A journey into the past

When I was growing up, I used to spend summers in Louisiana.  It was never too long–not the whole summer–but about a month each year.  Summers with my grandparents were full of good Southern breeding, which was essential for a Creole girl living in Dallas.  I was to get my dose of the values and lessons that only grandparents can teach.  Those included how to get spoiled, how to make café au lait, and how to go home with more money than when I left.  I would spend hours in the kitchen with M’dear while she baked rum balls, lemon merengue pie, and banana pudding.  Today, my merengue is almost as good as hers, but I have to go to mom’s house for the incredible banana pudding.

My grandfather was a silent man.  He smoked constantly, and had an ashtray that was the height of his armchair so that he could smoke and watch westerns.  I remember being bored to death watching those black and white movies full of Cowboys and Indians.   Whenever Amos and Andy would come on, I’d finally tune in.   I thought they were funny, but most of all, they weren’t westerns.  My grandfather was beautiful and graceful.  He reminded me of Cab Calloway, but was much more handsome.  He was so fair that people couldn’t believe he was Black.  But for me, he was just my grandfather–the graceful man who watched the westerns.

I think that I am very similar to M’dear.  She always had friends over, music on, and would dance in the house whenever Rufus or the Jacksons would come on.  I was 10 when she passed, but I can still remember her in her light blue polyester suit dancing to “Tell Me Something Good.”

I think that we naturally relish in the days of our past because we remember them as simpler times.  I’m not sure if that’s true, but I know that it was well before having to deal with the everyday bs of adult life.  I wonder why we don’t bring that simplicity to our lives in the present?  Why always draw upon the past to define the future?  I realize that we need to embrace the past, but the moments that we live in right now are the ones that define who and what we are today.  There is no reason why one can’t simplify.  Thoreau did as an adult–why can’t I?

In planning for the future with beloved, now that we’ve talked about the big things (spousal roles, spirituality, sexuality, finances, etc) we are trying to figure out the logistics.  Where do we live?  How do we coexist with all our animals?  What do we do with her house?  How does she find work here?  What if we go back to Texas?  There are so many details that we are working out–it oftentimes becomes a draining conversation of details that don‘t get us any further than we were before the discourse started.  At some point, we just center down in the foundation of love, respect, and commitment that we have for one another, and recognize that it doesn’t all have to be figured out at this second.  Our lives of menial details turn into hope for the future again, which is tranquil and organic.  I think that we’ve figured out that in following the natural steps, we can get to that simplicity… reminiscent of our past… in hopes that we will create new memories of dancing in the house, baking desserts, and teaching the girls how to make café au lait.

Travel a la GranDiva

Meditations at 33,000 feet

We all know everthing appears tiny from an airplane, but as a city girl, I never expected the mountains of what I can only assume is New Mexico to look so small. It looks like ringworm on a child’s leg. The mountains are infused with hues of red, green, orange, and deep blues. There are specs of brown and yellow peering out. Nestled in the middle of patchwork plains, they confuse the sensibility of this city chick.

Ah, we’re getting nearer–they’re not mountians, but rather a great canyon. I guess all canyons are “grand.”

We’re beginning to hit the waves of this great ocean in the sky. I see two other ships pass us by on the way to another destination in the direction from which I just traveled.

Red rocks, rocky hills, and even a lagoon all break up the patterns of the plains. Streets form constellations below. Where is Capricorn?

The circular patterns–a pattern on a go-go dancer’s dress–reflect the reminents of grain, corn & wheat. The crop circles are by far the most interesting part about the plains.

Ah, we’re getting to the introduction of the desert. I love the desert. I love the warmth, the browns, the cactus. Of course, from here, I can only imagine the cactus. I imagine road-runners and javelina, tourists on burros, campers on hikes. I love the tiny bodies of water that collect in the cracks of the desert. Those cracks seem to house all the desert secrets.

More circles… sleep comes easily…

Denver

What a snowy paradise! The juxtaposition between 85 degree weather in Houston and 29 degree frost is shocking. As I pick up my vehicle, I think, “How the hell am I going to drive in this?” Then, I say to myself, “I’ll make it work.”

After an afternoon breakfast, I find myself driving through the snow to the city of Denver. Even though the fog and snow has covered what I know to be an amazing view, I am astonished at this winter setting at the end of March. My flip-flops lie nestled in my backpack. They will not see the sunlight until I return home.

Although I am basking in the snow, letting snowflakes fall on my tongue, I soon realize that my sightseeing plans for that day had been changed. It seems that my only recompense is rest, hanging with friends, and, of course, embibing.

After a night of drunken debauchery, I wake up to an amazing mostly sunny day. Finally, I get the “Ah!” moment I was looking for. The city is completely surrounded by the Rocky Mountains. Glorious!

The snow-laden trees are the most impressive to me. They look like statues with crystaline accents. They peek out, tempered to the harsh conditions of the frosty weather that I love so much. It’s amazing how much like trees we try to be. We may lose a little of ourselves during the hard times, but we persist.

Colorado Springs

I wasn’t expecting a lot out of Colorado Springs. All I knew about it was it’s conservative politics, and I’d heard something about some guys cliff-diving in some restaurant. Little did I know about how beautiful the drive would be to get there, and the most amazing red rock playground at Garden of the Gods.

As I hike around this amazing place, I find my time to let silence speak. I’d been in the care of friends before that day, and had not let myself slow down, breathe, and experience.

