Observations

The nearly five-week absence of a an updated post to my blog was essentially because I felt I had nothing of any particular interest to write about or photograph. I did not want the blog to become a progress report on my knee replacement surgery and rehabilitation. At the outset I hope for an unremarkable recovery and that it has been. Physical therapy is done for now and I continue to work out at the Sisters Athletic Club and have returned to moderate cycling. Moderate is all I can manage since my endurance was used in recovery. Knee replacement surgery is a tough road and takes time. I'm now at 2 months and the progress will go on for a year. The second round is set for October 7th which means I should be feeling really good by early December. So, that's it in a nutshell.
While I did nothing more than workout, ice the knee and sleep a lot, we had a great water feature installed in the backyard. Diane and I sit out on the deck now more than ever and last night we both saw the face in the tree looking back at us. We had never noticed it before and now it's as clear as can be. Like the Man-In-The-Moon or the face of Tis-sa-ack on Half Dome in Yosemite, once you see it it is there forever. I take the first sighting as a small sign that everything is proceeding as it is supposed to in my life. I used the phrase "understanding the space between the leaves" as a way to learn patience. The rehabilitation from surgery has been a daily challenge to be patient. I can't make the recovery go any faster than my body will allow. The tree and I will have a lot more face time in the next few months.

Winning and remembering

Matt Wilson outsprints Tom Wilson at the end of Stage 2 of the Cascade Cycling Classic. His victory in the 80-mile road race from Bend to the finish at the Three Creeks Sno-Park, eleven miles up a steep climb from Sisters was bittersweet, however, as he constantly thought about his teammate Ben Brooks who was critically injured in a crash during the first stage on Wednesday. Motivation often comes with a backstory. Wilson and Brooks are long-time friends, training partners and teammates from Australia. After the race Wilson went directly to the hospital in Bend to see his friend. For me, the race was an opportunity to get out of the house and attempt to maneuver with the walker and a couple of cameras. It was strange to cover an event albeit with self-imposed restrictions. There wasn't a lot of running around after the race to find a nice moment. I am just grateful to be out and making the attempt to get back to normalcy.

Backyard residents

It has been suggested to me that it is time to change the blog from the "Insomnia" entry to something lighter. Don't get me wrong, the insomnia post was meant to be somewhat humorous and certainly doesn't reflect my overall positive attitude about my rehabilitation since the knee surgery two weeks ago. Actually, the rehab is progressing right on schedule. The physical therapist and a nurse practitioner who works with my ortho doc say the window of opportunity lasts six weeks for me to gain as much range of motion as possible. After that, the progress is minimal. I already have total extension of the leg. Flexion, the degree the knee can bend, needs to get to 120º and that is the tough task ahead. I got to 100º in P.T. today which is a big improvement from 85º last Thursday. Bending and stretching the knee to break up the scar tissues stings like hell. And my choice is what? There are stories of some who couldn't or wouldn't do the work and had to undergo joint manipulation under anaesthesia. That is not an acceptable alternative. It defeats my goal of a totally unremarkable experience. I'll deal with the pain which actually subsides rather quickly. Lots of walking around with the aid of a walker (my neighbor has started calling me Jaywalker). My recreation and escape off the bed is to sit on the deck and watch the chipmunks, squirrels and birds come to the feeders. While my former work cohorts are involved in 24/7 hand-wringing over the death spiral the newspaper industry seems to be in and all the online discussion of solutions, suggestions and blame throwing, I can escape to the decks and simply sit and do nothing. I have knee rehabilitation as my only and most important job. And, in October, I get to do this all again on the other knee. Winter will be coming on and I'll need to be a lot more creative when I can't get outside as much. I'll be thinking about that.

Insomnia

"Miles from nowhere
I guess I'll take my time
Oh yeah, to reach there

Look up at the mountain
I have to climb
Oh yeah, to reach there.

Lord my body has been a good friend
But I won't need it when I reach the end."

