Monthly Archives: May 2021

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Three Mountain Passes and a Graduation

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She rose before dawn- which comes pretty early the end of May; washed her face, popped in her contacts, took a hot mineral soaking bath and pulled away from the curb by 6:20 am, feeling confident. She loaded the car the night before. All she had to do was grab her purse and electronics bag. Already she was wearing her black column dress with the sandals. She had allowed a full extra 45 minutes travel time just to be safe. What a glorious morning! Hardly anyone else was on the city streets – or the highway for that matter. Her route would take her over the notorious Red Mountain Pass. Precipitation was expected – but also temperatures of 50 degrees at key points of reference. Rain was lovely-and much needed. As she began the ascent to the first of three Rocky Mountain passes she would traverse in the space of 70 miles, the absolute gob-smacking beauty of peaks and pine trees, valleys and budding quaking aspens snatched her breath away. She let out a loud and involuntary “woo hoo! Hallelujah!” right there in the car by herself. The experience was transcendental and she wasn’t even meditating with her eyes closed, free of all distraction. Far from it. She kept her eyes and her attention on the road, yet took in the wonder of beauty all around, savored the gentle rain that began to fall, teardrops of joy from the sky lingering like diamonds on the glass and then running in tiny rivulets down the silver side of the car and falling on pavement; millions and millions of tiny diamonds that without warning became pearls of snow. The pearls collected, slowed her progress, caused her to exercise ever more caution. Snow. Four or five inches of it on Coal Bank Pass. Spring snow. Not snowpack – the weather is too warm. Spring snow, slushy, crunchy snow cone snow over non-frozen pavement. She continued without incident up the pass, breaking new trail. How many other vehicles had she seen? One to this point. What a blessing, no string of traffic pushing her to go faster!

A few vehicles approached from the opposite direction, trucks all of them. An F250. A utility work truck. Rugged autos. Halfway up Molas Pass she met a snowplow, descending as she was ascending. Molas Pass was sporting a six or seven inch accumulation of the white stuff – still slushy and crunchy and slippery. 

She tried to talk to the car that passed her. She said things like, “Hello? I see by your license plate that you are not from these parts, welcome to Colorado! Did you notice that I bear a Colorado plate? This is not my first Rocky Mountain rodeo. Did you consider there might be a reason I am traveling slower than you want to travel? Lincoln Town Car is it? Great! You may have – no probably not – noticed the model of my vehicle. In very big letters it proclaims RAV4. That 4 means something important here in the mountains. That 4 might also be assumed to be “A.” In these parts “A” stands for all-wheel-drive. The vehicle I drive and my speed are both intentional choices.” Talking aloud gets the irritation out of her system. There are more vehicles on the road now. She is untroubled when a couple pickups pass. They drive as though this is a daily commute and they know what they are doing. She doesn’t talk to them. They can go on ahead, break the trail, if they like.

The valleys between passes are rainy and wet, but not snowy. She contemplates the option of laying over in Silverton and thus missing her grandson’s graduation.  Red Mountain Pass lies ahead. But no, the approach to Red Mountain looks fine and she is definitely not turning back – that would be ludicrous with two passes behind her and only one ahead. Again, the ascent looks fine, but the rain quickly turns to snow and accumulates fast. Just ahead she sees the Lincoln Town car dead in the water, straddling the center line at an awkward diagonal angle. There is nothing, absolutely nothing she can do for them by stopping except to add to the traffic jam. There might be room to pass on the right – just barely – and clear the precipice that yawns – but the road is slick. There are also tire tracks to the left and she opts for those as she can see no oncoming traffic for a mile up the incline. By the time she reaches the summit, the snow accumulation is 8 inches. A highway patrol car sits off to the left with lights flashing. She pulls off the road to the right behind an F150 and rolls down her window calling to the driver as he exits, “Are they closing the road?” “I don’t know,” he answers. “The officer is checking on a semi stopped just over the hill. I’m going to go talk to him. Hey, was that white car still in the middle of the road when you came through?” Affirmative.

