I have always loved Nature. Walking in the woods and walking on a deserted beach have always been favourite pastimes of mine. Sometimes, I have envisioned living in Northern Ontario or on a Hawaiian beach, (Now that I'm older, definitely the Hawaiian beach. Too cold in the north.) For some mysterious reason, this appeals to me.
I have also admired people who left everything behind and set off into the wild in order to live 'authentic' lives. Davey Crockett was a real hero of mine when I was six. I thought he was about as authentic as you could get. Then I became hooked on books. John Steinbeck can still move me to tears. He was the real deal when it came to observing humanity and its frailty. But did he live an authentic life? Not so sure. Maybe when he travelled the country with his dog.
I remember when I first encountered the raw passion of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass. I was thirteen. Didn't understand most of what he had written but I certainly could feel his emotion. It was the same with the idealistic yearning of Henry David Thoreau's Walden Pond. I never realized until later in life just how poignant and brilliant this man's writings were for me. I remember when I first read these words of Thoreau: "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."
"Live deliberately..." Seriously? How does one live deliberately? I've asked myself that question so many times: How do I live deliberately? How do I figure out how to live at all?
Recently I read a fascinating book by Jon Krakauer called Into the Wild. It is a true story about a college graduate named Chris McCandless who hitchhiked to Alaska in 1992 and walked alone into the wilderness. He had donated all of his savings to charity, left behind all of his possessions and burnt all the cash in his wallet. In the end, this young man dies of starvation. Some have dismissed his journey as foolish and irresponsible. But others who have read about his journey believe that Chris was sincere in his beliefs and at least had the courage to try to live according to them.
He wrote during his journey: "So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity and conservatism, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. Don't settle down and sit in one place. Move around, be nomadic, make each day a new horizon," (Krakauer, Into the Wild, p. 58)
Quite a statement, isn't it?
Since my earliest years, I have been enthralled with nature. Everything fascinated me from the tiniest flower to the grandest ocean and the creatures living there. I didn't get to actually see an ocean up close until I was a nurse, but from that first glimpse and then my first swim - I immediately knew that Hashem existed. I believe most children are like that, constantly longing to be outside, being part of nature, and to just be part of the hugeness of the universe. Feeling free.
I feel more a part of the universe, like I belong to it, when I'm diving between the ocean's waves. While snorkelling in the Molokini crater, I stared at colors and fish, and shapes that whispered of unknown worlds, waiting to be discovered. My heart swells with joy and love when I meet dolphins and whales and my first thought is to ask them about what they see and know.
When I think a bit more deeply about this incredibly strong physical and emotional pull to the wild, I wonder why this happens to me. Many people walk into the wild in order to escape one's inner turmoil. Get away from it all. Find some peace and quiet. Block out the pressures of life by distracting oneself with nature's beauty. I do that lots of times.
But is there more to it? I think maybe there is, only it takes far more courage to face or explore. And that is to walk into the wild in order to go towards one's self. You can find yourself anywhere on a path in the forest, and for many of us it's a pretty scary thought to actually come face to face with yourself. Most of us do not like who we are.
I think maybe, perhaps somewhere since Rosh Hashana, I learned how to do this. How to hike over mountains in order to bring the peace of the earth and the sky into my own home and heart. How to dive beneath the water in order to instill that sense of wonder and adventure in myself and in others. Certainly walking amongst the giant Sequoia trees in Sequoia National Park, California, I faced myself...and a bear. Not sure which one was scarier.
And it is during this time of year, I begin thinking about the wilderness of the desert that we crossed through as a Nation. I think about the glaring sun and the vast, unknown spaces. It's those unknown spaces that are frightening. I think about the silent, star lit skies and the miles of endless sand. And I think I'm starting to understand why it was so hard for the Jews to leave Egypt.
Not only did they have to leave behind the comfort of the familiar, but they were not going to the desert in order to escape. They were escaping the Egyptians, and that was an exhilarating thought, but leaving meant facing an even more intimidating enemy: the weaknesses inside of them.
