Santa Fe

The first time I went to Santa Fe I was 17. That spring, about a week before my birthday, I took an ungraceful dive down the front steps of my house while heading out to school. In my defense, I was wearing a groovy pair of purple platform heels. I broke my leg and spent the next eight weeks in a cast. At that time I was in the midst of a deep crush on my biology teacher, all of 7 years older than I. He arranged with my mother to drive me back and forth to school in his baby blue VW. Be still, my heart! To this day I don't know how he got my mother to agree to that, except she had no other way to get me to school. Then, to her dismay because I'm sure she thought she'd let the fox into the hen house, when he decided not to return to teach at my school the next year so he could finish his Masters degree, he started calling the house, asking to take me here and there. Yes to a Detroit Tigers game but only with my little brother as chaperone. Yes to a fantastic used bookstore in downtown Detroit, and I don't know how he managed it but we went without a chaperone. But no to a Bob Seger concert. How could she?! I think it was about this time she came to the conclusion that a trip to see my older brother in Albuquerque would be a great idea and off I went.

Part of the entertainment my brother arranged was a trip to the Santa Fe opera. I'd never been out of the Detroit area, had never been on a plane, and for sure had never been to the opera. It was magical. We saw The Marriage of Figaro. It was outdoors on a silken summer night and I'll never forget that I got it! I actually understood what was going on.

But on to last week. When I picked up P at the airport we headed north to Santa Fe. I think I could live there if I could afford it which I can't.

One of my favorite things to photograph is churches. Maybe it's a holdover from being force fed Catholicism, but I love the old style churches and the just-out-of-reach mysteries they hold. The Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi in Santa Fe is a beauty in the traditional style and I was enthralled as soon as I stepped in the door. And for the spiritually aware, here is another powerful place. I felt it, no question.

I usually photograph churches with a tripod and take a couple of hours doing it, but not this time. Mass was starting soon and I had time for just a few hand-held pictures.


Not much of a picture but I love the legend. Don't just love one another, but do it constantly.

The play of light through stained glass windows is always interesting - not just the illumination of the window but the unintended places it falls.

This is one of the most realistic (what I think realistic would look like) crucifixion statues I've seen.

An honest-to-goodness relic of St. Francis. Who am I to say it's not?

Stations of the Cross are a favorite detail of mine, partly because they're unique. 

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We also went to Loretto Chapel.This is the place with the famous staircase that has two 360 degree turns and is said to have had no nails used in its construction. Legend has it the carpenter was St. Joseph. It's lovely and graceful.

The altar is wood painted to look like marble and you could have fooled me.

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Leaving there, we pursued more earthly delights with a wonderful meal of tapas, dining al fresco, another favorite thing of mine. I have a lot of favorite things. P persuaded me to have my picture taken but only with the assurance it would be taken from a distance and with a double layer of gauze over the lens.

As if there aren't enough places to go, Santa Fe is on the list of places to revisit. Taos, visited later in the week, did nothing for me, but Santa Fe is special.

P.S. The biology teacher? I graduated the following year and prepared to go off to the University of Michigan, thinking hot damn! I can see [this guy] now; Mom won't be there to say no all the time. What did he do? He went off and got married. I just know, 42 years later, that he still pines for me and had to settle for second best.

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Thought of the day:
Nothing spoils the taste of peanut butter like unrequited love.  (Charley Brown (Charles Schulz))

It's gorgeous in Tucson

The sun is out, it's the mid-70s, a little lizard thing is climbing the screen, and the birds are chittering. I saw three javalinas this morning and I'm all set for life; no need to see any more.

I'm staying for a few days at the home of my friend S, who (whom?) I met on Flickr several years ago. We both lived in Virginia then, but obviously she moved to Tucson. I'll stay here a few days then foist myself on another friend for a few, then onto a third friend for a final few. I need to keep cruising because you know the comparison of fish and company after a few days. Then I'll meander my way to Petrified Forest, hopefully by way of Canyon de Chelly.

