The Road To El Dorado: flats happen

Anyone can be positive when they're winning, when the chips are stacked around them. Anyone can be perky and bright when they live with certainty of basic needs being met and exceeded.

When the chips are down, when your car develops a more than bald tire or two and your slowing your travels to make memories with friends...

When you wish you had something to give your friends to show how much you love them and how grateful you are for everything they are and do.

When you hike a trail you can't wait to reach the top of the mountain. It's tedious. Each step burns. You count them sometimes. Sometimes you take breaks on the way, prolonging the muscle burning ache. It's hard to smile. It's hard to laugh. Faking easy, when you need to give yourself rest and your dripping sweat is impossible .

The vistas are never at the top, they're usually near the top. You look out and suddenly there are miles of landscape where moments before there was just your feet, your sweat and a dusty, narrow trail. The colors and vast panorama are overwhelming. Other mountains with blankets of deep green deciduous trees, emerald evergreens, peridot saguaros with different shades of earth from grays to browns, oranges and stark reds. All the sudden you become small. You realize how much world is out there. You realize how tiny your path is. That there is no map. 

I chose to step off the proverbial trail after walking away from the proverbial road. I passed Frost and ran into Gidot, who was waiting for someone else long forgotten.

Now and then I hit vistas, feel the ache and discouragement of the full pack hiker anticipating real challenges ahead and just having navigated others. I know it will pass, the next day I will skip down the trail watching for more excitement. Wildlife, tourists, gurus, rare plants and natural splendor of geology in 4D.

One would think elation, a sense of achieving but in reality, the experienced hiker first hits the lows. The pain, the exhaustion, the soreness. You don't stop, but you don't offer a fake smile. You don't waste breath on politics or platitudes. You share water, shake the sweat out of your eyes and continue. You breathe.

I've been an experienced full pack hiker since I was a teenager. I've hiked in the New York including the Adirondacks, state parks throughout Pennsylvania, North Carolina, Arizona, Oregon, Ohio, and California. I love trails. Granite mountain, Bagby hot springs, bridal veil falls, Indian pass lake colden loop, the Susquehanna trail. All amazing.

I find my approach to life often mirrors hiking a tough trail. You take care of your team and your gear,  you politely treat those you pass, if you have nothing positive to say to someone you stay out of their space rather than feed negativity or unnecessary drama, stay focused on moving forward, appreciate the views, listen, look, use common sense, smile when you can but express feelings honestly don't bury them or let them fester. Don't carry Extra burdens. Put the past down, you can't really carry it and trying only hinders you. Pack in pack out. Leave no trace, if you don't need it give it to someone who does. But fatigue happens. I'm real, I'm not happy every day.

Common sense is worth more than alphabet soup.

What? Soup, you say?

Soup. An education is great, it doesn't hold a candle to common sense, a fast mind, focus and good listening skills. Today I did laundry at the Lost Dutchman Laundry. Pat and Amy Adams were there, as they are seven days a week with their bright smiles.

Amy told me that she was an accountant by trade and training, she worked and learned physical therapy assisting a licensed practitioner. They run the laundry and groceries on Delaware ave in Apache Junction now. She recounted how she herself had a stroke and insurance wouldn't cover therapy or big hospital bills. She related an important lesson. She, without a fancy piece of paper, learned the exercises for helping someone gain skill and strength after a stroke. On her own, she did her therapy. She set a goal to dance in three months. Her left side had been mostly paralysed. She successfully danced the foxtrot in the pool at three months.

She did it, on her own. She is amazing! Her shared wisdom was right. It's in your head, no one else's.

When life kicks you in the teeth, stand up. Brush yourself off, give a nod and deal with it. You won't get far if you lie there. Life isn't fair and sometimes it hurts. Learn, deal, go forward. She's right. Emotions are a luxury, wallowing in martyrdom or self pity gets you no where. But get it out. 

She made another important point. Take time to figure out what you really enjoy doing before committing to secondary education. Guessing wrong is expensive. It's your life. You have to figure it out, not your parents or friends.

