“No,” I replied sheepishly.  “But it’s not until May, so I’ve got time.”

He looked at me with wide eyes.  “You should be out there – at least an hour every day.”

It was August, 2011.  I was not planning on starting my preparations until January, 2012, but this guy scared me a little.  Gerald Murphy had hiked most of the Appalachian trail.  He’d biked coast to coast. He was here at the Folk School leading paying students on ten mile hikes every day that week.  He knew what he was talking about.  But I knew that people can only do so much at one time, and my focus for the next four months was on two things: my job at the Folk School and my classes at the Folk School.

I listened to his advice, thanked him, and stuck to my plan.

On January 10th, it was time to take action.  I finally bought a new battery for my pedometer.  I put it in only to discover that my pedometer didn’t need a new battery – it just didn’t work at all.  I lamented to Glenda, my hostess, and she said, “Oh – I have one that you could use.”  It will never cease to amaze me how things turn up when I need them to.

Since that day, I’ve had my Step Into Health pedometer on my hip every waking moment.

The first week I just wanted to get a baseline reading.  I was disappointed to learn that my morning walk around Chatuge Lane only garnered me 2100 steps, so I started exploring new roads to increase my numbers.  Out onto Highway 64, left onto Ledford Chapel Road, right onto…is this a road?  Hmm…I don’t think so.  Turn around.

My inability to sit still for too long (thanks, Dad) earned me about 4000 steps each day just “puttering” around the house, cooking, and running errands.  I jotted down each days count: 6471, 8972,8935, 13172.  That last one is what happens when you spend two and a half hours at a Saturday night Contra Dance at the Folk School

So what does any of this mean?  How many steps in a mile?  My pedometer only records steps, so I had no idea how far I was really walking.  A Google search tells me 2000 steps is about one mile.  Some time ago the popular view was that 10,000 steps per day was ideal.  Most people can’t get to 10,000 steps without adding in a half-hour walk, so it makes sense that this recommendation might get people out exercising.

Ten thousand steps is about five miles.  I must admit, I was pretty proud of myself.  I wasn’t too far from that number.  And if I could do five miles per day, it wouldn’t be long before I could feel confident that I could do twelve miles per day for forty days on the Camino.

On Monday I decided to set my sights for 10,000 steps.  I realized this would require not just a morning walk, but an evening walk as well.  (Or a longer morning walk, but I get bored easily, so didn’t know if that would work.)  Thankfully, I was in Florida on Monday.  And it was 70 degrees.  I met my friend Sarah for a walk around Sawgrass Lake Park in the morning, had gelato at Mazarro’s Italian Market with Stephanie, sat out by the pool in the afternoon, and then called a friend as I started on my evening walk.  I like the quiet of my morning walks, but the evening one might require a phone call for distraction.  It worked: 10,928 steps.

Tuesday we left St. Petersburg.  Six trips between the condo and the car (with three flights of stairs in between) helped rack up some steps in the morning.  After lunch, I walked a few times around the restaurant before we got back on the road.   A couple rounds around Dairy Queen while eating a chocolate cone with rainbow sprinkles helped, too.  That night, I headed to the treadmill at the hotel.  (Jessica, my marathon-runner sister would be proud, and stunned.)  But treadmills are boring.  And the TV in the gym wasn’t offering any good viewing options.  So I left with a couple thousand steps left to take, only to go back after dinner and have Jon Stewart on the TV to help me get through those last steps: 10,525 read my pedometer.

Today we drove back to North Carolina.  I walked a few laps around the Olive Garden in Canton, Georgia where we stopped for lunch.  The sign on the back door said they didn’t take deliveries between 11 and 2.  Their dumpsters are hidden behind some very nice looking gates.  After two laps, I joined my travel partners and we got back on the road.

We arrived home at 4:30.  As soon as I unpacked the car, I took off for a walk before the sun went down.  It was a balmy 60 degrees and I wanted to take advantage.  I opened my pedometer.  I was at 2400 steps.  Chatuge Lane, across Highway 64 to the lake shore, left on Ledford Chapel, up the hill, Willow Pond Lane – let’s see where that goes.  Some of these houses are obviously only used seasonally.  No one’s home – shades drawn, boats and jet skis covered.  There was no sign indicating this was a dead end, but it was.  I’m at 5000 steps when I turn around.  8700 by the time I get home.

