A Father’s Day Toast

One of my daughters had to explain to me the frequent appearance of Jim’s left hand–the one with the ring divet–among photographs he took from mountain tops: it was how he set up contiguous shots to form a panorama

My electronic inbox overflows with entreaties to make Father’s Day purchases at deep discounts.  Shopping is not on my mind.

Even my reliably soothing farm game saddens me with a “Father’s Day Quest” in which a brown-eyed, raven-haired girl pops up with bubbles of text recalling what her father has taught her, like looking at stars through a telescope and how to drive.  (It was I who had to ride shotgun for all of those hours with the daughter who just got her license.)

Last Father’s Day, not long after Jim’s death, I took the children who were home with me on the kind of family hike Jim frequently took with us.  He would clamber with his long stride up a mountain with our youngest jabbering musically in a baby carrier on his shoulders as the other three zig-zagged ahead, happily crying out “This way!” when they spotted the painted triangles which marked the trails.

Clusters of us would link and unlink  hands, helping each other over boulders and down slippery stretches.  Jim, who always carried the lion’s share of the weight, though it never seemed to burden him, would dole out water bottles and other supplies.  Small hands would grab fists full of his special gorp mixture.  (Despite the seemingly indiscriminate grabbing, the M & Ms and cashews always would go first.)

Of course this time, without Jim, I got us a little bit lost on the way up to the trail head.

When we finally arrived, all the trails we ordinarily took were obstructed by fallen trees, casualties of catastrophic spring storms.

One of Jim’s many photographs in deep greens and crystalline blues
(c) 2010 Jim Glennon

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Gathering Blue and Wisdom from Pooh

Why Stop at Two?
June, 2012

The nest on Jim’s twig wreath, just outside my window, is gathering more cornflower blue denizens.  The parents are on high alert: one frequently mans the nearby pathway against intrusion, while one sits on the nest and swoops violently upwards if someone dares open the forest-green door to conduct human business.

In Gathering Blue, the young heroine has a magical artistic gift: her hands infuse colors into dye, which she spins into threads which memorialize a story through uncannily beautiful embroidery.

I think, very much due to my husband’s influence and outlook, that every one of us is blessed with some kind of magic–something only we can do.   Continue reading “Gathering Blue and Wisdom from Pooh”

Orange Suns and Moons

Venus Transiting the Sun, Portland, Oregon
(c) June 2012 Joe Chipman

I’ve touched upon deep greens and blues, swaths of sepia, my proclivity toward seeing things in black and white, and some of the unintended side-effects of my fondness for bright red.

Today, thanks to a gift from one of my daughters, I am clad in the brightest of orange–an extremely high-visibility school color.

I have concluded it is nearly impossible to be dour for long while wearing neon orange.

My pal Dakota in hunter orange today

Continue reading “Orange Suns and Moons”

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