Category: Impacting my Life

“Grief is a Relentless Companion”

It takes so many forms, and affects so many aspects of learning to live with major loss.

Written in the journal I keep by my living room recliner on September 29th, the statement continues to resonate as the days have passed since then. The journal itself is a gift from my son and is from his trip to Machu Picchu. It is a wonderfully hand-made leather book of empty white pages bound by a leather tie, that I, being left-handed, turn upside down to write on the pages from right to left. I’ve been adding entries periodically since last October.

At times I’ve thought that being in this house exacerbates the ongoing reminders of Pam missing out on our retirement years, of the emptiness I feel as the months go by without her, of the forfeiture of my hopes and dreams of our future together – of my future alone. I constantly change things around, rearrange the bedroom furniture, new linen and quilt, some of the wall hangings. I have changed the towels, mats, and shower curtain more than once in the last year, trying to change what was ours into what is now only mine. But I still get into an empty bed and wake up in the same. Getting into the shower, grab bars still in place, reminds me of Pam’s last year when she needed help with her intimate needs. The grab bars remain as an admission that I, too, am aging and admit the potential need for assistance, another reminder of having to make do on my own.

But it’s not the house, now my home. Reminders are everywhere. Go to a restaurant, a park, visit a friend, go bowling – which we enjoyed so much together. As I found out many years ago during my rebellious time as a youth, being happy, being “good” or “bad”, loving and hating , etc. are not dependent on location or one’s lot in life. Extricating myself from everything I know and have in life does not eliminate what is going on inside my head and heart.

Nearly seventeen months after Pam’s passing, I continue to live hour by hour, day by day. Some are better than others. And though I have few elated moments, I can still slip into despair that I cannot live up to what I think is worthy of Pam’s love and faith in me.

As she and I discussed, and I have mentioned before, I knew, and it has come to pass, that I am not the same person without her, not as “good” as I felt when bolstered by her love and presence in my life. Just this week my sister reminded me that Pam knew me, knew my weaknesses, knew my strengths, and loved me for who I am. Those things she saw in me are still part of me.

I believe this is why I am able to continue to get into an empty bed and wake up in the same. It is why I continue to reshape my surroundings to reflect who I am without her, still not understanding who that is. Yes. Grief is my relentless companion. But Pam’s love, the love and support of my family and friends, and my own will to live keep grief from having complete dominion over me.

On a lighter tack, as part of my process of carving out a new life without Pam, I recently attended a 55+ luncheon at the rec center. I’m pretty sure that at age 69, I was the youngest attendee. Lunch was catered and, I still can hardly believe it, I played Bingo after lunch and even won a round!

Two positive outcomes emerged as a result of my attending. A nice man named Frank took the initiative to sit with me during the luncheon. He recognized that I was new and graciously helped me feel less alone. He is twice widowed! Frank invited me to join a seniors bowling league, either bowling for at team, or as a sub. Three weeks ago I did just that, substituted for someone who could not bowl for their team. I bowled poorly, but I have always enjoyed bowling, and the challenge of being better at it than I am. I’ve now been there three weeks in a row and am known as a “regular” substitute available to anyone who cannot attend. My bowling has improved significantly since the first week and I look forward to subbing again next week. I’m getting familiar with some of the people there, have heard a few stories about their losses, and I am becoming familiar to them.

But this positive aspect of my new life is still tainted by my relentless companion. Pam and I used to enjoy bowling together with family and as members of church leagues. She was quite the bowler with the straightest delivery I have ever seen. Starting down the middle and barely wavering by a board! It is hard to avoid the guilt of enjoying bowling without her. An example of how life is changed and grief lingers.

In addition to my new social interactions, I received an email, through this web site address, wutjavia@gmail.com, from the 55+ luncheon coordinator, the only person attending who was clearly younger than I! I had given her my Wutjavia card after the event. It turns out that Bingo is not the only weekly luncheon entertainment. Guest speakers are invited to present, I suppose, just about anything, to the luncheon audience. She perused this site, read about my Glacier travels, and has asked me to present a travel log of my choosing to the group, inclusive of narrative and pictures. And though it won’t be delivered until sometime early next year, I enthusiastically agreed to do it.