“Were you walking all this time?” Glenda asks when I arrive home.  “Yup – three miles,” I say.  Only 1300 steps to go to reach 10,000 today.  I’m on my way.  A little later than Gerald would have recommended, but according to my timeline, I’m right on time:)

A woman named Cami Walker was diagnosed with MS shortly after her marriage.  She was feeling pretty miserable – physically and psychologically – when a neighbor, who was studying to be some sort of healer, told her that to feel better she should give a gift a day for 29 days.  Cami thought this idea was absurd at first.  She could hardly get out of bed – how could she go about giving gifts every day?  But one day she decided to try it.  And it was pretty amazing what happened.  So she gave a gift a day for 29 days, and then just kept doing it.  She wrote a book about it.  And started a web site where people, like me, can also give a gift a day and post about it. Because part of the process is to write down the gift you gave each day.  You can write it down in a note book, or on the site.  It doesn’t matter.  But you have to write it down.

A little note about the gifts: they don’t have to be monetary.  In fact, many aren’t.  A gift can be a complement given, a phone call to someone you haven’t talked to in a while, helping out when asked even though you really don’t want to, a thank you note written.

What I’ve found is that the opportunity to give presents itself every day.  Usually more than once.  So I no longer think, “What can I give today?” but instead start my day eager to see what opportunity will arise.

Note, too, that the one qualification is that the gifts must be consciously given.  None of this looking back on your day and trying to figure out what you gave.  If you didn’t do it consciously, it doesn’t count.

And you can’t skip a day.  If you do, you start over at Day One.  Note it took me three tries before I did it for 29 consecutive days.

Anyway, I feel like now it seems you may think there are too many rules.  But not at all.  The idea is pretty simple: consciously give one thing each day.  Write it down.  Watch how your life changes.

I did this early last year.  And I can’t quite put my finger on how to explain how wonderful it was.  Giving also makes you more open to receiving, which is such a blessing to me as I’m not so good at feeling good about receiving gifts from others.  Giving also opens you up to all that is good about your life – even when you think nothing is.  Eh – I’m not doing it justice.

All I can say is this: I’m doing it again.  You can read what I give each day by clicking here.  And you can read other people’s stories by clicking here.  And if you’d like to try it, I’d say order and read the book (it’s short, and a good, quick read) as it helps with some of the trouble you might have as you try to do it.

Today was my first day – again.  I’ve already tried to start three times, but keep forgetting to consciously give.  But there’s something so freeing about saying, “Eh – I failed.  So what.  I’ll just start over.”

In the last three days I’ve made at least three new things.  I’m not telling you this to brag.  If anything, I hope it will inspire you to try something new yourself.  Maybe you’ll want to try one of the things I’ve done, or maybe you have something else you’ve always wanted to try – well, there’s no time like the present!

On Monday, I mastered the purl stitch in knitting.  This is the third time in twenty years I’ve tried to learn to knit.  This time it may have stuck, thanks to:

• Eve Hildebrant – Master knitter and my co-host at the Folk School who has taught plenty of people to knit – even people like me who’ve tried twice before without success….
• Sarah Bennett and Dorothy Wilkins:  Work study students at the Folk School who learned to knit while there and progressed quite rapidly in just six weeks!
• A Knitting instructor from England who was at JCCFS while I was.  Her name escapes me at the moment, but she sat with me one evening and helped me perfect my technique.

All of those folks believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself (which, in my eyes, makes them all excellent teachers).  I saw Eve on Tuesday night and showed off my work.  She smiled a knowing grin – she’s believed in my knitting abilities since day one.  Maybe I’m pushing a little too much, but I found a sweater pattern yesterday that I want to work on for my next project….

Stockinette Stitch

On Tuesday, I made sugared pecans.  They’re one of those things that, when I first sampled them at my friend Tara’s house, I thought would be hard to make, but Tara assured me it was easy – and she was right.

Last night, I started work on making a new journal.  I took a miniature books class at the Folk School.  Then, my friend Sarah expanded my horizons and helped me make my first book with pockets.  After a couple of those, I now have the confidence to try a book I’ve never made before.

Making a mini-book at the John C. Campbell Folk School

A book with pockets on one side and....

a notebook on the other.

Picking the papers

Making the Covers

Ready for gluing and sewing

So if you’re feeling kind of “blah” lately, I recommend trying to make something new – it’s a high quite unlike any other:)

While at the Folk School I realized I’m only a morning person if I am getting up for me – not because I have to be somewhere at a certain hour of the morning.  I no longer woke up before my alarm.  I disliked having to be someplace most mornings by a certain time.  I missed having morning time to myself.  If I had something I wanted to get done, it took days, sometimes weeks, for me to find the time.  That change was one of the hardest for me to adjust to in my four months there.

