Seems like just yesterday...
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Remembrance
1/8/27 - 5/18/08
The drive from Austin to Kansas City leaves the mind
enough time for wandering. As I passed through the
Arbuckle mountains of Oklahoma, my thoughts drifted far
back to my childhood, as I attempted to recall the memories
of a time which still remains most unfamiliar to me.
Charlotte graduated from Westport High School at age 16 and
the University of Michigan at 20. Julian, a dashing young
World War II aviator, wooed her in a whirlwind and rather
cinematic style romance. They married in 1947.
But coming of age during a time when women were still
expected to remain home raising the children, proved the
most implausible box for Charlotte to fit in.
My mom was bestowed with the gift of intellect and starlet beauty,
yet her life was to be ill-fated by a constant stream of emotional
and mental instability.
For better or worse, we are all but a sum of the parts of which we
hail from. It's how we use the jigsaw puzzle we're dealt that most
assuredly defines our lives.
When I was a child, we planted a gathering of daffodils around our
young birch tree. As winter's snow fell, I would wait with quiet
anticipation of what the coming spring would bring.
Inevitably, the months marched forward pulling the sun northward
to work its magic. In time, my youthful anxiousness was aptly
rewarded with a splendid sight of tiny buds struggling to reach out
and breathe in the sky.
Finally, a yellow cloak emerged from its winter hibernation, overtaking
the grassy slope beneath my bedroom window, awakening my
small world with beauty and hope.
As I now recall the distant past, I sense a reassuring voice
echoing in my thoughts...
Man's imagination, his vision in dreams,
I believe,
are like quiet flowers growing strong in the spring.
~
Though death laid quiet a soul, it did not bury the memory.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Sunday, June 8, 2008
We are everywhere.. all the time.
The business of staying in business has changed dramatically in the 20+ years I've been freelancing. I first began using cell phones when they resembled grotesque body parts emerging from ones head. Those early generation cell phones were huge and reception? You were best advised not to move out of a 3 foot radius for fear of dropping a call. I've grudgingly acknowledged that a cell phone is not just part of doing business, but instant and continuous access to e-mail has become a necessity as well.
Admittedly, the newest technology is rather stunning. Though it's transforming our lives in ways I'm not sure we can fully comprehend. The loss of privacy and the occasional tasteless public behavior are just a couple of the obvious downsides we've all been subjected to. But, again - the technology - wow!
I recently upgraded to a new phone capable of shooting some nice photographs. Here are a few images I shot with my magic camera phone during some free time while recently working on location in San Diego. And yes, I now have e-mail, text and a sleek phone all wrapped up in one cool little bundle... the iPhone, what else is there?
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Road trip
A few sights and sounds, courtesy of Theda, during recent travels through eastern New Mexico and west Texas...
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
SOL
Every summer our family vacation consisted of packing a vast array of fishing tackle into our white Chevy Impala trimmed out in red leather seats, but no AC, and heading north 671 miles to Leech Lake, Minnesota. Our annual trip promised my sisters and I that our Dad would enjoy a few fun-filled days with all of us. A time when he’d leave the business concerns behind, relaxing with the family. It was the highlight of my summer... better than playing baseball, eating fresh watermelon, hanging out at the pool - better than staying up late or sleeping in ‘til noon. To this day the sights, smells and sounds of Leech Lake remain fresh in my mind. My sister Deb and I swore we’d buy our beloved Merit Lodge when we grew up... she’d run the lodge and I’d become the best guide on the lake.
Well, time has a way of changing our goals. I still love Minnesota and Leech Lake will always be special in my heart, but there’s so much to explore. Today, I find the road calling me out to different places and new experiences. My 15 year old son, Sam, is an aspiring freestyle kayaker, so, what better way to see part of the country than tour a few western states where whitewater flows.
So it was that our 2007 Summer of Love tour was born. Our ultimate destination would be the Oregon coast; how we navigated our path would become quite the journey.
