Musical Musings

It’s been a long while since I’ve written anything for this blog. Since my last post

I have hiked among giant sequoias in snow showers,

spent a week with my brother and his family in California, meeting my two great nephews for the first time.

I kayaked the caves of a Channel Island,

and sweltered in the Arizona heat as I wandered opened mouth and totally mesmerized among saguaro cacti. 

I have been back in Texas throughout June, settling in at my mom’s. The wandering is over for awhile, although don’t ask me where my future is heading. That is still an unknown.

Throughout June I delighted in the innocence of my new great nephew and niece, caught up with a good high school friend, mourned some endings, got serious about working on a book idea I had from years ago, and wrote several more songs. 

I’m in Dallas now, house sitting for my brother. I’m still delighting, mourning and catching up with friends. I’ve also taken on the intimidating task of learning recently purchased software to record the songs I’ve written.

Now you need to understand, I am a complete moron when it comes to technology. I have done some recording once, but I was on the other side of the microphone. I know nothing about actually recording, editing, or mixing. I am using the easiest, most user friendly software out there and yet the manual might as well be in Greek. I just don’t get it. Complete moron…

Yesterday I finally had a breakthrough and was able to get a song into a format that I could send to Windows Media Player. I can actually burn it to a CD now if I’m so inclined. I can’t tell you how great it felt to accomplish this. I have been on the edge of temper tantrums and tearful meltdowns for three days. Yes, that’s what technology does to me.  Uninstalling everything and just returning it, was getting closer with each passing hour. But I sucked it up and stuck with it, stubbornly determined to figure it out.

So far the tips from the salesman were not working. I went back to the website and again found the long list of tutorials. I tried some different ones this time. After watching one by Guthrie Thomas, I was beginning to feel less intimidated by all the dials and foreign techno speak. This tutorial actually walked me through the steps I needed in a language I partly understood.  I finally figured out how to merge all the tracks into one unit and export the mixdown to a file that I could burn. Don’t worry if that didn’t make any sense. It’s a strange world. Point is… after three days of intense frustration and feeling very inadequate - Victory! I finally had a song recorded in a useable format. Yes!!  

I of course jumped up, twirled around with my arms outstretched and shouted “woohoo!” as I danced around. A victory dance was definitely in order.

This morning as I was reflecting on this minor victory in the recording world, I had a moment of not just gratitude, but pride. I had not given up. I had not caved in and resorted to temper tantrums when I could feel the frustration rising. I managed to calm myself. I kept trying. I started classes. I reached out for help. I could have just quit. But recently, I’ve discovered this deep desire to move forward with my art and it has made all the difference.

About 10 days ago I avoided being killed. Yes, that sounds dramatic, but this incident caught my attention. I was on a two-way frontage road about to enter the ramp to I-10. Oncoming traffic is supposed to yield as you pick up speed, cross over into their lane and get on the ramp. Well, on this particular day a semi had come around the curve and was heading in my direction. My turn signal was on. I was picking up speed and just about to move over into his lane when I realized this guy was not slowing down. He had no intention of yielding to me. I pulled back just in time; shot him the finger and said some pretty unsavory things about what he could do with himself.

When my heart rate finally settled back down, I realized that if I had tried to enter the ramp, he would have hit me head-on and I would be dead. There is no way a Ford Focus is going to win against a semi.  One of the things that crossed my mind is no one would have ever heard the songs I had written. They would have died with me. I had not realized until that moment how important this art is to me. It’s been lying dormant in me for years. Now that it has come to life, I need to nurture it and pursue it, even though I’m not quite sure what that means. 

Since then, I have been serious about getting the songs recorded, and hopefully from there I can get them notated. I’ve been thinking about doing an open mich night – which is a totally scary idea.  I'm trying to figure out connections and avenues to a world that is completely new to me and very different than anything I have ever done. Yes, I’ve written a lot through the years for my work as a preacher and teacher, but I’ve never actually tried to put it together in publishing form. Sure, I’ve been playing music and singing with a praise band for awhile now, but getting my own music out there is a whole ‘nother story.

