My son Jackson moved to Tokyo this year to take a position as a software engineer with a Japanese firm that create video portals ‘that feel like teleportation’. He had followed the young company since college and loved their innovation. He packed up everything and moved from Long Beach to Tokyo. Growing up in Charlotte, North Carolina, the majority of kids from his high school stayed on the east coast close to home for college. He left for Occidental in Los Angeles. Then, he attended the University of Oslo in Norway and completed a master’s degree in Music, Communication and Technology. My son has little fear when it comes to having new experiences or heading out on his own.
He reminds me of myself. Out of high school I went on a five year surfing stint before college, which included a move to Hawaii, a few broken surfboards, a shark encounter, painful sea urchin spines embedded in my foot and 16 stitches across the bridge of my nose, as well as some of the best experiences of my life. At 34, I moved from Florida to North Carolina when I fell in love with Jackson’s dad, and at 62 I headed to Southern California not knowing a single soul.
It’s not easy to head out on your own. It takes stamina, confidence, resilience and a big dose of intuition, but the rewards are immense. When you think about it, it pushes you to every limit and out of every comfort zone. It throws you off balance and into the unknown. But, it also allows you to see the world through larger eyes. You become more independent, self-sufficient and open to new experiences, new friends and new skills (like learning Japanese or Norwegian). When you immerse yourself in different cultures or lifestyles, you gain a greater understanding of this beautiful world.
To be truthful it is also darn thrilling. When I first moved to California I drove down the Pacific Coast Highway with the magnificent ocean to the west and my windows rolled down, shouting out with joy, “I live in California!”
Jackson camped overnight on his own this past weekend along the Tama River which flows down from Mount Kasatori outside of Tokyo. He explored the mountains and settled in for the night along the river in his small blue tent, surrounded by trees, with only the crickets and cicadas as his companions. At 5:30 in the morning, before boarding his train back to the city, he jumped in the freezing river, because why not?
What a brief journey this life is. You really don’t want to miss out.
When the boys were little, presents abounded beneath our Christmas tree. I loved picking out gifts, wrapping them and arranging them under the tree. This Christmas, the only present my 29 year old son, Jackson, wants is a strap for his vintage 1970’s Olympus film camera he has been using to capture black and white photos around LA.
My partner Rick wants Ascent chocolate protein powder, because he keeps forgetting to order it, and a frame for a collage he made at Esalen in Big Sur. It’s sparse this year if you ask me.
And me? I wanted a pair of kittens.
Shadow, my last cat, died a few years ago before the pandemic. I grieved for weeks and then some. Grief works in mysterious ways, touching the hidden places within you that store your past losses, bringing them all up again. Not only did I grieve my cat Shadow, I also grieved my mother’s death 30 years ago, the loss of other pets from years gone by, and my divorce 24 years ago. It’s all there, a Pandora’s Box of grief, just waiting to be opened with the next loss.
I swore I would never get another animal to love and lose. I thought watching cat videos on Instagram would ease my need for another pet. It didn’t work. Although they gave me a short term fix, my home felt empty. If you are an animal lover, your home is never the same without them.
“Casey, are you going to miss the joy and love, because you are afraid to lose it?” I asked myself. Loss is part of the package. With love comes loss. Every one of us is going to lose everything and everyone we love, or they will lose us. It’s part of the journey of being alive. Grief is the price we pay for love.
So I bought a cat carrier on Amazon and headed down to the Helen Woodward Animal Shelter in Encinitas and adopted two four-month old brothers, Max and Sage. Max is named after a wonderful puppy Rick had in college and Sage is my favorite herb which brings healing energy into your home.
My new kittens are a delight. I have not laughed this much in years. Why did I wait? There is nothing like a purring kitten on your lap. Don’t let fear hold you back. Enjoy every last drop of life, give all the love you have and know that nothing lasts forever.
This Christmas my presents are not under the tree, they are galloping through the house like baby horses.
I was the best sleeper in my family. I could sleep through anything. The neighbor’s lawn mower, dogs barking, my father’s pacing at 4 am as he drank a pot of coffee. On the other hand, if you tiptoed into the bedroom when my sister was sleeping, she would immediately sit up in bed asking, ‘What, what?!” Her eyes wide as saucers.
