SUSAN COLE

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.

In October, two incredible events occurred. One week after my 77th birthday, my beautiful second grandson, Ronan, was born, and the week after that, I accomplished something I would not have dreamed I could do when I moved to the Pacific Northwest a year ago: I completed the Columbia River Gorge Half-Marathon, a distance of 13.1 miles. When I first moved here, I huffed and puffed on the steep walking trails, stopping frequently, terrified that I would slip or fall. I worked with a wonderful trainer (shout-out to Skyler Linden @ Fly Fitness) and gradually improved. My walking partner Kathy and I trained every weekend for three months before the race. On the last training weekend, we covered eight miles on Saturday in 88 degree heat, and five on Sunday; both of us were sore, hot, and cranky, and Kathy had foot pain issues. We wondered if after all the work we put in, we could actually do it, until we reminded ourselves that prior to that weekend, neither of us had walked eight miles in one day. 

On race day, the weather was glorious, sunny, in the 60s. The majestic Columbia River sparkled below, towering trees rustled in brisk fall winds, and participants were in high spirits. Kathy and I started in the last group, walkers, and within the first two miles, everyone in our group passed us. Most of the racers were much younger. We kept going. When we crossed the finish line a half hour before the race closed, I felt as exultant as I imagine the winner did! My daughter and her family, including week-old Ronan, were at the finish line to support us, and we all whooped and hollered as they announced our names, played rousing music, and presented us with finisher medals. I'm going to work this year on improving my time for next year's half-marathon, but for now, I'm awash in the glow of taking a leap of faith and achieving something difficult that I wasn't sure I could do!

My late husband John admired grit, and during the low points of training, I could just hear him cheering me on. In the late 1990s, with our young daughter, we followed his lifelong dream, left everything behind and sailed away. Talk about a leap of faith! If you would like to learn more about our three-year sailing adventure, go here to find my memoir, Holding Fast: A Memoir of Sailing, Love, and Loss.

As I'm writing my new book, I'm also working on another challenge. Since moving to the Pacific Northwest a year ago to be near my daughter Kate and her young family, I've enjoyed walking on many beautiful trails near my new home. Last fall, Kate ran in the Columbia River Gorge Half-Marathon. It's a spectacular setting—mountains, waterfalls, and sweeping views of the majestic Columbia River. I was not only blown away by the stunning scenery and Kate's persistence in reaching her goal, but I noted that the last group of participants at the starting line, after the eight, ten, and twelve-minute milers sprinted off, were walking. Sure, 13.1 miles in a mountainous terrain was way beyond what I had done so far, but the joy in the air that day, including Kate's exultant dash across the finish line, was infectious. 

A couple of months ago, I partnered with another woman who also wants to participate in the race, and we are training for it. As the race nears, we're gradually adding more distance, and it's getting tougher. Some days, as we wend our way through Whipple Creek Park shown above, it's so lovely that there's nothing else I'd rather be doing. Other days, like last Saturday traipsing five miles on elevated trails in 86 degree heat, I was miserable and sore. I went home, soaked in a long, hot bath, and walked three-and-a-half miles the next morning. I've never been on a sports team, but I'm beginning to feel rather athletic.

I suppose it's similar to my late husband John and I leaving everything behind and sailing away with our seven-year-old daughter: you prepare as much as you can, and take a leap of faith. The race is October 22nd, and I'll keep you posted!

If you're interested in learning more about my three-year sailing adventure with John, Kate and our dog, Elmo, go here.

Now that I'm living in the state of Washington, summer has become my favorite season, as it was growing up in Ohio. I've been working on my new book about my childhood in Ohio, and remembering lazy summer days when I loved to lay on the grass and stare at the sky. For the past twenty-five years, though, I've lived in the Bahamas, Mexico, Belize, Guatemala and later in South Florida and New Orleans. When we sailed to Guatemala for hurricane season, it was so hot and humid that I lay down for two days after our arrival, unable to move; in Merida, Mexico, the only way we could go outside during the midday heat was to cling to the sides of buildings while advancing crab-like in narrow slices of shade; in New Orleans, I barely left my apartment in August.

A couple weeks ago, I drove with a friend to the Olympic Peninsula, which consists mostly of a national park with spectacular trails, a rain forest, and rugged beaches. It's across Puget Sound from Seattle, and at sunset, we sat on the porch of our cottage overlooking Puget Sound and gaped at Mount Rainier glowing red, and Seattle's sparkling skyline. It was a perfect summer escape. 

I hope you've all had a chance to escape for a bit this summer. And as for capers, I hope you've had a few of those, too!

If you want to find out more about our sailing voyage when we left everything behind and sailed away to the Caribbean, go here.

