Goals and Dreams, Health and Long Life, Music and Theatre, Musical resolutions

In A Music Town; part II, adult musicians

1 Comment

Eight musicians, count them. All well over the age of 21. Four in their sixties. Four GenXers. All lifetime musicians. All proficient and experienced and talented enough to have made a career of music, yet their daytime jobs are thus: The drummer is an emergency room doctor; the horn section consists of a nurse, a counselor, and a dentist. The guitarist is an engineer. At the keys, a non-profit administrator with experience as a music teacher. Singing vocals and playing every auxiliary instrument one can think of is a classically trained musician turned marketing and design agent. The instructor possesses a music doctorate and spends his days wallowing in music education and arranging music for students of all ages.

They participated recently in an adult band showcase – four adult bands sampled from the twelve possible adult bands of differing skill levels at a music school boasting 800 students. Comments overheard at the showcase included such nuggets as, “hard to tell there for a minute if that wasn’t Kansas on Carry On My Wayward Son.” “These bands are ready to be gigging fulltime.” “I had no idea….”

Seriously! Who would have thought? Adults. With careers. Working professional jobs every weekday and rehearsing weeknights. Grownups who never gave up on their music. Students in a music school of 800 students. In an – anything but sleepy – little town of about 20,000.

And she – one of the multitude of graying baby-boomers – she is so fortunate to live in a music town; a town musical and savvy and bohemian enough to support a music school; a school that reveres rock and jazz and classical excellence. A school that has rehearsal studio space and instructors and arrangers and gear and instruments and show contacts and a gig trailer and a roster of better musicians to play with.

Emotional Health, Health and Long Life, Spiritual Well Being

In My Opinion; Hot Springs

Leave a comment

In her opinion (and her opinions seem to have grown stronger in recent years); a decent vacation needs to start or end with a visit to a hot springs. She has been known to lengthen trips – both business and pleasure -just to soak at Glenwood Springs, Ouray or Pagosa. Her favorite detour for the past 10 years has been the Wiesbaden in Ouray. This former hospital, and previous sacred place for Chief Ouray, is her happy place, a place of healing and spiritual renewal.

But happy places have a downside. If one goes there too often, the place may lose its effectiveness -a body may become somewhat immune. If one goes too infrequently, the feelings of nostalgia, the memories of the past may delay and belay you in sadness on the way to recovery from the current stress. One’s memory bank will offer up such tidbits as: Here is the hot springs where I stopped and soaked when my boss was acting as a cantankerous addict. Here is where I came for reenergizing when my mother was in her declining months. Ah, but here is where I first found emotional health after the rending of a marriage. 

Perhaps she took a little long floating on her back and gazing at the stars sprinkled sky. Long enough to notice that most of the stars that night were actually fast-moving satellites and not the beloved twinkling stars she had enjoyed the precious visit. Perhaps she indulged the grief and took too many steps down the path of memory lane. In any case the warm waters of the outdoor pool did not feel effective. She was disappointed. This was to be a short stay, only one night. She rose from the pool, shivering as she wrapped herself in a cold towel and padded across the frozen flagstones. Down she went, into the lower depths of the spa, to the vapor caves. And there in the semi-darkness and echoing steam; once again was rung from her lips the hallelujah-the acknowledgement that something greater than herself was coming through Nature, rolling like a gentle tsunami and straight to her soul. Once again she felt royal – like Chief Ouray – cared for, protected, rejuvenated, clear-headed. She felt like every mile she had ever walked, every move forward she had ever made – was worth it.

Pro tips for hot springs:

If you are cool by the time you get back to your room, you didn’t stay in the vapor cave long enough.

Bring two swimsuits. You will want to go in the pool frequently and no one likes pulling on a clammy bathing suit.

Whenever possible, stay at the hotel adjacent to the hot springs. I view this in much the same way as hiking. Who wants to drive several minutes to a hot springs, find a parking space, enjoy the springs and then drive back to their lodging?

Conversely, don’t write off a hot springs just because there is no lodging nearby or because you can’t afford lodging. You can’t afford not to at least dip your toes in every hot springs you can find. So don’t write off the Hippy Dip in Pagosa or the tiny Rico Hot Springs or Penny Hot Springs or that one in Yellowstone flowing into the river just because there is no building or development. You should even stop at Pinkerton, even though you can only touch your toes in the hot water these days.

