though I don't know you, I still forgive you. I've done bad things too; everyone has. I want to be your friend. I've killed vampires too and I'm ashamed of it. So I forgive you" I looked at her, tears still streaking her face. She looked at me.
"Thank you" she whispered. I smiled at her and decided to stay up here with her, so she wouldn't have to face anyone who didn't forgive her on her own.