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 “Every person is the creation of himself, the image of his own thinking and believing. As individuals think and believe, so they are.” –Claude M Bristol

A Little Bird Said Otherwise

After cropping, sharpening and enhancing the photo of a yellow-headed blackbird I took at Lake Walcott State, this turned out not to be too bad a shot. Most of my bird photos don’t come out half as good. — Photo by Pat Bean

When I was young, slender, wrinkle and sag free, I thought I was ugly. Today, I look at pictures from my past and realize, while perhaps not beautiful, I was pretty damn good-looking. And I have a few minutes of regret that I didn’t appreciate it way back when.

Today, I’m overweight, with a flabby soft belly and crow lines – I prefer to call them laugh lines – all over my face. And I’ve come to love my body because it has given me years of good service and is still going.

Lately, I’ve been thinking I’m a horrible artist. Nothing turns out like I imagine it in my head. What got me thinking about this was my inability to take decent bird photos. Of course that’s my choice. I’m a writer, not a photographer.

No. 1, don’t want to invest in the equipment necessary to capture birds in their rare moments from a distance. And No. 2, I don’t want to spend a lot of time looking at the world from behind a lens, which is what photographers have to do, and hopefully love to do as much as I love to write.

While not heavily detailed, I decided I also liked my artistic interpretaion of the yellow-headed blackbird. Perhaps I will use more of my bird art to go with my blog in the future. — Illustration by Pat Bean.

So why not, I’ve been asking myself for a couple of years, illustrate my bird blogs with some of my art work. Because you’re not good enough, my brain tells me. Art is one of my hobbies, and I’ve never wanted it to be more.

But this morning, when I was actually looking for a sketch I knew I had done of a killdeer imitating a broken wing to lead danger away from their nests (which I couldn’t find), because that’s what the killdeer here at Lake Walcott have been doing ever since I arrived here, I re-evaluated my bird art.

While I’m certainly never going to give professional artists cause for concern, my quick sketches and watercolors weren’t all that bad. It was like taking a second look at photos of myself from the advantage of being an old broad. And I liked what I saw.

Bean’s Pat: http://www.geezersisters.com/ About West Texas, where evidently there are no possums. Great web site. Blog pick of the day from this wandering wonderer.

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 “For me, as for flower and beast and bird, the supreme triumph is to be most vividly, most perfectly alive.” – David Herbert Lawrence

This stalking black-crowned night heron is patiently waiting for its mouse dinner to pop up out of its hole. — Photo by Pat Bean

Black-Crowned Night Heron

A pair of black-crowned night heron have taken up residence in a landscape of reeds, Russian olives and cattails that line the bank of Lake Walcott between the park’s campground and boat dock.

The path between the two is one of those I take on my daily walks with my canine traveling companion, Pepper. Most days, mid-to-late-afternoons, I come up on one of the herons patiently waiting in the lawn area near a rock wall for dinner to appear.

This black-crowned night heron’s dinner is more common. — Wikipedia photo

The gourmet item on this heron’s menu is one of the small mice that make their home among holes in the rocks. The stalking heron is usually so still that Pepper seldom notices it, and so intent on dinner that I get a chance to marvel at its glowing red eye, which stands out vividly from its white and black feathers. .

Most days, unless Pepper sees it and barks and strains on the leash to go chase it, we don’t even disturb it as we pass by,

Although I’ve never seen but one on the manicured lawn, I know there are two because one day I spooked the second one as I passed by the cattails, and watched  as it flew deeper into the reed cover.

A fish dinner, or even a snake one, is a more normal diet for these herons. But their flexibility in food choices is probably one of the reasons these tree-nesting birds can be found on five continents, and why there is no current concern about their numbers.

Bean’s Pat: Dodging Commas http://tinyurl.com/7hfuamp Words for writers. This wondering wanderer’s blog pick of the day.

