In the Clouds

The warm spell broke yesterday. Cool, cloudy and rainy. I am lucky enough to live in a place where I can drive up to greet the clouds face to face, as long as I don't minding getting a bit muddy!

Delivering some civil papers to one of our characters that chooses to live in the high country I was driving up Little Annie Road. Although that day it was more of a mud slide than road. Driving up, up and up I broke out of the clouds and got a chance to look around the valley as the mountains were actually able to play hide-and-seek with me! The clouds would roll in, swaddle them in fluffy whiteness and hide their rocky faces for a bit, then just as quietly and quickly roll away to the next peak.

I get paid to do this!

Breathe

Breathe, breathe in the air.
Don't be afraid to care.
Leave but don't leave me.
Look around and choose your own ground.

- Gilmour, Rogers, Wright

It's been a long week here in Paradise. Lot's of new and not-so new reminders to do that most basic of things in my life; breathe.

For some reason, I'm not twenty-something anymore and a 40 hour week cranked out in 4 days wears a bit more on me than it did back in the day.

Waking to an alarm is absolutely the wrong way to start one's day. I mean, I just had gone to bed and the insistent buzzing of the evil clock starts up. Chloe, the cat, knows she has to be quiet until this cacophony starts up, then she can leap up on the bed, mostly landing on my bladder, then she starts in with her meowing and mewling begging to be fed. Clearly, in her mind, anyway, she hasn't been fed in days and days, if one were to believe her racket.

Anyway, I'm up, padding about in the cool apartment, mostly operating on autopilot. The cat is fed, the coffee started, the dawning day contemplated. All the better when done over hot coffee and quiet deck-sitting.

The week started last Sunday, the Fourth of July. Busy, hot and long. Running from pillar to post all day as one of the 3 deputies assigned to the shift called off duty mid-shift to watch the parade in Aspen, leaving 2 of us to cover the county. Pitkin County is roughly 1,000 square miles with most of it rugged back country. 2 main highways cut the county; Highway 82 and Highway 133. Lots of secondary roads and myriad of dirt roads, some resembling goat tracks and worse.

The usual assortment of complaints and calls were the norm. "My ex-girlfriend wants the money she loaned me back." "My neighbor's dog barks." "I lost my cell phone, can you find it?" "Can you do something about all these cars on the highway?" "The reason I'm speeding is that I'm low on gas." And so on.

A brief moment of deja vu' the other day, too. There I was, minding my own business heading up to a notorious stretch of road for speeders. A woman was standing at the bottom of a hill dressed in all black leathers, talking on her cell phone. She spots me and my patrol car and starts yelling that an ambulance is needed, and points up the steep, twisting roadway.

I quickly radio that I'm on scene with an accident with more info to follow. I drive a few hundred yards and I arrive. It's immediately obvious what has happened. A motorcyclist was going down the serpentine roadway and lost control, crashing to the blacktop. Unfortunately for him, a Jeep was headed uphill at the same time. The biker slid into the path of the Jeep and was completely run over. The biker was conscious, much to my surprise, but in a lot of pain. His ribs, shoulder and shoulder blade crunch under my cautious probing.

That's when I was transported back in time to August 29th, 2009. Same scenario, same situation. I had been up Independence Pass when another motorcyclist had wrecked nearby. I was once again probing and questioning a motorcycle rider that was badly injured and looking to me for some solace and relief from the pain. However, last August, in an attempt to remove the motorcycle, I tried to lift more than I could and tore my biceps muscle out of my elbow. That started my 9 month recovery over the course of 2 surgeries and months of rehab.

"There's no way in Hell I'm touching that motorcycle," I reminded myself.

Back to the present, I told the injured motorcyclist to try to breathe slowly and from the bottom of his belly as best he could. This gave him something other than the pain to focus on and he calmed a bit. The ambulance arrived, he was stabilized as best as possible, I drove the few, but endless miles to the emergency room.

And so, I remind myself to take my own advice. Breathe, just breathe in slowly and deeply. Keep it up, don't stop. Breathe in the air and take in the day. It's a day off, the whole day with only a few things that need to be done, and many, many things and choices of things to fill the day including doing absolutely nothing at all. Other than to breathe.