Carry a beach towel in your car and dip your toes and your entire body (skinny or not) into every hot springs you can find. Once will be enough for some. Others will become your happy place and you will long to return again and again. Just do it! And sing your oms and your hallelujahs!

Poetry and Prose, River, Uncategorized

Artsy Fartsy Autumn Blessing

Leave a comment

May you continue to be surprised by good days.

May you hold them fast; and just loosely enough to enjoy every moment and not be plagued by expectations they will last or fail.

May you be gob-smacked by beauty frequently enough to rise every morning in anticipation and close each evening with a sigh of content; and have hard work enough placed in your path to keep you rooted firmly in reality.

May your soul be always limber enough to dance; and your spirit strong to love.

May you have equal parts romance and intellect so you never have to choose between the two.

Life is good.

Be grateful always.

Herewith, some pictures of what I mean:

Uncategorized

Annual Inspiration

14 Comments

Facebook is the 2022 version of what we once enjoyed in the yearbook or the high school annual. Except statuses are never updated, re-touched professional photos don’t wrinkle, what you were in 1972 is what you remain. Published with your 1970s style, pursuits, personality, achievements forever bound at the age of 17 or nearly 18 or fully 18. Old yearbooks are historical markers – the year in photos – the year in black and white. Today they serve as memory tools, something to clear the cobwebs and fuel the ruminations. Why have I kept them? The high school years I remember are a long dark tunnel of striving to be myself and pursue my interests but being confined at every turn by boundaries I was not allowed to cross; parental boundaries, personal boundaries, insecurities, popularity contests for which I had no prerequisites. Yet, I hang on to these tomes. 1970, 1971 and 1972. Frankly, I find them inspiring. Not the individual photos, oh no. Not the ballpoint pen inscriptions, though two or three of them were authentic, sincere and custom. The memories that stay with me to this day are the snippets of literature, poems, song lyrics – the prompts that set the stage for the journalistic layout of each volume.

Tiger 1970: Moving On

Like a long, lonely stream I keep runnin’ towards a dream, movin’on, movin’on.

Like a branch on a tree I keep reachin’ to be free, movin’ on, movin’on.

Cause there’s place in the sun where there’s hope for everyone,

Where my poor restless heart’s gotta run.

There’s a place in the sun and before my life is done,

Got to find me a place in the sun.

A Place in the Sun Ronald Miller, Bryan Wells (1966)

Do you remember the emotion? Do you remember the angst? Do you remember the feeling of being heard and understood, wrapped in a hug by words? Do you remember the need to belong? And the comfort of knowing there was a place for you? I do!

I was sophomoric, emotional, hormonally vulnerable and the words hit me like a ton of bricks. Oh, I had heard the song before. But here it was. In the high school annual. Chosen by a yearbook committee I had never met and they understood!

Tiger Seventy-two:

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; for they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons…

If you compare yourself to others you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself…

Keep interested in your career…

Exercise caution in your business affairs… From Desiderata, Max Ehrmann (1927)

Even though I was a fan of literature and a consummate reader – particularly when I should have been doing my homework and carving a place for myself in academia – I had not, to that date encountered Desiderata

The impact was huge. At a time in life I could rarely think of with any placidity. From years of comparing myself to others; first chair, second chair, highest soprano, lowest alto, most virtuous, worst kid on the block, law abiding hedonist, fair maiden or cuckold, jilted sweetheart; came this gem of advice for a life well-lived. I took it as seeing into the darkest needs and recesses of my soul. I found the printed plaque. I nailed it to the wall. But I rarely stood and read it. More often, I returned to Tiger Seventy-two where I could savor the scent of the book binding and read the prose poem traditionally. And gradually over the years as I bucked the inevitable challenges of relationships – both business and social – I turned the pages and aged gracefully (I hope) with the other members of the Class of ’72. I read penned inscriptions, some insipid and false and some personal like this from a favorite music teacher, “…students who feel and enjoy as you do are rare.” Gradually I came to feel at peace with my past and God as I understood God, to feel like I truly was a child of the Universe no less than the trees and the stars. And to know that at least one or two other persons actually “got me” and understood who I was and who I was meant to be.