One of the blessings of being with Pam was our mutual respect for the things we loved as individuals. She had her stamping and greeting cards. They were amazing outpourings of her love of people and of life. She attended conferences with her stamping friends, conducted online research, bought incredible tools, paper, and stencils, and created phenomenal works of art that she gave freely to others to honor special occasions, or just “thinking about you.” Sometimes she even asked for my advice on a design, or to hold paper or ribbon while she attached them to a card.

I had my travels (and my music), mostly to mountainous regions, camping and backpacking. With camera attached at the ready, I hoped to capture, as much as a picture can, amazing landscapes, vistas, and animals experienced along the way. And though she hated me being gone, and in potential danger, Pam encouraged me and supported me each year as I planned, either on my own or with my son, then departed on another adventure. She used to make “car treat” bags with anything from Pez candy to mini tissue packs, games and booklets. Anything she thought we might enjoy and laugh at as we drove many hours to our mountain destinations.

Now, though I am constantly reminded of what I have lost, I also remember what I/we had and can at least get a glimpse of a life that continues to evolve, with grief as my relentless companion.

On to Old Man Lake

Traveling to Old Man Lake would be another bucket list journey. We had seen a segment of Dawson Pass Trail, between Flinsch Peak and Mt. Morgan, from Old Man Lake for the first time in 2008 when we were too exhausted to continue our journey from the lake up to Pitamakan Pass and on to Triple Divide Pass far to the west. This time we attacked from the south, up to Dawson Pass and along the trail going north. The map and Google Earth view are copied here for reference.

Red circle around Continental Divide Trail which we were on from Pitamakan Pass on
An aerial view from Google Earth

Packing up after an uneventful night, we continued to talk about our fantastic experiences at No Name Lake as we looked up ahead, literally, at what awaited us during this pristine mountain morning. Within an hour or so hiking through the forest at a relatively gentle incline, we had our first encounter as we passed within a hundred feet or so of a pair of young black bears frolicking in the woods nearby. They didn’t seem to notice us, but we immediately set watch for a mother bear, just in case. She never showed. We added this to our story list and continued onward, reminiscing even more about our good backpacking fortune.

Clearing the upper woodlands, we continued a long, open, stretch of uphill hiking as we approached Dawson Pass. The views were amazing!

Section from No Name Lake to Dawson Pass
Looking back at Two Medicine on the way to Dawson Pass – Photo by KAJ
Dawson Pass – Looking Southwest – Photo by KAJ
Dawson Pass – Looking Northwest – Forest fire smoke in the air – Photo by KAJ

The stretch from Dawson Pass west of Flinsch Peak was treacherous for me. It may be hard to believe, but I have mild Acrophobia. I guess I’m a glutton for punishment! The trail was about a foot to 18″ wide, basically crushed rock on a extremely steep rock scree. Looking right, Flinsch Peak loomed high above. To the left, a drop of nearly three thousand feet at what is about a seventy percent slope! As usual, my son took the lead. I noticed him looking back often as I lagged behind, stopping multiple times to maintain my equilibrium.

Dawson Pass to Mt. Morgan

We got a relative respite between Flinsch Peak and Mt. Morgan, overlooking Old Man Lake from the west. It also gave us a preview of the steep decent from Pitamakan down to Old Man Lake!

View of Old Man Lake from Dawson Pass Trail – Photo by KAJ
Looking West from Dawson Pass Trail – Photo by KAJ

Acrophobia trials continued as we hiked to the west of Mt. Morgan where we reached another amazing vista point as we made the turn to the north side of Mt. Morgan, and more steep scree hiking!

Turning the “corner” at Mt. Morgan – Photo by DBJ

That’s as close as I was willing to get to the edge. I’d had about enough Acrophobia!

Mt. Morgan to Pitamakan Pass

The stretch from the Northeast side of Mt. Morgan near Cut Bank Pass to Pitamakan Pass was relatively gentle compared to what we had experienced the previous few hours. We were greeted by some mountain goats sunning on the rocks and got a good view of Pitamakan Lake as we approached the pass.

