Keeping Up Appearances

In the first year (at least) of sobriety, one wants to avoid HALT - getting too hungry, angry, lonely or tired. Those, apparently, are triggers to most of "us" and can render us needy, isolated, depleted, and looking for something to fill up our emptiness. This is not good for an addict. This is where we go looking for our substance of choice. It is better to avoid slipping into a hole than trying to climb out of it. In the past week, I've pushed the limits. An abundance of work and, therefore, deadlines led me to tired, hungry and lonely (or, at least, alone). I never quite landed on angry, but I'm sure it would have shown itself had I continued to push. And, actually, my displeasure with the barista at the airport Starbucks last night could almost have qualified as angry. Certainly bitchy, at least.

I made an agreement with myself and wrote it in the DayPlanner, because that is the way I have to do these things if they are to happen. No going anywhere or doing anything for friends. My world-renowned expertise on all things technological or computer (Ha! All things are relative.) will simply have to be put on hold for a couple of days. I will not be available to attend the AA Spring Fling for 7 hours, but I will pop in briefly on my way into or out of a meeting. Though poking around in the yard sounds kind of fun, I do not want my new neighborly best friend to conclude that I am eager for intense gardening, so maybe I should just lay low. I will not do laundry. I won't tap at e-mails until they begin to feel like work. I will not write one word on the pop art icon I am paid to write about. I will give no consideration to any small luxuries I'd like to take on now that my finances have improved, for that would first require a serious breakdown of necessary spending and I'd turn that into a days-long project. I will consider a soak in the hot tub or a soak in my jacuzzi bathtub if I can spook up some interesting new form of bath salts. I will surely read both sobriety/recovery materials and the reading I do for pure pleasure. I will sleep or nap whenever my body or mind says "Now." And finally, I thought, "Maybe I'll learn about something new. Do something a little different."

I don't like to wah-wah about anything. No, really. I do wah-wah, but that is only to let off pressure so I don't explode. After I wah-wah, I suffer great angst and guilt. One of the most deeply ingrained messages I got young is "Don't ask anyone for anything. Do it yourself. Be self-sufficient." It's been a burden, that requirement against which one judges oneself, to know how to do all things. And well. Mostly, across time, I learn how to do most things I want to know about. But one must measure that "time" against the movement of - oh, say - the mighty glaciers, not against the speed of a roadrunner. First, I have to noodge a lot about why I don't automatically know how to do whatever it is. "Ha!" thought I. "I know what I want to do. I can likely do it right at the computer, never changing out of my raggedy but comforting dorm shirt, never doing anything to my hair."

I got a cold drink, flung open the French doors, set the music and started to noodle around online. Oh, please! Don't let the "Wine" part of that advertisement disturb you. I'm told this is a vintage ad for the original formulation of what ultimately became Coca-Cola, and that's what was in my tall, iced glass. I found what I needed very quickly. Oh! Both free and easy to use. The download took no time at all. Within minutes, I had the basics down. In an hour, I was doing fancy stuff. My thoughts started to drift into old wah-wah territory. Now I'd have to apologize for having taken so long to learn what seemingly everyone else knew how to do . . . never mind. I don't apologize. No, really. When it became urgent to me, I went and learned. Everything in its own time.

I learned to enhance photos to maximum unambiguity, even though I am no photographer. I now have the means to post my pictures so they will present in the way that I saw them, not in the way that my ham-fisted camera work delivers up. I pondered on how big a cheat I thought this was. Other people learn to take fine pictures from behind the camera. That does not intrigue me, though I would like to illustrate my posts with things I saw that pleased me or made me laugh or made me sad. I landed on something I can live with. I was born with a face. It is neither hideous nor beautiful. It presents better if I use certain techniques to punch up its positive attributes and play down the unfortunate ones. Once, a friend commented that she liked the way I kept my hair. I replied, "Yes, well, I try to keep it nice because I have to wear it right up here by my face." I believe it's OK to use assistance to play up appearance.

And so, it's been nearly a year since my trip to Arizona. I only got to post one of many pictures I actually took that pleased me very much. Almost immediately afterward, I went on my urgently needed blog sabbatical. All those images are lying quietly in the bag, along with the memory of getting down on my knees in the garden rocks, putting my sweating face right up into those photo ops, and snapping, experimenting with angles, having a good time, getting a breather after a very long walk in the early morning heat. Yes, I know about the plethora of purty flower pitchers in the blogosphere. Yes, I hear the cries of "Please, show us something else besides flowers!" That's OK. I don't offer my pics as exceptional in any way except for the extreme pleasure they gave me - both the camera work and the enjoyment afterward. I feel the sweat rolling down my body, the was sun burning through the top of my hat, my large array of walk-alongs (water bottle, iPod, cell phone) spread out on the ground beside me. "You OK, Lady?" Nice people in that community. "I'm grand, Sir. Thank you."

Yes, I know Osama bin Laden is dead and (maybe, according to some news reports) we're supposed to cheer about that. Ten years, and all. But I'm not paying attention to that right now. Maybe never. I'm not required to. I'd rather reminisce and learn something new.

Flower photos: Leslie Morgan, 2010

Spring, Sprang, Sprung, Sproing - Part 2

So I was on my little spring day tripper outing and I'd felt the sun on my bones, spotted some silly stuff along the way to my destination, made horse friends - very remarkable for me - and spirit friends - not so remarkable for me at all. I do that. But the day only holds so many hours and there were many other things I'd spotted that were calling my name. I eased down the sharp dirt track from the cemetery, car windows down, grinning.

