Listen the streets are humming with a truth too loud to bury. A rising drumbeat from the soles of the people who finally say:
No. More.
We won’t carry this poison in our lungs anymore. We won’t swallow injustice like it’s the cost of living.
We rise linked arm to arm, heart to heart a single force moving forward, a single flame refusing to go out.
A force for peace. A force for fairness. A force that whispers equality and roars it, too.
No more heavy hand of the man. No more blood running down streets where children should be playing. No more brothers of color treated as less than sacred. No more stolen bodies, stolen futures, stolen names.
No more. Say it until the sky memorizes us.
We stand unbowed, unbroken, a force to be reckoned with.
We refuse your threats. We refuse your silence. We refuse to pretend we don’t see the wound when the whole nation is bleeding.
In silence we gather but never in fear. Non-violent, but never weak. Our voice carries the weight of those who were never allowed to speak.
Your guns are your courage you cowards. Your masks are your shields thin fabric to hide the fear of a world waking up.
Because we are growing. We are rising. We are finding strength in each other in unity, in compassion, in the simple truth that love is the greatest rebellion.
Strength for the weak. A voice for the unheard. A wall against tyranny.
This country may be divided, but the people the people are finding their power.
And together, with our feet planted in the earth, with fire in our throats, we speak the words that no regime can smother:
It feels as though the world’s leaders have lost their minds. As if they’ve slipped into a dangerous game of power and ego, moving pieces across a board without regard for the lives beneath their hands. And the rest of us, “we the people”, are left standing in fear and disbelief, asking the same question over and over again: What on earth is happening inside their heads?
It is not the powerful who pay the price for this madness. It is the people of every nation…the families, the neighbors, the children – who carry the weight of political insanity and unchecked greed. Not greed for what is rightfully theirs, but hunger for what belongs to everyone else. Somewhere along the way, the balance tipped. The power of the people was quietly traded for the power of the power-hungry. And now we are left wondering: when did this happen… and when will enough finally be enough?
The death toll rises across the globe. Once, as US Americans, we watched distant horrors unfold on foreign soil, believing – naively, that they could never reach us. Now that violence has been carried to our own doorsteps. We the people are no longer observers. We are witnesses. We are participants. And it is time…long past time – to pull our heads from the sand. There can be no more looking away. No more pretending this is someone else’s problem. It is time to wake up, to smell the gunpowder and tear gas, and to say with one voice: enough is enough!
The message we’re fed is muddled and poisonous…voices everywhere, shouting over one another, spewing hate, distraction, and recycled lies. A fog of smoke and mirrors meant to confuse, divide, and exhaust us. And still, astonishingly, so many cling to it. But others are stirring. Others are seeing clearly. Others are standing up and whispering, then speaking, then shouting: this is not okay.
I hear the sorrow in the voices of friends and family left behind to gather the pieces of shattered lives day after day. I see their courage as they stand for what they believe in, even when the deck is cruelly stacked against them. I feel it when my own family must walk into a grocery store accompanying a neighbor, afraid to go alone. That fear brings me to tears. This was once a peaceful place to call home.
When did it become acceptable to plant terror in the soil of a society? When did killing in cold blood become normalized? When did mass violence stop shocking us?
We now watch armed, masked men fire into crowds. We see chemical agents – once banned by the world, now used on citizens. And then we hear the lies, smooth and shameless, poured from the mouths of leaders as the moral fabric of the United States frays before our eyes. It is shameful.
Some days my faith wavers. My resolve feels thin. The obstacles loom so large they seem impossible to climb. And yet…somewhere deep inside – my heart steadies itself and keeps beating. Because even surrounded by madness, truth still exists. Because even drowned out by noise, compassion still speaks. The lies and the truth are both on full display now, painted in living color. And we are being asked, urgently, to choose.
Our lives are already being disrupted. Maybe not by bombs falling from the sky, not yet…but by fear, division, and the slow erosion of safety and trust. The tipping point is no longer ahead of us. It is here. We can choose to stand, peacefully, courageously, together – or we can hide and hope the storm passes us by. History has shown us where silence leads.