- Cat Stevens, 1970

A week into my long recovery and rehabilitation from knee reconstruction surgery I've learned a few things: improvement is slow, the pain manageable with meds, stretching is excruciating, and tomorrow may be better than today but no guarantees. My sleeping patterns coincide with pain management

so I'm usually awake in the early morning. This is the time when all the committee's in mind decide to meet to rehash topics I have no control over. Nothing, of course, is ever resolved and after an hour or so I start to relax and get on with the second half of the night's sleep pattern.

A central Oregon bouquet

I went on my last bike ride for awhile yesterday, cruising easily along the bucolic Metolius River where the old summer cabins along the bank are occupied with seasonal guests. The campgrounds are full and the wonderful scent
of wood fires float across the road. I'm in no hurry as I want to savor this day and contemplate what lies ahead with my knee surgeries. It's strange to be at peace with the constant dull pain that now does not subside even when I'm on the bike like it used to. Change is coming.
I carried my Canon point-and shoot camera in the hope of making a couple of pictures. On the gradual ascent out of the Camp Sherman basin the wildflowers became increasingly abundant and colorful. Central Oregon is in the midst of a wildflower bloom that has not been seen in many years. The long winter and
schizophrenic spring have given back in a fantastic spread of Lupine, Indian Paintbrush, Monkeyflower, sunflowers and a myriad of other tiny species. As I was nearing the top of the final hill before the last five miles from home I spotted a large spread of lupine in an area where a controlled burn happened a couple of years ago. I went back this morning with Diane to photograph the scene. It occurred to me that I was walking through gift of flowers before the surgery. I prefer that to a bouquet in a hospital room. By the time I'm mobile again the bloom will be gone. In time I will be able to hike into the wilderness to see more of the beauty of this area. For now, the wildflower field will sustain me.




There is one big downside to this surgery event: I will have little to photograph or write about. I cannot imagine that anyone really cares
to hear very much about molybdenum/plastic knees, physical therapy and rehabilitation or the countless number of sports programs and old movies I'll watch. Actually, I am looking forward to watching the Tour de France, Wimbeldon and the Olympics. That's a fair line-up of acceptable television options. I'll also entertain weird and off-beat suggestions from those who just can't pass up the opportunity to poke fun at a stationary target.

How did I get here?

One year ago I began this blog as my personal method of deciphering what "retirement" is all about. I had no grand design or preconceived notion about what I would show or say to anyone who might have the slightest passing interest. As this blog evolved I realized that there were people out there who would read the blog if it was thoughtful,
conscientious and combined with documentary photography. So, that being said, this posting takes an abrupt inward turn; it is about me, rather than what's around me. One week from now my life will never be the same. Actually, every day is like that but the subtle daily changes everyone's lives are barely noticed. Back to my point: On June 23rd I will have the first of two total knee joint replacement surgeries. Degeneratve arthritis in both knees has progresses to the point where the procedure is imperative. That a solution is available and is done regularly with a high success rate is incredible. I wince at the thought of the predicament people were in 10 or 20 years ago or longer. Did they just finally give up, sit in a wheelchair or suffer silently until they died of something else?
Modern medicine is my version of a miracle. I have been reflecting for a long
time about what occurred to bring me to this moment when I am willing and eager to let a surgeon essentially amputate my leg, remove the knee joint and insert a titanium replacement. I went back through some old photographs of me (there aren't all that many) because I know I have led a exuberant and energetic life. Perhaps I