It is a crazy, unsure time for me. I vacillate between doing this new thing and going back to the work I’ve known. I wonder, can I do both? The verdict is still out, but I am learning along the way that artistic desire can be a strong force against frustration, and that courage will eventually have its say. I really have no idea where this will take me, but I am hopeful that there are more victory dances in my future.  With that said, I’ll leave you with the latest song I wrote. Originally it was to be called Courage. The name it chose is Child’s Play.

When your back’s against the wall   

Courage will have its say                                                                                    

It rises up in your very soul      

showing you a different way

Life is shattered and the pieces are on the floor

Despair drops you to your knees

And you wonder what can be anymore

Yes Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,          

Life made sense until his fall

All the king’s horses and all the king’s men

Simply couldn’t put him together again.

The pieces are scattered, there’s no going back

To the way things were before

You see now what’s missing; all you lack

You’re little Miss Moffit minding your own

Business along the way

Along comes a spider and sits down beside ya

You resist; you don’t run away

You’re startled from your calm, ordinary life

Nothing really is what it seems

Do you squash the one who brings    truth to light

When your backs against the wall

And fear gets in the way

Hope can rise up in your soul  

Showing you a brand new day

It’s an itsy bitsy spider whose going up that spout

The storms of life have knocked him down

And yet there he goes for one more round about

Do you dare follow in his path

Once again, the same old thing

It seems to me, you need something new

Let your dreams come out and dream

It’s time to find another way to live

One where tears won’t wash you away

Where you wonder what can be all the more

When your backs against the wall

Courage will have its say

It rises up in your very soul,

and my friends, it’s not child’s play

No, no, it’s not child’s play.

Unknown Roads

May 24, 2012

I’m sitting next to a campfire on a lovely evening. I can see the moon between the tall pines. The stars will be peaking out soon. There are no lights here other than campfires and lanterns, so it makes for a stunning star-filled sky. It’s nice to relax a bit. It’s wonderful to be in a place of such majestic beauty, but there is also an intensity and anxiety that goes with it. It has to do with venturing into unknown places for the first time. Even with maps and occasional trail signs, I have felt a little leery and even outright worried about being or getting lost. Hmm. That’s a good metaphor for my life right now.

Metaphors aside and realness upfront, I’ve experienced some anxiety among the wonder. When I first arrived at Yosemite, the campgrounds were completely full and chances of getting a site any time this week are slim to none. The rangers were very helpful in explaining the alternatives of dispersed camping or finding a spot in one of the National Forest campgrounds outside the park. While it was all a grand adventure and the prospects seemed doable, it takes a different sort of energy to seek and find a campsite on the fly. 

It actually worked out better than I could have planned considering I didn’t know the area. I found this great site in the Sweetwater campground of Stanislaus National Forest, just 10 miles from Yosemite Park’s west entrance. As it turns out, this is a much better option than the crowded Yosemite campgrounds. There are only 13 campsites in Sweetwater, all with great space. There’s water and clean pit toilets. I’ve also had the opportunity to meet several interesting people. In Yosemite, campers are shoulder to shoulder. It’s crowded and noisy; not an environment that brings out the socialite in me. So this part of venturing into the unknown went very well and turned out delightfully good. I am grateful.

There have been other times though when the anxiety has gone a bit deeper. Yesterday coming off a hike in Tuolumne Meadows, the trail signs suddenly disappeared.  I knew I had only about ¼ mile to get to my car but the only trail in sight seemed to go out into the wilderness, away from where I thought the parking lot should be.  So, looking at my map, which didn’t indicate this section of trail, I decide to go up the road to the ranger station.

Of course, it is closed. I can see the road back to the parking lot and I know it is not far, but I am very frustrated at this point. The day before there had been times the trail was not clear and there were no markers, or if there were markers, they didn’t match up with the maps. Usually I got lucky and someone was either coming up the unseen trail or there was an experienced Yosemite hiker who could point the way. But yesterday was frustrating. The only help I got was, “well I know you’re very close.” Hiking along Hwy 120, aka: Tioga Pass, was very disconcerting. There was very little shoulder; cars came way too close and too fast for comfort. I knew I was heading in the right direction and it was very close but still I found myself almost in tears. Why do the trail markers just stop? Why aren’t the maps more clear? Why didn’t people offer me a lift if I was so damn close? Wah, wah, wah…

When I arrived at the road where my car was parked, there were trailhead signs. The one that seemed to wander out in the wilderness was the correct one after all. So why didn’t the maps clarify that and why wasn’t there a sign also pointing the way to the Lambert Dome Parking Lot? There had been plenty of trail signs before? Argh!  Ah well, breathe deep; collect yourself. It’s alright. I found my way. It wasn’t the designated scenic route, but I got where I needed to go. Breathe.