My mother developed insomnia later in life, so the doctor prescribed sleeping pills. Sleepwalking one night on the powerful hypnotic, she unconsciously took more and overdosed. She spent two weeks in the hospital in a coma. Once she woke up, she had hallucinations for days and swore off medication forever. The insomnia continued. She passed away at sixty-seven from a heart attack, I believe from years of not sleeping.
In 2019, I contracted fungal meningitis during a yoga retreat in the jungles of Sri Lanka and spent nearly two months in the hospital. I started to have sleep issues for the first time in my life. Perhaps from being awakened constantly by nurses taking blood and checking vitals, being in persistent pain, or the hospital lights and hustle and bustle. It might have been from the prednisone prescribed for an immune system disorder caused by the meningitis. Maybe it was anxiety and PTSD from almost dying.
Whatever it was, I had become one of the midnight ramblers. I used herbal teas and tinctures, homeopathic remedies, melatonin, meditation, yoga, breathing and Tylenol PM. Once, I tried CBD sleep gummies. The budtender at the cannabis dispensary told me they had minimal THC, but when the gummy kicked in, I was high as a kite, watching the ceiling fan go round and round above my bed for hours. The more anxious I got about not sleeping, the less I could settle down to sleep. So, I decided to just go with it. I finally understood what it is like for people with insomnia. Bless our hearts.
My sleep is finally back to normal, thank goodness. If I do have an occasional sleepless night, I get out of bed. Read a book, preferable a boring one. Have a cup of herbal tea and listen to the crickets. If it is a clear night, I wrap a throw around my shoulders and walk outside. Taking a deep breath, I look up at the stars and think fondly about the little girl who could sleep through anything.
The seven bird feeders in my garden attract sparrows, finches, doves, chickadees, cedar waxwings, nuthatches, squirrels who hang upside down like acrobats on the feeders, a pair of mallards who fly in to graze beneath the large feeder in the front yard and mice who scavenge the leftovers.
The mice population in my garden is now thriving.
I recently pulled out an old begonia plant from a large pot on my porch to replace it and a mouse jumped out. Holy crap! I don’t know who was more startled, me or the mouse. She ran one way and I ran the other. Perhaps the nice little mouse was napping in the planter. But no. Once I pulled the spent begonia out of the pot, I turned the soil over and came across a batch of leaves. That’s weird. I looked closer and noticed movement. Five baby mice were tucked into the leaves. Frightened, the mother mouse had jumped shipped. With my trowel, I carefully lifted the babies out in their nest of leaves and placed them under a nearby bush. Hopefully the mother found them.
One morning sitting by the window with my journal and hot tea, I watched mice scurry from under the bromeliads surrounding the large pepper tree in my garden, quick as lightning. One at a time they ran out to snag a sunflower seed from under the birdfeeder, then dashed back to their hiding place beneath the bromeliads.
My garden is organic. I don’t use poisons or insecticides on my plants. But, truthfully, the flourishing mice population freaked me out. I imagined an army of mice running into every open door of my home, and against my better judgement, I set a bait station.
That was short lived, thank goodness.
A few days later, I saw a mouse lying in front of my fountain. He was panting, barely alive. The next morning he was gone. He had been poisoned and another animal or bird had eaten him and most likely gotten sick as well. What was I thinking? I took the bait station up immediately and will never use one again.
I really don’t mind mice in the garden, I just don’t want to encourage them. I now keep the seeds raked up beneath the feeders. The few stray seeds that remain are fair game for the birds, squirrels, ducks and mice.
We have become nonchalant about the poisons used to keep our manicured lawns perfect, to kill insects on our selected plants, keeping them unblemished, and to kill field mice trying to survive in a place without fields. The poisons don’t stop there. They end up in the air, the water and carried from one living thing to another.
I planted a fall crop of broccoli and Swiss chard in my raised beds recently. This morning I found that a resident rabbit had nibbled all the leaves from one of the new Swiss chard plants. I’m waiting for fencing to arrive to protect the plants from critters, but in the meantime, it makes me happy to know the bunny’s breakfast was healthy, organic and poison free. I can always add a new plant.
I sit on the ground in front of the enormous pepper tree in my garden. The dog days of summer surround me. A warm dry breeze touches my skin, the sun sits low in a clear, blue sky. I feel the coolness of the grass between my toes as I contemplate.
What the hell do I want to do with the rest of my time on planet Earth?
