Once Upon A Time...

I know I introduced "Dusty" in at  least one post, back on 10 Sep 13.  https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g? blogID=8176952721081512220 #editor/target=post;postID=2558149698003322129;onPublishedMenu=posts;onClosedMenu=posts;postNum=142;src=postname

It was his grave on which I left a plant when I went to Kingman on my Arizona trip. That had been his home town when I knew him and also later.  His name was Charles, although he was always "Dusty" to me, one of only two non-Jim guys that were evcr truly important in my life. I have cut his last  name out on the photo I will post here for his kids' privacy should they care.  That is the mum I found and liked because the color was rather unusual. It felt right for my tribute to leave. I know he is not there, only the shell he left, but it is all symbolic.

Like  many of my long lost loves, he was quite a lot older than me. I guess some would say I was looking for a father substitute since I had a very difficult relationship with my dad from about my early teens on. Perhaps, but it was also a factor of my upbringing in other ways since I had always associated more with adults than my contemporaries. Not until I was over sixty and a widow did I ever get involved with a man younger than me! That's another tale.

Dusty, summer 1965

Anyway, he was a construction foreman with the Santa Fe railroad and came to the Verde Valley in 1964 to direct work on several bridges for the spur that came in to the valley from a junction at Drake, AZ. That line was critical at that time due to the cement going out for the Glenn Canyon Dam project. That summer was one of very heavy rains and a lot of damaging washouts. (see earlier post this year)) My brother and I were both avid railroad fans, so we became frequent visitors to chat with the crew. And so I met the man I came to call "Dusty."


I'm not sure why we were attracted to each other; there are no easy answers to the way that strange magic works. At the time he was legally separated from his wife but that does not really mean single. My parents had a fit, of course. His semi-ex (legal separation only at that point) was Catholic and fighting him tooth and nail, using their young son as her main weapon for he very much wanted custody of the boy. For months all we did was talk, usually with him standing by a car or truck and me on one of my horses or mules, an arm's length or more apart. We developed a deep mutual respect and regard over those months. Eventually it advanced past that point after nearly a year. Every hour we could spend together was precious.

I won't even attempt to go into all the adventures and misadventures of those years but simply say I kept in touch when he was moved elsewhere with his crew by Santa Fe and he came to see me when he could. I promised I would wait "forever" if necessary until he got his life straightened out and was fully free. I meant it, too, and I stuck with that vow for a long time. Then he got crosswise with higher echelons and ended up fired by Santa Fe. He left the area and worked in other places and industries He was a good carpenter and cabinet maker. I had meanwhile finally left home and started to college in Flagstaff, AZ. We still always had a phone number or other contact for each other but at times months went by without a word. Yes, I dated others casually and did not live in a convent, even had a fairly normal collage social life but no relationship ever became truly serious for I still waited.

Finally around the first of the year in 1971 he called and said he was about to get things squared away and hoped he'd be able to see me soon. Then as fate had it, I met the recently widowed man who lived next door to me in Bisbee where I had moved not long after leaving Flagstaff to take my first job at Fort Huachuca. When Dusty finally did call, around the end of May, I was taken by surprised and blurted that I had started seeing someone else. I heard a few seconds of silence and then, "Oh." I really can't remember what else either of us said but the damage was done. Yes, I did have regrets and second thoughts. I always have and will but it was too late and I had already basically made my choice.

I know now he later married a woman near his age and I think was with her when he died. I truly hope she made him happy for he deserved it.  I tried to locate him after my husband had passed away and finally learned I was ten years too late. For the last thirteen years, I have often asked myself, "What if?" In this life I shall not know although I did write Relative Dangers to give us the happy ending that was not to be. I may also write other fiction versions of our story.

I do believe things happen for a reason and as they are supposed to but that does not erase the regret of knowing I hurt someone for whom I always cared a great deal. It could have ended better, even if I still chose to wed Jim as I ended up doing. It would have been kinder to explain in person at least, which I did not do. There was never a goodbye or go in peace; there should have been.