Pitamakan Lake and Pitamakan Pass approaching from the west – Photo by KAJ

Now it’s on down to Old Man Lake. Though the drop is only about 500 feet, the trail was much longer as we hiked the steep decline along the trail cut into the side of the mountain. We had stared up at this section, the trail, and the peaks from Old Man Lake in 2008 when we chose not to continue our cross-Glacier trek and turned around at Old Man Lake. Personally, I was happy to have traversed Pitamakan Pass!

Flinsch Peak from the trail down to Old Man Lake – Photo by DBJ

Old Man Lake campground, which consists of six dispersed tent sites, is about 200 yards and 50 feet up from the lake. After setting camp, we ventured to the lake for a water refill. Ah yes, that last 15 feet down to the lake. Quite steep and rocky. Not so fun after a strenuous day of backpacking!

After an uneventful night, we headed back to the water for another fill up and some fishing, only to find that a large rock, just above the water’s edge, had been displaced overnight. It could only mean one thing; a bear had turned the stone in search of grubs! Fortunately, we saw neither grubs nor bear. I enjoyed some camera work while my sone fished.

Moon setting over Dawson Pass Trail – Photo by KAJ
Look close to see the fly line laying on the still water – Photo by KAJ
Flinsch Peak on the left. What an amazing place!!! – Photo by KAJ

As I recall, my son caught a large trout shortly after this pic was taken and my camera was stowed away. It was catch and release. We still had a full day of hiking back to Two Medicine.

However, back at Two Medicine, more fishing ensued with some success and a tasty morsel before heading to our next adventure. What great fishing form!

And on we went. Back to a civilized campground with running water, a store with hotdogs and beer, and our car. This segment of the 2015 Glacier backpacking trip was over. On to the next adventure!

Please consider giving this post a “Like” if, in deed you do like it, so I can get an idea if my readers do. This has been only a short annal in a series of backpacking adventures spanning ten years and nine different trips in Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, and The Great Smoky Mountains. And I DO like to tell stories! Thanks for reading!

No Name Lake, Glacier National Park

The Mountains Are Calling And I Must Go

John Muir

I have a T-shirt printed with that quote. Mine is Yellow Haze. I think of it often when I think of the mountains – which is also often.

Last week included a little change up when I joined my next door neighbor in front of his garage for a chat, instead of at my place. We were discussing fishing in the pond across the street and how the Iowa DNR stocks it with trout. That led the conversation to the trout farms and streams in NE Iowa, which ultimately led to one of my favorite fishing stories; trout fishing at No Name Lake in Glacier National Park Google Earth View. Be sure to zoom out to see it in the mountain context!

Our itinerary was simple and would not extend us too far physically. Just a few days backcountry to No Name and Old Man lakes. It was not the first time for Old Man, but would be a new route coming from the south rather than the east. And though the story is primarily about an afternoon of fishing, it does include interesting accounts from the rest of the trek.

Red circle around Continental Divide Trail which we were on from Pitamakan Pass on
An aerial view from Google Earth

Leaving the campground at Two Medicine Lake we headed west along the north side of the lake where, after about four miles, we veered toward the north side of Pumpelly Pillar heading for No Name Lake.

Heading west toward Pumpelly Pillar and No Name Lake – Photo by KAJ

We enjoyed the campground that afternoon and evening, wandering around on the rocks at the head of the lake near the snow pack and investigating the lake. My son had a close encounter with a yearling black bear while fetching water from the incoming stream. It decided to climb from a tree within a few yards of him. Quite a shock; something he will never forget, but no worse for the experience. Others saw the bear around the grounds that evening and, of course, we kept vigil basically all night. I snapped one of my favorite backcountry pics from the west side (head) of the lake as the sun was setting behind the mountains.

I would be fishing from this spot the following day – Photo by KAJ

An uneventful night woke to a glorious morning in the backcountry. After breakfast we grabbed our four-piece fly rods, reels, and gear, and headed for the lake. Getting around along the shore was no easy matter, with downed trees, rocks, and, worst of all, slippery rocks in the water. Understand that the snow pack feeding this lake was merely a hundred yards from the shore. But we waded in wearing shorts and water shoes, into the nearly freezing water in hopes of a catch.