I have had a full adventurous life. Including 89 jobs (past blog post), a five year surfing adventure out of high school, two marriages, a son, stepsons, and a current partner. I lived in the North Carolina countryside for ten years, learning how to grow food, chase raccoons out of the garden and drive a tractor. I love my work as a voice talent, directing you in your car, at the train station, and over phone systems across the US. I have volunteered at county jails and a safe house for victims of domestic abuse teaching yoga, and on a small farm, planting seedlings in the nursery. Nine years ago at 62, I moved from Charlotte to San Diego, knowing no one. The first week I drove down I-5 with the ocean to the west, windows rolled down, screaming at the top of my lungs, “I live in California!” Joy. Joy mixed with fear, overwhelm and what the hell did I do?
What’s next?
It truly doesn’t matter as long as it brings you joy. Joy trickles out into the world with each enthusiastic beat of your heart, twinkle in your eye and smile on your lips. When you find joy in what you do, it benefits everyone. It changes the lens in which you see the world. Joy is a powerful creative force. How do you think babies get you to care for them? Ok, there may be a little oxytocin involved as well.
I bought a personalized license tag for my Subaru to remind me (and those behind and in front of me) to hold joy. Joy is a safe landing spot for sorrow, loss and hardship. It softens the edges of life. If I have a challenging day, a cute kitten video on Instagram will turn things around. Or sitting under the pepper tree with my bare feet in the grass, closing my eyes and listening to doves coo on the overhead lines. Joy is always a breath away.
My partner is embarking on a new project and the joy is palpable. He is newly retired and desires to be of service and make a difference in people’s lives. I told him as long as it brings him joy I wholeheartedly support him. Because life is short, why waste time on things that don’t bring joy?
Also, joy helps you live longer and people like to be around you when you are not a crabby asshole.
Twenty burpees and not sweating yet?! I’m impressed. I want to do that!
A young woman at my local gym is squatting, jumping back into a plank and then jumping back up into a squat. One burpee. She repeats this 20 times without stopping. She is fit and strong. Very strong. Things have definitely changed since I began working out almost 50 years ago. Did I just say 50 years?
It seems like yesterday, I ventured into a small gym in Orlando, Florida, wearing my black Led Zeppelin muscle T shirt, tights and sneakers, with my hair pulled back in a ponytail, and tentatively picked up two ten pound weights to do bicep curls. I looked around. The gym was filled with sweaty, muscle bound guys grunting and lifting. No women in sight. Most women at the time, were doing Jazzercise and Jayne Fonda workouts in their cute leg warmers.
I worked out for many years. But in 2019, I lost whatever muscle I had when I was in the hospital for several months with fungal meningitis. As I recovered, the pandemic hit and my gym closed. Although I have a daily yoga practice, attend Pilates class a few times a week and get in my 10,000 steps, I wasn’t getting much stronger. In fact, a bone density test last year showed bone loss. I don’t plan to be a fragile old lady. So last year, at 70, I wandered back into the nearest gym.
Going to the gym used to be a social activity. The ‘regulars’ showed up at the same time to talk and catch up. The work out was secondary. Not anymore. There is little to no talking as we move through our workouts, some people listen to music through their ear pods, in their own little worlds, taking care of business. Strength training is now a serious undertaking and women are stepping up.
I watch a young woman walloping a boxing bag and owning it like a champ. I am a bit envious, but definitely inspired. I learn something new from the young women at the gym each time I go.
Maybe I could try a dead lift that way.
If she can bench press 30 pounds, so can I.
Those side lunges look like fun. I’m going to try them.
I’ve seen a big difference in my strength and tone. I wasn’t sure at my age if I could recover all the muscle I lost, but I have. The evidence is in. Strength training makes you healthy. It improves fat-burning, builds bones, maintains your brain and cardiovascular health and increases your lifespan. Having strong muscles is the new cool.
So, toss out those silly pink two pound weights. And don’t forget the protein. One gram per pound of ideal body weight and you’ll be set.
My path has been a serpentine road, driven by curiosity and adventure. In each chapter of my life, I’ve carried the baton as far as I could, then handed it off to the next version of myself. Some chapters might be titled, Never do this again and others Yes, I want more.
In 1971, a friend of my mother’s recommended me for a job at Pan American Bank the summer out of high school. I was an installment loan teller and posted customers payments by hand on a posting machine. We wore navy polyester pant suits. It was the first in a series of banking jobs.