Ever since I learned Dusty was buried in Kingman I wanted to go and see for myself where he'd been laid to rest, leave something in symbolic farewell. I have now done so and something inside me rests a little bit easier . I feel very sure we will meet again and perhaps I can then atone for breaking my promise, rashly and naively made perhaps, but heart-meant and kept for almost seven years.   I just gave up too soon, perhaps...

I had not seen Dusty since the summer of 1967 and a dozen or so phone calls over those years, mostly hard years to me for various reasons, were not enough to sustain me. At that time, I had trouble standing on my own.  When another man appeared who seemed able to support me emotionally and also needed me, I made a choice.  Yet that was not without collateral damage, which I truly do regret.  
                                                                     
And now a verse trying to express my feelings that morning in Kingman:

On a Lover’s Grave

I know you are not here,

For only the shell remains

In which I cannot hear the sea

Or find solace for these pains.

I never truly said goodbye

Or had time to apologize

For the pain I caused you,

But I believe love never dies.

Perhaps you can so testify

Who have gone beyond ere me.

I know I will always love you

Wherever you or I may be.

But this is the only place

That I can come to kneel

While I try to say farewell

And find closure for all I feel. 

                                 GMW (c) Nov 2015

Arizonan Trip-Part 3, Grand Canyon

After my trek to Kingman and travel home on Old 66 again, chasing and watching trains I got to Williams about 2:00 p.m. It was too early to check in. I drove around Williams a bit--research for a future fiction piece or two. I had not been there in a long time. Also took pictures as there were two steam locos parked on the grounds, one that the GCRR does use on a few special runs and the other decommissioned, a small unit that was used by the Saginaw & Manistee logging company. I can very dimly recall seeing it or a similar one around Flagstaff when there were still big sawmills there processing Ponderosa Pine lumber. 

The GCRR complex has three buildings, the hotel, in a big X shape, two story, and the restaurant and the depot, both of which have gift shops. Meals are served buffet style but the food is good and varied with some special diet needs covered. At the evening meal they have a live musician performing, too. My companion and I were up by about seven, had breakfast and were ready to board well before the prescribed hour of 9:00.

I've always loved trains so really looked forward to this. I was not disappointed. Our coach, the Kokopelli, was probably a rehabbed old Santa Fe vista dome car. Each car had a passenger attendant and ours was a jewel. The young lady was a fount of knowledge and pointed out many sights and such as we rolled along. There were refreshments and a cowboy-style entertainer sang with his guitar and told funny tales for awhile.

I've been to the canyon many times over the years, the first before I can really remember, not long after we got to Arizona in 1946 but it never fails to impress. The views are truly breathtaking but if you are acrophobic can be intimidating as the guard rails and such are minimalist! I never was and so though I am more careful now since I know I do fall at times, I get close to the edge in places. Light was variable due to broken clouds but I got a few decent photos.

There we got on a bus and toured several of the main viewpoints with a stop for lunch at the Maswick Lodge, where we would have stayed if we had elected the night stop-over trip, a bit pricier. Our driver and tour guide was also great and she even played a cedar flute at one stop. Not quite R Carlos Nakai or Robert Mirabal but a very nice touch!! I complimented her. 

We heard about Mary Coulter, an early 1900s female architect who designed most of the original buildings in Grand Canyon Village and is also responsible for many of the Santa Fe depots and Harvey Houses in the now iconic Spanish Colonial style. She got less credit than she deserved, being a woman! The rustic style she created at the canyon is perfect for the setting.

The trip back was pleasant as the sun sank, clouds finally clearing away somewhat. There had been broken clouds all day which made for a mixture of light at the Canyon for photos. There was a mock train robbery, strictly for the tourists and kids. We found it kind of silly but no biggie. 

All the facilities are operated by a firm called Xanterra. They have concessions at a number of national parks now and are very conservation and eco-conscious. The people we dealt with were 99% super and the overall experience top drawer all the way. If one expects five star stuff, you will not be greatly disappointed. I gave them a good review on a couple of sites. I figured that was the least I could do.

I noted there are a lot more mules now at the canyon. It seems they do mild rides along the rim as well as the big one all the way down to Phantom Ranch at the bottom of the canyon and I think still also up to the North Rim during the summer season. Facilities there are closed now as it is about 1500 feet higher than the South Rim. I'd seen their ad for wranglers in the two mule magazines I subscribe to and used that as a small trigger for an in-process tale.