We were not disappointed! It didn’t take long for either of us to catch our first trout. And they just kept coming. Many were in the 8″ to 10″ range, with some smaller and a couple larger. We realized there was a shelf about 25 yards from shore where the trout would lay wait in the deeps and see the flies near the edge. For them, an apparent feast. For us, pure delight!

I didn’t have my camera with me in the water, so no pics. But we spent several hours wading and catching and releasing the rainbow beauties. Whether we ignored the cold assaulting our legs, or they went numb didn’t matter as we cast our lines over and over, stripping them in with another fish attached. Neither of us realized how sunburnt we got, nor that we hadn’t eaten in hours. It’s difficult to express our continued excitement and delight. But those who know me will understand that we caught so many trout that I didn’t even count them. That, in itself, is testament to the fun we had! It didn’t matter that we didn’t keep any fish nor cook them that evening over an open fire. We had a once-in-a-life experience that we will never forget.

On to Old Man Lake

Stay tuned next week for part two of our 2015 No Name Lake / Old Man Lake Glacier segment.

Boys On Bikes

NOTE: This is not the subject planned for release this week. But the experience is too good not to share. Stay tuned for what will likely be a two-part travel log beginning next week (Sorry, Jan).

A Ray of Hope in a Troubled World

Back in June, when I was in Clear Lake for the Galilean gig, a woman came up to me where I was playing guitar on a park bench at the sea wall to put a $5 bill in my guitar case. I’m a professional! I told her it wasn’t necessary but she dropped it in the case anyway. It is still there as a reminder that what I do matters in some way to others.

On Wednesday of this week I was playing music in the garage as is my usual daily venue, but with the added activity of smoking chicken hind quarters on my Weber. It was after five in the afternoon, the normal time when parents with babies in buggies, parents with dogs, children and adults on motorized skateboards, bicycles, and scooters, all enter and exit the park on the walkway across from my driveway. And though many wave and smile, few stop to listen or interact with me in any other way.

Two boys on bikes were lingering a few hundred feet away on the walkway. Then, here they came, stopping at the street to make sure it was clear of the vehicles that travel much too fast on the long, straight residential street. They appeared to be between 10 and 12 years old. I was still playing as they entered the driveway, talking at me though I could not hear what they said. I finally stopped playing.

Cynical me started thinking of all the things kids might say and do that, frankly, I might have done as a youth. So when the taller, blond boy asked “Do you mind if I ask you something, not trying to be mean?”, my mind began to race. Would he complain about the smoke, or chastise me for using the smoker in the garage? Or would he complain that I was too loud playing, telling me to keep it down, that I might be disturbing those who were taking advantage of the beautiful day in the park. I feigned a smile and said “sure.”

“Would it be okay to give you some money for playing so good?” the boy asked while holding out his hand. The second, shorter, dark-haired boy chimed in to say, “It’s only change, about 45 cents.”

My heart melted as I looked at these two young men sincerely offering to reward my playing with what might be their soda or candy money. Of course, I declined their offer. Thanking them for the gesture. “Just your offer is wonderful. No other payment is necessary. Really, it means a lot to me.”, I said as they mounted their bikes to leave. The blond with the change smiled as they rode away.

I know I am not alone in being too quick to judge others before knowing their hearts. Preconceived notions based on my own ignorance and fear. Somehow I know that my aging has something to do with making it worse. Two young men who might have been here to harass me, instead gave me a huge compliment.

A ray of hope in a troubled world. These two youth (or “yoots(s)” as Joe Pesci would say in My Cousin Vinny) are part of the future of our society, our planet! Maybe not all is lost for them. It is nice to see some good in the midst of the negative news of our day. May yours be also blessed!

On and On Life Goes

The heat has broken. It finally feels like autumn, though still no rain here. It’s been two weeks since returning from Atlanta. Home alone reality is setting in. Pam passed away nearly sixteen months ago. Apparently, life goes on.

