Places We've Seen

This is a pool in Sabino Canyon.
The Road up to Mt. Lemon...
A forest in the Catalinas near Mt. Lemon
The Mighty Rio Grande River At Sunset

A view of the Sandia Mountains from the desert near Albuquerque.

A Day at the Beach in 1960

Sue Robinson is 13, a very mature thirteen.
I’m twelve; she’s an older woman.
To me, at least, she is definitely a woman, nothing childish about her.
She’s from Tennessee; she has an accent that knocks me out.
We are lying in the hot sun, fanned by the cool ocean breeze, on the beach at Malibu.
Dad, muscular and tan, is wrestling with Mom, but he looks over at Sue and me from time to time.
I get the uneasy feeling he’s looking at her more than me.
Sue looks up as she lies on a blanket on the sand and the waves roll in like liquid, caressing hands, lapping at the shore.
“Do you like me, Michael?” she asked, coquettishly, moving in a way that always takes my breath away.
“No, Sue,” I replied, a smirk on my face.
She sat up abruptly, her cheeks flushed red, she looked out at the Pacific,” You don’t?” she pouted.
“I don’t like you. I love you.”
I answered, and looked into her dark blue eyes.
She relaxed and ran a hand through her long black hair.

She is on my mind all the time.
I feel light-headed when I’m around her, and lost when I’m not.
I’ve had girl friends as far back as I can remember, but this was different.
This was passionate, overpowering, and sensual.

I leaned over to kiss her, she pulled back, “Not here, Michael, not in front of your Momma and Daddy.”
I felt a surge of disappointment.
I stood up and grabbed the rope looped through the surf rider we’d rented.
“I’m going out. Watch me, OK?”
She licked her lips and batted her dark eyelashes “Don’t go out too far.”
I trotted through the soft golden sand towards the foaming, greenish surf.
The sand was hot.
It burned my feet.
I sighed with relief as I trod across the firm, damp, sand at the water’s edge.
I looked towards the pier where Pat, Maureen and Rick are building sand castles.
The water is cold as I wade in and clamber onto the raft.
I used my hands to propel the surf rider past a group of laughing teenagers, splashing and playing at shoulder depth in the ocean.
A flock of snowy white gulls is wheeling overhead under the flaming sun; the deep blue sky is a roof with no ceiling.
I floated over the swells and felt the sea breeze cooling my body.
I looked over my shoulder towards the beach.
The people looked tiny in the distance.
I started to sit up on the surf rider and with a feeling of panic I slid off of the slippery plastic, plunging into the depths of the sea.
I can’t swim!

Zen, Tao and Mountains

I rode my mountain bike to the foothills of the Sandias from Albuquerque yesterday, it only took an hour or so, it was a nice morning, warm and sunny, although we've been having some pretty heavy thunderstorms in the afternoons.
I enjoyed the quiet and solitude while hiking in the high desert mountains..
Because of the elevation and nature of these mountains, there is a feeling of otherworldliness..

I took a trail that begins at the parking lot off of Tramway.
I walked up the sandy arroyo that my sons and I had hiked so many times in the past.
The trail basically followed the arroyo around, and eventually ended-up in a narrow canyon, one or two hundred feet above the stream. This first portion of Embudito Trail was rocky, exposed, and pretty steep. There were a lot of switchbacks along the way, and it was hot, with no shade to speak of.
However, after only 50 yards there was a streambed, I took off my tennis shoes and let the chilly snow pack runnoff cool me down.
After about another mile or so, Embudito Trail started getting into some evergreen trees and shade, and it was really pleasant.
Shortly thereafter, the trail crossed the streambed and switched to the north-facing wall of the canyon. This stretch of the trail was very lush and green. It is one of the most secluded and prettiest areas in the Sandia Mountains.
There were pounding storms during the afternoon hours, but I waited them out in a shallow cave near the trail.
It was invigorating and enriching.
The high country, like the high country of the mind, is not that easy to get to, and the air is rarified, but the effort is worth it.

Will the Real Homer Simpson Please Stand Up?

Forgive me, for I have sinned.
I mean in putting up this video.
It's pretty funny, though, and the tune is catchy.