SOL Colorado
ON OUR WAY
We left Kansas City early morning July 25th, heading to Monument, Colorado, where we’d hang out for a family day, a little altitude adjustment and a couple of quick haircuts from my niece, Colleen. From there, we quickly moved onto Salida where the Arkansas River runs directly through town and play boating is abundant... Sam, with boat on shoulder was in the river within an hour of our arrival. I shuddered as I watched him attempting loop after loop, touching the water as if I needed to confirm what I already knew... yeah, it was real cold! Salida has become a second home of sorts for us. We’re there several times each winter, hitting the slopes at Monarch. Then back each summer, me for mountain biking and for Sam to follow his super wild kayaking dream. We’re fortunate to have found this amazing town, with such good people. It is great fun.
Since our arrival coincided with the summer monsoon season we took up temporary residence with our friends, the Donavan’s. As always, the family to hang with and quite tough to leave behind. But with just three short weeks to accomplish our goal and beat it back to KC for the start of school, the clock was ticking. We left Salida after a few days, but not before hitting our annual Monarch Crest ride and Sam, under the careful tutelage of Read McCulloch, paddled his first class IV run, The Numbers. Though he did do most of rapid Number Four upside down. And he thought that was fun!
We left Kansas City early morning July 25th, heading to Monument, Colorado, where we’d hang out for a family day, a little altitude adjustment and a couple of quick haircuts from my niece, Colleen. From there, we quickly moved onto Salida where the Arkansas River runs directly through town and play boating is abundant... Sam, with boat on shoulder was in the river within an hour of our arrival. I shuddered as I watched him attempting loop after loop, touching the water as if I needed to confirm what I already knew... yeah, it was real cold! Salida has become a second home of sorts for us. We’re there several times each winter, hitting the slopes at Monarch. Then back each summer, me for mountain biking and for Sam to follow his super wild kayaking dream. We’re fortunate to have found this amazing town, with such good people. It is great fun.
Since our arrival coincided with the summer monsoon season we took up temporary residence with our friends, the Donavan’s. As always, the family to hang with and quite tough to leave behind. But with just three short weeks to accomplish our goal and beat it back to KC for the start of school, the clock was ticking. We left Salida after a few days, but not before hitting our annual Monarch Crest ride and Sam, under the careful tutelage of Read McCulloch, paddled his first class IV run, The Numbers. Though he did do most of rapid Number Four upside down. And he thought that was fun!
SOL Wyoming
A LITTLE DISHEARTENING
Our next destination was Green River, Wyoming. The drive northwest yielded an amazing array of mountain vistas throughout Colorado, eventually melding into the endless plains of southern Wyoming. We arrived around 4pm, and immediately set out to scout the river. It was, at best, a disappointment. Our trip took place late in the whitewater season, so the river was down. We camped at Tex’s RV park - it was late and we weren’t picky. Sam paddled the following day for a couple of hours... I figured even four time world champ Eric Jackson couldn’t do too much at those water levels. We could make Salt Lake by mid-afternoon if we hustled; it wasn’t a hard sell. Boat and gear were quickly loaded and off we went.
Our next destination was Green River, Wyoming. The drive northwest yielded an amazing array of mountain vistas throughout Colorado, eventually melding into the endless plains of southern Wyoming. We arrived around 4pm, and immediately set out to scout the river. It was, at best, a disappointment. Our trip took place late in the whitewater season, so the river was down. We camped at Tex’s RV park - it was late and we weren’t picky. Sam paddled the following day for a couple of hours... I figured even four time world champ Eric Jackson couldn’t do too much at those water levels. We could make Salt Lake by mid-afternoon if we hustled; it wasn’t a hard sell. Boat and gear were quickly loaded and off we went.
SOL Utah
HALLOWED GROUND?
We arrived in Salt Lake City, but without any idea where to stay. I took a quick look at the map, taking note of Antelope Island on the Great Salt Lake. It sure looked big enough to house at least a campsite or two. We headed that direction. Much to our delight camping was allowed. Posthaste, the tent was pitched and we headed back to town in hopes of locating the next aquatic adventure spot.
When you embark on a trip like this, it’s not much good if the driver doesn’t know too much about paddling (except how to load and unload the gear). Maps, books and the internet are wonderful resources, but over time, it’s become quite apparent that knowing the right people in all the right places is of much greater benefit. After a lengthy search we found the kayaking play park; trouble was, there wasn’t any water. Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but it was barely enough to wade across and that was problematic. We needed dinner and time to reassess the situation.