I'd seen the sign on one of my circuits and thought "What?" A National Wildlife Refuge? Here? It seemed unlikely. This place is a tiny blemish on the butt of Nevada, not a destination. No one lives here and no one (well, me, but I'm odd) would set out to come here on purpose. By all means, protect the wildlife, but would you really build a little center there? I pulled into the parking lot through the gates and was immediately encouraged to see that there were public restrooms. Even a porta-potty is preferable to finding a spot in the desert, so I got out of the car and hurried toward the place that beckoned me. I noticed an RV and a pickup truck in the parking lot. Four adults were chatting pleasantly. I appeared to be the only other person around.

I opened the door of the restroom tentatively. Sometimes these places aren't very pleasant and one wants to brace oneself. Yep, a porta-potty, but to my surprise, the facility was large and clean! But that was only my first impression. When I sat down to take care of business, I began to really study my surroundings. The toilet was clean and no odor emanated from the depths. The floor sparkled. The desired paper products were abundant. And while there was no sink or running water, there was an incongruous substitute. For, hanging from the disabled visitors' handrail, were several bottles of scented hand sanitizer attached by ribbons. Not string, not twine. Decorative ribbon. Lilac, lemon, pine and citrus hand sanitizer. Upon the walls of this palatial porta-potty were long rows of blue disks, marching in line like a platoon of soldiers. Orderly. Not rag tag. "What the heezy?" thought I. I stood on tiptoes and craned my neck. Air fresheners. Miles and miles of air fresheners. I gave a rueful moment over to thinking about my own bathroom at home. The health department is not down my neck, but my floor was not as clean as this outhouse floor and I hang nothing from anything else with ribbon. I pay attention to keeping the bathroom pleasant enough, but I have the one oil fragrancer, not miles of disks. One bar of soap and one pump bottle of a liquid formulation. I made up my mind. I was going out for the camera and coming back in to snap one in this interesting place. Alas, I was waylaid.

When I left the restroom, I was not moving at the speed I was when I entered. I was a bit more leisurely. I noticed the pickup truck was gone and the RV owners seemed to have gone inside. I aimed for the car, but some color caught my attention and I stopped for a moment. Posters. Lots of posters on the ground. Regular poster board one would buy at Wal-Mart and illustrations probably taken from the internet, printed at home, cut and glued to the poster board. Much text had also been printed and pasted, but there were handwritten comments added and arrows from text to picture and picture to text. From these posters I quickly learned that this place was a refuge for dragonflies and damselflies and several species of little bitty Nevada native fishes. I am charmed by dragonflies and damselflies! Who knew? As I mused on this information, I looked around to take in my surroundings more deeply.

There was fence surrounding it, so I could tell how large the refuge is - not very. The landscape is native and wild. I could see a stream and some springs for which the area is named. Well, yes, if some of the protected species are fishes, water is needed. But it was the quality of the structures that struck me. For here in Puckerbrush, USA, is a tiny but world class wildlife refuge. There are several patio areas with picnic tables, enclosed by adobe style curved walls. Wooden paths and bridges lead to several pools where one can observe the fishes, rather like viewing the stars on the Hollywood Blvd. Walk of Fame. The parking lot is in glorious repair, and I've already described the bathrooms. I can attest to the reader that one department of the U.S. government seems to have deep pockets, and that would be the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service. I was processing a lot of information, but all of these observations took place in a few short seconds after I stepped out of the restroom. I took one step toward the car and a very loud slamming noise startled me.

I looked toward the RV and saw a large, older woman charging down the steps at me. Clearly, she had thrown the door open in order to make my acquaintance. Behind her, an older man took the stairs with more care. They aimed themselves at me and they were talking. Both of them. A mile a minute. When the woman reached me, she tugged at my sleeve - literally - and shepherded me to a long folding table set up in front of their RV. Before I tell more of the story, I want to describe the couple. I am 57 and I take care about using the words "old" or "older". They were older. Their RV was shiny and clean. Their faces were scrubbed and their clothes very decent. They exuded cleanliness, good health, good humor. It was not my impression they were newlyweds. No, this pair of bookends fairly screamed, "Decades together, four kids and now grandbabies." They are the sort who would call each other "Mama" and "Dad". And they were passionate about their avocation ~ for these good people are the volunteer curators of the refuge. They come in their RV virtually every day of life, sit parked in the parking lot and wait for the visitors to arrive. They give tours through that small microcosm and they give information. Oh, do they give information. As Mama regaled me with stories about the fishes, Dad smacked brochures, bookmarks, maps and guides into my hand like a mad card dealer. I did a lot of smiling and head bobbing, beause there was no pause for me to slip a word in, even if to ask a question. Finally, with some regret, because I liked Mama and Dad, I spoke with my hands. I touched Mama on the arm and said, "Thank you so much." And I turned to take my leave. Climbing into the car, I was reminded how much I am attracted by passionate people. I am passionate myself and I like seeing fire in others. These people touched me with their dogged commitment to what they love. And I imagine they clean that restroom every other day, Dad emptying the waste baskets and Mama scrubbing the floor on her hands and knees. Now I'd made a pair of human friends. I hoped, sincerely, that the odd traveler and a lot of school field trip visitors come to see Mama and Dad and the damselflies and the fishes.

Along the way to where I wanted to stop and eat a bite, I thought, "Why not?" I'd befriended horses. Why would I pass up an opportunity to greet a sheep or two? They were beautiful to look at. In fact, I think a sheep is a more attractive animal than a horse. I just like the way they look. This flock were lovely, neutral colored creatures with black heads and hooves. They charmed me. As long as I was in the car. I'm a city girl and that's OK with me - I'm not apologizing. I'm open minded and adventuresome and I have myself some desert exploits. But I'm not as keen about farm animals. Especially the ones that smell. Really, really badly. The pen was in very good order, so I knew the stench wasn't due to neglect. I deduced that sheep must simply smell this way. I didn't care for it much. I stepped up to the fence and spoke softly. After all, those horses had found me quite fascinating and I was willing to endure the funk for a short while if the sheep would come over and connect with me. Uh-uh. It wasn't to be. The specimen featured stared at me for about 10 minutes and showed not a shred of curiosity. I am not sure what this means. Perhaps I am simply not a sheep charmer. Perhaps horses are more personable than sheep. Maybe that sheep thought I was stinky. Regardless, we made no connection.