This experience was the highlight and real focus of my trip although only took a bit less than a full three days. I thoroughly enjoyed it all and would go back in a flash! I recommend it highly if anyone is passing that way (I-40 through northern Arizona) on a vacation type trip and looking for fun activities. There is something for everyone and it is overall a reasonable cost by today's standards.

Here are a few photos. Click on any one to get a larger version slide show.

Kokopelli Coach

View across Grand Canyon to north

Mule trail visible diagonally
across mesa in center

Grand Canyon Village-El Tovar
 in center and other Coulter bldgs

One More for Veterans' Day

As the sun sank on this day, I sat in my secure little house, in the comfort of my familiar chair. Thoughts drifted across my mind, images of wreaths and flags and poppies, the emblems of the day. One day, I realized, was not enough. Lip service and parades, glib words and careless salutes, empty platitudes of honor and gratitude and perhaps a free lunch. So not enough!

My words are not enough either but they are heart felt and sincere. My grandfather served in the Spanish America war, my father in World War II, my late husband in Korea, friends and classmates in Vietnam and my son in the first Desert Storm. No, nothing is truly enough. Yet it seems to be all we can do. 

War is never “just” or good or right but it is a human failing to divide ourselves into us versus them and fight for whatever pretext our leaders may devise. Perhaps it will always be so. We cannot transfer the evil of the institution onto those who serve; they obey their orders, the fervor of patriotism and sometimes the propaganda that is created to fire up a people. As the sun sinks, I am secure and warm in my little house as so many are not now and never will be or have been. How can we fix this wounded world of ours and our siblings of every color and creed? By all holy, I wish I knew. Still I honor those who have fought with at least a true belief in their purpose. 

     364 Days a Year... 

With little fanfare

            File and rank

Pass in review.

            Will no one thank

Them for their sacrifice,

            The all they gave?

Medals and honors

            They do not crave

But only that we care

            And maybe note

In sweat and blood the epic

            History they wrote.

With little fanfare

            Rank and file

Pass in review.

            Just stand awhile,

Render homage they deserve.

            Honor the price they paid

That all might live in peace

            And unafraid. 

            Someday…

Blessed with Talented Friends!

I've been blessed to have some very talented friends. Some of them write books and share those with me. Others make all sorts of "neat stuff" and I am an occasional lucky recipient of their weaving, spinning, sewing,, crafts  and so on. I try to reciprocate. It seems odd to me but also somehow fitting that many folks are able to do a number of creative things. There are many writers in my circle of friends and most of them have at least one other creative hobby. Well, I do myself, actually several. I sew, draw, design clothes (ask me about my paper dolls!) make jewelry and do fabric art and patchwork projects. However I never mastered the art of painting. I wish I had but it is just not my talent.

An older friend lives in Florida and is a super water color artist. I have some bookmarks and greeting cards she created that are exquisite. Then two other friends took photographs I supplied of me with some of my beloved horses and produced wonderful oil paintings that just blow me away.

Gaye and Leo Mix, c: 1963

The first one, Judy, was one of my pen pals from the days I spoke of awhile back. She lived in southern California at the time and since the background of the photo showed some ugly old tin barns, she put the scenery she knew in the picture but my mount, a young QH stallion named Leo Mix and me in the saddle came out exactly as they appear in the photograph. See for yourself!

And the painting

Then I picked up on my recent trip a new painting done by an old friend. We were neighbors and school pals starting from the time Evelyn was about nine and I was eleven! We did ride together a few times but not as often as perhaps we both would have liked. Anyway she took the photo of me and my dear mare Tina which has appeared in many places and produced a real masterpiece. I didn't know she was an artist, let alone a very gifted one until recently! And here are the two versions of that picture.

As you can see, she changed the color of my shirt and it blends in better with the sky and scenery so I think that is artistic license well applied. These two paintings now hang together in a place of honor in my living room where I show them off with pride. It is a very special blessing to have such talented friends. I am very thankful for them and many others that are as dear to me as the sisters I never had by blood. They are the sisters of my heart!