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“As a single footstep will not make a path on the earth, so a single thought will not make a pathway in the mind. To make a deep physical path, we walk again and again. To make a deep mental path, we must think over and over the kind of thoughts we wish to dominate our lives.” – Henry David Thoreau

The start of the trail from the Grotto shuttle bus stop. Come hike me the trail called to me. — Photo by Pat Bean

 

Walk the Kayenta/Emerald Pools Trail With Me

Rocks form a mysterious tunnel shortly before the trail descends to the Emerald Pools. — Photo by Pat Bean

A two-mile trail between the Grotto and Zion Lodge, the Kayenta/Emerald Pools Trail in Zion National Park is ideal for wandering/wondering old broads like me. It has only a mild, 150-foot-elevation gain but there is something to see around every bend in the road.

The May day I walked it, I had a playful squirrel, hoping for a handout which it didn’t get, follow me for a while, saw a magnificent blue-bellied lizard, and had excellent views of the Virgin River Valley 150 feet below me.

Of course there were flowers: Indian paintbrush, columbine, shooting stars, wall flowers and daisies, just to name a few.

These were expected. What wasn’t was the short tunnel formed by rocks that one had to pass through and the opportunity to walk behind a waterfall.

The waterfall was only a trickle this day, but it was still cool to walk behind it. — Photo by Pat Bean

I wish you had been with me.

Bean’s Pat: Darla Writes http://tinyurl.com/7bl7zo6 The best writing advice ever. I promise. Tell me if you agree.  This wandering/wondering old broad’s blog pick of the day.

 

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 “Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.” – Groucho Marx

An Experiment in Self-Publication

Snowbasin is where I learned to ski at 40. It was also the venue for the 2002 Winter Olympics downhill events. Shown above is the finish line for the Super G. — Photo by Ken Lund

Back when I was all thumbs and big toes about blogging, I hooked up with Dani Greer and her group at the BBT Cafe and learned a lot. Now I’m learning a lot more as I follow her group as they write, e-publish and promote a short-story anthology called “The Corner Cafe.” It’s an experiment to see if the book, now selling for 99 cents on Amazon, will drive traffic to the writers other books.

Not to be totally left outside whining to get in, since I’m not one of the anthology authors, I volunteered to help them promote the book. And since my blog is primarily about travel, I thought it would be fun if I focused on story settings.

I mentioned this to Dani, and in reply she asked if I skied. I, in turn, went into my spiel about learning to ski at 40, then related my adventure walking the men’s 2002 Winter Olympics downhill course, when it was being put in, with current presidential candidate Mitt Romney.

At the time I was city editor at the Ogden Standard-Examiner and responsible for the paper’s Olympic coverage. Mitt back then was CEO of the Salt Lake City Organizing Committee. Ogden’s Snowbasin ski resort, where I had learned to ski, had been chosen as the venue for all that year’s downhill events.

“Great,” Dani chortled. “That’s a great lead in for Helen Ginger’s story in the anthology. It takes place on a ski hill.

A poster from Helen Ginger’s days as a mermaid. She’s the tall girl on the bottom left. She said she didn’t have a picture of her in her tail. — Aquarena Springs poster

So I asked Helen about the setting in her latest book, “Angel Sometimes.” She told me that a big part of the book takes place in a bar/restaurant called The Aquarium, where Angel swims as a mermaid.

“Since I spent three years swimming as a mermaid at a resort park, I know how to swim in a mermaid tail, how to eat and drink underwater, how to do back flips and spinning dervishes,” Helen said.

I don’t know about you, but I found that fascinating.

Helen has two stories in “The Corner Cafe,” Gila Monster, which takes place in a high school, and “One Last Run,” which takes place on a ski slope. She said she left the high school and its town generic and that readers could imagine it as the one they attended.

But for the ski slope, she said she pictured it being somewhere in the Colorado mountains.

“I envisioned the tall trees that seem to whisper in the wind, the snow piled high along the trails, and the brilliant blue skies that can turn dark and cold so quickly,” said Helen.

“One Last Run” is one of the shorter stories in “The Corner Cafe,” and Helen wanted to share it with readers to entice them to buy the book. All proceeds from the sales, by the way, is being donated to a charity. 

One Last Run

By Helen Ginger 

Coming down a steep hill at Snowbasin. I wonder if this is the kind of setting Helen imagined for her story. — Photo by Scott Appleby

When soft flakes turned into a blinding storm, Roger veered off the ski path. A .black diamond skier, he led the way through dense trees.