A degree doesn't give someone a right to be rude, it doesn't indicate skill or intelligence; it means someone followed directions andctested well. Some exceptions: pilots, neurosurgeons, bomb squad technicians, paramedics, fire fighters, and I'm sure I'm forgetting some.

I've got the most respect for those who work to improve lives, the least respect for those claiming to do that while doing nothing or negatively impacting people.

I hold the world and its ecosystems as the most important. Without them we don't live. We create jobs to boost the economy yet we don't prioritize and create them to benefit nature and maintaining a healthy world.  Depression and anxiety symptoms decrease with more outdoors activity, Vitamin D anyone?

Today we hike to the top of the Flat Irons. It's another one of my favorite hikes.

Absurdity of Adopting Identity

Ethnicity is a touchy subject. We all have ancestors, we all come from somewhere. Every ethnic group has culture, heritage and should have pride. Caucasians lately have had to resort to borrowing other ethnicities to express pride as white pride is synonymous with prejudice and it's out of style.

I'm asked what are you? My response: human or half cartoon. Looking at me a fortune teller once said I am painted, but the artificial color is the one on the surface. She said the painters are really just bringing my true colors out. I am red, yellow, orange, green, blue, Gray, Brown, white, pink and purple. I am a cacophony, and when painted I look like a rainbow threw up on me.

The complex answer, my ancestors were horny. They fell in love with people and had children, they weren't focused on heritage or lineage. They came from many countries: Sweden, Germany, France, Wales, Scotland, Ireland, the US. Most were Irish.

I was raised going to wakes, knowing that the key factors in my family history on both sides were tragic and humiliating. My Irish great grandfather died of emphysema working the railroad. I've had to go through the railroad museum in Sacramento and read plaques belittling and stereotyping Irish workers. I don't know of Cliff Magee fit those stereotypes. I wanted to hit someone by the time I was ready to leave I was so tired of reading plaques ragging on Irish workers, it was all about the amazing Chinese workers. Hats off to them but I say also hats off to the others who worked and died.

Yes, I have feisty family members who drink too much, tell fancy tales and get into fights. I've been one more than once. I'll stick with fancy tales and weaving words.

I look at it differently.

My great uncle Grubby was Irish. He drank too much. He started fights. More than once his reckless behavior endangered lives and caused harm to others. No Irish story is a happy story. His life was like that. He didn't cry out label me, he didn't tag out. He kept going. Most of his twelve siblings hated him, I did mention he was Irish (stereotyping says he had to have an army of siblings). When he died, the family gathered for his wake to trade the stories of his life.

My cousin Scott and I were hours away. In Irish style we drank Jamison's in his honor and memory. I called my grandmother who was at the wake to have her share my story. Most of my generation did not have Grubby stories, he was too cartoon and too volatile. I spent a lot of time at my great grandmother's house. Alice Magee had one of the most beautiful hearts and the loveliest garden in the county. She read tea leaves and could see your future in a ring spun on thread. Did I mention she was Irish? Sometimes a stereotype is based on average perceived character or behavior. It's not always meant as offensive.

Alice let me get away with my shenanigans. I was rambunctious. I heard the adults. No one liked Grubby or that he went to visit his mother. Somehow that was bad? He had to be using her.

I was there this time and I was antagonistic toward him on behalf of the opinionated adults who were not there.  He told me not to swing on a macrame plant holder. I swung for all I was worth. I hit a table and my great grandmother's prize vase fell to the floor and shattered.

Until then, I had never upset Alice. I upset my parents often and was used to getting screamed at and told how worthless and terrible I was. Alice did not do that. She accepted it. No chastising, just acceptance as we know Irish stories are full of loss and sorrow.

Tears filled her eyes, she sighed and said it was just a vase. Grubby could see the hurt, he could see that I was crying now too. It hurt me to hurt her. I would have done anything to take the moment back. He did not yell either.

The deplorable scoundrel, he quietly went for the broom. He got a newspaper and a magnifying glass. He got super glue. He got two chairs. He taught me the second most profound lesson I learned that day. Her reaction taught the first. My world changed, I changed because if their choices that day.

