Doing nothing? Nothing doing.

       

         The plan was to do nothing. To spend a week enjoying my garden, relaxing in a quiet house and taking advantage of the solitude.

​As usual, I didn’t follow the plan.

For one whole week I was going to have the place to myself and I was going to enjoy my tidy little house and not lift a finger if I didn’t want to. ​

​The problem is, I just can’t sit still that long and almost immediately I was surrounded by a chaos and clutter. 

         For some reason, I can’t remember what I was looking for, I went to the basement storeroom and dug around in a couple of boxes. In the process I unearthed, among other things, a package of slides that had been missing for several years and I completely lost track of time while I held paper-framed squares of film up to the light. Of course I brought the box upstairs with me and soon they were scattered across the top of the dining room table. I didn’t want to put them away again until I got them marked and sorted so they're still there.

​The next day I realized that this would be a good time to wash summer’s dust and dirt out of the slipcovers that cover the sofa and chairs in the living room. Now the room is tumbled with cushions and furniture wearing only its white muslin “underwear.”

​The rug store called to say the old rug I’d bought online and had cleaned was ready, so I picked it up and dropped the long, heavy, rolled carpet in a corner. I’ll put it down after I wrestle the furniture back into the slipcovers. 

​I ran a few errands one day and couldn’t resist stopping by one of my favorite antiques stores. Wouldn’t you know, just as I was leaving with empty hands, one of the dealers walked in with the little bedside table I’d been searching for. I brought it home and put it in place, but now the old table has no place so it’s pushed into a corner until I can take it down to the store room. And I’m afraid of what will happen if I go back down there.

​I woke up one cool morning and pulled out a sweater. I decided, while I was at it, to put away all the linen and lightweight pieces and bring out the rest of my sweaters and winter clothing. It was easier to sort everything while it was all out and soon there was a big pile of giveaway items in the dining room, beside the table still littered with photographs.  

​I watched a movie one night and instead of making a nest on the sofa I organized the linen closet while it played. More sorting and a stack of old towels and sheets added to the giveaway pile.

​I have no one but myself to blame for this mess, but the tidy little house I was going to enjoy is now a wreck. And the book I was dying to read?  Still unopened on the (new) little table by the bed.

​Why is it some of us just can’t sit still? Can’t leave well enough alone? I think of myself as semi-retired. I’ve stopped working full time and have even cut back on my part-time writing assignments. I wanted more free time to take care of myself and the flexibility to enjoy time with my family. But for the life of me, I just can’t get the knack of it. If there isn’t a project, I invent one.

​My solo staycation ends tomorrow. I have a dinner party coming up. And my house is a disaster.

​ I have a lot of work to do, but this time I mean it. I’m going to get everything straightened up, put away and organized and I’m going to leave it that way. 

​Right after I paint the bathroom. I hadn’t noticed how drab it looks.

This essay first appeared in Spokane's "Prime" magazine and in The Spokesman-Review's "Pinch" edition. Cheryl-Anne Millsap’s audio essays can be heard each week on Spokane Public Radio. She is the author of “Home Planet: A Life in Four Seasons” and can be reached at catmillsap@gmail.com

The Mysterious World of Old Maps

    An old map of Paris hangs on the wall near my bed and it’s often the first thing I see in the morning. I can lie in bed in Washington State and navigate the narrow winding streets of the left bank or the Seine as it curves around the City of Light.
   
    In the hallway upstairs, a large 1981 map of a section of Lower Manhattan takes up most of the wall between doors and I often stop to study it as I pass, tracing my finger along avenues and cross streets, picking out familiar buildings and landmarks. I look at it and remember my first visit to the Big Apple that very same year.

    A vintage map of Italy hangs just inside my back door and on it is the port out of which my daughter sails on her marine geology assignments. Every time I go out I think of her and through the map I connect with my child who is so far away.

     I have many other old maps around the house. They are pinned to my bulletin board, tucked into drawers or slipped between the pages of my favorite books. I love to stumble onto one and stop to study it for a moment.

    In this age of GPS and voice-activated navigation, when my phone or my car can get me wherever I want to go, one clearly enunciated command at a time, I am still drawn to these printed relics and I keep bringing them home.
   