Today, after conversation with ranger and map in hand, I headed off to another unknown to me place. I was heading to Cherry Lake, the largest mountain lake in the Stanislaus Forest. It was reported to be great flat water for kayak, canoe and fishing boats. It was a 24 mile drive. I knew the road was going to be twisty. What I didn’t know is I would be driving up and down two different mountains to get there. Whew! Talk about an intense drive. This road was narrow; no signs to warn about the S curves and hairpin turns, and you should see the sheer drops if you missed. Yikes!

When I finally get to the lake it is not at all what I expected. There is very little picnic area or even space to be close to the water. There was one steep boat ramp. That was it. It looked calm enough, but a man hanging around on the boat ramp informed me that the waves have been very unpredictable and choppy that day. It was dangerous. He was in fact waiting for the Sheriff. His nephew, in another boat, had been hit by a wave that sunk his motor boat. They had gotten him and the gear to shore but now needed to have a rescue boat come and well, rescue him.

There was a cool breeze, and I know afternoon winds can kick up a lake. Looking out, I didn’t see anything that looked that threatening. The boat that sunk was low gunneled and open. I could see how a big wave could be a problem for them. Luckily the waiting uncle showed me an opening around what was actually an island in front of us. He warned me to be careful and to stay just in this cove and the next one. Avoid the open water! He was truly shaken.

Geesh! Now what? Do I attempt this or not? It didn’t look threatening, but a sunken boat? Hmmm. I decided to at least explore the two coves; after all it had taken me quite a while and some nerve to get to this point. I might as well get on the water. It is funny though how someone else’s crisis could make me so nervous. I was very tentative getting out on the water of the cove.

With no idea about the size of the lake or what to expect, I paddled forth. I discovered a lovely waterfall in the far corner of the second cove. I paddled along the shoreline and continued pretty much up the length of the lake; spotted an osprey with a fish for dinner. Later it was a bald eagle. Coming back the wind was strong, but I do well paddling into the wind.

It was a good and safe trip, but whew! Venturing down unknown roads and paddling in unknown waters can be a bit unnerving. As much fun as people think this is, it is hard, intense work. As envious as some people are about my wandering so freely, it has its moments of fear. There are risks; it’s not so easy. The unknown is a bit unnerving.

Perhaps that is why I was wide awake at 3:30 in the morning last night wondering what’s next. I have no idea and no maps. Even if I did have a map, it wouldn’t necessarily be clear or coincide with the road signs. Even with a map, there are still some “yowza!” moments when you realize the turn ahead is really sharp – watch out! Even with a map, sometimes the trail will disappear. I just pray that there will be kind and experienced guides to help point the way. Breathe. Collect yourself. It’s alright. You will find your way. 

That’s what I keep telling myself anyway.

The Waters of Yosemite

It will probably be a few days before I have internet access and this gets posted, but for the moment, I’m sitting beside a lovely gurgling stream on a big rock in the sun. Ahhhh…..it doesn’t get much better than this. 


It is peaceful and quiet here compared to the chaos and noise of yesterday. Yesterday I did a 6 hour hike in Yosemite Valley. The valley is absolutely beautiful with mountain peaks, domes and waterfalls every direction you look. The only problem is it is wall to wall people. Actually that’s kind of fun, especially when English is just one of many languages you can hear.  It is great to see so many people excited and awed with the natural beauty of this place. There is something to be said for collective wonder.

Vernal Falls along the Mist Trail

It was also pretty impressive to run into a group of 29 fourth graders hiking to the top of Vernal Falls. Some even went up all the way to Nevada Falls. You have to understand this hike. It was basically going up the side of a mountain. We had an elevation gain of 2400 feet in just about 2 miles. That’s some major steepness! Not only were these young kids out on this intense hike, but there were also some very determined elderly people making their way up the steep switchbacks that eventually got you to the top of the world. I was in some pretty amazing company on the way up.

