Enjoy The Pages of Your Life

(This is a long story, but I hope worth your time, DB) In the early 1980’s I lived in Colorado Springs, Colorado.  Two of the most amazing events in my life came along about that time. In February of 1982 my daughter was born.  Quiety and calmly she came into the world without a lot of fanfare or angst.  To this day I remember looking down into her dark blue eyes and simply getting lost there.  I thanked God she was ok, and knew instantly that here was a little life that I would always cherish. In December of 1982, on Christmas Eve we started about a thirty mile drive to spend that evening with my wife’s parents, who lived near a smaller town just east of us.  We closed the business we owned early in the afternoon, picked up my wife’s Grandmother in the northern part of the city, and began our short drive in good spirits on a cold, crisp, partly-sunny day. In good weather it normally took less than an hour, and was over paved roads in fairly good condition. Riding along in our 72’ Chevy Blazer we weren’t overly concerned about the weather.  The forecast had called for snow later in the evening; however we would certainly be to the in-laws house long before the weather worsened.  As we took our turn to the east the situation quickly became serious. My wife’s parents had once lived on this sparsely populated residential road before moving even farther east.  We were familiar with the terrain after many times traveled.  What we had not anticipated in spite of the familiarity was the suddenness and intensity of the storm we now faced.  Within only a few miles the weather had changed from lightly falling snow to near white out conditions—and we had not even yet reached the city limits. I had slowed the car as conditions became worse, and we were debating calling off the trip when suddenly the decision was made for us. Within only moments, blowing snow became a fierce wind.  Snow was quickly drifting not only across the road but in deep drifts on each side.  Out of no where a pick-up truck passed us cutting quickly into our lane.  Tapping the brake and warning my wife and her Grandmother to brace themselves, anticipating problems ahead, I suddenly was forced to swerve to miss the truck spinning wildly out of control in front of us.  As the truck slammed head on into a drift we barely missed it and sunk into a similar drift a short distance away. My first thought was for my daughter, who giggled back at me from her car seat behind me.  Although shaken, all three of my passengers were unhurt, and Grandmother was uncharacteristically cursing those in the truck.  Looking over at the truck through the blowing snow, we were close enough to see them waving at us apparently also unhurt. A problem with the 72’ Blazer was that, in order to put it in four-wheel drive, you had to lock the hubs on the front axle—from the outside, physically on the wheel hubs themselves.  As I quickly jumped from behind the driver’s seat to the ground several feet below, due to the large over-sized tires, the wind bit deeply through my winter coat.  Battling for only a few moments with my gloved hands at each hub I was already becoming chilled.  Although the front end was partially buried in the snow, I had little doubt that I could pull out with all four tires pulling. By this time, what had been only minutes before a dry, paved road with snow blowing across it, was now a solid sheet of ice.  The blowing snow had melted with the warmth of the road and quickly frozen from the wind chill.  Half a dozen times I tried to back out of the snow drift and each time there was little movement.  Twice I again went out into the cold to dig around the front which seemed to cover again as quickly as I could dig it out.  All four tires spun uselessly on the ice.  Quietly within myself I knew we could be in very real danger. It was finally decided that we would simply wait the storm out in the car.  We had over a half tank of gas, so the car could be kept running and keeping us warm while the storm raged on outside.  We had food for the baby, goodies for ourselves meant for Christmas dinner, heavy clothing, and even some candles we could use for additional warmth if necessary.  Although useless in such weather, the CB radio could be used to call out in an emergency once the weather cleared enough for the signal to carry more than a few hundred yards.  Cracking the windows slightly to allow in fresh air, we quietly discussed our plans.  Grandmother and wife had lived in Colorado all of their lives, while I myself had lived there for over 15 years myself.  We all agreed that the storm would blow itself out in a few hours and we could continue on after digging ourselves out. We considered going to the truck to ask them to join us, however that too was temporarily postponed until the weather let up.  None of us was in a hurry to invite a couple of, what appeared to be drunk cowboys, to join us immediately. What had been early afternoon quickly became late afternoon, then evening.  While the gas gauge fell lower and lower, the unseen sun also fell lower and lower in the sky.  To conserve fuel I began to run the engine only for ten or fifteen minutes at a time, just enough to keep the inside warm.  If anything, the storm seemed to intensify. Anyone who has never been in a complete white-out cannot imagine what it feels like.  Visibility is only a few feet.  All sense of direction is gone because there is no frame of reference for your eyes.  There is nothing but a glaring, white, blowing mass of snow anywhere you look. Read the rest of this entry »

I thought you might Enjoy a little beauty   These pics were taken at the University of Hawaii, Manoa.

I was amazed that I remembered the way after all those years.  As we wound down to the river, along the twisting, dusty dirt road, somehow my heart remembered each turn. My teenaged daughter’s excitement in the seat next to me was nearly palpable, her green eyes gleaming with anticipation and joy.  After a long, dry spell of life, it was certainly good to be back again and away from the tension of the city.

“Come on, Dad!” she yelled with excitement, as she dove with her silver air mattress into the clear, icy water.  It isn’t for nothing that the river is named the “Frio” (the Spanish word for cold).  Over 90 degrees in the hot Texas sun, yet the spring-fed river never got much over 65 degrees.  It was like jumping from a hot and humid sauna into a river of ice cubes.  I chuckled as I watched my sisters and their children, who had waited patiently for us, as they gingerly entered the water ahead of me.

My daughter and her cousins giggled and splashed around me, and I floated quietly down the long and twisting river with the gentle current.  I finally began to relax.  The coolness of the water, the laughter of the children, and the warmth of the sunny, clear day surrounded me.  Familiar trees hung out over the water like old friends welcoming me back, large green branches spread wide, waving gently as we passed underneath.  It had been a long time.