I drove in from Albuquerque yesterday after taking P to the airport. It's a seven-hour drive through some beautiful country. We had such a great week together. As much as we were friends before, we discovered we have so much more in common than we thought, although talking politics bores the socks off me. After living inside the beltway for ten years, politics are like javelinas to me. But we're already deciding where next year's adventure will take us. My vote is for Bryce and Chaco Canyons.

There will be more interesting, hopefully, posts soon, with visuals. Off to Adobe Lightroom I go.

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The greatest gift of life is friendship, and I have received it. - 

Hubert H. Humphrey

Too soon old, too late smart

I just finished a book given to me by one of my dearest friends - Too Soon Old, Too Late Smart: Thirty True Things You Need to Know, by Gordon Livingston, M.D. I had to hurry to finish it because my friend P, who's traveling with me this week, picked it up while I was "cooking" dinner one night, it might have been tuna sandwiches, and immediately started saying, I love this! It's going home with her.

It's just a slim little book, 168 pages, one you'd see at the bookstore and dismiss as pop psychology. It's not. The thirty essays offer common sense reflections on the issues that affect us all: relationships, choices we make (or don't), motivation, change. Some of them were so spot on it felt like the author was talking to me, starting with the first chapter.

The author says, "I have learned that our passage through life consists of an effort to get the maps in our head to conform to the ground on which we walk." We all compare our idealized life to our actual life to one extent or another. Now think how much rationalizing, excusing, ignoring, or compromising we do to make the reality of our life match up with what we want it to be. Any sane person knows no one's life is idyllic but the choices we make can mitigate the amount of jockeying we have to do, starting with how we choose our friends or partners.

If I'm ever again in the market for a life partner, and God knows if I'll ever be ready to risk that again (the topic of another essay called Happiness Is the Ultimate Risk), I'll follow Dr. Livingston's advice. He says to look for a list of virtuous character traits, the list being topped with kindness, from which a capacity for empathy and love naturally follows. We may not be able to define this emotional art form, but we know when we're in its presence. 

This is the part that resonated with me: "The best indications that our always-tentative maps are faulty include feelings of sadness, anger, betrayal, surprise, and disorientation." Yes. The map in my head and the map on my ground were in such dissonance that I lived with these feelings often and for a long time. Isn't it disconcerting what we get used to and come to accept?

I took particular note that brooding, distance, and coldness are nowhere on his list of desirable traits. I know better now and will always be alert to the alluring presence of kindness, empathy, compassion, and love, whether I'm looking for a partner or a friend. Life is too short, and the possibility of sweetness too fleeting, to have to align maps again and again.

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Thought of the day:

Personality can open doors, but only character can keep them open. (Elmer G. Letterman)

Who the hell is that?

Grace has a very small mirror, maybe 4"x4", on a cabinet door right above the sink, right in front of my face. That means every time I look up from the sink I'm looking at myself. This isn't something I deliberately do these days because holy cow, I'm looking old. I saw my doctor within the last six months and she asked me my age and I told her. I mean, she's a doctor; she must have heard everything by now, right? So I told her and told her the truth because she has the means to verify it. She looked over at me appraisingly, and said, you look good! She didn't say for your age but you and I both know she was thinking it.

Well, in that past several months I've caught up to my age or something. It could be I'm seeing the effects of some weight loss (something else I can honestly say Thank you, dear! to Bob the ex-husband for), or the stress in that same stretch of time, or it could be I'm getting old. Wait, older. I won't be old until I'm well into my 80s. Middle age lasts a long, long time at my house.

I looked into that mirror the other day, quite accidentally, and was caught in an evil spell that wouldn't allow me to look away. My face is going south! And east and west, but north has lost the fight. What is this slackness, these lines that someone mean would call wrinkles? That map across my forehead? Those vertical lines between my eyebrows that common folk call frown lines but what I prefer to think of as lines of deep contemplation? These little jowly things along my jawline? I remember them in my mother's and aunt's faces but also distinctly remember forbidding them from mine. Well, hello, here they are.