399 of us, regardless of any other shared background or similarities were thrown together as the Class of ’72 by a collection of Jerrymandering statistics known as transportation boundaries, classroom capacity, and baby boom. Therefore, we have a shared educational experience of one to twelve years that causes us to meet every decade or so – and particularly this 50th year – for a thing called a reunion.

“And gay lustiness will give way to age and truth” Tiger 1971, Janet Schwietert, Tiger Tales 1967.

Uncategorized

Choose to Adventure

Leave a comment

I planned a mini adventure wherein I rose at dawn, pulled on my board shorts and shirt and put the kayak in the water, heading upstream to Oxbow preserve. Along the way I sited a big lumbering cinnamon bear on a sandbar, seven geese swimming, ten ducklings and a momma duck out for a morning gander. Returning home, I called my 90-year-old dad. He informed me that my brother -at that very moment – was winging his way to the Artic Circle – presumably to explore and observe and capture photos. Now that is an enviable adventure! 

My roommate – the wilderness ranger, rose before dawn the next day, left the house in her Forest Service uniform, drove the agency truck to Silverton where she loaded 900 pounds of hay onto the vintage narrow gauge train that’s been chuffing through the wilderness for more than a hundred years; added panniers of tools and a 70 pound backpack, rode shotgun (without the shotgun) back to the Chicago Basin flag stop where she met two team members to unload the hay needed to feed the mules -beasts of burden who schlepped in the explosives. For the next three days they (the humans not the mules) slept in scout tents, planted explosives; communicated by satellite with emergency rescue helicopters, guarded unsuspecting hikers from entering the danger zone and pushed plungers on explosives gained through specially arranged permits to clear out the rock fall and avalanche log jams; cross-cut and cleared the resulting fallout; tidied up the whole process like they had never been there and caught the train back out to civilization. All so that the Continental and Colorado hikers can stay the trail and leave the wilderness untrammeled. That too is adventure. Choose your own. Adventure. Make it a good one.

Character, Emotional Health, Goals and Dreams, Health and Long Life, Uncategorized

Something to live for

Leave a comment

Would we ever have adventures if we always had something to live for? Some of us would, I am sure. Some are always giving it their best shot, always repeating, “it’s now or never.” But timid, conscientious rule bound folks like me, would we ever have adventures if we always had something to live for?

She was packing up her minimal overnight cargo bag in the basement of her oldest son’s sleekly remodeled home. One of the last items she folded into the bag was a silk robe – straight from China and straight from China Town. She has considered it part of her wardrobe now for 13 years – used only for light travel – and therefore hung in the back of the closet, unused for much of the intervening time. 

2009. That was the year she took off and traveled solo, caught the train to San Francisco, booked a cheap hotel sight unseen, rode the connecting bus from the train station across the Golden Gate Bridge and to her lodging and spent three days exploring the heart of San Francisco, the crooked street, the wharf, the pier. That was the year the sea lion rose out of the water for her and her alone – no one else was on the misty pier – and blew her a kiss. That was the year she forgot to pack a robe. She needed one. Not for her solo motel room. Not for the train. But her next stop was Washington and Seattle where she would be staying with cousins. A robe would be necessary. She purchased a silk robe. She traveled forward, visited cousins and an aunt.

She returned to Colorado glad to have had the experience. Glad to have taken the risk. She went on to take many more risks because she had nothing left to lose. Her kids were grown, gone from home. Her 20-year marriage was over. She had, quite literally not a thing for which she had to be overly responsible. For eleven years she lived alone. She lived and hiked and adventured and worked in beautiful places. Seattle. Utah. Arizona. Once again, Colorado.

These days she hikes and kayaks and plays music and writes and has a great roommate and new friends. Old friends come to visit and hike and explore. Life is good. But as she packs the silk robe from China Town, she asks herself, am I still ready and willing, eager, game for new adventures? Solitary adventures? A little bit of risk? Or has life become so sweet; do I have so much to live for that I can no longer step out of my box and risk a little?

