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.

A Pause for Life Lessons

No matter how old we get, how experienced we become there is always something to learn or relearn.

Prioritize your time. Spend it with the people who reciprocate as much as you can. Accept that sometimes you give affection or attention to people who haven't learned to reciprocate or to value the finite time you have to share.

It sounds cheesy to say "make every moment count" but it is true. The future is uncertain, take time to focus your attention and affection on making high quality memories. In the end, it's what you get to keep, not money or material goods.
Ask a dying person what they value most or wish for more of. Time with the people they love. Good time, good memories.

Lessons we've mused on this week:

1. Listen. Listen carefully. If you're friend isn't enthusiastic about a venture that you are, don't drag them. You could be missing quality time with other friends, in other places, and putting stress on that friend through pressuring them. Listen.

2. Prioritize. Take time to seek out the people who work to stay connected with you. Life is like an ocean. Currents pull us in a thousand directions, if someone cares enough to throw you a line return the favor and value the gift of their connection.

3. Even the free do not always have free time. Friends love you, but schedules happen. Don't resent, accept and move forward.

4. Check your gear in advance. Communicate rather than assume. It's not rude unless it's not done.

5. Watch how people treat the people around you. It's not attractive or cool to have someone ignore or belittle your friends and loved ones to butter you with compliments. Focus away from that toward the sincere friends around you, or have fun putting them on the spot by complimenting and including the person(s) they'd rather not. It could be a good lesson for them.

6. Appreciate the people who care, don't belittle them. Nurture them the way they nurture you. Appearances can be deceptive- like biting a chocolate confection only to taste kerosene inside- skip it.

7. Accept and move on, if someone doesn't value you like you value them. Quit wasting your energy, give it to the people jumping hoops to see you smile.

There are words you never say unless you want an argument:
"You're so negative," "you argue...," "you always" and "you never."

Guaranteed Bickersons episodes will follow. Not sure who they are? Google it...

The people around you are mirrored glass. You can see and hear how you interact and how you prioritize by who is there and how they act.

If you want to see beauty there, you have to put it there. If you want light and trust, communication and value, you have to put it there. If you want to see a friend smile, give them care. If you want to see them wilt, put them last or criticize them, or put them in situations that make them uneasy without support. Support the people who support you.

Choose wisely who is there. Some people aren't worth the effort of trying to teach- and some are downright toxic, pushing away and trying to undermine healthy relationships you have.

I always wish I could give my friends perfect stories, perfect lives, that I could give them the most valuable gift.

Then Danny reminds me I do. I value them and I love them. I listen to them. I care. It's worth more than gold.

Lessons. Learn, relearn.

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?

Memory Lane: Patrons now?!

Here we are in Apache Junction. We are right next to a Renaissance Festival that we've both worked at for years as entertainers. This year life has nudged us gently but firmly toward greener pastures and away from a festival I've considered home for nine years.

It feels alien to carry a ticket. To walk in a gate you've rarely seen the front of, to watch friends deal with crowds that you are now a part of it was surreal. What name to introduce friends as? Character or real? How to compliment dear friends without costing them tips or sales?

It doesn't matter that we aren't there, other faces and performances are rippling the waters we once sailed. It won't be long before faded paint on a few benches is all that recalls the untold hours and love shared.

I prefer to thing instead of being a pair of beautiful rocks plummeting to the bottom of a fetid pool that we are comets. We aren't falling- we are flying and as we do we pass slowly through the orbits of the lives of friends giving them wishes, love and cartoon color memories of priceless audacity which we seem compelled to live out. Even those who dislike us, find reasons to tell stories about us. We inspire, we believe, we try even knowing that risk can lead to failure and we don't work with safety nets.

I watched Geoff Marsh, it's been a few years since I got to see his show- he's been working hard and he really is and ace on stage.

I watched my friends Shannon and Dana do comedy as Hey Nunnie Nunnie laughing at their vibrant personalities.

Nostalgia hit watching Don Juan and Miguel do their Weird Show, hearing Doug play music on a balloon always makes me think of autumn in North Carolina.

The antics of the Wyld Men and Senior Jimi kept a smile firmly planted on my face.

The hugs, the hugs, the hugs were the best though. Seeing the friends I call family and having them recognize me despite my cowgirl look was the best. The slow hug from my rock n roll Friar Larry will keep me smiling for days. If I started listing all the beautiful hearts I got to hug today I could still be listing names tomorrow. Instead, we're going back again to watch more friends and to appreciate another round of hugs!

