Just fly

All of us hide in ourselves. We hide in makeup or no makeup or in too many or too little clothes. We hide behind smiles, behind boasts, behind silence; we are all hiding.

Watery warm autumn sunlight kisses my cheek and jaw line. The Wind Woman plays lightly with my hair. She is whispering in my ear, her cool bare breath against my face, tickling me into a smile.

People are flying and I want to fly too. I came out here to watch, to be inspired, to talk to the Wind Woman, the Lady of Wild Hair and Random Tangents. Lately I am afraid of things I want and I wonder why. Is it a mortality fear? Fear of aging, am I overly sensitive to the fragility of my human body? I had pondered this two days ago too. I thought about the fear when I launched and flew but then completely forgot about it as I excitedly landed EXACTLY where I wanted.

‘AH HA!! TADDDAAAA!!!’ I shouted to myself, this included an imaginary high five to self too. Out loud I only quietly giggled to myself, mildly drunk on my happiness. I launched again, caught up in the surging glory of success. I continued to forget about fear as I flew back and forth awhile –until I unexpectedly bumped into it again on landing.

When I notice something about myself I notice it in others. Or imagine it in others. Either and/ or. Most of the time I think no one notices I am watching them; trying to understand how we are all so alike and yet so separated. Occasionally, I think my ‘observing’s’ are noticed by some and that some become suspicious and think me suspect of something. When I notice them noticing, I wish I could ask, “I see this in me, I think I see it in you. What conclusions have you arrived to?”

But people are hiding and dislike nothing more than being found out.

Back to today. The air is calmer than yesterday, rich in dense cool air, rising up like lazy champagne bubbles… My Wind Woman sighs her question softly ‘Would you like a glass?’

Yes, yes I would. Despite falling over the dog, then the cat and then my shoes and dropped coat; somehow I make it out to the park with my head attached. Carefully, systematically, I pull and lay out my wing and my things. I call my dearest to tell him where I am. I strap in, flight check twice and pull up.

It was perfect -until my glove caught in the brake handle, came off and I flopped the wing over trying to catch it, making myself laugh. Redo was effortless, launch was clean, and up up up I went. I made a very low bench, the kind that had me grinning all the way, wondering if I would land on the trail.

On the back ridge, looking at the romantic lonely Timpanogos and her snowy ridge outline, studying the fairy land that must be Lone Peak, I decided: Sometimes, maybe we are afraid of what we want most because it is what we want most. Nothing is as disappointing as hope unrealized; so the more we want and hope for something, the more we are guarded against it.

I told my Wind Woman my conclusion. In answer she shook out my fear like dust from an over trodden door way rug and told me ‘Just fly.

Head in the Clouds

Nice painting huh?  Nice, peaceful....yawnnnnnnnnnnnnn

I have the window cracked and the Wind Woman is racing to whip up another hot August thunderstorm and as she dashes by comments, "That's boring..."

Before I can do more then scowl she's off again and I hear the trees laughing....

well...it is boring...


Out come blues, blacks and yellow!  Rise and rise!!

I am playing 'Prelude' (From the Unaccompanied Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major, BWV 1007 on Master and Commander) and it is blaring from my personal computer -My fingernails are stained and there is a roaring in my ears, echoing the electricity outside -!


"How go the close outs in the markets?"

...blankly I turn back to the desk speaking to me....
WAIT I am on a conference call!  For work!  but I am at home!  Right!!!

I silence my computer, un-mute the call and give my market's updates while chewing on the end of the paint brush and resting my chin in my hands. 

The call ends and a glance in the window's reflection tells me I have paint on my face.

In soooo many ways.

Finished 16 X 20 X 3/4 Acrylic "Head in the Clouds"

“Let’s go for a Bike ride!”

Something the size of my face is directly in front of me on the narrow path but as I am careening capriciously at warp speed (maybe 16 mph!) in darkening twilight -There is absolutely no way I am not going to smash it.  

Happily it flutters up, just in the nick of time, to hover with me.  Its wings must be heavy; heavy enough that as they pump up and down, I feel the air next to my cheek moving.  My sweat is intravenously pouring down me as I struggle up the smooth dirt track and then I’m suddenly cooled by warm summer evening air as I spike forward and down onto the rocky downhill trail.

‘Giant Black Moth’ or ‘Bizarre Small Bird’ or possibly ‘Little Strange Bat’, whatever it is, hangs out with me for a few turns.  I think it is asking “What on earth is a human unsteadily winding by at this hour doing here??”