This moment is calling us back to ourselves. Back to humanity. Back to the understanding that power has always belonged to the people when they remember who they are. Not through violence, but through unity. Not through hate, but through truth. Not through fear, but through love that refuses to be extinguished.
So I ask again…not in despair, but in determination: When is enough, enough?
I believe the answer is rising, quietly but unmistakably, from the hearts of people everywhere.
As I sit here, far from the land I once called home, I feel like a castaway – safe enough in body, but restless in spirit. My heart has never left the people who don’t have the luxury of distance, who cannot step away, who must stay and endure and fight, quietly or loudly – for the simple right to live in peace.
I watch eighteen monks walking from Texas to Washington, DC. Eighteen human beings placing one foot in front of the other, blister by blister, mile by mile. They carry no weapons, no demands…only the radical offering of compassion. They speak to anyone willing to listen, reminding us that peace is not something granted by power, but something cultivated within. Their message is soft, ancient, and profoundly inconvenient.
And then I look at the other image unfolding at the same time: injustice normalized, cruelty excused, violence absolved by the very regime meant to protect its people. My eyes fill with tears at the stark polarity of it all. Love walking barefoot on asphalt, and brutality signing itself into law. How can these two truths exist in the same place, at the same moment?
Yes, peace begins within us. Yes, we must stand for those to whom violence is being delivered and disguised as order. But how do we reconcile this duality? A nation split down its own spine…grieving, angry, afraid. A war within our borders, fought by people turned into instruments, while those pulling the strings keep their hands clean of blood.
What breaks my heart most is knowing that this violence comes from flesh and blood no different from my own. That human beings, mostly masked men, can commit such harm with such malice, then return home and sleep. Your mother is watching you, your wives, sons and daughters. That evil does not arrive as a monster, but as a neighbor, a voter, a uniform, a signature on a page.
And yet… somewhere beneath the grief, a quieter truth persists: this does not have to be the end of the story.
I wrestle with forgiveness…for those who empowered this harm, who waved it through with one stroke of a pen, one push of a voter button. The ones who dismissed warnings as exaggeration, cruelty as “fake news,” consequences as something that would only happen to others. Someday, this will reach your doorstep too. Not as a headline, but as a reckoning. And I struggle, deeply, with how to hold compassion for that truth without surrendering accountability.
So I return to the monks.
Eighteen figures against the noise. Silent, aching, devoted. How can something so small withstand such chaos? Maybe it can’t…at least not in the way we measure power. But perhaps the outpouring of love, the tears, the prayers, the witnessing – that is how peace moves from an abstract ideal into something rooted, something lived. Not to heal the world all at once, but to heal hearts, one by one.
A forest does not begin with full-grown trees. It begins with a seed…fragile, buried, fighting through cold and heat, breaking open in darkness before it ever reaches the light. Strength is not loud at first. It is persistent.
Photo by Bernie Boston 1967
We may not be able to meet might with might. But I am reminded of an old photograph from the 1960s: a single flower placed into the muzzle of a gun. A quiet refusal. A reminder that even in the face of violence, there are those who choose tenderness…not because it is weak, but because it is brave.
And maybe, just maybe, that is how the work begins. 🌱
This Thanksgiving, we embrace gratitude for the calm we’ve built and compassion for those missing loved ones. Together, we honor the enduring bonds that transcend distance.
This year, Thanksgiving feels different.
It feels heavier… and somehow, more sacred.
Because while Chris and I wake up each morning surrounded by peace — free from the grinding stress that once sat on our shoulders — we know that so many others are carrying a very different weight right now.
A weight made of fear, of sudden goodbyes, of families torn apart by harsh policies and heartless raids. There are empty chairs at tables today not because of distance or choice, but because loved ones were taken, uprooted, scattered. Entire families are living with a quiet ache that never seems to lift.
Yet in the middle of all that heartbreak… there is still gratitude.
Chris and I are deeply, humbly thankful for the life we’ve been able to build here in Costa Rica — for the calm, the safety, the space to breathe again. And we’re just as grateful for the people who keep our hearts stitched together across countries: the friends who have become family here, and the loved ones in the States whose connection remains a steady, grounding presence.