I opened new accounts at the Bank of Melbourne. When it was slow I’d walk across the lobby to talk to another account rep. “What’cha reading today, Judy?” I’d whisper. “Hawaii by James Michener” she said, showing me the paperback hidden in a manila folder. She was always a good resource for book recommendations. At Exchange National Bank, I spent the day alone in the basement helping old people into their safe deposit boxes. When I was a teller at Cocoa Beach National Bank, I’d wish the hands of the clock to move faster so I could surf before dark.
Did you know that in 1972, you could buy three cantaloupes for a dollar? Just a tidbit from my days as a grocery store cashier. I also stocked shelves at a five and dime, where you could buy three packages of vanilla cream filled cookies for a dollar fifty.
I waited tables, peddled Hawaiian Tropic sunscreen from a kiosk on the beach, dug holes for a landscape company, sold women’s clothing at Robinson’s Department store, and cleaned houses.
I held a multitude of secretarial positions including one with Nationwide Insurance on the 15th floor of a high rise in Honolulu. I lived on the north shore in Haliewa and waited for the bus on a red dirt road. It carried me past the Dole Plantation pineapple fields and across the island. I watched the sunrise from the grimy bus windows.
After several years as a surfing nomad, I enrolled at the University of Central Florida, majoring in journalism with a minor in broadcasting. I worked part time in UCF’s media department and was a camera operator for classroom lectures. I also edited audio. In a weathered black and white photo I’m in front of two large audio reels, a razor blade in one hand and a roll of splicing tape on the counter.
My first job out of college was at a top 40 radio station in Orlando. I was the morning news anchor and was on air at 5:20 am. One evening, I stayed out too late drinking free champagne at ladies night. My news director called at 4:45 am waking me up. I rolled out of bed hungover, grabbed my coffee mug, threw on jeans and a t-shirt and flew out the door. Thank goodness it was radio and not television. One morning, I accidentally left my microphone open and sang along to Jackson Browne’s ‘Lawyers in Love’. When I realized what happened I threw in a few “oh shits” over the air before I scrambled to close the mic. I drove the news car around with the logo on the side. ” Are you Casey Conerly?” people asked. “Yes, I am,” I answered smugly. It was great to be a local celebrity.
The best gift from that job was the mentoring of my news director. We listened back to my newscasts each morning and he’d give me directions I use today. Like pronounce the ‘c’ in picture.
I hosted a classical music program on Monday nights at the PBS station and blundered through more than a few composer’s names. I tried my hand at radio sales, because the sales people made more money, but I quickly found out I was not sales material.
Eventually, I moved into the big world of local television in Orlando. I started out as a weekend camera operator for the evening news pushing ginormous cameras around the studio. I also ran camera for a Sunday morning live church broadcast and from my perch up in the balcony in jeans and a ball cap, I watched the well-dressed parishioners find their seats.
I was soon promoted to audio engineer for the 6 and 11 pm news. My other job was to make sure our alcoholic weather man showed up for the last newscast. “Where is he?” the news director would shout at me. “Find him and his jacket. Its ten minutes to air time!”
In one episode of a local talk show I helped produce and host, I participated in a yoga session on air with a fitness expert. I wore blue tights and Jane Fonda leg warmers. I had big hair.
As a reporter for the Florida News Network, I was on the scene at Cape Canaveral when the Challenger space shuttle lifted off. I will never forget the silence as the raucous crowd’s joy turned into disbelief as we watched the space shuttle break apart 73 seconds into flight.
In 1985, I was sent to report on the birth of a killer whale in San Diego. I met Sea World of Florida’s public relations director and she offered me a job. I was tired of local news, so I accepted. I was named public relations director when she left the position. I joined animal care and biologists on rescues of sea turtles, manatees and whales, and also recorded voice overs and produced video news releases. I took a film crew to Alaska to acquire footage for a new show. We flew over glaciers in a helicopter. Although the animals were treated well and the park rescued and rehabilitated a multitude of wildlife, I wouldn’t work there now. Perhaps someday, zoos and animal parks will be a thing of the past.
When I moved to Charlotte in 1990, I started my own business, Conerly Productions, a combination of public relations, on camera and voice over work. I had a variety of clients including the City of Charlotte. “Speed A Little, Lose A Lot” was a campaign for the city to prevent young drivers from speeding. At local high schools, we displayed the wrecked Porsche of NBA basketball player Bobby Phills who had died from a speeding accident. His young widow implored students during assembly not to speed. She received many letters from them saying her words made a difference.
I wrote and produced corporate videos for First Union Bank. I was also on camera from time to time. In one training video, I demonstrated how to wrap a present.
