Category: Travels

Another Season

Driving the back roads toward central Iowa this week, I was reminded again of the beauty in the changing seasons. Giant, rolled hay bales break up the landform of freshly harvested, stubble fields. Machinery still dots tire-track paths around them.

And the trees! I was lucky to have picked this week to travel. Last week would have been too soon. Next week the cold and wind will bring down most of the colored leaves in the trees and turn those remaining, brown and brittle. As viewing goes, this year’s turning is, in my opinion, above average, with the full range of greens, yellows, oranges, reds, and browns splattered on the clear blue canvas sky, in contrast to plain tan/brown fields at the feet of trees on the hill tops and along the waterways. These pics were taken on my return trip. A cloudy day with periods of spitting rain.

(There is more to read after these pictures)

Near the Iowa River
Cemetery Road

Two recordings came to mind while driving and gawking at the wonders of nature. The first is Leaves That Are Green by Simon and Garfunkel. Beautiful poetry! Kind of sad. Light and lilt tune.

I was twenty-one years when I wrote this song
I’m twenty-two now, but I won’t be for long
Time hurries on
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither with the wind
And they crumble in your hand

Once my heart was filled with the love of a girl
I held her close, but she faded in the night
Like a poem I meant to write
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither with the wind
And they crumble in your hand

I threw a pebble in a brook
And watched the ripples run away
And they never made a sound
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither with the wind
And they crumble in your hand

Hello, hello, hello, hello
Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye, good-bye
That’s all there is
And the leaves that are green turn to brown

Simon and Garfunkel

The other “song” is The Dream from On the Threshold of a Dream album by The Moody Blues. I’m sure I’ve quoted The Moody Blues in prior posts. So many of their songs spoke to me in my youth and young adulthood. Shout out to Sam who suggested To Our Children’s, Children’s, Children as the first vinyl album I ever bought. At one point, I’m sure I owned a copy of them all! My brother, Bruce, always suggests their earlier music, pre-Justin Hayward. Also good stuff. He also gave me an excellent Moody Bluegrass album.

When the white eagle of the North is flying overhead
And the browns, reds and golds of autumn lye in the gutter dead
Remember then the summer birds with wings of fire flame
Come to witness springs new hope, born of leaves decaying
And as new life will come from death

Love will come at leisure
Love of love, love of life and giving without measure
Gives in return a wondrous yearn for promise almost seen
Live hand in hand and together we’ll stand
On the threshold of a dream

The Moody Blues

Also previously mentioned, nearly everything I experience on a daily basis reminds me of a song or some music. Or, in moments of revelation, I create my own. Simply said, I love music!

“To everything there is a (another)…“

Ecclesiastes (and The Byrds)

On Thursday, a neighbor showed me a picture of our neighborhood, taken from a drone, showing the fall colors. Beyond the Field Day Brewing Company building and condos are our homes. I can see the red-leafed tree in my back yard, and the one in the picture leading this post! Amazing photograph and colors. Enjoy!

“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.

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?

Debut

Tomorrow, I will fulfill a commitment I made a year ago to prepare my music and play in public, when I perform up to 24 original songs at the church where Pam and I met and married. I didn’t realize at the time, about a month after she died, that following through on a dream of performing publicly while traveling around Iowa and beyond, would become such an important part of my grief journey.

Pam and I loved to drive the back roads to towns and eating establishments. We hoped it would be a significant aspect of our retirement. Fun travels. And I would ask hosts and barkeeps if I might sit in a corner and play. With Pam’s passing, I decided to keep the dream alive.

I’ve been working/playing nearly every day for a year leading up to this point. Tomorrow is my debut. I’m not sure where I go from here, but I’m working on new goals like recording the rest of my current play list, as well as polishing another group of songs that have been on a back burner for years. Playing at open mics will help keep sharp what I have been working so hard to develop.

Attempting to share more of me through my music, I have updated my Songs page to include all of the songs from Catching Up on Life, recorded in 2013. Hopefully, that page will grow significantly over the next few weeks/months as I record more of my current repertoire.

