Author Archives: Kami

That’s the Power of Love (#1)

I was helping a friend out recently.  For her it was a major event, something that required a ton of elbow grease or buckets of money. The money wasn’t so much there, so the man hours kicked in big time. Word went out that she needed some help and there it was. The Power of Love!

I might add she was grateful to tears for all the help, in its various manifestations.

“You don’t need money, don’t take fame

Don’t need no credit card to ride this train.” 

–Huey Lewis and the News

The collective power of a few or many doing some work is an awe-inspiring thing to see in action.

Red Barn

Red Barn (Photo credit: Kathleen Cavalaro)

Reminds me of a barn raising. One small farmer and his family trying to get a barn built would take a season or more. But bring in the entire community, men and sons wielding saws and hammers, lifting framework, hefting beams, literally raising the roof and the thing gets built in a day. Add in the support network of children carrying water and supplies, women bringing and preparing food and there’s even time for a dance at the end of the day.

The resulting barn is the goal, but the real outcome t is a community strengthened and empowered by a common goal, by working together, by sharing. That, my friend, is the real power of love.

I know we don’t do barn raising any more, at least not around here, but there are myriad chances for sharing, working together and accomplishing a common goal.

“The power of love is a curious thing

Make a one man weep, make another man sing

Change a hawk to a little white dove

More than a feeling that’s the power of love”

The person being helped is not the only one who benefits in this equation. Not hardly!

Change happens

Volunteering to help someone out can change you. The process of giving up some of your time, offering some of your skill, or using your hands in the service of someone else creates something new in you. I know it does in me.

Of course, you have to pay attention to what season in life you’re at. Maybe your offering of love is smaller and requires less time than someone else’s offering. The important part isn’t what’s given, but why it’s given.

Your sharing may not be seen by anyone, including the one you’re sharing with. That’s okay. You’re really the only one who needs to know what gift you’ve given or how you’ve helped.

Need ideas for how you can be a mini-volunteer on your crazy, busy schedule? Here’s a tiny list.

Pray for someone.

Write a note of encouragement.

Leave an apple or a candy bar on a co-worker’s desk.

Do an unexpected chore or errand.

Send a happy quote by text.

Share a hug or pat someone on the shoulder.

Give a compliment.

Got a little more time to spare? Here’s a few more ideas:

Bake some cookies for someone who’s could use a lift.

Donate blood.

Sign up to help with a small project.

Help serve dinner at a homeless shelter.

Donate a bag or box of canned goods to a food pantry.

Do you have a full day a week  or once a month to help out?

Google “Volunteer followed by  your town or city “and stand back.

I googled “Volunteer Phoenix” and found docents, tutors, camp counselors, parks and rec needs, animal rescue, AmeriCorp, music therapy, pet therapy, educational outreach, literacy outreach, and that was just the first couple of hits.

There are always opportunities to help out. Sign up!

Say yes! Just one time, let the power of love take hold and see what happens.

“But you know what to do

When it gets hold of you

And with a little help from above

You feel the power of love

You feel the power of love

Can you feel it ?”

Categories: Joy, Relationships | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Where is the Grinch When He’s Really Needed?

I’m not a fan of Valentine’s Day. Never have been. Not as a kid, not as a teen, not as an adult. Not even as a married person.

Nope. Not a fan.

It’s one of the areas in my life I’ve decided I’m just going to be cranky and annoyed about.

Sorry to burst your shiny red heart-shaped mylar balloon.

Those valentine mailboxes we decorated in elementary school with such high expectations? Always a letdown. While it seemed every other girl ended up with at least one or two surprises from a secret admirer or best friend, I only got the obligatory stack of valentines.

English: A glass of milk (left) and a glass of...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In fact, there were a couple of years the creepazoid boys that made my school life at recess miserable, took the Valentine’s day opportunity to make certain that I felt despised and pathetic. Boys that age have a talent for rude, mean, despicable behavior. (It might warm your heart to know that by high school I was on friendly terms with most of them. They became slightly human by then somehow.)