I was the mother of the main character in an ABC movie of the week about the birth of rock and roll called Shake Rattle and Roll. I had two scenes only, but was thrilled to be in the makeup trailer with all the lead actors.
I helped conduct media training sessions for companies, including Bank of America and Lowes, teaching executives how to present on camera and handle interviews. They definitely needed help. Many of them would tell you anything in a mock interview, even their income.
I earned a degree in Holistic Nutrition, a lifelong interest, and partnered with a naturopathic doctor, setting up an office in his practice. My son was six months old at the time, and I had a hard time leaving him every day, so it didn’t last long.
I became a realtor and sold a few houses, but the recession hit, so my timing was off.
I’ve been a nature photographer for over 30 years and have sold my photos at festivals. I have an Instagram account, Celebrate the Beauty, where I post my nature shots.
Songwriting has also been a passion. I have played original songs at coffee houses and small venues and taught 4th graders how to write their first songs. They are the best songwriters.
I’m a yoga teacher and have taught private sessions, in studios, to female inmates, teens with behavioral issues and at a safe house for victims of domestic abuse. I record free guided meditations on the app Insight Timer. If you have trouble sleeping or want to start your day in a good frame of mind, check them out.
You can hear me on the phone systems for Union Bank and Visa to name a few and thousands of companies across the US. If you travel to Japan and take the rail, it is my voice directing travelers in English. “Next stop Tokyo”. You’ll hear me as the guidance system for Hyundai’s Kia model. “Please adjust your rear view mirror”.
I’m taking a master herbalism course. I make teas, tinctures, lotions and salves. I harvest and dry my own herbs from my medicinal herb garden.
Have you ever heard of Fire Cider tonic? You combine fresh horseradish, garlic, onion, red pepper, turmeric and ginger in a solution of apple cider vinegar and let it sit for three weeks. Shake daily. Strain and pour into small bottles. It will last a few months in the refrigerator. It’s a great remedy for the cold and flu season. Use a shot glass. It opens up your sinuses like crazy.
“There are no words,” I said to my partner Rick. He nodded in agreement as we gazed at the giant redwood towering before us. Unable to wrap our heads or our arms around the massive sequoia. It must have been at least 20 feet around and hundreds of feet high. My first introduction to the oldest, largest and tallest trees known to man.
In early June, we flew up to Northern California to experience the redwoods. We stayed in the charming coastal town of Trinidad located on an azure bay surrounded by rocky cliffs and dotted with fishing boats. Redwood forests stood to the east like colossal sentinels guarding the often foggy coastline.
We walked through the giant sequoias reaching for the sky. The forest floor was lush with ferns and rhododendrons blooming in every color. ‘Don’t you feel we have been transported? Like time travelers visiting a prehistoric era?” I asked Rick. He agreed, stopping periodically to put his arms around the massive craggy trunks absorbing their energy.
The forest was invitingly cool. My footsteps were muted by a soft carpet of needles on the forest floor, damp from the coastal mist that rolls in each morning. Spicy fragrances of earth and wood filled my lungs. Sunlight filtered through the towering trees’ canopy of sky-reaching branches as if through magnificent stained glass windows of the tallest natural cathedral you can imagine, creating a feeling of sacredness.
The silence was palpable. We found a place to sit and meditate near a stream quieting our minds and opening to the deep stillness and powerful energy gifted to us by the ancient forest.
We spent several days walking among the redwoods. Some soar as high as 380 feet or six stories taller than the Statue of Liberty. Sequoia fossils have been found dating back 200 million years, when dinosaurs roamed the earth. Can you imagine what they have seen?
A redwood might seem like a solitary being, but it has a shallow root system that extends over a hundred feet, intertwining with the roots of other redwoods for stability and survival. An interdependence that is ancient and wise, creating far more abundance than each tree could individually. We humans could learn a few things from them. How unnecessary this human strife. The pettiness, polarization, competition, discrimination and war. In a hundred years, most of us will be gone and a whole new batch of humans will be here, probably doing the same things we are doing now.
But the redwoods, growing in connection and harmony, will endure.
The sound of silence echoes through the morning as I walk the magnificent countryside in Galicia, Spain. It’s one of my last days on the Camino, ending a two week pilgrimage with fellow writers. The dirt path winds through the forest and along a riverbank replete with ash, willows and the ever present oak and pine. The early morning sun sends rays of light through the trees. Only occasional hints of bird song and my fellow pilgrims’ footsteps ripple across the silence.
