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Age Before Beauty

Dad’s 93rd birthday is Tuesday. We will celebrate with his favorite pie and ice cream, although he won’t remember our party the next day.
The anniversary reminds me of another special birthday which Dad won’t recall. The year he turned 80, I turned 50. He and I Separately hit on the idea of celebrating our big day by jumping out of an airplane, with a parachute of course. When we discovered that we both had happened upon the same adventure, we decided to do the big jump together.

My older daughter, 16 at the time, strongly objected to my risky endeavor.
She feared becoming an orphan on her mother’s birthday. I presumed the tandem jumper who would be attached to my back did not himself have a death wish, and so, in spite of my daughter’s anxiety, I put my life in a complete stranger’s hands that day.

Dad and I watched a brief instructional video, after which we were required to scribble our signatures on page after page, waiving our right to return to sue or haunt anyone in the event of injury or death.

We struggled into jumpsuits while our instructors talked us through, step-by-step, what to expect after we departed the plane. My parachuting partner yanked and pulled on the straps and buckles of my harness, demanding my full attention. The voices of family and the complaints of my daughter faded as my jumping buddy manipulated my body, pivoting me through a practice dance on the ground, preparing me for what to expect in the air.

He stood behind me and tugged me tight into a bear hug, clamping my crossed arms to my chest. Next, he demonstrated the deliberate tap on my back which would indicate the moment I should lift and spread my arms like wings, stabilizing the tumultuous first part of the free fall. I tried to absorb the cascade of information overflowing my limited brain bucket. I noticed my dad’s instructor demonstrating the same gestures, explaining that it isn’t possible to talk while free falling at speeds of 120 miles per hour from a height of 13,500 feet above sea level.

My instructor assured me that he would deploy the parachute after a 30-second free fall, that’s about a mile of nothing but dropping like a rock through the thin air. Once under the canopy, we would drift gracefully above the Royal Gorge and Arkansas River with panoramic views of the Rocky Mountain Range.

None of this would I see, being visually impaired, nor would I glimpse the ground coming up to greet me. The instructor assured me that he would tell me when to tuck my knees up to my chest and be poised to spring upon hitting the ground. The thought of terra firma suddenly seemed too solid for comfort.

Dad and I giggled and our hearts raced as we waved “so long” to family and friends. They applauded our mutual adventure, some of my siblings jealous that I was the one sharing this once-in -a -lifetime experience with our dear old dad, others relieved that I was the one who had volunteered.

We were led out onto the tarmac and climbed a portable set of stairs to discover the outside shell of the bright red jump plane concealed an interior stripped to the bone barely large enough for the four of us to sit back-to-back on the hard floor. Naively, I had assumed the plane would have seats, but in fact there was not even a canvas flap to close the open doorway. Dad and I backed away from the void as engines drowned out our voices and the ground disappeared. Shoulder to shoulder with my aging father, I grasped the seriousness of the situation.

My instructor commanded my focus to distract me from my heightened nervousness. Dad’s did the same. I felt my father tense as he listened to his guide. Until then, I had imagined, like in the movies, that we would maneuver toward the door attached to some sort of zip line while a commander called, “Go, go, go!”

As it was, our fellow jumpers pulled us in tight, our backs to their chests, our butts between their legs; I felt oddly familiar and trusting with my jumping partner in this intimate position, my life literally in his arms. It was then that I realized Dad’s life was also in the care of a complete stranger. I hoped he felt implicit trust as did I.

“Who goes first?” Dad’s fellow jumper asked. Not planned ahead, I quipped, “Age before beauty, right Dad?”

In an instant, Dad’s trainer shifted, inching up to the yawning exit. Dad reacted, his fingers locking like a vice grip to the door frame. The guide urged him to release his hold while prying the right hand loose. He nudged Dad further toward the gaping passage and, before I could catch my breath, they were gone.