There was one year, fifth grade I think, that we had a contest for the best valentine mailbox. My dad helped me with this project and it turned out awesome! He found a tall three or four-foot box about the circumference of a shoebox. We turned it into a clown with a wide-open mouth for the mailbox opening. The crowning glory was a squishy red bulbous squeeze horn. Honk, honk! We took first place of course. The grand prize was a supersized Hershey’s chocolate bar. Sixteen ounces of pure heaven I kept hidden in a drawer in my bedroom and nibbled on for weeks.

That memory right there is the highlight of decades of Valentine’s Day celebrations.

As a married couple we attempted a few Valentine’s dates. We quickly discovered that night of all nights is the worst possible one for a date. Restaurants are overrun and rushed. Movies are packed and noisy. Traffic is silly. Dances are ridiculous. Flowers cost twice as much as normal. Leftover Christmas chocolates are stingily arranged in overpriced heart-shaped boxes. We don’t do Valentine’s. We choose to abstain from all celebrating of this silly holiday. Okay, we might exchange cards. But that’s it.

Sorry, I am the Valentine Grinch. Where is Dr. Seuss when you really need him?

CreativeTools.se - PackshotCreator - 3D printe...

(Photo credit: Creative Tools)

The perfect Valentine’s Day for me is in my own hands. It’s a product of my own making. I bake up a huge batch of buttery heart-shaped sugar cookies. Then I slather them with pink butter cream frosting, showering each one with multicolored sprinkles.  Easy. None of that magazine cover overachieving piped lacy design nonsense.

Pop a few of these cookies into your mouth and life just doesn’t get any better than that. The kids love them, MSH loves them. My friends, if I choose to share, love them.

At this very moment there’s plenty of ice-cold milk in the fridge. Butter and yogurt is out on the counter waiting for me to start mixing up the magic cookie dough.

Cookie heart

Cookie heart (Photo credit: summerbl4ck)

My Grincy valentine heart will soften as I mix and roll and cut and bake. All those old resentments will fade as the butter and powdered sugar and red dye whip together into a frothy cloud of pink deliciousness.

Love is in the air, and it smells like sugar cookies.

Happy Valentine’s Day if you’re a believer. Otherwise, enjoy something freshly baked and revel in every bite.

Categories: Food, Love, Relationships | Tags: , , , , , , , | 20 Comments

“When You are Old” An Unexpected Perspective of Love

When You are Old by William Butler Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

One of Yeats’ lesser known poems. I especially like the perspective from a life well lived.

I find that poetry is best enjoyed when read aloud. The cadence and the roll of the words across your tongue add a dimension of beauty and depth. Try it.  Then read it out loud a second time a bit slower and you’ll find it warming you from within.

If you’re really brave, read it out loud to someone you love, a son, a daughter, a spouse, a parent, yourself.

I think everyone should have a poem or two about love tucked away in their memory. Silly,  poignant, freeing, flowing, sad, gleeful, tender. Even a limerick will do if it’s one that can bring a laugh to your day or a smile to your lips.

If  you have a favorite poem about love I’d be delighted if you’d share it with me.

Categories: Love | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Can’t Buy Me Love, and Yet, All You Need Is Love? Lucky Me

It’s Gratituesday! Today I am thankful for love. I know it sounds sappy, but give me a chance to explain.

I’m grateful for unconditional love from my parents, MSH, my kids, and my extended family. I know that no matter how big I goof up, how whiney I get, how unreliable and messy my life is, they are still going to provide me with with love, acceptance and understanding. Even if they don’t understand, they’ll jump that bridge and love me anyway. I’ve been rescued, resuscitated, healed, helped, snuggled, succored, cared for and cuddled by these people in ways only family can offer. What more could I ask for?

And yet there is more love in my life!

LOVE Sculpture, JFK Plaza

LOVE Sculpture by Robert Indiana, JFK Plaza (Photo credit: euthman)

Shared experiences with a few people have created a love that’s definitely not romance, stronger than friendship and distinct from familial love. I’m not sure there is a word for it. A spiritual connection? It’s an understanding or an emotion that requires no words and no actions. It just is. Does that make sense? Like any rare substance, these precious few relationships are priceless and guarded carefully. Surely there’s a word for this kind of love, but I’ve yet to hear or read it. I may have to invent it.

And More!!

