I have finally collected the seven portfolio projects I completed for the Enchanted Lens Camera Club in Albuquerque. There is one for each year, beginning in 2018-19. They were scattered in various computer files where I had to search for them. I now have them in a Mixbook book. I am looking at them and pondering the variety of topics I chose and how well I executed each one. What will be my topic for the 2025-26 year? It is a difficult decision. What do I enjoy photographing? What do I want to convey, and what will help me grow?
Today, I am adding six projects to the blog, from newest to oldest. I did not include the 2024-25 portfolio, which has its own post. This will give me another way to find them. It allows me to share them with you.
I welcome your questions and responses. Some possibilities for 2026 include old buildings (such as businesses) in Albuquerque, as well as themes like people and books, people and food, and sacred places. What would you like to see next?
We had a fairly quiet day, sleeping later than usual before walking out for coffee and pastry at a nearby boulangerie, then exploring more of the old town and the parks and gardens along the Indre before lunch at a lovely restaurant, Jeux 2 Goûts in the old town.
Along a canalPavlova dessert with strawberries
Afterward, we visited the Musée Bertrand. Bertrand was one of Napoleon I’s marshals and generals and was with him on St. Helena when he died. The museum was an odd collection of art, memorabilia, and objects collected from Egypt and elsewhere. One of the most interesting pieces was a large sculpture by Camille Claudel.
Sculpture by Camille Claudel
As I wandered through the house, my main thought was that I should get rid of all my stuff when I get home.
stairway in museumA platter with a snake— why?Bust of NapoleonCamille Claudel signature
We also visited the enormous Gothic church of St. Andre whose gleaming white spires helped us get our bearings.
Inside was the banner for this year of Jubilee proclaimed by Pope Francis one year ago, “Spes Non Confundit.” Hope does not disappoint.
Spes non confundit
Feeling without hope, I read through much of Francis’s proclamation, which moved me to tears. It seems our world continues to accelerate in a direction opposite of that Francis urged us.
Tomorrow we take an early morning bus to Bourges. I realized only today, that this city, too, is on the Vézelay northern pilgrim route. There is a brass scallop shell right in front of our hotel.
Here’s a video Kent took a few days ago when we walked through tall grass (oops, I guess you have to go to TikTok to see it:
May 21, Wednesday, 7,900 steps. 3.1 miles (mostly without backpacks).
Thanks to Mme Tessier, we arrived in Chateauroux about 8:30 this morning. She left us at the train and bus station and our hotel was just across the street. We brought our backpacks over, and it was Ok with my mixed up day for our reservation. They took our packs and said come back at 2. Did they have a city map? No.
Kent with Mme. TessierHôtel de la Garebus and train station
So we sat in the lobby for a bit and pulled Google maps before heading toward the tourist office, closed until 10. I gaped at the shop windows filled with elegant clothes, shoes, and travel brochures. Of course nothing was yet open. We wandered toward green trees, and spied a golden Mary atop a dome. The Eglise de Notre Dame was open and filled with luminous stained glass. I spied a St. Leo, and wondered if this was the one from whom the new pope chose his name. I was fascinated by windows with Martha and Margaret with dragons at their feet.
Back outside we followed the green spaces to the impressive chateau, now holding government offices. Then down through old streets to an original gate to the city, later a prison, and on to the Indre River with ducks, a fisherman and walkways through parkland.
Most interesting public we. Push a button inside to lock and unlock and toilet flushes.Lunch with wine and pizza and we paid by scanning a card on the table. Ah! technology!The other sign says “fried chicken”whoever dreamed this up?
Back up through medieval streets to a welcoming tourist office with maps. After espresso and pastry and we continued wandering. It was getting colder and windier, so we joined a group of people waiting for a bus (free city buses). We ended up at what must have been a suburban shopping mall, but stayed on for the return trip and lunchtime in the city center at a lively Italian restaurant where we had pizza and too much wine (at least for me).
A sweet perhaps 3-year-old girl at the next table waved goodbye to us, so I showed her a picture of Amar, and then one of Psyche and all 3, and she smiled and said, “Bebe!” before she and mother and two friends left.
We have a rather quirky split-level hotel room with bed atop two steps and windows at the other end of the room.
It is cold, high of 60, with rain predicted, which could have been good walking weather
One day would probably be enough here, but we’ll see what tomorrow brings. On to Bourges on Friday and Paris on Sunday.
We heard from Alain. His knee is giving him trouble, and his wife will pick him up in Gargilesse, where we were going to finish and could have arrived today.
