Baby It's Cold Outside

It's 5:30 a.m. as I begin to write this.  The temperature is minus 4.  That's 79 degrees below my preferred number.  I've said this before - I don't like winter.  Never have.  The snow has it's benefits so I can tolerate that, in moderation.  But I especially don't like the coldness of winter.  And after my heart attacked me several years ago, very cold air actually makes it hard for me to breathe.  Doctors can't tell me why, but I never had a issue before so it must be related some how.  Shorter days are also a problem because I love the sun.  You've heard of Seasonal Affective Disorder.  Yeah, well, I have that.  I can manage it just fine, though.  Whenever I start feeling depressed I just think positive thoughts like, "only 7 months until May!"  That one's a bit of a stretch but, hey, I'm willing to settle for pretty much any positive thought on a dark morning in a December deep freeze.
Meditation helps.  I have discovered a source for guided meditations that are as short as 10 minutes, and can do wonders for whatever disorder or malady may be affecting you.  You should check it out. There are meditations for gratitude, nature attunement, grounding, breath and body awareness, enhancing creativity, even one for morning energy (that one comes in handy on occasion), and a dozen or so others.  Your guide is Mary Maddox, and she is awesome.  Check out her site at www.meditationoasis.com .   Also available as podcasts on iTunes. 
I can also find some respite in reviewing my photography files.  Or by forcing myself to go out and find a visually pleasing wintery scene. I will often be rewarded for the effort.  Even a reluctant resident of this frozen intermission between fall and spring can still occasionally find artistry in a desolate landscape.

Of course, I also have my books.  A great escape from the dreariness of these gray days can always be found within the pages of a good story.  It's funny how I have grown to prefer non-fiction and books about history during the warmer more truthful summer months, but by the time those insincere months of January and February roll around every year I find myself reaching for a classic novel by Vonnegut or Brautigan.  I can re-read these authors over and over and discover something new every time.  Lost Horizon by James Hilton never fails to reveal the promise that spring is not all that far away.
Then there is my record collection.  Nothing like a good classic album to lighten up an otherwise dark and cold night. Or day.  Music on vinyl is different than what you get with a cd or from an ipod.  It's a richer, deeper, more accurate sound.  It's real.  How can you listen to John Denver or Harry Nilsson (in any format) and not feel better? One of the smartest things I've done is hang on to so many albums from high school and my days as a radio disc jockey.  And the term was accurate back then because we actually played those wonderful round vinyl discs.

I'm still adding to my collection on a regular basis.  Right now I'm on the hunt for a clean reasonably priced copy of Astral Weeks by Van Morrison.  Finding it will go a long way toward the healing of my winter blues.  That might be a tall order, but if you hear of one let me know.  Think of yourself as my doctor and that's the prescription.  "Listen to this record and call me in the morning."

   -0-

Sunday Drive

It was one of those Sundays with no plans.  The possibilities were endless, as always, but there was nothing that absolutely needed to be done right now.  I cleared the driveway and sidewalk of snow from a light dusting the night before, replaced a burned out light bulb, read a few chapters from a book that I'm struggling to finish (it's pretty good, the subject just doesn't grab me), then turned on the TV and watched a bit of Naked Vegas.  If you're not familiar with this show, let me just tell you that it's not what you think.  In fact, I was not familiar with this show either but it caught my attention as I was flipping through the channels and sort of sucked me in.  I awoke from my television trance after about twenty minutes and was able to walk away.  Good thing, too, as I had a feeling this episode was not going to end well.  Then I surfed the web for a while, checking out a few of my favorite sites.  First stop was onbeing.org.  I was a little disappointed in some of the latest content, though.  I'm a big fan of Krista Tippett.  But I am not a blind follower of anybody and really don't care much at all for Whoopi Goldberg,  so when I saw her being featured I moved on.  My next stop was http://www.incrediblethings.com.  There's always something interesting here.  This time, under the Art & Design tab, there was a feature about how someone had taken historic photos and colorized them.  Big mistake.  I really didn't like any of them. The originals in black and white are exactly as they should be.  Colorization added nothing in my opinion.  Actually made them less interesting to me.  Take a look and see what you think:

The original

              Colorized

I can't see where adding color did anything at all for this picture.

Or, look at this iconic photo and tell me which version you think is more...well...real?

I don't know about you, but I have to go with the black and white. You can decide for yourself if you go to the site and take a look.  Lots of other things to see there, too.  I recommend it.