Earlier that morning, our writing teacher asked us to walk in silence and ponder a few questions. What might silence teach us? What does silence invite?
I listen to my breath, and my footsteps as they crunch acorns on the path. My thoughts bounce around and then become quiet. My breath slows.
As I walk, I hear water flowing over ancient algae covered rocks, the wind through the oaks, pigeons cooing on the roof a church, and trucks on a distant highway. I bend down to take a picture of a red ladybug on a blooming mint. Would I have seen it had I not been walking in silence? Or stopped to admire the purple heather by the roadside?
Silence increases the chance to be stunned by beauty. We see so much more when we quiet our minds.
I also see my fearful thoughts and worries, and how they take over, dampen my heart and ability to be present. Thoughts like, ‘I’m 70 now and death is waiting for me right down the road. It’s hiding in the bushes for an ambush when I least expect it.’ I had my brush with death several years ago and crawled away from the fight battered and bruised but still alive. Wasn’t that enough?
I can choose whether to wallow in negative thoughts or let them go. There is a big world outside my small mind waiting to be explored. I can live in this precious moment instead of the past or future. Silence invites me to try. When I began a regular meditation practice years ago, I discovered the expansiveness surrounding my tiny self. It’s there for the taking.
Under azure blue skies, I look up to see the transitory beauty in the unique cloud patterns creating angels, elephants and moon faces. We walk through rolling hills, sun filtered forests, vibrant green pastures dotted with golden cows and white sheep, ancient weather-beaten stone villages where friendly cats come out to greet us on the cobblestones.
Instead of being caught in a regular storm of activity, this morning I’ve spent time away from the demands of the world and my everyday thoughts. I know I will return, but I’m grateful for this respite. Silence and nature have allowed me to connect with the beauty and oneness living just below the noise.
I’m learning that sacredness can’t be understood by thought, but it can be experienced in silence.
It’s been an incredible journey walking through the stunning countryside of Spain, carrying with me a sense of wonder, bandaged feet, and aching back.
The Camino has been a celebration of life for me. I’m grateful to have had this opportunity. I’ve also learned a few things along the way.
How to walk in a group.
I’ve never attempted group travel. I’m used to walking at my own pace, stopping when I want and and moving forward when I am ready. I have learned to slow down. That’s a good change for me.
Improvise.
When there is no bathroom and you need to go, you find a ‘green door’. This is a term we use when we enter the woods to do our business.
Eat the same thing every day.
The Spanish food along the Camino does not vary much. My go-to is a simple salad of lettuce, onion and tomatoes and Galician soup made with white beans, potatoes and kale.
The kale here grows like trees. No kidding.
Watercolor painting.
Our watercolor guru extraordinaire, Brenda, gives us tips along the way. How to mix paints to get the right shade of green, how to work with shadows and background, and the simple basics of watercolor painting. I am hooked.
Daily writing prompts.
Our writing teacher Laura, gives us a quote and writing prompt each morning. One day as we walked in silence, her prompt was: ‘When I’m silent…’ ‘Silence invites me…’ ‘Silence can teach me…’.
I’ve seen the smiling faces of pilgrims from all over the world. We’ve exchanged the greeting ‘Bueno Camino’, a cross cultural way of recognizing fellow pilgrims and wishing each other well on our walk.
We’ve walked past spectacular sunrises and sunsets, forests and cornfields, rolling hills and winding cobblestone streets, ancient bridges, towns, churches, ruins, as well as sheep, horses, lazy dogs and friendly cats. I watched a herd of cows amble behind a rusty red tractor through the streets of Palas del Rei. The last cow in line decided to head our way and say hello.
This walk has afforded me extended time to explore my thoughts, which have run the gambit. ‘Where is the next ‘green door’? ‘Will my body hold up?’ But, mostly I’ve been in joy and deep gratitude each day.
I’m grateful for my life, the ability to walk through this beautiful country and for the new friends I have made.
My walk was cut short by a few days when several of us tested positive for Covid and had to leave the group. I am nursing a runny nose and dry cough. Other than that I’m doing fine. I am in Santiago, our final destination. The others arrive today.
This famous pilgrimage site is dotted with graceful monasteries, magnificent churches, historic palaces and beautiful parks. And of course, the spectacular Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, where the pilgrim’s journey ends.
Casey Conerly 