If there is a new normal, hopefully this isn’t it. To do lists have many checked boxes. Though there is more to be done before winter sets in. Daily routines are established, varying slightly from week to week for appointments and brief getaways. But the familiarity and comfort of established norms do not stave off the sadness and ache of missing Pam, nor the sorrow of her missing out on life. In some way, it seems the intensity has grown.

So much has been written describing grief, many pictures and animations. One such depiction arrived this week in a text message.

What to make of this? Where’s the fit? If the graphic is accurate, the message true, then some point along a continuum should be recognizable. But not. Life apparently goes on, but has yet to grow big enough to assuage the pain of loss. Conversely, if grief diminishes over time, apparently life must go on a long time before it begins to smother the grief. Either way, it’s a struggle to relate.

Sometimes anger wells up amidst the sadness and sorrow. How could she be taken away?! Were we not all the better for her presence in this life? Yes, we were! Yes, we are!

On the Other Hand

Better memories of Pam are emerging as time passes. Earlier pictures are reminders of happier times. Every one depicting the beautiful person she was, a beacon of kindness and compassion. One should hope to be such a person. Though she was so loving, and so loved, she was so much better than she ever thought she was. That, too, is part of her beauty.

So all is not just gloom and doom. Life cannot be all bad (though the news sources seem to differ) when such amazing people sojourn among us. We just have to recognize their positive contributions to our lives; enjoy their nature. Live to honor their lives. Live in hope that the circle will somehow, some day, grow to comfort us, to buffer us from the pain and sorrow of our grief.

Further Reflection

All of the above was written earlier in the week. Consideration was given to tossing it all out as being too depressing. But no. It stands as is. But said again, all is not just gloom and doom! Much enjoyment comes from the home we shared, now home alone. Much joy is felt when talking to and being with family and friends. Neighbors are friendly and encouraging. Autumn is a beautiful time of year in Iowa. And though it foreshadows winter, it also holds its own beauty for us to enjoy.

Now. Here’s the test. Can you figure out the missing word in this week’s post? You may post a comment in response. Or, if you would like to submit your guess privately, send a message at wutjavia@gmail.com.

Have a great week!!! Here’s hoping for happier topics as life go on.

Writer’s Block!

Cliche? I suppose. But descriptive none-the-less. Many ideas crisscross in my mind, flitting this way and that. Some just disappear. Others, I summarily dismiss. I could use the excuse that I was traveling last week and didn’t have time to write. But that would be only partially true. Truer still is that I couldn’t even decide on a topic.

I could write about my trip to Atlanta to visit family and help around the house while my sister recuperated from her surgery. The visit was good. My sister came through great. It was a nice visit. But I don’t feel like discoursing our interactions or daily activities while I was there. I did get to see Oppenheimer with two of my sisters. That was a special time to share together. Good movie.

I thought about laying out my thoughts about bacon, kinds, types, flavors, and how I missed it while away. I have a couple slices nearly every morning at home. We discussed bacon at the dinner table one evening. The topic of beef bacon came up. Click the link if you are interested. Personally, I prefer “real” bacon. My favorite is Hormel Black Label Cherrywood Thick Cut. I buy it a dozen at a time at Menard’s when they have it. I could go on with this topic, but don’t deem it worthy of more.

I’ve been thinking a lot about a new normal, hoping for extended emotional stability, enough so that I recognize various phases, ups and downs; consistency, rather than in throws. But I haven’t found it yet. Maybe I’ll be able to write about that when I recognize it – if it is found. Meanwhile, I am still day by day, not dwelling too much on the past nor looking too far into the future. Both directions give rise to discomfort that I can only tolerate in small portions.

Not only am I rambling because I don’t have clear direction, but I am reverting to the dreaded “I” at the beginning of my paragraphs. Yep. Take a look. And though I am hard on myself for being egocentric and unworthy of praise, I continue to receive compliments for looking good (maybe for my age?), for my efforts to help others, and the gift of music and song. But knowing myself, I have to downplay the accolades because they feed my egocentricity. Kind of a vicious circle. I do, however, appreciate others’ kind words, and know that without them, I would probably be very depressed in deed!

