“End of trip”

I stayed with my 91-year old mom the other night to help her recuperate from a tough oral surgery. While I was there, unsuccessfully trying to sleep in my dad’s old bedroom, I noticed his “Travels & Adventures” journal on the nightstand and tucked it away for future reading. I’m pretty sure that I gave this to him as a gift many many years ago, and was delighted to see that he’d actually used it.

Once home, after a few rough days with my mom, I settled into a comfortable chair and dove into his entries about their trip to St. Simon’s Island, GA in March and April 1997. The entries are so my dad—full of exact times—”Left at 4:09 P.M.”—odometer readings, directions, gas prices ($0.99/gallon), and mundane details. “At mall—got a new battery for my Citizen watch.”

There’s mention of numerous restaurants and whether they were good or not, but no details on what they ate. Challenges popped up as challenges do—a toothache, a dead car battery, a motel reservation snafu—but they seemed to navigate them without drama. Or if there was drama, it wasn’t recorded. That’s also very much my dad—cool, calm, and collected.

What was recorded in more detail is their visit to Plains, GA and Jimmy Carter’s church. Following the service, where the former President taught a lesson from the book of Luke, the Carters graciously took photos with congregants. This encounter remained a cherished memory for my (Republican) dad all his life.

My parents and the Carters in better days…

This slim travel journal did a magical thing—it brought my father back to life. I can see him as he was back then, cheerful and healthy, enjoying ice cream and coffee and walks on the beach with my mom. And seeing his handwriting, touching his handwriting, makes me feel like he is right here right now.

I always thought that I’d leave directions for my journals to be burned upon my death, but now I’m not so sure. Some probably should be, but others might be fun or comforting for someone else to read.

Through our journals, and our very particular handwriting, we’re still here, even after we get to the end of the trip.

Taking It Slowly

“How can it be that I’ve never seen that lofty sky before? Oh, how happy I am to have found it at last. Yes! It’s all vanity, it’s all an illusion, everything except that infinite sky. There is nothing, nothing—that’s all there is.” —Andrei Bolkonsky, wounded (mortally?) in battle, War and Peace

Back in December, I stumbled upon the mention of a slow (as in year-long) read of Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace. I’m pretty sure it was on Katherine May’s Substack, and since I love all things Katherine May, I decided to check it out. The more I thought about, the more I felt like I wanted to participate. I do enjoy a good challenge, and this one seemed quite doable—one chapter a day for one year, with the occasional day off, all clearly scheduled and accompanied by a daily Substack chat for each chapter. But all those Russian names? And war?! Ick. Would this be a confusing snoozefest?

I’m now two and a half months in and haven’t missed a day. This is NOT a confusing snoozefest, and oddly enough, I’m enjoying the war chapters as much or more than the peace chapters. What a stunning book!! What a cool experience to read just one chapter a day, to slowly absorb the emotions and inner dialogue of each complex character. To find myself relating to an injured Russian soldier as he contemplates his own mortality, as he finds peace and meaning in nature and that “infinitely lofty” sky that Tolstoy draws our attention to in the midst of a literal and figurative battle.

Inspired by this incredible novel, I eyedroppered my Karas Kustoms Ultem Vertex with Montblanc’s long-discontinued Leo Tolstoy “Sky Blue” ink, a truly delightful pairing. The pen features a medium titanium Bock nib that is one of my favorites as the slightly flexible nib lays down a juicy line that allows the beauty of the ink to shine through—a gorgeous blue with a bit of sheen that appears as each word dries.

I’m finding so much joy in the slowness of all of this—both the reading and the journaling with this pen. There’s so much to savor in both. God, we are rushing all the time and it feels good to put aside the craziness of the world for even a little while. To take my time with each chapter, and also to enjoy the ritual of choosing a pen, filling it, waiting for the ink to flow, then filling up a journal word by word and line by line over days, weeks, and months. To simply be present. To notice the poetry and beauty in this novel and also, at times, on my own pages.

As much as I’m finding slowness to be a balm for life’s ills, I often wish that life came with a fast-forward button. I long to know how will this problem or that situation will turn out. Will a beloved friend or family member overcome their latest challenge? Will I? Navigating uncertainty is not my strong suit, but I do know that the days take their own sweet time and we are wise to do the same.

We’re here. In this moment. Taking things as they come. Or trying to, anyway. Settling down with our favorite stories, while also writing our own. Noticing small details. Capturing tiny delights. Watching the ink dry on the page. The shine appears, the color shifts, then the sheen reveals itself. We’re here, in our journals, trying to make sense of it all. Slowing down for just a little while. Eventually I’ll read the final word of War and Peace, and use the last drop of this Tolstoy “Sky Blue” ink, but for now I’m savoring both, and using them as an antidote for this frenetic world. When I’m reading and writing, all is well. I’m fine. We’re fine. In this moment, we’re all fine.