He was gone now. I was alone, lying on my back staring up at a sky of stars blinking through wispy clouds. As soon as his gray jacket disappeared from sight, I’d packed snow over the gaping hole in my stomach to slow the blood flow.

How naïve I’d been to believe Roger when he said we had time for one more trip down. Now I was slowly bleeding out and freezing to death while Roger most likely sat by the fire pit at the Corner Café, drinking his favorite wine, watching his gloves burn – the ones he’d worn when he shot me. I wished I had a glass of Cabernet now. So many times I’d turned it down, worried it would send my blood sugar skyrocketing.

He’d get away with it. The snow would hide his ski tracks. After he shot me, he smiled. When he leaned over to kiss my lips, I scratched his face. He used a tree limb to break my leg then scraped my fingernails.

Kneeling close to my ear, he whispered, “Thanks. The scratches and any DNA on my clothes will add credibility to my grieving boyfriend act.”

He didn’t notice his own blood dripping on my forearm.

No one else would either. I eased my hand into my pocket and pulled out the blood sugar meter. His blood had started to congeal, so I pushed the stick into the tiny pool and let it soak in. Then I emptied my lip balm and driver’s license out of the zip bag and put the stick in. Clutching the sealed evidence in my palm, I stared up at the trees and sky.

Stars winked before sliding behind clouds as a cold quiet seeped into my bones. 

Helen Ginger is a partner/owner of Legends In Our Own Minds®, coordinator of Story Circle Network’s Editorial Services, writer, editor, teacher, and maker of a mean margarita. She cannot, however, ski worth a flip. If she ever dies on the slopes, it’ll be her own doing. Before that happens, stop by and say hi to her on her blog, Straight From Hel: http://straightfromhel.blogspot.com/ .

You can purchase this book for 99 cents on Amazon

Other links: The Corner Cafe on Amazon http://amzn.to/KyQ2wv 

 https://www.amazon.com/author/helenginger

http://www.storycircleeditorialservice.org/

http://helenginger.com

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 “Man’s heart away from nature becomes hard.” – Standing Bear

One Last Vista for the Road

The Grand Canyon vista from Desert View — Photo by Pat Bean

The distance between the Grand Canyon’s south entrance, where I entered the park, and its east entrance, where I exited, is only about 30 miles. It took me about five hours to make the journey.

It’s so easy to drink in the Grand Canyon’s vista that sometimes we forget to look at the smaller parts that make up the whole. I try not to forget. — Photo by Pat Bean

Five hours of magic when I left all the worries of the world behind and simply let myself enjoy the wonders of nature’s artistic hand. What a grand canvas she has created.

I don’t know how people exist in today’s chaotic world without visiting Mother Nature’s museums often.

It seems, however, that I’m merely echoing the thoughts of another writer who felt the same way during an era that to me seems far less hectic than today’s world.

Wrote Hamlin Garland in 1899: “I remember a hundred lovely lakes, and recall the fragrant breath of pine and fir and cedar and poplar trees. The trail has strung upon it, as upon a thread of silk, opalescent dawns and saffron sunsets. It has given me blessed release from care and worry and the troubled thinking of our modern day. It has been a return to the primitive and the peaceful. Whenever the pressure of our complex city life thins my blood and benumbs my brain, I seek relief in the trail; and when I hear the coyote wailing to the yellow dawn, my cares fall from me – I am happy.”

Bean’s Pat: Kristen Lamb’s Blog http://tinyurl.com/cvto554 How to become a stronger writer. Good advice for serious writers. 

*This pat-on-the-back recognition is merely this wandering/wondering old broad’s way of bringing attention to a blog I enjoyed – and thought perhaps my readers might, too. June 11, patbean.wordpress.com

 

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 “The very idea of a bird is a symbol and a suggestion to the poet. A bird seems to be at the top of the scale, so vehement and intense his life … The beautiful vagabonds, endowed with every grace, masters of all climes, and knowing no bounds – how many human aspirations are realized in their free, holiday lives – and how many suggestions to the poet in their flight and song!” – John Burroughs

Delightful, Colorful, Awesome Birds

Great blue heron at Lake Arrowhead State Park -- Photo by Pat Bean

From the Bullock oriole’s flash of bright orange feathers as it flew across my path to the Canada geese that strutted down to the lake, birds were constantly making their presence known during my visit to Texas’ Lake Arrowhead State Park.