So, even with writer’s block, I managed to write 419 words leading up to this paragraph. I guess it means that the title is apt. I wrote about a bunch of unrelated thoughts because I have no other clear topic.

Well, hopefully next week. I did hear from some readers who wondered if I would have a post since the normal Saturday deadline had come and gone. Even knowing that my no-posts are missed, makes me feel a little better. Now I’m off to get back in the groove. Search for topics gleaned from my daily life.

More musings of a wandering mind.

Have a great week.

Caregiver vs. Caretaker

(Not to be confused with undertaker.)

From my reading, it appears that the differences between a caregiver and a caretaker are subtle. Two significant differences are that a caretaker’s charge might be an animal or a building rather than a person, and that the caretaker expects to be compensated for their efforts.

Both caregivers and caretakers aid people needing assistance with daily tasks, from doing laundry and preparing meals, to personal hygiene and grooming needs. But the caregiver is typically more emotionally invested, expecting no reward, than the caretaker who’s primary motivation is their own need, i.e. monetary compensation. This is not to say that caretakers are not caring or empathetic, nor emotionally attached to their charges. Nor is it true that caregivers are never compensated. Thus continue the subtle differences between the two. In fact, the two terms are often used interchangeably.

Distinguishing between the two became a topic of conversation for my sister and me during my recent visit to Atlanta. She IS my Mother’s caregiver, having taken her into her home over four years ago. My sister needed a medical procedure that required a recuperation period in which she could not lift or twist her upper body. And though her husband often assists with daily responsibilities, and our sister provides weekly respite relief, they also work and are unable to be “on call” for daily tasks.

And so I offered to help out. Shortly after my arrival, I began relearning the routine implemented to provide for my Mother’s needs. I would execute it while my sister and her husband were away. So when the day arrived I got up early to ensure that breakfast was on the table just so, and I was ready to help with her inhaler.

As the day progressed, I realized I had transitioned seamlessly and nearly effortlessly back into the caregiver role I learned while caring for my late wife, Pam. Seamless because I only realized it later in the day. Nearly effortless in that Mom’s needs are different than Pam’s, and my sister’s home is laid out differently and the kitchen configured differently than my home. Otherwise, my demeanor, and the methods I employed to care for my Mother, came back naturally.

Reflecting, later, on this transformation, I made two observations. First, I learned valuable skills while caring for Pam that I could use to assist others as a part-time caregiver/caretaker if I so choose. Second, I have neither the desire nor will to be a full-time caregiver again.

As I revisit the caregiver role, and observe and talk with my sister, I am reminded of the emotional and physical toll being a 24/7 caregiver takes. One truly has to put another’s needs about one’s own, even potentially at physical and emotional detriment.

My sister’s procedure was successful and without incident. I continue to assist with Mom’s care, and also with helping my sister do those tasks she should not be performing while recuperating.

I am thankful that my sister’s procedure went well. I am thankful to have the opportunity to step in when her physical need could not be delayed – could not be ranked below Mom’s care. I am thankful for the knowledge, wisdom, and compassion I learned while caring for Pam, though I wish it had not been necessary! But I also realize that if someone close to me has need, I could and would transition back into a caregiver role with little or no hesitation.

Windmill Choreography

A brief history of windmills

Images of windmills through history

A list of popular/famous windmills includes two in Pella Iowa.

I’ve been traveling a lot over the past few months. It seems nearly everywhere I go where there is flat land or vast rolling hills, there are modern windmills standing like sentinels along highways and byways. Some are near, some far, often in line, dotting the countryside and farmlands. Some are still, their blades turned away from the wind. Others’ blades rotate with the prevailing winds and breezes. I remember counting water-pumping windmills on farms as our family was sardined into the family station wagon between Kansas and Iowa. Just one of the many road games we played to keep occupied.