Books and other Soul Food, Emotional Health, Goals and Dreams, Health and Long Life

I Love My Life

Leave a comment

I love my life. I love my Victorian apartment. I love living within two blocks of hiking trails.

One of my most frequently re-watched romcoms is Sabrina. – the one starring Harrison Ford – but it is not Harrison Ford that attracts me to this particular movie.  A favorite scene is Sabrina talking to her father – a grown man – a man the age I am now, older and wiser. He is, by occupation, a chauffeur for a wealthy and successful family. He lives in the studio apartment over the garage. I can identify with that. I have lived in studio apartments. I have lived in a studio apartment over a garage. I have a daughter of marriageable age – as does he. I find the idea of a studio apartment over the garage romantic enough that I wrote one into a novel – The Cemetery Wives. Anyway, in an apartment over the garage, well-appointed but cluttered with books, the mature man and his daughter are conversing. His daughter is a grown woman just returned from a year abroad. 

She reminisces that one of the things she loves about her dad is that he decided to become a chauffeur so he would have time to read. He has loved his life all those years; made a living, become financially secure, while just waiting in the car for the Larabees. Waiting and reading – doing what he most loved – all the while improving his mind and his bank account

The weather was perfect as I walked home from Jean-Pierre – the French, French Bakery at noon. The slit in the side of my little black tank dress let in a cooling breeze, my silver-trimmed sandals were perfect for the weather and for walking. I was coming home from an activity I most love; sitting at a grand piano and playing for 3 or 4 hours, evoking musical memories for all the guests dining on crepes and French pastries, and in the process making my daily bread. “I love my life,” I said to myself, “What a wonderful world! I love living in the mountains. I love being in Colorado. I love the great out of doors. I love life in Durango. I love that I get to make music every blessed day!” I am reminded of something I heard Paul Harvey say many years ago, “Find something you love to do and do it so well you make a living at it.”

Emotional Health, Goals and Dreams, Health and Long Life, Spiritual Well Being

Fun is a luxury

Leave a comment

He stood, stooped and bent, and leaning on a walking stick. A whimsical smile played around the corners of his mouth and a plaid fedora sat jauntily on his head. He chuckled, watching his grandson load six paddleboards atop the roof of a Ford Expedition. He shuffled a few feet toward them as daughter and grandson hefted a kayak to the top of her Rav4. “What a lot of work,” he commented, “for a little bit of fun.”

Had it been fun? Yes! 90 minutes on a sundrenched lake in the waning days of summer. Bliss. Beauty. Invigoration. Was it work? Undeniably, yes. She had driven two and a half hours from Durango and past Telluride just to spend a couple hours with her grown son, her aging father, her four grandkids, her daughter-in-law and the DIL’s parents – a standard, but all too infrequent meet-up in the gorgeous mountains of Colorado. Was it worth it? Isn’t fun always worth it? A day spent on the water is soul nourishing. Yet a spontaneous meet-up is very rare amidst responsibilities and work commitments. 

Fun seems so expensive in the day-to-day rush. Fun costs time. Fun costs effort.

If we are not careful, somewhere around the age of 25 we lose our grip on fun. We are too exhausted to go the extra mile for recreation, and we feel duty bound to do the unfun tasks first. Unless of course we have doctor’s orders to run every morning – or hike – or go for a swim – or sit in the sun! Then we can take our recreation like a pill, mark it off the list like a chore and not feel guilty about recreating.,  

She remembers fun when she was young and tagging along with her parents. They were youth sponsors in the local church. Having barely grown into adulthood themselves, they remembered how to plan fun activities. Youth get togethers, being church sanctioned, were obviously for the glory of God so copious amounts of time were spent lavishly decorating spook houses, bobbing for apples or taking a moonlit hayride. Likewise, church picnics could rightly be considered obligations. No amount of effort was too great to shlep the ice chest of cold fried chicken and potato salad to the group picnic site or to set up the volleyball net or horseshoe pit. But her understanding, her unspoken training, her unconsciously formed opinion was that personal recreation is selfish, self-centered, and therefore ungodly.

Here’s a newsflash: some people garden for fun. It is true! Also true that some garden to survive and it becomes acknowledged, hard work. But garden hobbyists, they work long hours, bending, stooping, hauling and they exude enjoyment.