We are 2-3 days short of Eguzon and a train station where we thought we’d finish. But after two longish days and learning that a place about 15 km from here was not taking guests, we’ve decided to spend a rest day and in Neuvy Saint Sépulcre. This small town is the home of an unusual circular church holding a piece of stone from the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. It was brought here by a crusading local lord in the 11th century. The church was inspired by circular churches in the Middle East. It also has a drop of Precious Blood in a glass vial. The tiny stone and the glass vial are visible in the church.
Our chambre d’hôte is spacious — we were able to make our dinner here last night (no complex cooking unlike the Algerian workman who was making a dish with chicken, onions, potatoes, rice, a can of vegetables and a salad) for himself and two companions. He offered to share with us, too, but we finished our soup from a box, chèvre and canned oysters, a pastry from the boulangerie, and a bottle of rosé from the Loire district and climbed the stairs to bed before he was finished cooking.
We were able to wash our clothes in the washing machine, and hang them out to dry despite threatened rain.
With some reluctance and relief, we are going to stop walking here, facing up to the fact that we are not up to the physical challenges we handled five years ago.
Our hostess has offered to take us to Chateauroux tomorrow, the capital of the Berry region with connections by train and bus to the rest of the world.
I’ve spent the afternoon, when I’d rather have been napping, checking train and bus schedules and finally booking hotels for 2 nights each in. Chateauroux and Bourges. Connections to Paris are better from Chateauroux, but the Bourges Cathedral and old buildings along the water seem too enticing to pass up.
At this point I can hardly remember the names of the places we have stayed, and what we saw where!
It has been a mix of long stretches on small roads,some lovely tracks through fields and woods and some very wild, high grass or brushy slogs on unmaintained paths. There have been times we sat in the grass at the edge of the road because there was nowhere else, and times we were delighted to encounter a bench or picnic table.
Unlike on the LePuy Route, there have been no sources to replenish water, although a couple of times people have called out from their yards to ask if we would like water. After our first couple of days we learned to carry lots of water, which of course has made our packs heavier.
We’ve both noticed that our hearing-aid batteries have lasted much longer than usual. Kent says it’s so quiet because I lost my voice for several days, but I think it’s because it has been so quiet in the countryside, apart from the occasional passing tractor or car. We’ve heard lots of birds singing.
We have passed clusters of houses where we’ve seen no one. It has been an escape, for the most part from our noisy, busy world. When we walked past car dealers, gas stations, and busy roads on the outskirts of La Châtre, I realized that we as pilgrims are not part of that world any more.
When Booking.com lists nearby places as 10 and 15 miles away, we realize they are not a few minutes away by foot, but several hours of walking. We’re not part of the motor world, or have not been recently.
We rested today! What a treat to go back to bed after breakfast! We had a real lunch, and no supper. The day has flown by and I haven’t put on my boots!
I made a mistake in our hotel booking for tomorrow. I mixed up dates. I’ve called, texted, and emailed, and hope it will be OK. Stay tuned. Our adventures aren’t over yet, although I folded up my hiking poles, put them inside the pack, and drained the hydration pack.
Buttercups along the roadGentle rolling farm fieldsPilgrim refuge along the waychateau at SarzayKent doing a bridge danceTurns out to be our last villlageLast encounter with Thomas and his dog interior of the churchDinner in the chambre d’hôteMain Street in Neuvy Saint sépulcreLunch today
After a long absence from Caminobleu, I am sharing two December morning reflections with you instead of my usual Christmas letter.
December 19, 2024
We have returned from a month in Egypt and Greece, where we immersed ourselves in the history of two ancient cultures that have influenced Western civilization for thousands of years. Yet, more than the ancient ruins and their mysteries, I was fascinated by the lives of ordinary people, the farmers and fishermen (we saw no fisherwomen) along the eternal life-giving Nile and the people still living in simple stone houses, much as their ancestors did on the small Greek island of Syros.
The herons, stilts, kingfishers, and small birds flitting through the trees and reeds along the Nile delighted me, as did the sunrises and sunsets. I was fascinated by the fishermen who rowed with clunky oars, usually two men in a boat: one young, one old. The old one handled the nets and studied the water, sometimes standing for a better view; the young one rowed, often in strong currents. I like to watch fishermen, perhaps because they remind me of my dad.
Snowy Egret on the NileFisherman on the Nile
I loved the clear waters and brilliant pebbles on the Syros beaches, which reminded me of my childhood on Lake Superior. The autumn crocuses, struggling to bloom in the arid, rocky soil on the cliffs above the sea, brought back memories of autumn pilgrimages in France and Spain.
I photographed stones and waves on the beach and told Kent, “This is my happy place!”
We took a ferry to Syros, seeking quiet after the intensity and crowds of Egypt and Athens. Our six-day visit coincided with the fledgling Syros International Chamber Music Festival, now in its second year. Violinist Pinchas Zukerman was the “grand old man” among the performers and organizers, but the younger musicians, their names hitherto unknown to us, were stellar. We attended all but one of five performances in the celebrated nineteenth-century Apollon theater, said to resemble La Scala.