Okay.  Let's see. Where was I? Oh, yeah, a Sunday with no plans...but endless possibilities.  I watched football for a while, then decided to take a little drive and see if I could discover any photo opportunities.  I'm always looking for photo opportunities.  Lately, I've been wanting to find an old bus to photograph.  Not sure what the attraction is, I just thought an old broken down bus might be a cool subject.  Well, as fate would have it, about twelve miles into my trip I found myself near the little town of St. Onge.  I saw it almost immediately after pulling off the highway onto the dirt and gravel road (but mostly dirt) that served as the main street.  An old bus.  But not just any old bus.  It was a blue bus.  And green. But mostly blue.  

 I don't think it's the blue bus that the Doors sang about.  Or the one the Merry Pranksters named "Further" and had such strange and psychedelic adventures in way back then.  Or even the Magic Bus the Who sang about.  But, still, it's a pretty cool bus.  What happened next, though, really put an exclamation point on the day.  I was getting back into my car when all of sudden I heard music blasting out of the top floor windows in the old abandoned sandstone building I was parked next to.  Live music.  Like a band practicing.  Except, if this was practice, it was serious practice.  Because someone up there was belting out a song like it was the last day of the Fillmore and they were the headliner.  It was awesome!  And totally unexpected.  That's what made it so great.  I'm still not sure if it was a local band getting ready for their next gig or a few musicians getting together for a jam session.  Doesn't matter.  I was just glad I was in the right place at the right time.  That happens to me.  Being in the right place at the right time.  Maybe because I'm always willing and open to putting myself in the right place at the right time. Anyone can do it.  But it might take a little effort.  Sometimes as little as simply deciding to pick up your camera (everybody has one) and go for a Sunday drive.

      -0-

 





A Best Seller?

I have an idea for a book. It's sort of a biography.  But not about me.  It would be about you.  A collection of stories from everyday people about their work, adventures or interesting experiences. Maybe a theme would develop if the stories are similar in mood or subject, or it could contain a wide variety of unrelated events in the lives of unrelated people.  We could call it "Extraordinary Tales From Ordinary People."

Okay, we can work on the title.  But, here's why I think this just might be a good idea.  I was in the Books-A-Million store the other day looking for a good read.  I was in the non-fiction/biography section and began to notice the large number of books about seemingly uninteresting subjects written by unknown authors.  Uninteresting and unknown to me anyway.  There were also quite a few titles written by or about famous people who are famous for no reason I can think of.  The phrase "famous for being famous" comes to mind. Kendra Wilkenson, for example.  Former Playboy Playmate and reality TV star.  That's pretty much it.  But she has at least two books in print. Not bad.  Another one I noticed was by a guy named Jacob Tomsky. The book is called "Heads in Beds," and is about his experiences in the hotel and hospitality business.  Really?  That's a book? Sounds kind of dumb. I must admit, though, the title did catch my attention.  And the sub-title reeled me in further - "A Reckless Memoir."   I'm sure he has some good stories to tell, but doesn't everybody? 
The stories in our book don't have to be about wild times or outlandish behavior.  They could be about memorable events that changed a life forever.  Maybe yours.  They could be about things that are funny enough to give anyone a good laugh.  They could be about things that are embarrassing, enlightening, frightening, mystical, magical or just plain weird.  Like the time when we were in high school and us guys took the girls to a cemetary out in the country in hopes of scaring them right into our arms. Turned out that it was us guys who got the scare.  Something happened that night....but you'll have to wait for the book to find out what it was. 
So what do you think? You in?  It will be a lot of work.  But it will be fun.  Who knows, it could be quite successful.  Because, remember that dumb book I mentioned earlier?  I bought it.  Turns out it's pretty good so far.  Which goes to show....well it goes to show that I'm a sucker for a good title.  But it also shows that anything is possible when it involves a good story.  Everybody loves a good story.
                                                                                     -0-

Road Closed

The snow has stopped here.  Looks like the biggest snowstorm in years is over.  It just doesn't seem right that it's October 5th and we have well over two feet of snow surrounding us.  When this all started the other night, a couple of friends mentioned snow, rain, thunder and lightning all at the same time.  I remember years ago living in Wyoming when this happened.  There was rain mixed with snow, loud thunder, and brilliant flashes of lightning all going on simultaneously.  I remember thinking, "strange days are here,"  and wondering if this is what the end of the world would be like.  But the world didn't end.  It continued on.  Just like now.  We'll be back to normal in a few days, and many years from now we'll be talking about the "storm of '13,"  and recalling scenes like this -

This is my back yard, where normally at this time of year we would be enjoying morning coffee, admiring the deep red leaves on our fledgling maple trees, and hoping for a hummingbird to stop by our feeder for a quick snack on the way to wherever it is they are on their way to this time of year.