Heading east on I-80 through Iowa last week I passed a wind farm (a loose term) spread over miles of farmland adjacent to the highway. For some reason I took note of how different the individual towers reacted to the wind that powers them. Though it would seem they should all be facing the same direction and rotate at nearly the same speed, that was not the case. Not including those whose blades turned away from the wind, others, even in line, rotated at different speeds, some with blades facing different directions. Man-made machines dancing with the wind. Inanimate objects led by one of nature’s most powerful forces, creating a unique choreography between man and our mother earth. Cruising the county roads on my recumbent cycle years ago, I was able to get close to some of these towering generators, close enough to hear the whoosh of their blades cutting through the air. Another unique aspect of the dance between technology and nature.

Having decided on this week’s topic over a week ago, I set out on an off-paved-road adventure on Tuesday. I knew approximately where the aforementioned wind farm is, and retraced my path, this time using county roads rather than interstate. Eventually, I came upon one of the giants near Marengo.

Onto the rural gravel road I ventured, heading west into farmland dotted with towering fans watching over crops and farmsteads.

LOVE THIS PIC!

A gorgeous Iowa summer day only enhanced the experience of chasing the perfect view of these 300 foot stalks, large enough at the base to hold a family vehicle, tall enough to carry three, 200 foot blades each.

Can you see them all? And what’s up with these four in the foreground, facing different directions and turning at different speeds?

Looking east. The prevailing breeze from the west. I had to wait for the road dust to clear before taking this pic.

Speaking of choreography, look at those two in the distance. They were probably about a quarter of a mile apart and spinning at different rates and sequence.

It is difficult to capture the majesty of these giant turbines, stabbing the summer sky while watching over the August corn, disturbing neither man nor animal.

I was unable to get too close without trespassing. I hoped to hear the whoosh of the blades. Try it. Turn up the volume while watching. Hear the birds?

What man made to ease our reliance on fossil fuels, wind choreographs a dance and a song. I may be treading on my political safety net, but doesn’t it seem logical to gather energy from less toxic natural sources like wind and sun? Iowa is among the top three wind produced energy states in the nation. Though I don’t have much to cheer about Iowa these days, I am proud of this achievement. I am aware, however, that there are still challenges recycling blades, etc. Hopefully, our free-market economy will find a way to make it financially viable to do so.

Existing amongst these man-made giants is not quite like the swaying of branches or the rustling of leaves, but seeing them from the highways and byways is a treat. I am happy to share this positive experience with you, contrasting emotional challenges I typically convey. I hope you, too, enjoy. Maybe you can take a road trip of your own to visit some rural areas near you and experience some positive coexistence between man and nature, like – windmill choreography.

P. S. I had the opportunity to drive past the decommissioned Duane Arnold Nuclear Power Plant near Palo IA the other day. I hoped to snap a pic of the cooling towers to contrast with the windmills. Unfortunately, those have been demolished. Only an exhaust chimney remains. I think the property is being transformed into a solar energy farm. And yet, there were signs along the county road with the words “Commercial Wind Farm” and a 🚫over the top of them. Okay. I get no pipelines, nukes, coal, even natural gas. But what’s wrong with wind and solar?

She Won’t Be Back Again

Much as I want to share my experiences on other subjects, like Windmill Choreography, I cannot escape my feelings of emptiness and loss. Today they spilled out in some poetic form. I’ll work on travels and windmills, family and friends, beauty in life (and death), and other such things. But today I woke to a description of my current reality. And thus I share.

She Won't Be Back Again

From dreamless sleep I waken
But the nightmare continues
She won't be back again

The sun is shining
The breeze is blowing
But the nightmare continues
She won't be back again

I see her in her children
Grandchildren carry on
And the nightmare continues
She won't be back again

Talking to an empty room
The pain of her absence lingers
And the nightmare continues
She won't be back again

Looking at pictures of her
She smiling back at me
But the nightmare continues
She won't be back again

Laying down to slumber
Dim the lights, mute the sound
Dreamless sleep a solace
In the morning the nightmare resumes
She will never be back again

I continue to cry. So many reminders do me in. The world continues to turn. Its inhabitants go on with their lives. So many seemingly impactful events unfold every day. I am aware of them but they seem less important than my grieving. And though I still wear the grease-paint, “I hurt all the time deep inside.”

