SUSAN COLE

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.

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.