should have acted on the advice of a physical therapist in my college days who said that I should not be a runner because I had such lousy knees and flat feet. My favorite quote rings in my head, "the years teach what the days can never know." Yet, I don't regret a minute of the places I've been and the great people who were there with me at the time. The photographs I've chosen represent periods in my physical life. (1) an instructor in the Colorado Outward Bound School, summer 1972; photographing the EA Ranch in North Park. Colorado, the homestead of my long-time friend Ed Howard, summer 1974; at the Kentucky Derby Balloon festival, May 1977; running around Lake Union in Seattle during a trip to cover the University of Kentucky men's basketball team in the Final Four, March 1984; the last day of the ascent of El Capitan in Yosemite National Park when I was photographing Mark Wellman, the first paraplegic climber to make the summit; completing my second (and last) Markleeville Death Ride, a one-day, 15,000' of elevation gain over during a 130 mile cycling event, July 2005. What comforts me is that the last of the disciplines I've enjoyed (cycling, mountaineering, climbing, running, skiing, and a rigorous professional life) cycling is what saved me from the operating table for at least five years. I kept my quadriceps strong which supported the knee joints, allowing me to continue working and riding. I rode to live, to work, to eat, to rest and ride again. I did save the best for last. It was hard to give up running yet an obvious decision when knee pain overtakes the will to put on the shoes and head out to the road. Cycling was more than a substitute; it became a passion. Cycling was the only time I could actually be pain free, at least in the knees. Completing centuries was easier than walking a half-mile. I have one job now for the rest of 2008. Rehab. Everything else is behind me now. The home projects are done, Allison is here and working. Our plan which began almost four years ago is still real and happening, day by day. I am totally ready of for the next phase of "moving on."

We'll not pass this way again.

June, 1964. I graduated from North High School at a ceremony at the Denver Auditorium. Fast forward to June 6, 2008 and the commencement tradition continues. Allison graduates from C.K. McClatchy High School at a ceremony at the Sacramento Memorial Auditorium. Forty-four years in the interim with all the life of ups and downs that the commencement
speeches predicted. The valedictory addresses stay on the same theme and the passing of time will enforce the wave of changes that the speakers ask the Class of 2008 to embrace. I realize this is the final high school graduation ceremony for my children I'll attend with so many memories attached. My sons, Jesse
and Josh graduated from schools in Louisville, Kentucky years ago and I have photographs of those times. There are no pictures from my 1964 ceremony so I only have fading memories of that day. I recall my group of friends I went out with after the event. Steve Holmes, Mike Mapelli, Dave Wendelin and Gene Heinemeyer. We bought some beer, went out to golf course and
sat on the 15th green, looked at the stars and laughed about all the crazy things we'd done. We were chased off by a guard and all went home. I never saw any of them again. Allison was surrounded by her cadre of friends and calling others she can't find in the crowd on her cell phone. Parents and friends are constantly snapping group of seniors who may never be this close again. The gravity of the moment and the relentless change that all of the
seniors will experience is not being considered. The good-byes begin one hug at a time. One of the speakers said that he was looking forward to reunions in 20 and 40 years to see how his classmates managed their lives. He's got it right. The end of high school is the beginning of adult life. Yea, there is still college, mainly supported by parents, but the shift toward independency begins, for most, after the senior year in high school. I remember leaving two days after graduation for the summer to attend an rigorous instructor training course at the Colorado Outward Bound School. I stayed on there to work in course support and logistics and then came back to Denver two days before entering the University of Colorado at Boulder. I never missed high school like Allison will. I only looked back at my high school days at the 10, 20 and 40 year reunions and at each succeeding one it was clear that the only journey that I could fully connect with was my own. As a parent I can only watch and sometimes advise and bring my perspective to Jesse, Josh and Allison who are also "moving on."

...could it be?

It has occurred to me that there is actually a fifth season in central Oregon: Springter. The region has been teased with a few isolated days of actual spring-like conditons and even a day or two of near-summer temps. Then the rains and cold return and everyone goes about
their activities mumbling to themselves. Fortunately I've had a lot of inside work to do on the master bath renovation, the downside is the opportunities to get out on the bike have been limited. Then, yesterday, the large cold front hanging over the northwest began to move east and you could feel the change.
I watched the clouds dissipate over the 3 Sisters and then in the late afternoon while on my way to a social function with the Deschutes Land Trust I saw the full-on beauty of Mt. Jefferson. For me the season has certainly moved into what's left of Spring. There are other changes happening as well. Allison finished her McClatchy high school days in Sacramento and will graduate next week. We'll attend and then help her relocate to Sisters and her summer job, then on to the University of Oregon in September. My first TKR (total knee replacement) is three weeks away and the new master bath with the walk-in shower will get a lot of use. Change is upon us and it feels great.

