Imogene Pass, Colorado

I realize I need to do some backpeddaling to fill in where I am, what I'm doing, and why. Several false-starts on blogging, little internet access, crappy pictures, no agenda have conspired against me to post. But. Right now, I am in Ouray, Colorado, population 800. Ouray sits in a box canyon along San Juan Scenic Byway, around 30 miles from Telluride. The town has several claims to fame, having started in the 1800's as an old silver and gold mining town that due to its beauty and stubborn nature managed to survive, while 100s of other ghost towns around about did not. Ouray is currently the "Jeeping" and "Ice Climbing" "capitals of the world" or the Super Bowl of ice climbing and jeeping as one local describes it. The town benefits from the tourist spill-over from Telluride. The season for guided jeeping is about to close, so I feel fortunate lucking into some research that led me to get a guide to take me up to Imogene Pass.

This trip was exciting for me for so many reasons. First, companions on the trip included 4 professional photographers and travel writers. These folks have my dream job, as I told them. When I have more time, I will describe the trip in detail. It was hair-raising, beautiful, charming in so many ways that it simply was a superlative experience. The pic at right is a view of Red Mountain from the pass summit.

Crawford, Texas

Texas Highway 317 runs parallel to I35, a north/south US interstate that will take you to Laredo and further south if follow it. Driving to my Mom's house this weekend, I decided to detour to take a look at our former President's stomping grounds, Crawford, Texas. On 317, about 50 miles or so from Waco, Texas is a site where one of the most intense anti-war demonstrations took place several years ago. These demonstrations were unique in that they garnered extensive and mostly negative media coverage for the Iraq War. At Camp Casey in Crawford, Texas, groups from all over the US who were determined to end this war met to discuss how to do so. (The camp was named after Cindy Sheehan's son who died in the Iraq War.) She, along with thousands of other activists, gathered to attempt to pick a fight with W. in his supposed home-town. Now Crawford is like most any Texas-backwater--to the right of right politically where you might expect to see dusty roadsigns that read, "Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition." Crawford barely tolerated this group and had little good to say about them, if you asked a local what he thought down at the corner gas station. I'm told the local utilities wouldn't even let the activists have water to drink or bathe in--this information from my brother-in-law who was trying to help them figure out how to set up some generators.

The pic at left, taken yesterday, reveals much. Ineffectual, hypocritical, anti-war polemic evaporated in November of 2008. Where are the protests now? Where is the ongoing demand for accountability for our current wars? Where are the activists (beyond the military families who actually have skin in the game) right now? So what was supposed to happen at Camp Casey? See here. You can look at the picture left to see what's actually going on. Nothing. Meantime, our MSM's preoccupation with Obama talking to school kids about studying harder continues--unchallenged.

Padre Island, Part Deux

For those of you who have never been down to Corpus Christi and Padre Island, there are reasons to go, most of which I won't discuss here. Yes, James B., I count you among these individuals probably, if you are reading this, which I doubt you are, but anyway....There are reasons to actually enter Texas. Padre Island would be one of them.

What follows may sound like typical tourist claptrap, but most folks know little, if anything, about Padre. Padre is a barrier island, the longest in the world, just off the southern coast of Texas. The western coast of Padre is called the Laguna Madre, a stretch of waterway that is actually saltier than the ocean, with numerous kinds of shellfish and crustaceans peculiar to the area. Most of the island is encompassed by a national park and wildlife refuge on the island. These public lands provide over 70 miles of coastal white-sand, pristine beaches which are unreachable by anything but you and a 4 wheel drive dune buggy. You can camp on these beaches for a mere pittance. The gulf waters here are so warm--like velvet, you can swim practically year round. Typical seaside activities are abundant, fishing, crabbing, and the like, but the waves are fairly shallow. I don't think the surfing is all that great here--at least it has not been evident the last couple times I've gone.

Anyone who does know anything about Padre probably thinks of it as a spring-break destination for the southern college kids. All true. It's a madhouse. Also, Corpus Christi is hideous, scabrous, and ugly. There are huge industrial complexes all around Corpus--probably oil refineries, but I don't feel like looking it up, but trust me, they are ugly. It's odd such an ugly city adjoins a beauty spot like Padre Island, but such is Texas.

And so it goes....

Padre Island

My mother said, "I can't believe I touched the sea. I never thought I was someone who could."

This trip was worth it, just to hear her say that. The picture is from day 2. I have some other pretty ones. I'm glad because I was beginning to think I'd forgotten how to take a decent photograph.

Nightswimming

My sister said, Let's go swimming. I said OK. Next to the hotel, there is a pool that is surrounded by sand and a few palm trees, yet it was clean. It was the shape of the shallow end and how the moonlight touched the water, that brought me back to another night long passed when the air was warm. We laughed as we slid into the water.

Promise me you'll remember this, I said. I will always remember this, he said, but why do you say that? When it gets hard, you'll need to remember, I said. I don't believe it will ever get hard, he said, not like that. It will, I said, it always does, it can't be helped. I will always remember this, he said.

Two years on, after we stopped swimming together, and I went alone in the mornings, I went to the stationery store and bought fine papers and fine ink. I don't remember what I wrote, but I wrote something and mostly what I wanted to say was, I remember you that night, I remember us that night. I gave it to you. Your face when you read it was tender. You said looking at me, I will always remember.

So after all these years, about you, about Texas, I wanted to say I thought about you when I went swimming last night with my sister. I thought about how I always loved swimming into the late fall. I remember I loved that about Texas. And how I was with you that first summer and fall.