Whoosh, I watched my father fall out of the plane. Daddy, come back, I cried in my mind, Meanwhile, I had not noticed that my guide had shifted and was pushing me toward the expanse ahead. Blink, we were falling, twisting, jerking, the force of the fall plastering my skin to my skull. My mouth opened and closed, opened and closed. I wanted to scream in jubilation, the thrill was so thrilling, but no sound came out. Time and space stood still.

A tap, then a more urgent nudge, reminded me to uncross my arms which were gripping my chest. I spread myself open like a butterfly, my hands and feet free in front of me as we plummeted. As if a switch had been flipped, the force of the fall stabilized and we continued free-falling with ease through the cold air. Time melded with eternity; with nothing relative by which to judge time or distance, the air under my feet felt infinite.

Too soon, the parachute opened, interrupting our freedom from time and space. We slowed, gliding in a controlled fashion round and round, round and round, down and down, feeling the pull of the ground.

My new best buddy assured me that my father and his partner were also drifting without distress. Laughter and relief erupted, along with disappointment that the best part, the free fall, was already over.

Reality and my family on the ground reappeared as my jumping partner and I tucked, bumped, hopped, and rolled to a stop. My glee was overshadowed only by the sounds of my Dad’s laughter and my daughter’s tears.

The Break-Out

Nature’s Beauty

Autumn wrapped me in her cool grasp as I headed up the narrow gravel road. There was no trace of city smog – the smoke from last week’s fire just west of this valley had been either blown or washed away leaving the air fresh and clean. Situated miles away from the large city, there was not a hint of the city’s belching factory exhaust or coal burners filling the air. If one might catch a hint of anything not associated with this rugged land, it may be a very faint scent from the saw mill in the valley below with its fresh pile of shavings lying in a heap.

I zipped up my wind breaker as I walked – the sun might be shining on the hillside above, but there was a chill to the air in the valley buried under towering trees. Large Tamarack, Douglas fir & Ponderosa Pine stood like sentinels along the road with more scattered across the nearby hillside. Though today the stream was bouncing and gurgling as it dashed over large boulders strewn in its path, I knew in a few weeks this same stream would be buried under a heavy layer of ice and snow.

The only animal life I found was one old porcupine waddling through the ditch heading for the brush, & a couple ravens flying noisily overhead.

The road, hardly more than an old logging trek, wound up the valley as it followed the twisting stream.
Making a right turn onto a narrow over-grown trail, I pushed myself up the hill, leaving the creek behind. I heard the wind as it brushed through the trees, and a whisper coming from the creek far below. The raucous cries of the ravens continued to penetrate the quiet. Other than the crunching as I walked up the gravel road or rocks rolling down behind me, the world was void of human noises.

“Ah,” I whispered, as I rounded a bend and stopped in a place where I had a
panoramic view of the terrain around me. To my Left I looked through a narrow ravine to the valley far below. I saw what could be described as a patchwork quilt, as green grass pastures vied with the dull yellow of a harvested grain field and the brown of several plowed fields. There were a couple houses and even an old weathered barn, its once red siding faded by years of harsh weather.

Turning to my right, I saw one hill after another, each decked out in a splash of color worthy of any king. I stood just drinking in the view, knowing that one day this too would be gone. I was determined to have a picture that could never be blotted out of my mind. I beheld splashes of red, orange, yellow and green covering the hillsides. This was the Tamarack, or otherwise known as the Western Larch, time to shine. These trees were dressed in brilliant gold and orange as they hovered between summer and winter. Scattered between these bright trees were the darker greens of ponderosa pine and Douglas fir. Lower in the valleys stood the yellow birch and red of the maple interspersed with the dark green of the cedars.

I drank in this marvelous sight as my eyes passed from mountainside to hillside, from Tamarack to pine to the maple far below, to the crystal clear azure blue sky overhead. The sun was a ball of fire, magnifying the beauty of the world stretching out before me.

Filled with this majestic view, I retraced my steps home, planning to return to this mountain dreamland
one more time before winter claimed sway over the mountains
Soon, I knew, those beautiful Tamarack Trees would stand stripped naked as the wind blew through them and the snow fell around and over them. They would stand like dead trees, waiting for the warming of the earth to once again bring them to life with first a touch of light green changing to a dark summer green. Could there be any place more beautiful?