Instead we're trapped inside.  I guess that's not such a bad thing.  We have power.  Some people are still sitting in the dark with blankets pulled all the way up around their neck.  Maybe they should make a fort with cushions and chairs.  That always seemed to help when we were kids and needed some kind of escape from whatever troubles, real or imagined, we may have been experiencing at the time.  

But we are warm and rested.  So I decided to go out first thing and begin the task of cleaning up the mess of deep snow and fallen branches.  I started the job with great enthusiasm, but hadn't gotten very far when it hit me ... I was the only one outside doing this.  I looked up and down the block.  Nope. Not another soul in sight.  No sounds of snowblowers, or shovels scraping driveways.  No sound of snow plows off in the distance clearing the roads.  Just the sound of the wind in the trees, and of my heavy breathing.  What was I thinking?  Even if I dug us out, we weren't going anywhere.  There was still no travel advised.  Some roads even remained closed.  So I stopped.  This is how far I got -

 

Not that far.  But it was enough for now.  Maybe I'll try again later after it warms up a bit and the wind dies down some. Or, I'll just stay in today.  All day.  Cook up a batch of my most excellent chili (complete with my home grown red bell peppers, saved from the storm and ready for harvest), catch up on some reading, watch old movies on TCM ... or ... all of that. 

Wait! What's that noise?  Sounds like kids laughing and shouting. They are out sledding on the big hill behind our house.  Now that's what to do on a snow day!  I wonder if my old Flexible Flyer is still around here somewhere?  Or maybe I can round up an inner tube.  I guess the business of cleaning up will just have to wait.  There are other things to do.  More important things.

         -0-

A Walk In The Woods

The pictures tell the story.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Clear, cloudy or in between - the sun always shines here.

-0-

Shifting Gears

Things have changed.  My thoughts of late have been more in tune with John Denver than Jack Kerouac, who was the original inspiration for these writings.  I seem to be drawn more these days to "...seeking grace in every step he takes."
 instead of
"...we gotta go and never stop going 'till we get there.'
'Where we going, man?'
'I don't know but we gotta go.”  
So it is that I have slowed down a little, and have taken to wearing a hat.

It's not  cap, like a baseball cap, but a real hat.  It's a good hat.  It suits me.  I bought it at the arts festival earlier this summer from an interesting little man who makes the hats himself. He also gave me an amazingly clear crystal for free that he said he dug out of a cave in Alabama. Or it might have been Arkansas.  Anyway, he told me to put it under my pillow and see what dreams may come.  So I did, and had a pretty cool dream.  Someone who is likely to read this was in that dream, but dreams are private things so I can't go into details.  I will just say it was a simple dream, nothing very exciting or wild. Just sort of a partly truth and partly fiction recollection of my younger days.  The next morning I took it out from under my pillow and put it away.  Once was enough, for now.  Don't want to use it up.  I may need it later.

A lot more of my time this year has been spent hiking and bicycling in the Black Hills , rather than on motorcycle road trips.  After so many years I'm still finding new points of interest and re-discovering locations right around here ... places that I've been to before but not fully explored.  I always seem to find something new and fresh in even the most familiar places.  One I keep going back to is 11th Hour Gulch.  It's always an adventure there.  The sign on the side of the highway is gone and the entrance is completely covered with vegetation, so if you don't know about this place you would just drive on by without realizing it was even there.



In winter the side of the sheer rock wall becomes a sheet of ice, thick enough for ice climbers to test their skills.  In summer the trickling water down the side interacting with the minerals creates a kaleidoscope of color on the rock.

I love these little treks into nature.  And, although it's great to have company,  sometimes I like to be alone.  No offense intended to my fellow travelers and occasional companions, family or otherwise, but sometimes I prefer quiet solitude to companionship. 

After writing that last paragraph, I stopped for the night and resumed the next morning, which happens to be this morning.  And, after some thoughtful reflection and a good night's sleep, I have realized that the spirit of Jack Kerouac is still in me.  The following passage from On The Road comes to mind -
“the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.” 
For me it's not only the mad ones.  It's also the fun ones, unusual ones, outcasts, misfits, and some that are just so unlike me that I'm inexplicably drawn to them ...

