SUSAN COLE

For the past three months, I've been training for the Columbia River Gorge Half Marathon. I participated for the first time last year and it was such a great experience hiking in the mountains among the tall trees, the river sparkling below, with people enjoying themselves and encouraging each other, that I wanted to do it again. 

Last year, my goal was simply to finish in the allotted time before they closed the race. My walking buddy and I just made it, and we couldn't have been prouder of ourselves.

This year, I wanted to improve my time. Over the weeks of training, I learned about checking my heart rate and getting in the zone so when I went faster, I was still comfortable. I learned about leaning in to the hills so the elevation didn't take all my energy. One of the high points for me this year was at the beginning, which was quite steep. With all the adrenaline flowing, many people rushed upward, passing me. When we got to the top, though, I began passing them.

I finished the race 53 minutes ahead of my time last year. No longer last, I beat 31 people. Most of the racers were in their 20s, 30s and 40s. Another woman and I were the oldest racers. A bonus: my daughter Kate and a couple of her friends were in the race, too. They ran, I walked. They passed me on their way down and we high-fived.

It had rained all week, but the day of the race, the sun shone. It was a blast.

I don't know what my late husband John would make of my new hobby. I know he would approve of working hard to reach a goal, like we did when we followed his lifelong dream and with our young daughter, left everything behind and sailed away for three years. If you want to learn more about our sailing adventure, go here to find Holding Fast: A Memoir of Sailing, Love, and Loss.  

When John and I left with our seven-year-old daughter Kate on Laughing Goat on what would become a three-year sailing adventure, Elmo, a Portuguese water dog puppy, came with us. Chocolate-colored, curly haired, long-legged, dignified Elmo whom my brother-in-law named "the man in the brown suit." Though we hoped he'd become a playmate for Kate, he was John's dog, trailing him everywhere. His serious demeanor made him a comforting watchmate at nights. Elmo could be goofy, though, like when violets randomly appeared in his hair, or he rolled ecstatically on a stinky dead fish on the beach. On Staniel Cay in the Bahamas, painful burrs stuck to his hair, paws, and tail, and in Belize, ticks found him. I believe we extracted forty one time. When John was away on business towards the end of the voyage, Hurricane Mitch hit Guatemala, and Elmo was my companion in misery, taking care of the boat. 

After we returned from our journey, we bought a house in Florida and told Kate that she could get a dog of her own. She chose a sweet, jolly, handsome golden retriever puppy, whom she named after Chubby Checkers. Always ready to swim or chase frisbees at the beach, Checkers was a menace to unuspecting swimmers as he headed resolutely into the ocean on self-imposed rescue missions. After Kate went off to college, John and I sold the house and moved aboard a 40' catamaran, Smooch, with the two boys. From our base in Fort Lauderdale, our crew of four sailed often to the Bahamas, which we  had come to love on the earlier voyage. 

In the picture above, Elmo and Checkers are getting ready for an outing in our Jeep in Fort Lauderdale, probably to the bakery on Las Olas Avenue, a charming Italian shop with fresh ciabbata, pastries and coffee. The boys would sit politely, emitting occasional moans of pleasure and longing, as John fed them chunks of blueberry muffin. 

They both lived to age fourteen and have been gone awhile. I'm so glad they were a part of our lives.

If you want to learn more about our sailing adventure on Laughing Goat when we left everything behind and sailed away, you can find my book here. Holding Fast.   

The Columbia River Gorge Half Marathon is coming up in October, and I began training last week. Last year, I participated in the marathon with the goal simply of finishing in the allotted time frame. My walking partner Kathy and I, both first time participants over sixty, were thrilled that we were able to complete it. This year, our goal is to beat our time from last year.

Though I've worked out regularly during the year, I've walked only sporadically, especially during the heat of summer. On a sunny, mild afternoon last week, I set out for Salmon Creek Greenway, rather pleased with myself for my timely start on the training. I smiled at the quacking ducks,  and sniffed fading wild roses. Just as the path passed under a tall shady arch of poplars and oaks, a woman in a safari hat beckoned me, making a "sssh" sign. She pointed to a great blue heron, balanced on one leg, still, hidden among the greenery. She'd seen it in the vicinity before. We were alone on the path, and as I strode on, I thanked her for sharing such a sublime moment.

Later in the week, I heard from Kathy that the coach with whom we both train had some recommendations for increasing our pace. I panicked, as though he were suggesting that I need to run a four-minute mile and would never be able to enjoy walking in nature again. My daughter, who also works with him and will be running the race, laughed. "You like being comfortable, but if you don't want to be out there for days, you need to go a little faster."

