Blessing

Having somewhere to go is home. Having someone to love is family. Having both is a blessing.

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Lighting it up in Manitou Springs. I know I have mentioned it before, but I must reiterate my delight at this tiny town. How it takes me right back to my eight-year-old self off on a jaunt with my family. A time when gift shops were filled with rock candy and honey-colored plaques and boxes of cedar construction. Names like Carlsbad and White Sands and Kansas burned onto them, sometimes with nifty pictures of their namesakes. There were also the cool Viewmaster wheels of tourist photos, often taken by some yahoo, who didn’t know squat about photography, slightly blurry or askew, but still a Viewmaster and therefore coveted. And I, with little money and no Viewmaster (sad face), would wander seriously for as long as my parents would allow, contemplating my most meaningful purchase. Usually a photo book or small piece of art in a plastic frame.

In this regard, I have changed only slightly. For this trip, I scored a delightfully small (4×12) painting of Garden of the Gods and Pikes Peak, after perusing every other offering. How lovely it looks in our little niche shelf, posing handsomely next to the Colorado State flag. I’ll show it to you sometime.

For now, I hope you enjoy the light and wonder of this magical season…

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Individual

And when he died, I suddenly realized I wasn’t crying for him at all, but for the things he did. I cried because he would never do them again, he would never carve another piece of wood or help us raise doves and pigeons in the backyard or play the violin the way he did, or tell us jokes the way he did. He was part of us and when he died, all the actions stopped dead and there was no one to do them the way he did. He was individual. He was an important man. I’ve never gotten over his death. Often I think what wonderful carvings never came to birth because he died. How many jokes are missing from the world, and how many homing pigeons untouched by his hands? He shaped the world. He did things to the world. The world was bankrupted of ten million fine actions the night he passed on.

Ray Bradbury

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Thinking of you, Grandpa.

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Mountains for Miles

Cutest cuddlers in the WORLD!

Mountains for miles…

The Collegiate Peaks

Mosquito Range

East Buffalo Peak

silly

More Collegiates

I read somewhere that people should never be best friends with their spouse. If you dare choose such an arrangement, you’ll be sorely lacking a mate to discuss your spouse is the logic. Rule breaker that I am, I find this foolish, for neither I nor Greg has any problem with airing our grievances with one another. I firmly believe this is why our relationship works. We talk. We complain. We call each other out on our bullshit. We also pass the best small moments together: walking, talking, driving, sitting, listening, laughing, and dining. We have no secrets, tell no lies. I cannot imagine a better or more fulfilling way for us to live.

I am most reminded of this when we travel and have the great privilege of leaving the everyday, how I love to look upon the hubster’s face while he drives, handsome and wizened and curious. How all the questions bubble and pop to the surface. What is your opinion? How can we do and be better? Why do I keep making the same mistake? Couple that with senses heightened by experiencing the novel (at least to us), away from the work and noise of home, both the literal and figurative.

This holiday there were hours and hours floating and dreaming in the hot springs, in daylight and moonlight, senses tuned to the rush of water, gales of wind, and falling of snow. How wonderful that nothing is off-limits. No question or thought, because we are best friends, living in the world together. There are great stretches when not a single word is spoken nor needed and similar times when there are so very many: eloquent, jumbled, silly. All carry the same weight. The weight that is US.

Kind

Hello babies. Welcome to Earth. It’s hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It’s round and wet and crowded. On the outside, babies, you’ve got a hundred years here. There’s only one rule that I know of, babies- “God damn it, you’ve got to be kind.”

Kurt Vonnegut

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