Lover's Lane - a road in the past

The road is still there, yes...
with trees pushed back on each side
so the canopy no longer exists
the lane wide enough for a two car pass
on good graveled road.
My mother said going down this lane
was where my cousin Lola Joe died.
Other's say it was right at
Hell's Backbone Bridge...either
place stark and beautiful.
I went through Lover's Lane once
with the love of my life on the way
to Posey Lake. We didn't stop.
But I savored the feeling I had
in Lover's Lane on the closed in
old dirt road. It has become a
lovely spot in my memory when
I reach back for moments
and wonder where the years
have gone.

Roads

Country Roads
I immediately burst into
John Denver's song,
and think of the dusty,
dirt roads of childhood.
Of horses following the
herd up or down
on mountain roads,
The yellow jeep bumping
over rock and ruts
after rain.

"I have a dream" like Martin Luther King,
I was propelled down the road to
make dreams come true...
I started out in medicine
but changed to education
wanting to change the world
to a more accepting,
tolerant, equal world.
My dreams truly tested
when my daughter married
and brought my wonderful
white/black grandchildren
into my world to love;
my son had his white/latino
so beautiful daughter;
My white/white daughter's
marriage ended in divorce
one grandchild..marriage and
more grandchildren.
and my son brought me
a grandchild, different dad, with
his new wife with more to come.
I have nine wonderful grandchildren.
I so love them all. It's
"I have a dream" come true!
My dream road expanded.

"Let's Drive" made me explore
my country, and the newly made
Grand-Staircase Escalante
National Monument. I re-did
old roadtrips. I discovered
parts I had never known,
never seen.
Old roads were history.
Improved roads to make history
for our young..to connect
the old and the young.
To unite families from past
to present.
To enjoy just being on the road.

I am older and the Spirit Road calls..
I plan to move and learn and listen.
I want to hear what the American Indian
has to say about the roads of the spirit.
I want to hear what old men think
and old women and discover where wisdom grows.
What have the Chinese, those from India,
those who thrive and grow on the spiritual path
have to say to me? Who will teach me?
Can I call on my two sisters from the
other world to prod me along the Spirit Road,
where I can learn more and learn best?
I will walk the Spirit Road.
Those who teach, will come.

Cliffnotes Workshop

I am missing the Cliffnotes Workshop in Boulder, Utah this weekend. My, now amputee since July, husband is having some difficulties, so I am here at home, not there. I am thinking of them all though. I did want to hear what Craig Childs and the poet Dave Lee and Nancy Takos had to see..and see the photos of Bruce Hucko. I know Dave somewhat. I am always curious about writers and what they write. I attended past workshops with my sister Marge, who died suddenly in March of this year. I am also missing her. Last year she wrote and read, for the first time in the workshop about being an unwanted child, only 11 months behind her sister Gerry. It was very touching and well done. It was written on a pad and I hope someone found that work among her things. So we are missing this workshop together, on both sides of the veil.
So I thought I'd let you see the schedule and advertize a bit for the Boulder Organizers, my neice Cheryl Cox and her friend Diana Dornbush who is also a writer, and all the writers who attend. I hope they have a most excellent workshop. My nephew Raymond King Shurtz has attended and presented something about theater since the workshops began. He has started a novel with a work he covered in the workshop. He is directing a play The Man in the Black Pajamas in Phoenix. (I hope that's the right title). I would have missed him had I attended as his presentations were fun.
I will try to write something even though I am not there. That is my goal.

