I AIN'T NO MONKEY

  It occurs to me on a regular basis that well written lines from popular songs come to mind when they parallel the experience I am having. I don’t think I am unique in that way but then nobody I know brings it up in conversation either. I belong to a coffee group of 5 that meets twice a week and if you try to rank order us by education and accomplishment I would probably score lowest in the group. I don’t know if they would agree but then our agenda doesn’t seem to dip that deep into our collective experience. This morning while the conversation centered on their pet dogs and cats I was contemplating a Bob Dylan line from 1975 (Buckets Of Rain) that tells us, “Little red wagon, little red bike: I ain’t no monkey but I know what I like.”  From the first to the last note the song is a profound statement on human nature. The 70’s were turbulent and Dylan’s creative, drug fueled imagination made him rich. By the end of the 70’s I had managed graduate school and made my leap into parenthood and a career in education. I missed out on the drugs and the riches but I was no monkey, I knew what I liked and life was good. But life has always been good, that’s the point.
Flash-Back to my upbringing and my mother’s nurture: She never missed a chance to remind me of my good fortune with this admonishment, “There but for the Grace of God go I.” Then she would draw me into that blessing with, “and you too.” In my life I have abandoned her religion but not her righteous compass. Certainly the world holds us responsible for what we’ve become but we didn’t get there by ourselves. What I took from that cautionary wisdom was that I may exercise some influence but I certainly do not control my own destiny, I don't believe that anybody sets out to be a failure and that no decision can be judged good or bad until after it has run its course. Her purpose was the virtue of humility and to that end she made her point. All I can do is to weigh and measure the moment and do my best. That would acknowledge thousands of strangers fingerprints that are all over everything I have ever done. Naturally I must treat my decisions as crucial to my fate but at the end of the day I default back to my mother’s humble disposition and to John Donne who wrote; No man is an island. Don’t ask for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.
This morning at coffee none of us bothered to mention how fortunate we all are to have lived so long and so well. I felt the legacy of White Privilege, how without it the odds would have been overpowering that I would have never seen the inside of a university library. I can’t speak for my coffee-mates but likewise, I question they would have risen to their levels of professional achievement if they had been persons of color. It confirms the notion that the three most important decisions you will ever make are; choosing your parents, choosing the year and the location of your birth. One bad choice and consider how disappointing and dismal this life could have been. 
On the way home from coffee I stopped at Trader Joe’s, a small but trendy grocery store where the parking lot is full of German cars and customers are amazingly free of tattoos. I don’t think people dress up to go to Trader Joe’s, that must be how they dress all the time. Neither do I know for sure if they ever think about White Privilege but for the most part they have all been immersed in it for a long time; not many Blacks or Tans pushing carts through the isles. Still, birds of a feather flock together and I seem to fit in. Maybe I am affluent (wealthy) after all; I don’t have to check the price before I decide to buy the shredded parmesan cheese or a bottle of Carmenere wine. Carmenere is a Chilean red wine that pops in the front of your mouth and sinus, unlike the traditional favorite Cabernet Sauvignon with heavy tannins that settle in the back of the mouth and throat. I like the Carmenere but not the Cabernet. Talking with the lady in charge of the wine department she sensed I knew more about wine than what color I was looking for. She agreed the Cab was overrated and my preference was spot on; not that I’m a wine snob just more like Dylan’s observation, “I’m no monkey but I know what I like”. Still, my 24 year-old pickup truck in the parking lot will never be mistaken for an expensive German car.
There is no virtue, none at all in being affluent (wealthy). It provides purchasing power but you can’t buy virtue. I shop at Trader Joe’s once or twice a month but I shop often at a Walmart Superstore. I shop there because I get more for less and I identify with young parents who have more kids than they can afford and with old invalids in self propelled wheel chairs. My mother did not waste words on me; there but for the Grace of random chance and good karma go I. That could be me or I could be one of them, either way. But you cannot ignore the obvious; Walmart is not Trader Joe’s. For those who think they deserve better than Walmart because they are affluent or educated I don’t think anybody deserves anything. You get what you get and live with it. Ironically these disposable, invisible people who struggle to survive, who love their children but cannot provide, who give up easily because nothing has ever worked and because bad habits are truly hard to break; I identify with them; it could have been me. Every time I fell I landed softly and every time I got back up someone gave me a second chance. Good fortune is unmerited benefit that cannot be anticipated and I’ve had my share. 
If I were a practicing Christian I would default to the Sermon on the Mount where Jesus said, “He makes the sun rise on the evil and the good and he sends rain on the just and the unjust. . .' Some would say that good luck is simply the intersection of preparation and opportunity but that falls short of those thousands of stranger’s fingerprints all over everything you’ve ever done. Keep it simple, “Do unto others” and “fix what you fu*k up.”
Sing it again Bob: 
I've been meek
And hard like an oak
I've seen pretty people disappear like smoke
Friends will arrive, friends will disappear
If you want me
Honey baby, I'll be here