Nightswimming, remembering that night
September's coming soon
I'm pining for the moon
And what if there were two
Side by side in orbit
Around the fairest sun?
A forever moon
Could not describe nightswimming

You, I thought I knew you
You, I cannot judge
You, I thought you knew me,
This one laughing quietly underneath my breath
Nightswimming....

I have always loved swimming--especially at night--this one laughing quietly underneath my breath.

San Antonio has a river--dammit!

I already talked about the amazing dissimilarities between San Antonio and Seattle. Now up in the Pacific Northwest, a major preoccupation of the populace is preserving the "natural state" of affairs. The recent snow debacle last year, in which Seattle came to a frozen halt because the mayor, Greg Nickels, did not want to use--ahem--salt on the roads because "it might disturb the salmon" when the city was buried in 20 feet of ice is a case in point. Nothing must disrupt the salmon, the streams, the oceans...Seattle means it. Well, mostly. Anyhow, San Antonio has a river, too. It's called the San Antonio river. In having this river, they have paved it, locked it, damned it, built hotels and margarita/salsa emporiums all around it, and used it to create entire lagoons of interesting water features that keep the water moving so moquitoes stay off their river. Heck, once a year, they drain the entire river and clean it. This is a city in control of its river!

Now, it may sound like I'm making fun, but I heartily approve. I mean if cities are going to allow rivers to run through them, then San Antonio has taken the right approach. Their river is ringed by shops, luxury hotels, spas and plenty of places to drink to alleviate the heat around here. It's also quite clean with no fish to smell up things or bother you. I was assured by two different guides of this city, that this is a real river. It has, according to one, "headwaters and everything." One might be surprised to learn that I verified what I was told these past days this morning. Yes, the San Antonio river exists outside San Antonio, but they aren't going to put up with much nonsense from it while it's inside the city proper, that's clear.

I enjoy the Riverwalk. In addition to being quite clean, it does wend its way past some truly interesting and old (by US standards anyhow) architecture, including the oldest cathedral in North America, a modestly beautiful church called San Fernando. This river has plenty of interesting things to look at even if it doesn't have fish, along with crowds of revelers mostly in a good mood, improved not by sunlamps but by mariachi bands and tequila. All the mad folks are apparently over at the Alamo and the various and numerous missions around the San Antonio suburbs. Leave it to religion to piss you off, but listen, there's too many of these missions around here to discuss them. Trust me, there's a LOT of them, if you want to look at old Spanish missions, feel free. But I prefer the river. San Antonians understand what to do with a river. They don't even allow soliciting, unless you count the mariachis. I also noticed a mosaic with a prayer for rain on it. This is a city that actually prays for rain. They pray for it. I love San Antonio!

San Antonio - Seattle's Inverse

I mean this in the best possible way. San Antonio is not only not remotely like Seattle, if cities were equations, you'd think San Antonio is Seattle's absolute, perfect inverse. It's so damned hot here that a fine film of orange, ginger smelling sweat was all over me the moment I stepped outside into the dry heat, which is as relentless as the drizzle in a Seattle November. The quality of Mexican food is seriously amazing with fire-roasted chili-based salsas that have nothing to do with tomatos, garlic, onions, or any other pedestrian defilements. Nothing gets between your tongue and the smoked chilis in these salsas. Top-shelf margaritas have a raw, peppery, crazy kick that make your eyes water, and you couldn't find the like in Seattle if you paid your best friend the bartender to try and make one for you. Ceviche of tilapia so fresh and wonderful with jicama, onions, cilantro, avocado and limes...oh heaven. (As an aside, ceviche is one of those things that either tastes great or like crap and here, it's great.) And well, the politics are sorta not what I'm used to lately. I have enjoyed myself here for the novelty. Whole buses full of Obama-haters who seem pretty upset about well-nigh everything ringed the Alamo for half a day today, for some reason fixating on the birthplace of Texas liberty to express their concern that Obama is going to tell schoolkids they should study harder. This is truly the beginning of socialism in their view. It was amusing to say the least. If I'd had the energy, I would have climbed on a wall and started yelling about the war, but I decided I didn't care about it enough right now to spoil my vacation.

Call me shallow. I'll accept it. Anyhow, San Antonio is fun. I cannot believe I lived so many years in Texas without ever coming here. Tomorrow we're leaving for Padre Island. Mom is actually enjoying herself so far, which has amazed me. It was her choice to continue this trip, and if you knew anything about my mother, you'd know how remarkable this is. More to follow. Meanwhile, enjoy the friendly neighborhood pic of someone who hates the Obamanation. He was pretty riled up. Personally, I think it must be because the bars hadn't opened yet. Some decent salsa and tequila in that fellow would improve his mood immensely.

My sister's backyard, Whitney

There are few things I like more than staying with my sister, D. I know this is true by how I tried to move in with her without asking when I was 19 or so. I'd wait 'til her husband was on a trip and then go down and stay with her until he came back. One of the most enjoyable times I ever remember having was spending the night with my sister, eating hand-churned peach ice cream and watching David Letterman in her waterbed. So I like going to my sister's.

She has a beautiful home right now in the country that a few years ago she finally finished renovating. Her patio is amazingly relaxing, and I look forward to waking up here and just going outside with some coffee and watching the deer. I took the pic this morning, while watching half a dozen deer or so play in some trees near her house. Mom and I have swung by here on the way down to San Antonio first before going to Padre Island National Seashore. I'm feeling happy and optimistic about this trip. Everyone is in a good mood!