I was empty. I'd had nothing to eat all day, and too much coffee. Some calories were needed. I'd seen pretty much all I wanted to see, except the car seemed to have a mind of its own and pulled off onto the shoulder. "Make this the last stop, Les. You need to eat." I was feeling like a horse expert by now, so imagine my surprise when I stepped up to the rail fence, spoke, and was completely ignored. Perhaps they had not received the horse memo that I was a grand friend to horses. I felt a little stung, a little miffed. And then it occurred to me. They were eating! They weren't going to desert a meal in favor of coming over to greet me. I could understand that. I was hungry too. I called out, "It's OK, horsey homes. I understand." I put the camera up to my face and as I did, one horse gave me the loveliest wave hello and good-bye! Can the reader tell which horse was happiest to meet me? I give that animal high marks for exuberance and congeniality. I got into the car and drove to my picnic spot, feeling delighted to have made so many friends in one day.

I drove a short distance to a high spot on a hill. The breeze was light and the sun warm. I ate outside standing up. I just wanted to be outdoors. I could see the highway far off in the distance and far below me. I planned to take a long downhill (Ha, Tag! Going downhill!), really fast few miles to the highway and then spin around on my heel and motor myself back up that sharp grade without breaking stride. Reader, I know about gradient. This one was at least 10% (maybe as much as 12%) for a very long stretch. After that uprising hill comes a false flat and then another hill of 8-10%. I felt that strong. That confident. I'd do it withoutbreaking stride. Getting ready was rather involved. Keys? Check. BlackBerry? Always. MP3? Yes, with an extra battery tucked into my pocket. Big bottle of water? Uh-huh. Need some more hands, Les? Absolutely! I powered up the MP3. It started to play Track 47. I selected it purposely. It sets the tone for a fabulous walk at a really good pace. It makes a woman do a few dance steps in the highway before she begins to stride. You may listen to it below.

In my ears right now: One of the best tunes in my MP3. Check David Ruffin's eyeglasses and the choreography and the collars and the saxophone. I defy anyone to listen to this and not dance on the sidewalk or the highway! Oh, I like it by the Rolling Stones, too. Mick Jagger with his eye makeup and knickers and his narrow ass. But the Temptations rock this. I've left it large so the video can be enjoyed.

Something that charmed me: This day. This day charmed me. The sun and the breeze and the simple fare of cheese and melon and a hard-boiled egg I took along. The sound of no phones screaming charmed me. Having no bitchy people in my personal space charmed me. Looking a fear in the eye (horses) charmed me. Seeing a lovely old couple doing what they love charmed me. Getting ready to step off for some road miles charmed me. I was so charmed, I even felt charmed about returning to work the next day. But that would be hours and hours after my hilly picnic.

One photo credit (LimesNow only half paying attention): J. D. Morehouse

The Latest Tag

Friend Kass is fun. I don't have to have met her in the flesh to know this. It fairly jumps off of the monitor and into the room. This woman is exuberant. She hadn't posted in a few days, but she has a brand new granddaughter, so I didn't think much of it, although I missed her. I think this woman would be good at designing or organizing party games or fun things to do at a business mixer.

Her post said:

Open your first photo folder,scroll down to the 10th photo, post this photo and the story behind it. Tag 5 people.

OK, I can do that, and I have such a mixed bag of stuff in photographs, anything could pop up.

Like Kass, I'm not tagging people specifically. I'll just issue the invitation ~ join in, if it pleases you.


There is a place where I love to go when I am looking for solace. It lies within Death Valley and it features a small system of smooth, golden sand dunes. It is peppered with the debris of long abandoned mining operations and it features the most beautiful variegated rocks I've ever enjoyed. One goes to this place expecting to experience, and one does experience, a classic desert outing.

Tucked around the far side of a mountain outcropping, however, lies an unlikely setting ~ a marsh! In Death Valley! It isn't a very large area, but it boasts ponds with reeds and cattails, salt flats and waterfowl. While the sand dunes across the valley are a silent cathedral in warm, neutral tones, the marsh is a bustling village plaza with darting birds and flashes of green plants. The juxtaposition of these divergent microcosms pleases me. I purposely plan to hike in both locations on each trip and I end up feeling like I've been to two separate destinations.

The picture is a gaze into the jumbled reeds, mostly dry and brown because it is the winter solstice. Some of them have a little green at the tips, however, a reminder of the autumn past and the spring to come.

In my ears right now: To keep in theme with my picture, I was going to say Fields of Gold. Most who read me probably know this beautiful Sting piece. I went to YouTube and made a discovery. Their name intrigued me: Celtic Woman. Hey! I'm very much into my Welsh-ness. I listened to them. I think they are lovely. Embedding is disabled, but if the song pulls you or if you're simply music curious as I am, this is worth a listen. Try it! If you don't like it, you'll pull the plug.

Something that charmed me: Celtic Woman charmed me.

Home After Solstice

I did something most unlike myself during my Solstice Fairy gig. I took out the camera that has gone everywhere with me for years and . . . I took some pictures with it. No longer the digital accessory, that Sony was employed for the purpose it was intended.

Solstice at Grandmother's house, after the remodeling and landscaping were completed.

The solstice outing to the dunes was a most wonderful holiday get-away. Things were a bit different this trip. Shorts taken, but not worn. The skies not quite the same as every other time. New things to see, old landmarks gone missing. Conversations made while being pulled into the most marvelous of campfires. Observations made while climbing in the dunes. "Hey, cat prints -big cat! What do you think, cougar?" Soon we observed there are at least two, and possibly three, cats. Some of the footprints are smaller than others. They appear to hunt together, one following the other, until their tracks diverge. Perhaps some bird flew off at a tangent, or a small mammal changed course and appeared worth following.