Since arriving here in Hayesville, where I’ll be for the next six weeks (except next week when we head to St. Petersburg, FL), I have the ability to be a morning person again – to get up by my own choice for my own reasons.  I love having that freedom back.

But a couple things have changed: I don’t get up as early, I don’t list my goals for the day, nor do I have any prep work to do for teaching.

Since many of you are still unclear as to what it is I’m doing down here exactly, here’s a little taste:

I get my nine hours of sleep, but can’t seem to get to sleep before midnight, so I start my morning quite late. In an earlier life, I would have gotten mad at myself for this, and fought to get up earlier.  But I have the freedom to say, “Eh – let’s see what comes of this.”  Which is a much nicer way of treating myself.

I still write three pages every morning when I get up.  I then make a cup of chai and have some yogurt, then put on my new hiking shoes (thanks, Jeff) and head of for a walk around the block.  I return to dig into another goal-less day, and my what I’ve been able to accomplish!

Since I’m living without goals, I do whatever comes to mind.  My hostess doesn’t require my services until the early afternoon, so the morning is mine.

As you may recall, I receive room and board in exchange for helping my hostess with various tasks.  Around noon I head upstairs to check-in and see what we’ll be working on (together or separately) that day.  So far I’ve done both decluttering tasks and some personal assistance type jobs. I’ve enjoyed my hostess’ cooking, and have had the chance to do some cooking myself (tried my hand at sugared pecans yesterday, and made stuffed peppers for dinner).

Since we’re both single women, we eat when we feel like it.  Sometimes it’s at the same time, sometimes not.  It seems I’m getting ready for my days in Europe – I’m eating dinner around 8 or 9 and thoroughly enjoying it:)

My accommodations are something to be envious of.  I have the lower level of the house to myself.  This includes a bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchenette with a fridge and microwave, and a living area with satellite TV (which I’ve watched for all of an hour since arriving on Sunday – just enough to remember why I got rid of mine).  The entire living room opens out onto a screened-in porch.  If you sit on one of the rocking chairs out there, you feel like you’re in a tree house – winter’s bare branches frame a view of the Blue Ridge mountains.  Off the porch is a door to the outside, so I can leave for my morning walk without disrupting my hostess.

It is now approaching noon, and I have some decluttering to do.  Those of you that know me can see my eyes light up when I say this.

If you didn’t get answers to those questions from me personally, you’re in luck: I just updated My Sabbatical page with where I’ve been and where I’m going.  Check it out here, or anytime by clicking the link to it on the right side of my blog.  If you’re along my route anywhere and would like a visit, do let me know:)

I’d heard a lot of her stories before, but now I was going to get them straight and get them down.  Like the story of the great-grandmother who, ill after the death of her young child was told she was going to die and she should leave Brooklyn for the country (aka Poughkeepsie).  She lived to be 92.    Then there was the great-grandfather who died in an explosion leaving his wife with three children under four years old – the oldest of whom was my Grandpa Gallo.  I had another great-grandfather who took his family to one church in town until the day they walked in and were told all the Italians had to now go to a different church. And that’s just my father’s side of the family.

“I wish my grandchildren took an interest in the genealogy work I’m doing,” a classmate lamented.  “Me, too,” another agreed.  “I sometimes wonder what they’re going to do with my research after I’m gone – I hope they don’t just throw it all out.”  Our teacher, Ann Osisek, had answers to a lot of our questions – and had an answer for this dilemma as well.  She told us that libraries in the town in which our relatives lived will usually take our family history research, and have it available if anyone in the future wants to continue the search.  I, though, had something to add, which I gave in a little speech on our last day that went something like this:

“My grandmother is 87, and I just started doing our genealogy.  So don’t give up hope.  You’re all much younger than that – so wait at least til your 87 before you think your grandkids aren’t interested.”

They, in turn, told me to get my grandmother’s story down.  So that’s what I’ve started to do.  But I’ve also found I’m telling her parts of her story she didn’t know.  Just today, on my regular Sunday visit to Grandma’s for meatballs, I let her know I found the Ellis Island records of her father’s arrival in the US (see document below – line 13).  She knew he came over with his mother when he was seventeen.  But she didn’t know that they were initially detained because they had no money upon their arrival.  My great-great-grandmother (see document below – line 12) arrived in this country with two children, by two different husbands, neither of whom was still alive.  Another child – by yet another husband – was already in the US and paid for her passage.  Yes, this woman had lost three husbands by the time she arrived – and she was only 50.  I’d heard she was tough – no wonder!  Could you imagine that life?  All that for a woman whose name – Abbondanza -  means abundance, plenty, richness, and wealth.  Her abundance was not material the day she stepped foot on Ellis Island.  But she did have plenty – of hope, courage, and faith.