UNSCHEDULED PAUSE

   It has been several days now; Rover, my little red pickup wakes up in his garage now instead of a strange driveway or parking lot and I am back into that mode as well. My GPS remembers every address I program in and saves it to a (Recents) list with the most recent at the top. Since I have no reason to save the recent destinations across Kansas and Colorado I took the time to scroll down and select all of my frequent, local destinations which moves them back to the top. I keep thinking I will drive over to the Garmin store to see if there’s a way to delete those (once & done) locations but haven’t yet. When I punch in a new address the GPS is conveniently mounted where it’s easy to see but typing in the destination calls for left hand dexterity or stretching over the steering wheel. Having frequent local destinations on a list saves both time and the cumbersome corrections for so many spoiled key strikes. 
Changing the subject; I like to think of my age in terms of experience rather than some linear expression. That would make me extremely experienced in many ways but not yet unbelievably experienced. I would have to grow that sensibility in a wider, deeper story than my present condition allows. Still, some reach that wider, deeper milestone in less time than others and who am I to say just where I fit in the moment.
I read a self-help book in the early 1980’s about achieving your goals. It used becoming a writer as an example. I had been keeping a journal for nearly 20 years at the time but I never identified as a writer. The book simply stated that all one needs to be a writer is a pencil and paper. That’s where you begin. Then you need to grow your skills in little steps; attract readers, improve language skills, get a typewriter, learn more about the world around you. The very last thing to do is think about hiring an agent. 
I had already identified with Nobel Laureate Ellie Wiesel who wrote; “I write to understand as much as to be understood.” So I knew from the start that my goal was not to be published but to process my own ideas and feelings as I move along. But I did start with a pencil and a notebook. I learned my language by reading good writing. A computer with spellcheck accelerated my learning curve with spelling and grew my vocabulary. I have always been a storyteller, it ran in the family and it came easy. When fellow writers in my writer’s group encouraged me to publish I didn’t have to ponder anything. My writing has always been about process and making meaning, never for profit.
I am much better writing than trying to keep up in a challenging conversation. I am the classic introvert; the fundamental difference between extroverts and introverts is how they gain energy and connect the dots. The one is energized by outgoing social interaction and the external environment while the other draws from reflecting inward on their own experience and internal environment. So in spite of popular opinion, outgoing vs. reserved is not a choice but rather a natural predisposition. With writing I have all the time I need to reflect before I frame or reframe an idea and I need it. In conversation my family and friends have learned that an untimely, mid sentence pause is not unusual from me. Strangers may try to help me find the word I’m looking for as if I need their help but that never ends well. 
This whole piece is a reflection and reframing of recent history as well as some rationale as to why I do like I do. It can be read as quickly as one’s eye can scan the page but it came together at my convenience, after several edits and rewrites. We can talk and I like that; so much more personal but don’t be put off by am unscheduled pause or me answering your question with a question of my own.