Rainbow along bottom of Vernal Falls

With all that said though, I have to be honest. There were just too many people on the trails, especially to the top of the first waterfall, Vernal Falls. It cleared out on the second leg, but still, I missed being able to just sit quietly by the roaring Merced River. It was often hard to get that scenic shot because there were always people in the way. I’m chuckling as I write this. With all the traveling and camping I’ve been doing alone, you’d think I’d love opportunities to be with others. I do, but on my own terms.

I often felt like these people were invading my space. And sometimes they were. There are a lot of people with no trail etiquette and they think nothing of hogging entire trails or cutting into spaces that you’ve been waiting to clear. Always in a hurry; don’t get in their way. I guess it’s a bit like real life where everyone is looking out for their own interests and needs; myself included. By the time I had reached the top of Nevada Falls, most of the poor etiquette hikers were gone. They were out for joy rides; this hike required some heavy work. Things were much calmer and quieter (people wise) at the top. Probably because we were all exhausted and we still had a 2½ mile hike ahead of us to get back down to the trailhead.

Nevada Falls from the Mist Trail

Nevada Falls from the John Muir trail

    

It was pretty amazing though, up there on top of the mountain, Half Dome right next to me and El Capitan at an almost eye level view. The scenes before me were absolutely stunning and the opportunity to experience the mighty Merced River coming out of the higher mountains and plunging 1000’s of feet below was breath-taking. It carries the same force as those giant breakers crashing into the Pacific shoreline. I could feel my whole being just humming with the power of that river. I don’t know how to describe the feeling, but if you’ve ever been by big, powerful, fast moving water, you know what I mean. It’s exhilarating and it’s as if the blood coursing through your body is in rhythm with flow of the water. Yes, it makes my heart beat faster and gives my body and spirit this intense energy and sense of power.

Lake Tenaya along the Tiago Pass, Yosemite

Today I’m on much calmer waters and in much less crowded areas. I kayaked on Lake Tenaya at about 6000” elevation, in the middle of some magnificent mountain tops. I was the only boat on the water. It’s a small lake compared to most, but beautiful and smooth, at least until the cold mountain wind blows. Woohoo! Made for some good paddling and made me very glad to have my drysuit.

It’s calming and exhilarating at the same time to be on such a lake all by yourself; just me and the  common mergansers that I stirred up. It’s was beautiful and wonderful, and I was right smack in the middle of its grandeur. Wow…  Now I’m up in Tuolumne Meadows, an Alpine area. Again, no huge crowds. There’s people, but much less. It’s like going from big city Chicago to small town Elkhart Lake.   Much easier pace; people seem more relaxed and less frantic to get places. I’m only doing a short hike here so there’s actually a chance to just sit on a rock, in the sun by a gurgling stream.

I prefer the quieter space and the calmer pace. It’s easier to soak in the beauty and just give a sigh filled word of thanks to the Creator of it all. It is good. K’tov!


May 23, 2012

Eternal Musings

Today was an indescribable day, but I will try anyway. It started early in the morning when I had to crawl out of my relatively warm sleeping bag into the cold morning air. I’m guessing it was low 40’s now that the sun was coming up. After morning routines and packing up my car, I decided to go take a look at this beach on the other side of the lagoon. I’d been listening to the pounding waves for the last two days and had yet to see it. The day before, I almost made it over the dune, but I was stopped by fencing that closed off the area for nesting snowy plovers, and then I was completely drawn back to the lagoon because there in a cove I had not quite paddled to was a pack of harbor seals sunning themselves on the beach.  The Pacific Ocean could wait another day. And it did.

Today, I went over to the day use area of the Big Lagoon County Park of Humboldt County. Find that one on the map. I only found it because it was on the Redwood National Park map. It’s amazing how big everything is out here. On top of the dune I could see breakers coming in for miles. They seemed powerful enough but I had no idea how powerful until I got down eye level with them. These breakers had to be 5-8 feet tall. They were huge, and they thundered as they came crashing down on the shore. It was breathtaking and actually a bit frightening. There is no way in the world I would even attempt to kayak in that!