She reached into the back seat for her winter hiking boots and wool socks and pulled them on. She retrieved her down jacket from storage in the hatch and pulled it on. She got out and walked to a better vantage point. The F150 driver came back. “The officer and semi are waiting for the snowplow coming from the other direction, I’m going to give it a try.”

She watched the driver disappear over the hill. She waited. He did not back up. Soon the snowplow came around the parked semi. She started her engine and moved forward, passed the semi. There were no other obstacles in sight. She proceeded to Ouray where she found a phone signal and texted ahead to warn family members of her delayed arrival. Two hours later Coal Bank Pass closed. Two hours later when she was already safely seated at the Avalon watching her grandson move his tassel from one side the mortar board to the other.

Family, Goals and Dreams, Health and Long Life

Seven Graduations

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I hiked to The Lion’s Den today, a four-mile roundtrip journey I like to take a couple times per month or maybe once a week. The trail leads across the top of a rim that is also the outer boundary to Ft. Lewis College. As I crossed the apex of a seasonal ski slope, now covered in spring green, I heard the public address system and the cheers of graduation and I turned toward the athletic field to see the dispersed crowd and the colorful balloons; the sounds and sights of celebration.

 We’re at the end of a pandemic, so the college will host seven – yes seven – graduations in order to make sure everybody and every family is awarded and honored. Everyone gets to attend-and socially distance. There are seven other graduations in my memory some great and some not so good – but not all on the same day. 

One of the best was when my daughter graduated from college and didn’t get to walk in the entry procession. Why? Sprained ankle? Broken foot? Knee surgery? No. She had a clarinet – and a minor in music – and she was playing Pomp and Circumstance with the college symphonic band as the solemn pairs of candidates made their way to alphabetically arranged seating.

I vaguely remember my own high school graduation. At the time, I thought I had bigger fish to fry. I was getting married in six weeks. But, I do remember being troubled that the gowns were gold (for the young women) and black (for the young men). In my mind, this was a grave error. The school colors were orange and black. I also remember that I successfully did NOT trip over the microphone cords.

I remember little of my younger brother’s high school graduation-except to confirm that the graduates actually had orange and black gowns. I was too busy keeping my toddler out of mischief. But I do remember my brother crossing the stage, head held high as the speaker announced not only my brother’s name but his list of achievements and awards – an embarrassingly long list that went on and on, causing him to blush and duck as he received his diploma and then exited – his minutes on the stage over – but not the list of honors. 

I was not there for my brother’s graduation with Master’s degree or PhD – nor was my brother. Good thing he received so much adulation in high school, for the university graduating classes and departments are so large at Medical College of Virginia one doesn’t even cross the stage – or have to attend.

My children all had outdoor high school graduations in local stadiums. Not one of them tripped over the microphone cord.

The next memorable graduation was a ceremony I was not able to attend, but I will forever remember the front page newspaper photo and story of my daughter-in-law graduating from Colorado Mesa University on Mother’s Day, 2003 – crossing the stage with her newborn in a sling. 

And finally I, belatedly, completed my college degree and crossed the stage at the age of 51; my three children in attendance, my brother and SIL and parents in the seats – a milestone indeed; and one of my proudest moments. As my name was read, with my major in organizational management and my minor in music, the young musicians who were gathered on stage to play the Battle Hymn of the Republic broke the rules. They cheered – just for me. And I beamed. I was part of the cast in their musical a few months earlier. It is a nice feeling to belong.

I’ll attend another graduation soon. Another first. My first grandchild to graduate. But then, he’s an old hand at this. He  crossed the stage with his mom 18 years ago.

Seven graduations. And do you know what? None of us tripped over the microphone cord. Sometimes the things you worry about just don’t ever come to pass. Then again, the things you thought you wouldn’t live to see? You just might get to celebrate them.

Character, Emotional Health, Health and Long Life, Relationships

Delayed Reaction

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When it comes to preparedness, I’m your boy scout.

I read a verse in Proverbs when I was about 13 – the verse that says, “she is not afraid of the winter, for all her household are clothed in scarlet.” I like red, it’s my favorite color – second only to black. I like sale shopping. So, yes, consider my household clothed for the winter. I like to shop ahead, make sure my / our needs are covered so there is no frantic last-minute push. We are prepared for any emergency. At any given time, there are three little black dresses in my closet. A hiking pack, extra water, PFD and swimsuit stay in the car. My purse holds an emergency sewing kit, measuring tape, wallet knife, and dimes for the potty and payphone. Dimes for the potty? Now there’s a historic artifact.

