Parting

 

On Her Way

Time is the definitive factor in any relationship. Though I've been in several since the early '90s, it was in 2004 when, after ten years with Ms. Cook, I decided to get a place of my own. 

Over the six years prior to my move into nomadicism, it came to feel, for all of us, like the way it should be. No longer did I interrupt another's sleep when I came home late. No longer did the counter-tops have to be clean and dishes put away before retiring for the night. 

The pulls from various others, now including grandchildren, mean we grab at smaller slices (of time) when they become available.

Our next opportunity may be in June. Things change quickly though so there's really no way to know. The only constant...is change.

She's Here!!!

 

Here was less than a mile from "the bog" on State Trust Land east of Marana. It appeared to my wuss eyes such a formidable obstacle that while awaiting her arrival I created a road around it.

Returning to the site after having gone back to camp to retrieve my shovel, I was stunned to see her coming around a turn. 

She'd driven through "the bog" with nothing more than a brief stop to switch into 4wd and was now wondering where the "big obstacle" was.

Kofa - Gnarly's Camp

 

Avid Photographer

Travel Pics

 

Keep It Wild (cap)

Time for Coffee!

(Imusa stove-top espresso maker)

According to this book I come by it genetically.

Whilst exploring near Mexican Hat, this (apparently) purposefully-placed specimen appeared. I've never seen green before. And the size is kinda small for coyote, my first guess.

What thinketh thou, Jozien?

Monocline

Two miles north of Mexican Hat Rock, at the junction of highways 163 and 261, if you look south, the eroded face of the monocline presents -- when the sun is further over than in this picture -- a beautiful pattern of waves and colors. (Worth stopping for.)

Parting

 

Fossilized Seashells

....far and wide.

EXIT 30 Camp

 

Safe Arrival

After a full night of rain

Leave Taking

 Only one chair.

Magic Is Alive

The angina woke me at 2:00.

I thought it'd only been a couple of hours since I last took my meds, but it'd been three. I took 'em again. It's worse at night....I wonder why.

I picked up Harold Fry.

It's completely ridiculous...she, Joyce, has a vague affect similar to Gaiman's (there's a hint of Stardust)...what do they call it, "Magical thinking?"

I had wanted to return to a lake in northern California around now. I think it was after we parted in the Sierras (was that last summer?) that I camped one night at the far end of a lake and the coyotes' songs echoed the way they did the time for us in "Coyote Canyon." It was magical! And I hoped to hear them again.

And the last section in Cured ( I read around midnight b4 going to sleep)

was about Barbara Fredrickson recognizing that every little moment of real interaction, even with strangers, is, or can be, an act of love.

And he, Jeffrey Rediger, writes about how her research shows that these "micro-moments of positivity" are like stars lighting up our vagus nerve...the connecting channel between the three brains....the one in our head, our heart and our gut. It sounds pretty woo-woo, but Rediger (link is to Rediger's website) manages to contextualize it in a way that shows how her idea fits with the other things he's previously presented.

Then here comes Harold Fry. So maybe you need to read at least through Cured up to Frederickson (p.186) b4 you start The Unlikely Pilgrimage.

But it substantiates our fairy tale. And THAT's what's so wonderful. I was telling Adolph (former CVS pharmacy tech) how much each relationship moved me further along...and as I write this I can hear The Liebestod playing in my head.

Link to Sir Georg Solti conducting

the Weiner Philharmonic

And I know that's the gift Walter (my Dad) gave....a belief in the power of Wagner's music....that those myths it revolved around reminded people of the magic of pre-paganism and stories like Stardust and Beauty and the Beast. And you and I went there!....shared that.

So now, at 3:27 a.m., it's my turn to take Jane Einhorn's (a couples counselor Michelle & I saw some years ago) advice and "hold" this moment. As the pain in my chest eases slightly but refuses to subside....and I know....each day I'm moving just a little closer to the edge as, I guess, we all are.

And I think I probably told you of Laura Huxley telling how she disclosed to her son, as she was dying, that she was afraid of death. And how he reassured her (I can't recall which book) that it was as with the baby swallows: that when they finally leaped from the edge of the nest and plummeted toward the ground, as they got near, their wings opened and caught the air and they soared up into the sky. And you can hear the "peak" of The Liebestod" in his tale and the joy of their effortless flight. And I like to think Laura was able to feel a little relief.

   I love you.

Additional Readings:

          Brainpickings on Barbara Fredrickson

University of WY Art Museum - Laramie

The Museum's website.



Perhaps he's still there, but in the mid-'90s when I held a regional exhibit of art by architects, Antoine Predock had his offices in Albuquerque. His buildings at that time were easily ignorable; they looked like bunkers. Below is his United Blood Services building.

Knowing he was probably too busy to bother with the application process, but with a gnawing suspicion he might enjoy being included, I went to his office to invite him to participate. As we stood discussing the project, he pulled a sheet of paper from a nearby printer and, using a felt-tip pen, drew an image similar to the one below (see more here). It sold, for $300.00, before the show even opened, to a University of New Mexico student of architecture.

You can imagine my astonishment at discovering the University of Wyoming Art Museum was designed by the same man.



Photo by: Who's That Gurl?

My Pic of: Who's That Gurl?

Pausing To Rest - West of Flagstaff

She's been known to make the run from Los Angeles to Albuquerque without stopping. With my nagging she MIGHT have stopped somewhere along the way, but by meeting her a few miles west of Flagstaff and guiding her to "my" spot in the dispersed camping area, I was assured she'd get some rest.

As it was, she drove white-knuckled for an hour and a half to reach escape velocity from L.A. and then another ??? hours to our rendezvous. There was only time for a brief massage and five minutes of cuddling (count 'em!) before sending her off to dreamland.

She woke at five (a.m.) had tea and went back to sleep until about 8:00 (a.m.). After a quick breakfast, she lugged her portable loo off to the hole like the veteran she is; I even forewent the quip about whether everything "came out alright."

By then she was looking a tad pale so she "did" an ativan and went back to sleep whilst I piddled around online.

After she woke, we again had coffee, then packed up and parted. We'll meet sometime in the next week or so in Alamosa, Colorado. There's a major whitewater fest, FIBark, next weekend in Salida and an art fest on the 28th. She doesn't have an end-date for this "celebration" of her upcoming 70th birthday, but she's mentioned several places in Wyoming and Montana.

Stay tuned.

(She came and went so quickly I didn't EVEN get a photo.)

Gila River Spring

Tues, Apr 9. 5:27 pm

They ranged from blue-black

through tan 

to Pink. 

And through their many dialects 

I could hear their exortations, 

   
            "Pet me."

I demurred, 

saying my touch was 

not quite right. 

Perhaps, 

      I said, 

                someday 

                             she 

                                     may 

                                              come here.

(my journal says the Day Use Area near Glenwood.)

Whereupon there came a clamor. "Why isn't she here?!?!!" They kept it up for some minutes until, despite the difficulties we had, I knew I couldn't go on without her.

Bisbee With Kristen

It was February 22, 2018 that we camped atop the hill.