I’m grateful for the quirky love of friendship. Each relationship I have is different, some are easy, some are not, but all involve love and persistence and concern. I have friends I can count on for a hug. Some friends I know will keep me humble with humor and sarcasm. And others see the good in me that no mirror I own ever allows me to see in myself. I can even lay open my heart to some with complete trust and no judgment. Those who trust me in the same way amaze me and instill a desire to try harder, be better and be worthy of that trust.

Wow!

I’m thankful that so many people have given me the opportunity to get to know and love them. Thinking about all the love in my life is like stumbling on a treasure trove, chests overflowing with diamonds and gems and silver and gold. I can’t imagine feeling any richer than I do now. Love surely makes my world keep spinning, floats my boat, keeps me grounded, fills my days, lights up my dark times, and creates joy.

Yes, I’m definitely grateful for love.

 

Categories: Gratitude, Gratituesday, Love | Tags: , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Confessions of An Unrepentant Addict

Hello…   “hello.”

My name is Kami…  hi, Kami.”

I.. am… a book snob…    “Amen sister, tell it.”

Shelf of Used Books

(Photo credit: TheDarkThing)

It’s true.  I’ve been inhaling books since before I could crawl, at least I’m pretty sure of it. Every memory in my life seems to have one thing in common.  There is a book involved somehow.

Here’s what clued me in to my “problem:”

My hairstylist, (yup, you Jill) asked me for a book recommendation.

Easy! I’m thinking.  Then she adds a few restrictions.

Nothing depressing

Nothing deep

Nothing I have to think about once I’m done

No mystery

No worry

No drama

Nothing difficult

Something light, entertaining,

Like a sitcom.

That puts a bit of a challenge on the request.

I left an hour later having given her nothing but some cash for the lovely hairstyle.

I had failed at giving a book recommendation! How could I live with myself?

The closest I came to her requirements was a Young Adult book called “Faith and the Electric Dogs.” But it had been a long time since I’d read it.  It was probably too much of something.

Oh, the shame!

Dang it! Why hadn’t I suggested “Hunger Games?”

I had resisted reading those when EVERYBODY was drooling all over themselves reading them.  I was not going follow along blindly like those hoards of crazed lunatics reading “Twilight Books,” no matter how much my most respected bibliophiles recommended it.

About two years after the rush ended I gave in and read the first one.  Then I was like a kid three days after Halloween who’d vowed to make the candy last until at least Christmas.  You got it; I devoured all three of those books. Barely ripped the wrappers off for the speed I was trying to take them in.

Afterwards I felt like a book glutton. I had binged on the literary equivalent of fries, burgers and shakes. It was time for crunchy veggies and clear filtered water and home-baked wheat bread. I needed some classics; Hardy or Tolstoy or Steinbeck or even Dostoevsky to set the world back on balance.

Here’s the thing

I worked for a writer as a typist. (Back in the day, yes, in the dark ages before personal computers were in every pocket and on every flat surface.) This writer was a professor at the university I attended, but wrote under a pen name so as not to put the job at risk.  How would writing put a professor’s job at risk? Well, the novel was a Harlequin or Silhouette romance novel.  I use the word novel very, very loosely.

After submission the manuscript came back to the professor with a rejection form-letter, which included the basic equations for creating a book for their company. The heroine must be x,y,z but not d,e,f. The hero must have a,b,c but not j,k,l. The plot must….the story can’t….the characters need to….  It was so exacting that we considered trying to write a computer program that would write the novels.  They probably do use a computer program now.  Why waste real man hours on that kind of formulaic book?

I probably just offended everyone in the known world. May as well keep going…

But before you all judge me harshly hear me out.  I’ve read westerns, in fact, I love me a good Louis L’amour or Zane Grey once in a while.  I’ve read Michener and liked it. A mystery occasionally is good for variety.  I dig into memoire from time to time. I peruse non-fiction with some regularity.  And, I count historical fiction as part of my ongoing educational pursuit. I even check out a NY Times bestseller from the library on occasion. I even imbibe in Science Fiction if it’s well done.

I don’t always confess to reading them on my Goodreads account though.

Would a chocolatier confess to eating Hershey’s when his palate has the Swiss and Dutch equivalents of nirvana to compare?  Would an affineur, a cheese expert, admit to imbibing in processed cheese on a burger? Would a vintner chug a box of ten-dollar wine and then brag about it?