On a visit to Ireland with family this summer, I was fortunate to visit the beautiful Dingle Peninsula in County Kerry. The photo above is St. Brendan's Oratory, a tiny, boat-shaped cathedral more than 1300 years old, built of dry rubble masonry and still waterproof after hundreds of years. St. Brendan the Navigator, the patron saint of sailors, set out in the 500s for Scotland, Greenland and possibly, America. He was known for fearlessly sailing in uncharted waters. 

I love the phrase "sailing in uncharted waters," suggesting acceptance of uncertainty, of the unknown. When I was young, the unknown terrified me. I'd had enough chaos in childhood that I longed to settle down and have roots. Then I fell in love with my husband John, whose lifelong dream was to sail away. In setting aside my fear and taking the leap to sail off with my husband and young daughter, I learned to accept a degree of risk that my younger self would not have tolerated. It was a great lesson, a gift, that helped me to deal with life after he was gone. 

While in Ireland, I visited the charming Kerry Writers' Museum, which houses a terrific collection of current books by Irish writers, and serves delicious cappucino and cakes. I enjoyed chatting with a local writer, Tim Foley who wrote about a heroic Irish sailor and explorer, Crean, and spearheaded a campaign for his recognition. I've just begun the book, and it's great so far.

If you want to learn more about my sailing journey with my husband and daughter when we left everything behind and sailed away, go here. 

I'll be at Covington House in Vancouver, Washington, on July 23rd with other local authors for NW Book Fun in the Sun. Friends in the Portland/Vancouver area, I'd love to see you there!

The illustration by my stepdaughter, Raegan Russell, a terrific artist from Maine, on the frontispiece of Holding Fast depicts the route of our three-year sailing voyage on Laughing Goat down the East Coast to Florida, the Bahamas, Cuba, Mexico, Belize, and Guatemala. It captures the spirit of the voyage really well: exotic, magical and very much our own. 

When we set out, we knew we were heading south to Florida but beyond that, we hadn't decided exactly where we would go. The uncertainty made me anxious. During the voyage, whenever I got stressed out about not knowing where we were ultimately headed, it helped to remember how far we'd come, and that we had done okay so far, which gave me faith to take the next step forward.

I'm working away on my new book, which will be about my relationship with my dad who died when I was ten. Although it's a different sort of journey, an interior one, when my anxiety rises about what I may find, I remind myself how unsettled I felt setting out on Laughing Goat, and how much more wonderful and challenging the voyage turned out than I could have imagined.

If you want to find out more about our sailing voyage when we left everything behind and sailed away to the Caribbean, go here.

My book friend, Joy E. Held, is offering an online course to help authors create a discussion guide for their books that she would love to share with authors, editors, publishers, educators, librarians, book clubs, readers, students, and anyone who wants to encourage deeper engagement with a book. She has a great deal of experience in this area. If you want to learn more about it, go here. 

Last week, I visited Cleveland, Ohio, where I grew up, to do research for my new book. I hadn't been back in fifty years. Before leaving on the trip, I was anxious and unsure of what I would find. My dad died when I was ten, and I wanted to learn more about his younger years, and about his family, of which I knew little.

Not much has changed. Wide, quiet streets, flowering trees, beautiful historic buildings preserved as they were even though the original occupants are gone. Terminal Tower, the tall landmark on Public Square, can still be seen for miles around. At the very top, a small, modest U.S. flag flies. Lake Erie dominates the downtown, sending cool breezes whooshing through the streets and providing a link to the larger world.

With the help of some terrific librarians at the Western Reserve Historical Society and a friend who accompanied me, I learned so much. I knew Dad had been in an orphanage from a family story, but I didn't know where, for how long, or why. I began to question whether it was true until my friend found his and his younger brother Albert's names in the records of the Cleveland Jewish Orphan Asylum in 1910. "Louis G. Cole, age 9 3/4, admitted." A few words on a page changed his life; he was there for six years. 

The house in which I was born, the one where I grew up, and my grandmother's apartment building were pretty much the same, though my grandmother's building has deteriorated. Dad used to take me to his office downtown on Saturday mornings and I was thrilled that the building still thrives. A frieze of flying horses adorns the roofline and scampers across the front of the white building between each floor, a charming detail I didn't notice when young. In the photo above, I'm standing in the exact spot alongside the house in Cleveland Heights in which I was born where my dad and I stood when I was two (photo posted in last month's blog). 

I even met two wonderful cousins on Dad's side, whom I hadn't known existed until I began this project. The visit gave me a feeling of peace about what had been a very painful period in my life. Now, I need to put my notes together and make sense of it all, which will take some time. 