    Some I pick up because they are beautiful, illustrated with elaborate care and tinted by age.  Others because they remind me of places I’ve seen or they inspire me to go where I’ve never been.
   
    But some of the maps in my possession were chosen as much for their mystery as their beauty. Like the WWI era map of Paris and its environs with the name of a British officer of The Queen’s Regiment and the dates 1914-1920 handwritten in ink on the front.

    I found it and bought it online and when it arrived I unwrapped the package and carefully unfolded the 100-year-old paper-on-linen map. Intrigued about the man who’d owned it, I managed to find what appear to be a partial military record for the Captain Francis. The single index card states his medals—the war medals mailed to every veteran— were returned, the package marked with the words “Gone away.”

        Holding the fragile linen and paper remainder of a life I can only imagine, I’m left to wonder what became of the man who must have studied it often as he drove on roads around the city, in a country torn by such a brutal war. Where did he go after the fragile peace was restored?   

    Gone away. Such power in two words. I wonder about Captain Francis’s life after the war. Why did he label his map 1914-1920 when the war ended in 1918? Did he remain in France instead of returning to his life in England? Was he one of those who lost themselves somewhere in the shattered landscape?

    So many questions and so few answers.

    I’ll probably never the mystery of N.B. Francis. I keep looking but so many records of the First World War were destroyed by the second and there is precious little to go on. 
    A man who was a stranger to me lived and died decades ago, but I can still follow his shadow back through time and into a period of history that changed the world. He left a map.

Cheryl-Anne Millsap’s writes the Home Planet column for The Spokesman-Review. Her audio essays can be heard on Spokane Public Radio and on public radio stations across the country. She is the author of ‘Home Planet: A Life in Four Seasons’ and can be reached at catmillsap@gmail.com

Grounded by Love

My granddaughter walked through the door and ran up to me. 

“You’re not on a plane anymore!” she said as she wrapped her arms around me. I hugged her tightly.

“No. I’m here with you.”

She's growing and she's hungry these days. The first thing she wanted was a snack: Carrots. 

“More carrots, Nana!”

While she ate she chattered, swinging her legs, wrapping her feet around the cared legs of her old oak “youth” chair. I stood at the kitchen counter peeling carrots and cutting them into toddler-friendly slices.

After she’d eaten her fill of vegetables and hummus, she asked to take a walk. The day had been cloudy and cool and already the light was beginning to fade. We put on our jackets and she asked to take her balloon along. The shiny orange Jack-O-Lantern was a gift from one of her aunts and she wears it like jewelry.

I tied the end of the ribbon that trails from the mylar balloon around her right wrist, to keep it from floating away as we walked. She also wanted her “flower,” a plastic tie-hanger that surfaced after a closet clean-out. 

The object, white plastic ‘“spokes” that hold and separate a man’s ties, is curved at the end to fit over a closet rod. When held upside down, it looks exactly like a daisy. But you’d never know this, of course, without seeing it through a toddler’s eyes. 

So, ornamented with the pumpkin balloon, holding the plastic “flower,” we stepped out into the chilly late-afternoon air. 

She automatically turned toward the park, heading for the playground we visit most afternoons, but I knew our light jackets wouldn’t be enough as the temperature dropped. So I steered us in the opposite direction, down the street and deeper into the neighborhood.

She slipped her hand into mine and I tucked my sleeve over us like a glove. As we walked she chattered the way small children do. She stopped to look at the maple leaves collaged across the sidewalk, exclaiming at the yellows and reds. A dog barked and she stopped to look around, trying to pinpoint the “Boof.”

At the corner, intimidated by the ribbon of headlights threading up and down the hill, she stopped and pressed closer to me.

“Too many cars!” she said and tightened her grip on my hand.

We waited for a break in the home-from-work traffic and crossed the street. The next block is canopied by tall sycamore trees, a tunnel of gold this time of year, and the lawns and sidewalks are littered with fallen leaves. Some homeowners had cleared their sidewalks but others hadn’t yet caught up and in places the leaves were ankle-deep. I waded in and kicked my way through. This startled her. She stopped, again, and looked down at her feet. Then she did the same thing, pushing the leaves ahead with each step.

“We are kicking leaves!” she shouted. “We kick the leaves!”

We walked another block and then crossed to the other side of the street and turned back toward my house. Again and again we plowed through leaves when we found them and she laughed out loud each time.