We’re thankful for every message, every visit, every shared laugh across borders — reminders that love doesn’t weaken with distance; it grows stronger, more intentional, more cherished.
So today we’re holding two truths side by side: Gratitude for the peace we have… and compassion for those spending this holiday with pieces missing.
To everyone feeling that empty space at the table, that tug of worry, that longing for someone who should be here — you are not invisible. You are carried in the hearts of many.
May the days ahead bring comfort where there has been fear, hope where there has been loss, and reunions where there have been far too many separations.
My love and heartfelt wishes for a reflective holiday season.
Today and yesterday were memorial days for Chris and I. Loosing two family members a day apart is tough. That was only 3 years ago. Life is too short and too unpredictable to let one moment pass by without taking every advantage it may hold…a lesson, a creative thought, a feeling, a beginning or an end.
The older we get, the more we run away from the inevitable end coming at us like a freight train in a long tunnel. What is important today may not be tomorrow. It is so hard to really think about death, when we are living so hard but each step we take now, will have a ripple effect throughout our lives.
Letting go of all our possessions 5 years ago was a release I really can’t put to words. It is so freeing. There is a struggle with “things”, and it is those things that will kill us or cause suffering we can’t understand, nor are willing to realize. That shiny apple will eventually shrivel and die and our suffering increases ten fold.
What brings me pleasure is the simple things that can’t be owned or put into a box. The sunrise and sunset, warm breezes on a cold day, sand between my toes, the sound of birds, the wind, the waves, the warmth of the sun, music, good food, good friends, petting an animal, trees, grass and the desert. All these things are different each time encountered because of change/impermanence, but I still feel that familiar comfort and ease at each chance encounter. We’ve learned to relish every moment, good or bad, knowing that if something is off, there will always be a change, be it in a moment, a day or a week, and the good is for that moment only and to be cherished. I’m rambling.
Bottom line…life is too short to sweat the small or big stuff. Life can be less about suffering and more about the joy of letting go and letting be. Get out and smell the air, feel the sun, listen to nature and LIVE!
I hear you rustling under the covers and I turn to feel your wet nose tap my warm nose, time to get up. You wiggle with glee when I sit up, almost unable to contain your joy. As if to say, yea my humans are up! I wipe the tiredness from my eyes and stretch to greet the day. It’s only 7:20 and already you want to play but more pressing, only after you eat. You pick up your plastic bowl, full of teeth marks from other reminders and demands of feeding. I smile as you stare deeply into my eyes, head turning from side to side, as if you are trying to pick my good side. I laugh again, and pull out your bag of kibble and you begin to twirl like a dervish, only you are fixated on the food filling your bowl. As I pick up the bowl, you whirl and twirl and roll over. Tiny taps fill the room as your claws struggle for a purchase on the slick hard wood. I set the bowl down, and like a ravenous beast you gobble down every kibble, inhaled as if it were your last meal. I go about making myself some hot coffee then settle back into my overstuffed armchair. The sun has begun to shine through the stained glass window, as it does every morning, casting a showy barrage of colors throughout the room. It’s my favorite time of day.
Not long after I’m done my coffee, I look around to find you again, curled up on your small bed, satiated from your morning meal. As soon as I stand, you’re at my feet again, signaling with your head that it’s time for your walk. I glance out the window at the day unfolding, decide on my favorite faded jeans, my raggedy old sweatshirt and my favorite hightop converse. This should do for the chill of the early fall morning, I think to myself. I dress myself and slide over to the door where you are patiently waiting, leash in tow, your entire backend wagging from side to side. Again, the tiny taps of your claws on the hardwood, but this time the metallic clink of your tags fills my ears. I feel a lump begin to form in my throat. I reach down and hear the click as I fasten the leash to your collar. I fight back a tear as I open the door, blinded by the low angle of the morning sun. The cool crisp air greets me and snaps me from my vision. I look down at my hands, holding an empty leash. I spin around and look at the full bowl of kibble sitting on the floor. I stand in the doorway, the room is silent, awash with colors, but silent and empty.