It's not the accidents that count, it's what we do to make things right.

He spent hours with me piecing the vase together carefully, as if we were paleontologists putting prize relics together for a museum. She stood in the door with a beautiful smile. Tears of a different sort in her eyes. I knew why she loved him so much. I loved him too.

That was the one memory I really had to share with him. When my grandmother relayed the story, his siblings and friends grew reflective. Few of them had known him like that. Few had gone beyond their loathing to see the guy inside the Irish caricature he was. It was his one good story. The family remembers now. The memory shares forward in story.

My great great grandfather on my father's side was Cherokee. He lost his land in the land drives twice. He skipped the trail of tears. He rode north to New York state. He met an Irish immigrant girl, Alice Padden. They married in great scandal. They had two kids. His name is different on each census, always Hunter being his last name. He left to apply for the Dawes act. He was denied because he left Oklahoma. He was not heard from again. He cautioned my great great grandmother to raise the children as caucasians.

He insisted they be protected from the color of their skin and the negative connotations of being Cherokee. My grandmother chastised my grandfather when he even mentioned his ethnicities. Prejudice is still out there, ironically it's often held by those who want you to know their a little bit of something or other on so and so's side.
I wish I could find Hunter's grave to put a flower there, to let his spirit know one of his descendants wanders as he did but without the anger. Maybe he knows though.

He was like a coyote, he came fathered two kids with a pretty lady and vanished with a name made up of letters-much like those I use at work?  Who was he? Who am I today? What name should I sign? The joke is on us both.

Isn't it enough to be you? Do you need an impressive lineage to feel important?

Can't you be impressive as yourself?

I don't need to buy overpriced tourist gook that has stylized stereotypical designs. I wince at New age hubris and posers claiming to be Native whiter than I am talking with Brooklyn accents. I wince just as much seeing kids run around with their pants hanging down below their butts "prison style" trying to look tough like black or Hispanic gangsters. Somehow it radiates "weak" "pathetic" and "moron" rather than dangerous, strong, or badass.

It's the old saying I'm starting now, if you have to stand in the shadow of a mountain to point out how impressive your shadow is, remember it is not your shadow your claiming- the shadow is still that of the mountain and to those around you, you look like a fool. Make your shadow tall by being who you are. Be proud of your strengths, your flaws, be aware where you came from.

My heritage was written on air, woven of words and hearts. My ancestors were people who were not perfect. They lived, they died. They live in the stories still shared. None of them were famous, they didn't need to be. They lived their lives, they made their mistakes and celebrated their successes. Many of those moments are forgotten, as most of us will be in a hundred years.

It is alright to be Caucasian and proud of your heritage. The Scottish know that, so why not take a note from them?

The Absurdity of Society's Take on Sex

The human body is a natural work of art. Millions of people, all different and incredible. Muscles, connective tissue, organs, hair, skin: this doesn't sound like an appealing list but it becomes one arranged millions of ways across the world. We are a fractal species, subtle variations in genetics offer diversity within our species from eye color to smiles.

Our species has creation myths, many sublime and focused on the wonders of creation while a few focus on the realization of nudity and the dominance of one gender over another.

Why?

We determine what is sexy. In ancient societies having curves and a little extra weight was attractive, it was a sign of health. Now we move toward androgenous men and women modeling for us on the verge of starvation, many struggling with bulemia or anorexia. It's even mentioned casually in pop songs, where the singer talks about throwing up in the bathtub.

We villanize pornography, then sneak around the corner to buy it. We say marriage as a tradition should be honored but it's a legal institution. I have found more frequently that unwanted sexual advanced come most often from married individuals.

We decided what is sexy, what "turns us on" so why do we choose sleazy and push to be used? Why not appreciate beauty, honor the temple of a lover's body rather than striving to become a secret bedroom whore or gigalo?

