Blame it on a summer 1983 family vacation in gorgeous Northern New Mexico and a bit of serendipity.
Today is a love song to the man I married 29 years ago. On April 5th, 1986, I faced my groom in his rented tux and we promised each other our undying devotion in front of God, family, and friends.
Here is a little secret of mine: Sir Ernest Shackleton makes me write. I hate to write. I also love to write. It is most always an endeavor of inner conflict. For me, writing is like running a marathon: uncomfortable and demanding in the process, but oh so rapturous when it has been accomplished. Yet, I still try to find every manner of excuse to walk away from it. Then I think of Shackleton. I think of his impossibly steadfast fortitude in the face of everything that should have told him to give up. I have it so dang easy. Food, drink, plenty of sleep, and a toasty warm cabin.
Powder. Graupel. Sugar. Slush. Dust-on-Crust. Smud. Corn.... They are all descriptions of snow and there are as many descriptions as there are incarnations of our winter friend.
I recently shared a copy of our 2014 Fall Land & Home with a friend. She was looking for an article and started reading aloud from the contents. I knew immediately that something was wrong. I grabbed the publication from her and saw what I feared: that page was completely wrong, right down to an editor’s note from Jesse Chaney, our former managing editor.
Not long ago I downloaded an 128-page tome entitled “Key Editorial and Business Strategies: A Case Study of Six Independent Community Newspapers.”
Funerals are a terrible — and wonderful — experience. This may strike some as controversial but anyone who was at the Angel Fire Community Center Friday (May 30) knows what we mean. Andy LeBus will never read these words but the memorial service did something important for the rest of us: It reminded us how lucky we are to live where we live.
In the words of Michael Corleone, “Just when I thought I was out … they pull me back in!”