Sisters of the Quilt

Oh, had I a golden Thread
And needle so fine
I've weave a magic strand
Of rainbow design
Of rainbow design.

In it I'd weave the bravery
Of women giving birth,
In it I would weave the innocence
Of children over all the earth,
Children of all earth.

Far over the waters
I'd reach my magic band
Through foreign cities,
To every single land,
To every land.

Show my brothers and sisters
My rainbow design,
Bind up this sorry world
With hand and heart and mind,
Hand and heart and mind.

Far over the waters
I'd reach my magic band
To every human being
So they would understand,
So they'd understand.

Words and music by Pete Seeger, 1958













Sisters, Oregon, May 22, 2008.
A room in the home of Jan Sims is filled with lively chatter over whirring sewing machines. Colorful strips of fabric, mostly in the patriotic colors of red, white and blue, are being cut, pieced together, sewn and ironed. This group of women, and they are among many across the country, are Hero Quilters.

The American Hero Quilts began in the Seattle area in 2004 as a way to say thanks and provide a bit of comfort for Iraq war soldiers recovering from battle injuries. The movement has spread nationally. Sisters, Oregon, known for it's scenic beauty, artistic community and exquisite quilting was a natural fit for the women who volunteer their time, and most often their money, to make the Hero Quilts. During the weekly sessions, there isn't talk of politics, the war or other issues that get in the way of the work. It's all about the quilts and the thoughts of who will receive them.

One-hundred-four quilts have been donated in the 18 months the group has been active. Another 30 or so await the computerized quilting process and the women keep on cutting and sewing. Their reward is knowing that the veterans who receive them find comfort and a tribute to their sacrifice.

The group received a letter recently from a mother of a wounded son.

Dear American Hero Quilt Ladies,
My name is Ranae Simmons. Last week at the Warrior Transition Battalion you
presented my son with a hero quilt. I am writing to tell you about my son and
that quilt. My son did not want to come and get his quilt. His Sgt. said they
had to make it an order that he come down to the common room. He was one of
the last to receive a quilt as you were packing up. Perhaps you remember him,
he is the the very quiet man with haunted eyes. On Friday he had rather
extensive surgery with several bone grafts and skin grafts. My husband and I
were stunned when he appeared at the hospital with his quilt. He has not
shown an interest in anything or anyone since he was injured. The last thing
he asked before they wheeled him away was that we keep his quilt with us and
make sure nothing happened to it. When he woke up his first words to us were
not how glad he was to see us, it was "do you have my quilt?" He asked that it
was immediately put on him, he said he was cold.

I have been thinking a lot about that quilt and my son. We thought we had lost
him emotionally and we despaired of ever getting him back. He was not connecting
with anyone in our family, not even his nephew who he has adored since our little
guy was born. This quilt seems to give him comfort, warmth and is the first sign
that maybe our son will come back to us. This quilt is clearly something that
you spent a great deal of time on. I just wanted to let you know that to us,
this quilt is hope and to our son it is priceless.

Thank you so much for the honor you have done to my son. From our family, thank
you for helping bring our son back to us.

Ranae Simmons.


This is Memorial Day weekend, the traditional first weekend of summer. Despite gas prices the traffic over the Cascades on Highway 20 is heavy. People going on with their lives, to have fun, recreate, enjoy the freedoms that are essentially taken for granted. For the veterans who are dealing with their injuries in hospitals and in their homes, the concept of freedom and it's cost cannot be displaced by a long weekend of camping and fishing. The best result is that a beautiful quilt from the Hero Quilters will begin to say "thank you." Hearts and hands can bind up and bring hope to a sorry world to those who saw their duty to make the world a better place to live.

