Monday, December 08, 2008


As most know, two of the newcomers to my life are children. One four and a half and the other near two. All I can say is that they have won over my heart and given me a new perspective on life in general. They encompass all aspects of life that there are to experience, but this characteristic can all happen in the span of an hour. Joy, anguish, disappointment, anger or more aptly in the context of a child's mind, impatience. Oh my, I could go on all day. The joy they bring is immense but the relief one experiences when they are delivered back to their Mother can be felt as joy as well. Enough, let me introduce "My Posse", Hanna and Nathaniel.

Merry Christmas everyone!

The Possee goes on Patrol

The Number One Posse Member

#1 & #2 Posse Members

The Posse Make Granpa Look Good

Sunday, September 21, 2008

R & R in Jocotepec, Jalisco, Mexico

Location Lago de Chapala(Lake Chapala) 45 minutes south of Guadalajara, Jalisco, Mx
Coordinates 20°20′N 103°00′W
Primary inflows Río Lerma, Río Zula, Río Huaracha, Río Duero
Primary outflows Río Santiago
Basin countries Mexico
Max. length 80 km
Max. width 18 km
Surface area 1,100 km²
Average depth 4.5 m
Max. depth 10.5 m
Surface elevation 1,524 m
Islands 2

Visit my slide show at FLICKR

The most complete information I have found on the Lake Chapala region is at this
Jalisco, Mexico Blog
If you follow all the blog links at this BLOG, you will find the most astonishing information on many interesting places in Mexico and personal points of view.

Tuesday, September 02, 2008

Eritrean Sisters

My previous post shows the recent arrival to America of one of my surrogate Sisters and her two children. I also mentioned that sadly three sisters remain in Eritrea. I have posted to my Flickr site a slide show of all eight of my lovely Sisters.

Wednesday, August 20, 2008


Emotional Reunion
For the past month I have been helping my surrogate family prepare a newly acquired Town Home. This all in a long awaited coming to America of another sister and her two children. Some have not seen her in twelve years and have never seen her two children. I for one have never seen any of them, only said hello on the telephone. They are from Eritrea and have left some saddened hearts but the joy this event has brought those of us here is immeasurable. All the photos of these lovely people are now posted to my Flickr site. ENJOY.

Wednesday, July 02, 2008

Bold Coyote at the Creek Crossing

Bold Coyote at the Creek Crossing

In my previous post, I mentioned my resumed regimen of daily bike treks to rehab my recent total knee replacement. One of the routes I take is on one of the many Denver hike and bike trails that circumnavigate the city. My favorite is the Cherry Creek Trail which runs from the Cherry Creek Reservoir in Aurora, down to the Platte River near down town Denver. I access this trail from right out my back door. On a recent ride I stopped near one of the many picturesque bridge crossings, to appreciate the rejuvenated ozone by the running stream. As I arose to resume my ride I was stopped dead in my tracks by a bold coyote that was regarding the crossing and me near by, before he continued over the bridge. Apparently he did not consider me a threat so he boldly crossed and went on his way. This event stimulated a waking dream of previous outdoor adventures that eventually brought to mind a short story written by my dear friend Gloria Marthai.


High up the mountain there’s an isolated ranch house. Serene, silent sentinel of the past, it looks down upon the vast sun-drenched Sayula Valley. Far below, the railroad cleaves a fretted path through the town of Zacualco where a monumental sculptured head of Emiliano Zapata reminds one of restless, angry revolutionary days.

Guardian of history, the ranch house has given undisputed refuge to many, renegade and lover alike, for 150 years. Artesian water surfaces wondrously in the huge well that gives the ranch its name, El Pozo, the well. It’s here that many have lingered to quench their thirst or bathe.

Memory is lost of the ones who built the original single story stone house. Tentacles of vines now invade the red-tiled porticoes that offer generous shade. Oak for the hand-adzed shutters and doors came from surrounding forest. Brick for the turreted second story, added during the time of the Revolution, was carried by mule up the high-reaching trail. The house is two hours’ distance from the nearest habitation. Gun slots conjure up images of confrontation and turbulent, hostile times. Yesteryear’s happenings at El Pozo, but fleeting moments, are becoming misty, claimed by the cataracts of time. Only a few remain.

In the 1920’s, Padre Tito, a Catholic priest and distant cousin of a local family, administered clandestinely at EL POZO to a cluster of people craving nourishment. They gathered secretly and reverently, weathered, hard-working men with sombreros in hand, their women shrouded in rebozos During the Cristero Rebelllion, the devastating conflict between Church and State which closed Catholic churches and schools, Padre Tito performed the sacraments at great peril to his life. His muzzle-loading rifle stood nearby the makeshift altar. Simple accouterments for celebrating mass were concealed in a niche in the thick wall of the house, capped by a volcanic stone. Until his death at the age of 102, Don Pablo who, as a young altar boy, assisted Padre Tito, used to sit on village corners talking about the way things were in the old days.

Tall, gaunt, sinewy Adolfo, said to be hiding from the law for having killed a man, spent a few years at EL POZO in more recent history, tending a small herd of goats. Whatever the other circumstances, he was a kind, gentle man seemingly content with his solitude. His infrequent visits down to the village were to sell goat cheese and purchase basic provisions to supplement his hunting and small corn crop. When his desire came to move on, he disappeared without a trace.