A TRAIN THING

  I am hung up on a ‘Train-Thing’, a steam engine powered train thing to be precise. I took the Cumbres-Toltec steam train two days ago; a full day with a buffet lunch that goes down into New Mexico and it was a very good day. Fall colors were at their peak and the money was well spent. Today (right now) I’m waiting for the ticket office to open on the Georgetown Loop RR, at a coffee shop in Georgetown, CO. There is a very good chance I’ll have to stop writing before I’m finished here; not that I write slow but I think slow and then I rethink that. 
Today’s ride is only a short loop that runs along I-70 as far as Silver Plume, a short stop and back down the same way we came up. The whole trip takes just under two hours. I’ll have my camera but don’t know what the views will be like. I’ll pass on snapshots (to prove that I was here) and hope for something worthy of a photograph.
I’m staying with an old friend, classmate from high school so the friendship is long lived as are we. we are. After high school we lost track of Martin, rediscovered at our 50 year reunion in 2007. He spent those years in California and Colorado as an emergency room surgeon. He does’t come back to the K.C. area anymore but since then I’ve enjoyed a standing invitation to crash at their house just down the hill a dozen miles from Georgetown. We will hang out this afternoon and winterize his daughter’s camper; I’ll hold the light and nod when I approve. 
It’s about time to move on up to the rail head and get my ticket. I’ll put the computer away and pick up again when I have a good story to finish. 

                                        Later . .  .

The Georgetown Loop Rail Road was a nice little ride up the mountain and I’m glad I went. It was less than two hours and more of a tourist tourist thing than an adventure. Just two days after the all day, rockin’-rollin’ ride on Cumbres-Toltec it was a bit of a letdown but understood, that was a hard act to follow. Seating was a bench against the wall on both sides of the car, back to the scenery but big, open air windows. Standing up and moving around was against the rules. The ride itself was nice and the views likewise but trees along the way were so close to the tracks you couldn’t see out. Not complaining; everybody else seemed pleased and the whole thing was just too affordable to pass up. 
Everything in the gift shop was over priced so I went back into Georgetown, walked the main street and visited shops and stores I’ve learned to appreciate over the years. Bought a nice little pocket knife and at my favorite market I picked up a jar of cherry/jalapeño jelly. If not for the steam train I would have missed hanging out for an extra hour in one of my favorite towns anywhere.
I’ll be moving on tomorrow; have a reservation through my travel club to stay in Colorado Springs again. I’ll hang here with my friends until noon or so and then head down to the Springs. Day after tomorrow it will be all over but the long ride across the flat-land. I’ve learned that excitement is unsustainable and disappointment is relative to one’s expectations. So I look for the best and make do when it disappoints. It’s bedtime and I just finished a shot of peach brandy; nothing remarkable just prepping the eyelids. 