I found time to think and consider things. I weighed a few matters in my head, trying to land on how much more time and energy I will throw at them. And I realized on the ride home that I've got through "the holidays" without any negative energy or events. It is a challenge for me and not only did I get through, I walked upright. I even managed a very difficult personal situation during the holidays to the extent that I feel very good about it, very strong.

And so, I will spend a day reading all the blogs, making my comments, and then I will proceed to write and tell what I am compelled to set out.

In my ears right now: Steve Earle & The Del McCoury Band ~ The Mountain. It was requested of me as a holiday gift. The beauty of that is one gets a free burn of the CD! It is very good and features a little input from Emmylou Harris, Gillian Welch and Iris Dement. Enough said? I recommend it.

Something that charmed me: I love finding a marsh - wetlands! - in Death Valley. It just doesn't easily compute for me. Yet, there it is. We heard frogs croaking and waterfowl chirping. There it is, just like last time. Just like next time.

Peace on Earth at Winter Solstice

I plan to keep writing pieces about holiday excesses because I have a visual wonder to post on the last such article. But the days are moving quickly through the holidays now and I have a couple of other things I want to post in between. I hope the reader will indulge my hopscotch approach. I figure it's still "the holidays" for another 10 days or so.

I love solstice. It has come to mean "the holidays" to me. And today is solstice. It is the morning I have leapt out of bed, beginning my four-day run for the finish line into solstice celebration. I have begun the lists, the shopping, the planning, the assignment making, the setting out of the appropriate clothes. I've sent e-mails and reminders and talked about it to home dudes when I arrived at the office this morning. For solstice is the season for me. I am the Solstice Fairy of Past, Present and Future.

The first couple of holiday seasons "after", I hardly knew what to do with myself. I was partnered with people who didn't care a lot for Christmas, as such, and "Christmas" is all I ever knew. I'd limp out of those holidays feeling unsettled and unfulfilled. I didn't know what I wanted, but I wasn't getting what I needed. I couldn't move forward because I couldn't quite leave the past.

And then came that year. Mother Badger had come for the holidays and to help get the Badger through a day surgery on his hand. She took him off in the predawn and they called me midmorning to say he was fine and they were going home. I was relieved and now could turn my thoughts to wrapping the last gifts, picking up the freshest items for our holiday meal.

About 2:00 p.m., the lab called me. I'd had a routine blood draw on the previous Friday so my doctor could monitor certain of my prescriptions. I was told I needed to go immediately to the nearest emergency room for blood transfusions and to be prepared to stay a couple of days. I was acutely anemic and I was flabbergasted. I called home, tearful, and the Badger said the lab had called there. He gave them my work number. "Come home, Limes. We'll get you there."

Then commenced an afternoon, evening and night from hell. I was a basket case, the Badger was a bit of a zombie having had general anesthia that day, Mother Badger was a fierce advocate on my behalf. The hospital emergency room, at a good address in Las Vegas, was hideously overcrowded and I wasn't injured or actively bleeding, so we waited and waited until Mother Badger started to raise hell. I was finally seen by an army of phlebotomists, internal medicine specialists and I don't know what else. We'd been there 7 hours when I was shown to the gurney where I would spend the night in the hallway - it was the only place they had to put me. When the first unit of blood was started, the Badgers bid me good night and told me to call when anything was known. I wanted sleep that night, but it was difficult. I clenched my purse between my knees beneath the blanket and closed my eyes, turned toward the wall so complete strangers wouldn't see me in my sleep as they walked by.

At dawn, I'd been given enough other peoples' blood to put me back on the "living" list, had been monitored, given a light breakfast. All the health care providers agreed I needed to be admitted to determine what had caused such anemia, but there was no room at the inn for me. I called home and the middle aged man and the elderly lady set out to pick me up. I was damned glad to see them, and choked up while sipping at my orange juice. They carried me home and we all settled into exhausted sleep.

When we met at the kitchen table around noon, Mother Badger said she'd had a call from the young woman who tended to her cat and home when she travels. It looked like someone had been in the house and burglarized her! She was distressed - we all were - and it was decided we'd open gifts and share our holiday meal that night so Mother Badger could drive home the next day. Not the way any of us intended the holidays to look, but we had to deal with all of it. Arriving at home, Mother Badger called to say she had been burglarized, and likely by a young man acquainted with the woman who was hired to watch her home.

I napped and rested - I needed to. At one waking, the Badger asked me to look at the computer monitor. "Look at the temperatures! Let's go camping, Limes." I didn't want to, readers. I didn't feel up to loading food and camping gear and clothes and . . . . "I'll do most of it, Limes. I'll just need help with things I can't do with my hand." He did, too! Although I am big on splitting the tasks 50/50, that time he did the lion's share of the work.

He drove and I napped in the car. We arrived at the place we'd never visited before, and stepped out into balmy air, clear, sunny, blue skies. The weather readings had been correct - it was warm. We spent a few days there in quietude and warmth. He hiked and I hiked when I could. We discovered an unlikely, misplaced swamp in the transition between the Mojave Desert and Death Valley. No, it wasn't a mirage. I know reeds and waterfowl when I see them. We found old mining structures and became familiar with the most glorious series of sand dunes to climb and hike.


But it is the solstice moon that draws me the most strongly. For in this place at this time of year, that moon squirts up over the mountaintop just about the time I am cooking dinner on the Coleman stove. It presents all fire and opalescence, lighting up the terrain as it rises, the time being not-quite-light and not-quite-dark. We always "ooooh" and "aaaaah" ~ "Badger, can you capture it on digital?" He can. He does.