When I edited a literary magazine in college we accepted art as well as poetry and prose. A nude sketch and a sketch of a woman's breast were submitted. They were beautifully drawn. There was controversy. As editor I rolled over the controversy and supported the majority review. We published both. Scandal that wasn't, the readers enjoyed the art pieces.

When the human body ceases to be taboo we can appreciate it. When we stopped labeling sex as base and dirty, then insinuating that dirty and sleazy are "hot" and "sexy" perhaps we will recall the wonder of sexual union. Sex is healing, calming, it is a celebration of love for self and other human beings. It shouldn't be a stigma to be sexually active.

Be responsible, use protection to prevent the spread of disease. Reality is you can't always tell by sight if someone has a sexually transmitted infection. Absurdity is the stigma that we give that, when we don't villanize people who go out passing cold and flu viruses around like party favors.

The human body is a natural art form, explore and appreciate a lover rather than degrading and devaluing one or yourself. It is absurd that many people need to feel used to feel loved. It is a sign we need to choose more wisely the role models of our children. Instead of mermaids giving up their bodies to become what a hot guy wants, why not role models that value themselves as who and what they are?

We seem to think we have the right to belittle other people's sexuality from putting down gay marriage to prejudice against transsexuals. Stop it people. It's absurd, it's as absurd as me telling you you have to have a certain sexual orientation. You have no right to tell someone else what their orientation is. It is absurd for laws to try to enforce sexual preferences.

Prostitution was legal in the "wild west" as well as in modern Nevada. When prostitution is legal, the stigma fades away. Testing, hygiene and responsible behavior make for a professional, safer experience for both parties. High risk behaviors and situations decrease. Less men and women end up dead or missing.

Fear of disease, fear of disloyalty, fear of losing a lover or partner because someone younger, hotter, or more wanton comes along seem to drive our sexual culture. We wish to look like someone else, to please a lover. Why? I think it's far sexier to be yourself. It's far sexier to trust and to appreciate a trust upheld. It's far sexier to have honest communication. It's far sexier to have a partner who isn't just there for the sex, but for you out of love.

It's sad how many broken people I worked with in mental health, who were broken because of how sex was used on them as a weapon or made them feel used like a tool. It was heart breaking to hear the stories of shame, guilt over the body's arousal, confusion and toxic residual aftermath that plagues many as emotional scars lasting a lifetime.

Incest survivors, rape survivors, male and female circumcision scarring for religious reasons and human trafficking- yet people shrug and go on with judgemental memes and attacks on sexuality. Really? C'mon, break the cycles, break the secrets, break the stigma and start healing.

It really is absurd how much our species seems sometimes driven to perversity, apathetic and justifying of the destruction we wreak in the lives of people we allegedly care about.

Next time you feel like you need to debase yourself or someone else, stop. Instead of metaphorical graffiti why not raise them up, beautify their temple? Gift them with love, honor, and demonstrate the value of emotional flowers at their sacred temple, of your sacred temple. Treat the human body as a wonder rather than a curse. Treat each other with respect rather than with derogatory half truths and labels.

The Absurdity of Extremism

We live in a modern society, we consider extremism to be, well, "extreme." We sit surrounded by plastics and synthetics, swimming in prefabricated food and swirling thirty second advertising sound bites. News stories are all extreme, even the weather. Every day there is a new, drastic weather condition. It is never just a sunny day or a snowy day, it is now a Polar Apocalypse.

In many countries, people have what they need by growing their own food. They may not wear pants or shoes on their feet. They do not spend hours every day online. They do not have smartphones, dumb phones or televisions. Their world is not inundated with glossy perfect smiling models starving for attention. Their world is full of life. Nobody has it easy. Not us surrounded by a cacophony of conflicting rabid views and arguments, nor the boy going without meals in a third world country. Different extremes. The extreme of comfort driven life versus the extreme of survival. While we live in comfort, joking about the odd sudden die off of the bees; other countries have started doing their research.

While we prioritize and set our DVRs to record pabulum shows, people in other countries work on addressing the needs of their people and trying to protect their wellbeing- as well as their environment.