Not likely, but it’s possible.

When the words of language masters have danced through your head, played on the fields of your mind and painted landscapes across your memory, nothing else fills the need anymore.  Once you’ve had the good stuff, the literary caviar, then flat characters and simple plots with predictable endings or gratuitous anything just doesn’t cut it anymore.

I need the straight lines, the pure stuff, the real talent.

Yes, I am a book snob. I admit it.

And I don’t care if I ever get over it.

Categories: Books | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Looking for a Recipe?

“A good cook is like a sorceress who dispenses happiness.” — Elsa Schiaparelli

Is it an unwritten rule that blogs need to post recipes? Seems even the most scholarly, artistic or unconventional blogs end up posting a recipe once in a while.

All my recipes come from other people. If I posted a recipe it would be like plagiarizing, which I really don’t want to do.

How about instead of a recipe I just post some really yummy looking food pictures.

Finished cinnamon roll with glaze.

Cinnamon roll. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Italian Creme cake. #holidays #christmas #ipho...

Italian Creme cake. (Photo credit: pindarninja)

Hot Chocolate

Hot Chocolate (Photo credit: Jo Anslow)

Caramel Corn

Caramel Corn (Photo credit: Jenn Durfey)

Pot Roast

Pot Roast (Photo credit: Offbeat Photography)

It’s a blustery day. Makes me want to fill the house with the smell of bread baking, throw together a bubbling pot of chowder and curl up with a good book.

What I get to do instead is run errands.

Sigh.

Maybe later I can bake, simmer and chill out.

Happy Saturday!

Categories: Food | Tags: , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Popping the Thought Bubbles and Inflating the Speech Balloons

Reading the comics, I’ve wondered what it would be like if we had actual thought bubbles and speech balloons hovering over us in real life. Imagine, all those unspoken thoughts we harbor, hide and simmer inside of us, out in the open for all to see! Wowser. Pink slips galore! Friendships ended! Marriages broken!  Or would it really be that way?

Talk

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I wonder if we allowed at least some of our thoughts to become speech balloons instead, thoughts made into words spoken, if it wouldn’t cure more ills than it creates. Instead of resentment, maybe there would be resolution. In place of anger, perhaps understanding. Hurt could be changed into healing, and maybe even loneliness could morph into community.

It could happen…

“When we speak we are afraid our words will not be heard or welcomed.  But when we are silent, we are still afraid.  So it is better to speak “– Audre Lorde

Fear seems to dictate so many of our decisions, so much of what we do, where we go, how we are, who we choose to be.

Why?

Why do we let fear be the ruling emotion in our lives?

Can’t we choose to let joy, or love, or compassion or excitement be the main feeling we experience, the main emotion we focus on, the decisive straw that wins the vote?

I for one, feel life more fully when I allow my voice to be heard.  Even if I am the only one who hears what I have to say, at least I have said it, out loud, into the universe.

That, I think, is part of where the power of prayer comes from. As we give voice to the darkness and fear that’s within us, we diminish the potency of those things. Speaking the difficult things aloud opens up space inside and makes room for fresh air, hope, revelation, inspiration and joy. Vocalizing our concerns awakens possibilities within us.

A flower among cactus thorns.

A flower among cactus thorns.

The same is true when we address the positives in our life. Expressing gratitude, telling someone that we love or appreciate them, sharing a joke, even simply saying ‘hello’ broadens our possibilities and makes way for more good stuff.

I don’t have any research to back up what I’m saying. Only one life’s experience and observation tell me these things. I made the choice years ago to open my mouth, which then opened my heart and opened my world.

I decided to bloom, right where I was, cactus and thorns be damned. The hurt will happen anyway, silent or speaking, quiet or singing, forlorn or joyful. Bloom! That is the best choice. It has been the best choice for me.

Categories: Relationships | Tags: , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Sacred Spaces

The Pediatric Intensive Care Unit of a hospital is not a place you want to spend time in.  I found myself there once to support a friend and her family.

When a child’s life hangs in the balance, people from all walks of life, of all faiths or no faith, search for peace, understanding, hope, answers, or a higher power to intervene. Whatever help they can find, however they can find it, they reach for it.

