Ending

I kept thinking of how pleasant her hair smelled and the warmth of her touch when I held her close,

which added to the sadness I felt when I got home.

I am getting good at starting relationships, not so good at maintaining them. My partners eventually figure out my heart is elsewhere, and I am quiet when they talk about what can be done about it.

But I still love, strongly, which made it that much harder when she walked away.

Contra and Waltz

I went to a contra dance last night, figuring that would be a good way to forget about the Bronco game. What is contra dancing? Here is a good definition, from a google search for those terms. (http://www.sbcds.org/contradance/whatis/#Def0>

“A dancer and his or her partner dance a series of figures, or moves, with each other and with another couple for a short time. They then repeat the same figures with another couple, and so on. The figures are similar to those of old-time square dancing. The figures are combined in different ways for each different dance.”

Contra is high energy, and at the end of a three hour dance you will be exhausted. You need to staying mentally alert, paying attention to the caller’s instructions, and not messing up the dance for everybody. Each dance lasts about 15 minutes, and the patterns for every dance are different. The music starts slow, allowing you to get familiar with the groups of steps, then picks til you are blazing by the end. It’s not uncommon to get stuck once in a while, as in your mind going blank. (This happens to me right after I have squeezed and swung a pretty woman, and can’t think about anything but that for a few seconds). The thing to do when you are stuck is to glance over to the other couples in the line to see what you should be doing, and catch up. Contra dancers are friendly and kind, and will help you if they see you are having some difficulty, especially if you are new to contra.

The thing I love about contra dancing is that it is always done to a live band, with the fiddle is the main instrument. On Friday night I went to a contra that had three fiddles most of the evening. I have always loved roots fiddle music, and the fastest fiddle songs sort of catch in my feet and are expressed in a smile that is hard to contain.

On Sunday the best fiddler I have ever heard was playing. Her name is Sandra Wong and I am in love with her. She has long black hair, a warm smile, and plays the fiddle with such passion that I feel a good 20 years younger when dancing to it. She has played the violin since she was seven. Read more about Sandra here. She has a cd for sale here.

Sandra is such a master that she tends to raise her volume level and intensity of playing at transitions in the dancing, like when you swing your partner at the end of a sequence of contra patterns. Right then is my favorite part, and my partners can feel the effect of Sandra’s fiddle in my touch and intensity. I am gentle with the ladies that don’t like to spin fast, but I have to admit I favor the athletic ladies who’s love of music and dance matches my own.

Sandra finished the evening with the most gorgeous waltz I have ever heard played. My partner said she was new to dancing, but within ten seconds or so was on the beat and following my leads gracefully. It was a great time, and in the midst of leading my partner, the haunting melody of Sandra's violin gave me chills. The experience of hearing Sandra play that beautiful waltz and dancing with such a warm and passionate partner is something that is to me is like up at a timberline campsite, and seeing the sun break over the lowlands to the east on a calm morning. As the first sunlight colors the peaks behind you, and you turn to see it just breaking over the horizion below, you know the peace and spiritual uplight of this moment will remain with you for a very long time.

Yes, that describes how Sandra's playing affects me. As I said, I am in love with her. If you saw her and listened to her play, you would be also.

Bus Home

I got on the 44 bus at Larimer. It was packed, and I had to stand for ten minutes. When I finally sat down, I sipped my delicious fresh decaf coffee I had in a thermos in my backpack, and looked around at my co-riders for the ride home.

A lady in the side facing front seats had pink sweatpants on under her long navy blue coat. A white stripe lined the side of her sweatpants. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun and she talked loudly on a cellphone, oblivious to those of us behind her.

The man diagonally across and behind me had on a blue baseball cap over his long hair that was tied back into a ponytail. He had on a greygreen carhart coat, and must have gotten up early or had a tough day, since he was leaning against the window, sound asleep.

Straight across from me was a young couple. He was tall and lanky, and had his light brown hair cut like Napolean Dynamite, who might have been the young man’s role model. She was short and pert and pretty, and had dark brown hair that went little past her shoulders, and large joyful eyes. They talked and laughed the whole time home. It was clear they were good friends, but I wondered if they might be in love, the way they were enjoying each other’s company so much. Before we got to the end of the route I saw she was holding his hand.