Returning home, I knew I would never forget this glorious scene. Maybe the ophthalmologist was right – I could tell the tunnel vision was closing in. But no-one would be able to take this picture away from me – I’d still see in my mind this glorious land, my home.

Shakespeare in the Buff

” There is flattery in friendship.”  -Henry V

They considered each other as friends and shared a love of reading recorded books from the National Library Service, NLS, yet, they had never met in the flesh. As fellow authors in the same writing group, Donna and Kate’s friendship began in 2010. Throughout 2013, either Donna, as secretary,  or Kate, as editor, reached for the phone to collaborate with each other on almost a daily basis and applaud, praise, or fret, about details of  their writing group’s soon to be published anthology, Behind Our Eyes: A Second Look.

“This is a way to kill a wife with kindness.” (The Taming of the Shrew)

“Yes,” David echoed back, as Donna presented him with their opportunity to fly to Colorado and meet Martha Harmon Pardee, her favorite talking book narrator whose narrations numbered over 2,888 books for NLS.

Martha, her e-friend of several years, had planned to meet with them for a brunch at The Buff Restaurant prior to Martha’s 12:15 p.m. curtain call for the Shakespeare play, “Henry V.”

“I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.” (Much Ado about Nothing)

Credit card points for the flights, hotel points for the room, and discounted car rental fees, were instantly activated to lock down reservations, as Donna heard the yes reply. Like Tigger on too much caffeine, Donna bounced with joy to share their anniversary trip news with the Chamberlin’s from up-state New York.

“Oh, Dear Gussie,” said Kate. “We can’t pass up the opportunity to meet each other and Martha Harmon Pardee, our favorite talking book narrator, too!”

“Woo-hoo, pack your bags and let’s go to Boulder,” exclaimed Donna.

“Men of few words are the best men.” (Henry V)

As a little girl, if Kate felt sad, happy, or hurt, her Pappy, a Rutgers University Shakespearian educator, would have a quote from Shakespeare to fit the situation. Though, reading the manuscripts in black and white print or listening to the recordings put her to sleep, Kate wondered if she’d been able to read the original 1620 Shakespeare folios, printed in different colored inks for each character’s lines, would the plays have come alive for her?

“To be, or not to be: that is the question.” (Hamlet)

Kate and her husband, Dave, began their trek from Rochester, NY to Boulder, Colorado with a very early morning flight, yet, due to delays, missed connections, and a variety of other snafus, they didn’t arrive at the new Hyatt Hotel until late evening.

“All hell shall stir for this.” (Henry V)

“But, I just showered and am ready for bed,” said David as Donna hung up from Kate’s late arrival call.

“It’s okay, babe, I won’t be too long. You can meet them tomorrow morning.”

Rounding the hallway corner in the Hyatt-Boulder hotel, Cruiser guided Donna to the elevator door. As Donna searched the walls to locate the elusive buttons, she heard something familiar. With excitement, she held her breath as she waited to meet the friends behind the voices that she’d known for five years. Dave and Kate, along with Kate’s guide dog, Tulip Grace, turned the corner and then, the tail-wags and greetings began. After Dave aided with the elusive button location on the elevator’s door frame, Donna pushed the down button and reminded herself to trust her dog. The party glided down and stepped out into the hotel lounge.

“If music be the food of love, play on…” (Twelfth Night)

The next morning, steam rose from the day’s first cups of coffee, as Dave, Kate, and Tulip Grace met Donna’s husband David in the hotel’s breakfast nook.

“Today’s the day! I’m so excited that we finally get to meet Martha,” said Donna, as she savored the coffee’s aroma.

“Hold that thought. You may think different, once we go hiking in the mountains,” chuckled David.

“I count myself in nothing else so happy, as in a soul remembering my good friends.” (Richard II)

“Eat in The Buff? I dare you,” said David, as Donna, Kate, and Dave, awaited Martha’s arrival in front of the restaurant.