This will be the third solstice camping in four years. Although on one trip, we found the beautiful gift of an out-of-place little violet flower on top of the dunes, it appears we will be more challenged later this week. First we had the possibility of rainshowers. That has diminished. It will be colder than we are used to in this spot. But it will still be quiet and it will still be beautiful and one can enjoy all of that with just a few more warm layers. I'll roll out of the car and be cradled in the embrace of the dunes. There we talk. There we enjoy our fire. There we read and refuel our empty tanks.

Happy Holidays, everyone ~ I hope you spend them in the ways that mean the most to you. Peace on Earth. Good Will to Everyone.

Photo credits for the real LimesNow and the last three photos above: J. D. Morehouse

In my ears right now: Still Cyndi Lauper and Peter Kingsbury singing Walk Away Renee. In the new year, I'll seek out a 12-step program.

Something that charmed me: Tag just e-mailed me the damnedest thing I've ever seen. He suggests it might be "Limes Now". I submit I haven't worn that mustache for years!



Photo credits for THAT LimesNow: NOT J. D. Morehouse. And I'm NOT that LimesNow.

Cup of Sweetness in Sugarhouse

I've been writing stories from my early life and I put the cart before the horse, saying the name of the place, Sugarhouse. That grabbed the attention of friend, Kass, who immediately wanted to know specifically where in Sugarhouse. While I slowed the story-telling in order to lay a foundation, she patiently awaited the release of my address. I posted it Sunday.

Yesterday she went out with her camera, and I don't think that's much different from many of her days, even though we are of short acquaintance and she hasn't told me her schedule. The bloggers were pretty quiet Monday, but just as I was about to lock up the office and call it another long day, she popped up. I hurried to Old Sugarhouse and when the first image came up, I had to push the chair back from the desk and take a very deep breath.

For there, right before my eyes, was the red b rick duplex and the long asphalt driveway. Exactly as I remembered them. I'd been typing about that driveway 15 minutes previously. It's the stage upon which Tiny Tears and I played out a bicycle drama. There was the pine tree, a behemoth now, but after all, it's been 51 years. She took photos of the neighboring houses and various items of interest throughout the neighborhood. We now know we grew up in very close proximity to one another. Later in the evening, she let me know she'd PhotoShopped a sepia image of my home, and that gives it a distinct 1950s flavor, even though the picture was shot in 2009.

Looking at these places I remember (yes, that's a Beatles song I love) at the same moments I'm writing of them feels surreal. I am struck by this blogger's kindness, energy and creativity. Last night on her other blog, she commented: "Since I bought my little, inexpensive digital camera, I am in LOVE with taking pictures." I would say so, Kass! We can see that you do! Please keep doing it. Thank you for sharing what you see in the world with your own creative spin.

Photo credit with sincere thanks: Kathryn Feigal

In my ears right now: Rolling Stones, "Waitin' on a Friend". I've always loved the song and I'm playing it now in the spirit of making and keeping new friends.

Something that charmed me: Well,l what do you think? That travelogue through Sugarhouse and the pilgrimage to 2503 S. 6th East!

My Cup Runneth Over

Well, a weekend outing is not a person, but once again I find I am filled with too much going on in the head to put into writing in one fell swoop. A lame, hour-by-hour, blow-by-blow "we did this, we saw that" is not the way I wish to present.

I will, however, begin with this: I was gifted with everything I hoped to see, hear, smell, touch, learn and feel. I was given some personal, emotional gifts I have wanted for a long, long time. I returned to Las Vegas exhausted, both emotionally and physically (but cathartically happy), and asked on the offramp, "What do you think of a woman who will likely be snoring away for the night by 7:00?"

With more to come in the next several days, here is a photo I really enjoy:


No, neither my feet nor my rear end touched any petroglyph. I aim to be respectful of these and other artifacts. I do confess to - once in a long while - touching one of them with my clean fingers. I can barely live with the shame. I am also not a rookie or a rube who typically wears athletic shoes in the desert. I am a woman who owns the good goods in terms of boots - many pairs. I had an infection in my foot this time.

By all means, one must click on the photo to see the detail. For there is Limes, seated happily among the petroglyphs. My fascination with this spot is that it is a vast wall of boulders where one can scan the heap repeatedly and spot previously unseen 'glyphs. Take a look at the tiny light spot in the upper left-hand corner. That is the sky, to give one some perspective about the size of this rock mound. The Badger has scaled to the top on occasion, tripod and himself occupying a very narrow perch - I have not. But he tells me there is a rich store of petroglyphs at the top, making the trip well worth it.


I am not a petroglyph expert. I do not know what the symbols mean. Odd, as much as they fascinate me, I've never paused to buy one of the informative charts in the various book shops or visitor centers. This is principally because, when I am "out there", I'm literally "out there" and do not look fit enough to mingle with others. Therefore, I call the various carvings "the Easter egg looking one" or "the one that looks like the Virgo symbol" or "the peace sign".

Peace is what I am enjoying today as I found my way through some terrible emotional mazes, took a ride on the carousel and grabbed for the brass ring, all in the quietude of the desert. Yes, I do know that's a tremendous amount of allegory in one sentence. I can live with the shame.

Photo credits: J. D. Morehouse - Yes, I know one doesn't post huge photo files on blogs, but I needed the 'glyph details to be visible. I can live with the shame.

In my ears right now: Adieu, False Heart - Linda Ronstadt and Ann Savoy. On the ride to the Preserve Friday night, the Badger played one of his custom mixes. I knew most of the tunes but came to the alert a few times when I heard two women singing beautifully. I didn't know who they were. He told me and I paid close attention. As we bumped along the Jeep trail, on came the tune that made me cry quietly in the dark in the car on the way to the place I love.

Something that charmed me: We were already back in Las Vegas, on the freeway, tired, sunkissed, sweat salty, speaking of workplaces to return to on Monday. Then we rode in comfortable silence for awhile. "Limes, want a burn of that CD? I have it right here." "I'd love that, Badge. Thanks."

