Return to the Burn

I see the Burn,

And the Burn sees me.

What do I want?

What can I be?

The Man being prepared for the Burn,  Burning Man 2017

The Man being prepared for the Burn,  Burning Man 2017

Warning: You may be disappointed by this blog.

In 2011, When I first attended Burning Man I didn’t tell anyone I was going. I didn’t tell co-workers, friends, family, or especially my children. I was afraid of their preconceived notions of what happenes at Burning Man.  I really didn’t want to talk about my personal feelings about drugs, sex, alcohol, and public nudity. I wanted to take a trip to the “edge”, whatever that was, and return to tell the tale.

Someone, but not me,, at the Burning Man event boundary, A.K.A the "Trash Fence" 

Someone, but not me,, at the Burning Man event boundary, A.K.A the "Trash Fence" 

Earth Guardian's playa geology lesson

Earth Guardian's playa geology lesson

At Burning Man there are millions of choices and see the possibilities are as overwhelming as the dust. Most experiences are unique to the Burn and can be a big personal challenge involving physical and/or emotional risk. There are free bars, personal development classes, silly games, strange events, unusual activities,  interesting people to meet,  the beautiful desert, and inspired art galore.

Bloggers must make lists, so for the record, here are my Burning Man 2017 lists.

 A Dozen Things I DID NOT do at Burning Man:

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1.     I did not drop psychedelic drugs and wander aimlessly “discovering” myself.

2.     I did not walk naked, exposed, and/or intoxicated in the 90-degree heat "finding" myself.

3.     I did not have sex with a stranger (man or woman) in the Orgy Dome "exploring" myself. 

4.     I did not drink until I threw up on someone else, or myself. 

5.     I did not jump on an art car and fall off an art car in the open desert, not knowing how I got there.

6.     I did not stay up all night dancing to house music. 

7.      I did not get sick, dehydrated, angry, nauseous, sad, snarky,  grumpy, or disappointed.

8.     I did not act rude, insulting, and/or disrespectful to anyone.

9.     I did not burn any bridges, get sunburned, crash and burn, or burn anything. 

Phoenix Rising crashed into the ashes after it burned. Poor thing. 

Phoenix Rising crashed into the ashes after it burned. Poor thing. 

10.  I did not partake in unusual or fetish activities, like spanking, karaoke porn, or “orgasmic dolphin morning yoga.”

11.  I did not pretend I was someone else or ever wish I were someone else. 

12.  And I did not see the tragic casualty on the night the Man burned.

Phoenix Rising by Nicholas Palmer, and me before it burned and crashed. 

Phoenix Rising by Nicholas Palmer, and me before it burned and crashed. 

In the spirit of "self exploration" I could have done any of those things. But I just didn't. They didn't sound like fun. So just in case you were hoping for a nasty naughty Burning Man story, you won’t get it from me – not this year. Maybe next year. 

There were so many things I could do at Burning Man! How to decide? So, I gave each day and each activity careful consideration. “Why am I here?”  “What do I want to do?” “Where do I want to go?” “What makes me happy?” “What sounds like fun?” “What sounds like ME?”

I wanted my Burn to be a continuation of my new “Whelan on Walkabout” attitude.  “What’s that over the next hill? I’m going to go see.” 

My Baker’s Dozen of Things I DID DO at Burning Man:

1.     I did pick up other people’s trash while drinking champagne with new friends on the MOOP Train art car. MOOP = Matter Out Of Place a.k.a trash. 

The MOOP Train. MOOP = Matter Out Of Place. 

The MOOP Train. MOOP = Matter Out Of Place. 

2.     I did drive a golf cart around the city looking for black water and gray water dripping from rented RV’s.  When we found one, and we found several, I and another Earth Guardian talked to the campers about "Leave-No-Trace" and keeping the desert free of leaked poop. 

3.     I took a quiet personal moment to commune with inspiring art.

Detail from "The Bridge and the Cage" by Valerie Elizabeth Mallory

Detail from "The Bridge and the Cage" by Valerie Elizabeth Mallory

4.     I danced to live Latin music with new friends.

5.     I got stuck in a white-out dust storm while taking photographs with my good friends from Pinhole Project.

"The Shrine of La Santisima Muerte" by El Vaquero Muerto & his Comrades of Questionable Morals. Photo of Pinhole Alumni Cynthia Whelan captured by Larry Michael Robertson and my good friends from Pinhole Project. Thank you James, Karyn and Larry Michael. 