To answer that question…

“Let’s go for a Bike ride!”  This sentence was exclaimed around 7pm.  It is the end of another baking blue day here in the high desert mountains of Utah so we waited til nearly eight to head up to the nearby canyon. 

According to maps there is a nearby canyon bicycle trail head that runs all the way to the flight park in our neighborhood.  The game plan: Drive up, ride home and then take the second car back to retrieve the first.  

As it appears to be a mostly a downhill track, when we arrive, we go the opposite way, about half a mile.  Why? Because that is up hill and we want to make sure we get a little exercise before our easy cruise home… As we back track to the trail head, we go under the road through a tunnel.  I have a spontaneous thought, “I don’t want to be on a trail at dark, this short dark tunnel is uncomfortable.”

This trail we thought was downhill?  It begins excruciatingly steep as this skinny path is entirely uphill.  

I focus on three goals: breathing, not running into the mountain and not falling off the mountain.  My muscles, so sadly out of oxygen and strength, burn me alive until a rush of endorphins gives me a natural high.  I may be ‘older’ but my body still has the ability to kick in! Yay! I wallow in the glory of lightheaded gasps and the thrill of trying and sort of succeeding.  

Absently, I overly tighten my grip and in response my front wheel wobbles, wheedling me violently to the right.  I turn back to the path just in time before I go sliding off...again.

I grin at my handsome man, just a few yards ahead.  This courteous, much more athletic partner of mine; he is once more waiting for me to catch up.  My stubby legs peddle harder to hurry and meet him.  I ignore the screaming of my labored lungs.

I stop just behind him and we notice the arrival of twilight.

Oh… Well the view is fantastic.  The contrasts of green and gold foothills merging into glittering lights of the sprawling cities below and cradled from above by a deepening blue sky –it takes my breath away -oh no, wait, that was the last part of the hill- but IF I had a breath to take away, it would have. I'm unable to pause my gasping to drink so I slurp in a mouth full of icy water and hold it until it's warm and then choke it down.

We are three miles in, about half way.  Do we turn back?   Do we keep going?  It’s a toss-up whether either is the better choice at this point. We decide to keep going. 

A few minutes later, just in time for twilight to turn to early dark, the trail, at last, officially turns into All Downhill.  We now have the relentless hand of time and vanishing light pushing us forward too.  The situation, regardless of whether it ought to be laughable is besides the point.  We are laughing despite ourselves.

I am riding my brakes, nervously picking my slowing way past sharp sage bush while simultaneously, trying to Not Look At the extreme drop to the right - which I notice, helpful or not; it IS increasingly hard to see just how far up we are… which also means it is increasingly hard to see the trail…

“Trust the trail, trust that it’s there,” My encouraging crusader heartens.  In between breaths he continues “the bike is more stable at 15 mph then at 2 mph.”

Bugs, I suspect grasshoppers, (why grasshoppers? Well they were in the news this afternoon so I image grasshoppers, duh...), pop up, on and off of my ankles as I whip through and past. 

I giggle to myself, ‘How is it we get ourselves into these types of moments?’   

About now the ‘Giant Black Moth’ or ‘Bizarre Small Bird’ or possibly ‘Little Strange Bat’ pops up and joins me for the ride. I chuckle as I answer myself and It.

Because we are adventurers!  Not the kind that make history or world records, but the kind the somehow scoot by on the tolerant good graces of chance and a bit of our own personal tenacity. 

I follow the shadow of my sweetheart, my best friend, his back tire sliding slightly for a moment as he hit a rocky patch in front of me; both of us are squinting, straining to see the disappearing pathway.

I can’t wipe the smile off my face. 

Decide

This is my year to "Decide" and Yesterday was a really big day.

My New Year Resolution is that one word.  Whatever it is in life I am thinking about doing, I am to decide.  Do it or don't but tackle the decision.

I also decided to stop being afraid of steep slopes. I decided to ski better and just do it.  I have since introduced my face to my knee, left a bruise the size of a soccer ball on my hip and generally done cartwheels several times down various runs.  But I Will BE a GOOD SKIER.   My darling, though wary since ever since I knocked myself out cold, has continued to be my tolerant exasperated instructor.

I skied the Cirque yesterday!!!!!  This is a Huge deal for me. I was excited /terrified as my sweetheart lead me and our friend along a mountain ledge about five feet wide on either side and drop offs on both sides that made my tummy leave me, (It, and my heart, promised to meet me at the bottom). 

But I knew I was ready, I've been working really hard to get to this point.  Finally we are at the end of it, at the ‘easiest’ spot.  I skied up to the edge, (which literally just falls away, poof, no more mountain, just drop out). 