Over the course of several days I found myself in a beautifully designed, peaceful space we called the “chapel.”  Stepping through the doors into the oval-shaped room, with its opaque stained glass trees and gently rounding edges, felt to me like passing into another world.  Sounds muffled, voiced muted, lights diffused, peace hovered.

Lest you think it was simply my own personal reaction to the room let me offer the following incident.

Leaf lamina. The leaf architecture probably ar...

Another friend and her husband came to visit and had brought their own young children as I told them I’d be happy to keep them entertained while the two sets of parents visited. We explored the child-friendly waiting areas with giant chess pieces, the floor that lit up when they stepped on the tiles, some really awesome larger than life toys, and gigantic Lego bricks.  When the play area finally got boring I suggested we go upstairs to see what I told them was a beautiful tree room.

I had said nothing of the reason for the room, had not mentioned it was a chapel.  I simply thought they would enjoy the colors in the stained glass and the unique shape of the room.  When they walked into this room of glass and wood, of reflection and prayer, they immediately quieted their voices. They explored as children do, with fingers touching the different textures and colors of glass and gliding along smooth surfaces.  A small wire and bronze tree sculpture garnered their attention with its tiny leaves and gracefully arching branches.

And then to my surprise, the seven-year-old boy said “hey guys, we can meditate here.”  There was no fussing, or complaining, they all simply sat in a circle in the middle of the room, some in the lotus position, some with crossed legs, hands held just so resting on each knee.  This tiny group of children, who five minutes ago were bouncing wildly through a play area, settled into a brief quiet meditation.

I felt suddenly out-of-place and far too noisy simply sitting on a chair watching these amazing children respond the to climate and spirit of a room.

I believe the prayers, and tears, hopes and pleading that happen in that room remain long after the visitors leave.  Those private tears and supplications for miracles and healing become a part of the walls, the glass, the wood, the very air.  The room becomes infused with hopes and wishes. The very echoes of heartstrings stretched taut to breaking create a sacred space, a haven, a respite, a connection to something more.

Is this something beyond medicine? Or is it the ultimate medicine?

Or is it something else altogether?

Alaska forest - trees

What makes a space sacred?

Sacrifice. Need.

Intention. Tragedy.

Belief. Dedication.

Blessings. Desire.

Reverence.

Consecration.

Promises. Nature.

I know I certainly need more time spent in the sanctuaries of my life. The peace that comes as I take a solitary morning walk amid some of earth’s grand greenery is well compensated. Time spent contemplating life, or merely emptying my mind, brings a calmness that permeates my day. Other places I consider sacred can imbue meaning and  hope in my life as I spend time and allow the atmosphere there to settle in and around me.

Life moves fast and can be fiercely painful at times. Going somewhere silent and sacred can lend balance and offer a balm like nothing else can.

Do you have a sacred space somewhere in your life? If not, do you need one?

Stained Glass

Categories: Mental Health, Outdoors, Wondering | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Oh, Sew What

It’s Gratituesday! Today I’m thankful that my mother taught me how to sew. Can’t tell you how many times that’s come in handy. I swear I’ve sewn a zillion buttons, a thousand hems, a million tiny tucks here and there and prom dress alterations out the wazoo.

Then there’s all those costumes; pilgrim, cat, a pig for the play Charlotte’s Web, a scarecrow, a pirate, a fairy princess for a Shakespeare scene, witch, ninja, monster, angels, shepherds, devil, beauty queen, pumpkin, butterflies and bugs. Don’t forget all those princess dresses, a cowgirl, a cowboy, an Indian, 50’s outfits galore, and a genie. I could go on but I won’t.

I’ve sewn curtains, and pillows, valances and purses, puppets and stuffed animals. I even made my kids clothes when we were a really young family barely able to scrape a couple of pennies together. What a challenge but so satisfying to make something out of almost nothing.

A patchwork quilt from random scraps.

A patchwork quilt from random scraps.

My favorite things to put a needle and thread to is a quilt.  For me, there’s something therapeutic about combining small pieces of seemingly useless fabric together into something beautiful and useful.  What’s more comfort giving than a quilt, fluffy and colorful, warm and embracing. Mmmm.