Some people fish. For fun! Not for food. They rise before dawn and move silently to the river. They stroke and cast and stroke and cast and sometimes they catch. And then they release. For fun. Just for fun. They are home in time for breakfast – before the sun blazes over the one remaining mountain. 

Her perspective throughout early adulthood was that fun was expensive; a luxury, forbidden fruit, pleasure to be quaffed only when every other self-sacrifice had been performed to generate income. Now she knows that fun itself may take a copious amount of effort. She must be content to embrace that work, those duties, and then luxuriate in the fun – reap the benefits of rejuvenation!

Uncategorized

A Beautiful Neighborhood

Leave a comment

Something changed in the neighborhood this year. Like most changes, it takes a while to discern if the change is for the better. We got a new landlord. Don’t read me wrong, we liked our old managers and most of us experienced a bit of trepidation at the change. The lease ran out for our noisiest neighbor and thus provided the Peace my roommate had been praying for. Our second noisiest neighbor got a different boyfriend and settled down. Things got a bit sloppier for a few months with regard to yard care, but it was winter and no one really noticed. Interior problems like hot water heaters and furnaces were addressed promptly. Along about April, we received notice that our rents would go up. Although this was unwelcome news, it was not unexpected. Housing, both purchased and leased, has sky-rocketed in our town. Then came the spring and that stirring desire to get things reborn. My neighbor to the east has been clamoring to garden for the past two years to no avail. Our old managers, while kind, were fearful of individualization run amuck and kept everything uniform. Groundcover. Exotic shrubs. Rules about no personalized porches. The two hanging basket hooks on my porch watched the passing world with empty eyes. Useless. Meanwhile, my roommate laid plans to hatch a homestead complete with sustaining garden. She dreamt of owning 10 acres in New Mexico, yet she languished in town in an 1880s row house. 

As spring came on, shortly after we received notice of rents increase coming in summer, we also received an additional written communication. Tenants were granted permission for potted plants on porches. Hanging baskets were encouraged. A monetary allowance was provided each unit that wanted to participate. A community garden space for the courtyard was in the works. Renters who had been languishing in aimless inertia sprang into action pulling dusty lawn and garden implements from storage and attacking the sprawling ground cover, engaging in horticultural art. Getting their hands dirty.

A swell of pride in ownership pervaded the quarter block. Neighbors met to chat and plan and contemplate this thing which was coming to pass. And as always, passersby stopped to ask after any available units, to beg the contact information for the owners. This process reminds each of us how lucky we are to have an historical dwelling, on the downtown grid, in such a beautiful neighborhood – even with the rent increase. 

Never underestimate the power of flowers – the pride of ownership – the freedom to indulge in beauty and industry. My roommate is putting down roots. June is busting out all over. It is a beautiful neighborhood.

Character, Emotional Health, Goals and Dreams, Health and Long Life, Uncategorized

Forever 67

Leave a comment

She rarely drags her heels in dread at birthdays. What can you do to stop them? Nothing. The years will march on. So why not party? Eat the cake, blow out the candles and not rue the passing of the earth one more rotation around the sun. But this year? She doesn’t want to turn another year older. She knows these truly are the best years of her life. Sixty-seven has been the best year ever and therefore she wants to stay 67 forever. Finally, she has tasted it all. She has enjoyed the accomplishments she longed for, basked in snippets of affirmation, engaged in friendship, made the decision to enter in to self-confidence, greeted most days with gratitude.

Does she now have it all? Is the bucket list complete? Is it time to fold herself up and return to her maker? She doesn’t think so. 

She wants to stay 67 forever because she has finally tasted what life can and should be and she wants more of it. She wants to know the rest of the story. She wants to continue the momentum. She wants to keep saying to younger people, “It gets better! Hang in there! The 60s are a great decade! You have so much to look forward to!”

Still, she would like to linger in this year just a little bit longer, enjoy a second helping of this year’s goodness, perhaps order dessert, savor another cup of tea, a few more hugs and the promise of kisses, another sigh of satisfaction at a job finally, finally well done.

Putting One Foot in Front of the Other, Hiking for Life!