Thank you Evelyn and Judy, who I now have no idea where to locate. The last I heard of her she was in Arizona but I suspect has returned to California which was her home for much of her life. She went through some difficult times but I hope was able to continue her art. At least I do know where Evelyn is, still happily married to her high school sweetheart after fifty years and living the good life!

Marking Two Important Dates

I could not let two days this week pass unnoticed. They are both important, one to me personally and the other to many folks.

It was on November 10, 2003 that both my little Brittany Spaniel Butch and my life partner left me within a very few minutes of each other. I have had other well loved dogs since then and at least one serious relationship that ultimately did not work out but I will miss my mate and partner for the rest of my days in this world. We had thirty two good years and just over two months together in which I helped him raise two children and worked on one novel together as well as sharing many other adventures. 

I do not feel like we were working out any karmic issues although I think we may have shared a life in the distant past as partners. I've been working along on a fictitious version of what I have sensed. For now it is called The Way to Iona and takes place at the time St. Columba had his Christian colony on the isle between Ireland and Scotland. However, I suspect Jim will be reunited with his first wife in the next life since they had a lot of issues unresolved when she died suddenly a few months before he and I met and joined forces. 

As for little Butch, he waits with a whole pack of other canine friends and a herd of horses and mules there at the Rainbow Bridge and I will see him again too. It's a comforting belief, at least for me. 

Then of course Wednesday, November 11 is Veteran's Day or as a few old folks still call it, Armistice Day. At first it marked the end of World War I but has since come to be the day we honor all our fallen military folk and remember that we owe a great debt to them and to those who continue to serve to this day. I am no longer involved in activities as I was when I was an active VFW Auxiliary member back in Huachuca City but that does not mean the date has no meaning for me now. That will never be!

Below I repost a verse I wrote and recited at a ceremony held at VFW Post 10,342 some years ago, and a photo of Butch and one of my husband and me on our wedding day. It is hard to believe I was once so young! I adopted a very "hippie" style in those days and wed in a green dress I had made myself.

Gaye and Jim, 3 Sep 1971

Butch, sweet little friend

Veteran's Day

I hear the drum roll in my mind

and then I see, before, behind,

the Silent Legions marching past

to join the Great Parade, at last...

From Flanders Fields and Iwo's sands,

from nameless near and distant lands

where they have fought and bled and died

for to uphold the Nation's Pride

and secure the Peace and Liberty

today enjoyed by you and me...

Each heart with praise should overflow

and gladly search for ways to show

that we remember and we care

and at least in spirit share

their sacrifice, their gift, their pain.

We know they did not die in vain.

   

The torch still burns: we carry on

 the flame kept bright by those now gone.

 They're marching still, they're fighting yet;

 and so must we...lest we forget.               (c)  GMW, Nov 1986

Arizona Trip Part 2--Chasing Trains

Before I cover the Grand Canyon section, I will digress a bit to my drive back east from Kingman on the 27th. Old 66 takes off north and east from Kingman so I headed that way, determined to enjoy the scenery and look for trains! I managed both. This region rises in elevation from the desert around Kingman in about three steps to the alpine zone of Williams and Flagstaff. Most of it has been ranching country for many years, well over 100 to near 150 I would say.

I suppose many would find it stark, barren and downright ugly, but I do not. Those open spaces edged by the first plateau level's cliffs speak to me in a special way. Maybe in a past life I roamed there as a Native American centuries ago. At any rate, it feels very familiar and comforting to me. I was playing some of my favorite road trip music--a CD by Cusco, and two more called Cries from the Earth and Ancient Voices. The music seems made for this scenery. Still with a touch of melancholy from my morning's errand I drove along a near deserted old two lane road and finally stopped to get a few shots of lovely lonesome.

While I was doing that I heard a train approaching at my back, the tracks running perhaps a quarter of a mile off the road. I snapped a shot of the container unit freight and then chased it along the road, finally getting ahead enough to catch it coming in to Seligman. That's an old rail town cut off when they made I-40 to replace Old 66 and not too much there now. I then went on a little farther toward Ashfork where the old highway finally merges back to I-40 and got a couple more photos of the same train. One I especially liked, just past the Crookton Overpass, where the old highway crosses the double tracks, a site well known to rail fans for photo ops. Ashfork, BTW, is known as the home of the beautiful Coconino red and pink flagstone used in much Arizona building and even exported to other places. It is quite unique.