Longing . . . . Yearning . . . .

I have a deeper, brighter line of demarcation in my life than most, or maybe it simply seems that way to me because I have a starring role in the drama. Nearly everything about me can be categorized as "before" or "after", for everything truly changed that much.

"Before" was childhood and youth, a long marriage, finally a child, the long career, my work life ending when I was 46, because I could do that. I thought I had the future planned quite well. OK, so the marriage wasn't sparkly and I didn't know what to do with myself if I was no longer defined by that career, but I decided I could hang in for a lifetime despite all that. The child was a nice reward to stay for. Ex already had squatters' rights in our home because he'd stopped working before I did. We were trapped in our home together all day, every day unless we looked for a purpose to get out somewhere. It took about four years for those walls to reach their maximum capacity, barely containing emotions building and unresolved for 30 years.

"After" is not yet fully defined, as I am still living this life. It's a work not yet completed. "After" has contained some of the highest highs and the lowest lows I will ever know. I'll keep you posted, interested reader.

"After" has included a man I knew from "before", but didn't know for 30 years. Our process of becoming reacquainted included, of course, the telling of the things we loved or disliked, the interests that caught our attention, the things we now knew how to do. "Do you remember the disco era?" We both hated that! "I converted to Judaism. My daughter was bat mitzvahed and worked in Israel." Wow! I came to "after" very well-traveled in Europe, Mexico, Egypt and on the world's cold and warm oceans. I could rightly be called an ocean person. He spoke compellingly of his love of the desert - photographing it, camping primitively in it. I knew nothing of the desert and was, in fact, just a little afraid of it. I'd driven through it all my life to one destination or another. It was pretty dull. Brown, hot, huge. But I was interested in him and if he was interested in the desert, then I'd check it out. "So, will you teach me about it and show me what you love?"

I have many wonderful desert adventures to share and beautiful photographs to punch up the stories. I will begin to share those soon, but this post is meant to be more general in nature. On the first camping trip, he uttered not one disapproving word about my four duffels and backpacks teeming with way too many, completely inappropriate clothes for desert camping. He didn't raise his eyebrows over my bringing shampoo and conditioner and hair wax. At least I didn't bring the blow dryer. Although friend Janne had taken me to Big Five to get boots, they weren't quite right either. But I didn't know that for a long time, because he was not critical.

When we rose up out of the deep gorge from our hike on an early outing, the wind was screaming. He was in the lead. He reached the top of the trail, where one's head pops above ground level like a gopher peeping out of its hole. "Oh, my god, our tent has blown away!" Well, he's known for his sense of humor and ironic wit. I know when he's funning me. "Ha! You can't fool this city girl!" It had. Despite being anchored by my four bags and his meager duffel full of necessities, that purple dome tent had had its stakes torn from the ground and had rolled seemingly half way across the Mojave.


It took just the one time to snare me. Emerging from the car into the dark, starlit night as we arrived, I said something I've never failed to repeat on any desert trip: "Listen to the quiet!" I learned to love the hiss of the lanterns. I reveled in the conversation and laughter and a shared cocktail in the campsite before ending our day in the tent, sometimes freezing and sometimes roasting, but always preferring to be right there, rather than anywhere else. During the months that are acceptable for camping in the Mojave - about October through May - we went out a couple of weekends per month. For years. Although we celebrate winter solstice rather than "Christmas", we have enjoyed our holiday dinner "out there" more than once. I could rightly be called a desert person.

Fast forward: nothing remains the same forever. Other interests take priority. Work schedules must be considered. One has to decide what one will spend free time doing. Cycling races took over the number one spot. If you care about someone, you support their endeavors and I have been willing to sacrifice some camping opportunities for some cycling races. The odd, rare campout has been enjoyed from time to time.

But now it's truly and officially fall. The last cycling race is in sight. I read something on his blog that said, while he has had such a racing season he can hardly believe it, he aches to be out in the starlight. I wish he'd said "eager" or "anticipate". "Ache" rather tore me up. I sent an e-mail to concur that it is time to camp. I used words like "longing" and "yearning". They are my truth. I named places like Paiute Gorge and Cow Cove. He came back with "Ibex Dunes". For I need to wake up to the sound of the coyotes and drink the good coffee dripped through the Melitta filter. I pine for the long hike in the sun, whether I am bundled up in a parka or wearing as little as possible. I am starved for the little treasures one locates on the desert floor - from shiny rocks to live little lizards, old mining tools . . . it doesn't matter the details. It's all good. I desire to scramble up the rock pile and find still more, previously undetected petroglyphs and pictographs.

I've had a difficult change of season from summer to fall this year. I almost thought I had some version of Seasonal Affective Disorder as I've been quiet, "down", moony. I don't sleep and I can't write and I can't "get right". I spy the "Not Available to Work" calendar on the wall in the office, and Limes' name appears nowhere.

Yesterday I read a comment on a blog I follow. I immediately confess that these are not my own words, but they struck me in my heart and gut. She wrote: "I long for something I cannot even name." My eyes filled with tears. I long, too. And soon we shall go camping.


All photo credits: J. D. Morehouse

In my ears right now: Bob Seger - Against the Wind. The lunatic wind right now is sucking my office steel and glass double doors open and shut, open and shut. A gust was clocked at 72 mph in Red Rock last night. The Badger is riding up in it now, though it's calmer than it was in the night. Virginia Woolf and I trembled in our bed as the wind screamed. Dylan is too aloof to care about such things.

Something that charmed me: On that first camping trip a comment was shared. "I love my little camping table and my lantern." I grew to love them, too.

The 2008 Skull Valley Race

Yonder comes the Badger, very fast, to give me the startling news that I am no longer a running water bottle hander-upper, but a personal follow vehicle driver. Yow.

