And so it begins

I've been a work in progress since birth. Today is another day in the evolution of self. A conscious work of human art. What an interesting way to look at my life. Each brush stroke creating a subtle and sometimes not so subtle impact on my life.

Each thought, choice, action has created this path I am on. So here I am. Looking at my life and being aware of the wonder of it all. How blessed I am. No -- I am not (as yet) independently wealthy, nor am I a paragon of physical beauty. I am a incomparable human being living her way through this particular life.

That is something! That is something no one else has quite like me. The same goes for you!

Later on I will provide you with a synopsis of my life thus far. Feed it to you in little bites or who knows -- sometimes I may regurgitate volumes. For now, I am aware of how my life is changing. Almost with each breathe there is a tangible alteration.

Yesterday I spread the remainder of my Father's ashes. I can't remember the exact day he died. September 27th, 2002. His ashes have quietly resided in either the hallway closet or my bedroom closet. On the top shelf. His recent sojourn in my closet had me greeting him each morning. "Hi Dad." The oblong black plastic box sat directly facing the closet entrance. Put there hastily when readying the house for sale.

Half of his ashes are spread up at our mountain property. It was the last place he went camping. Oh how hard he worked to get to that camping trip. His truck broke down and over-heated at least twice that weekend. At 79 he would still take off and head to the hills alone. On this particular trip he was joining me for our first and subsequently last camping trip at the land.

I remember hearing a car driving up the road to the property and stopping at the top of the hill. A voice booming out -- "Hello. This is Officer Brown, I am looking for ..." My heart sunk, I thought he was coming to find me and tell me my Dad was dead. But no -- he was delivering my Father to me. Dad had befriended him and this gracious policeman had driven 22 miles through back roads to deliver my Father to me. That was my Dad!

He made friends everywhere he went. There was a family joke that Dad would be in a town for less than an hour and know where every bar was and would know more people than you who had lived there for years. I have many stories to validate the "joke".

Dad loved the outdoors. Camping, fishing, hunting (which I affectionately called camping with guns)! I used to bet that the gun never came out of the case. It was just an excuse to go away with the guys and enjoy nature. He made friends easily. Enemies too! He was the kind of man you either liked or disliked immediately.

Yesterday, it was a quiet journey. Dad, Peggy, and I. Peggy is the widow of Dad's best friend, Jim. Jim is also spread at this particular spot overlooking the Rocky Mountains. Peggy was the only person who knew exactly where "their" spot was. Would have never found it without her. Although now it is engraved on my brain.

Those two old coots had an Adventure finding this particular location. Finding beauty in the midst of scrub pine and dirt. Rifle is a small town west of Denver (3.5 hours west). Past Vail, Glenwood Springs, past Silt, Dotsero, and then there is Rifle. With a Walmart at the interstate exchange, a big bank, small town, with a nice golf course. Drive through town, bear right to the bowling alley, turn right at the Correctional Center sign, go 5 miles and look for a closed gate indicating a State Wildlife Area. How did they even think to go back there?

It's not really a road, more a path that four-wheelers had made over time. Washed out from rain, with deep ruts. Dropped into low and began the ascent, jiggling back and forth. We get to the top and cannot see anymore road. Peggy says "there really is a road". I drove over the edge and felt exhilaration. The giggles exploded and Peggy and I shared a knowing that the men had definitely had an adventure finding this place. The road then climbed up a steep hill and twisted between gnarly pines flattening out at the top into a dusty field.

We turned left and I drove a couple hundred yards until it was clear that there was no where else to go. "This is it." The edge of field dropped sharply down into a ravine. One lone scraggly pine holding onto the edge for dear life. Wind blew us about. My eyes scoured the field and the ravine, nothing overly beautiful. Far off the edge of the field across the ridge was the Correctional Facility. Then I looked straight ahead past the ravine and saw the reservior. Turquoise water the sight of which I only ever expected at a beach in Bahamas.

I imagined Jim and Dad, in their camp chairs, spending a leisurely afternoon sharing stories looking at the view, watching the deer meander up the ravine, and having a drink or three. Friends sharing time and space. It was then that I saw the true beauty of this place. Why this was the place that both HAD to have their ashes spread here together. A shared experience memorable to both.

Tears fell as I walked to the car, opened the ashes and carried Dad to edge of the ravine.