Beautiful Colorado

It has been about one year since the Colorado trip, so pics are long overdue. I thought we should post a few of the highlights before we get two sets behind. It only takes one trip to get hooked on this beautiful part of the country. We started planning our next visit while still on this one. Of course, traveling with my very own "Indiana Jones" is what made the trip truly special. This was a trips of firsts. I saw virga for the first time, went fly fishing for the first time, and the trek to the top of Pike's Peak was an interesting (and fun) first. The little theatre in Creede was adorable, and the show wonderfully entertaining. A most memorable moment was fly fishing and turning around to see a herd of cattle staring at me from the bank of the Rio Grande. The Air Force Academy was gorgeous, inside and out. Climbing up and into the cliff dwellings at Mesa Verde was a fascinating, and somewhat spiritual, experience. Of course, the best part was always dinner back at the cabin (the catch of the day) and snuggling next to the fireplace and enjoying the breathtaking view.

~T

Still!

Happy Sweetest Day to my precious P. Nearly two years have passed since I stumbled into your world and, still! I have such fond memories of first reading about your fascinating journey and how captivated I was by your writing. Although “Soul Mates” was not written for me (tsk tsk), that and “Touch” are what initially pulled my eyes and ears back to these pages over and over. I was listening. I was learning about survival. I was witnessing a transformation. Here you were, a man who had been through a journey of monumental proportions (good, bad and ugly) and yet held no resentment and few regrets. You were not resting on your laurels, but were at peace with your past and determined to keep moving forward and living a life of meaning. How could I not fall in love with someone so sensitive and yet so incredibly strong? You believe falling in love was your idea, but truth be known I could hardly wait for you to invite me to dinner. And the more time I spend with you, the further I fall and the more I yearn to be near you. Thank you for loving me unconditionally, serving me freely, and protecting me fiercely. I constantly crave your closeness and would crawl inside your skin if only possible.

~T

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kkWGwY5nq7A

Happy Fathers Day

A Father’s Day Message

by

Tammy Vaughn

You think you could have done better? So do a majority of us – in fact, 53% of us believe we were worse parents than our own mother and father.

Eleven million children have completely absent fathers – and 2/3rds of those absent fathers do not provide any financial support for their children. If you provided your children with an abundance of choices to address their basic human needs, held a job (or two) to pay for a nice home, nice clothes, toys, bikes, phones, private lessons, and a college education – you are a good father.

Over 5 million children a year are abused – if your children did not make the list, you are a good father.

Only 3% of fathers have ever read to their children – if you find yourself in this rare category, you are a good father.

If you stayed in a forlorn marriage, on behalf of the children, you are a good father.

MRIs and brain research have proven that men are not wired to be emotionally articulate – if you have expressed your feelings to your children and are not ashamed to tell them you love them, you are a good father.

Today is a day to be thankful for what you were able to provide for your children. Be thankful that you had a good career that provided a nice home and nice things. Be thankful that your career allowed you to take in a ball game or a concert now and then. Be thankful that your children didn’t have to carry the financial burden of their college education to work with them. Be thankful that you cared enough about your children to put thought into the opportunities and experiences that you wanted them to have, and that you did what you could to make it happen for them. A significant number of children living in the U.S. today do not have fathers that can be thankful for these things, and in fact, some of their stories are quite sad.

A good father continues to hand out even when they, themselves, need a hand up. Children will get mad anyway. They get mad for Dad for meddling in their lives, criticize him for how he chooses to live his, forget the good times, and dwell on the bad times – and forget that all families endure struggles. It is part of life, and if we’re fortunate enough to “get over it” then we’re fortunate enough.

Fathers, like most humans, are not perfect. Why we hold our fathers to different (and higher) standards than our mothers, or ourselves, is anyone’s guess. But, even through their imperfections we find life lessons in love and acceptance that should permeate our adult lives. In the big scheme of life and considering the real perils that many families suffer, most fatherly mistakes are minuscule. You make progress, not perfection, every day – as we all should. I’m honored to have you in my life. Happy Father’s Day to an awesome man and father! Carry with you today the words of your first born, “You did good, Daddy!”

Home Waters

Home Waters

*
Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.
I am haunted by waters.

- Norman Maclean "A River Runs Through It"

"Many a time have I merely closed my eyes at the end of yet another troublesome day and soaked my bruised psyche in wild water, rivers remembered and rivers imagined. Rivers course through my dreams, rivers cold and fast, rivers well-known and rivers nameless, rivers that seem like ribbons of blue water twisting through wide valleys, narrow rivers folded in layers of darkening shadows, rivers that have eroded down deep into a mountain's belly, sculpted the land. Peeled back the planet's history exposing the texture of time itself."
- Harry Middleton -

If you have wandered from place to place and year to year as I have then perhaps the only place that you call home is a bend in a river. A place returned to time and again so that it becomes the one constant in the random turmoil of life's existence. We become like the river which remains the same and yet is filled with constant slow change. Eventually the river becomes the depository of our life's history, marking and anchoring our ever changing lives. At each visit we deposit a portion of ourselves, a memory of who and what we have become at that nexus in our life. And those memories become one of the timeless rocks in the river that we can revisit and rest upon with each return. My bend in the river calls to me with increasing urgency the longer I am away. It fills me with the sounds of water and images of time past till I am compelled to return. This summer, I am going home...