I gathered some courage and took quick glances at the rest of the body. First off, let's agree that gravity works. If it wasn't for a bra, there would be nothing horizontal about my breasts. The skin on my arms and legs has texture! It's not supposed to have texture! I remember smooth, don't I? I'm sure I do. There are actual waves in the skin on the inside of my thighs. Yeah, they're shallow but I can see them. I'm hoping it's just the angle. Age spots, prominent veins, and, frankly, ugly knuckles on my hands but in all fairness the ugly knuckles might have been there all along. I'm not even going to look at the rear view or linger on the belly. I've seen enough.

Believe it or not, people used to say I was pretty, that I had a lovely complexion. The thing is, I didn't think of myself as pretty. I knew people thought that but I didn't feel it. We're so hard on ourselves, aren't we? Now I see some photos of myself from back then and am blown away by how beautiful I was, and I never knew it. I wish I had; I would have taken full advantage of it. I don't know how or for what, but why let it go to waste?

Somehow I don't think in 20 years I'm going to look at photos of myself taken today and be blown away by how good looking I was at 60. What I'm waiting for is for some of this inner beauty that I'm supposed to have to start seeping out. I'm waiting...... Until then, I guess I'm going to have to get through life on my merits. I hope I don't run out.

Edited at 8:15: Overnight, and I know it for a fact because it was not there yesterday, a wattle has not sprung up, oh no, it has pooched out and down in my neck. It's the beginning of the end.

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Thought for the day:

I think your whole life shows in your face and you should be proud of that. (Lauren Bacall)

Headed to the airport

Today is going to be a great day. In just a couple of hours I pick up one of my closest, oldest friends from the Albuquerque airport. We've planned to meet for a year, ever since we decided to celebrate our 60th birthdays together.

We went to all 12 years of Catholic school together in Detroit. Somehow we lost touch in about 1972 but I found her a few years ago thanks to the magic of the Internet. She's a model of perseverance, working hard, and living according to your beliefs. She started her working life as a nursing assistant (I think) and got her masters degree in nursing a couple of years ago. She now works as a hospice nurse, work she loves to do, but is also an active voice in environmental issues. I'm so proud of her because, honestly, she was a little flighty back then and we didn't think she'd amount to anything. I love you, P!

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Thought for the day:
It's the friends you can call up at 4 a.m. that matter. (Marlene Dietrich)

Fickle

Oh, crap, I have a new favorite place. I'm so ashamed, especially after I went on and on about Arches National Park. I do love Arches. I do. But I went to Bryce Canyon the other day and fell in love like I'd discovered love for the first time, like I invented it.

Of course I've heard of Bryce Canyon and the rhapsodies people sing about it, but I knew nothing at all about it. I didn't know what to expect, what I'd be looking at, if it was going to be a quick trip through. No idea at all. Now look here and tell me you wouldn't want to stay nearly forever.

From Sunrise Point:

 

Grace sticking her nose in. (I could not resist.)

Before we go on, Grace wants to be noticed. I don't usually anthropomorphize vehicles, but don't forget Christine and what she did when she got mad.


Bryce Canyon is spectacular. I didn't have the words for Arches and I don't have them for here. How lucky we are to be home to so many, many indescribable places of beauty in this country. Our country! I love to travel and have been lucky enough to have gone to Europe a few times. One trip took me to Tuscany, a lovely part of Italy, but you know what? It was no lovelier than Napa Valley, right here at home. At the risk of going rah! rah! about America, we don't hold second candle to any country, anywhere.

Another view from Sunrise Point. There's a little sun flare going on in the upper left corner. 

The National Park Service has been hit with a 5% budget cut for this fiscal year. It has to manage like we all have to manage, but remember arts and culture always seem to be the first areas cut. I'm getting off my soapbox now but not without first suggesting we think about cutting Defense that much and everyone's fiscal problems will be solved. OK, I'm done.

And yet one more. Do you now see why I'm in love with this place?

I will be going back to Bryce, and next time I will haul myself out of bed to see this amphitheater at sunrise. Imagine first light on these colors. Imagine....