There are staples in anyone’s diet, and for us, Mexican fits the bill. After a short tour we happened upon an excellent little venue... not much English was spoken, which tipped the scale in its favor. An hour and a beer later, we left. Our bellies greatly satisfied and filled with hope that tomorrow would yield a fine paddling opportunity somewhere in the greater Salt Lake region.
Rain pelted the tent throughout the night, making sleep a most unnatural occurrence. Daybreak at long last arrived, and even though a night’s rest was unduly deprived, I was happy to leave our makeshift home. Making our way towards the familiar sounds of mountain streams seeking to escape their natural boundaries seemed somewhat more settling to the soul.
As luck would have it, we drove directly pass an outdoors store with kayaks lined up out front! How’d I miss that one last night? I turned in, hoping to hear a few good suggestions. The staff was friendly and somewhat knowledgeable, but the spring melt run-off was long gone, so opportunities were not abundant. We were sent back up the canyon some 30 miles to locate a small riffle on the Weber River. The river flow was higher and faster then in Wyoming, but still not what either of us were used to seeing in Colorado.
Every time I watch Sam climb into his boat I send out a little positive juju. A prayer, if you will, for his safe and happy return to the shoreline. Many paddlers will tell you they know of someone who’s died pursuing this rather amazing athletic endeavor. I fully understand the inherent risks at hand. For some reason, today I had an unpleasant feeling in my gut... perhaps my old runner’s intuition was making an uncalled for appearance. I called out, “Be safe, have fun.” Sam waved to me, tested the water, made a cold face, and was off to tackle his newest piece of paddling paradise. After his routine warm up and roll session, he raced into the wave, side surfing until being mercilessly flushed downstream. Undeterred, he attacked the spot again and again, with the repeated result of flush and roll. This wasn’t a good hole and instantaneously it chose to prevail... Sam caught an edge and was thrown underneath the turbulent waves once again. He emerged a little later than usual, this time shaking his head. I watched and waited - he pointed to his helmet, but I didn’t understand the problem. As he paddled towards me, I finally saw from some thirty feet away, a bump the size of a small tomato had quickly formed on his forehead. Today’s foray with the water came to an abrupt end as we headed off to find an ice machine, discussing whether a hospital visit was necessary. Despite the rather ugly lump, which carried the patented trademark of a typical bar room brawl, the ice pack and tylenol regimen paid a quick dividend of relief and we opted for the road. I kept the ever vigilant eye on Sam’s nasty run-in with the unseen rocks of Weber River.
We arrived in Salt Lake City, but without any idea where to stay. I took a quick look at the map, taking note of Antelope Island on the Great Salt Lake. It sure looked big enough to house at least a campsite or two. We headed that direction. Much to our delight camping was allowed. Posthaste, the tent was pitched and we headed back to town in hopes of locating the next aquatic adventure spot.
When you embark on a trip like this, it’s not much good if the driver doesn’t know too much about paddling (except how to load and unload the gear). Maps, books and the internet are wonderful resources, but over time, it’s become quite apparent that knowing the right people in all the right places is of much greater benefit. After a lengthy search we found the kayaking play park; trouble was, there wasn’t any water. Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but it was barely enough to wade across and that was problematic. We needed dinner and time to reassess the situation.
There are staples in anyone’s diet, and for us, Mexican fits the bill. After a short tour we happened upon an excellent little venue... not much English was spoken, which tipped the scale in its favor. An hour and a beer later, we left. Our bellies greatly satisfied and filled with hope that tomorrow would yield a fine paddling opportunity somewhere in the greater Salt Lake region.
Rain pelted the tent throughout the night, making sleep a most unnatural occurrence. Daybreak at long last arrived, and even though a night’s rest was unduly deprived, I was happy to leave our makeshift home. Making our way towards the familiar sounds of mountain streams seeking to escape their natural boundaries seemed somewhat more settling to the soul.
As luck would have it, we drove directly pass an outdoors store with kayaks lined up out front! How’d I miss that one last night? I turned in, hoping to hear a few good suggestions. The staff was friendly and somewhat knowledgeable, but the spring melt run-off was long gone, so opportunities were not abundant. We were sent back up the canyon some 30 miles to locate a small riffle on the Weber River. The river flow was higher and faster then in Wyoming, but still not what either of us were used to seeing in Colorado.