Hunter Creek

I hadn't been up into the Hunter Creek Valley in some time what with a move, kitchen remodel and not to mention a couple of surgeries, so I won't, so today was the day to get reacquainted with one of my favorite places.

Yes, it's the Fourth of July weekend and we expected hordes of people, but in actuality, it wasn't too bad. I know a few of the trails that are used less often and have a bit more shade, so we stuck mostly to those.

The wildflowers are now coming to a peak in the valley floors, waiting probably several more weeks to show off their colors in the high country. Right now it's shasta daisies, lupine, penstemon, mountain bluebells, yellow asters, purple asters and more.

For such a simple walk/hike, it does more to recharge me than anything else I can think of. Yes, yes, I know, I have said this many time before and I'll probably prattle on about it many more times. But, a simple walk up a mountain trail into this beautiful valley either alone or with friends is remarkable.

To the AVFD, courtesy of the FDNY

After September 11th, 2001, the Aspen Volunteer Fire Department made arrangements for their brothers and sisters with the Fire Department of New York to visit us in the mountains in a gesture of appreciation and solidarity. This Fourth of July weekend, members of FDNY paid tribute to their brothers and sisters of the AVFD with a steel beam from the first World Trade Center to fall on 9-11. Carved into a symbol of the WTC and the number, 343, the number of FDNY firefighters who gave their last full measure.

The Last Airbender

I took in a movie this afternoon, The Last Airbender. I didn't know too much about it and later learned it was an animated series that showed on Nickelodeon. Some of the slightly wooden acting notwithstanding, overall not a bad film. I loved the waterbenders and quickly learned to loathe the Bad Guys, the firebenders. A nice blend of Narnia, Kung Fu from the seventies TV series and a gentle reminder to just be nice. It naturally set itself up for a sequel, or two or three, but I was still satisfied with the ending.

Emerging out into the midafternoon sunset, I walked by our local fire station where a bunch of the firefighters were doing what we all seem to do best here in Aspen; hang out and watch the people go by.

However, something was new to the already new fire station. There at the base of the flag pole was a 6' x 1' piece of inch thick steel. Something had been burned into it's mass, so a closer look was warranted.

The artist, using an acetylene torch had delicately cut out the outline of the World Trace Center buildings. This was a piece of the first tower to get struck on September 11th, 2001 and it was a gift to the Aspen Firefighters.

AVFD had invited a great bunch of the NYFD members to Aspen in the winter that followed the tragedy that was 9-11. Those NYFD members hadn't forgotten the generosity that they were shown at a time when they were struggling to find much good in the world. And so, they returned that generosity.

I believe that many of us search for that generosity at times, but believe it is lost, or gone forever. Mankind seems hell-bent on destroying itself either physically, financially, environmentally or just politically.

But, still, somewhere down inside of me I don't think that is all together true. Maybe there isn't The Last Airbender out there, the very last of his kind to save us. Maybe inside of us all is The Lost Airbender. Gone away for a bit, but with a bit of searching, we will find that Airbender and allow that gentle nature to come out and play for a bit.

July 1st

Holy mackerel, it's July 1st! Where in the world did June go? Did it pass during the rain storms, the winds, or just in the endless routine of work, eat, sleep, repeat?

The first cutting of hay is starting in the high mountain fields. Beautiful geometrics out of hay, grass and straw. Unintended patterns to capture and ponder over. Which came first, kind of stuff, as it where.

A day so far only consumed by cleaning, painting and patching. Odd, though, as I have been looking at some of the missing bits of trim for so long now that after I finally installed them, I don't see and difference. Hmmm. Did I really have to install that last piece of fill on the cabinets or patch that bit of drywall that was banged up taking out and then reinstalling the countertops if I stopped noticing?

The cut and baled hay is something substantial, tangible and real. It's why I like framing houses, buildings and such. At the end of the work day I could step back and look at what I had done, what I had built, what I had accomplished that particular day.

Some days at my present work all I bring forth is a large pile of paper or large digital file documenting humankind's folly and inhumanity. And I've been looking at those things for so long they have started to fall into the same category as that missing piece of trim. I no longer notice. It's the same, just different characters is all.

Oh, well, maybe I'll go touch up some nicks and dings in the paint.