I created m first quilt from a box of scraps and a few old pieces of clothing I didn’t want to throw away. Then a baby quilt, which required the acquisition of more fabric. Next, a log cabin pattern  that led me on a month’s long search for all the perfect colors. Many more have followed. My one small box of scraps grew into a mountainous collection of fabric that I may never summit.

Teaching me the ins and outs of sewing must have taken more patience than anyone can imagine.  A gift that truly keeps on giving is one that teaches a skill like this. I hope it isn’t becoming a lost art.

Such a basic ability shouldn’t be taken for granted, I can clearly see that now. Thanks, Mom, for passing on your talent, your patience, your gift, your love.

Categories: Gratitude, Gratituesday, parenting | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Acrophobia Anyone?

High places terrify me. Having an overly active imagination I envisioned myself plummeting down a cliff face in an out of control car countless numbers of times. I’m not sure this is normal. Probably isn’t.

As a child we often took the mountain pass from our side of the valley over the mountains to camp, canoe, fish, ride motorbikes and go sledding. Every trip up from our side of the mountain we had to take the lane on the outside edge of the mountain.  I swear I held my breath for the entire ride up and all the way down until there were scrub oak thick enough to catch our car should it suddenly veer to the right off the side of the mountain.

The ride back home wasn’t as breathless since we were on the inside lane hugging the mountain.  It felt safer, although still plenty scary.

The other option to get to the fun side of the mountain was a narrow winding river road with both sides of the canyon closing in on top of us and cars racing toward us as if in a time trial.  After surviving that gauntlet we’d then have to drive along the tiny razor edge of the dam and the winding roads along side the reservoir.

Either road left me exhausted before we ever got to the “having fun” part of the day.

DEAD HORSE STATE PARK AND THE GORGE OF THE COL...

Dead Horse Point and the Colorado River – NARA – 545787 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In my teenage years we went as a family to visit the Grand Canyon, Arches, Bryce Canyon and Canyonlands.  You’d think the Grand Canyon with its precipitous drop-offs would have given me palpitations.  The truth is I was so captivated with the beauty and magnificence of the place I forgot my fears, for the most part.

Fear came later. Total, paralyzing, utter terror.

We took a shortcut off one dirt road to another dirt road while towing the camping trailer in Canyonlands.

Can I just warn you now, in case you ever think you’re smarter than a map, that there is NO SUCH THING AS A SHORTCUT in Southern Utah or Northern Arizona.  What looks like a little quarter-mile jog off the side of the road is, in actuality, a cliff face, or an impassable road, or a road cut into the side of a mountain shored up by a few railroad ties.

Which is what we found ourselves on.

By time we realized there was no pass that cut through the mountain, but instead only switchbacks up the side of the cliff for an eternity, it was impossible to turn around, especially with a trailer in tow.  Our only option was forward, or rather, upward.

Each hairpin turn required a two steps forward, one step back movement, repeated endlessly. Dad would ease the truck and trailer through the hairpin as far as he could go, then back up while cranking the steering wheel, then forward a few inches, then back up a bit, then forward a few inches, until he negotiated the turn.  Fifty yards of straight dirt road or so later, he would repeat the process.

A couple of times Mom had to get out and direct Dad, letting him know how close the trailer wheels were to the edge.  Meanwhile, us kids were in the back of the pickup under a camper shell, huddled in blankets, chewing our nails, trying not to watch and praying our little hearts out.

I was sure we were all going to die out there in the middle of nowhere.  I had already replayed the scene in my mind countless times before we were even halfway up the cliff.  If and when park rangers ever found us, we’d be an unrecognizable heap of burnt metal and glass and broken bodies flung all over the red sandstone cliff.  There wouldn’t even be a funeral.

After two eternities and a stint in Hades, we reached the blessedly flat top of the cliff.  If Dad would have let me, I’d have gotten out and kissed the ground.

Our destination was Dead Horse Point, which is itself a dizzying narrow-necked mesa.  After what we’d been through to get there, it was easy to gaze out over the edge of nothing to the tiny river below.

I can look back now and say, “What an adventure!” I’m glad I lived to tell the tale. But, no thank you to any more high rise exploits in my future.

Categories: Family, Memory Lane, Outdoors | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

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