So, regrouping, I'm driving alternately fast and slow along a highway in Arizona. Sheriffs grin and wave. Cyclists are giving it their all. I'm singing ZZ Top pretty loudly and poorly: "She don't love me, she loves my automobeeel." The course is 27 miles out and back. It's hilly, with some respectable grades at different spots. There are some good technical turns/descents in it. In some locations one feels as if one is in the desert. In other spots, it's decidedly mountainous. Still other places feel like a combination of mountains and desert. It's warm and humid - lots of cloud cover and raindrops early in the morning. Remember, we have no A/C in the car.

I got pretty brave, pretty fast on the trip out to the turn-around point. This was the honeymoon phase. I zoomed way ahead of the pack, got out and waited for them to catch up to me. It only took one surprise for me to learn which side of the hill to stand on if I didn't want to be startled to death when they approached! Every time I let them catch me, I could see the Badger was still in the pack. At the crest of the first long climb, there were 7 of the 50+ still together. All the 60+ had peeled off the back. The Badger was the oldest in the 50+ group and he was in it strong!

Finally, I decided to head for the turn-around point. With all the volunteers and support team members likely to be there, I wanted to get the lay of the land and set myself up for my duties to be performed. I needed to put myself on open land on the side of the highway he'd be on after the turn-around. He'd spot me as he approached the turn-around and he'd know where to find me after he made the turn. I drove miles and saw cyclists who were in categories that pushed off earlier than the old dudes. My odometer suggested the turn-around point should be near. I saw no gaggle of volunteers. I saw no tent. And then suddenly, it came into my view. "It" was one small orange cone, one woman dressed in colors that completely blended in with the landscape, and a few cases of bottled water. I've seen garage sale signs that caught the eye better than this turn-around point toward which men would be hurtling downhill at maybe 35 miles an hour. On bicycles. A young man was seated on a picnic cooler on the side of the highway where I intended to position myself. I stuck my head out the window. "Oh, say it isn't so!" "I'm afraid this is it, lady. A lot of racers went down already because they can't tell this is the turn-around and they're flying downhill at it."

The honeymoon was over! I parked, got out and began to pace, a bottle of water for him in each hand. No way to let him know. About the time I thought they should approach, I looked up the hill and they came into view. Still 7 of them! He was still in it. As they came closer, I could pick out his red and gold. I witnessed things happen that I didn't have words for then. Believe me, in the ensuing year there has been much discussion about "why did you . . . ?" and "what happened when . . . ?" I now have words for the events.

The Badger did not see the turn-around until he was nearly on it. He was the 7th of 7 and he was in his biggest gear, flying. He managed the tight turn, braking hard, but had to unclip his left shoe in order to balance himself and remain upright. I am no cyclist, but I knew instinctively that he took that turn harder, sharper than he would have wanted to. The woman with the water bottles managed to hand one up to him, which was fortunate, because I did not deliver my bottle to him. Mine skittered across the highway as he grabbed for it. I know he saw disappointment in my face because he said, "Don't worry. I got one." This while he was shifting furiously to get into a climbing gear as the leaders were already attacking the climb. He and two others got dropped. He was still 7th of 7. The last thing I heard: "Limes, follow me. Stay close." I ran for his discarded bottles, picked up a few that didn't seem about to be claimed by anyone else, and got in the car. The next 26-27 miles were where I learned everything and also learned that I knew a lot, from listening to him. For years.

No more figure eights around the pack. I got behind him and stayed no more than 50 feet away for the rest of the race. As we took off from the turn-around, we climbed sharply. I saw him join up with number 6. He caught him! I saw them join up with number 5 - they caught him. For the next 27 miles, a race I understood unfolded before my eyes - because I'd listened. For years. On the climbs, when the others rose and his rear was still in the saddle, I knew they were working harder than he was. While he worked hard and pulled numbers 5 and 6 up the hills, they sat back on his wheel. I knew what I was seeing. These guys were going to be satisfied simply to have finished the race. They were no longer racing. I saw the Badger try to tempt them into forming a pace line. But no.



As the miles went by, I shot very poor pictures from inside the car. They are not good photography. They simply show him working at it for miles and miles. They are very dear to me. I wondered why he stayed with the two road toads, not understanding that the rest of his pack was too far ahead for him to catch. I perfected the art of handing off a water bottle from a moving car on my first attempt!

My odometer told me we were fairly near the end. I saw the 1K marker. I knew he was going to finish the race, which was stupendous in and of itself. I spotted the canopy over the finish line. We were just about done with this rodeo. Then I saw the red car drift across the yellow line. Straight toward him. He was starting his sprint finish, going for fifth position in his category. Perhaps his jaw was already jutting out. Or maybe that red car made it jut. It occurred to me in my automotive cocoon that the Badger just might . . . . . no, he blinked first and took 6th.

As we hung around waiting for the results to be posted, I saw it again - he was gregarious. This made me realize how happy he was doing what he was doing. All the way back to Las Vegas, it was, "Limes, I'm going again next year." "Did you see when . . . . ?" "How about that racer who . . . ?" I was proud of him. And I was proud of me.

On the Monday I returned to work. David and the home dudes couldn't wait for me to get settled, offer the photos, and tell the story. "Limes, how can home dude do that?" "We were thinking about him at the time the race was going on." Thanks, homes. Everyone left the office, finally. David came out looking pretty serious. "Limes, did you think he really might have faced off that car in order to take fifth?" "David, it occurred to me that he might. Badgers are not known to tolerate nonsense. Especially at the finish line in a sprint."

In my ears right now: Queen. The Badger doesn't like them. Here's my dedication ~ We Are the Champions.

Something that charmed me: "Limes, I'm going again next year. I'll do ____ differently. I'll attack that hill coming out of the turn-around way differently. I'll practice that descent the day before . . . ."