For an avid birder like myself, it was better than my favorite Jack-in-the-Box chocolate milkshake high — and came without the calories.

Mockingbirds were plentiful, making my mind play tricks on me when I saw one that didn’t quite fit in. I was thinking it might have been a tropical mockingbird, but then this quite-out-of-place species was on my mind from reports of one of them being seen in Texas’ Sabine Woods. I certainly wasn’t sure enough of my find to add it to my life list of birds.

Canada geese strutted across the manicured lawn near the fishing pier, making it easy to photograph them. I wish I had been able to capture the flock that had honked their way overhead earlier in the morning. But as I remind people often, I'm a writer not a photographer, and the only camera I own is a pocket Canon point and shoot. -- Photo by Pat Bean

I saw a great blue heron at the fish-cleaning station near the park’s fishing pier, but before I could get a picture,  it flew away. It landed in the lake on the opposite side of the pier and began fishing for its breakfast.

When I looked at it through my binoculars at it,  I saw a dozen or so spotted sandpipers cruising the shoreline in front of it, and a yellowlegs a bit farther out in the water. It had to have been a lesser yellowlegs because it was too close in size to the sandpipers to be a greater.

As I continued to watch the sandpipers, a red-winged blackbird flew in beside them. Its shoulder epaulets were so brilliantly red that they made my heart skip a beat.

Grackles, robins, snowy and great egrets, swallows (cave, I think), killdeer, scissor-tailed flycatchers and circling turkey vultures were among the many other birds at the park that I saw.

While I suspect the park is mostly favored by fishermen, it’s now on this birders list of favorite places, too.

Bean’s Pat: Trees for Arbor Day http://tinyurl.com/crhxqtu For tree huggers like me, a slide show from the National Wildlife Federation.

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“An essential aspect of creativity is not being afraid to fail.” – Edwin Land

“And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.” – Sylvia Plath

Great blue heron hunting for its dinner along the Anhinga Trail in the Everglades.

Two Photographs

When I haven’t a clue as to what I’m going to write about, I first turn to my list of potential blog topics.

That didn’t work this time. In fact it might be time for me to clean up the long list as I didn’t understand half my suggestions. Bright ideas, I’ve discovered, often lose meaning if left stagnating too long.

There is also the fact that what you write one day will never be the same thing you will write about the next day. Our perceptions about the meaning of life, or whatever, are constantly changing. Knowing this, I think, is why I’m such a fanatic journal keeper.

"Won't you step into my Everglades parlor?" -- Photo by Pat Bean

Anyway, with my written list failing me, I turned to my photographs and came across two that actually turned on the electricity in my brain. One was of an alligator lying in wait for a meal, and the other was of a great blue heron quietly waiting for its dinner to come into reach.

The differences had me thinking how all living things on this planet have the same needs. And about where each of the species fit in the food chain.

The two photos also spoke to me of patience, a thing I seriously lack. Without a bit of patience, neither of these species would have their next meal.

Then I thought of the different reactions the two photos would elicit from viewers. Oohs and aahs for the heron of course, and probably some yucks for the alligator. When I post a photo of one of these reptiles I usually get an e-mail from a daughter-in-law telling me not to get too close.

Putting two unlike things together, according to some of the self-help books I’ve read, is a good way to spark one’s creativity. I haven’t done it much, but I’m now convinced I should do it more. I mean it got me off the hook for today’s blog.

Now I’m curious as to readers’ reactions to the two photos. Tell, please.

Bean’s Pat: A Word in Your Ear; http://tinyurl.com/74zt46m For those of us who miss too many sunsets.

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It is necessary to write, if the days are not to slip emptily by.  How else, indeed, to clap the net over the butterfly of the moment?  For the moment passes, it is forgotten; the mood is gone; life itself is gone.  That is where the writer scores over his fellows:  he catches the changes of his mind on the hop.  ~Vita Sackville-West

Among My Writing Soul Mates 

So many things I want to tell my writer friends out there about the tremendous amount of energy and good advice going on at the Story Circle Network’s Stories from the Heart Conference being held in Austin this weekend.

Austin skyline from Lady Bird Lake -- Wikipedia photo

Much of what I’ve learned, however, still needs to be digested, and practiced, before I feel I can write about it.