Fall tree

Fall is creeping in this year. The above is the first tree to turn in Panguitch that I can find. It is just down the road. Our corn has become weird 6 to 9 cob creations that will never ripen to eatable corn. And we have in bloom the last rose of summer. I love the changes in flowers, in leaves, in grass, in gardens as things die at their most beautiful. We should take a lesson from nature
and know that as our lives fade, perhaps the most flamboyant, exhuberant, vibrant parts of ourselves will bloom and love the colorful endings.
I am excited about getting out a travel book as Linda polishes Mad Ouija and Gerry gets Daughters of the Shadowman ready to sell. I don't even know the name of Dan's book (although Cheryl told me once) but it is ready to go. Will Ronda publish her romance? Raymond has plays to do in L.A. Blue Baby and Bohemian Cowboy will go again? There is the pile of work waiting in the wings of the theater world...with Linda's screen play with Bukowski there with Scott and Gerry's how many plays???
and Raymond's pile of plays...you'd think someone would hit big ... at last and finally! At least I hope they will. I hear Raymond is thinking of Antigone...in Boulder. Good, very resourceful choice...it is the play of the Greeks covered in most high school programs. It is one that people should see on stage. And it will lead into difficult subjects and world-famous works. Some plays of your own.
Some plays of your own. How do we get these works complete and out there? How to catch the interest of the world? AND GET THESE PLAYS HAPPENING???? We hear about killing the real fish, so let's see THE FISH MUST DIE. I am ready. I want all this work to take seed somewhere, somehow. Let those songs of Camille's be known. Let the poetry stand. Let creation happen!
I don't know if I will make the writer's conference...so I am holding one of my own right here, right now. Get this family out there! The work is done, and more is being done. I encourage your best effort...here...NOW.

Clyde

I am correcting dates, adding information, and trying to decide what is too much or too little. As you can see, we..Marge and I, put together the book The Clyde King Story. Marge didn't think we said enough about him that was positive. She was supposed to write more except she passed away and left me hanging. I think my sister Gerry is writing the best about him, and the worst (at least the rest of the family thinks so). LaRae did the sculpture here. Linda also did a full head which is wonderful (I don't have the picture) and this painting of him with a mule. I like this one very much. He has been immortalized for posterity. I am just trying to correct wrong dates, wrong names and maybe add a bit more if the book is redone. I am not doing that. The children will have to decide if it is worth it to redo. Mother's book is also about done. Shall we correct hers? That would be work that I haven't done, but some things could be corrected. Dad's is on computer missing the photos. I can't find the photos. I hope they are somewhere.
Half of my family is now on the other side: Dad, Mother, Marge and LaRae. Three of us still live. I do hope they have figured out how to get along, so when I depart, we can laugh instead of yell. DAD! He may have learned to wander off into the lower country on his mule when he feels like yelling. I miss them all today.
My sister Linda is in San Francisco reading her poem about the insanity of war.
Our family war was quite insane! Do we move toward understanding in another world?

Holly

There are some perks once in awhile when visiting the doctor. This is Holly, the girl at the sign-in desk modeling her extravagant hat for hat-day or some event at the hospital. She said she had three more hats at home. I talked her into posing and snapped a picture. Do love beautiful girls in hats.
There are flowers of fall everywhere. These daisys grew from someplace. The corn is high with many possible ears, but they will never ripen as it is getting too cold. I picked more zucinni, beans, peas, cucumbers, lettuce, onions and carrots today. I need more people to help eat, but I gather and store. Tom gets himself on his ATV and drives around the garden. The irrigation water will be turned off on Friday, so I have watered everything today, and it's on the lawn for a final soaking.
I feel part farmer. Tom says he would grow alfalfa if he could. Alfalfa? Where did that come from? I wouldn't grow alfalfa and I think I'll not grow a garden...either. Flowers, yes.

Leg rests

Tom's leg rests for awhile while he heals up. After working with it, walking on his parellel bars, his leg went into spasms and we had to go for help at Emergency, so he is trying to heal a little better before he tries again. We've had to realize just what handicapped means...when your leg is gone, it is gone and you just have to deal with it. He can't reach into cupboards until he can stand. Getting to the bathroom takes manuvering. Going outside can send you down hill in a wheelchair...I appreciate that story of Joe Burns getting on top of the Avenues in SLC and letting go, riding down across streets until he slowed and stopped. Than
having to pull himself back up the hill. Tom discovered using tools sitting down is either not easy or impossible. He can cook Ramon noodles and jokes abut it.
All those little things, you don't think about. But one thing he does just the same, SMOKE. The greatest danger of all.
I have been reworking the Clyde King Story in case someone wants to print it again. Fixing wrong dates. Correcting names. Marge said we didn't say enough about what he did (wrote only drinking stories). I read over the material and wondered what else we could add. (More drinking stories?) He did manage to become a hard-working rancher and paid off three ranches. I think he tried hard to stop drinking as he got older and was around his kids more, but didn't we say that?
He got around from Phoenix to Utah quite a bit. But, I will take another look, then gather myself to look at my own biography. I feel like moving on out of the difficult areas of home. Boulder History calls.