I was touched by the participation of school children and the somewhat disorganized festival structure (performances started late, people wandered up and down forever looking for their seats, buying tickets was cumbersome, and people clapped in the wrong places). I recalled chamber music groups from the University of Michigan performing in the school auditorium in my small hometown of Newberry, Michigan, when one affable female violinist slept on our couch and shared our small bathroom without complaint. My parents faithfully attended the performances, enjoying the rare opportunity to experience what my dad called “highbrow culture.”
In October, we met Rebecca Reynolds at an author event she shared with Kent at Albuquerque’s Books on the Bosque. Although we’d just met, she cleverly used Kent’s decision to run away to sea as an example of an individual choosing to make a momentous change in his life. When Iwoke up this morning to begin reading the book, I found the first chapter of Thresholds of Change (Denver: Connolly Fox, 2024, so inspiring I stopped reading and wrote the following:
I am captivated by Reynolds’ use of the metaphor of the chambered nautilus. The nautilus creates new spiraled chambers as it grows, sealing each chamber except for one thread of living connective tissue called the siphuncle. As Reynolds describes it, “A core life-giving line that provides ballast and connects us to all parts of our lives, even those we’ve left behind.”
“The journey is what’s truly important.” Our experiences in life are not “over and done.” They are all connected.
As a pilgrim who sees my life as a journey, I like the concept of a living thread connecting all parts of my life.
I recall Tennyson’s poem “Ulysses.”
“I am a part of all that I have met.” These words mean more at eighty than they did at seventeen when I first read them in Miss Dwyer’s English class. I remember Miss Dwyer not only for what she taught but for her enthusiasm and implied belief in the importance of her subject matter. Through the siphuncle, the presence of Miss Dwyer and many family members, friends, and mentors connect my past and present.
At Miss Dwyer’s urging, we chose the final words of “Ulysses” as our Class of 1962 motto: “To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.” (How many of you remember your high school class motto?) This morning, I reread the poem in tears because I, too, now look back “from that sad height” (Dylan Thomas’s “Do not go gentle into that good night”) and reflect on the meaning and purpose of life from the perspective of old age.
Perhaps we live to love, learn, and grow in preparation for whatever comes next.
The dear friends I’m losing with increasing frequency remain part of my life forever. Sometimes, like this morning, my memories of them emerge through that life-giving core when they are least expected and most needed.
We have returned to a different America than the one we left. As the chaos and my feelings of foreboding intensify during this week before Christmas, I watch, wait, and pray for light to come as the world turns and the sacred sun returns.
“Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’ Gleams that untravell’d world, whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move.”
“Come, my friends, ‘Tis not too late to seek a newer world.” – Tennyson, “Ulysses.”
Linnea and Kent at the Acropolis early in the morning
Back in San Francisco, Indonesia seems like a dream. The heat and humidity, the friendly, polite people, the heavy traffic, rice fields, trees, endless temples in Bali, beaches, and the mix of cultures are going to take time to process.
Today is my 80th birthday, but instead of partying it is, perhaps fittingly, a day of transition, a time to face the realities of old age, to be grateful for each day, and, for now, figure out how to finish this sentence before i fall asleep.
It’s been a long way to Indonesia on this rather last-minute trip, but we’re here with a congenial group of travelers, seeing places I knew nothing about.
After three nights in steamy, hot Jakarta, a mix of old (Dutch colonial buildings and outdoor markets) and new (shiny highrises, a haze of air pollution, and a state-of-the-art transportation system), we have moved on to Jogyokarta, a more manageable smaller city (Jakarta has 12 million residents and another 4 million daily commuters) where there are a few more foreign tourists, most probably here to see the famed largest Hindu temple in the world, Borobudur, which we will visit this morning.
On the way here from the airport we stopped alongside the road to visit with a couple harvesting rice, trying our hand at using their threshing machine. I loved being out in the countryside with views of the mountains, which have quite regularly spewed volcanos.
In the evening five of us had a lovely home visit with a family at their home, with a delicious home-cooked meal. The husband was fluent in English and Spanish, as well as several other languages including some Indonesian dialects (there are something like 140) and works in a business exporting teak furniture to Spain. We finished the evening learning to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on a set of bamboo instruments, each of us holding a set of bamboo pipes that played a single note.
People have been unbelievably friendly, asking us to pose with them for photos, the children giving us high fives, everyone one smiling, nodding, bowing, welcoming, eager to share, and curious about us.
There is so much more to tell — we gulped when we thought the ATM machine had swallowed our single card — but it finally returned it to us— whew! I had lost my two cards somewhere between the Oakland airport BART station and San Francisco, so we have no backup. I have many photos taken with my camera that i will wait to share when i have time to download and edit them st home.