"The Shrine of La Santisima Muerte" by El Vaquero Muerto & his Comrades of Questionable Morals. Photo of Pinhole Alumni Cynthia Whelan captured by Larry Michael Robertson and my good friends from Pinhole Project. Thank you James, Karyn and Larry Michael. 

Everyone loved this tree. There was always a crowd gathered around the base. It was mesmerizing at night. 

Everyone loved this tree. There was always a crowd gathered around the base. It was mesmerizing at night. 

6.     I listened to live music; folk banjo  while drinking my morning coffee, traditional Ukrainian instruments electronically enhanced, deep playa piano, and a breathtaking fire filled gender-bender rock opera circus. 

7.    I won first place in the Earth Guardians quesadilla contest with my special Burning Man recipe: bacon, smoked gouda, and chipotle cedar cheese on a whole wheat tortilla. 

8.     I took care of myself. I kept my water bottle with me everywhere, rested, slowed things down in the mid-day heat, and ate regular healthy meals. Camping takes time and effort, but I felt great. 

My camp within the Earth Guardians camp..

My camp within the Earth Guardians camp..

9.     I wore silly fun clothes that I wouldn’t normally wear in public. 

Deep Playa Pop-up Bar. 

Deep Playa Pop-up Bar. 

Gasoline on the playa is programatic. When spilled it makes one heck of a mess. Earth Guardians remind people to keep their gas cans safely contained and away from the generator. 

Gasoline on the playa is programatic. When spilled it makes one heck of a mess. Earth Guardians remind people to keep their gas cans safely contained and away from the generator. 

10.  I was rewarded a cocktail at a pop-up bar deep in the desert. But first I had to  perform, so I recited the Mother Goose poem "I Saw a Ship A-Sailing" for the bartender. 

11.  I had several meals at the commissary sitting with the hard working Black Rock City laborers.

12.  I was a part of a dedicated team of mission-driven, service-minded citizens. No fears, no tears, no drama, and no trauma, just "Leave-No-Trace." 

13.  I had an absolutely fun and personally insightful time working with the Earth Guardians!

The Earth Guardians were the embodiment of the Burning Man 10 principles. They were inclusive, respectful, immediate, genuine, relaxed, and communicate comfortably. I worked four daily shifts including training and Leave No Trace Outreach, and I was patiently taught how to be an Outreach Dispatcher organizing crews and keeping track of who's doing what. They have a daily program and they stuck to it. Work shifts, talks and activities started on time and I was impressed when the annual group photo took only five minutes! They are a civic group with a common cause and a specimen of effortless teamwork.

Maya's Mind by Michell Riley, a tribute to the poet Maya Angelou, "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings." 

Maya's Mind by Michell Riley, a tribute to the poet Maya Angelou, "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings." 

The famous large-scale pieces of art at Burning Man are beautiful expressions of love, hope, beauty, compassion, and the amazement of being a part of a greater good. I found the Earth Guardians to be an equal expression of those values. Like the large-scale artwork, Earth Guardians have an unselfish purpose and unconditional giving.  A manifestation of hope through a mutual purpose:  protect the playa and take care of what we are so fortunate to have.

Participating with the Earth Guardians was an energizing, life-affirming, experience. I was welcomed into the group as if I had been a part of the team since the beginning. They are a practical crew with a gift and a purpose. “We are Burners and this is how we protect the environment: Leave No Trace.”

Polaroid of Dawn and me on Leave-No-Trace Outreach. 

Polaroid of Dawn and me on Leave-No-Trace Outreach. 

Did I miss all the things I didn’t do at Burning Man? Maybe. Maybe not.  But after working with the Earth Guardians, I am proud to say “I am a Burner.”  I am not afraid of any baggage comes with the label.

I saw the Man
And the Man saw me.
That’s who I am,
And that’s who I’ll be. 
Earth Guardians Group Photo, Burning Man 2017

Earth Guardians Group Photo, Burning Man 2017

Here is a slideshow of my photographs from Burning Man 2017.

In the Shadow of the Moon

Science is Real

A total eclipse of the sun caused distress to ancient people. Now it is an event that brings security and delight.

Most people are familiar with the earliest recorded accounts of total eclipses.