Frayed, dusty ropes, still hanging from a beam where a cradle had swung in the cooking room, evoke current memory of Lupe and Jorge, the most recent occupants. The house must have smiled to hear laughter and singing and sounds of love mingle with the timeless rhythms of EL POSO’s restless wind. As newlyweds they were completely enamored with life and each other and sought to make their marriage ideal, one with nature. Once again the sweet fermentation smell of silage perfumed the polished clear air and melded with cooking fragrances. Left in disrepair over the years, the inside of the house was now white-washed and the shutters and door hung squarely from their hand-forged hinges. Hanging orchids from the nearby oak forest adorned the mesquite beams of the porticoes. The lowing of cattle blended with the pitty-pat of tortilla making and noises of frolicking tots, for the babies began arriving each year with Jorge delivering them. The young family thrived and blossomed with rosy cheeks and tanned, taut bodies. Each day produced a gem, as Lupe said later in retrospect, a jewel to hold in one’s heart forever.

When word of the tragedy struck, the village below was stunned. Jorge was kicked in the chest by his three-year old stallion, and at 35, he didn’t survive. Lupe and her children moved to the village of her beginnings carrying their grief with them.

Did the house grieve for the void that remained? Some say yes, that Jorge’s resonate voice still calls to the cattle, that the drum beat of his stallion’s hooves can still be heard as he canters the trails of the high meadows. Cup your ears on a still night and listen. The house knows.


Friday, June 27, 2008

Recovering from Total Knee Replacement

Well there you have it, “Nothing to it”. Even an old fart like me can survive a total knee replacement. I am now at day 122 of my recovery. Some tissue, ligament and muscle pain, but joyously, no bone on bone pain which I had endured for so many years. My report today is that I have returned to hiking, biking and more or less a normal lifestyle.

An interesting aside is that I have a heightened awareness to people and objects entering my space. This in the interest of protecting my nearly indestructible man made knee joint.

Speaking of personal space, I would like to introduce to you my new friend, Gloria Marthai, who so intimately described her personal space in this writing. Enjoy.

My Personal Acre
Gloria Marthai

My personal acre is round and moves with me wherever I go. Sometimes it squeezes oblong if, for instance, I go through a narrow door. There are no corners in which to hide.

I feel like an actress, acting out my life on a stage in the round. It is a field of my personal drama, good and bad. Not everyone is allowed to enter my acre, in fact, there are very few who can and, with them, I don’t act. I am completely myself, up-front, not to be caught in a web of deceit. No politics for this gal! My tears can also muddy my acre sometimes when I’m sad.

My personal acre has lots of room for exercising my past experiences and accommodates my dreams as well.

Last week, my four horses had a great time, manes and tails flying as they raced one another for my attention. I saw my children doing somersaults and playing. Daughter Sunny humming a tune as she neatened her doll house and son Robert, the great archer, hunting with his pet hawk on his forearm. I felt the tingling sensation of my lover’s fingers, as he touched my face, feeling the undulations of my skin while doing a sculptured head of me.

My personal acre is usually soft and comforting like my grandmother’s old down comforter but can also give me resilient ground to fight my battles. Like hitting a man with a garden stake, when he pushed our neighbor, an old man, into a flower bed.

Yes, I like the shape of my personal acre, even though it was tricky laying out a circle. Thank goodness for Pi. I don’t want to stumble uninvited into another person’s acre.

Saturday, February 23, 2008

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Free Day at Denver Botanical Gardens

After a few days of stormy weather, Presidents Day, plus free admission
to the Denver Botanical Gardens, proves to be an excellent opportunity to have a Family outing. The photos are of a few of the featured sculptures in "The Great African Sculpture Exhibit". These sculptures are from Chapungu Sculpture Park in Harare, Zimbabwe. Fifty-seven stone works tell stories, record history, honor, morn and celebrate.

Friday, February 15, 2008

By The Dahli Lama

By The Dahli Lama

1. Take into account that great love and great achievements involve great risk.

2. When you lose, don't lose the lesson.

3. Follow the three R's: Respect for self, Respect for others and Responsibility for all your actions.

4. Remember that not getting what you want is sometimes a wonderful stroke of luck.

5. Learn the rules so you know how to break them properly.

6. Don't let a little dispute injure a great friendship.

7. When you realize you've made a mistake, take immediate steps to correct it.

8. Spend some time alone every day.

9. Open your arms to change, but don't let go of your values.

10. Remember that silence is sometimes the best answer.

11. Live a good, honorable life. Then when you get older and think back, you'll be able to enjoy it a second time.

12. A loving atmosphere in your home is the foundation for your life.

13. In disagreements with loved ones, deal only with the current situation. Don't bring up the past.

14. Share your knowledge. It's a way to achieve immortality.

15. Be gentle with the earth.

16. Once a year, go someplace you've never been before.

17. Remember that the best relationship is one in which your love for each other exceeds your need for each other.

18. Judge your success by what you had to give up in order to get it.

19. Approach love and cooking with reckless abandon.

Friday, February 08, 2008

For My Valentine

Love’s Philosophy

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

The fountains mingle with the river

And the rivers with the ocean,

The winds of heaven mix for ever

With a sweet emotion;

Nothing in the world is single;

All things by a law divine

In one spirit meet and mingle.

Why not I with thine?—

See the mountains kiss high heaven

And the waves clasp one another;

No sister-flower would be forgiven

If it disdained its brother;

And the sunlight clasps the earth

And the moonbeams kiss the sea:

What is all this sweet work worth

If though kiss not me?

Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822) was expelled from Oxford for writing The Necessity of Atheism. His radical lifestyle at times detracted from the appreciation of his work. He called poets “the unacknowledged legislators of the world.” In Shelley’s short life — he drowned while sailing at age 29 — he produced gorgeous lyrical poetry quintessential of the Romantic Era. He is perhaps best remembered for the mythical poem Prometheus Unbound and for Adonais, an elegy to his friend John Keats.

Friday, January 18, 2008


Stop Endless War in Iraq

Here's a brief letter you can send to your email circle. Please send it along right away, but please only contact people who know you personally. Spam hurts the campaign.