QUAKING ASPEN

I like to start a written piece with an interesting but trivial tidbit then segue into the idea that I want to examine. But it’s getting late, tomorrow will be busy and I need some good sleep. Getting to it: The last four days have been like falling down stairs but today has been worth all the bumps. Today I took a ride on the Cumbres & Toltec Scenic Railroad. It runs 64 miles between Antonito, Colorado and Chama, New Mexico, a narrow gauge system established in the 1880’s between Durango Colorado and Alamosa, Colorado. Antonito and Chama are both situated at about 8,000 ft. elevation and the train ride goes up and over Cumbres Pass at just over 10,000 ft. so you’re in high country all the way. 
The ride takes about seven hours altogether. The steam engine was built in 1925 and by steam engine standards it is relatively small. With a coal tender (it burns coal) and nine passenger cars in tow the ride is slow. The views are grand in scope and the constant clickity-clack belies a ride that is neither smooth nor measured. Moving car to car requires one hand on the back of the next seat every step or guaranteed you land in someone’s lap before you get to the end of the car. The seating ranges from plush chairs at period correct tables in the expensive cars to comfortable school-bus-like seats in the more affordable cars. Big windows slide up and down like a school bus. 
The train ride was nice and the throw-back technology to the 1800’s gave us a historic if not adventuresome sense of place in time. But the star of the day was not the hardware. There were 150 passengers, maybe more and there was no question about why we were there, especially today. At altitude the forest is mainly spruce and fir but as the terrain gets more vertical the Aspen show up on the mountain sides in clusters and groves that can reach for miles it would seem. The locals call the Aspen “Quakies” as they make a quaking sound in the wind. I lived out here just a hundred miles Northwest of here and since I moved away 50 years ago it’s always a sort of ‘home coming’ and I feel like I belong. 
Those Quakies, their leaves shimmer in a breeze with a shiny surface and a dull, flat green underside. It is a sight that defies description and the sound is equally indescribable. But that’s not the part that we came for. In early October those shimmering green leaves start to pale and then turn the richest, most dazzling yellow. You have to see it to believe and that is why we all chose this day to make this slow, patient, unencumbered odyssey. I can only speak for myself but I trust that many others would agree; Fall colors are more than just yellow quakies against a verdant green mountain side. But little white clouds in a cerulean blue sky, they grace the mountain and it’s golden dusting like only nature can. I’m not good with flowery prose but saying something like, “the blue and white and green and yellow are so cool.” it just doesn’t meet the need. 
We rode a charter bus from Chama back to Antonito where I said thank’s and best wishes to friends I hadn’t met before today. On the train I sat beside an old man with a Canon camera like mine. We were taking photographs out the same open window. He was a retired biology teacher and his wife had taught 5th grade in San Antonio, Texas. Small world; we had lunch together at 9,000 ft. at a mid-way stop. The building reminded me of the ski lodge at Arapaho Basin only the crowd was too old and they didn’t have on ski pants. An awesome, all you could eat buffet. I had spinach salad, BBQ pork and a scoop of green chili casserole. 
I’m about done here. Sometimes when I’m tired I make a blog post without the necessary edit and revision. I can blame it on exhaustion or sleepy eyes or any number of made up reasons and give it wings with a clear conscience. This is one of those times. 

CHUCH-A-CHUCH-A-CHUCH

  Driving I-70 across 424 miles of Kansas is not the worst duty you can pull but Colorado has another 2 hours of flat, treeless prairie before you shake the ‘Kansas’ off your shoes. I am out on the road again so soon. Michigan/Minnesota in August went so well and the weather is still good so no reason to stay home and watch the leaves fall. I’ll be taking in fall colors in the mountains this week. Stayed with a Travel Club host last night in Colorado Springs. She rents this little house out as an air-B&B but also, if it isn’t spoken for and a travel club member needs shelter for a night or two she takes them in for the club gratuity. In that case my overnight cost is $20. Usually you stay in the house with the host like ‘long lost family’ and you meet the nicest people that way. But I spent the late afternoon and night by myself in the B&B house. Very small but nice 3BR in a pleasant old, well kept neighborhood. The street looks like a two-track gravel driveway that disappears between and behind two houses. Narrow with no room to pass and lots of trees it’s easy to miss. My GPS told me to turn right and I went to the next corner several times before I figured it out. 
Today I’m on my way south of Alamosa to a little (pop. 900) town Antonito, CO. Tomorrow I’ll ride the narrow gauge, steam powered excursion train (65 miles) down to Chama, NM and take in the fall colors. I brought my Canon SLR camera. I know, I know; my phone takes great pictures but I want photographs. My experience leaves me to believe, the only way to get great photographs is with a precision glass lens and a mechanical shutter. If that makes me a photo-snob then I’ll take it. People who buy my framed photographs want to know how I get such great photographs and I say, “Thank you.” I’m hoping for good light tomorrow. It can get cold at altitude this time of year on the Colorado-New Mexico border still, weather permitting I’ll spend most of the ride outside in the open-air excursion car. But coffee and doughnuts do wonders.
I’ll be hanging out with old friends from high school later in the week and maybe another steam train ride up in Georgetown, CO.It’s just a loop of a dozen or so miles but it goes Chuch-a-chuch-a-chucch with steam shooting out between the driver wheels and they don’t make-em like that anymore.