But Gail Straub’s keynote Friday night  presentation “My Mythic Memoir Journey,”  had a secondary significance for me. She spoke about her memoir, “Returning to My Mother’s House,” which is about her relationship with her mother.

 Sitting next to me was my own daughter, Deborah. Gail hit a few familiar notes with her talk and it seemed as if I weren’t  nudging my daughter, she was nudging me. 

University of Texas fountain, a familiar sight to Austin residents. -- Wikipedia photo

Gail’s talk was full of interesting insights, and came at a time when my daughter and I could both recognize them — and most importantly laugh about them.

The best thing about the conference for me is being in the midst of a circle of supportive female writers. It’s not that any of us, well among the many circle members I know, have anything against men. It’s just that our voices are different and it’s nice to be among people who understand female quirks, and the difficulty women often have in finding their voices.

I can say with 100 percent accuracy that this writing circle is the most supportive group I’ve ever encountered in my years on this planet. I can’t think of any place I would rather be this weekend than right where I am — deep in the heart of Texas with writing soul mates.

Bean’s Pat: Darla Writes  http://tomurl.com/77xu6pf  13 Tips From Writers. It seems only fair that today I should give a thumbs up to a blogger who writes about writing,

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“The earth laughs in flowers.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson

Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center

Wright's skullcap -- Photo not by me (remember I left my camera in the hotel room), and I'm not sure who the photographer was.

A delayed plane and a missed flight put me into Austin after 10 p.m. yesterday. It meant I missed meeting with a couple of old friends here in town, like me, to attend the Story Circle Network’s Stories from the Heart Conference.

Instead I treated myself to a nice strong Jack and Coke at the hotel bar, while I waited for my oldest daughter, Deborah, who is attending the conference, too  to arrive on an even later flight. I woke up this morning, thinking it was 6 a.m., only to discover it was 8 a.m., seeing as how I was in Austin instead of Tucson, where it was 6 a.m.

After taking care of a bit of business for the conference, four of us writing buddies, took off for the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center. When we arrived, I realized I had left my camera back in the hotel room, which was a darn shame because there were plenty of beautiful flowers to photograph.

My favorite was the Wright’s skullcap, whose blossoms reminded me of Darth Vader.

And that’s all I have to say today. While it’s just after 9 p.m. in Austin, it’s after 11 p.m. in Tucson and my body remembers and is telling the brain it’s time to go to bed. I think I will sleep well tonight, even without a Jack and Coke.

Bean’s Pat: Portraits of Wildflowers  http://tinyurl.com8ywkbd5  Standing winecups. Steve Schartzman’s blog is why I could identify many of today’s plants at the wildflower center.

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Folks, we have reached our cruising altitude now, so I am going to switch the seat belt sign off. Feel free to move about as you wish, but please stay inside the plane till we land. It’s a bit cold outside and if you walk on the wings it affects the flight pattern.” – This is the Captain speaking.

 

I saw blooming cacti everywhere I looked in Tucson. -- Photo by Pat Bean

 

Hello Austin

I take to the air this afternoon, flying to Austin to attend the Women’s Circle Network Stories from the Heart writing conference.

I’ve been looking forward to this event for months. I will be meeting up with some of the women I met at the event two years ago, and will also be meeting face to face with many women who have become dear friends via the Internet since then.

I will be sorry, however, to leave this beautiful Arizona desert where my daughter, Trish, lives. During my three-week visit here, we have both done some healing. Trish from some physical ailments and me from the emotional stress of losing my beloved dog, Maggie, and then her replacement just eight days later.

I’m finally to the point of thinking again about getting another dog. I will be getting back on the road in my RV shortly after the conference ends, and the thought of traveling without a canine companion is mind boggling.

And each variety of cactus I saw had its own unique beauty. -- Photo by Pat Bean

Just in case anyone in the Austin or the Dallas areas of Texas might know of a dog that needs a lot of love and spoiling, I’m looking for a one to three–old, 20 to 25 pound, female that loves walks, cuddling and car rides.

Bean’s Pat: Life in the Bogs http://tinyurl.com/6lw7u9hAn armchair trip through Amish Country, and great flowers, too

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