We crossed the busy street again, not so threatening now that the rush was over, and, what with one interesting thing after another, it took another quarter of an hour to walk the last block home. 

 I was, I realized, in that shining second, as happy as I have ever been. I’d been given the gift of uncomplicated time with a small child, something I’ve missed since my own have grown up and away. 

 I have always been a little afraid of the secret part of me that is not unlike the balloon tied to my granddaughter's wrist. I could have floated away, drifting from one adventure to another, but my children were my ballast. In becoming a mother I chose to tie myself to them and that grounded me. And now, when I am free again, able to fly if I want to, I find myself making the same choice again.

We walked up the front steps, past the pumpkin on the stoop, and through the front door. Still holding hands we stepped into the warmth of the house. That must have triggered something in her memory because she turned to me again.

“You’re not on a plane anymore,” she said with a smile.

“No. I’m here with you,” I replied, smiling down at her. 

And of all the wonderful places I have ever been, of all the places I would like to go, none is, or could ever be, as fine as where I was at that moment.

Cheryl-Anne Millsap’s audio essays can be heard on Spokane Public Radio and on public radio stations across the U.S. She is the author of “Home Planet: A Life in Four Seasons” and can be reached at catmillsap@gmail.com

Royal Canadian Air Force to the Rescue

On my July cruise from Seattle to Alaska aboard the Carnival Miracle, (read more about that here) there were two medical emergencies that required assistance from both the U.S. Coast Guard and the Royal Canadian Air Force. In both cases passengers were transported from the ship to hospitals on shore. 

The first was pretty straightforward. A U. S. Coast Guard boat pulled alongside the Miracle near the entrance to Tracy Arm Fjord and the passenger walked down the gangplank and onto the boat. 

The other was not so simple. In dense fog and battling 25 knot winds, the 422 Transport and Rescue Squadron’s CH-149 Cormorant helicopter crew, using night vision goggles, had to hover just above the bow, lower a cable and a diver to the deck, secure the cable, hoist one of the ship's medical staff to the copter followed by the sick passenger and then the diver. I watched from a deck just below the helicopter and it was intense. 

The airlift procedure took almost an hour and the pilot's skill was impressive. 

With thousands of people on a floating hotel, it's not uncommon to have medical emergencies arise. I've been on ships that had to detour to meet an ambulance or medical transport, but standing in the wind and fog on the deck of the Miracle as the helicopter hovered overhead was a new experience. I hope I’m never in need of that kind of rescue, but, if it happens, it's nice to know the experts are at the ready.

(Not) Far From the Crowd: Cruise Zen

I'm doing a story on themed cruises and that has me in Miami onboard the Carnival Ecstasy for the Martina McBride performance as part of the Carnival Live concert series. 

The ship departs this afternoon for a four-day cruise with stops at Key West and Cozumel. 

After checking in and boarding at noon, I have a little time to kill until my room's ready at 1:30. I could have gone to the lunch buffet on the Lido Deck but I'm still full from breakfast. So, I looked around for a quiet spot and I found one: the Blue Saphire Lounge. This is where Martina will be performing on Thursday night. It will look a lot different then. 

One of the most common reasons people give for not cruising is the idea of being in such close quarters with the 2,000-3,000 people on board. That's valid. I don't care for crowds either. Just ask my family. I have a Do-Not-Disturb bubble around me the size of Manhattan.

 

But I love to cruise because I've discovered it's always possible to find a quiet corner somewhere. The crowds are on the Lido Deck or around the pool. When I need a break, I go to another part of the ship. 

Like now. 

While the rest of the passengers board the ship, I'll enjoy the peace and quite and get a little work done. 

Like this. 

The Weight of Words

        

        Lately, I have been editing my collection of books, thinning the shelves, lightening the load of reading material I’ve accumulated over the last decade or so.

Each day I take an empty shopping bag, the sturdy fabric kind with strong handles, down to the storeroom in my basement and I bring it back up full of books. I take the heavy bag to the “used book” counter at the bookstore downtown. They take what they want, give me store credit and I donate the rest to a favorite charity. This has been going on for a couple of weeks now. Over and over again I descend to the storeroom and return with as much as I can carry away. 

