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Archive for the ‘Journeys’ Category

            “Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma – which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of other’s opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your head and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.– Steve Jobs

I suspected when I visited Rocky Mountain National Park this past fall that it would be for the last time, which made seeing it all the more precious. -- Photo by Pat Bean

I suspected when I visited Rocky Mountain National Park this past fall that it would be for the last time, which made seeing it all the more precious. — Photo by Pat Bean

Changed Perspective

            I was born at a time when southern men thought it was a good think to keep women barefoot and pregnant. I lived that way for a while, mostly because I didn’t know anything different.

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And seeing the Blue Ridge Mountains this past fall was a first in my lifetime, I suspect it will also never happen again. — Photo by Pat Bean

And then I sat in front of a television with my children and watched Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon and utter the words that have continued to live in my little gray cells: “That’s one step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”

The words were spoken at a time when forward leaps in my own thoughts and actions were exploding.  I had become a working mother in a field – journalism – that exposed me to a larger world than I knew had existed.

I became knowledgeable about Vietnam, body bags, equal rights for women, and equal rights and integration for Blacks. I learned that that life was not fair, which was as devastating to me as learning there was no Santa Claus when I was 10.

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But since I now live in the desert, I expect to see many more cactus blooms … Photo by Pat Bean

I struggled, as all caring parents do, to raise my children to be honest, hard-working, contributing members of society. I watched as the Cold War ended and the Berlin Wall came down, and as terrorists, including the ones who lived next door, eroded our sense of security.

Life became easier for me at last, even as I watched it become more difficult for my children and grandchildren. Opportunities and apple pie are harder to come by these days. I stuck in the backdoor of a newspaper without the proper education that even I required when I moved up to being the one who hired reporters.

And then along comes the Internet, which truly has changed everything. I can’t imagine living without it, yet I grieve for all that it has taken away.

... and many more Tucson sunsets -- Photo by Pat Bean

… and many more Tucson sunsets — Photo by Pat Bean

Finally, I come to today when I have to accept that there are fewer days ahead of me than behind me.  I especially felt it on my cross-country journey this past fall. This will probably be the last time I visit Rocky Mountain National Park, I thought, as I drove Trail Ridge Road through the awesome mountains; probably the last time I’ll ever drive  the Blue Ridge Parkway. It was the same for each of the many sights I experienced on the journey.

Realizing how fast the clock is ticking away has made me look harder at everything, to breathe in each spectacular landscape more deeply, and truly, perhaps for the first time in my life,  live in the moment. That’s not a bad thing. Actually it has been rather exhilarating, and certainly has made me more thoughtful.

I got to thinking about precious moments this morning after listening to the Rolling Stones belt out “This Could Be the Last Time.” The musical number was a YouTube video posted on my blog pick of the day.  Perhaps you would like to listen, too.

The Wondering Wanderer's blog pick of the day.

The Wondering Wanderer’s blog pick of the day.

Bean’s Pat: Flickr Comments  http://tinyurl.com/brllod2 Maybe the Last Time – but hopefully not.

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            “A great book that comes from a great thinker – it is a ship of thought, deep freighted with truth, with beauty too.” — Theodore Parker

Mercy Thompson. Briggs' fictional character, lives in Washington not too far from this view of the Columbia River. -- Photo by Pat Bean

Mercy Thompson. Briggs’ fictional character, lives in Washington not too far from this view of the Columbia River. — Photo by Pat Bean

Mercy Thompson

            I discovered Patricia Briggs’ Mercy Thompson series a little over a year ago. It’s an urban fantasy that is normally not one of my favorite genres. While fantasy is one of the genres I read, I’m more into dragons and wizards than werewolves and vampires.

But I was at my older daughter home and looking for something to read.

“Try this,” Deborah said, and handed me “Moon Called.”

Perhaps on a clear day, Mercy can see Mount Rainier. -- Photo by Pat Bean

Perhaps on a clear day, Mercy can see Mount Rainier. — Photo by Pat Bean

“I doubt I’ll like it,” I said.

“Yes you will. Now read it,” Deborah demanded.

“OK, OK,” I said, thinking I would read a few pages and then go looking for something else in my daughter’s huge library. Instead I ended up staying up until 2 a.m. because I couldn’t put the book down until I finished it.