I hung around the beach for a while because the power of the thundering waves mesmerized me. It was tempting to stay another day here. The lagoon was actually calm today and it was warming up nicely. Today would have been the good day to paddle. Yesterday a strong wind out of the northwest kicked up. It made for a strenuous paddle which is why I never got as far as the seals by boat. I needed a break and was walking a bit.  Ah but that was yesterday.

Today, after letting my heart pound with the waves for awhile, I loaded myself back in my car and headed south again on Hwy 101 to the Avenue of the Giants in Humboldt Redwood State Park. This was where I was originally going to camp, but lately I’m mixing it up a bit and not sticking with the plan. This way I get to discover and delight in the unexpected.

I had already been through the northern areas of the Redwood National Park. I figured this would be more of the same. Well, if adding another 100’ of tree is the same, ok, it was more of the same. Not! It was utterly amazing, the size of these trees. My neck is stiff, but I’m still not tired of looking up to see the tops of these magnificent coastal redwoods. I hiked along the Founder’s Grove Nature trail and was just astonished and awed by these trees.  They’re huge, and in a way they are eternal.

One tree in particular touched me deeply. It was the Dyersville Giant - 17 feet in diameter, 370 feet tall (that’s like a 30 story building and taller than Niagara Falls). This tree came down in 1991 after heavy rains. Another tree in the forest was blown over, knocking into another tree, which then leaned into this giant and sent it over a week later. It was kind of like dominos in slow motion. No one was around when it fell, but someone a mile away heard the crash. There’s your answer to the proverbial question of if a tree falls in the forest and no one is there, does it make a sound? The answer is Yes!  A mile away it sounded like a train wreck. 

The burl is only at the 100' mark of the Dyersville giant. 

Anyway, this tree is guessed to be around 1600 years old. Honestly, I didn’t mess up the number as I’m known to do. It’s 16 hundred or one thousand six hundred years old! It will take at least 400 years more before it completely disintegrates into the forest floor. It is not uncommon for these trees to live 2200 years. I was totally awed, and actually a bit saddened by this tree’s early death. Even laying there on the forest floor it was a thing of beauty, and its size was incredible.

Surrounded by these huge, ancient trees is indeed magical and mystical. Surprisingly I didn’t feel small in their midst.  The sheer size should make me feel tiny. The length of time that went into creating these forests should make me feel like nothing in the spectrum of time, but it doesn’t. Instead, I feel lucky and thankful to be a part of something so much greater than myself. I did nothing to create it. In fact, the One who created these great trees and magnificent shorelines created human beings as well; created me.  And the Creator called it all good. K’ tov!  Regardless of size, shape, purpose or function, we’re all good; we’re all beloved by the One who created us. God takes as much delight in me as God does this tree that grew so strong and beautiful for 1600 years.

It’s an awesome thing to be part of something that began long before me and will continue long after I’m gone. I guess in a way, it reminds me that I’m already part of eternity. As I think of human relationships with all their joys and struggles, they tend to keep us focused in the more immediate section of eternity. We are wrapped up in our own dreams and trials for the day. It’s easy to think this is all there is. Even if we look a few years or a couple of decades down the road, this is it; this is our life, so we better make something of it.

As I think about that in terms of eternity I almost want to think it doesn’t matter. What I do, who I am, what I accomplish or even when I fail terribly, doesn’t matter in the really grand scheme of things. Well, that definitely take some pressure off (lol), but at the same time it matters greatly.  I’ve been reading about Bowen Family Systems theory which connects generations to generations. It sees individual human behavior in relationship to family systems and patterns that have been going on for hundreds of years. Without going into great detail, what it says is we’re connected and linked to people who have lived and died long before us. We’re also connected and linked to people in our families who are yet to be born and who we may never meet.  How we behave and decided and relate and live today is all connected up in patterns that have been passed on to us and we may or may not pass on to the future. What we do and who we are matters. We are all part of the eternal flow of life.

With all that said. I am awed. I am amazed. I am grateful to be part of something so big and so eternal. 

Sweet dreams, all.