I have never been one to resist a good book. It’s not in my DNA. I pick them up at garage sales, at bookstores--new and used-- at airports and library sales. I’m swayed by an illustration, a subject, a cover, an author. I hold the book in my hands and in my mind’s eye I can actually see myself reading it, swathed in afghans, sipping tea, reclining on the chaise lounge in my room. Each book holds the promise of a few moments to myself, the chance that it will improve me, educate me, enthrall me. So I am sold. Then, the book comes home to sit beside my chair, gather dust beside my bed until it is read and, finally, rest on the shelves in my basement. Sometimes I buy a book because someone I know might like it but I either forget to give it to them or realize it wasn’t the right gift after all, and on the shelf it goes.

Every once in a while, when the weight of books becomes too much for the shelves ------and my conscience--to support, I hold myself accountable for the clutter and decide what I will keep for a bit longer and what I will let go.

Some of the books on those shelves are old friends. They are my family. Those books will stay there until I’m the one carried out of the house. Others were impossible to resist at the time, but they’ve lost their appeal.  Some were fun to read but not something I want to keep forever. Others--the travel guides and how-to books, for instance--are obsolete and others are no longer up-to-date. Into the bag they all go. Carrying one bag at a time up the stairs, I feel like I’m secretly tunneling my way out a fortress of words.

Of course, there is that store credit. And I have already brought home one or two new books from my book-selling trips. But that’s something to worry about in a few years. When the shelves fill up again.

Cheryl-Anne Millsap’s weekly column is published by Spokesman.com. Her audio essays can be heard on Spokane Public Radio and on public radio stations across the U.S. She is the author of “Home Planet: A Life in Four Seasons” (available at Auntie’s Bookstore in Spokane) and can be reached at catmillsap@gmail.com

Baby Steps: Another 'Third Life' Lesson

"Years ago, I threw myself headlong into into mothering. It was the most frighteningly wonderful thing I have ever done or will ever do. And the reward? Four unique adults who made their way confidently out of my nest just as this little one stepped in." Read the rest

In this week's Home Planet column for the Spokesman-Review, I wrote about watching my granddaughter learn to walk. I raised four children so watching babies crawl and learn to put one foot in front of another is nothing new. But this time, perhaps it's because as the grandmother I have the freedom to step back and observe while her parents do the hard work, I noticed that as she began to take her first steps she never once looked at her feet. She was completely focused on where she wanted to go.

There's a lesson for all of us in that, I think. It's so easy to keep our eyes on our feet and never once look up to see where we are, where we've been and where we're headed.

Now, in my third life, I’m taking baby steps again. I’ve packed everything I have learned from growing up, navigating a marriage, raising a family, building a career and living an ordinary life in an extraordinarily complicated world. I've got a lot of experience and a little wisdom and I still have the curiosity of a child.

I’m ready to step back out into the world and see a few things.

There is nowhere like the Northwest

More often than not, flying home from a trip means I have to fly into Seattle or Portland to catch a short flight back over to Spokane. Sometimes, when I'm already tired and jet lagged, I grumble. But every now and then I look out the window and I'm reminded that extra hop is a gift. There is nowhere like the Northwest. 

Last Saturday, making my way back home from a week in the south of France followed by a cruise from Quebec City to Boston on the Holland America Veendam, I flew into clear skies and a beautiful sunset that washed Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Rainier and Mt. Adams with soft, beautiful hues. Like a lot of others on the Alaska Airlines flight, I pulled out my phone and  snapped a photo. It reminds me that I'm fortunate to live where I do and the extra miles it takes to get home are an opportunity to see things most people only dream about. 

Birmingham, Alabama #ThisTimeLastYear

Last spring I made a quick trip to Birmingham, Alabama. If you've never been south in the spring you've missed a treat. The azaleas and jonquils are blooming and birds are singing.

I snapped this shot of the historic Quinlan Castle on the city's South Side. Built in 1927 as an apartment building, the iconic structure is now part of Southern Research Institute. #ThisTimeLastYear

Darling I love you, but give me 5th Avenue

Any day of the week Alaska Airlines flights are busy ferrying people from Spokane to Seattle. It's where we go to play, to get away and, for many of us, to get a little work done.

I decided to go over the day before the meeting and do a little shopping before the lunch on Tuesday. (I had a pocket full of Nordstrom Notes I'd been saving all year I and wanted to hit the Rack while I was in town.)