 Eclipse Day April, 648 Before Common Era - Archilochus' Eclipse:

"Zeus, the father of the Olympic Gods, turned mid-day into night, hiding the light of the dazzling Sun; and sore fear came upon men." 
"Nothing can be surprising any more or impossible or miraculous, now that Zeus, father of the Olympians has made night out of noonday, hiding the bright sunlight, and . . . fear has come upon mankind. After this, men can believe anything, expect anything." 

- Archilochus, Greek poet

For me, the eclipse brings nostalgia and comfort. 

Susan Meyers-Holms and me, Cindy Weigel, 1979

Susan Meyers-Holms and me, Cindy Weigel, 1979

Eclipse Day, February 1979 was the last total solar eclipse in the continental United States. I was in my third year of community college and I drove a red-orange Ford mustang with a white racing stripe. I lived in my parents cinderblock track home with a ship’s bell clock that struck chimes every four hours. Sharing a room with my sister, we grew up walking to school traversing the University of Redlands. Nightly, we would hear the roar of jet engines being tested at Norton Air Force Base, and in the winter the air was filled with the smell of near-by orange groves.

Eager to travel, but too afraid to set out on my own, I signed up for classes that would allow me the chance to leave town and see the world. Crafton Hills College offered a course that promised to take me to Kit Peak National Observatory in Arizona, the Very Large Array in New Mexico, and see the total solar eclipse in rural Montana. “Sign me up!”

It was a trip before travel blogs, Google, Facebook, Instagram, digital photos, and iPhones. I have only a few paper photos of the trip, and I can find no written record of who was on the trip, what did I bring, where did we stay, or how long we were gone. What I can recall, is standing in complete amazement in the middle of a snowy cold John Deer tractor dealership parking lot.

What I remember most is how I felt about the eclipse.   

Keith is a Happy Camper with his morning coffee and breakfast burrito. 

Keith is a Happy Camper with his morning coffee and breakfast burrito. 

Eclipse Day 2017. We set the alarm for 5:00 AM, jumped out of the cozy comfort of our teardrop trailer, and drove through sleepy Idaho farmlands. Millions were on the move on the roads of Idaho. The small town of Driggs wasn’t as crowded as I had feared and we were even able to grab a café latte and breakfast burrito before heading out the dirt road to the Sheep Bridge Trailhead. A few days earlier, we had scoped out the location on the Targhee National Forest, just west of Grand Teton National Park. Arriving before sunrise, I was relieved that there was still plenty of parking. Pink Floyd was ringing in our heads: “All is in tune…” we just needed the sun to be eclipsed by the moon.

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We set up our chairs and pulled out our optics.  After months of planning, Keith positioned his spotting scope outfitted with a color-corrected solar protective filter. I had my Olympus camera with my home-made solar-mylar film holder. We wore our solar glasses for safety.  Knowing that I wanted to share the event on my blog, I secured my iPhone for a selfie. We were ready, and we looked good.


As the moon cut across the sun, and the shadow moved from the top right to the lower left. Not fast enough to see the movement, but you could feel the change. The moon was a consuming darkness against the sun. The contrast of the sunlight and moon-shadow was sharp and clear.  Through the spotting scope we could see sunspots and solar flares. The partial phases moved very slowly. Colors changed and it did not feel like cloud cover. It was eerie.  I felt the transformation, and I knew it was rare and exclusive to this moment. The air grew colder and colors changed.

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Moments before totality, I dropped my protective glasses and was shocked at the darkness. Taking care, I waited until it was safe. Totality arrived. I pulled the solar filter off of my camera, and Keith did the same. I bobbed between looking through the spotting scope and pushing my camera shutter.  I completely forgot about taking a selfie.

"Stop." I stepped away from the optics and just looked directly at dark hole in the sun. The ghostly sky was all around. I didn’t want to take my eyes away. The sun was black surrounded by the brilliant corolla. Bits of pink light could be seen on the shadow's edge. An old friend, Venus, glimmered mid-day. You could see light on the horizon. 

It all happened so fast. 

Everyone shared a common moment. We howled like wolves and cheered. Even if you were alone in a meadow, you knew there were millions of Americans sharing the same shadow moving across the country. How many people took time out of their busy lives to be here for the mutual experience? We shared our spot with three young men: a breakfast line cook, a house cleaner, and a line cook from Old Faithful. They all jumped into their cars to race to see what we came to see. We had nothing in common with them other than this once in a lifetime event.