This was actually written 5/18/12. Due to no internet access, its a couple of days out of sync. 

Sun Break

Finally, 
the clouds have burned away

and my spirit soars
as the sun breaks through the day
scattering warmth and light
all along the way.

I breath deep,
and my dreams come out to play.
Hope arises;
fears and shadows flee away
giving grace the room
to shape my day.

Grace now
come heal my broken heart
open up my eyes
as your love breaks through the haze
showing me the truth
that will guide my life.

Sunshine
expose both glory and sin

Reveal the truth
and let your mercies in
transform my life
let me begin again.

It’s amazing how much difference sunshine makes. I think I must have a touch of that seasonal affect disorder. While I am mesmerized by the fogs and cloud shrouds of the North Pacific coastline, I enjoy the sunshine even more. I can literally feel my spirits lift when the sun finally comes out to play.  

For the past week I’ve enjoyed ventures in the Northwest - from hikes on Little Si Mountain with friends to exploring tidal pools and coastal trails alone. I’m currently in a little obscure County Park on Big Lagoon along the Pacific. The fog or cloud shroud (not sure which it is) came in yesterday afternoon. It creates quite a mysterious place. Things are not quite clear in the distant. There is a calm and quietness in this shroud.  I can hear the pounding of the Pacific and the strange calls and noises of nesting cormorants. The water of the lagoon is like glass, with the distant shores fuzzy and blue. It’s an eerie, but beautiful world.


This morning I woke up to the cloud. I am learning to appreciate it's strange beauty and quiet. The plan for the day was to do some grocery shopping and write this blog and then kayak this afternoon on the lagoon, regardless of the skies.  Shopping is done, blog is almost complete and mercy upon mercy, the sun has broken through! The clouds have burned away and my spirit soars. Soon and very soon, kayak on the water and sun to warm my body. 


In Seattle, I learned a new term for this: sun break. Today I give thanks for the mysterious cloud enshrouded world of the coast and I especially give thanks for the sun breaks that lighten and warm up the days.

Lost and Found

No, I haven’t fallen off the face of the earth. I do feel a bit lost, I confess, but I am still earth bound. You can find me these days in the rainy, cloudy state of Washington. Last week I attended a Mediation Skills Training Session through the Lombard Peace Institute. It was a very intense week that began with a close look at personal conflict styles and then moved on to family of origin dynamics and self-differentiation.  This came at a very ironic time because just days before, I had caused conflict in a close relationship, as well as within myself. It was hard at times, if not downright impossible, to separate my own inner struggles from the learning. I'm reminded again, God has an incredible sense of timing and possibly a warped sense of humor. For me to land in this class at this time, it was more than just coincidence. It was an opening to understanding and the beginning of potential grace.

One of the light spots of the week was spending time with a former high school friend who now lives in Seattle. Without disclosing a lot of details, I confessed I was feeling pretty lost at the moment. She responded, “Well, you can’t be found until you’re lost.”

At first it sounded like a fun play on words to help make light of the situation, but at its heart is some deep wisdom. I began this journey as a time of self-discovery. I hoped it would be a time to find out more about myself and what I want for my life and future. Well, maybe now that I truly feel lost, alone and utterly homeless, I can truly be found. That’s my hope.

As I look back on this journey, both the recent sojourn and the lifelong road I have been on, I have lost some important things along the way; things that require grieving. I have lost good friends, and have experienced the end of relationships and a job that shaped and defined my identity. I left the place I called home. It is no longer mine; I have no place that I truly belong at this moment. Most of all, through the years, I have lost myself.

Those are the major losses in my life in a nutshell. Facing those losses, reveals new things. I have found how much I need meaningful companionship. Even though this time alone is important, I need to feel connected to others. Without a home, other than a tent and a car, I have found this desire, not so deep within, to be warm and comfortable. I have also found that it is not always enough to be able to call wherever you lay your head, home. I ultimately need a place to belong, a place to return.  I also need to be me, whoever that is, even at the risk of disappointing others.

That final lost and found is perhaps the hardest. From a young age, I found it was better and easier to keep others happy. I have been a people pleaser. That meant holding back with my own thoughts and ideas and feelings. While that may have been somewhat helpful as a child, it has not been a good, lasting or fulfilling way to be as an adult. It has created misunderstandings and confusion. It leads eventually to me striking out on my own in ways that seem defiant, ways that often cause more pain than if I had just been honest and forthright in the first place. 