As a small boy growing up, some of my favorite times were spent visiting my grandparents here and floating down this very river.  The river hadn’t changed much over the years, but I certainly had.  Still, years in the Army, moving to Colorado and life with a child of my own had not done much to dull the memories I had of this place.

Our visit several years earlier had been when my father passed away.  I remembered with sadness, that my sisters and I had helped my mother pack his things away.  With my three sisters and me spread all over the country and living in different states, it wasn’t often we were all together in the same place.  A nice change–this was at least a happy time visiting my mother that I could share with my daughter.

A nudge on my mattress wakened me from my musings.  “Hey, the waterfall is just ahead,” my sister Vicki quietly reminded me.  I nodded with a sly grin and a wink in the kids’ direction, waiting to see if they were paying attention.  I wasn’t worried about them since they are all excellent swimmers, but a sudden drop of ten or fifteen feet into a frigid pool can certainly be an eye-opener.  We hung back slightly with anticipation to see if our more humorous side was to be rewarded this time at our daughters’ expense.

Laughing and splashing each other, all the while closely packed together, neither realized their fate until first one, then the other fell, legs saluting the sky with abandon, followed swiftly by screams of mixed glee and startled awareness.  My sister Terri, who had obviously forgotten the traditional dunking of the last one in, at least abandoned her characteristic attempts at being dignified as she mock-fought off the children.  The tiny little girl I remembered running to meet me, chubby legs pumping, as I stepped off the school bus so many years before, was still there behind the grown woman’s eyes.

We passed all of our favorite childhood memories that day as we wound slowly down the Frio, the cool current caressing us and bringing us both the relief of the present and the fond memories of days long ago.  Stopping here and there, we shared our own memories with our children. The old, thick rope still hung where we had used it to swing with reckless abandon over the waiting river, and the clear deep turquoise pool, where the little fish still came to tickle our toes, was as inviting as ever.

Our energy drained by the bright, hot sun, our eyes heavy with relaxation and the hours we had spent on our river, our journey came to an end all too soon.  Dragging our leaden bodies from the water one last time, we stood for a moment looking back at the river as the dimming sun hid low behind the trees.  It was as if we were saying farewell once again to an old and dear friend, not knowing when we would see them again.

“Come on, you kids,”  My mother on the road above woke us from our thoughts. “Your sister has dinner almost ready back at the house.”  In the fading sunlight, she smiled widely as she waited for us to struggle our way up the steep and slippery bank as she had done so many times before, sparse frame and graying hair in her sixties still reflecting the quiet inner beauty she had always carried within her.  She rarely saw all of her children and grandchildren together–spread as we were across the map.  At least for a moment I could see the happiness shine in her hazel eyes like flecks of gold on jade velvet, through the sadness of my father’s passing she still felt, and her own fight with cancer.

This is how we would remember my mother, my daughter and I:  her smile and quiet manner belying the pain she felt, or perhaps overcome with the joy of her loved ones together one last time.  For this was to be our last time together.  My mother passed away a few months later and somehow I think she knew.

The river waits patiently for us, as it did for Mom when she was a child, its serenity and calm beckoning, yet the call now is bittersweet.  In our hearts, we always will have the memory of our last trip down the Frio.

What I Believe

I have come to believe, in my life, that the most important thing of all, in life, is wisdom.  With wisdom, all of the other good things life has to offer are there.

My life has always been a search for wisdom in many ways.  When I was a child, I looked to my parents for the wisdom to know the difference between right, and wrong.  I looked to my parents, to help me find my path through childhood.

As a teenager, I looked to the many books I read, to understand the world I lived in, and found what wisdom I could from them.  In school, I looked to my teachers, but although they had plenty of truths, there were few concrete answers to true wisdom.  Like many teenagers, I had many questions, but few real answers I could understand.

As a young man, I looked to the world for the answers, the wisdom to understand the people around me.  I looked to books once again, but most of all I looked to real people.

Then, as an adult, I began to understand the nature of wisdom.  Wisdom isn’t just how much we learn about everything else in our world.  Wisdom is about how we view ourselves in our world.  Wisdom is about us.

I have found that there is no short path to wisdom.  In our youth, we always believe that we know all the answers, when we rarely even know the right questions to ask.  As we grow in our lives, we learn that sometimes knowing what questions to ask is as important as the answers.

I have never reached the age to where I could be called truly wise, nor do I expect to.  I expect to learn throughout my lifetime, about myself, and about my world.

What I have discovered, is that wisdom needs to be shared.  Some of us do have a measure of wisdom.  To keep that knowledge to ourselves would be wrong.  Sharing our knowledge, and wisdom with others, makes wisdom of value.

A philosopher might say, that wisdom is the “Greatest Good”, and to this I would say that wisdom is the most important thing of all.  With wisdom, comes the knowledge of ourselves, and the knowledge of how we fit into this life.  Unshared wisdom; however, is as if it never were.

Ever have those times when you feel like your life has turned to crap, and you’re just waiting for the final flush?

I always tell myself that when that happens, I just need to wait just a little longer and it will turn around again.  It always does, but sometimes it sure seems like it takes forever.

About this time last year my daughter Jan, her husband, and my granddaughter Orchid moved back to Colorado.  With her birthday the end of June, I was thinking about little Orchid quite a bit… and missing all of them.  We’ve kind of been out of contact for a while for various reasons.

Somehow things always seem to work themselves out. On Father’s Day I opened my email to a Happy Father’s Day from my daughter ,we’ve spoken several times since, and you may even see her posting here from time to time.  Funny how a little thing like hearing from a loved one can brighten your day and your outlook on life.

Life has a wonderful way of working itself out.  Sometimes you just have to wait for it.