In the renaissance world, a lot of the folks working may be living life without a net. They wouldn't trade their freedom, their laughter, or the tent they live in for four walls and electric- well, okay, maybe for a few months!

Not everyone working faire lives in a tent, many commute, have RVs or trailers. Some have quonsat huts, tipis, or yurts with impressive set-up that can even include wood stoves inside them.

A lot of rennies work multiple festivals, saving money as they can, they live as they choose- many making goods during the week that are sold or weekends. I've made jewelry, painted signs, painted wooden swords and wooden shields and made garlands as week work at different festivals. This beyond being painted on the weekends while telling stories to patrons of all ages for nine years!

I've definitely picked up a wide range in skills, from throwing hatchets to selling wax hands. I figure that makes the tail of my metaphorical comet flame all different colors.

Are you a comet? I'm not a shooting star, an ephemeral whisper that ends almost before it is recognized as being. I'm a comet, centuries past I would have changed the perception of those who saw me in the sky. Maybe I am doing my best to try for that now.

I think we all have the capacity to live brightly. Within us we are incandescent, we have intensity that we can choose to freely express. We can choose to connect. We can choose to be the wonder, the miracle that each of us needs to thrive. We have to be brave enough to fly.

Ghosts of the Past & Not so Wild Goose Chases

When we went south to Tuscon we passed the Tom Mix Memorial park. Who was Tom Mix? Why is there a wash named after him?

Tom Mix was a major star of the silver screen, a silent movie cowboy. One of the most successful and popular cowboys in the early moving pictures. His publicist claimed he was a real cowboy, reality claimed no such history. He was well liked and did well until the talkies came out. Apparently his voice didn't match the imagined voice audiences had given him in his silent roles. He was accepting of the change. He died in a freak accident on that road. The wash where he died has been named after him, with the park honoring his memory. I wonder how many drive by unaware of who he was, who may not recall his name later for a Google search.

Casa Grande Ruins

On our way back toward Florence we stopped at Casa Grande Ruins. The ruins of a Hohokam settlement. The Hopi and Zuni tribes both are among the tribes whose ancestors lived there. We saw the walls, looked at the displays and watched the movie on the history of Casa Grande. There were footprints in the hardened earth, even though they were recently made you could see a man from centuries past walking through the settlement.

Back visiting Apache Junction, attracted by the closeness of friends and the Superstition Mountains we are staying for a few days. 

We travel with a Canada Goose Hybrid and a kitten. The kitten, Sadhu loves being with us and rarely ventures where he can't see us. He's a Hemingway Maine coon mix and he has six toes on his front feet- he has thumbs.

Gracie, the goose is graceful in the water. Gracie does not believe she is a goose, as a baby she imprinted on Danny. She isn't potty trained, she dislikes bicycles and loves blue cheese and refried beans.

Geese aren't known for common sense for good reason. She likes to watch cars drive around her, she is certain she can intimidate predators, and she doesn't fly back to you. She does take grass from your hand, grooms your hair, and sleeps peacefully by Danny's feet. No wonder more people choose cats, dogs, ferrets, parrots, rats, mice, snakes, potbelly pigs than geese as pets. She doesn't like being touched or petted. She is a no pet pet.

It takes an amazing level of devotion. You never know when your going to have to climb a six foot fence to throw your big goose back to your side of the fence, while a confused dog watches. You never know when she's going to fly down the block, resulting in panicked bike rides and shouting so she calls back and ends the frantic hide and seek while you notice every loose dog and hungry looking pedestrian on the street. 

Danny Lord and Gracie

Before we let her out there are many considerations, you see everything eats a plump corn fed goose. Everything has to be considered, from dog owners that assume leashes are for other people to dangerous fences and highways. The Secret Service has it easier than goose watch. The President has some common sense and survival instincts, or so we assume.

Yesterday she stretched her wings and we did not see which way she banked to land. On foot, bicycle, and motorcycle we searched and called out. We sounded like a disturbed flock of geese. No answer. Worry built. We went through this anguish when Rumor vanished only to turn up having been hit by a car. Rumor was our cat before Sadhu. The worst fears were gaining ground. We searched all the roads, asked everyone we saw, still empty handed. Hearts heavy, anxiety high, haunted by the loss of Rumor.