“Donna, I’m here,” said Martha, as they hugged like two lost friends.

“Wow, it’s so nice to finally meet you in person. This is my husband David, and my dear friends, Kate and Dave Chamberlin.”

“Table for Chamberlin,” announced the hostess, as the party of five navigated through the crowd to their table.

As Martha began to read the menu out loud, Donna grinned in thought, “Hmmm, should I ask her to read it as Roarke, the Irish billionaire from the (In Death) series?”

That Sunday brunch at The Buff restaurant with Martha, started the friends Shakespeare experience with plenty of lively conversation and delicious food in a friendly ambiance and clear Colorado air.

After two hours of wonderful conversation and food, Martha’s 12:15 curtain call beckoned and brunch ended in a flurry of hugs.

“After my costume change, I’ll meet y’all out front,” said Martha, with another hug goodbye to Donna and Kate.

Minutes later, Donna reached for her iPhone as Siri announced two emails from Martha that warned of two events in “Henry V” that might disturb Cruiser and Tulip Grace.

“But, for my own part, it was Greek to me.” (Julius Caesar)

Navigating through the sold out crowd in the Colorado University theater, the four friends found their front row seats. With the stage only 15 feet away, Kate and Donna wrestled with not trying the Braille method to explore the actor’s costumes as they stood in front of them to say their lines before continuing onto the stage. When the gift from the King of France to Henry V was opened, Kate thought that Tulip Grace might try to get some of the tennis balls, but she was well behaved. Donna flinched during the loud cannon fire, but Cruiser remained asleep, until all the tennis balls bounced across the stage. With no escaping tennis balls to fetch, Cruiser’s head lowered with a resounding sigh.

Among the various roles Martha played in “Henry V” were a soldier’s bawdy wife and Katharine’s gentle woman’s hand-maid, Alice. Laughter swelled throughout the audience, as Alice tried to teach French Katharine the English names of body parts.

“Boy, that fight scene was loud; it was hard to sleep through or follow,” David said with a cocked eyebrow and grin, while they waited for Martha after the show.

Beaming with smiles, Donna and Kate posed with Martha for several photos and exchanged goodbye hugs before the next show.

“Break a leg!” said Kate, as Martha turned to leave.

“Absolutely, and thank you!” replied Martha.

“A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!” (King Richard III)

“Sorry, baby, but one Shakespeare play is enough for me. I’ll go hiking while you, Kate, and Dave, go to the next show. Afterwards, we can all meet for supper.”

Cruiser and Donna followed Kate, Tulip Grace, and Dave through the sidewalk maze and reached the CU Amphitheater to attend “Much Ado about Nothing.”

Donna, with Cruiser tucked under her legs, sat in an aisle seat. Tulip tucked in under Kate’s seat and Dave narrated the action and facial expressions from the seat left of Kate.

“In my mind’s eye.” (Hamlet)

As with all Shakespeare plays, scenery is kept to a minimum and presented “in the round, while actors invite the audience to fill-in with their own imaginations. At times, unwitting audience members were brought into the action and dialogue. As was the case when an actor, during “Much Ado,” stopped next to Donna and Kate to indicate they were virtuous women”.

“Thank you, my lord,” hung on the tip of Donna’s tongue, as she and Kate smiled at the actor.

“The deep of night is crept upon our talk and nature must obey necessity.” (Julius Caesar)

Drink glasses clinked around the BJ’s Brewhouse table in cheers, as the four toasted their friendship and reminisced about their quick, but awesome, Colorado anniversary adventure. Meeting each other for the first time and sharing live Shakespeare performances with Martha, a consummate professional, will be their shared and treasured memory.