Two things drew me to the Red Lion 5th Avenue: it was right in the heart of downtown, close to Pike Place Market and the stores I wanted. And, it was a way to stay "local" even when I'm out of town.

Red Lion Hotels is headquartered in Spokane. I figure booking a room at a Red Lion Hotel helps my local economy, even if it's in a small way.

It was my first time at the 5th Avenue and I couldn't have been happier. My room looked out over Elliott Bay and the iconic market sign and the bed was comfy.  I was able to check in early, shop, have dinner and then sleep in before heading out to my noon meeting. It was like a mini-vacation with a little work tossed in for good measure.

In the past I've booked a last-minute room wherever I could find the best deal, and I usually had to walk or take the rail around town. From now on, to quote Zsa Zsa Gabor, just give me 5th Avenue.

Brain Washed

You'd think after a lifetime of trying to be something different, I'd accept that I am who I am. 

This morning I was confronted, again, with my natural tendency to simply fall into a daydream or memory and stay there. For as long as I can remember, I've found myself standing or sitting, staring into space while a chain of thoughts connect like train cars and take me with them when they pull away. My children laugh at me. My husband asks the question a second or third time, until I blink and come back to the present.

This morning I spent half an hour watching the washing machine spin.

I keep most textiles that pass through the rooms in my house. Most are chosen for the intricate texture or weave of the fabric. Some for their color. More than a few pieces for the price--as a longtime treasure hunter I can't help but give in to the bargain. And, unlike so many things we gather as we go, fabrics endure and adapt to change. They can be dyed, stitched, cut, torn or turned into something entirely new so nothing is ever really wasted.

I've been looking for curtains for my bedroom and I remembered I have four silk drapery panels in the "curtains" box in my storeroom. They are woven with squares of rich colors. A little too rich for the room, so I washed them with Rit color remover. As they tumbled in the washing machine, I could see them fading a bit as they turned. But only a bit.

Staring at the fabric I was reminded of when I was a young girl and I first discovered vintage clothing and textiles, the way I loved the weight and feel and strength of old silk when I held it in my hands. I thought of the gossamer filament that is the beginning of any silk fabric, a gift of the silkworm with nothing but the utilitarian task of creating a cocoon in mind. This, maybe it was the idea of a cocoon, a space that wraps us and shelters us as we change and grow, reminded me of a place I recently visited: Poplar Forest, Thomas Jefferson's beloved country home. I am writing about the house for my next Home Planet column. Of course, that reminded me of tomorrow's deadline and soon my mind was spinning with the washing machine, tumbling words and images, structuring the essay I will sit down and write later today.

Poplar Forest, tucked into a beautiful clearing in the Virginia countryside, is undergoing a complete restoration. At this time it is a beautiful shell. Walls have been strengthened and repaired. Oak flooring--as was in the original structure--has been installed. Windows have been rebuilt, alcoves opened and doorways reconfigured, all to bring the beautiful, light filled, octagonal home back to it's original design. Eventually, I suppose, the interior will be recreated to reflect they way Jefferson lived when he was there there. But I found the bare bones of the house to be incredibly beautiful and evocative.

The click of the machine startled me and I realized I had been standing in front of it for the full cycle, my mind having traveled thousands of miles and hundreds of years while the fabric swished in hot water and color remover.  I opened the door and pulled out a panel. It was, in spite of the process, still vibrant. A bit faded, but not to the degree I'd hoped.

Oh, well. It doesn't matter. I may use the panels or I may not. I lost half an hour but I found a path to what I want to say about a beautiful place. After a lifetime I have discovered that sometimes time wasted is time well spent.

Oh, The Places She Will Go!

(Photo by Jenna Millsap)

For almost 10 years I've been writing about my life--and my family--in my Spokesman-Review Home Planet column and blog. Over the years that family has changed and gone through many transitions. Now, there is a new addition.

Looking at this first grandchild, imagining the life ahead of her, I daydream about things she will do and the places she will go. I know that whatever I can teach her will be matched by what she will teach me and I'm filled with optimism and delight at the idea of watching her grow.

If I have my way, we will have many adventures together and these tiny feet will travel the world.