I think it’s been thirteen years since I’ve returned to Tucson to visit friends I made there in the 1970s and friends I’ve met since. So, this week, we made a whirlwind trip, driving about seven hours each way to spend two and a half days in Tucson. We weren’t able to see everyone, and I forgot to take pictures of some, but I remembered how much I loved the Sonoran Desert, even though the city has grown immensely in fifty years.
I’d hoped for warm weather, but cold rain from California swept in putting snow on the mountains, which made the desert even more beautiful. It was wonderful to connect with those we did see, including Kent’s son Jake and his friend Hayley. Mary Lyday and I had so much to talk about, we forgot to take pictures.
Finger Rock TrailSee the finger between outcrops on top?A Saguaro Cacuts forest!Pipe Organ, St. Philip in the HillsSt. Philip is the HillsCousin Joyce LeissringChris Wallace and I hadn’t seen each other in nearly 40 years!We finally tracked down the unstoppable Ed Curley!
Finally, here’s a push for Kent’s book and a wish for a Happy Valentine’s Day! I realized that We Ran Away to Sea is also a love story! Treasure those you love. We’re not here forever.
I’ve taken a look at my blog for the first time in a very long time. The past six months have been dominated by working on the JacanaPress.com blog featuring my husband Kent’s book. If you look there, you’ll find glimpses of what we’ve been up to, including six intense weeks of travel through Scandinavia in December.
“Why go in the winter?” I’ve been asked. Here is my reply:
Scandinavia is where my ancestors lived 150 years ago and for centuries before that.
Why in winter? I had a checklist: (1) I wanted a challenge and a bit of an adventure, (2) I wanted to avoid crowds and the high prices of the summer season, (3) I wanted to see the aurora borealis, (4) winter and snow bring back memories of my Upper Michigan childhood, (5) snow is beautiful, (6) I wanted to celebrate Christmas with relatives in Sweden and enjoy the Christmas lights and festivities, (7) our grandchildren were going to be elsewhere.
I loved the Polar Night when the day was four of five hours of twilight with the sun lurking below the horizon. I missed the sun, though, and on Santa Lucia Day, December 13, we crossed the Arctic Circle again heading south. I waited with anticipation aboard the ship (Hurtigruten’s Polarlys) for the sun to hit a high peak. My heart leaped up when I saw the first pink light hit the triangular peak I’d been watching. ”Thank you, God, thank you, Sun, for being there!” I was deeply moved. The Polar Night was beautiful, but what if I never saw the sun again?
We arrived home after our travels to face a pile of mail we still haven’t quite gotten through, repairs of things falling apart in the house (I think it missed us), preparing Kent’s lecture, “Escape to Sea: Dreams and Realities” for Oasis (it was well-received), and all the other busy activities that keep us from taking much-needed long walks.
We crossed the Arctic Circle at 8:05 am, entering the Polar Night. Kent and Pam never got here in Jacana or Coot, but we took the opportunity to celebrate We Ran Away to Sea. The polar mark was lit up as we passed. We told one of our dining partners about the book, and she whipped out her phone and ordered a copy on the spot! We hope some of you will do the same! Yesterday’s polar night was more like sunrise and sunset compressed into a few hours, with no actual day in between. As a photographer it was like having the blue hour for two or three hours, not just 20 minutes. In a few hours we will tie up in Tromsø, the gateway to the polar regions. We’ll be in this darkness and semi-dark for several more days. I’m glad we’re not sailing in Coot! My fingers would be too cold to write!
Svolvaer. It’s definitely polar night.
Polarnight daytime, l’heure bleue.
Another short video: Christmas on a sailboat is different. In 1994, Pam and Kent celebrated at Exuma National Park in the Bahamas. Read about it on page 126 (Chapter 12 Going Foreign) in We Ran Away to Sea. Sail with Pam and Kent on YouTube, Instagram and TikTok! We need more reviews! Please share your thoughts about the book if you liked it (and even if you didn’t). Every review helps. It doesn’t have to more than a heading and a few words.
We Ran Away to Sea is now available at The Treasure House, Organic Books, Books on the Bosque, Bookworks, and Page One in Albuquerque. NM; The Travel Bug and Collected Works in Santa Fe, NM; Calamity Books and Sheridan Stationery and Books in Sheridan, WY; Two Dog Market in Leadville, Colorado; and at Books by the Bay in Sausalito, CA, as well as on Amazon in both paperback and ebook.Upcoming Event: Kent will be presenting at Oasis in Albuquerque on January 19, 10:30-12, 2024. If you’d like him to give a presentation somewhere near you, please let us know. Have book, will travel!
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