Here's a little known fact: even though they were slaves in Egypt, not all of the Jews left with Moses. It is said that four fifths of the Jewish nation chose to stay! They preferred to stay in a place where they knew what was physically expected of them, and where they knew they would remain in servitude until they died. Why? Maybe because they were free of spiritual obligations to God. The minority of us Jews who crossed the sea and ventured into the desert were not journeying towards a place of freedom from those noble obligations.
We were on our way to Mt. Sinai to find out what our responsibilities would be towards each other and towards the world around us. We were journeying towards the truth inside of ourselves which sometimes can only be found in those frightening wide, unfamiliar spaces. And most importantly, we were not alone. Our Creator, Hashem, was guiding us and helping us temporarily shed the limits of our physical selves.
With His help, we were journeying towards the truth inside of ourselves. We lived in homes that could be taken down and re-built in a few minutes. We ate food that dropped down from the sky, Manna. We didn't need the leaven-saturated existence of stable, material structures. We lived by the simplicity of what matzah is. No time to stand around and let the dough rise. No time to stay in one place when there are so many miles to cover before it's too late. Too late for what they must have asked. We lived by the clouds and stars, by those pillars of fire on the shore of the Red Sea, by the Divine words filling the desert silence.
And every Pesach, we all enter the wilderness of that desert once again. We ask ourselves if we can temporarily leave behind the familiar expectations and conducts in our lives. Can we make room in our homes and inside of ourselves for a new journey to begin? And can we use the beauty and excitement of our journey to learn who we are and what our responsibilities are? After so many years of reading our Haggadah and going through the rituals of Seders, I finally believe the answer is yes.
So here it is folks, Passover once again. We all leave Egypt every year at this time and Hashem gives each of us each the opportunity to let go of our limited, narrow-minded perspectives of life and venture into the wilderness inside of us. But the question is: What do we do when we emerge from the desert? How do we use the gift of our journey through the desert? Do we bring the miraculous into our everyday consciousness or do we relegate it to the pages of the Passover Hagaddah? And that is where real courage is found. Not in escaping into the wilderness, but in using the wilderness to reach the truth within ourselves.
So my prayer for everyone at this Passover is simple: May you reach the truth within you during this season and bring the miracles around us into your everyday life. Amen.

Wow! I blinked and that tiny month of February was gone. When a month only has 28 days, I guess it does that. During February, my family went to Kauai, part of the Hawaiin Islands chain. Did I love Kauai? Oh, wow, you bethcha! Ever since my first visit to the islands a few years ago, I have been enchanted by the ethereal beauty of these islands. As soon as you step off the plane at the airport, you know you have been transported to another, more beautiful and serene world. I hate to sound cliche about this but it really does feel magical. Kauai is no exception. The island is so small from the air, I actually wondered if the airport could possibly have runways big enough for the jet I was on. It did. But just barely.
The very first thing that impresses me about Kauai is how clean the air is! I can actually breathe for the first time in months. No air pollution, which is what I am allergic to, more specifically diesel fumes from trucks.
Kauai is called the garden island and in my imagination I pictured a little island lush with gorgeous and unusual tropical flowers. Hmmmmm. I have to admit, I didn't see very many gardens - one beautiful botanical garden at the foot of the famous Bali Hi mountain,(from South Pacific fame.)However, there were about five or six more we could have seen. Every tourist place of course had stunningly beautiful gardens. There weren't really any plants that I had not seen on Maui or Oahu, but the flowers' vibrant hues were a delight. I tried valiantly to take pictures of them and failed miserably. Every picture just looked mundane. None of them captured the true essence or beauty of this little heaven on earth. In fact, there were three of us taking pictures on this trip and not one of us managed to catch a special moment in time. I guess some places are just too special for us humans.
What Kauai did have that the other islands do not is the Naapali coast. Now, that was spectacular. If you have trouble believing in God, you should go there, for nothing else on earth prepares you for this incredible sight. It is a rainbow of colours - lush greens, burnished reds form the iron in the earth, and waterfalls everywhere. We took a seven hour boat cruise up the coast and over to Niihau, the forbidden island. The first fantastic moment on our cruise was seeing the sun rise over the mountains. I sat mesmerized while watching this golden orb slowly make its ascent over the waterfalls and mountains, one by one until, at last, it blazed in a bright blue sky in all of its glory. We were greeted by about forty spinner dolphins at one point. The more we cheered and clapped the closer they came to us. They travelled alongside the boat for a mile or two and danced and spun much to our delight.