Science provided a collective communal experience. All Americans could know what was going to happen. No matter who you were, you could participate in a joyful historic event.


There are not many common occasions where we could all share the thrill of an event together. Keith and I took five days to incrementally make our way to our spot in Idaho. Others also traveled long distances. We all researched the path of totality, planned the route, packed the car, payed for gas, found a site, and waited under the path of totality.  It didn’t just happen, you had to know where to go and when to be there. Seeing it was not a random act. You needed science and a plan.

It was about understanding the astronomical changes and feeling it for yourself. It was a very emotional sensory experience described in advance by science.

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After all our equipment was packed, we confronted the traffic to enjoy a pint of beer at the local brew pub. Everyone was there to tell and listen to the stories. “Where did you watch the eclipse?” “Where are you from?” “How long have you been here?” “Wasn’t that absolutely amazing!” could be heard around crowded tables. It was a celebration, like a grand sporting event, a shared big win by all who were there.

I thought I knew what to expect, and it exceeded my expectations. Sheer, complete, child-like amazement at the beauty of the universe. There was no arguing and there were no disagreements. There  were no lies or alternative facts. There was only one explanation and we all agreed -  the sun was eclipsed by the moon – and it was emotional and amazing.

The Greek poet Archilochus was right. “After this, men can believe anything, expect anything." For two minutes, we all expected and believed in a shared reality facilitated by past knowledge, experience, and truth.

Science is real, and we all saw it in the shadow of the moon.

If you want to sing along, here is my personal video of “Eclipse” by Pink Floyd. 

Eclipse, by Pink Floyd
All that you touch
All that you see
All that you taste
All you feel
All that you love
All that you hate
All you distrust
All you save
All that you give
All that you deal
All that you buy,
beg, borrow or steal
All you create
All you destroy
All that you do
All that you say
All that you eat
And everyone you meet
All that you slight
And everyone you fight
All that is now
All that is gone
All that's to come
and everything under the sun is in tune
but the sun is eclipsed by the moon. 

"There is no dark side of the moon really.
Matter of fact it's all dark." 

There's Hope in the High Country

Great Basin National Park

Pinyon pine prevelant in the Great Basin.  

Pinyon pine prevelant in the Great Basin.  

What first struck me about the Great Basin was the numerous high mountain peaks within the “basin.” Driving through Nevada, we took advantage of the space in-between and stopped for a few days at Great Basin National Park, one of the many places that we routinely discuss during the long drive from one National Park to another. Rising above the blue-green sea of sagebrush, I realized that I didn’t properly pay attention to my high school geography lesson. I missed a few mountains and valleys. The Great Basin National Park brochure sets me straight. “It’s not one, but many basins, separated by mountain ranges roughly parallel, north to south, basin, and range alternating in seemingly endless geographic rhythm.”

Environmental extremes, highs, and lows, a string of unique biomes all in a row. That’s my kind of place. We camped at 7,600 feet and after the first day of altitude acclimation, we hiked the Timber Creek Loop Trail up to 10,000 feet elevation. What a change to be in the spruce aspen forest, making friends with a dozen wild turkeys that paced back and forth as we enjoyed our lunch. What a joy to see the small waving leaves of quaking aspen trees, delicate paper-thin spruce cones, spiny prickly pear, manzanita, and hairy mountain mahogany all living along the same trail.

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But nearby, were the granddaddy of environmental barometers, the 3,000 to 5,000-year-old bristlecone pine forest and the glacier on Wheeler Peak. Two unique relics of bygone ages. Ecosystems that are distinct and thank goodness, not yet extinct. The glaciers and the bristlecone pine endured the folly of history and the willy-nilly externalities of human cultures. We didn’t design systems that would impact these little gems, we just neglected to properly understand that our resource consuming society is harmful. No one said, “hey, let’s warm things up a bit. Let’s melt ancient relic ice and kill some trees that are older than the history of human civilization.”  People had no clue what we were doing to our environments when we cut down forests and started burning fossil fuels. We still don’t understand how things fit together.  

Alive or dead? It is hard to tell with a bristlecone pine. It only take one branch to stay alive. 

Alive or dead? It is hard to tell with a bristlecone pine. It only take one branch to stay alive. 