So, I guess things really haven't changed all that much.  Perhaps it's just that as time passes thoughts begin to creep in about how physical changes on the outside of oneself must inevitably lead to changes on the inside, too.  Changes in the way you think and act.   But I realize that this doesn't have to be true.  I can still seek grace in every step I take, whether those steps are are on a trail beside a clear cool mountain stream or on a busy city sidewalk.
And I can wear a hat if I want to.  I don't care if it makes me look old.  I am kind of old, and don't have a problem with that.  So if you see me coming your way wearing my new hat, tell me you like it.  Even if you don't.  It's not really a lie.  It's just being kind.  We need more kindness these days.

                     -0-

 

The Days Are Just Packed

When someone asks you, "What have you been up to lately?" The standard reply is usually, "Oh, not much."  Maybe that's true sometimes.  But sometimes it isn't.  Last night while waiting for shooting stars to light up the sky I began thinking about what I've been up to lately, and came to the conclusion that these past few days have been packed.  Almost as much as a Calvin and Hobbes cartoon.

Yes, sometimes doing nothing is doing something.  And on these most recent days I've been doing something, starting with a motorcycle ride in the rain.  It was Friday night on the way to see Robby Krieger of the Doors play at The Buffalo Chip Campground near Sturgis.  For those of you who aren't familiar with him, let me refresh your memory.   I'm sure you have heard the song Light My Fire. Well, you know the 2 1/2 minute guitar solo in the middle of the song?  That's Robbie Krieger.  He also wrote the lyrics.  And on the song Roadhouse Blues when Jim Morrision said, "Do it Robbie! Do it!"  He was talking to Robbie Krieger.  Still might not mean that much to you.  But it does to me.  That's why I wasn't going to let a few storm clouds and the threat of a thunderstorm stop me from riding over to see him in concert that night.  Yeah, I could've driven the car.  But that would have taken away from the whole experience.  If I was going to go to the Chip to see the last remaining member of the Doors, I was going to ride not drive.  About 5 miles out the rain started.  Lightly at first, then it started to really come down. Hard.  I was wearing a rain suit and I've ridden in the rain before so no big deal. But this time I noticed something.  Perhaps my senses were heightened or I was more aware of the moment (I've been working on that lately).  But, whatever the reason, I realized that I could taste the rain.  I'm sure everyone, especially when they were kids, turned their face up to catch some raindrops on their tongue.  I did it. But I don't remember ever noticing that the rain actually had a taste.  After all, it's just water.  But during this ride on this night there was a very distinct taste.  I can't describe it exactly, maybe sweet is the word.  Or syrupy.  Or it could be that it just tasted like...summer.
The rain ended by the time I arrived, and the show went on as planned.  It was good.  But I had to turn away during a couple of songs and just listen without looking at him.  I did that because he was wearing khaki pants, some kind of a Hawaiian-looking shirt and boat shoes.  I don't know what I expected him to be wearing.  Leather pants? Aviator sunglasses like he wore back in the day?

But boat shoes?  Come on.  Robbie Krieger don't wear no boat shoes!  Although, he is pretty old now.  And I guess he's earned the right to wear whatever the hell he wants to.  So I got over it.
Had to work Saturday, and laid low Saturday night.  Enjoyed sitting in the back yard on a cool summer evening. At some point after my wife went inside I fell asleep right there under the stars.  It was only for a short time but I felt refreshed when I woke up.  It was sort of like a mini camp-out.
Sunday I traded my motorcycle for my bicycle and went for what turned out to be a challenging ride on the Old Baldy Trail in the Black Hills.  It's been 15 years at least since I last rode that trail and my skills and fitness level were much better then than now.  I made it, but it was a tough one for me this time.  Well worth the effort, though, because of scenery like this...

I need to get out on these mountain trials more often. I'll never be as good as I was, but I can definitely be better than I am right now.
The next day was Monday, August 12th.  The day the Perseid meteor shower was supposed to peak.  We went outside again that night and looked up.  It was only a short wait for the first one.  Then another. And another!  It was pretty cool.  More than once we each let out an "ohhhhhh!" and an "ahhhhh!"  Plus a few of those gasping sounds you make when you excitedly suck in a bunch of air.  I can make that sound but I can't spell it.  I'm sure you know what I'm talking about, having made it yourself on several occasions no doubt.  Maybe when you saw a meteor streak by in the night sky. 
So that's it.  A brief history of the past four days in my life.  Not that you should care all that much.  But, I do believe it's good to review life's events every few days.  Even write them down sometimes. That way you might remember them longer.  They could be important things to have later in life.  Memories I mean.

                                                                                -0-