Every time I watch Sam climb into his boat I send out a little positive juju. A prayer, if you will, for his safe and happy return to the shoreline. Many paddlers will tell you they know of someone who’s died pursuing this rather amazing athletic endeavor. I fully understand the inherent risks at hand. For some reason, today I had an unpleasant feeling in my gut... perhaps my old runner’s intuition was making an uncalled for appearance. I called out, “Be safe, have fun.” Sam waved to me, tested the water, made a cold face, and was off to tackle his newest piece of paddling paradise. After his routine warm up and roll session, he raced into the wave, side surfing until being mercilessly flushed downstream. Undeterred, he attacked the spot again and again, with the repeated result of flush and roll. This wasn’t a good hole and instantaneously it chose to prevail... Sam caught an edge and was thrown underneath the turbulent waves once again. He emerged a little later than usual, this time shaking his head. I watched and waited - he pointed to his helmet, but I didn’t understand the problem. As he paddled towards me, I finally saw from some thirty feet away, a bump the size of a small tomato had quickly formed on his forehead. Today’s foray with the water came to an abrupt end as we headed off to find an ice machine, discussing whether a hospital visit was necessary. Despite the rather ugly lump, which carried the patented trademark of a typical bar room brawl, the ice pack and tylenol regimen paid a quick dividend of relief and we opted for the road. I kept the ever vigilant eye on Sam’s nasty run-in with the unseen rocks of Weber River.
SOL Idaho
THE PROMISE LAND
The uncharted land of Idaho beckoned us and we were able to make Boise by mid-evening. Given our late arrival, we opted for a little hotel R+R. A nice meal, hot showers, beds, freshly laundered clothes, combined with some mindless TV, were all welcomed relief from our road travels. I chose not to wake Sam as I headed downstairs for my morning java - he’d been a trooper thus far... a little extra rest seemed like a wise investment.
By midmorning I’d repacked the car and we were ready to resume our travels. Before leaving, I decided a new, snug-fitting helmet was a better option than allowing Sam’s head to once again become a fragile battering ram. As we attempted to locate the local whitewater shop, I nearly pissed my pants as Sam shrieked, “Did you see that?” “What?” I asked somewhat incredulously. He was laughing uncontrollably, “The condom shop.” Okay, this I had to see.
We made the necessary turns and low and behold, situated on Main Street in Boise, Idaho - The Ozone, Boise’s only condom shop. I stopped and went inside, seeking permission to shoot a picture. There, I was greeted with the most diverse selection of condoms I’ve ever seen. Pictures weren’t a problem - turned out this was a common request. They sent me packing with some free bumper stickers, but no gratis protection was offered upon my exit.
I spent a few minutes photographing Sam, adorned in a little kayaking gear in front of the unique street side sign... fun stuff. Before exiting town we found a choice new helmet and I felt relieved knowing the boys head would be better protected from any future river calamities.
The route on ID-55 from Boise to Riggins, Idaho was stunning. It would be easy to live in this country. We headed to Riggins to experience the magic of the Salmon River and upon our arrival it was rather obvious that even a whitewater neophyte could grasp the vast potential this area offers. It was late afternoon as we meandered up the one lane road. Watching the light dance around the rock walls was mesmerizing, inundating the senses into a virtual dream state. We’ve been directed to a patch of private ground where the land owner allows travelers to camp free of charge on the rivers edge. It seems this is how it should be when you visit a place as beautiful as the Salmon. We happened upon a great find, a mere 100 yards downstream from the famed Cats Paw rapid and set our tent a stones throw away from the water.
This place felt like heaven. At the very least, it became my dream of what heaven should be. The night sky greeted us with stars slowly emerging to illuminate the darkness - creating a magnificent canvas to lay back and marvel at. Sam gazed upward, then turning to me, softly said, “Thank you for this.” I am touched by the poignancy of these simple words. I paused, soaking in the fullness of the moment and finally replied, “I’m happy you like it.” We drifted off to sleep.