I remembered how ecstatic I was simply to finish the race in time to get a medal last year, and what a great achievement it was to reach a goal that I had worked hard for. When I went out yesterday for my second midweek training, I followed the coach's suggestions, and improved my time. I didn't stop to spot the heron, but I began to have the feeling that if I work at it, I can make my goal this year. It didn't hurt that I've been following the Paris Olympics: the excellence and determination of the athletes is thrilling.

My late husband John was a great example of reaching a goal through persistence and hard work. If you want to learn about my sailing adventure with John and our seven-year-old daughter when we left everything behind and sailed away to fulfill his lifelong dream, you can find my book, Holding Fast: A Memoir of Sailing, Love, and Loss here.

I spent last week in Pacific City, Oregon, working on my new book. The first morning, as I sipped coffee on the porch overlooking the Pacific Ocean, including majestic Chief Kiawanda Haystack Rock just off the beach, two deer strolled by on the narrow road, and a hummingbird fluttered inches from me. I couldn't wait to write.

A few days in, I learned that Cruising World selected Holding Fast as one of 7 Great Summer Reads for 2024! When my late husband John and I lived in Connecticut before we sailed off on Laughing Goat, John was a regular subscriber to Cruising World. Before we set out on a long voyage ourselves, we lived vicariously through the adventures of those who had already taken the plunge. For twenty years, we aspired to join them, never really sure we had what it took to be successful.

As I danced around the living room, thrilled that Holding Fast was chosen, I could hear John's laughter. During our three-year voyage, we would not have guessed that one day Cruising World would consider the story of our near-disasters, misadventures, and self-doubts worthy of a place alongside the sailing greats we had read about in the leading sailing magazine.

If you would like to learn more about my sailing adventure with John and our young daughter when we left everything behind and sailed away, go here to find Holding Fast: A Memoir of Sailing, Love, and Loss.

In May, 1981, I placed an ad in the Cleveland Plain Dealer seeking information about my father, who died when I was ten. I had recently married my late husband John aboard Phaedrus, an old fifty-foot, fifty-ton Norwegian wood sailboat that we lived on in Stamford, Connecticut. Huge red, yellow, and purple paper flowers flew from the rigging, and we dreamed of sailing away someday. I had gained the confidence (or foolhardiness) to start my own market research business, after years of working for others. My life was blooming, opening up, and I longed for my dad to see how well I'd done. He wouldn't have thought much of my brief, ill-fated first marriage to my college boyfriend, but he would have loved John's sense of adventure.

In working on my new book about growing up in Cleveland without Dad, I'm trying to understand how I came to feel so alone after he died, losing my family, my sense of home, even ties to Judaism. I feel compassion towards my young thirty-something self, desperately seeking connection to my father. I wanted to hear stories about him from those who loved him, too. My mother, brother, and sister were unreliable narrators. 

If you want to learn more about my three-year sailing adventure with my husband and young daughter when we left everything behind to follow John's lifelong dream and sail away, go here to find Holding Fast: A Memoir of Sailing, Love, and Loss.

Remember the first time you tasted gelato? On a family trip to Tuscany twenty years ago with my late husband John and teen-aged daughter Kate, I ordered a bacio gelato at a cafe in town. When the velvety cold chocolate-hazelnut lusciousness hit my mouth, it was like all my best ice cream memories rolled into one...licking a chocolate ice cream cone at Euclid Beach amusement park growing up in Cleveland with Dad, scarfing down melting Haagen Dazs vanilla-chocolate-almond bars with John and Kate in summer when we lived in Fairfield, Connecticut, or enjoying an after-dinner treat on our sailboat, Laughing Goat, on the Rio Dulce in Guatemala after John, Kate and our dog Elmo chugged down the river in the dinghy in the gathering dusk to the Esso station and brought back crumbly, stale Hershey bars that tasted of home.

I love the happiness on my grandson's face when he tastes coconut gelato for the first time on a recent trip to New Orleans. I hope he never loses his sense of wonder at the world offering up its dazzling small and large joys.

If you want to learn about my sailing adventure with my husband John and young daughter when we left everything behind to follow John's lifelong dream and sail away , go here to find Holding Fast: A Memoir of Sailing, Love, and Loss.

If you enjoyed the book, please consider leaving a review on Amazon. It's super helpful to authors!

Years ago, Hawaiians planted mangroves to form an arched path from the road down to Donkey Beach in Kauai, Hawaii. Gradually, the mangroves grew high enough for people to pass under them. From a scraggly beginning, a magical sun-dappled tunnel now exists. I was on vacation there a couple weeks ago, and one day, a bird perched atop the branches sang the most beautiful, sweet song. I felt like she was telling me to stand still, listen to the waves, the ruffling branches, and smell the fresh island air, and the flowers.