In March, I’m embarking on a journey, too.  I’m reversing Abbondanza’s trip – leaving from New York and heading to Avellino, Italy.  My trip will be a lot easier than hers in many ways.  But with me I’ll take a dose of her hope, courage, and faith as I try to find out more about her.

Cretic – Arrival of Gaetano Urciuoli – Line 13

Fast forward to yesterday.  I had a day to do whatever I pleased while my friend was at work.  I at first starting going through all the things I should do.  Sights I should see.  Places I should go.  And then  I remembered the blog post I’d read a few days earlier about a guy who tried the no-goals thing for 100 days.  So I tried it.  Just for a day.  And it was splendid. I accomplished all sorts of things, and thoroughly enjoyed my day.  If you’re saying, “Oh – but you don’t have kids or a job or (fill-in-the-blank)” then read Leo’s post.  Then read about him.  He’s got six kids.  And a couple businesses.  Just let the thought simmer for a bit:)

After going goal-less, the day got even better.  The friend with whom I was staying came home from work and said, “I was thinking we could cook together tonight.”  Music to my ears.  Cooking!  I get to cook!   The shopping, chopping, simmering, stirring and – of course – the eating.   And to get to do it with someone else – what could be better?  It will never cease to amaze me: how when you put something out there, you get just what it is you need.

Instead, I find that I have difficulty enjoying where I am in the present moment as I’m too confused about my future.  Do I really want to do all those things I’ve said I was going to?  But if I don’t, then what will I do instead?  Will I feel defeated if I just go back home?  But home to what? I don’t even have my own space to go back to.  Yes, plenty of friends have offered me rooms in their homes anytime during this year or when I return, for which I am deeply grateful, but it’s not the same.

Do I even want to go back to New York?  Yes, because my family is there and I happen to be one of the very lucky people who actually likes their family (for the most part).  But were they not all in New York, it’s not a place I’d choose to live.  Though I can’t tell you where else I would choose.  Or do I know and am just too scared to, again, move to a place where I have hardly any connections and start – seemingly – all over?

So this is why I haven’t written a post in so long.  I tend to write mostly positive posts and just didn’t have the energy for one of those – because I’m not really positive about my life at the present moment.

But then I realized that might not be the reason at all for my lack of writing.  It’s just that I haven’t been taking care of myself.  I know what I love doing.  Writing.  Cooking.  Spending time with people.  Reading.  I’ve done the last two, but am severely lacking in the first two.  So tonight, having a half hour to myself, I decided to just start writing and see what came.  And here you have it.

To her credit, she’s 87.  She went to Italy with us five years ago – and did perfectly fine I might add.  She’s not your typical 87 year old grandmother.  If I had half her energy, my the things I could do!

But she got me to wondering – will I ever reach an age where fear will stop me?  (I can see one friend saying, “Fear might not, but your knees – they will.”)

I have this thought that I won’t ever get to 87.  Don’t ask me why.  I just have a feeling.  And if you know me, you know I go with those.  I’m not being morbid here.  Well, I guess I am.  But I have news for you: we’re all going to die.  Could be today, could be when we’re 87.  So kindly get out there and do those things you’ve been dreaming of.  Need some inspiration?  I love doing this exercise: Sit down at a table and imagine your 87-year-old self telling you what to do.  Mine says, “Get the hell out there.  Go have fun, dammit.”  Yes, she curses a lot.  But she’s right on, every time.

The nice thing about Sunday is that our lives are not dictated by the ringing of the bell for meals – well, until dinner at least.  Students don’t arrive until 3pm, so the campus is mostly empty.  We can sleep in as long as we want.  But we’re usually up by 10am because a local gentleman cooks brunch for us every Sunday.  Show up at 9 if you want to help cook, 10 if you want to eat.  He makes a small feast – biscuits and gravy, sausage, bacon, potatoes, eggs mixed with cheese and whatever else he has.  He is a generous man who lives in a house filled with books – and he has a sense of humor that keeps us laughing all morning.

Sunday is the day week-long classes start.  Though students don’t register until 3pm, instructors can come in earlier to pick up the keys to their studios.  So when we return to the Folk School, we may get a knock on our door or a call on the Host cell phone from an instructor looking for us.  We’ll open up the office and give them their keys and information packet.

As I said last time, Eve and I do some duties together.  Others we alternate each week.  So I’ll go by how it worked yesterday.