I took two deep breaths and dropped in.  It is Spring snow, thick heavy, chunckety…. If that is a word.  Skiing on snow like that, deep solid snow, feels like being on wooden old rollercoaster.  The kind that afterwards you feel like you might have lost a filling or two from clacking your teeth together.  Yeah, that kind of snow. 

From the bottom, I could hear my heart and stomach cheering me on, “We’re right here when you get down!” I stood tall, muscles screaming, I pushed my skies into the slushy concrete, turned… and I DID NOT FALL.  The bright blue sky burned my grin into my face as I continued and made my careful and slow way down. 

And what d’ya know?  I found that not just my faint hearted tummy was down there; but my awesome friends too!  They saw I was coming down and skied over to cheer me on.  And we laughed and smiled together. 

Ah the victories found on Spring Sundays at Snowbird.

Longest Flight

Last night I took off and flew for an hour and forty minutes. My longest flight this far.

Here are some quick details to explain why this flight was amazing. Cold air is thicker than warm air. This is an important detail because summer flying is very different than spring or fall flying. Temperatures have been very hot and dry this year. About a week ago, it started dropping to the low 60's at night and maxing out in the eighties during the day. So in the evening the air is cooling while warm sunlight is still heating.

We fly in two kinds of ‘lift’, thermals and ridge lift. Sunlight (heat) creates invisible thermals (think of dust devils) and ridge lift, (think of air as water and what does moving water do when it hits a wall? It breaks and rises. The air hitting the mountain ridge travels up it in a wave of 'ridge lift').

K, so there are the terms. I took off and the air was thick and warm with little rivers of cool washing over me. It wasn't hard AT all to fly up and reach the back ridge. Rather than sharp jostles, which I am familiar with this summer, the rocking felt like being in a boat in a bit of waves.

And the lift... the highest I had ever been before was 6750 ft. Last night the air lifted and lifted and somehow I was 7530 ft. in the air. I was above everyone else (for once) and alone and it disconcertingly odd to look around and see how very far up I was in that big blue and orange evening sky.

It’s scary to fly away from the hill. There is a mental block that happens. I, like many pilots, mentally latch on to the place I take off from. I do not want to get too far away from it. While there are some flight restrictions (airline paths and heights), this fear of leaving the ridge is actually counter intuitive. Technically the further you are up and away from things, the less there is to possibly run into. I know this. Karl repeats it over and over again, trying to help me see past it.

I twisted around to look at the far away landing zones, at the teeny tiny tree tops and houses and thought 'Whoa..." The Wind Woman was humming, busy dressing trees for the coming autumn festival. I could see the glimmer of red and orange in the mountains, her handiwork about to be on full display.

The last ten years came crashing down on me with a vengeance; my journey to me. I was filled up to tears with gratitude and just as quickly, filled with jealous fear. I have this fantastic life. I belong with this beautiful man I call my husband. I have the sweetest most darling dog, who I call my friend because she is so much more intelligent and interesting than a regular dog. I have a lovely home, a black and white bratty gentle cat. I get to do everything I love. I am never bothered by things like enough food, a safe place to rest or the ability to get what I need.

My job sucks, I wish I would ‘grow a pair’ and try publishing my book again, I wish I had more time to paint but these trivial complaints are swallowed whole by the fantastic force called my life.

It occurred to me that this life might not go on forever and this seemed painfully unjust and unfair. The Wind Woman came to laugh at the sudden knot in my throat. She touched my legs and traveled up to wrap a brief warm scarf of air around my shoulders in a gentle hug.

‘Look at your hands…’ she whispered. I looked in wonder at my hands. I stretched out my arms, reached out my fingers, and I ‘air-planed’, rocking myself to each side. Before she rushed off she reminded me ‘Live for each moment, live in each season…’

Sunflower

Darting dreams unfold around me. School is finalizing, the hard work and word swallowing venture nearly done! I have a new and promising job in THE town I resent most (sixteen years after I declared my eternal distain). But despite my nearly outright hostility, every day I find tentative open friendliness.


We bought a house in the place my dearest’s heart has always desired. I had held the neighborhood at a wary arm’s length until I was won over by a combination of yellow and black paint and a wayward yard with hopeful slender trees.

As I sludge through the last of homework, of classes, putting in an average of three hours a day driving on six hours of sleep, packing one house, unpacking another, cleaning both; just knowing the end of the madness is coming, I wake up in a ridiculously good mood (albeit a little bleary eyed). Not painting, not reading, not day dreaming, flying, I still have the energy to finish.