And this time I will return, not alone, but with a new love as profound as the one I have for the river, the South Fork of the Rio Grande. And I will take her to that bend in the river, and share with her the "rocks" of my life. And we will leave a new stone in the water, in that bend in the river... that is home

-Phillip

And my life journey is reflected in the serene; a lake that has no bends or turns but deep roots and gentle ripples that have scarcely changed over time. Imbued with predictable tradition, my home and I remained constant through the peaks and valleys of my life. But oh how I’ve longed to wander, and to experience the mystery and spontaneity that the moving water proffers. In your home I will find a great passion for living, for change, and the courage to take a risk. And when you hang your hat in the place that I call home – it will never move on you again.
-Tammy

*

And so it begins. The merging of two lives and two waters. The river runs into the lake and the lake emerges into the river in a never ending flow. We will make our home in both places, the bend in the river, the shore of the lake; and take inspiration, solace and comfort from each. As the waters of each place surround and nuture and support us so we will surround nurture and support and love each other. Oh yes, we will definitely love each other

-P & T

Chances Are

Chances Are

Bob Segar and Martina McBride

Chances are you'll find me
Somewhere on your road tonight
Seems I always end up driving by
Ever since I've known you
It seems you're on my way

All the rules of logic don't apply
I long to see you in the night
Be with you 'til morning light

I remember clearly how you looked
The night we met
I recall your laughter and your smile
I remember how you made me
Feel so at ease
I remember all your grace and your style

And now you're all I long to see
You've come to mean so much to me

Chances are I'll see you
In my dreams tonight
You'll be smiling like the night we met
Chances are I'll hold you and I'll offer
All I have

You're the only one I can't forget
Baby you're the best I've ever met

And I'll be dreaming of the future
And hoping you'll be by my side
And in the morning I'll be longing for the night
For the night

Chances are I'll see you
Somewhere in my dreams tonight
You'll be smiling like the night we met
Chances are I'll hold you and I'll offer
All I have

You're the only one I can't forget
Baby you're the best I've ever met.

Now, if you like, go listen to the song!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hl7LdevJ71c

So what is this post about? As those of you who have read these posts have probably figured out, I am incurably romantic. I believe that it is love that makes us alive: love in all its ramifications; love of self first, love of others, friends, family, lovers and really everything, the world and life itself.

This verse captured me;

"I remember clearly how you looked
The night we met
I recall your laughter and your smile
I remember how you made me
Feel so at ease
I remember all your grace and your style

And now you're all I long to see
You've come to mean so much to me"

Here's what that was like for me:

“"if we are connected now, how much more so will we be after we meet?" Now I know”

She took my hand, we touched and fantasy paled, fell away and became reality.
Our eyes held each other and could not look away,
Our hands moved of their own accord touching lightly, exploring,
Our lips touched, and we drew each other in.

Slowly pouring all our pent up passion into each other
Feeling the heat slowly rise between, melting us together into one being.
Then falling slowly apart, only to merge again and yet again
Finding overwhelming joy and peace in each other’s arms.

Till we were spent, drained, and yet we remained joined together still,
Breathing together, quietly marveling at the wonder the magic of it all
This was it, this was and is how it’s supposed to be, this is love in all its glory,
The culmination of two lives, two people finding each other for the first time.


“Still basking in the glow, the scent, the memory of you”

I left her, inhaling the scent of her, crushing my face into her hair,
Filling my hands with her, holding the scent and the memory of her.
And yet I have not left her, every moment is now different for she is always there,
There within and now a part of me, we are still one

and will always be so

Everyone take a deep breathe now! OK? Good. I talked of fantasy and imagining a relationship in my last post. If you are incredibly lucky, the reality of meeting that person for the first time can be overwhelming as it was for me. The fantasy pales in face of what god has sent you in the form of another person and you discover there really is a heaven on earth.

And your life is then irrevocably changed.

IMAGINE

IMAGINE!

One of the beauties of meeting online is that your imagination plays a much larger role in the event. your imagination imbues the conversation with color and light based on your reaction to the words on the screen. Our response to the words creates pictures in our mind. A virtual fantasy surrounding the conversation. A construct that can be achingly beautiful.

Imagine

“but your words clung to my heart for days and I had to return”

A gentle soul, I first held her in my imagination,
like a butterfly that for some strange reason
chose to alight upon my out-stretched hand and stayed, gently fanning her wings.
I held my breath, afraid that she might fly away for ever
And yet…she remained.

Listen

“Yes, ready to listen and talk and share. Help me begin.”