Moving On, Vol.2

After the overwhelming response to my first compilation CD,

Moving On, Songs In Transition

yes, all two copies, I've forged ahead with

Moving On, Vol. 2: Music for the Journey.

(Laugh here). Now, seriously, the music I listen to is varied, acoustic based, and contemplative. The tracks on the new album, all instrumental, have relevance to me and hopefully you, another listener.

The tracks are:



The Hymn Of Ordinary Motion: J. Douglas, R. Barenberg, E. Meyer

Over the Rainbow: Tommy Emmanuel

Big Bug Shuffle: Jerry Douglas, Russ Barenberg, Edgar Meyer

Send In The Clowns: Tony Rice & John Carlini

Pastorale: Ray Lynch

Take Five: Dave Brubeck Quartet

You Deserve Flowers: Chris Thile

California Quail: Joe Weed

Mendelssohn: Songs Without Words,
Book I, Op.19, Andante con moto: Luba Edlina

Vivaldi: Concerto In D Major For Lute, Strings & Continuo: Frederic Hand

Three/Quarter North: Leo Kottke

Ashokan Farewell: Jay Ungar & Molly Mason

Arms Of Mary: Leo Kottke

Bygone Days: Eileen Ivers

A Whiter Shade of Pale: David Lanz

Deep At Night: Alex de Grassi

The Dark Island: Neal Hellman - Joe Weed

Closing: Linda Ronstadt and Ann Savoy

Goodnight Irene: George Winston


There are two reasons for this album: One, each track reminds me of a particular point in my life when the music was absolutely perfect for the moment. I can (and will on request) describe the event(s) that made the piece a part of my audio archive. Just one for example: Bygone Days. I heard this piece while enroute to Grass Valley, CA to photograph a memorial service for Adam Strain, a Grass Valley high school graduate and star football player and an Iraq war causualty. It was being played on KVMR, the public radio station there. I later contacted Brian Terhorst, the d.j. on the program "Harmony Ridge" who told me that he played the song because he was thinking about his father he never knew who died in the Korean War.

Should you be adventurous, all I need is an e-mail address so we can connect and go from there. The album is free, a gift from me to the visitors of my blog.

Photography and writing is the core of my blog. The music is the third dimension.

The Big Picture

It hasn't been since completing the deck refinishing project last summer that I've felt every ache and pain from a big home project. My sleep and my motivation to keep going is impacted. I'm nearly done with building the new vanity and linen cabinet in the bathroom remodeling project and it's not any too soon. I'm glad I don't do THAT for a living. I took a short break yesterday to make a few images for the Deschutes Land Trust of the Oregon Game & Fish Dept. planting steelehead fry in Whyshcus Creek where it flows through Camp Polk Meadow. The photograph of the guy hauling the fish upstream is exactly how I feel these days. Trying to make progress going upstream.

The concept I need to remind myself is of the "big picture." The issues of daily life, sometimes trivial, irritating, painful, or quite serious for many reasons, are all part of that. A researcher who has studied how some segments of the world's population live long lives (to 100 +) has published a book and newspapers are picking up the story. I read about his research in the Bend Bulletin.

Common to all the groups are nine factors. Dan Buettner’s nine tips for longer life, from his book “The Blue Zones”:

1. Move Naturally. Be active without having to think about it.
2. Hara Hachi Bu. Painlessly cut calories by 20 percent.
3. Plant Slant. Avoid meat and processed food.
4. Grapes of Life. Drink red wine (in moderation).
5. Purpose Now. Take time to see the big picture.
6. Down Shift. Take time to relieve stress.
7. Belong. Participate in a spiritual community.
8. Loved Ones First. Make family a priority.
9. Right Tribe. Be surrounded by those who share Blue Zone values.

