About Janet Parmely
A spot so dear that its name may as well be tattooed over my heart. It took me a long time to find it.
My family moved around when I was growing up. My parents bickered. They bickered in Massachusetts, Tennessee, California, New York State, and even in France. All the bickering and relocating did not make for a robust sense of belonging. Or maybe the stork had just dropped me off at the wrong address.
I eventually carved a niche for myself as a working single parent in Kansas City. But when fifty hit, that became obsolete at lightning speed. To correct a couple of rash decisions, I made an extreme one, answered an ad, and got the job.
And that is how this seeker boarded the plane to New Zealand. Where I made new bad decisions. I fell for a skipper with a yacht and a mind of his own.
I agreed to be long-distance trustee for my father in Tucson, Arizona. Dementia wasn’t slowing him down, but it was playing havoc with the rest of the family.
Through it all, I was buoyed at God’s Holding Paddock, a table of regulars at Parua Bay Tavern, the local pub, where gumboots and worries were left at the door.
My one-year contract turned into a ten-year journey without a compass, a baby grand piano shipped around the world— twice—and a greater respect for the horsepower of hope.