The sun is out today in Washington and I hope it is shining where you are, too!

I'm working away on my new book. It will be about my dad and me. He died of heart disease when I was ten and it was not until later that I realized how much I loved him and how central he was to my life. I'm writing the book to reclaim our relationship, understand all that happened and why.

I'm very excited that I've booked an appointment at the Western Reserve Historical Society in Cleveland, Ohio, where I grew up. My dad emigrated with his family from Belarus in 1902, driven out by the pogroms against Jews. He was one. When his mother died, his dad put him and his younger brother in a local orphanage, and the Historical Society has records of the orphanage, as well as other records pertinent to my parents' early lives.

It will be my first trip to Cleveland in many years. I'm thrilled and nervous. I don't know exactly where it will all lead, but I want to find out. More updates to follow.

In the meantime, I'm looking forward to March 22nd when I will be at the Oregon Women's Sailing Association at Rose City Yacht Club in Portland to talk about my sailing adventure with my husband and young daughter that I wrote about in Holding Fast, with a book-signing to follow; and to April 15th, when I'll be in Ridgefield, Washington at the Northwest Garage Sale with a group of Pacific Northwest authors and our books.

If you'd like to read more about my sailing adventure with my husband and daughter, please go here.

Hope you're all starting to—or will very soon—enjoy early glimmers of spring!

Though everywhere else, it's just Tuesday, last Tuesday in New Orleans was Mardi Gras, or Fat Tuesday. When I moved to New Orleans in August, 2016, after my husband John passed away, my image of Mardi Gras, to which I had never been, was of drunken crowds and topless women on Bourbon Street. That first year, I learned that Mardi Gras parades actually start about a month before Fat Tuesday, and many wound through my uptown neighborhood. I went with my daughter and her fiance's family to watch. Though my heart was heavy and a part of me felt lost among the crowds, I saw kids eagerly catching "throws" from costumed people on the magical floats, heard rousing tunes played by proud, talented high school and college bands, marveled at dancing groups that romped their way along the street, and ogled random assemblages like the Elvi, Elvis lookalikes who sang, revved up their motorcyles, and mugged to the crowds. Far from a drunken orgy of tourists, the crowd was largely made up of local families and friends. Those performing in the parade were all shapes and sizes, and there was a lovely, joyful rhythm in the air. Following on the heels of each parade, a phalanx of streetcleaners worked into the wee hours to clean the streets and sidewalks.

I moved away from New Orleans last August to live near my daughter and baby grandson in Vancouver, Washington, but I wasn't going to miss Mardi Gras. On Fat Tuesday, a group of friends and I dressed up as chicks and joined St. Ann's, the people's parade. Why chicks? No reason, other than the fun of it. It took a bit of work to put it all together ahead of time, and some agita (e.g., sending my old sneakers in time for the glittering party, a friend kindly offering to glitter mine). I'm the third chick from the right in the photo above. We had a blast!

If you'd like to read more about my sailing adventure with my husband and daughter, please go here.

If you enjoyed the book, please consider posting a review on Amazon. Simply click here, scroll down to the reviews, and write one or two phrases. It's tremendously helpful to authors.

I began the new year with a visit to a Sivananda ashram in the Bahamas. This was my third visit, and each time I've come away with new knowledge about myself. I originally chose it because I felt a special connection to the Bahamas where my husband John and I often sailed. I went to the ashram the first time in 2018, a year-and-a-half after John passed away, and spent evenings on the dock staring at the harbor where I could almost make out our sailboat, Laughing Goat, ghosting by, with younger versions of John, our daughter Kate, and me. At a workshop that year, the speaker asked us to choose a photograph from a pile that spoke to us in some way. From among the pictures of puppies and beaches, I picked a black-and-white drawing of a man on a ledge, eyes wide and frightened, a spotlight shining down from above and a black abyss below. Although I hadn't admitted it to myself, the world was scary at first without John. This year, I understood how much I have healed.

I like having markers that show how I've progressed, even when it often doesn't feel that way. I'd love to hear about any that you've found helpful.

In January, I've been working on my new book, had a delightful interview with Ben Shaw for his terrific podcast, Out the Gate, about Holding Fast: A Memoir of Sailing, Love, and Loss, my book about our sailing journey, and I have a few interviews coming up. I'll post links when they are aired.

If you'd like to read more about my sailing adventure with my husband and daughter, please go here.

If you enjoyed the book, please consider posting a review on Amazon. Simply click the above link, scroll down to the reviews, and write one or two phrases. It's tremendously helpful to writers like me who are not as famous as John Grisham!

Wishing you all a fabulous 2023!