I think I'm right there on most of these points (maybe not so much of 7 or 9) and it is not surprising that taking time to understand the big picture is akin to understanding the "space between the leaves," that Carlos Castenada wrote about. Considering then the overall sceanrio of my life allows me to share that
Diane and I celebrated our 12th anniversary recently. It is not about the number of years, it's more of how we got to this point in our lives separately, then together. That is a big picture. We decided to get married and had a little personal ceremony in Yosemite National Park in 1995. That's the photo on the left. We're 13 years later posing for our camera along Tuamlo Creek near Bend, Oregon. There are great stories and wonderful moments between those two photographs. Our lives move together easily and allow us both to try to live like were are in a "Blue Zone." I don't expect to live to 100 though. Just another 30 please?

A convenient collaboration

I have a saying, "Work is what you do when you wish you were doing something else." So I must simply be tired from not working. I took a break from my cabinet making and went to the Sisters Athletic Club for an hour spin class and then went out toward Redmond to see how Dayton was doing.
He was just finishing carving around the bear's feet. That completes the rough profile of the 15' sculpture. From now on the work will be far more detailed and days will pass before there are obvious changes. Fatigue is one of our common bonds and we acknowledge that. Dayton is first to say that he appreciates my company and that my time with him has
motivated him. My response is that I like being around and watching his progress. I know that our separate arts are meant to be together for this project. I am more fortunate. Being new to central Oregon I've looked for ways to continue my photographic journey, my life's work (there's that word again). My days with Brent McGregor, the dancers of the Sacramento Ballet, the Deschutes Land Trust have brought many nice moments.
Also, the spin class two days a week brings a good dose of wellness and more opportunities to expand friendships outside of photography.

In six weeks, however, the whole scene is going to change. My first knee replacement is June 23rd. I'll be pressed to find interesting topics to write about or photograph and I will not bore anyone with endless accounts of my recovery. I'm just hoping that I can have Diane drive me out to see Dayton. I'd hate to miss too much of the convenient collaboration we have going.


Oh, by the way, just to answer the old question, "does a bear shit in the woods?" Yes. And carved bears drop huge piles of sawdust. Dayton knows. He gets to shovel the latter.

Philosophy and a chain saw

For two years Dayton has been planning this project and for the past nine days he has begun to reveal his vision. The platform has been lowered as he carves his way down the log. The bear has come out of redwood hibernation. Dayton after the first pass through the log is tired.
The chainsaw, an older Stihl model, is heavy and he feels the effort every night. During the carving
his mind races ahead to where the carving will go. And, there is an unexpected thought as he pauses and walks away from the platform to get a fresh perspective, to study the scale and plan for the next round of cuts.

He shared with me that he contemplates how many millions of years it took to produce the gasoline and oil he uses in his saw, the evolution of man and the technology necessary to place him in front of the massive redwood log at this moment in time to carve his bear, the epitome of wildness in an era when the Earth's viability is in jeopardy.

In that regard I think about my place in this little drama on the high desert of Central Oregon: The web of life, all the years of photojournalism that taught me to recognize a good story in my own backyard and the sequence of events, professional and personal that led me here as well.

Wind in the sails

It has been a week since the slightest amount of snow flurries. I've been deep into the demolition of our old master bathroom and trying at the same time to keep up with the incredible progress Dayton is making on his bear sculpture. He captured the essence of how this week has gone for both of us. "I've got wind in my sails." This is the
artist fully involved, concentrating as he slices into the log that will become the epitome of a wild creature. Within another week he will have completed the first layer of cuts. The platform will be raised back to the top of the bear's head and he will work more intricately to define the face, mouth, belly, arms and legs. It is only a matter of time and energy before the
bear looks less like Winnie the Poo and more like a well-fed, cantankerous bear with a serious attitude. So, despite the bathroom renovation, Dayton's project, weird sleep patterns, daily life continues to be exactly what I expect: no day is the same and that suits me just fine.