Lucky for us, it was the humpback whale mating season. It's one thing to see whales raise their tails in a movie or on TV, but it is so much more exhilarating to see it up close. We were fortunate to see dozens of them.
Once we reached the island of Niihau and had anchored for some snorkelling, our engine stalled. A curious baby whale ventured over to see what we were about. If I bent over the bow of the boat I would have been able to touch the little guy, he was that close. All of a sudden Momma showed up to make sure we weren't going to hurt her baby. No words can describe the rush of emotion that engulfs you when your eyes meet with a whale's. She knew I loved her, I swear. They stayed by our boat for almost twenty minutes, playing and watching us. I cried with joy while observing them.
Kauai was special for another reason - their beaches. So many different kinds! Anini was made of crushed coral, Kakahi was made of a composted combination of ingredients including parrot fish pooh. That sand felt like butter on your skin. Fantastic. It was my kids' favourite because of the boogie boarding they did. But the wildest and most spectacular beach to see was Polihale. Too dangerous to enter the water in February, we stood and watched thunderous waves crash into the coastline. It was deafening to the ears. And awe inspiring.
Kauaii had other fun things that we did - tubing down an old irrigation ditch of a deserted sugar cane plantation, a helicopter ride, hiking. We ran out of time before we could zip-line across the canyon or kayak down some of the rivers, or go horseback riding on the beach. It gives me an excuse to go back!
Some people leave their hearts in San Francisco. Mine is and always will be in the Hawaiin islands - a little on Oahu, on Maui, and especially on Kauai. Aloha Kauai and mahalo!

Now that it's almost gone, I'm giving you my final thoughts on winter. I titled it....My Winter of Discontent. Let me know what you think!

My Winter of Discontent

I hate Winter. I hate being cold. I hate having to wear an undershirt under the regular shirt under the vest under the sweater under the winter jacket, with a scarf around my throat, a scarf around my face, a hat on my head with earmuffs over the hat.
And that's just to take out the garbage. God-forbid I should take my dogs for a walk. That entails long-johns under my pants under snow-pants.
Here's my problem with so many clothes. After three pregnancies, the interim between washroom visits is short. 'Barely make it there' kind of short. By the time I finish layering, I have to go to the bathroom again. It's seriously depressing.
I also hate New Year's, another winter special. Every year my friend Nicolette and I make the same two New Year's resolutions: lose weight, exercise more. We vow that this year we'll succeed, by Golly, or else our names are MUSH.
New Year's Day! We're pumped for our first one hour walk. A new decade, a new year, a new regimen.
“I'll finish my Special K and be right over,” says Nicolette.
“I'll be ready.”
I start layering. I'm up to the sweater over the shirt...I have to pee! Whew, that was close! Now the pants.
Ten minutes later - I'm at the door having the Hot Flash from Hell.
Nicolette arrives in a frantic state. “I have to pee!” she cries as she strips out of her clothes and runs for the bathroom.
“Take your time,” I say. Meanwhile, there's a puddle of sweat around me; I'm melting.
Finally, we're outside and walking. It's snowing.
“It sure is brisk out here,” I say after a few minutes. My nostrils have frozen shut and my teeth are chattering. I have to pee but I'm determined to overcome the urge.
“What? I can't hear you through my hat and earmuffs,” shouts Nicolette. “I'm freezing my butt off!”
Nicolette grabs my arm. “We have to go back. I have to pee again!”
After we pare down to one shirt and pair of pants, I light a fire in the fireplace and make us hot cocoa with whipping cream.
Nicolette sighs. “We walked a lousy seven minutes. A disaster! Why did we think we could exercise in winter?” We each raise a whipping cream can in salute and fill our mouthes. “Next year, let's resolve to write a novel. We might keep that resolution.”
“If we don't run out of hot cocoa and whipping cream,” I reply. “At least we won't be cold.”
“But we'll gain a ton of weight,” muttered Nicolette.
MUSH, my name is MUSH, and I hate winter.