I am not going to be extreme, but I am going to point out some absurdities: first, when at least thirty countries have scientists and leaders denying corporations the right to grow certain crops that are genetically modified it is not something moronic or easily dismissed. When Russian newspapers express confusion about how Americans somehow choose to remain uneducated and make potentially reckless decisions regarding crops and nutrition it seems like "oh, those silly Russians-like they have a clue." Well. Maybe they do. What are the rates of diabetes, high cholesterol, heart disease and obesity in the United States? Compare those rates to other countries. Go ahead, google it. This blog will still be here. I want you to take a look for yourself.

Now, I am going to put on corporation shoes for a moment. Tight, shiny, expensive shoes. If I wanted to maximize my profits and they were my only priority I would take these steps:

1. I would put a well paid employee or independent contractor in a position to do irritating, slightly misinformed campaigns against me. I would create my own extreme hater- so that the average joe encountering this venomous creature would feel driven to defend my company and to show support by buying from me just to spite the jerk. This would also get people to ignore any news legitimate or illegitimate about my products or practices. MY PROFITS GO UP.

2. I would use ad campaigns to appeal and insinuate that I support practices Americans want to perceive me as supporting. Those thirty second sound bite ads, people rarely look past them.

3. I would label different types of products under sub company names so people don't realize how large my company actually is. Movie companies, soda companies etc. They all do this. Do you know what seven corporations own most of the products you buy? It is another easy google search.

Those shoes aren't to my liking. I am taking them off.

Why are the bees dying? Why do anti-GMO campaigns in the United States focus on disproving cancer links rather than mentioning the unethical practices against small farmers and the dangerously high death rate of bee populations that other countries have linked to some of the modified crops?

If the bees die off, what pollinates the flowers- your smartphone?

Ethics in advertising. Ethics in practices. We do not prioritize these. We prioritize and justify the profits of the corporations, that are already laughing their way to the bank with the profits we have already endorsed them with. They use the money we spend to buy the votes that are ours. We give them our votes and our voices. It is our choice. We can educate ourselves, we can encourage stores to offer other, small label brands supporting small business. We can choose to vote wisely with that dollar or we can make fun of the people who do while our ignorance shines brightly for the rest of the world to see.

We become a country of Emperors in New Clothes, in a world bemused by our pride in ignorance.

We express anger over other forms of Extremism and of folks with opposing views. We forget compromise and what we should prioritize. We are as extreme in our own ways as the folks we make fun of for being irrational and dangerous overseas. If we want to become world leaders again, we have to choose to educate ourselves and prioritize in a non-egocentric, narcissistic manner. Right now, we sound like overindulged, obese children who have been spoiled rotten. Shrieking and shouting, pouting about how we should treat each other here and overseas.

Abortion. Religion. Color. Weight. Gender. Taxation. Political Parties. Nationality. Guns. Diet.

When do we get back to the grey area of being human and accepting the value of the differences between us? When do we get back to valuing our world and the species on it? When do we get back to valuing spirit and intelligence? When do we get back to valuing ourselves? Perhaps if we get to the point where we can accept and love ourselves, we can learn to accept others. It is our path to choose.

The Absurdity of Lame Graffiti

I usually write about heavy topics, as so much of our lives in the United States seem determined to distract us from them or minimize the importance of them. So much of our social world has become digital in an attempt to escape the commercialized society we have allowed to become main stream reality. Nobody plays a game to become a fortieth level Banker with a decent iPad and black leather shoes. That doesn't sound as menacing or sexy as a fortieth level Barbarian Wizard with a light saber and lightening spell does it? It is so much easier to click a button on a square of computer generated land to have "crops" grow or little cartoon figures build a structure than to do these tasks in the mundane world. In a game you can have your character say anything, the most that will happen is your group may ostracize you, kill your character and loot the body. The worst thing could be losing access to your precious game. Your precious, gamers. While we are picking on the gamers, let's not get too hasty. They aren't the only ones living in the world of digital dreams. Selfie addicts, social media addicts, folks who used to think and reason but now only seem capable of staring at a small rectangular box held an arm length from their eyes. Their eye color? The color of their screen reflecting on their face. I encourage everyone to put the little brain drainer down and appreciate the world sometimes.
When I see lame graffiti, I feel let down. Someone just had to pick the wrong place to put a meaningless profession of love.

