American Ingenuity

FLAGSTAFF, AZ -- Still slightly troubled by the extreme commercialization and vast amount of tourist facilities at the entrance to Bryce Canyon National Park, I've been mulling the justification of it all: Jobs, of course. Work. Money from tourists to feed peoples' families. So I guess it's okay. It costs $25 per vehicle these days just to enter the park.

Anyway, I almost didn't stop to take this photo below, which I would describe as a "cornball tourist snapshot." I am sure it's been taken millions of times and has appeared on millions of postcards. But the lighting was good and the traffic was light, so I pulled over and got it for you.

By tonight I should be reunited with some first cousins I haven't seen in 40 years or more. I guess I'd better go get in the shower and spiff myself up. I am pretty excited to see them.

 

Perfect Timing

PANGUITCH, UT -- Bryce Canyon National Park, like Yellowstone and Glacier, would irritate the heck out me in the summertime when the tourist trade is booming.

Enduring exhaust-fumed, bumper-to-bumper traffic, or riding in a shuttle full of annoying Elmore Gawkers with whining little kids, is not my idea of how to experience nature's grandeur of this caliber. Add in the summer heat, and I can't wait to get out of there.

Right now I have this whole place almost to myself and I love it. Wintertime outdoor photography is usually more interesting anyway, since only the most-dedicated or crazy shooters will go out looking for scenery when it's 10 degrees below zero.

It's not quite that cold here, but the snow is piled higher than Bric's back and it's definitely quite chilly. That's why I took this rather-bland picture below from my truck's window in, appropriately named, Red Canyon. This shot is not enhanced by any type of photo-manipulating software, I swear.

My new Nikon has captured more-stunning versions of this area's glorious color, but I'm saving them to show you later. I need to write something inspirational to accompany some of my newly acquired Kodak moments. There's even a Kodachrome Basin State Park here, if you can believe it.

To say, "It's really pretty here," is an idiotic understatement an Emore Gawker might utter, so I'll just close by telling you, "Don't ever come here in July."

Road Trip to The Rest of My Life

It's getting close to time for me to head out for the rest of my life. I plan to stay in touch with you for the whole way. I won't be meandering back in my memories as often when I get some new experiences to share with you.

You should know that this step would not be possible with you. When I started this blog in August 2009, two months after losing my mom and husband, I was not even sure how this works, nor why I was doing it. I just knew that if I was ever going to pick up the pieces of my life, I needed to try to gain a forum for expression of my God-given talent and creativity.

With nothing much else to do with my life, I was also looking for a way to use my experience as a writer, photographer, and graphic artist. As I stepped with trepidation into the world of blogging, it seemed like a tremendous effort at the time. The enormous depth and shock of my grief had knocked me down pretty hard,

I will always be grateful to Troutbirder for being the first "stranger" to discover my blog and leave a comment. I was so excited the day I discovered his remark about something I'd written. Prior to that, the meager comments, although greatly appreciated, had been being left only by my loving and ego-boosting nieces.

My little blog had felt like a lone candle burning in a window of my log home in the forests of North Idaho. It was helping me feel a little better about myself, but I wondered if anyone else "out there" would ever see it. I live a long ways from most of the population of the rest of the world, which is exactly thw I prefer it, until it becomes a bit too lonely sometimes.

When I clicked on the mysterious Troutbirder's link, it opened up a door to a whole new world for me. Now my blog is even global! One of my followers, or Flashlight Holders as I like to call them, appears to be from Germany. Now, if that don't beat all, as granny would say. I can't make heads or tails out of their blog and wonder at their interest in mine. Maybe it's my German Shepherds.

When I head out of here I will be going into the dawn, first to the east and then south. I plan to always stay in the path of the Light and look for His love all around me. Should I fall into the darkness again, I will call out for you, and all you will have to do is turn or your light for me, and like a beacon in the night, your kindness will lead me safely home. 

Upriver Dawn Beckons Me

Often when I post a stunning scenery shot such as this, someone will ask, "Is that your view?" The answer is, yes. The mountains I've shown you are looking to the south from my deck, and this upriver dawn shot is, obviously, due east.

In 2008 my husband and I built our dream log home overlooking a sparkling river and layering shades of forested mountains in North Idaho. Yes, it is a shame he's not here to enjoy it, I usually nod in fake but polite agreement to that inevitable comment.

Except with those with whom I feel the closest, I refrain from informing anyone that my husband's absence is merely an illusion. He's here, alright. That's been made quite clear to me.

A profound experience hit me yesterday when I suddenly realized that all the weeping, mourning and introspective soul searching I've been doing since he died has all been for me, not for him. I have been so sorry for me. I still am, frankly.

I was driving down the road admiring the January sunshine and blue skies when, like an epiphaney, I fully grasped the concept that my husband is happy now. Boom, like a clap of thunder, I suddenly got it, and tears of joy welled up in my eyes for him.

This has been my belief all along; in fact, it's why my initial major emotion at the time of his death was anger at him for leaving me here and going off, tra la laa la laa, on his merry way to Heaven. "How nice for you," thought poor wittle me.

We've come to terms with that since then, you could say, and I sincerely am happy for him. I sense that he wants me to be happy, too. He worked so hard to provide me with all the nice things around me. If I don't enjoy them, then his efforts will have been in vain.

This makes perfect sense to me, and so with that in mind and a life-insurance check in the bank, I'm Googleing a road trip with Bric the Wonder Dog and my brand-new Nikon D90 DX 12.3 Digital SLR. Yesserie, Bob I me got one.

We're heading to where "the weather suits my soul," as Glenn Campbell once sang. There's an art show, a best girlfriend I miss a lot, and a mini-family reunion with my long-lost Pennsylvania cousins that I plan to indulge myself in enjoying. I can't wait to see the Southwest February desert through the lens of that new Nikon.

Of course I will share with you. I'm really into this blogging thing, which my son jokingly refers to as my "pretend job."

Last year, to attempt this trip would have never occurred to me. For one thing, my mother would have freaked out, fretted herself sick, and tried to tell me I couldn't do this alone. She needed to hear from me at least every-other day or she'd get worried. She didn't really have a life, so's to speak, near the end.

Mom had never in her 86 years ever traveled anywhere at the wheel of  big powerful, shiny pickup truck with a 95-pound-powerful male German Shepherd at her side. The ability and depth of Bric's devotion to protecting me was beyond her grasp. Whatever is the opposite of a dog person, that was my mom. Yes, as a matter of fact, she did like cats, but only one at a time.

She also, bless her heart, lacked much faith in a higher power. More than anyone I've ever known, my mom lived steadfastly in the now. She refused to examine her past and lacked the courage to contemplate her life beyond this one.

Near the end of her years, I sent her a Bible verse in the hope she would look it up and find comfort there. When I asked her later if she did so, she replied, "No. I was afraid to." My mom had a strong aversion to crying. To be seen weeping publicly would have completely mortified her. Yes, I am of Protestant German descent. Why do you ask?

I know I'm not being delusional, nor am I under the influence of anything except Prozac. Not to sound overly dramatic, but I have the feeling I'm embarking on a spiritual quest of sorts. My old pal Jack Daniels is definitely staying in the liquor store where he belongs, Bric will be always at my side, and in more ways than one, I will not be traveling alone.