That was when Danny suddenly turned into a driveway. There she was, with a sweet woman trying to read her tag to find the number to call us. She had given her water in the hopes Gracie would let her catch the last mystery number on that tag. Sheri was sweet, we had a nice visit with a kind hearted neighbor who really did goose chase to try for the numbers on the tag. I think we're going to adjust the tag for readability. Sheri had all but one number written down.

Gracie is relaxed and her pen is safely set up. The guard can rest a little, she can enjoy the desert weather. Sadhu plays, amused by goose watch. He thinks herding the goose is a game we play, maybe he's right.

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 Road To El Dorado: Sunny Dei & Windy Prayer

Last night we realized today was the final day of many of the Tuscon Gem Shows. A couple we met hiking came specifically to try for closing weekend deals from snow covered Buffalo New York.

Like all true western New Yorkers we swapped snow stories in the southwest sun, relieved in the reprieve from ice and lake effect snow offered by the Sonoran desert.

There are many nomads legends in this world, like urban legends except pertaining to traveling life. One legend is of the finds to be made in the dumpsters after gem shows. Curious as to whether the myth had veracity and to witness the mad scramble pack up we went back to the gem show.

Danny fantasizes impossible finds... 

Yesterday, we savored a day of tranquility talking with Sunny and smiling Dei in the ruins of the Stone house. This afternoon we watched workers pack quickly and with few words. Cardboard and wooden boxes, pallets and plastic wrap where before shining stones had lured our dreams and wallets. The sparkle was safely nestled away to be born off to another show.

The Stone House, Tuscon AZ

We walked around, bought a few more pieces from our favorite exhibitor. We walked past the dumpsters- if good wood or wooden boxes were needed this was a gold mine. Peering in and looking in discarded cardboard boxes we found several clean reusable grocery bags and no treasure. Dumpster did not equal a red X on our mythical treasure map, but it was fun to poke around to see how true the whispered hippy tales of "a friend dumpster dove after a Tuscon show and found this whole tray of gorgeous stones and two luggage bags and a new displays..."

We didn't dive, so maybe there was treasure in there, we just weren't willing to give it our all. Instead we went for tacos and shaved ice. We tried ordering in Spanish, as the menu was in Spanish and we're both trying to practice. This failed abysmally, the woman seemed to only understand English- although she spoke Spanish. It was the most bizarre moment of total absurdity.

We decided to give up and head home to regroup for tomorrow's adventures. As we pulled off the highway there were tents and tables. There was a closing rock and mineral show right there! Danny decided to give it a go, we stopped.

As we walked into the tents and displays people smiled, they were packing but friendly and unhurried. It was a different atmosphere, a relaxed neighborhood rather than a lot of silent separate entrepreneurs.

A woman called out a greeting, she recognized us from the grocery store! We walked over and visited with her and her significant other. He showed us beautiful stones in his display, talking about where they were from and where some were headed as they were already sold. As we were leaving he showed us a type of flint from Texas, Danny asked if it was for napping. The man brightened up at Danny's knowledge, he gave us some of the flint to practice napping on.

We met a couple from New Mexico that welcomed us to go to a rockhound event in Deming NM in March. They told us where to find good hot springs off the 10 in New Mexico as they casually packed. It was nice to visit with everyone.

As we walked across to see the next table a man saw us. He smiled, pulled his phone and got our pictures. He introduced himself as Chuck. We traded stories and his face lit up in a smile. He walked us to his area and introduced us to his helpers: Windy and Shantih. Windy was watching the sunset, Shantih finished a quick seam seal on their van. The van was covered with a beautiful sunset ocean painting.

Shantih seemed surprised I knew his name meant prayer, properly invoked it should be said three times, which I did then and now. Chuck talked of metaphysics with me as Danny conversed with the others. Chuck said how he'd almost entirely succumbed to losing himself to materialism until he'd found them on Craig's list. They'd worked the show and brought him back in touch with his spiritual values.

We traded contact information, Chuck told me that we need to stop and visit them at Manitou Springs Colorado, and that we are doing Burning Man. Who knows what the year will hold? Chuck immediately upon hearing that Danny is a comedian and I am a storyteller felt something that inclined him to connect us with his path later in the year.

I know somewhat of where I think I will be, where I am planning to be, but it seems just in case the world shifts beneath us that the universe is weaving a net around us. Chuck spoke of the lines of time, I spoke of perspective and the power of truly spoken words as the sun set on the gem shows.

Perhaps it is the journey not the destination. Perhaps true wealth isn't material.