Morning made its presence known without an alarm clock or car horns, a welcomed respite from the regular routine of city life. The Salmon’s temperature was perfect for an impromptu bath before driving into Riggins for breakfast and a little caffeine pick-me-up. Prior to this trip, Sam’s kayaking experience had been limited to river running and whitewater parks, the latter of which are somewhat designed to funnel boaters directly into the playholes. Learning how to surf a larger rapid like Cats Paw would demand a new and self-taught strategy... a little extra paddling patience would work wonders. We holed up at our spot on the Salmon for three days, and with every session Sam’s paddling of the rapid grew stronger and more proficient, until, ultimately, he had full command of the wave. But, the calendar was gaining on us and the Pacific coast awaited our arrival. We bid a sad farewell to our cozy stream side nirvana and a couple of pesky little rattlesnakes before setting out for the super cool community of Bend, Oregon.
The uncharted land of Idaho beckoned us and we were able to make Boise by mid-evening. Given our late arrival, we opted for a little hotel R+R. A nice meal, hot showers, beds, freshly laundered clothes, combined with some mindless TV, were all welcomed relief from our road travels. I chose not to wake Sam as I headed downstairs for my morning java - he’d been a trooper thus far... a little extra rest seemed like a wise investment.
By midmorning I’d repacked the car and we were ready to resume our travels. Before leaving, I decided a new, snug-fitting helmet was a better option than allowing Sam’s head to once again become a fragile battering ram. As we attempted to locate the local whitewater shop, I nearly pissed my pants as Sam shrieked, “Did you see that?” “What?” I asked somewhat incredulously. He was laughing uncontrollably, “The condom shop.” Okay, this I had to see.
We made the necessary turns and low and behold, situated on Main Street in Boise, Idaho - The Ozone, Boise’s only condom shop. I stopped and went inside, seeking permission to shoot a picture. There, I was greeted with the most diverse selection of condoms I’ve ever seen. Pictures weren’t a problem - turned out this was a common request. They sent me packing with some free bumper stickers, but no gratis protection was offered upon my exit.
I spent a few minutes photographing Sam, adorned in a little kayaking gear in front of the unique street side sign... fun stuff. Before exiting town we found a choice new helmet and I felt relieved knowing the boys head would be better protected from any future river calamities.
The route on ID-55 from Boise to Riggins, Idaho was stunning. It would be easy to live in this country. We headed to Riggins to experience the magic of the Salmon River and upon our arrival it was rather obvious that even a whitewater neophyte could grasp the vast potential this area offers. It was late afternoon as we meandered up the one lane road. Watching the light dance around the rock walls was mesmerizing, inundating the senses into a virtual dream state. We’ve been directed to a patch of private ground where the land owner allows travelers to camp free of charge on the rivers edge. It seems this is how it should be when you visit a place as beautiful as the Salmon. We happened upon a great find, a mere 100 yards downstream from the famed Cats Paw rapid and set our tent a stones throw away from the water.
This place felt like heaven. At the very least, it became my dream of what heaven should be. The night sky greeted us with stars slowly emerging to illuminate the darkness - creating a magnificent canvas to lay back and marvel at. Sam gazed upward, then turning to me, softly said, “Thank you for this.” I am touched by the poignancy of these simple words. I paused, soaking in the fullness of the moment and finally replied, “I’m happy you like it.” We drifted off to sleep.
Morning made its presence known without an alarm clock or car horns, a welcomed respite from the regular routine of city life. The Salmon’s temperature was perfect for an impromptu bath before driving into Riggins for breakfast and a little caffeine pick-me-up. Prior to this trip, Sam’s kayaking experience had been limited to river running and whitewater parks, the latter of which are somewhat designed to funnel boaters directly into the playholes. Learning how to surf a larger rapid like Cats Paw would demand a new and self-taught strategy... a little extra paddling patience would work wonders. We holed up at our spot on the Salmon for three days, and with every session Sam’s paddling of the rapid grew stronger and more proficient, until, ultimately, he had full command of the wave. But, the calendar was gaining on us and the Pacific coast awaited our arrival. We bid a sad farewell to our cozy stream side nirvana and a couple of pesky little rattlesnakes before setting out for the super cool community of Bend, Oregon.
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