Reflections - From Snow to Sand

Mount St. Benedict

Erie, PA

January 24-26, 2025

Silence Sign in Guest Kitchen

Dear Sister Julie,

I hope you ventured out as much as you pleased despite relentless winter storms in Chardon.

When I drove to Mount St. Benedict for a writers’ retreat at the end of January, I asked why the sisters lived in a monastery, not a convent like you. They explained they weren’t under a bishop's rule. And they suggested we follow a rule of silence. “We gift each other with QUIET in the halls and bedrooms,” room signs announced—perfect conditions for a writer's retreat.

But silence rarely happened. Friday the 24^th, eight of us greeted each other with exuberance. Conferences with Timons, our writer in residence, were boisterous. Laughter filled the halls. Several of us met Sister Karen, who was making a quilt for her great nephew in the sewing room. I apologized for our noise. She said, “Don’t worry. Sisters get rowdy too.” We grew rowdier.

The gift of silence did visit. Around 4:30 a.m. Saturday, I pulled a sweatshirt over my nightgown and wrote while others slept. Sunday morning people wanted “to get words on the page” before they left. Latches clicked as doors shut. Halls quieted. Computer keys tapped. My neighbor’s computer murmured, reading her book back for editing. I welcomed the melodic bells calling sisters to chapel and the wind whirring around the courtyard outside my window.

Around 3:00 p.m. Sunday, after a succession of hearty goodbyes in the hall outside my room, I was the only writer left. Silence shouted at me. A shock. The sign in the guest kitchen read, “Listen for the SILENCE. LISTEN carefully . . . with the ear of your heart.” Welcoming the silence with my ear and heart, I wrote.

Love,

Janet

Stained Glass Wi9ndow in Chapel

If you want to see all five postcards in the Mount St. Benedict Postcard Journal, use this link: https://sites.google.com/site/wellswoodpa/vacations/mount-st-benedict

Shorts in February

Florida

February 4-9, 2025

Sunset at Holmes Beach

Dear Pat,

I appreciated your lovely letter updating me about you and your cats—Ivy smiling for treats and Dave rocketing around the apartment because he’s Dave. I wish he was calmer for you.

You’d asked if Spence and I got off on our own while we were in Florida with Bob. The evening before his surgery, we left Bob watching FBI TV shows so we could watch the sunset at Holmes Beach. Bob had warned, “It’s February, tourist season. You might not get a parking place.” But cars were leaving the beach. Spence pulled into a spot in the first row at 5:50.

A band of retired musicians played vintage jazz behind the cafe. The yellow-white sun hung close to the horizon. Sand castles and open spaces spread across the beach. No children raced about. Adults lounged in chairs. Half of the adults wrapped themselves in beach towels rather than sat on them. Spence and I walked straight to the water. I stuck both feet in and jumped out. Though the day had been 81℉ earlier, the Gulf water was frigid. We walked on wet sand. The sun lowered and glowed red. People walked or sat and watched the sun too. A fisherman had caught a speckled trout and a shark. “I throw them back. Don’t count on me for dinner.”

Scurrying in and out of the wintry surf, a lone sandpiper snapped up morsels for its dinner. Seagulls dined in groups. The sun slid behind the horizon at 6:15, and we turned around to walk back up the beach. Spence said, “Did you notice? The air cooled when the sun set.” Indeed. The Gulf reflected light for a while. Once we got to the car and headed towards Bradenton, dark engulfed us. Sunsets don’t linger in Florida like they do in the north.

Take care,

Janet

Sandpiper in Surf

If you want to see all fourteen postcards in the Shorts in February Postcard Journal, use this link: https://sites.google.com/site/wellswoodpa/vacations/shorts-in-february