You're Invited

. . . to an end of summer / birthday blogger's coffee at Limes' place. Those who would like a shot of Bailey's or Kahlua in it, shall have it. I will not being having shots. Dylan will be on the sofa ready to shed his white fur on those who wear dark clothing. Virginia Woolf will echo-locate those of you wearing pastels. The soundtrack will be the Badger's latest personal mix. Be prepared to enjoy that! I'll burn candles in my stained glass stars and we'll just t-a-l-k . . . .

This has been a most wonderful summer. I discovered blogging and it has done me good. Writing is cathartic and exercises my brain, heart and soul. The Badger has taken some of his most compelling photos ever, and we are excited that each of us has successfully placed some of them for show and sale in bookstores. Mother Badger has repeatedly rung in about our blogs and has a little potential project up her sleeve. I have a new friend I enjoy. A lovely outing is planned next weekend (more on that in a future post), but it will decidedly mark summer's end and the beginning of the year that comes after. I mark years as January to December, but also as birthday to birthday.

I am a teacher magnet, as in: drop me into a room of 100 people and all the teachers find me and I them. Hence, several bloggers I follow are about to end their summer, return to work . . . my birthday looms in a few days and it has always marked "end of summer, start of school . . . " Endings make me pensive and introspective. I'm not all that thrilled this year to have the odomoeter flip again. It's not a milestone birthday. I still have a ways to go until 60. But a broken odometer, my age frozen in time, would be OK enough with me.

So, were we 'tend friends actually in a room together, here are some of the things I would say:

Tree, the Badger and I are having a (100% friendly) disagreement about the existence of a particular photo and its title. I feel so sure of myself. But he's so meticulous about maintaining his portfolio, that I'm a little concerned. I'm transitioning from one computer to another, so I can't currently get to the photo I'm certain exists and with the title I know so well. I'm good in a pinch, however, and have a lovely substitute photo. Your words that caused me to land on a vivid image were " . . the economy of the thorned heart . . ".



OB, I loved what you had to say about Plan Left and Plan Right rather than Plan A or Plan B. It's not hard to choose between a good decision and a bad decision. That's not even decision-making, but simply selecting something comfortable over something painful. We engage more, the stakes are higher, when the choices are a little fuzzy around the edges . . . not so sharply defined. Although I am normally a very decisive person, I can sure dance around making a decision when I'm torn. I wish you good luck. I hope you'll be happy with the decision you land on.

Mother Badger, I hope - sincerely - that you move forward with the project you e-mailed me about. Do it while you've still got the goods! It will be your legacy, just as you mused about blogs being our history in the future. Put down your history! You have some stories to tell. I mean this, truly. If I spent half a day with you, you'd be on the road. And you can do it in comfort and air conditioning. Your sons and grandchildren and all of us who are fond of you are waiting. By the way, I know you won't want coffee. I'll have skim milk or a beer or wine or diet Pepsi for you.

Doozyanner, I keyed in immediately when I started to follow you and you made references to elephants in the room, family elephants, rotting elephant carcasses. More recently you've said "ginormous elephant" and I believe I understand that, as well. I hail from a huge extended family and I think it is fair to say that we put the funk in dysfunctional. The part of that which intrigues me is this: some of us revel in our dysfunction. "Yep, we're a mess and it's OK enough for me." Others of us run screaming. Who handles it better, the complacent or the runners? Who would we ask?

New blogger Dan, I liked what you had to say about asking for help for things we don't even want to learn how to do. I've finally accepted that I don't have to know how to do everything well, I don't want to know how to do everything well, and I don't do everything well. "So ask somebody for assistance, Limes. And offer what you can to others." Although I can grouse about it, I really sort of like my age. I'm comfortable in my skin for the first time in my life. So you're 100% correct - as long as the health holds, it's good from here on out. Thanks for boarding my bus! Looking forward to following you on "The Rest of My Life".

Wheel Dancer, you are most interesting to me. You write lengthy technical pieces about all things cycling. You are beautifully poetic from time to time. But your posts I enjoy the most are those with few words that tell a complex story, colored and shaded. I admire - I envy - the efficient beauty of that economy of words. I don't have that.

TRW, where in the world are you? Woman, if you don't report in soon, I'm sending out an SOS. There's a party going on! Be there. When you ever get home, your mailbox will be filled with girlfriend offerings. I've visited the post office drop box almost every night!



David, Michele and the home dudes, it wouldn't be a party without you. And when the guests spill their coffee with shots, we can pop out the protein spotter and put on a little demonstration. I'm kidding! Please come to my little party.




Badger, you know I'm going to ask you to take good pics of the event. And I'll surely ask you to help me keep enough coffee beans ground and cups filled and conversation going and napkins in everyone's lap, pass the crudite tray and slices of Milky Way cake. Push Dylan off the sofa and absentmindedly stroke VW when she head-butts you for attention . . . It's been a good year, Badger, dating from almost exactly one year ago ~ you remember the event. It's a good time to give an imaginary party and get ready to watch the next year unfold.

Limes, note to self: it has been a good year. Think of all the steps taken forward. Think of all the changes. Think of all the fear a year ago. Think of the words most recently shared with someone special. "I have ____, and I have ____, and I have my marathon training and I have my blog." The next year will start out in the geographical location where the last one started, in the same company, in the same pursuit. And it will be an even better year. More advances made. That marathon will happen in the new year. The continued exercise of healthy new habits . . . . . .

So, 'tend friends, please send me your RSVP!

In my ears right now: Pink - "I'm comin' up, so you'd better get this party started . . . . ."

Something that charmed me: I've been blogging for 77 days when this publishes. There's a whole culture sprung up around it for me. Certain snippets of knowledge about a number of really fine people. This was a good thing to do!

Photo credit - "My Prickly Heart" - J. D. Morehouse
Photo credit - Limes on August 7, 2009 - J. D. Morehouse