Beween Kipling and Ward a mother and her junior high daughter got on. The daughter was carrying a large box of the World’s Finest Chocolates, and they were on their way to Walmart to try to sell some at the front door. I reached over asked the mother if they were selling candy bar’s. “Yes, she is.”, the mother replied. In response to my question of how much the daughter said they were a dollar each. I searched through my wallet but only had a ten and a twenty. I asked for five, and gave her the ten, insisting on no change. She thanked me and her mother said “See, you didn’t think you were going to sell any.” I hardly ever eat chocolate, but one of those bars was just perfect with the coffee I was drinking.

But what I remember most, and I guess what prompted me to sit down here and write, was what happened when I got on the light rail on the way to downtown, 45 minutes earlier. I ride my bicycle the three and a half miles from work to the light rail station, and on this night timed it just right. I pulled up just as a train was approaching. I struggled a little to climb the steps to the train with my bicycle. My heavy pack full of books and tools to fix a flat were making it hard to get aboard, and the signal that the door was closing started dinging.. A black man on the train reached down and grabbed my front tire, helping me up.

It was a small thing, not witnessed by anybody except me, and easily forgotten. I am not so sure though – acts of kindness might have a much greater impact than we realize, particularly with one who notices each time a sparrow falls.

Notes from 2006's First Backpack Trip

I learned a few things from my January 1st backpack trip.

That January backpacking can be challenging even when the landscape is mostly snow free. The weather the first night and part of the 2nd day was extremely windy, with gusts of over 30 mph. Combine that with the cold, and I was awful glad for the protection of my small backpack tent. That thing is a marvel. I have never seen a wind that while dent it, and it only ways barely four pounds. It is an old Coleman peak1, that I picked up five years ago. I found it on clearance, and as is my nature, I bought three, because of the good price. Not one of them has wore out year, despite the heavy use I give them. It was one of the best purchases I ever made.

I probably need counseling because of the way I spend when I see a bargain. The worst was when I found 90% wool hiking socks on sale for less than 3 dollars at campmor.com. I bought about twenty pairs, and when they arrived and I saw how thick and well made they were, I bought 60 more. That's right, I bought 80 pairs of wool socks. It may seem excessive, like I am nuts or something, but those socks are incredible. Again, one of the best purchases I ever made. After three years I have about 4 of them set aside to fix holes in. I dried one too close to the fire last year, and it burned, but I am probably still flush with wool socks for 15 or 20 years or so.

My snow goggles came in handy during that strong wind, and I felt pretty clever to have them alone. They protected my eyes from drying out and from flying snow and dirt, which made the day enjoyable in spite of the bad weather.

I crossed a creek on the ice, and climbed a steep ridge up to some gorgeous rock formations. There were two level spots to set up my tent. I returned to the creek with a flexible rubber bucket, and hauled the water up the slope to my camp. With the water and all my gear, I was good for a couple of days of exploring those cliffs, admiring the view, and enjoying the company of my border collies. Since the nights were so long I brought along some books to read, and some paper to write some journal entries on. I also had along an mp3 player to listen to music while I was in the tent during those 13 hour nights.

The trick to staying warm during winter backpacking is to bring along two sleeping bags. I put my two pound summer back inside my heavier winter bag, and was just as cozy as if I was sleeping in my room back home.

In the morning I made a fire, and sat next to it with my dog Ben watching the stars fade away into dawn.

Solitude is underated today. Being up there alone made me appreciate again how beautiful Colorado is. I felt awful good that I took the time to get up there and see it again with my own eyes. It makes me a stronger and more authentic person, one that has more to offer when I am back home, ready to be around people.

I learned just where and when Orion's belt would come up, and how high it will climb before dawn in early January. I also learned again what real silence is like, and the spirituality of standing alone on a mountainside as the sun rises down below.

I hope my life never gets so complicated that I cannot go out to experience those kind of things, alone. I don't think it will.

Moving On

Ben was exhausted yesterday after our hike up Table Mountain. He was content to sit beside me on the couch through the evening, to dream of deer watching from the heights, to disappear over the rocks at the top.

