Blue Pieces

Can’t figure out how to insert pix from phone. May have to grab from bookface.

It has been so long since I’ve had a backpacking experience… I’ve lost any confidence I know how to prepare or how to insure success. But I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it – looking at maps, making lists, sorting out gear, and sadly, buying more and more stuff. We leave pre-dawn tomorrow and I still have a list of things to go buy.

But we’ve got an awful of details covered. I’m starting to get butterflies now, non-stop, as I anticipate the experience.

Will my legs stand up ? Will my feet? Will the weather be at least a little cooperative? Will the black flies and mosquitoes and deer flies lighten up at least a little? Will the trail be crowded – or overcrowded – with enthused and itchy hikers who’ve waited patiently for school to end? Will Jeff and Melanie have fun? Will our trio have a good dynamic? Back at the car after the trip, will we ALL agree we want more?

And then there’s the detail stuff. Did I bring appropriate clothes? Did we bring too much or not enough food? Did we get bothered by animals – big or small? Did my cameras work? Did rain gear work? Did I wish I had something I didn’t? Did I curse the decision to bring something that was stupid?

And the ultimate stuff. Did we experience glorious and sublime moments? Did the lack of moon help us muse on the Milky Way and ponder our position in the universe? Did we see cool flora and fauna? Did we observe compelling geology and muse on uplift, erosion, rocks, and minerals? Did we make good decisions about how much to bite off, keeping adequate room in our brains for philosophical introspection rather than pain and suffering? Did we rock the range? Did we ring our hammers on the highest rock?

OMG – it was awesome! It only lasted a few dream seconds – it was a dream snippet. Dad was young – younger than me (and younger than when I knew him). He was wearing a tennis sweater. He was trim, man, I mean svelte. He had sweat on his brow and was a little nervous. I know he spoke, but I can’t remember his voice – I have no memory of sound in the dream – except for my own voice.

The context was work. I was working with my Dad! Incredible!

He was in a superior position of some kind – definitely a boss, but maybe not my immediate supervisor -although I suppose it could’ve been a family or small business. I don’t know what the business was. Whatever it was, I was not delivering, and he had to ask me for a status on some stuff. That’s when I noticed the sweat on his brow. I don’t think he liked the moment.

I loved it though! It was my Dad! He was young, and vibrant, and he looked awesome and there was no way I could be down about anything because I was with my Dad! When we stopped the discussion (the discussion without sound) he left – or started walking away. There were others around, but we were having a kind of low key interaction. As he got 15 feet away or so I raised my voice pretty loud and said, “Dad!” to get his attention. Others turned and looked. I had an awkward moment thinking “Oops – I probably violated decorum a bit by being too familial” and then after one of those mind-racing self-analytic bursts concluded “Hell with that -I’ll call my Dad Dad whenever I want to. That’s who he is to me and that’s how I’ll address him – I don’t care who hears me say it.”

So her turned around and I made a follow-up comment – an explanation of the status I supplied. Something like – just give me to the end of the day (or something like that). “I’ll get it done.” somehow i leaned in and got a private message to him, “Because I don’t want you to think I’m a slacker.”

That message echoed (euphemistically) and the dream was over and it haunts me still. I wish my Dad knew I wasn’t a slacker. I think I’ve been haunted by that for 38 years.

I have been blessed in my life. I am surrounded by miracles. My family, in every direction, my friends, my work life, all miracles. But I had a taste of a new miracle last night. It was the sweetest dream in a long time and ranks as one of the top few of my life.

Me and my old man.

With all the miracles, and all there is to be thankful for, I still have this one dark corner. It is hard to go there. It’s where i face the fact I lost my old man when I was too young to talk to him as an adult (I want to say “man to man” but there is no masculinity in it) – it is just a simple thing – to talk to him now – to share some of who I am and who I’ve become and to hear from him – not words about me- just words about anything.

So last night, in my dream, it was almost, almost real – it was in color – it was detailed – the sweat on his brow was beaded in spectacular detail. He was live, 3D, and real. He had no sound. That little flaw reminded me in my dream that I was only dreaming. I didn’t care. I will take what I can get. My dark corner lit up for a few dream moments.

My dream snippet was really one for the books!

Found these on a dusty Mac disk… a few slides from a web presentation I made in 1995 for my group. We all got a chuckle from it, but the message was serious – get on the ball and get the brand (and the products too) shifted from atoms to bits.