When we got to the bristlecone pine grove, we were greeted by a lively group of 20 high school students from Cedar City, Utah. They were having a snack and resting near a Park Service interpretive sign. The sign was one of many that explained the special environment of the bristlecone pines.  “An increment borer is a specialized tool used to determine the age of trees, without hurting the tree.” We could hear an adult voice instructing them, “Be sure to look for micro trash. Pick up anything you see, even if it isn’t yours.”

When I was in college, I decided I wanted to take care of trees. Now, that seems so pretentious. With our climate changing it ways we didn’t foresee, caring for trees is really a very tall order.  A hike in the ancient forest was an opportunity to see first-hand just how well are these precious relics? Are they cared for? Are they in good hands?

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The old and the younger trees together. 

The old and the younger trees together. 

These ol’ gals, even after 3,500 years are still cranking out the cones. Beautiful creek basins were full of cones. We should all be blessed with such sexy virility! The proud skeletal remains of trees dearly departed were now their own handsome headstone monument.  Next to the time worn troupers, young, 100 years or so, trees in the landscape grasped to the rock rubble that substituted for soil.

Looking across the hillside, it was green, alive, and it looked like a forest; a beautiful vibrant community of vegetative companions.  I’m sure it isn’t as well and prosperous as it appears to the casual naked eye, but it felt good to be there. I was moved to reach out and touch a twisted tree trunk. “I love you. You are beautiful. Hang in there.”


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We continued beyond the bristlecone pine grove up to a rock glacier nestled below Wheeler Peak. No longer were we among the trees, but above the pines within a series of glacier moraine. There were no birds or insects to be found, and a dark cloud was materializing above. There was no soil, only angular rocks piled into repeating rows below the ice field. We scrambled up along the trail with the side walls of the canyon enclosing us in semi-metamorphic layers of multicolored rock material waiting to crumble.

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Out of place, and without context, we saw a scattering of twelve inch, brightly colored, red, blue, green, yellow, and white plastic balls. “What is going on here?” It looked like either art or science. It was hard to tell. We were greeted by a group of college students, from Fargo North Dakota.  They were tracking and mapping the glacier using pulsed laser light, the most current survey science - LIDAR (Light Directing and Ranging). The balls were their reference points.

The question was on everyone’s mind: “How is the glacier doing?” This was the fifth year of measurements and they were pleased to say that it is looking good. How fast is it shrinking? The winter snow fall is replenishing the ice and it is all moving very slowly like a glacier should be moving. We were glad to see someone is taking notice, gathering measurements, collecting data, and following the health of Wheeler’s rock glacier. Someone cares enough to be watching for good news or the bad news.

Climate change is real, and we did it.

But, sometimes I am a dreamer, an environmental idealist, an eco-friendly romantic. Weren’t the ol' masters Henry David Thoreau, Ansel Adams, Walt Whitman, and Aldo Leopold at least part-time optimists? I know they had their good days. I want to stand next to them. 

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Today was my good day.  I want the bristlecone pine forest to be here for thousands of years to come. I want glaciers to move very, very slowly. I want mountains full of trees and valleys full of clean running water.  I want all the basins to be great. I hope the students want this too.

Today, I have hope for the high country.

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What Will You Take on Walkabout?

When you are on walkabout, you can't take everything with you. But, you can choose what to take along. We learned early that you must pack what you need, no more, no less. 

Exactly six months before September 11, 2001, we were planning a big trip to visit Keith’s brother who was living in Moscow, Russia. At that time, Keith was teaching and our children were at the age before activities consumed our family life. Hilary was eleven years old and Patrick was eight and that trip became a significant life event for all of us. 

St. Petersburg, July 2001, one month before the world changed for travelers everywhere.  

St. Petersburg, July 2001, one month before the world changed for travelers everywhere.  

We like to talk a lot about our trip plans as we prepare for our travels. In our early days of preparation for the trip to Russia, we found ourselves confronted by friends and family with a fascinating question. “What are the children going to do? Are you going to take them with you?”  That question usually prompted a rousing conversation about travel logistics, destinations, hotel arrangements, traveling with children, and frequently concluded with realization “OK, wow. You are going to take them with you. I bet they will have a great trip.”

And we did have a great trip. What followed was a memorable series of family journeys to London, Rome, Paris, Maui, Kauai, Washington DC, New York, Canada, San Francisco, Yellowstone, Yosimite, and more that I can't remember right now. 