It’s been over a year since you’ve been gone. I still live some days this way. The routine we had for over 13 years. I still hear the sounds I will always associate with you. I am still haunted by your smell, your wet nose on mine. It’s like I’ve been frozen in time, a loop I’m unable to exit from. I wipe back the tears that have now filled my eyes, blurring the room into a kaleidoscope of undefined colors. My heart beats slow and my breath measured. I place the leash back on its hook and close the door. Today I walk alone.
We’ve just returned from an amazing Canada/Alaska River trip down the Tatshashini and Alsek Rivers, down into Alsek Lake and take out at Dry Bay. The whole trip took 13 days plus travel time of another 13 days to Haines, Alaska.
Although the river trip was not on our bucket list, traveling around western Canada and Alaska was. The river trip became the catalyst for this new chapter in our adventure.
As we sat in Bali, melting from the oppressive humidity, we realized our travel in the blazing sun, and blazing kindness of its people, needed to come to an end. We had covered much of SE Asia in a 4 month period: countries like Singapore, Thailand, Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, Korea, Indonesia, and Malaysia. It was an other-worldly experience, and touched both of us deeply…but our bodies were screaming for a break from the heat.
We found ourselves thinking of very cold places, Antarctica, Iceland, Alaska, Patagonia. Big dreams of cooler temps, zero humidity, even some of our old haunts just didn’t excite us. When Chris saw the Facebook post from Bio-Bio River Expeditions, for a trip down the beautiful Tatshashini/Alsek Rivers. Pictures of rafts floating around stunning blue icebergs grabbed both of us by our sweaty hands and led us down the rabbit hole. This was it!
So we set off on planning to see if we could make this happen. We picked up a Sprinter Revel Van, outfitted it for the arduous trip, bought the necessary clothing and secured a seat for us on the trip.
The drama began with seeing the expensive nature of this undertaking. We bought the van because renting a van or RV was exorbitant. Then came my tummy health issue, then the breakdown of the van as we set out. We made it to Skagway, caught the ferry to Haines and settled in a few days before the trip and one more hiccup, Chris broke her tooth and needed an emergency appointment with the only dentist in town. All that was now water under the bridge, no pun intended, as we suited up in supplied dry suits and met our group.
The next morning was glorious, sun shinning, smiles all around. An amazing feeling of joy and a bit of trepidation hit me as we stood on the river bank, red dry tops, blue dry pants and insulated black and brown mud boots, red life jackets cinched up tight. Within an hour or so, we came to our first splashy wave trains, one finding its way into my dry suit, chilling me and reminding me to hold on.
Camp was always beautiful and we scrabbled to find a level, clear area for our tents. After a few days, the tents became a pain in the ass! They were short and squatty, making entering and exiting very difficult without crawling on hands and knees across wet, rocky ground. The sleeping bags were warm and cozy…bonus!
There is just so much running through my mind when I think of the days on the river itself. Once in a while we were asked to paddle, sometimes to help propel the rafts, other times just to stave off the cold chills of the cold rain and biting winds blowing downstream. We all looked like a blue rubber basket of Easter eggs, as we curled up in tight balls to conserve heat. Some days presented with sun and a promise of grand vistas and windless travel. These days would take your breath away as around each river bend, new wonders appeared. It was somewhat difficult to figure out how to layer under the dry suits, but no matter when we left shore, dressed like small children going out to make snowmen, we soon were adding or removing layers…from hot to cold and back to hot if you were lucky, but little in between.
Camp life was usually pleasant, except when the mosquitoes would swarm. The weekend before we arrived at Purple Haze camp, there had been 6” of rain in a 24 hour period, probably why we had wind and rain further upstream. This rain awakened the veracious insects. Black flies and mosquitos topped the ticket. These tiny, or not so tiny in the case of some mosquitoes, will drive you mad! We were lucky that only a few camps seemed to be utterly infested with the biting menaces, and happy they were only one night stays. Everyone adorned head-nets and deet was the preferred perfume of the evenings meal. Dessert was passed on as we all ran for the shelter of our squatty little tents and played the game of smash the rouge mosquito that found its way into the tent, it only takes one of these little bastards to drive you batty.