She remained. She share her pain, her hurt, her hopes her dreams, her desires…
I listened and shared as well of similar affairs of the heart and spirit
And deep down in my heart felt the first glimmerings of a connection,
And a hope that this might be more than a conversation.
And still…she remained

Vision

“Here is a glimpse into me”

She said not of me, but into me. A vision in blue
A nymph clothed, yet in my mind barely so.
A face, a voice, and yet so much more, a real, whole, complete woman
Staring out at me beckoning me to come in, to come home.
And secretly…she remained

Fantasy

“Last night was like a dream, a lovely one”

And then, oh then it was all in, every chip she owned, every card on the table
Every moment of the past laid out for me to see, to understand.
And she waited as soft as a butterfly, gentle as the breeze,
Waited on my outstretched hand,
And fearlessly…I remained


I took her hand, held her close, bid the past adieu and be gone
And it was swept away like dust in the wind.
I carried her off into the night, left all the pain behind
And together we made a new beginning, forged a new moment of joy

and only.....we remained

And so it began for us, and so it continues

I built a beautiful fantasy, a butterfly that became a woman

a woman that became more real than I imagined.

Special Places

Many of us have special places in our lives. Places that hold deep meaning, places that we return to again and again either in reality or in our minds. For some that place may be our real home or neighborhood. Maybe we have lived there our whole lives. The history of the place and our part in it coupled with the memories associated with various locations provides comfort and a grounding to our lives.

But for me, home is just a place I hang my hat. I have lived for at least a month in 21 different places on this earth in houses and apartments. Still, I too have a special place. Actually, my family does though I think only my cousin Chris and I hold it dear.

In the 1930's My Grandfather George H Thiele or "Daddo" as he was know to me, began to visit a place called South fork Colorado. A small logging town located on the south fork of the Rio grand in Southwest Colorado. He went each year for the trout that swam in the river, surrounding lakes and streams. Every summer he and his family would spend a week or two in a log cabin at one of the various small lodges that dotted the area. By the time I made my first trip in I think 1956 they knew the area well and were friends with many of the local residents and merchants.

There was a sawmill near the center of town and they burned the sawdust in a large cone like affair and the sweet smell of woodsmoke permeated there area for miles around. . We always knew we were close to town when we could smell the smoke. I can still smell it and even now the smell of sawdust and woodsmoke takes me back there.

My father was not much of a fisherman so it fell to my grandfather to teach us to fish. Daddo was a fly fisherman but he knew the value of live bait; and that worms, cane poles, and boys go together. He taught me how to dig for worms in the soft ground behind the lodge. No store bought worms for us! He would place my brother and I on the bank of the river with the admonition NEVER to enter the water or we would surely drown. And we never did. Later when I became a fly fisherman he would caution us to stay out of deep water as we could easily slip, our waders fill up with water and you guessed it, we would drown. I did not fall in until I was in my forties, and surprisingly did not drown but floated nicely down the river. But I digress. My brother did not take to the fishing but I was hooked and would spend hours on the bank. Later, my grand father bought me my first rod with a push button spinning reel, a Zebco 66 and I could cover far more of the river..... I was always on that riverbank. We went to Colorado almost every year through age 15.

You remember that movie "A River Runs Through It" with Brad Pitt. The scenes on the river uniquely capture what its like to be a trout fisherman, to be one with river. Look, not to get metaphysical or anything, but fishing is NOT about catching fish, It is about hope and faith and connections to another world. If you are lucky you eventually learn to become one with the water, and to get "fishy". To learn to read the water, to sense where the trout would be and eventually to catch some. When I first hit the water, I couldn't catch anything. I had to let go of all my eagerness, all of my anxiety, I had to slow down, to wade the water carefully, slowly quietly. To focus my complete attention on the water in the anticipation and intimation of what lies beneath. I did not know it then but I do now that fishing was my initiation into meditation and mindfulness. To unify the mind, the body, and the river and the moment towards one simple goal. To fish and fish well.

The town is changed now, there is no more burning saw dust and it has lost its rustic nature. It is has become a vacation town with upscale homes and a chinese restaurant and yet the river remains the same. There are places on the Rio Grand at South Fork that I have fished since I was 7 yrs old. When I wade the river, I meet boulders that are old friends, that I have know for over 30 yrs. I may have been gone for 3 yrs, 5 yrs, and now 10 yrs but when I return the river is still there , the rocks are still there and the fish are still there...and I am still there. It is home to me, the one unifying place in my life.

Everytime I drive towards Southfork an anticipation builds. I start into the mountains at Walsenburg, Colorado, and hit the high country plains at Ft Garland. I cross the plains to Monte Vista and I suddenly find myself doing 80 MPH, My heart starts to pound and a pressure builds in my chest. There is no woodsmoke smell to call to me now, but I can still smell it. Old landmarks rise up and pass by; new landmarks are noted. I first cross the Rio Grande at Alamosa and see it intermittantly off the right hand side of highway 160. It finally becomes my constant compainion just west of Del Norte, And then I hit the Railroad tracks that mark my favorite place on the river just out side of South Fork and then I am home.