Life

Clarity

It matters not which side of a political fence that you or I sit or straddle. Rigidity has seized the moment and clouded our ability to see beyond the now.

Flowering into Full Blossom–The Mindfulness Project

If I could add another 30 or even 60 days to my mindfulness project, perhaps I could grab complete control over the distracting beeps, bleeps and burps. Maybe. Maybe not. The calendar and life-responsibilities, however, won’t give me those extra 30 to 60 days.

So I decided to wrap the final days with a contemplative retreat at a nearby monastery where retreatants vow to not speak during their stay.

The Robes of Friendship

Yes, Edward Parone owned some celebrity and great respect from many in the world of entertainment — something I never knew until much later in our friendship. But he retired from all of that. His choice of retirement venue said it all — an unremarkable old adobe casita among a few other old adobes on a large ranch in Nambe, New Mexico.

No Knee Ski, But Great Times

…a few days before this Christmas when I spent a night in my daughter and her husband’s Taos Ski Valley condo. It’s near the first chairlift. Looking out the patio door I recalled taking both my daughters, who were about 11 and 13 at the time, for a day skiing there.

30 Mindful Days

Both Cruz and I savored this holy show, yet we each harbored a sadness knowing full well, that our seas are not healthy. It brought us to a conversation about our mutual experiences with faith, religious devotion, and honoring our earth.

The View From a Field-Anchored Bench

Acres of brown and late summer-weary grasses that were born green in the spring, bend to a cool breeze spawned from the sea below and the sky above. It’s like sitting in the center of a terrarium of earth, sea, and sky.

Santa Fe Silver

California is my first home and where I thrive. Yet, like the green chili that smothers most any other food in Santa Fe, I must return for a taste of this contrasted world of rodeo to opera.

The Diary of Campground No-Sense

Within the hour I will become a camper, something I haven’t done since I was 23. Um, that was 43 years ago—not counting my stays at Motel 6 here and there along Interstate 40.

Besides a campout with my camp-virgin spouse, the diabetic cat, Mouser, comes with too.