Until Last night, when my hands woke me at 4am, (thank God not 3am).

I stretched my fingers, greeting the familiar ache, the strange cold feeling in my palms, listening to the gentle tap of the wind chime outside.

My thoughts drifted to my easel, sitting naked and neglected in a room crammed with boxes and lime green nasty walls: My paints are out of reach in stacks of bubble wrap, locked in with tape. My fingertips burned.

I slipped out of bed, padded past my sleeping dog and down the stairs to the basement. Digging through a box I found a pen and blank piece of white paper and feverish sketched. And what fell out of my hands?

Hello Sunflower

Update: Painted a proper sunflower

13" X 9" (Loose canvas paper)

Original Fine Art - Acrylic (Sealed to protect against fading/UV)

Grandpa

On Sunday I had a call from my Mom.  She was concerned about my Grandpa, who advised her and Dad on Friday that he ‘can’t do this anymore’.  His appetite had been non-existent for weeks.  So I chopped up apples and made up my apple crisp and down we went at 4pm. 

This turned out to be a special night for me.  As soon as  we arrived I went in to see Grandpa.  I reached out and put my young hand on his old hand and waited.  The room was warm and dimly lit with only the light from his chair stand.  His eyes were faded and far away and I waited until they slowly focused and began to see me. 

I told him I’d come to see him, that I’d brought my apple crisp.  He nodded and gathered himself and said “I miss her too much” as he twisted his wedding band.  My throat locked up and I took a deep breath as he continued and advised me in low gravely words, his eyes glancing away, “You’re Marji’s oldest girl.  I’m sorry but I am too tired for company. Thank you for coming by.”

I nodded, acknowledging his dismissal.... but I was determined not to push and to push at the same time.  I smiled at him sideways, appealing to him as much as I could, “Maybe you could come out in a little while and try a little of my apple crisp.  ...I made it for you.” I stood up only when I saw an infinitesimal nod that meant 'perhaps'...  but less promising was the click of the door that he stood to shut behind me.

I had put the apple dish in the oven when we first walked in and it was nearly done when dinner was done too.  When the smell of apple, cinnamon , nutmeg and brown sugar was intoxicating the house,  I heard his bedroom door click open and looked over to see my Grandpa standing there watching.

I had a moment.  There was my grey, faded and so thin Grandpa slowly straightening until he was the dark haired dashing man in the old photos I like to look at.  He knew he was dashing, he knew who he was, what he thought and for all his gruffness there was a wealth of intuition and kindness.

And then the moment passed and there was Grandpa again.  Clear sharp old eyes, eyes that saw how much I really wanted to see him once more and he asked aloud if he could have some of the apple crisp I had made for him.

We visited, we talked, we looked at pictures, he ate every single drop of sugar and apple, he told me I had some sense and teased me about my crooked front tooth. He reminded me how important it is to write down dates on my favorite pictures because someday, the summers would mix into each other and one could no longer be sure of when it was taken.

Reader, a while ago, in April of 2008 there was another moment with him.  I went in to visit with my Grandmother.  Her health was badly declined but she had Always rallied for visits with me.  As I had done so many times before, I knelt at her chair, I took her hand and I began to tell her a silly story about my Sally, or Daisy as she had liked to call my dog.

But she did not know me.  She could not come back from the world her faded eyes were looking into.  I was so caught by surprise I froze, in a child like panic, distraught and nearly in tears, I was ready to plead she see me –when my gruff Grandpa, a man I’d always been a bit wary of… reached over, patted my shoulder and said “Come visit with me child”, saving me from my embarrassing distress with his compassion.  

We started a conversation and I had the pleasure, for the first time, of really conversing with my Grandpa.  And since this moment, even after Grandmother's passing, this would happen again and again, we would talk about the people he knew, about the world as it was then and is now, about things I do (sports) and places we had seen.  We never had a serious or life changing conversation; but simple sunny, easy and breathing ones. 

Then, this last February, 2010, we celebrated his ninety fifth birthday.  He was excited to see all of us and so happy we were there.  He grinned and laughed quietly... but after that evening he has slowly gone away.  Throughout this year I see him less on visits and when I did, we talked very little and sometimes I felt he didn't see me at all.

Until this last Sunday, when he reached out and ‘patted’ my shoulder and let me talk with him again.  May I remember his grace Reader. May I be mindful of his kindness and hold on to the honor of being related to someone so insightful and gentle to me.

The Summer with Grandpa (2012)