Yes, I have lost much, and indeed, at the moment, I feel completely lost and at loose ends.  But I remain hopeful and cling to the wise words of my friend, it’s only when you are lost that you can be found.

Ruidoso

Who knew there were so many shades of blue,

sun and clouds shade the mountains with hues
that mix and blend and create patterns of delight

Here in the valleys and the hills alike

You can find a place to call home.

Let your heart finally come home.

Life is good here; quiet and calm;
wind in the trees makes its own song.

Birds on the wing and the bustle below;
deer on the move, even elk in the snow.

This is a place the heart can heal;
this is a place to call home.

Winters are cold here, but people are warm,
even strangers are greeted with no false charm.

Smiles are honest and words are true.

Places like this are too far and too few.

But this is a place my heart can heal.

It calls to me, welcome home

Welcome home.

***

If I could come up with a tune that has a slight Spanish feel, I think it would be a nice tribute to this town I have fallen in love with.  A town is a town is a town, right? Well, maybe so, but I have experienced Ruidoso to be a place with a welcoming spirit and an honest heart - the mountain views and surrounding beauty don’t hurt either.

Seriously though, consider being a stranger just passing through some unknown town. In some places, you just get lost in the busyness of the skyline. No one really notices you, especially if you’re traveling alone. You’re just another customer, another sale. They won’t remember you. It’s not like they really care. And for the most part, this is ok. It’s nothing unusual or unexpected. It’s just how life goes in most cities and towns.

What is unusual and unexpected is to run into a town full of people who aren’t just trying to make another sale. They greet you with genuine warmth. They even refer you to their competition if it’s a unique silver piece you’re looking for. They are friends after all, and all part of this community. From the southwestern jewelry stores to the salon, from the church to the car dealer service department, I was met by people who were not just friendly; they really cared about what they were doing. They were welcoming and they loved this town. Store clerks and postal workers, waitresses and cooks, maintenance guys and computer genies are just at home here and they’re glad to share their space with you. They really are kind and generous and caring.

There is a slower pace here (maybe it is the time of year) and so it was easy to share stories. Some folks grew up here; others are transplants that wouldn’t even think of leaving. Robin is divorced; Cheryl is celebrating 25 years of marriage in this place of her honeymoon. Both are filled with gratitude for the lives they have here. Summer laughs about the main goal in the winter is staying warm, the heck with beautiful hair, and there is no better place to raise her kids. It’s a small town; she’ll know if they wander or get in trouble or not. 

Ken is a 5^th generation store owner in Native American jewelry and art. He came back from Colorado to take over the family tradition.  Charles moved here from Oklahoma years ago with his wife; they now run a ski shop/women’s fashions. Don’t even ask him to go back.  DJ and Kelly are Pennsylvania Dutch, military sojourners who landed here after retirement and never left. Talk about a great love of this place, its local artist, silver and turquoise and more – this mother and daughter team are absolutely delightful and welcoming and fun.

Oh, and did I mention Reese? I don’t know much about him, actually. My eyes were closed most of my time with him; it was quiet and peaceful and relaxing and calm. What I do know about him is he has a solid core, strong arms and tender hands, and he gives the best hot stone, deep tissue massage ever.

I’d move here for just the massage and mountains alone, but truthfully, this is a town with a welcoming spirit and an honest heart. It was easy to feel at home here. There is something about this place that offers a safe haven. I’ve laughed and cried as I got honest with myself. I’m admitting my anger and my pain and finding a desire to deal with it and let it go. My body and spirit have found contentment in this place. It has been easy to rest and write and play and sing.

Tomorrow I leave for more unknown places and towns and people. I hope to find other places of genuine warmth and honest spirits. I know I’ll find other places of great beauty, I just pray I find more places my heart can call home.  In the long run though, anyplace can be my heart’s home if my spirit is content and there is genuine honesty and hope in my soul. Ruidoso is just a great place to discover your heart’s home.

No matter who you are, no matter where you’re headed, Welcome Home.