There is a large, beautiful world outside. It is gorgeous. It is full of life. When was the last time you took time to gaze at the stars, searching for constellations? When was the last time you sat for an hour counting shooting stars? Do you know what phase the moon is tonight? I watched a breathtaking moon rise over Mesa Arizona last night. The moon was a shade of gold so rich that it would have made the most expensive gold ring weep from jealousy. There was a haze around it, as if it were a bellydancer with a gauze floating lazily in its wake. I stared. People went about their lives. I got to enjoy it with friends, we shared a moment of appreciation. It is a memory I will always have and treasure.

Today, we were invited by friends on a hike to see a waterfall in the desert. I am not crazy, there are waterfalls in the desert if you know where to look and you look after a rain!  We met and walked the short trail, climbed the rough rocks using narrow crevices and generous handholds. We found beautiful pools of water with the soothing sound and sight of long ribbons of water sliding down the rocks. I watched a small butterfly, wings appearing white then periwinkle as it danced in the air. A tiger swallowtail swooped down to greet us before continuing its life adventure.

My one sorrow today was the pitiful graffiti where we parked. The "Bobo luvs Bunny" kind, the kind where you are fairly certain that Bunny probably doesn't love Bobo anymore- and if she or he did, they certainly never would have wanted it plastered in shabby handwriting on a rock disrupting a breathtaking scenic view. I decided instead of being brought down by it, perhaps I would encourage better artistry. If you are doing graffiti to profess love, do it with style. Anyone can scribble on a rock, in fact you could take a picture and make your own virtual graffiti without ever committing a crime. Your wooed one would enjoy the picture and the respect for the view or add to the view. Do masterful artwork that everyone will enjoy. It really means nothing to us when you scribble two generic names with a plus sign on a rock. You aren't really memorializing anything, it is absurd for you to assume that you are. It is like getting a tattoo of the word Monday on your face because your birthday was on a monday when you turned 21. It doesn't do a thing to change how mondays are, it only affects the view of your face. You probably would hear the word more frequently, but not in a pertinent manner.

I decided to give examples of "good" graffiti. Good graffiti can be found in major cities; ride the train to San Fransisco and appreciate the view of various artists' work. Beautiful in an urban style. Drab walls become fancy, complex colors and letters. Whether you read the words or become absorbed in the appreciation of styles, shading, and vibrant eye catching details- it is clearly artwork. The artists were mindful to choose urban areas to enhance; so once dingy views are now colorful panoramas for miles. They didn't race to the Grand Canyon with a single white can of spray paint and mark it like some annoying tom cat. They chose their location wisely to compliment their work.

A second excellent example rusts along a trail in a park in Tulsa Oklahoma. On the way down the trail last winter we found a rusted appliance in the middle of the woods. Ron called my attention back to it. He found a quote written on the side of it by Aldous Huxley. He took a photograph. The quote was brilliant and thought provoking. We discussed it for the rest of the hike. I keep the picture as wallpaper on my phone. The quote has had profound impact on both of our lives. The graffiti quote found on discarded refuse enigmatically resting alone along a trail at Turkey Mountain. Brilliant graffiti placed well, not on the trees or rocks but on a forgotten remnant designed for human convenience. Photo by Ron Morgan:

I took a picture of some of the shabby graffiti today and played with my editing application on my too smart phone. I made a bright ocean with rudimentary waves and palm trees; I gave it a bright sky. Very cartoon but far more pleasant than the random names that had been plastered there and in reality are still plastered there.

In short, it may sound absurd but if you are going to add a "statement" to the world could you please choose to make it one worth looking at? It may sound ridiculous, but the sight of Huxley's words resonates within me. Lightly, lightly admire the wisdom and the chosen placement of the statement.