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Archive for March, 2012

Keys to my Town House

22 March 2012 - 5 Comments

Empty Home

March 21, 2012

Today I received the keys to my “Palace full of Grace” in town. I have 3 more months to actually move into Ganges and become a “Town Mouse”. I was excited and brought a few rolls of toilet paper, a towel and new hand made soap. All the furniture and boxes from the previous owners were gone. The 2 story house was supremely empty.

I felt lonely and dejected. What AM I doing, leaving my magnificent home I have cherished for 47 years? Even my shepadoodle dog, Daisy, was nervous. She took one look around, bolted out the door and came back triumphantly stinking of dead fish. Smart Poodle! I ought to have consulted with her before buying my Town House. She smelled wretched to my nose and obviously delicious to hers.

So, here is an empty home, uncluttered and serene. Is this what I want? No way.

When the Feng Shui experts talk about clearing your clutter to make space for you to live serenely and creatively, they do encourage you to keep objects that give you pleasure and to place them in specific spots to maximize the energy flow of your home. This makes sense. They also talk of clearing your past so you can be awake to the present. Surrounding yourself with incomplete projects weighs you down.

On my way home in the boat I embraced the scent of salt air and majestic Mt. Maxwell rising out of Burgoyne Bay. The sparkling blue sea, the green forest, the ducks chasing each other in the cove and the Canada Geese pair  flying into the cove making a racket, greeted my dog and me as once again we returned home – to my cluttered log house that is friendly and vibrant with my past history and all the people who have influenced my life.

Bold Bluff Lodge - Tamar's Home

Bold Bluff Lodge - Tamar's Home


Into the bathtub Daisy went. “Sorry Pup, I can’t stand your fishy smell!” She tolerated the insult, standing ever so still as I rubbed shampoo over her curly black hair and rinsed her with a hose. Her reward was a raw bone.

Moving is hard. My resolve falters. This is not fun. I passionately love my old family home. What have I done? Is this for real? Am I really walking away from Bold Bluff?

Perhaps my sorrow is grieving for a chapter in my life that is closing. I will never again be the radiant Mother of 40, who had abundant energy and zest for life – whose whole being was loving, nourishing, protecting a precious baby and child. I will never again be the courageous woman who brought her 12 year old child to Bold Bluff to live full time without a road on a magnificent oceanfront property my parents bought in 1965. The excitement of being close to ocean storms in an open Boston Whaler has vanished. I LOVED gales, and I LOVED it when our power went out for 5-6 days. The sorrow is recognizing I don’t welcome the danger and adventure anymore. Something is shifting in my soul, and it is scary. If I look closely at it, could it be aging? Am I really approaching the last chapter of my life? When I look in the mirror, I can’t believe what I see. Is that really me? Can’t be!

Well, here I am. Of course there is grieving to “moving on”. Maybe this whole process is getting in touch with my own mortality.


The Art of Letter Writing

18 March 2012 - 3 Comments

Some treasures found are wistful, sad, sweet

… like love letters from a special friend. There is satisfaction that you have loved and been loved. It is time to pause and cherish this. Then all the questions crowd into your mind: “I should have… I could have…. I wish we had…. Why did we allow this relationship to be shipwrecked? What happened? Really?”

And chances are you will never know.

Life carries on in all its twists and turns. You travel your road as best you can. Choices. Decisions. They carve your character.

Yesterday I opened a thick file of old letters I received in the 1970’s. I knew I wanted to go slowly through these letters and enjoy them with a cup of hot ginger tea by the fire. People rarely write letters any more. We e-mail and text friends and family, and catch up on Facebook. But where is the written letter? I loved looking at the different hand writing of my friends. It actually would make a nifty collage, and I just might create one to hang in my new palace in Ganges, when I move.

“The lost art of letter writing….”

Here were letters from Olivia Crawford who danced with me in Vancouver BC in the 1970’s at Synergy Workshops – a wonderful dance studio run by Linda Rubin who had studied the Martha Graham technique of modern dance in NYC and was teaching us basic modern dance with improvisation. Olivia went to Papua New Guinea and founded the Papua New Guinea Dance Theatre Company. We have recently re-connected and our friendship is as alive and warm as it ever was. I will send her the letters.

Here is a letter from Jane Allison Frick – about swimming with the humpback whales and the right whales in Argentina. It is a beautiful letter of grace and appreciation for the mysterious mammals who were being hunted to near extinction. I was teaching children about whales at the time and Jane sent me slides of her diving with the whales. Her hand writing is exquisite and tiny.

I wracked my brain. Jane Frick. Who is she? How did we meet?  Frick Museum in NYC…. Could she be from this family? I Googled her and discovered that she died in 1978 at the tender age of 32. I can’t describe how sad I felt. Then I Googled her family and discovered a sister lived in Maine, so I phoned and left a message saying how sad I was to learn of Jane’s death, and I have a lovely letter from her about swimming with the whales and would she like me to mail it to her?

I had no idea if I would hear from her sister. The grief could be too painful, still.

Adelaide phoned me this morning, in awe that I had a letter from her sister, whom she loved. We had an amazing conversation and I will send her Jane’s letter written 40 years ago. This is a real gift to all Jane’s siblings.

So, three cheers for Clutter!

I am grateful that I kept these letters for 40 years, and that I can return one that has poignant meaning to a family who lost a cherished sister.


photo by Deborah Glockner-Ferrari /Center for Whale Studies

Jane’s Letter… excerpts….

“You asked me what it felt like to be so close to a wild whale. There isn’t an experience I’ve had either under or above the water that comes close to the exhilaration I felt from swimming close to whales. The first time I saw wild whales was in the open ocean off Bermuda. They were migrating humpbacks. As they cruised under the boat I jumped overboard. Their tremendous grey shapes loomed beneath me (about 30 ft). I couldn’t see them very well as it was dusk, but they looked almost mystical with their big white angelic flippers hanging out. When they descended deeper I dove down to catch the last glimmer of their white flukes. It seemed incredible that they – air-breathing, warm blooded mammals knew where they were going and could communicate with each other over long distance in this vast ocean.

“Swimming with right whales was different. They were not migrating but were in a protected bay for the sole purpose of mating and giving birth. … A wonderful experience I had was swimming with a little calf. The calves, unlike their mothers, are very curious. The mothers are usually wary of boats and swimmers and don’t let them get too near. However if a calf spots a swimmer before the mother, she will sometimes leave the mother and investigate the swimmer playfully for awhile. The calves seem to have a trusting playful feeling about them, much more than the adults. It is sad in a way to see how friendly and uninhibited a naive small whale is around a species which is gradually causing the extinction of whales …

“The calf who investigated me was interested and curious. He had a playful glint in his eye – as he tilted his head at all different angles, spy-hopped and splashed his flippers before slowly returning to his mother.”



Uncle’s Advice

9 March 2012 - Leave a comment

Advice from an Uncle to a Niece

Here is what I found in my Uncle Bill’s file, who wrote me c. 1966 when I was in my twenties with a warning on how to behave with men. I read it to him the other day on the phone and he laughed and laughed. He is 93 years old.

“Just to show you what happens if you do not pay attention to your diet and forget to take the pill!”

My Uncle and I have had a long, abiding relationship – ever since I was a baby. He adored my gentle Mother – his sister – and took his Uncle role seriously and with joy. He sent me many funny New Yorker cartoons about “relationships”. This postcard is priceless, and I am thrilled I kept it for 46 years.


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