Read Home Planet: "To See The World Through the Eyes of a Child"

Souvenirs

(Photo by Cheryl-Anne Millsap)


I've been writing about antiques and collectibles for The Spokesman-Review since 2003. Over the years I've talked about the things we collect or inherit or simply fall in love with and have to have. Some are are big-ticket items brought out for events like the Antiques Roadshow. Others are more humble, trinkets picked up at thrift stores and junk shops.

This week I took a look around my own house. And I realized that everything in it comes with a story, if not a lot of value. This week's column was about the antique dough bowl in the photo above.

Winter Sunset on the Rhine

(Photo by Cheryl-Anne Millsap)



Last year, in December 2010, I took a cruise down the Rhine River. At that time, due to early snows and a big melt, the river was extremely high. The day had been gray and cloudy but just at sunset the cover broke and the sunset painted the sky with fiery clouds. The air was cold as we cruised down the river but I stood on the boat's observation deck until the sun dropped out of sight.
That's the power of a beautiful sunset. Think how many similar images you have in your photo files. I know I do. But when the sky lights up we can't help it. We stop and take one more photograph, marking one more beautiful ending to a day.

Suite Dreams: Hotel Le Littre, Paris

In January of 2011, my daughter and I ran away to Paris for a few days. We checked in to the Hotel Le Littre and were delighted to find we'd been put in a deluxe room. Our room in the hotel, which was built in 1924, was incredibly spacious for Paris. It was practically a suite. There were two beds and a sofa and sitting area.(Most of the time the sofa was covered by the packages we brought home each night.)

The bathroom featured an enormous tub and my daughter spent an hour or so each evening soaking and reading. (An excellent treatment for jet lag.)
As I lay trying to fall asleep each night, I thought about the history of the hotel and the vibrant history of Paris itself.

Each morning we walked down to the main-floor restaurant and had breakfast (included in the package price.) The milk for our coffee was poured from elegant little hotel-silver monogrammed pitchers.

As any traveler knows, where you rest your head each night matters. It makes or breaks the trip.

My trip to Paris with my daughter is already a very special memory. But our week in a beautiful room in a delightful little hotel made the whole thing even sweeter.

Street Santas in Strasbourg: Today's Travel Photo #TTP@CAMera

(photo by Cheryl-Anne Millsap)



I was walking down one of the narrow streets of beautiful Strasbourg, France in December 2010. The town was decorated for the annual Christmas market and I stumbled onto these three Pere Noel impersonators making holiday music as shoppers hurried past with their purchases.

It's a pair of Pere and a spare.

Frankfurt Christmas Market: Today's Travel Photo #TTP@CAMera

(Photo by Cheryl-Anne Millsap)

Strolling through the Frankfurt Christmas Market, we stopped by the M. Eiserloh stall for Susse Mandelbar (sugared almonds.) The Eiserloh family covers almonds in everything from the classic hard-candy shell to hot chili to Bailey's Irish Cream to 24-carat gold. My favorite souvenir so far? A big bag of classic almonds. The extra weight in my luggage will be worth it when I put them on the table this Christmas Day.

Trier, Germany: Today's Travel Photo #TTP@CAMera

(Photo by Cheryl-Anne Millsap)

The Porta Nigra, the Roman gate at Trier, Germany, has stood for 1,800 years. To pass through it is impressive. To climb the winding staircase and look out on the beautiful city of Trier is a celebration of time and history. Imagine the lives lived in the shadow of the gate. Imagine the footsteps on the Roman road. Trier is now a favorite place is this beautiful country.

The Alamo: Today's Travel Photo #TTP@CAMera

(Photo by Cheryl-Anne Millsap)

During the day, the Alamo stands in the center of San Antonio, Texas. At night, it feels as though the old mission stands in the center of the universe. It is illuminated and glows and gazing at the weathered stone building it is impossible not to be drawn in to the history and drama of the place.

I was there for the 175th anniversary of the battle and snapped this photo just before dawn, as the ceremony was about to begin. You can read my essay about that experience in my Spokesman-Review column History asks one thing: Remember.

Early morning in Basel, Switzerland: Today's Travel Photo

(Photo by Cheryl-Anne Millsap. Rights reserved)


Blue-white morning sky, December 2010. This was taken early in the morning as our Rhine River Cruise ended in Basel, Switzerland.