Briggs’ Mercy, a mechanic with a native American heritage who lives next door to a werewolf, has a vampire friend and can transform herself into a coyote, was a fascinating character whose actions both surprised and delighted me.

The writing was good, the plots complicated, the heroine strong and sassy, and the book had enough depth that it made me both laugh and cry. Within a few weeks, I had read all six of the Mercy Books, which in addition to “Moon Called,” include “Blood Bound,” “Iron Kissed,” “Bone Crossed,” “Silver Borne,” and “River Marked.” I also have now read many of Briggs other books – she’s a prolific writer.

It’s my normal reading scenario when I come across an author who can have me giggling one moment and looking for a tissue the next.

And just now I discovered, while looking up the order of the Mercy Thompson books, that there is a new Mercy Thompson book out, “Frost Burned.”

It’s downloading on my Kindle even as I finish this blog. I suspect it’s going to be a late night again.

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            “When I was 5 years old, my mother always told me that happiness was the key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down ‘happy.’ They told me I didn’t understand the assignment, and I told them they didn’t understand life.” – John Lennon

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I Discovered it was Everything and Nothing

            In the midst of one of the most unhappy periods of my life, I realized I was a happy person. Not the delightful, delirious, delicious tickling of the inner self when all is right with the world, but the knowledge that a kind of happiness lived within me that no amount of outside sorrow could touch.

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This pair of sandhill cranes made my birding passion happy. — Photo by Pat Bean

            Although I struggled for weeks to get through the day, I still awoke each morning with a hope, verging on knowledge, that my days would get better. I also realized I still had a zest for life that made me glad to see and appreciate the sunrise and the little details of the day that so often go unnoticed, like the smile of a child or the tiny drop of dew on a yellow rose.

            While lingering effects from that difficult period over 30 years ago still occasionally touch my life, and those of people I love, the happiness within, along with my zest for life, have not dulled. In fact, they have only grown.

            I wonder sometimes if I’m singularly blessed, or if others also have an inner happiness that cannot be destroyed? As a writer, I’m always observing people, and I have come to a conclusion that while I’m not alone in having this trait, I might be among the minority.

            I awake each day with gratefulness in my heart for being so blessed.

            Bean’s Pat: I gotta pee http://tinyurl.com/coobdul As a person who tent-camped until she was 65 and bought her RV, Gypsy Lee, this was a blog that brought back many memories and had me laughing out loud.

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            “We are born again each morning. What matters most is this day.” Buddha

Gambel quail skitter about in this landscape. -- Photo by Pat Bean

Gambel quail skitter about in this landscape. — Photo by Pat Bean

And Makes Me Feel at Home

            My apartment has all the conveniences of a city just two blocks away, yet it’s sheltered from traffic noise by trees and a landscaped courtyard, and is bordered on two sides by a natural desert landscape filled with wildlife.

Seed pods against the desert sky.

Seed pods against the desert sky.

            I see Gambel’s quail skittering between the saguaro and ocotillo cacti and am serenaded by mourning doves, song birds and a great horned owl on a daily basis. A pair of Cooper’s hawks are nesting in a nearby near tree and yesterday morning I spied a bobcat on the edge of the apartment’s parking lot.

            Tucson, I’ve discovered, is a place where civilization and Mother Nature coexist better than any other place I’ve ever lived. And here in the city’s Catalina Foothills that I now call home, most buildings have been designed to look like they belong to the landscape.

            I truly am falling in love with Tucson.

The Wondering Wanderer's blog pick of the day.

The Wondering Wanderer’s blog pick of the day.

            Bean’s Pat: Life in the Bogs http://tinyurl.com/bwlykyh And speaking of Mother Nature, she lives in Robin’s bog, too.

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            “Time is free, but it’s priceless. You can’t own it, but you can use it. You can’t keep it, but you can spend it. Once you’ve lost it, you can never get it back.” —  Harvey MacKay

I dawdled to watch squirrels at a campground. == Photo by Pat Bean

I dawdled to watch squirrels at a campground. == Photo by Pat Bean

Time Always Runs Out

            A few years back I planned a trip to Maine. I left in early May with the goal of reaching the state’s Atlantic Coastline before the puffins, the sandpipers, the plovers and other shore birds migrated south. Too much dawdling along the way made me arrive two weeks too late.