This is a bittersweet occasion. So many memories, hopes, emotions, challenges, and now, fulfilment. My love, Pam, made this all possible. She listened (probably more than she wanted). She encouraged. She dreamed along with me. She allowed me to be me. Even in death Pam’s love for me, and mine for her, helped me get through the roughest times and begin to create a future for me, without her. A future that still includes her through memories and songs. Songs of love and affection about and to her.

I will play on. For Pam. For me. To share with all of you who might listen. I am humbled and hopeful.

Another Milestone and More to Come

Today, July 27th, is the 365th day of reading Healing After Loss by Martha W. Hickman. It is the “last” page for me since one can begin any day and continue for a year. I have been partaking of this ritual faithfully for the past year, even before my first cup of coffee, as I have wanted to get my head and heart around my feelings and the challenges of each day of grief and rebuilding my life.

Before opening the book today, I suggested to myself that it will be interesting to find out if it would contain something profoundly pertinent to this day, or only another encouraging message to help me get through the day, and the year. I am quoting the page in its entirety below:

The quote

Since her grief had brought her fully to birth and wakefulness in this world, an unstinting passion had moved in her, like a live stream flowing deep underground, by which she knew herself and others and the world.

Wendell Berry

The Message

It is a difficult birth – this coming into full wakefulness through grief – and not everyone comes out ennobled. But since the rewards of doing it well are as multitudinous as the stars in the sky, it behooves us to do whatever we can to come through well.

What may it take? Attention to our own needs, our state of mind. Reading. Rest. A willingness to be vulnerable again. Counseling, maybe. Talking with understanding friends. For some, prayer, meditation, participation in a healing community.

What we can be sure of is that we will be different. Whether we will be embittered and sad or compassionate and, in a deep sense, happy is not totally within our power to decide. But the outcome may be more within our power than we think. Like any birth, it has its pains and dangers. But it is new life at stake here – new life!

Marth W. Hickman

The Thought

I will use all the power I possess to come through this well.

Martha W. Hickman

This message encapsulates how I have spent all of my energy this past year (plus). These things I have done, in one form or another. I am confident that I will not be embittered but rather I feel renewed compassion for people, all of whom have their griefs and challenges to bear and come through. And though the pains and dangers still arise, I look forward to my new life, though a life without Pam, knowing she is always with me in my heart and that this is what she would want for me.

Thank you Martha Hickman (now deceased), for grounding me with your daily messages, walking with me along this arduous path through loss and grief. I am putting your book aside for now, knowing that it will be there any day of the year I need it as an anchor for my soul.

Pam’s 72nd Birthday is Tuesday, July 11th (I used to call it lucky 7/11). I am celebrating by playing my first “concert” at our home church in Northern Iowa on Sunday the 9th, a milestone in my commitment to Pam and me. It will be followed by a celebration for Pam’s Birthday with family. A celebration of Pam’s life. A celebration also of survival, of coming through.

California – Not a Bust – The Long, But Enjoyable Trip Home

(The third in this 3-part series to chronicle my recent trip)

Traveling down the interior west of California was less stressful than expected. My B-I-L and I worked out a route that kept me away from major cities like LA. I whizzed past vineyards and fruit farms, and on through desert, mountains, and hills, though most of the trip was through flatlands.

I eventually arriving for a visit with my niece in Palm Desert. We had a great evening catching up on our lives and drinking wine while watching the sun set over the mountains from her balcony. She enjoys the view every evening. Thank you, Mindy, for being – you, and for sharing your new life and hospitality with me. Too much fun!

On toward my next destination, a visit with Pam’s brother in Chandler, AZ. But not before a side trip to Joshua Tree National Park. This was a scheduled stop I planned when I realized that it was only a short distance out of the way to AZ. Though I hadn’t planned to stop for long, I decided to drive through the park, and am so happy I did.

Pictures don’t adequately convey the vastness of space punctuated by hundreds, even thousands, of Joshua Trees, which are actually more cactus than tree. The rock formations were an added bonus. Rock climbers frequent the craggy uprisings. There is even one called Skull Rock for obvious reasons. I did not stop for a close up as there was a crowd and I wanted to get through the park. But this is well worth the visit if you are in the general area.