Here are a few of the shots I took. You may not see in them what I do but they are special and powerful to me! They represent part of my spirit's home.

BNSF container unit train
just east of Crookton Overpass

A lovely lonesome Arizona ladscape 

School house in Valentine, AZ
A semi ghost town on Old 66 

Arizona Trip--Part 1, Driving West

I left Sunday Oct 25 about 9:30. It was a lovely day and I sailed along first to Carizozo and then across a couple of low mountain ranges and a wide plain to I-25 just south of Socorro. Took off from the freeway (anymore I do not even want to go through Albuquerque as it must be about the 2nd crime capital of the world with daily murders and such--yikes!!) at Los Lunas for a shortcut up to link to I-40. My eyes were kind of fussy but not too bad.

Charlie and I had heard about a train derailment Friday night near Gallup so I was on the lookout. It turned out to be on the east side and as I saw machinery etc along the tracks, I pulled off to the frontage road and found a safe spot to stop, walk up onto a road bridge that was closed to vehicle traffic and took a bunch of pictures. It looked like about 30 cars and left the rails and torn up a lot of track. This is mainline BNSF and they had worked 24/7 to get it running but I expect they had a low speed through the area. It was interesting to see the mess anyway, at least to a long tern rail fan. 

On into town I took a shot of the old depot and looked around a little and then went to find my motel; It was on the far west side of town and whereas most of the lodging was on the left or east side of "Old 66" which is motel row, this newer one was on the west so I missed it and did a few extra miles before I finally got the right spot. By then I was frazzled so just got into the room, heated a microwave dish and kicked back to listen to the trains going by. The tracks were probably not 100 yards away but I *love* the sound and it did not bother me a bit. I lived even closer for two years while in college at Flagstaff.

Next morning I gulped a protein drink, checked out, gassed RHM --in case you have forgotten Red Hot Mama is my little red Mazda pickup--and headed west. Another gorgeous day and my eyes were clear. Stopped in Flagstaff for  brunch and gas and then drove on west to Kingman. I followed Charlie's advice and took the Old 66 route from Seligman on to Kingman--great scenery and along the mainline track, No traffic and a great way to drive. I got into Kingman where the old highway becomes "Andy Devine Drive" I needed a pit stop so went into a Jack in the Box and got a shake--they make great thick ones!--and hit the ladies room. Then time to look for my motel and there it was, not a block away. Awesome--no hunting required. 

Another microwave meal and watched the History Channel all evening. Still could hear trains but not so close. It was warm and I had a window cracked all night. Kingman is real desert. I was then ready for my personal pilgrimage errand fhe next morning. I drove around a bit and stopped at a Smith's grocery where I found a pretty dark red and white mum plant that seemed to be just right. Then I drove down to the Mountain View Cemetery on Stockton Hill Road. I missed the main gate and wound up at the back where a guy drove up in a pickup and asked me what I needed. I explained my intent. He said he'd meet me at the office and there looked up the exact location of the grave I sought. When I got off track he came down and walked me to the exact spot. He was very nice and I was a bit too unsettled to get his name but will try to write a letter of thanks.

Anyway I put the plant down and talked a moment to someone who was only there in the form of the shell he left behind and took a couple of photos. I did not weep but it was both a closure and a powerful moment I had waited a long time to experience. This was my "first love" and one that I wronged unintentionally back in 1971. I did speak to him in a dream a few years back and felt he understood but this sealed that and was something I really had to do. For his and his kids' privacy I need to blur the name on the stone but I will post the photo here a bit later.

From there I drove back on Old 66 to Williams and then waited for Mary Frances to meet me so we could get ready for the special adventure of the train trip to the Grand Canyon.

...to be continued!

Here are a couple of train wreck shots and one of the Kingman Depot for now

North and east from accident site

West from site--gray ballast
is repair track area

Kingman Depot--now a historical building
traditional ATSF "Spanish" style