2pm: Eve and I meet to do Studio Rounds.  We have a sheet that lists each studio that’s holding a class that week, and any extra supplies they need.  The Assistant Program Manager goes over this sheet with us the Thursday prior.  Depending on what’s on this sheet, we may meet earlier than two pm.  Sometimes we can polish off rounds in an hour.  Once it took two and a half hours.

Eve goes to get the Folk School vehicle from the parking lot and drives it to Keith House for us to load it.  Keith House is the center of it all – it’s where we live, where the office is, where the Student Orientation and other events take place, and where our supplies are.  So while Eve gets the Suburban, I go to the Housekeeping room on the lower level to get us a large box of paper towels which we’ll dish out to all the studios.  I realize I just took the last box, so I stop in the office to leave a note for housekeeping letting them know.

Next, we head to the Programming Closet to get any extra things instructors have requested.  This week that includes a digital projector, a screen, and flip chart paper.

Then, we’re off.  First, we head down to the Wet Room.  There’s a Felted Rug class in there this week.  They requested table risers, so we grab those out of the back closet of the studio and put them out for the instructor to see.  There are four spinning wheels in that studio that need to be brought to the Weaving Studio.  Eve loads them into the Suburban while I head next door to the cooking studio to replenish their supply of flip chart paper.

I won’t go through every studio, but basically we stock them all with paper towels, take the chairs off the tables (housekeeping was there before us doing the floors), and make sure the studio looks presentable to new students walking in.

Sometimes instructors are already in their studios getting ready.  We introduce ourselves, ask if they need anything, then tell them we’ll see them at 4:30 for the Instructor Meeting.

Once we finish going to all the studios, we head back to Keith House.  We unload anything we picked up in the studios that needs to go back into the Programming closet, grab a cookie from the platter sitting in the office for the incoming students, then relax for a wee bit of time.

4:30: Instructor Meeting in the Dining Hall.  The Assistant Program Manager conducts this meeting.  We’re there so the instructors know who we are (since there’s a new host rotating in every two months) and to hear if there’s anything additional that instructors need in their studios.

After the meeting is finished, we load the Suburban with anything else they requested.  We’ll bring it by their studios tonight when we do rounds again.

5:30 Student Orientation.  Again, we’re there mainly so the students know who we are.  My standard line, after I introduce myself, is to say, “We’re your after-hours on call people, so if you could keep your emergencies between 8 and 5 when the office is here, we’d greatly appreciate it.”  Thankfully, this always gets a laugh.

5:45: I leave Orientation to head down to the Dining Hall to help set up for dinner.  On my way, I grab the tray of cookies and the cooler of lemonade to bring back down there.  Eve stays at Orientation to jot down where each class is meeting after dinner because, invariably, we’ll see people wandering around after dinner wondering where to go.

6:00: I ring the bell, then help dining hall staff plate dinner as students are getting their drinks.  Students then stand behind their chairs and wait for the blessing.

6:05: Eve gets on the microphone and tells the vegetarians where their food is, as well as any one else with special diets.  I’ve seen the dining hall accommodate twenty different diets (no salt, gluten-free, diabetic, no spices, no peppers – you name it, they’ve seen it).  Then, she sings the blessing.  I wheel out a cart of food to the far room.  Eve and I serve it (we eat family style) while the dining hall staff serves the other room.  Then, we sit down to eat.

6:35 or so: I do announcements.  Since it’s their first meal this week, I tell the students how to clear their tables.  Other days I’ll tell them what the afternoon or evening activities are.

6:45: Students set off to meet their instructors and classmates.  Though Eve and I are in a class every week, we don’t meet our class at this point as we have to do evening rounds.

6:55: Eve and I get in the Suburban and drive around to each studio checking in to make sure they have everything they need.

7:15: Rounds are finished, Eve drops me off at my class and drives down to hers.

9:00: Classes let out for the night.

10:00: I close up Keith House.  It’s never locked.  “Closing” means dumping out the coffee pots, turning out some lights, recycling the newspaper, putting anything back that is out of place.

10:30: I go to bed.

11:30: I get a phone call on the host phone that someone needs to switch rooms.  Her roommate is snoring and she can’t sleep.  I get out of bed and head to the office.  I check the housing list to see where I can put her, then call her back.  She moves, I leave a note for the housing coordinator then go back to bed.

12:30: I’m still up.  Harder to go to bed for the second time.

7:23: I get a call from the office wondering which host is leading Morning Walk this morning.  I note that we haven’t done Morning Walk for at least three weeks now.  It’s been pitch black at 7:15am.  Daylight savings happened over the weekend, but I was told once we stop the walk, it doesn’t happen again until spring.  Apparently the office staff don’t know that.  I guess I’m up now.