While I was in Kauai, I saw whales spouting at sunrise, the first full moon of 2024, a Wolf Moon on January 25th, and ancient Waimea Canyon, a 3000 foot high wonder that abuts Mount Waiʻaleʻale, one of the wettest places on earth. I'm back home now working on my new book, and in moments when it seems I still have a long way to go, I hold onto the magic of Hawaii, born from volcanoes, where a bird serenaded me in a long, winding sun-dappled tunnel that opened onto a gorgeous beach.

Happy Valentine's Day!

If you want to learn about my three-year sailing adventure with my husband John and young daughter when we left everything behind to follow John's lifelong dream and sail away, go here to find Holding Fast: A Memoir of Sailing, Love, and Loss.

If you enjoyed the book, please consider leaving a review on Amazon. It's super helpful to authors!

My late husband John loved Christmas, and when we got together in our twenties in the 1970s, I was thrilled to celebrate it with him. Being Jewish, I celebrated Hanukkah, but Christmas always seemed like so much more fun. Our first Christmas, we lived on XL, a rickety, romantic 1903 Fire Island ferryboat in Long Island Sound. On Christmas Eve, we sat on the floor in front of the Franklin stove, our only source of heat in a New England winter, wrapped in a blanket to keep warm, mesmerized by the blinking blue lights of our Christmas tree flashing on the aluminum foil insulation we had tacked up, and along with the wind and the waves, it felt magical. It was also really hard for John, because our falling in love meant that he left two small children, and though we saw them earlier on Christmas Eve, they spent Christmas morning with their mom. It's a reminder to me about how holidays can be both beautiful and painful, and how over the years, new meanings can arise. Though John is gone, I'm now living near my daughter and her family, and those two little grandsons have sure added to my own pleasure around the holidays.

If you want to learn more about my three-year sailing adventure with my husband and young daughter when we left everything behind to follow John's lifelong dream and sail away, go here to find Holding Fast: A Memoir of Sailing, Love, and Loss.

My cat, Ollie, has seen me through the loss of my husband, John, the pandemic, and my recent move to the Pacific Northwest. After John passed in 2016, I moved to New Orleans where my daughter Kate lived, settled into a cozy apartment in a former ice house with hardwood floors, an airy second story bedroom with a view, and a tree-shaded porch. At first, I couldn't imagine taking care of a plant, let alone a pet. In about six months, I bought two hibiscus trees. They didn't die. 

In a year, Kate persuaded me to get a cat. Living with John in our thirties aboard Phaedrus, a fifty-ton Norwegian oak sailboat, we had a scrappy gray cat who chased dogs, caught rats, perched on the mainsail boom while we sailed, and hung on when the thick wooden boom swung to the other side of the boat as we tacked. Kate and I went to Zeus' Rescue in New Orleans and I asked for an affectionate, mild-mannered cat. "I know just the one, " the tech said, and reached for a ginger kitten, who purred contentedly when I petted him. As it turned out, Ollie is spirited, curious, very funny, and can't get enough affection. A cat sitter called him Mr. Needypants.

I hope that 2024 brings everyone joy, good health, peace, and inspiration! Thank you for reading my rambling posts, and being there as I labor on the new book.

Mr. Needypants predicts a banner year of catnip toys and treats on his new lick mat!

If you would like to learn more about my three-year sailing adventure with my husband and young daughter, go here to find my memoir, Holding Fast: A Memoir of Sailing, Love, and Loss. 

Reflecting on the past year, I noticed that 2023 was the Chinese Year of the Rabbit, meant to symbolize a year of hope. I think that it lived up to its promise, for me. I made my way back to my hometown of Cleveland after a fifty year hiatus and learned much about my family, and myself. I travelled to Ireland with my daughter and her family, and to Portugal on my own, where I connected with dear old friends. I trained for and completed the Columbia River Gorge Half-Marathon. I met my newborn grandson four hours after he was born, and throughout the year, watched my nearly three-year-old grandson grow and flourish. I progressed well on my new book, which has to do with my beloved dad, who died when I was ten.

In Cleveland, I visited my dad's grave, and the graves of both of my grandmothers. I had never visited their graves before, and in the case of my grandmothers, had no idea even where they were buried. The photo above is of my grandmother's grave, my dad's mother, Mary, or Tamara who died in 1908 of tuberculosis, when Dad was seven. The day had turned cold and rainy by the time my friend and I found the old Jewish cemetery where Tamara was laid to rest, and we still had to locate the grave among thousands of crowded, broken-down headstones. When my friend yelled that he'd found it, I was amazed. My grandmother, a woman to whom I had become drawn, who gave birth to nine children and was herself the eldest of nine siblings. She had loved my dad, and here she was.

Hope you all can spend a little time reflecting back, as the new year comes upon us!

If you would like to learn more about my three-year sailing adventure with my husband and young daughter, go here to find my memoir, Holding Fast: A Memoir of Sailing, Love, and Loss.