There is not a lot one can say about experiencing this type of beauty. I invite you to sit and be still for a moment as you put yourself in this amazing place looking onto Pike’s Peak.

Vail

There is not enough space to fit all of the beautiful moments in Vail. I meet up with my friend, Christine, to discover the beauty of this winter paradise.

I fall in love with another spectacle of beauty–water flowing through snow covered ground. There is something about the contrast between tundra and life-giving water that invites me to relish in this incredible sight.

After dining in the fabulous restaurant where my fair Christine takes the picture that would become my avatar, we travail past all of the little shops that encompass the memoirs that I will bring back to my loved ones, and meander through the mini-Austrian village transplanted to this lovely American state.

Swallowing my fear, I agree to go to the top of the mountain to get the birds eye view of this gorgeous place via gondola. I experience the scariest moment of my life going above the timber line. I never thought I would dangle from a wire at 11,000 ft, but the vista is worth all of the white-knuckling along the way.

The funniest experience in this lovely place is seeing the other Black face in Vail. It belongs to the nanny of a posh little family from LA that seems so excited to give the extension of their family an experience she ‘would never otherwise have.’

Leaving my love

After meeting myspace sisters in Boulder, reconnecting with my friend, John, in Denver, and checking out of my hotel, I head to the airport where I must bid adieu to my girlfriend, Garmin, my GPS.

Again, in the sky, I am much less apt to meditate. I drift in and out of sleep, pondering all of the beautiful moments of my trip to the Thin Place. The experience is complete when I wake up to find a beautiful Houston sunset at 18,000 ft greeting me home.

The Mountains, a Thin Place, Renewal

I am getting ready to renew, refresh, and re-energize. I am preparing to relax. Basically, I’m readying myself to do all the fabulous things that start with “R.” Read, relax, reconnect. I will do all of this in the mountains.

As a city girl living in Houston, Texas, I rarely see mountains. The closest I get is when I get to the hills of Austin. When I do escape to the mountains, I’m reminded that there is something magical about them. In biblical times, amazing things always seemed to happen there—Moses receiving the 10 Commandments, Jesus talking to God there, and then resisting temptation there. I find an amazing connection to the universe at large there in what the Celtic tradition describes as a “Thin Place.”

“There is a Celtic saying that heaven and earth are only three feet apart, but in the thin places that distance is even smaller. A thin place is where the veil that separates heaven and earth is lifted and one is able to receive a glimpse of the glory of God.”

How amazing would it be to be able to see into what we can’t see—what we don’t know—particularly about ourselves. I feel this way when I mountain hike. The funny thing is that the “magic” doesn’t happen at the top as one would assume. It happens on the drive there, and then travailing up the mountain. It is similar to walking a labyrinth in which you are asking your life questions on the journey to the mountain, and then up the top. At the top, I listen to the stillness. I don’t listen to hear an answer, but rather, I let silence speak. In our world of advising, negotiating, pontificating, loving, losing, and fighting, it is so nice just to let the beauty in all of creation give something back. On my way back down the mountain, I envision myself accompanied by a greater presence. For me, this is God, for others it could be enlightenment, Allah, Moses, or nature. I feel accompanied on this journey down (where inevitably I slip, and almost kill myself more than once!). It’s funny, because it takes a bit of faith in oneself to look down a mountain and say, “Okay, it’s time to race down to the bottom.”

I remember getting stuck on Camelback Mountain last year. I hiked halfway up with a friend, and then she abandoned me due to her fear of heights. I also have a fear of heights, but the view in Scottsdale, Arizona was something that I pictured to be lovely. That view pushed me up that mountain. So I got to the top, and meditated in the lovely space that ushered in a vista of the western desert. The air was clear and fresh. I, however, was disgusting at this point, because even January, the Phoenix area heat could be felt in the middle of the day. On my way down, I came to an area that I must not have noticed before. It was a slide of about 15-20 feet—the only way down, so I thought, was just to run and pray. I was paralyzed. You see, the view was no longer pushing me to the top. My fear of heights was at work, I realized that I was on the edge of a mountain, and I was a gonner. I sat there thinking, am I really to meet my death on my 32nd birthday? I tried to do what I now refer to as “booty repelling.” A slide/run, slide/run booty first combination. Fearful that I would rip my pants, I stopped again. That was it—I’d have to be rescued. Out of nowhere, a handsome bloke came up to me, and put his hand out. He said, “Trust me—I won’t let you fall. Just do what I do.” I said a quick prayer, crossed myself, and put my hand in his. Doing exactly what he did, as any apt pupil in my situation would, I allowed my trust in him to get me past the slide.

It’s amazing that the things that we don’t worry about when we have our eyes on a goal, are the very things that we can let distract us from the beauty of having attained it. You see there are always two sides to any mountain—being excited about getting to the top, oftentimes derails me from the fact that I do have to make my way back down. The thing is, though, that the “Thin Place” is the whole experience. If we allow ourselves to enjoy the whole journey, we do get some insight into the deepest desires of our hearts, which tells us more about who were intended to be… before the minutia.

I look forward to my trip to that Thin Place. I look forward to being reminded of what is important to me, who is important to me, and why I work as hard as I do to have what I have. I look forward to meeting myself on the top of the mountain, and hope that I come down as a more vibrant individual who can give more of herself to the people who know how to accept that gift.