Exiting the park, I was at the east end of Twenty-nine Palms, CA. I turned right and immediately came upon a sign saying “No Services Next 108 Miles.” Into the desert I went. I kept thinking about how Hotlanta insisted I bring plenty of water on the trip – just in case. Fortunately, I didn’t need it, as my trusty Honda steed performed faithfully and fluently through the gradual rises and falls across the desert landscape. And what a landscape! Broken up only by distant mountains, the paved road I was on and often could see for many miles ahead, a few named, sandy roads that darted either left or right into the tumbleweed leading to humble trailers and shacks, dwellings of those who dared challenge the harsh desert environment. On to Phoenix. Too much fun!

My brother-in-law, Dave, and I developed a connection last year during the last days of Pam’s time alive on this earth. I’m not sure if it is our artistic affinity, our place in line as third of four siblings, or just our similar natures. Whatever it is, I appreciate him and am happy to have had the opportunity to visit him in his home and hang out for an extra stopover day.

Mexican food was finally on the menu. I’d been in the southwest for nearly a week and had yet to sample this cuisine. Dave took me to a couple places having different atmosphere and menus. Thank you, Dave!

Between eating and sleeping we found time to work on a 1,500 piece jigsaw puzzle (are you done yet, Dave?) and enjoyed a hot, rocky hike up the Telegraph Pass Trail, southwest of the city. Though a bit of a challenge, we enjoyed the outdoors, exercise, and companionship afforded to those who make the journey.

That’s a tall cactus in the distance on the ridge
We started at the level of those buildings, around the mountain to the right. Dave catching a bit of the little available shade

My time with Dave was yet another in a list of highlights I experienced during this cross-country trip. I appreciate just being in good company doing things we enjoy together. What a gift! Too much fun!

Traveling on toward my next layover in Santa Fe included an unexpected side trip to Petrified Forest National Park, a remote exit along I-40 in the middle of the desert. I enjoyed browsing the visitor center and gift shop, viewing (and touching) the exhibits, and adding several shot glasses to my collection. Unfortunately, the most interesting natural displays of petrified trees are near the south end of a 26-mile drive with no way back to the interstate except by backtracking. My daily trek was too long to afford the time, so on I drove. My stay in Santa Fe was short and uneventful.

On to Kearney, Nebraska. Another beautiful, windy, undulating drive through the mountains poured me out to the rolling plains of southeast Colorado. Sadly leaving the mountains behind, I left the interstate, taking state highways through NW Kansas and up into southern Nebraska. Four states in one day.

I could see billowing, cauliflower clouds building far in the distance in the direction I was going. Technology has its place and came in handy as I opened my weather app, flipping back and fourth between it and my route in Google Maps. This led to a series of route changes keeping me west of the storms. Unfortunately, they were directly over the Kearney area. I couldn’t avoid them forever. Fortunately, I went through only a few miles of downpour on I-80 as I approached Kearney from the west. The rain was over by the time I got there and it didn’t rain again until the overnight hours.

The mad dash home with cloudy skies and the final 471 miles ahead. I caught the heavy rain again in Lincoln as, in my mind, I barreled onward toward home. It was time. Unfortunately, traffic from Omaha east was heavy, especially for a Saturday, with the unavoidable road construction and semis passing semis, which actually caused more delay than all of the construction I encountered. I just want to get home!

And, of course, I did. The end of one of the best trips I’ve had in a while. Partly for what I didn’t experience along with the good times I did. I didn’t experience constant sorrow, nor the need to be home, nor the constant pain of missing Pam, she not being able to share the trip with me, nor even the ability to call and tell her about it. Yes, I did feel those things along the way. My thoughts and emotions are still sore, but healing. I am sad that life has to be this way. But I am glad that life goes on. And, so far, with me a part of it.

Thank you, Hotlanta, for taking the initiative to make this happen. I know it was good for all of us. And it was – too much fun!