Next week I’ll have another opportunity to be more cheerful in my musings. One can hope! Until then, know that I continue to ride the wakeful waves of dreams and nightmares. I hope for good dreams and wakeful states for all of you this week and beyond.

“Veteran Cosmic Rocker”

The final cut from Long Distance Voyager by The Moody Blues, along with its two preceding songs, are among my all-time favorites. They reflect the internal turmoil of a performer. However, they are also reflective of struggles I am confident we all wrestle with, at least from time to time. No doubt this series of recordings influenced my creation of Chameleon, which describes a person who changes colors to fit into various social situations.

For many years I described my musical affinity as the “Veteran Cosmic Rocker.” Even today, I can relate to keeping a smiling face and demeanor as I struggle with so many new challenges in my life. I invite you to read the lyrics and listen to the combined YouTube video.

Painted Smile

I can sing, I can dance
Just give me a chance
To do my turn for you
There's a chance I'll slip
But with stiff upper lip
I'll sing my song for you
Laughter is free
But it's so hard to be a jester all the time
And no one's believing I'm the same when I'm bleeding
And I hurt all the time deep inside
I've shed a tear for the lying
While everyday trying
To paint this smile for you
Backflips, cartwheeling, somersault feelings
What is there left to do?
Laughter is free
But it's so hard for me, a jester all the time
No one's believing I'm the same when I'm bleeding
And I hurt all the time deep inside
Roll up, roll up, enjoy the show
Pick me up, wind me up, put me down
You'll see me go
And this painted smile
May miss for a while
Then come back and steal your show
I sing, I dance
Give me a chance to do my turn for you
With backflips, cartwheeling, somersault feelings
What's there left to do?
Laughter is free
But it's so hard to be a jester all the time
No one's believing I'm the same when I'm bleeding
And I hurt all the time deep inside
Laughter is free
But it's so hard to be a jester all the time
No one's believing I'm the same when I'm bleeding
And I hurt all the time deep inside

Reflective Smile

Your painted smile hides you still
While you search yourself within
Yesterday and tomorrow's found
Fused as one upon solid ground
As all around the milling crowd
Confuse themselves with raging sounds
And their loves forgetfulness abounds
So be thankful for your greasepaint-clown
If loneliness wears the crown of the Veteran Cosmic Rocker

Veteran Cosmic Rocker

The lights go down, the stage is set
The man in the wings breaks out in sweat
A backstage joker spiked his coke
While the dressing room was full of smoke
A crowd of fools got him high
He's afraid he's gonna die
He's the apple of their eye
He steps into the remaining light
Crowd go wild, he's out of sight
Arms held high in the sign of peace
His manager signed the one night lease
The house is full getting high
He's afraid he's gonna die
He's the apple of their eye
He's the Veteran Cosmic Rocker
He steps into the remaining light
The crowd go wild, he's out of sight
Arms held high in the sign of peace
His manager signed the one night lease
The house is full getting high
He's afraid he's gonna die
He's the apple of their eye
He's the Veteran Cosmic Rocker
He's afraid that he will die

Moody Blues: Painted Smile~Reflective Smile~Veteran Cosmic Rocker video

Can you relate to these words? Do you like the music?

I played an open mic at West Music Thursday night. The most difficult aspect of performing is to calm my nerves. Past that, I must channel the situations and feelings that prompted me to write the songs at all. Focus. Keep within the words and music. Forget about the audience, though not completely. Eye contact. An occasional nod. A smile. Get my fingers to hold and pluck the strings. How do I get through a cramping hand? But I have to focus on the words.

These are only some of the challenges as I work on this major effort of my new life. Fear. Doubt. Sadness. Guilt. Expectation. You get the idea. It’s no wonder that performers are torn between their personal lives and their public personas. Supposedly, we have gifts. But they come at a cost. Just like everything else in all of our lives. Sometimes we are gifted. Sometimes we make choices. Regardless, we deal with them. Sometimes in the open, sometimes behind the veil of a smile, like the “grease-paint clown.”