“Good Night, Good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.” (Romeo and Juliet)

Peace Like a River

My story begins when I was offered the chance to kayak for a week from the Hoover Dam down the Colorado River. I was excited to say the least, and jumped at the chance. I have always loved the outdoors and regret that when I had sight, I was too caught up with work and other things to take a break and really enjoy what the beautiful outdoors had to offer. As a kid my mom took me to Sedona where we attended a desert survival camp. I think this is where my love for the outdoors really began.
So, without hesitation, I signed up for the rafting trip. In all there were to be about nine of us going; five blind and visually impaired individuals and four sighted volunteers.

When the day finally came, I was so excited and I could not wait to get on the road. The trip from Tucson to our starting point at the Hoover Dam was a long one. I just wanted to hurry up and get there already! After a long, hot, uneventful trip we finally arrived at the dam and began getting our things together to get on the river. We unloaded both of the trucks which were carrying all of our gear and kayaks. We made our way down to the bottom just as the alarms sounded and they began to open the dam to raise the river level. As I was standing there on the rocks I felt very cold water suddenly splash over my legs and feet. I didn’t really think about how cold the water was going to be before then, but man was it cold!

After getting all of the kayaks and a few canoes unloaded, we were assigned which ones would be ours. I don’t know why but for some reason I thought that we would be assigned two to a kayak, but nope that was not it at all. We were each given our own kayak! At this point I had started to feel some unease about the trip. What kept going through my mind is how the heck am I going to steer this kayak down this river without flipping it or running into a rock or another person?

I could hear that my friends were hesitant about this situation as well. They were all asking the same questions that I was. I could hear the fear in their voices as we talked about this surprising turn of events. We were then handed life jackets and instructed how to put them on; tightening the straps to make them fit as snug as possible. We were shown where the paddles rested on the sides of the kayaks.

As I pulled the paddle from the side of my assigned kayak, I somehow felt a bit calmer as I replaced my white cane that I had been holding with the paddle. I knew right then and there that this paddle would become my new cane in a sense; helping me to find my way down the river. Calmed by this thought, and in an effort to lead by example, I cautiously got into my kayak as we had been instructed. It was not until I had sat there for a few seconds that I noticed the sudden hush that crept over those standing around me. Soon after, they also began slowly getting into their kayaks as well. I learned a very important lesson from this, and that lesson was that sometimes people can be nervous about things that are different, or that they don’t understand. By taking that first step with the paddle and getting into my kayak, I showed others not to be afraid.

Once on the river I was entranced by the cool water and all the wonderful sounds of nature. As the day began to heat up a bit more, I dipped my bandanna into the river then tied it around my head. I loved the way the cool water trickled down the back of my neck, warding off the heat of the day. Coasting down the river, I pulled out a sack of trail mix, stretched out my legs and reclined in my seat as I really began to enjoy myself. After being on the river most of the day, we stopped to make camp as the sun began to get low in the sky.

Following dinner I grabbed my gear, picked out a spot and set up my tent on the hot sand. I went back to the river to dip my feet in and use the filter to refill my water bottle. That first night, between the strange noises coming from all around our camp and the heat, I didn’t think I would ever get to sleep. It was even hotter inside the tent but I figured that I would rather sleep inside a hot tent than sleep outside where who knows what could be crawling or slithering around on the ground. With no breeze to distract me from the stifling heat I soon fell into a deep sweaty sleep.

The week flew by and as it did my cautions about sleeping outside the tent at night became less and less important. On the last night we were to be on the river it was just way too hot so a few of my friends and I spread a tarp out on the ground and laid out our sleeping bags. Lying under the open sky was so much more relaxing although not much cooler. We had all gotten to the point where the bugs and noises didn’t really bother us anymore at all. The ground was hard and seemed to never cool down from the heat of the day, but it was an experience that I would not trade for the world.

At about the time that everyone was going to sleep I borrowed a fishing pole and made my way out to the edge of the river. It was calm and tranquil. I waded into the cool water up to my waist and cast my line out to the middle of the water. I stood there alone in the darkness feeling the rivers current flow passed me and listening to the water and the sounds of nature and felt peace like I have never felt before or since. I knew, standing there under the open sky that this would be a memory that I would keep forever, and in the future I would draw strength and courage from the peace I felt in that moment.