Broiling sun with muggy airFilled our limbs with torporAnd drenched our foreheads with sweat.We held thumbs over the end of the garden hoseAnd sprayed cold water over us until we squealed,But were hot again in minutes.

During the years that followed graduate school I had the opportunity for varied employment: a science and language arts teacher, various part-time writing posts, a full time position with the US Fish and Wildlife Service, and for more than 30 years, coauthor of a biology book for a major publisher. Racial disparity and injustice for minorities and women still existed in the occupations mentioned above.

I am a woman with white privilege. I have the privilege of living my life not conscious of my skin color. I grew up in the 50’s in a small country town in western Massachusetts where there were few people of color. I knew that certain words were demeaning…

In the cafeteria where seniors ate lunch together, Michael, a promising concert violinist with many winning competitions already under his belt, said to the young man beside him, “Don’t you think we should be planning what we should do for the Senior Prank?”

Where is the virus hiding?On my grocery bags? My carrots? My cereal box?Will its tiny hooks take hold in my hair?Under my fingernails? Will I breathe it in?

A raven preens its feathers,Its roost, a cottonwood with tiny new leaves.A fox hunts--arcing nose-dive for a mouse.

We try to watch, a hopeful distraction from pain,Relentless, stabbing, filling our bodies, our souls.By night the pain fills his every cell, my every pore.

Stop whatever you are doing and get the book titled The Goldfinch. Get it at the library. Get it at the bookstore. Order it online. Listen to it on Audible, or for free on Axis 360. Listen on any device you own. This is the best book you will ever read.

Want a new delicious sweet and tangy side dish for your Christmas dinner table? Try the Finnish recipe for lanttulaatikko, mashed rutabaga casserole. In Finland it is one of the traditional dishes served, along with other casseroles, turkey, and ham, for Christmas dinner. When my grandparents came from Finland, they brought this recipe with them.

The bandit springs from nowhere

Scurrying over thin deck railings with lush furry tail holding balance.

Its sleek brown pelt taut over rippling muscles

As it leaps from limb to limb to find a tasty morsel.

Anxiety is a werewolf you become.

It hides, angry, sullen, alone.

Until your teeth become its fangs ready to attack, your hair its fur, on end.

Anxiety—yourself no more, personality gone, brain lost.

In Part One of this series I mentioned that over my years of travel, seat-mates, friends, family, acquaintances, and others had speculated that my traveling life was so glamorous, so exciting, and such a wonderful adventure. Sometimes trips were pleasant, but sometimes they were terrible. In 2005 some airline flights did not have security screening….

As we sat comfortably for dinner in the dining room, the ship’s captain began talking over the PA system: “I am sorry to inform you that we will not be able to visit Saint John in New Brunswick tomorrow as planned. A tropical storm system is just offshore, and our ship would not be able to withstand the winds and high waves associated with that system. Instead we will head out to sea and plan for our arrival in Halifax the next day as scheduled.

Gunshots in the synagogue.Screams resound, bones shatter, blood pools, worshipers lay dead.Senseless in this holy place.Sitting ShivaWhile we argue gun control in tweets and savor our lattes.

Bombs at the marathon.Runners, bystanders maimed by ragged bits of steelLodged in bleeding legs and arms.More security, more police, more cameras fill the worldWhile we vow to conquer terrorism and Isis and nosh on lunch.

My grandmother not only taught me to love nature and to sew, but she also helped steer me into a career I enjoyed. She taught me about a Finnish construct called sisu that all Finns have in their souls. It is a combination of determination, courage, guts, resolve, and the ability to never waver or give up. Thank you Aiti for sisu. Aiti consistently used sisu in her life. She came to the United States in 1918 when Finland was in a terrible civil war. People were cold and starving. She was fortunate to board a ship for America where she met Waino, my grandfather, and later married him.

“None of our rooms have phones,” the desk agent replied. “There’s a public pay phone on the wall over there,” he indicated by pointing. At the same time, I noticed a young woman also behind the counter checking in a line of men who had just arrived. She seemed to recognize them and greeted them by name. She was very scantily clad for a November night.

I was overwhelmed by this gesture of kindness from a stranger. The feathers were soft and obviously cared for with gentle hands. In my mind, angels were wonderful story book images, inspired by imagination and creativity. I knew my friend would see them, not in a religious sense, but in a similar way. But whether angels are part of a heavenly sphere, or part of a creative imagination, those dark feathers, a gift from a stranger, symbolized empathy, caring, and love.

I was stalked by a tiger

Dark and golden fur on soft paws

Melting into grasses of camouflage.

A mouth of saber teeth tore apart my skull.

Set against the Depression era of the 1930’s poverty, unemployment, and the collapse of agriculture and industry, Brown paints a portrait of young men whose fathers were farmers, loggers, and fishermen rather than bankers, lawyers, and doctors of east coast Ivy League crew teams that traditionally won competitions. I felt like I knew the characters on the crew team. I loved Joe Rantz, the book’s main character because he overcame all the odds against him.

The ribbon candy glistened in a bowl on the buffet table next to the electric bubbling candles. They were nestled in a bough of evergreen cut that morning from the forest behind my grandparents’ home. The spruce scent filled my head as I breathed in the aroma of Christmas. I was six years old, awaiting the arrival of Joulupukki, the Finnish word for Father Christmas. My grandparents kept their Finnish cultural traditions and incorporated new American ideas into the holiday the family loved.

Sun glints on sparkling morning sea. I walk the beach and spy a shrimp boat bobbing, Booms outstretched eager for the catch. Who controls the numbers seized? Menus filled with shrimp, fried, boiled, baked, will we eat them all?

Joggers and runners, ear buds in, red-faced, panting, sweating, enduring their mile, their five miles. Fanny packs and backpacks bounce, holding their devices. They listen: music, news, texts, emails. The splendid sound of waves, the shells, the sand, are lost.