Alaska has its beauty and also is a harsh environment. It is not for the faint of heart. True Alaskan wilderness is not forgiving and should be entered with caution and care. On the last day, we found out that our pilot had gone missing with 2 others the day before. Due to the search, no plane was coming to get us. These were seasoned veterans of this Alaska wilderness and its small communities that depended on their services. Tragedy and grief is not an emotion I thought I’d experience on this trip.
I can’t tell you if I was ready for the myriad of emotions I went through but in the end…it was an experience of a lifetime and one that will be remembered. Alaska is wild, natural, stunningly beautiful, incredibly demanding and deadly.
We are flying at 12000’ above the ice choked mountain tops of Glacier Bay, Alaska. Whenever the clouds part, we all crane our necks looking for a small airplane. The search continues today for the missing pilot and we have become part of the search, as anyone flying today.
We found out the rest of the story today from our taxi driver, Jax. She explained how loved and revered these 3 people were, an integral part of the community here in SE Alaska. Samuel, or Sam, was a seasoned pilot that loved the community and flying. Tanya and Hans, also in the missing plane, were also stand up members of the community. Hans provided air transportation to rafting companies, anglers, hunters and commuting people to other bigger cities around SE Alaska.
According to our taxi driver, the three had just attended a wedding in Haines and were on their way back to Yukatat when the plane went missing off radar around the Fairweather Range, a location of vast mountains and glaciers, rugged and beautiful.
Sam used to play Uncle Sam in Haines’ 4th of July parade. Hans and Tanya had been together forever and were integral members of this small tight knit community. The admiration and sadness, coming through Jax’s voice as she recanted memories. The entire atmosphere of Juneau, Haines, Yukatat and Dry Bay, has grown solemn as the search was called off due to bad weather. Planes have been grounded as a fog and rain blanket the coastal area again.
This weekend is the county fair in Haines. I’m sure that the revelry will be quelled by the loss of these three.
It’s sometimes hard to slow down and take time to organize my thoughts. We have now been on the road for almost 4 months, not including our 2 years of vanlife. We have visited Ireland, Scotland, Portugal mainland from Sintra to the Algarve Coast, Madeira Island, San Miguel Island in the Azores, Germany, Austria and Spain. We are currently on our way to wrap up our Schengen EU Visa in Dubrovnik, Croatia. From there moving down into Montenegro for at least a month, which used to be Yugoslavia until 1991. From there who knows where?
São Miguel , Portugal
It sometimes feels like we’ve been gone for so long, and at times I want it to just stop and go “home”, but where is that? My heart is filled with gladness, my mind filled with curiosity. There is just so much of the world to explore. I must admit, at times, we have to pass up some countries we’d love to explore due to many different reasons, both political and uneasy feelings about traveling there as two women. We are playing it on the side of caution when if we were younger, we might throw that same caution to the wind.
Does that mean that we are older and wiser? Life is more precious? Probably…
In the last 2 years, we have been taught a lesson in the value of living life as if it were your last day on earth. I tear up just thinking of family members lost too soon and those that lived out their lives to the fullest and just came to the end of life’s road, including my grandmother and our faithful corgi, Gandaulf. It is part of our motivation to do all we can while we are healthy and able to.
Another motivating force is the all encompassing world of climate change. Since we’ve been retired and living in the world as nomads, living with and off the land around us, we have seen the changes first hand. Coastal flooding, unbearable heat and harsh winters. Storms off the charts. It seems that every year we are breaking records of all types, rain, heat, hurricanes, snowfall, wild fires, ocean temps rising, and drought, to name a few. Perhaps it is the way the earth is trying to wipe us off like a festering tick sucking the life blood out of her? It is everywhere and my heart is saddened to think it may be too late to reverse. Perhaps it is just the way it is going to be and we all will pay dearly in the end. In the meantime, here we are off on another adventure to see all we can before it is gone. We are doing all we can to reduce our carbon footprint, but we are just a minuscule part.
Two Travelin' Chicas... 