 

I dawdled to see all the sights along oute 66. -- Photo by Pat Bean

I dawdled to see all the sights along oute 66. — Photo by Pat Bean

           It was a missed opportunity that most likely will never come again. At the same time, my dawdling along the way visiting places like Queen Wilhelmina State Park in Arkansas, the Budwieser Brewery in Missouri, Wolf Park in Indiana, the Henry Ford Museum in Michigan Niagara Falls in New York and many, many other places along the way were memories made that I wouldn’t have wanted to miss either.

            I’ve reached the point in my life when I know that there is more time behind me than ahead of me. Accepting this reality has not made me sad, but it has certainly made me more aware of how fleeting time has become.

            I remember when it seemed an eternity for each Christmas to arrive, and now it seems like I’ve barely put away the Christmas decorations before it’s time to get them out again.

I dawdled to watch sunrises. -- Photo by Pat Bean

I dawdled to watch sunrises. — Photo by Pat Bean

            What got me thinking of time was Tom Brokaw’s book “The Time of our Lives: A conversation about America.” He and I are less than a year apart in age, and we both had journalism careers, although his took him on the big stage in front of a camera and mine took me to a smaller stage on the pages of newspapers.

            I once got to interview Tom Brokaw when he visited my smaller stage setting, the memories of which came to the forefront this week when I picked up his book and read the things he pointed out in his preface of having lived through –  the moon landing, Vietnam, women stepping out of the kitchen and into the working world, civil unrest as black and white cultures integrated, the riots, the prosperity, the stock market fluctuations, the technology takeover, the continuation of war, and the big bang of the internet.

            These were the same things I had lived through and wrote about.

            Looked at in this way, I guess I know where time has flown. I wonder what is still ahead for me to experience – as I continue my dawdling ways.

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 “We must combine the toughness of the serpent with the softness of the dove, a tough mind and a tender heart.” — Martin Luther King Jr.

 Non-Paying Tenant

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A tough little mom-to-be mourning dove. — Photo by Pat Bean

I was at my daughter’s house yesterday, where they had the front door locked so as not to bother the squatter that had taken up residency on the porch.

I forgot about the restriction and took Pepper out the front door for a walk.

The squatter gave us the evil eye but didn’t fly away. And she stayed put when I returned with my camera. It seemed apparent she was unhappy with the intrusion but she steadfastly continued sitting on her eggs.

I can’t wait to see the baby doves.

 

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          “When you squeeze an orange, orange juice comes out – because that’s what’s inside. When you are squeezed, what comes out is what is inside.” – Wayne Dyer

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Last night’s sunset as viewed far range from my balcony. — Photo by Pat Bean

        And when you squeeze a kid, the truth comes out.

Why it is Orange of Course

          My friend Caroline’s 5-year-old grandson told her heaven was orange. She said it took her a while to digest that, but finally she asked “Why?”

          “Because red is for fire! And orange happens when day starts and ends.”

          “Duh,” she replied, as did I when I heard the explanation.

          And last night proved just how right the five-year-old was.

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And a zoomed-in closeup five minutes later. It’s my belief that watching sunrises and sunsets is the best way to start and end any day. — Photo by Pat Bean

The Wondering Wanderer's blog pick of the day.

The Wondering Wanderer’s blog pick of the day.

          Bean’s Pat: The hummingbirds are coming. http://tinyurl.com/alwd53j One of my favorite bloggers.

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          “This book is many things – a sketchbook, a journal, an attempt to understand other beings – but it is not a dispassionate recitation of scientific truths about birds. It’s a series of stories that I hope will pull back a curtain on … minds.” – Julie Zickefoose on her book, “The Bluebird Effect”

"The Bluebird Effect by Julie Zickefoose

“The Bluebird Effect by Julie Zickefoose

A Book for Bird Lovers

          I’ve long been a Julie Zickefoose fan, mostly through enjoying her art and painting in Bird Watcher’s Digest, in which she was featured almost every month.

One of the watercolors by Julie Zickefoose included in the book.