The Pacific Northwest, Summer 2002. 

The Pacific Northwest, Summer 2002. 

When we traveled as a family, each of us had to pack and carry our own luggage. Everyone participated in planing. Each of us worked on what we were going to do on the plane or in the car, and each had to learn about new (and hopefully exciting) food options we would like to encounter along the way.  Anticipation, implementation, and nostalgia were a big part of each trip.

London is Calling at Big Ben, Thanksgiving 2003.

London is Calling at Big Ben, Thanksgiving 2003.

Anticipation: Plan the trip, and discuss options. Get stuff ready. Look ahead to what you want to do. Learn about what is available at the destination, and how can we get there? 

Implementation: Pack our bags and get on the plane.  Find the hotel. Take care of personal needs, and get out there to have fun! Follow the map. Wait in line. Look for the lunch spot.  Keep the hotel room clean. Try to get some sleep, and don’t let jet-lag get the best of you. Take some photos. Follow the guidebook. Be open. Be aware. Be flexible, and have more fun.

Nostalgia: Get home. Unpack your bag. Wash the clothes. Throw away the ticket stubs. Download the photos, and share the story as we return to our daily lives.

A cloudy springtime Paris, 2004.

A cloudy springtime Paris, 2004.

Still, we frequently recall stories about our trips together. 

Today, Keith and I are getting ready for our Big Walkabout. We are going to sell our house, move our must-keep possessions into storage, take only carry-on luggage, and board a plane with a one-way ticket. Our goal is to be living the vagabond lifestyle on my 60th birthday (Fall 2018).  Preparing for our travels, we are giving stuff away, cleaning the house for sale, editing down our clothes, deciding on a style of travel, and scouting out locations.  We are enjoying a new and exciting exploration of long-term travel planning.

How much stuff do we need? What gets tossed and what goes into storage? How to you access bank account information from the other side of the planet? How do you store artwork?  What do you do with family photo albums?  How do we respectfully give way things that were given to us?  But, the big question comes not from us, but in inquiry from others. “How are you going to move away from your family? Won’t you miss them?” And the answer is “I’m not leaving them, I’m going to take them with me.” 

On the water in Cook's Bay, The Big Island of Hawaii, 2005

On the water in Cook's Bay, The Big Island of Hawaii, 2005

If they are by our side, or on their own walkabout, our children will still be our children and they will be with us always. I will miss our Sunday Pizza Dinners, but we will replace it with our Sunday Skype.  Our family will still be our family, and we will visit them as our schedule allows, and we will make special arrangements for the weddings, funerals and occasional holidays. Our friends will still be our friends, and we will write, and Facebook, and talk, and make new friends too.

Washington DC isn't what it was when we visited in 2006.

Washington DC isn't what it was when we visited in 2006.

When we returned from Russia, the answer was “Yes, we actually took the kids and they had a great time.” Now, the truth is that they too are in the big metaphorical train station of life, and they need to get on their own train. We can’t sit side-by-side on the same trip, but we can take them with us where ever we go. We are all on a grand expedition together, the journey of a life time. We will share our plans, have our adventures, and we will get together to tell our stories. If we are interrupted, we will know that sometimes you can’t control the inadvertent time delay. But if fortune is ours, we will share many wonderful stories together, and we will continue to grow and love each other. 

Lake Tahoe for Christmas with family, 2009

Lake Tahoe for Christmas with family, 2009

Life is short.  Tickets are limited, and sometimes things sell out early. If you don’t get on a train or a plane, and you stay at the station, everyone around you will still follow their own itinary. Our loved ones will move on, with or without us.  We can’t all occupy the same seat, so sometimes we need to accept that there is more than one way to travel together.  Now, we can create a location independent connection with family and friends.

As we move through our lives, we stand in lines and we fasten our seat belts on our way to exciting new places. We can’t be everywhere all the time, but we can choose our attitude about what it means to be connected and how we express our love for one another. We are all on walkabout, or waiting at the station, it is just a matter of what are you going to take with you, and when are you going to get on that train?

I’d like to take you with me, if you pack and carry your own bags.  

Seattle, Washington 2012

Seattle, Washington 2012

Thank you Keith, Hilary, and Patrick for being good sports about being in my blog.