There's a rim trail winding around from Sunrise Point to Sunset Point with half-tree-trunk benches placed pretty frequently. The altitude is about 9000 feet and nearly everyone is huffing and puffing so it's a good thing they're there.

I meditate daily. Some days I'm more successful than others, although you're not supposed to think about success and failure. Let me say instead some days I am able to stay more focused. Here, even with people all around me, this seemed to call for a little time on one of those benches with closed eyes and a focus on the breath. It was a wonderful experience. Even with people all around me, there were a few brief moments when all was silent but for the wind.

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Thought for the day:
Too much of a good thing can be wonderful! (Mae West)

The Freedom Tour

Over the last few days I've seen America the Beautiful. The Columbia River from Vancouver east: moody, foggy, mystical; 

Bridge of the Gods;

Highway 30, a picturesque road leading to Hagerman Fossil Beds in, um, Hagerman, where Grace wanted in on the picture;

and to Balanced Rock;

and Balanced Rock Park in Buhl, Idaho, where I boondocked one night and still can't believe that not only was I allowed to stay there, I had the park to myself when the day trippers left. That's Grace in the background. Again.

And then I hit Utah. There's a reason one of the license plate choices says UTAH!. I've traveled some here and there and I have never seen a more breath-takingly, heart-achingly beauty than in Utah. Have you ever experienced depthless beauty in whatever form - music, art, a brand-new baby, a spiritual awakening, looking into your lover's eyes - that has so filled, filled, filled your heart that you almost can't stand it, that if you look or listen or stay in that moment for one second longer you know your heart will burst with joy? I hope you have.

It is transcendent.

It is unforgettable. 

I drove up a long, steep road into Arches National Park the other day and thought my heart would explode with the joy of the magnificent loveliness everywhere I looked. This sounds pretty darned flaky but if you have ever been overtaken by this powerful awareness you know exactly what I mean. I will never forget how that place made me feel. I was, most simply, touched by grace. It was elevating, humbling, exhilarating, and bittersweet. I knew I would have to look away but I also knew it would stay with me. It was one of the most power-full moments of my life. 

No photo I could ever take can do the place justice. That night I boondocked in Manti-La Sal National Forest, down a dirt road a couple of miles off the freeway. Nothing there but me, total and utter silence, and a night sky flooded with stars. It was a very good way to end the day. 

The next morning I stopped at Newspaper Rock,where the only other visitors were a man my age and his teenage son, from Grand Rapids, Michigan.

I followed them to another place down the road, an unmarked trail a person at their hotel told them about, and we set off on foot to find dinosaur tracks and supposedly better, older petroglyphs than were on Newspaper Rock. It was rough, rocky country. We were climbing at what felt like a 45 degree angle and at an elevation of probably 5300 feet, and me in slippery-soled sneakers. I made it, though not without thinking I'd break my ankle any time now, and we saw some spectacular art. 

That's a dinosaur footprint, or so we told ourselves.

I questioned myself at the start if I was being an idiot, going off into back country with these two men, but I felt no danger at all. They were just two nice people who let me tag along. We then hop-scotched our way down the road to Canyonlands National Park, where they went their way and I mine. Here's Grace again. What a camera hog.

I've met wonderful folks even early on in this trip, people who've extended kindness, offered any help I needed, and engaged in conversation. The freedom in the title of this post means a lot of things to me. One of them is the freedom to talk to people and to learn a little about who they are without the uncomfortable awareness of an I'll wait outside impatience or an all-purpose distrust that have been in the background for years. I lived with that. I accepted it! What an fool I was to compromise my self to keep someone else happy, which never worked anyway. No more.

I may have had this different life imposed on me with unending shards of cruelty, but I will now admit to the world that I was done a favor. I was given a gift I would never have given myself. The divorce was, from the start, all about him despite the words he said, but I am surprisingly feeling like the winner (she said with quiet satisfaction) and life is looking good.

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Thought for the day:

There is a road from the eye to the heart that does not go through the intellect. (Gilbert Keith Chesterton)