Anyway, I try to be prepared. But that can also make me overconfident. Yesterday I took my kayak out on the river for the first time this year. I’ve had it on the roof of the car just waiting since April. My kayaking bag is in the hatch. All I really had to do was switch to my swim shorts and drive away from the house and 22 blocks to the put in. A ten-minute drive. Thirteen minutes untying and unloading the kayak and I was in the water blissfully paddling upstream, against the current as usual. Three quarters of the way to my turn around point I realized something: No sunscreen. Blue sky. Sunshine. Swollen river. 80 degree weather. Immediately I was thankful for a sit-in craft – at least the tops of my feet won’t get burned. I took a few more powerful strokes and remembered something else. I usually put moleskin on the thenar webspace between my thumbs and forefingers. Do I feel blisters coming on? Both moleskin and sunscreen are in my daypack – back at the car. So much for my preparedness image.

In much the same way COVID-19 did not catch me unprepared. I was not out of toilet paper. I had food for a couple weeks already in-house. I even had a collection of bandanas to use as masks. Who cares about social distance? I was new in town so there was no one to miss. No reason to repine and whine. I was used to hiking alone and living alone and I’m an introvert. 

But the delayed reaction now, fourteen months later is about to do me in. During the long months of quarantine I practiced piano, I practiced guitar, I learned to play bass, I took some classes by Zoom, but I am woefully out of practice at this social thing. I’m fully vaccinated as are most of those in my would-be peer group, but there is no place to go, no one to see, nothing to do. 14 months later it is time to scramble and catch up with all the things I meant to do when I was new in town. Otherwise I, even I – the loner – will become lonely and blue. Intentional friend-making and job-hunting, inserting myself into the lives and worlds of others has never come easy for me. But delayed loneliness is no laughing matter, folks.

Books and other Soul Food, Character, Emotional Health, Fiction is Truth

Coming of age – again

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I know three people from our graduating class who are authors, she wrote via email. You, Barbara Jones, and Harry Brown. Do you know of any others?  The class of ’72 – what’s left of 399 of us – are beginning to coalesce, starting to get reacquainted, communicating more as we gear up for our 50th (gasp), 50th class reunion. I’ve ordered your latest book, she continued, and I had the privilege of reading one of Harry’s before it went to print.

Classmates. We have in common a high school graduation year; 1972. We have memories of three years spent in the same building, 180 days per year; choirs, teams, bands, academic awards, achievements.  Some of us share in common the writing habit. One of Barbara Tyner’s books is on my nightstand waiting to be read. Another is on my computer-top, delivered electronically. After responding to Helen’s email, I clicked around the internet for several minutes, finally discovering Harry Brown’s The Magic Club. I pressed the instant download button and money was withdrawn, the plot delivered.

Aptly classified, a coming of age novel. I read with dogged attention, though I found the chapters and sections disjoined and hard to follow. These are the landscapes and people of my childhood, never mind that some of the names have been changed. I know these places – the canal bank, the Three Sisters, Monument Road. I know these characters. I, too, was part of the Class of 72, although I don’t believe I ever shared a class or a conversation with Mr. Brown. There were 399 of us. We were baby boomers. I laughed out loud at the religious girl with the outdated cat-eye glasses who makes a couple cameo appearances in the book. Could there have been two of us? I was not alone after all! Wonder of wonders, there must have been another classmate as suppressed and repressed as I! She wore her cat-eyes from first through 12th grade. I only got mine in 6thgrade. Oh, and in the book (The Magic Club, 2012 Harry Clifford Brown), she graduated valedictorian-something I could only dream of. As an author, I was absolutely fascinated by Harry Brown’s fictional rendering and remembering of the chaotic and tender age of 17-going on 21. Nice to get a glimpse of 1972 from the other side – the male perspective – the jocks – the achievers – the leaders. I honestly didn’t know it was as hard (and heartbreaking) for them as it was for me!