How could my two dogs be approaching middle age now, after such a short time? It hardly seems right, that these two that seemed the embodiment of youth, that rubbed off on me, are now slowing down some. It breaks my heart. In a few years I will take shorter backpack trips with them, perhaps stay longer before our return home.

What can be done about it, the moving on of time, that has made my own hands look old and aged? I must seem ancient to the children I take on nature walks, as old as the tree who's trunk I put my hand on, as I look up and tell its story to them.

I don't feel that much different as I did when I was a kid, when I would take my dog and wander out alone in the fields and foothills near our home. I certainly felt like that same kid today, when I stood admiring the snowflakes falling into the river, the mergansers calling on the lake, the crimson red of the dogwood branches.

I am as uncertain as the mystery of the future as anyone is. I don't trust those who say they have all the answers.

I know this though, I feel spiritually when I walk out there, when I stand at cliff's edge with my dogs in the strong wind from an approaching storm, in the purity of a fresh snowfall, in the silence that is God's language.

If anything will remain when I am gone, I think it will come from the love I have always had for nature and wildness, and the humility and kindness that it evoked in me. Its easy to believe in spirit or soul continuing, when I see the renewal year after year in my walk along the river, beside the path that meanders through the winter woods. That is just the way of things.

New Year

On New Year's day me and my border collies drove west to start the year backpacking. The wind blew something fierce that first day. I was awful glad I had along some snow goggles to protect my eyes. We climbed a ridge and choose a campsite with a view of the forest across the valley, and the rock formations up and down the canyon. From there we watched the light change as night set in, and were waiting for the first sunlight to hit our rocks in the morning.

The hard climb to get up there, the wind and cold nights, all made it that much sweeter when the weather moderated the next day, and we were warmed by the midday sun. That is one of the benefits of wilderness travel. You learn to endure hardships, to be patient when the going is tough and the weather turns hard, knowing you will be there when the light changes and beauty appears that you never thought possible.

Anne Bradstreet explained what I am trying to say: "If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant, if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.'

A few days later I went out dancing on Saturday night, to be around people. I went alone, like I have every Saturday night since my divorce nearly five years ago.

I was leaning in the back against a wooden rail when I noticed a young lady up near the stage, on my side. She was tall and fit, had on a tight top, jeans, and western boots. Her blond hair was tied back and her face glowed with the kind of beauty that can make one's heart skip a beat, which is what mine did when she walked up and asked if I would like to dance. She surprised me, because I don't get asked to dance often. I held her hand as we walked to the dance floor.

We danced a triple step and a waltz. She was a skilled dancer, firm and responsive to my touch. She told me her name was Deanna, and that she hasnt done a waltz forever. I chatted with her some, then watched her walk into the crowd, wanting to remember this moment clearly.

Around midnight the band started up Folsom Prison Blues, which has a fast beat, and is one of the better songs to twostep to. I managed to find Deanna up at the front by the stage. Yes, she would dance she said when I asked, and I led her into a double time two step, which is a smooth dance and covers a lot of floor, but which takes more skill. I was thrilled she knew how to do it.

In times like that I become nearly invisible, which is fine with me. All everyone in the hall saw was her beauty and athleticism, moving to the music and my leads. I would turn with her, giving her some momentum before releasing her into a spin. Raising my arm and letting her go was a kind of like letting a lariat fly, because of her balance and the speed she turned. As she slowed I would step in and gather her into my arms again.

Could I have ever had a night like that, a dance like that, if I hadnt endured the sorrow of the end of a long marriage, but kept a strong heart, still going out, trying to learn to how to connect with new partners?

The deeper the sorrow the sweeter the joy that surrounds it, like the clouds clearing at the end of a storm, basking us in pure golden light for a few moments.

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Today a new sun rises for me; everything lives, everything is animated, everything seems to speak to me of my passion, everything invites me to cherish it."
-- Anne De Lenclos

We could never learn to be brave and patient, if there were only joy in the world.
Helen Keller (1880 - 1968)

Robert Frost:
In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.

Learning to live in the present moment is part of the path of joy.
Sarah Ban Breathnach

"The only cure for grief is action."
George Henry Lewes

Richard Wagner
Joy is not in things, it is in us.