Reservoir Road

I went hiking this weekend with friends, up the Reservoir Road on a fine Colorado day, one of those Spring days between March snowstorms when you cannot imagine staying indoors one more minute, when you know why you live here and manage not to resent all the other hikers because you know they cannot resist the day any more than you can. We ran into groups of Search and Rescue teams with their fine brave dogs and realized that a young man described as distraught had sought refuge here in the mountains west of the reservoir. We did not expect good news, but when we heard the search had ended, we were no less shocked. We are parents, we are wives and lovers and daughters and sisters, and our hearts bleed for each and all: the young man who lost hope, the family who lost Ryan, the community who banded together to search for a man who sought refuge in the wilderness between Winding Staircase and Ice Cave Creek. We light a candle, we pray for his immortal soul, that he find peace; we pray for the family and friends gathered in hope and despair; thankful for a community that responds to sorrow and loss and finds a way to continue the search, despite the odds. Back of the beyond, all souls come to rest.
..

and the winner is...tah dah

Not having television, I did not watch the Academy Awards, but of course, managed to surf the web for all the best and worst dressed and badly behaved of the gala. What is it, whatwhat, that we need from all of this? I spent waaaay too much time analyzing JLo v. Sandra and by the way, were Brangelina just too pooped from parenting to show up and look as if they are reallyreally still a couple, or did one of the kids get lost in Brad's horrid beard and they had to cancel the limo? And why, for god's sake, do I care and spend time actually discussing this? Cuz I love the gowns and the jewels and the glamor and I hope and pray that the old broads look stunning. And they did.

We shall not be using...

I received my first rejection letter today - an oddly formal note thanking me for the opportunity to consider my poems, Colorado poems perhaps not fully appreciated in Maine - no knowledge of Limbaugh Canyon or Chautauqua and Sundance Mountains. We throw ourselves into the unknown, our markers familiar only unto ourselves, like buoys defining river channels. I did not feel rejected - oddly. The direct rejection stings so much less than the perceived rejection, the haunting thought that perhaps ... some misunderstanding occurred. I live at the mouth of Limbaugh Canyon, the sun reddens Chautauqua and Sundance with its first rays. I am content here.

The Prince of Darkness

Prince Vince, Princess Hannah and Anton of the Marigny

Steppin' Out w/ the St Anthony Ramblers

I had some pictures, but...

I can't find my USBs - I know I have at least two of them - St Anthony is searching for them with me. I lose a lot of stuff (thus a plethora of S Antonio kitsch), but this isn't the kind of thing I misplace. I'm blaming it on the kids, who do not live here and have plenty of their own USBs, but all the same. So, playing catch-up - Mardi Gras and the WhoDat Finery; Ash Wednesday flings us into our most favorite religious season: Lent. We are so much more likely to understand ourselves as penitents than to see ourselves in the light of transfiguration. We recognize ourselves in sackcloth and ashes, piously doing without. Without something pretty trivial after all. Raccoons on the roof, a Winter Cotillion. More snow, the sauna is fixed (thank you, Max), and I'm putting off having a cholsterol check until after I eat more oatmeal and run around the block. Hannah has now her Swedish residency, so she will be returning to the land of vodka and fish sometime in the Fall. Heather is packing to come back to Colorado (a road trip looms), and Leigh is making paper and art - film at eleven. Or whenever I find the peripherals. March is upon us...lamblike.