One of the watercolors by Julie Zickefoose included in the book.

          Being a writer who often sent articles to the magazine on speculation, and who was rejected every time but once — and then my piece, after being accepted, was killed and not run although I did get a kill fee  – I was jealous.

          Then I learned that Julie was married to the magazine’s editor and I felt a bit better. She had an in that I didn’t. That’s not to say Julie’s work wasn’t worth of being in the magazine every month. I often thought it was the best piece of work in the Digest.

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          And I was thrilled when I discovered she had written a book, “The Bluebird Effect.” It became the very next book I bought. I buy, if you hadn’t guessed, about a half-dozen books a month, and read those and about a half-dozen more as well.

          Julie’s book didn’t disappoint. Her art work, from quick sketches to colorful and detailed watercolors provided a delightful and enlightening look at birds and nature.

          If, like me, you like birds and art, then I bet you will love this book.

          Bean’s Pat: Julie Zickefoose  http://tinyurl.com/d7w9vud Great blog. And it just seemed appropriate to share more of this artistic writer’s awesome work.

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 “I think we consider too much the good luck of the early bird and not enough the bad luck of the early worm.” – Franklin D. Roosevelt

 My neighbor, knowing I’m a passionate birder, called me yesterday afternoon and simply said: “”Go out on your balcony and look to your left.”

 I did. And below is what I saw. Aren’t they cute?

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A pair of mourning doves. These birds get their name from the mourful wooing-cooing sound they make. They are this country’s most common dove.

It pays to let others know what you want in life, especially if it’s seeing birds. I would have missed this wonderful sight if not for my thoughtful neighbor.

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             “What makes the desert beautiful is that somewhere it hides a well.” – Antoine de Saint-Exupery

I wondered if this balloon was going to get high enough to miss the wires. It did. -- Photo by Pat Bean

I wondered if this balloon was going to get high enough to miss the wires. It did. — Photo by Pat Bean

Adjusting to a New Life

            After exiting, but not abandoning, my nine-year RV home, Gypsy Lee, in an apartment complex parking lot, I wondered if I had chosen the right place to put down a few roots.

Balloons are a familiar sight over Tucson. -- Photo by Pat Bean

Balloons are a familiar sight over Tucson. — Photo by Pat Bean

            I was still remembering how claustrophobic I had felt after purchasing my last rooted home back in Ogden, Utah, in which I had spent seven years before moving into Gypsy Lee.

            Right up until the last few months, when this old body decided it needed a bit more space and a few conveniences Gypsy Lee didn’t have, I never felt more at home than I did when traveling across this beautiful country. The road truly felt like home and the place I should be.

            I had thought when I retired that I would have about five years on the road before I would need to settle down again. I almost doubled that. I also thought that I would find a place that would call out to me as being my next home. It never did.  

            I suspected I would end up in my native Texas, where most of my children and grandchildren live, and started looking, and continued doing so for almost a year. I found nothing that met my requirements – nice, dog friendly, large bath tub, light and airy, and near town conveniences but with a place to walk – that either appealed to me or was in my measly price range.  

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            When I started looking in Tucson, where my youngest daughter lives and where I was headed to spend this past Christmas, I found what I had been looking for instantly, with the bonus of it being located at the foot of the Catalina Mountains.

            But almost as soon as I had moved into my new, small, third-floor apartment, I broke my foot and also began having doubts if I had made the right decision.

            A pair of Cooper’s hawks nesting in a tree in one of the apartment’s courtyards helped convince me — I’m a passionate birder — that I had, as did the beautiful view I have of Mount Lemmon to the north and the beautiful sunrises that have brightened almost all my mornings.

            I never thought I would live in the desert and like it. But I’m slowly beginning to think of Tucson as home.

            I’m especially enjoying a landscape where giant saguaro cacti — including one here at the apartment that is home to a pair of Gila Woodpeckers – dominate the landscape, and where it is not unusual to look up and see hot air balloons gliding by.           

The Wondering Wanderer's blog pick of the day.

The Wondering Wanderer’s blog pick of the day.

   Bean’s Pat: Basil the Hippo http://tinyurl.com/cq9x969 I fell in love with this story – and Basil.

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