I don’t really remember this. I was 24 at the time. I wonder if there was similar 40 is ___ . These ladies – and two others – were high school friends who have stayed in touch across the years. Their long and winding roads cross routinely by design. It is a lovely thing. One of their posse, the “other” Nancy – Wiley – has recently passed away. I talked with the Nancy I knew – Gates – for a short time about this. Nancy was her usual graceful and loving and thoughtful self. She was using me as a proxy to get the message to Joan. Fills me with remorse. I could be a better proxy.

Joan, Mary, Nancy, and Dorothy - The North High Posse

Nancy and Dorothy were fixtures in my life as a kid – pretty amazing in that we lived nowhere near one another. Vacations involved visits. Visits were intense –  homes of host family thrown open to visitors – Kids intermingled and encouraged to find ways to get along.  I think it’s fair to say that Nancy and Dorothy were extra mothers.  Mary was not as familiar, although she was a tight part of the posse. I guess maybe we never had a visit with Mary, or fewer visits?

The husbands of the posse were all special guys. All really, really different men. I wonder if they were friends. The women were so tight. The men came along for the ride. Does it work that tight bonds in friends might also find a grip in the relationships between their significant others?

I was involved in a 60 mile chase outside of Cody, Wyoming – might have been 1982/83. Driving on some highway – just a two lane blacktop – I was tailgated for a weird stretch, then the dude pulled alongside and paralleled me, then passed. He buzzed ahead and then pulled over and I passed him. He caught up and tailgated, pulled alongside, then passed and pulled over. This happened several times. After the second round I started to sort of flipout. What were my options? This was before cell phones. I was in an underpowered VW bus. I was in open range country – nobody around – no other cars on the road. Scenarios flashed through my mind – dark scenarios. I was determined not to stop. I kept right on for another 45 minutes – weird dude behind me.  I drove into Cody and rode around looking for the police station. I couldn’t find one! I finally determined that at least in a public place I wouldn’t be murdered. I pulled into a post office parking lot – the nose-in parking on wide boulevards. Dude pulled in next to me on passenger side. I hopped out and decided to go straight for him – I did and said something like, “What the hell are you doing, man?”

The Wyoming Chaser - Bounty Hunter and Brother Wannabe

“What’s your name?” he asked. I told him. His look softened, and he he sort of swooned and became friendly. “Goddamn if you don’t look like my brother! I thought you was my little brother. I haven’t seen him in 12 years. I thought you was him.”

“Jesus mister – you were sure acting weird out on the highway. I didn’t know what you were trying to do.” We chatted amicably – I felt no friendship toward him at all – after all he was responsible for some serious dread, angst and heartburn in me – my worst 60 miles on the road. He went on to say that he was a bounty hunter – mostly chasing after fugitives going into Canada. I have to say – that didn’t make me feel any better. I wanted to be sure I was rid of him before I headed out on the road again.

I was looking over my shoulder for the remainder of the day.

It’s coming down. I’m sipping tea and staying up way late – but caught some sort of second wind and now want to putter. Neck is killing me today. Feeling fat and old. On the up side, I made a deal with some dude named Lenny and we’re getting a face cord of wood on Friday. Knock on wood it burns well and isn’t green and wet. And I made another deal with a dude named Jim and we’re getting the electrical circuit fixed on Thursday. Knock on wood it is simple and cheap. While I’m knocking on all this wood, I hope the snow is light and fluffy in the morning. It’s bitter cold tonight so it should be. Pundits are calling for more than a foot in the next 24 hours.

Our shrubbery are all dressed up like muffins with frosting

Been working the finances. We’ll get through it.

When I was a college kid I had an awesome existence (that continues to this day – not boasting, just remarking on how lucky I am). Back then I lived with my Mom. We enjoyed each other’s company and had mutual friends. She gave me so much rope with my lifestyle that I got into climbing (dumb joke). She was my psychotherapist – every morning as we drove together to the RIT campus I would whine and she would soothe. I kept college hours at night. One night, stoked by pots of coffee, I made a painting. It is lost to art history now, and this Polaroid is the only evidence that it wasn’t a dream. As you can see, of course, it was a priceless masterpiece.

SX-70 Print, ca 1978. The only worldly proof that this was not a dream.