My apologies for the spelling errors yesterday. I was trying out new blogging software and frankly hit send before spell checking – grammar is optional for personal blogs but spelling is at least the minimum requirement so my apologies. I found five still in the text. Oh well. Back to the old software.
My youngest sister. Mom always encouraged us to be creative. Dad did as well not to discount his contribution. Dad’s creativity was in taking pictures. He was also an accomplished writer. But mom was the one that made sure we did creative things.
Lynne and I took a Saturday morning art class at the school of education. I don’t have the eye my father did for photographs (thank goodness it only skips one generation, my daughter has it). Jakki, who has spent a lot of time with her grandmother was also encouraged to be creative. She is constantly taking on incredibly cool projects and making interesting things.
OK no clue where this windmill is – beautiful picture. In the end no story that goes with this. Simply one windmill waiting for Don Quixote. Or perhaps I should say one giant.
Dad and I had a stupid argument once about the concept of tilting at windmills. In thinking about it now some 35 years later I realize we were both coming at the question from the same side. We simply had different levels of experience in building out the arguments we presented. Dad was looking at the windmill we were tilting at from the more mature practical side (what do you need in the end beyond a long lance to take down a windmill). I was looking at it from the more romantic it isn’t the windmill it’s the concept of the windmill but in the end we were arguing how would you take the windmill down.
There are things you realize when you get older. Sadly sometimes something has to be missing in order to find the rationale behind what was really going or. Or worse you realize too late that in effect you were talking right past the person that was there to a person that in the end wasn’t ever there.
He had an amazing eye.
This is from our trip to Colorado. We spent a week or so in Estes Park which is in the Rockies. We rented a cabin and we hiked and (well I) fished for a week. I didn’t catch anything in the rushing rivers that week but I sure did try. There was a time when I loved fishing more than anything.
Looking back – I do the same thing now that I did then. I mediated by fishing when I was younger. My inner voice couldn’t be heard unless I was doing something physical. Later I ran for many years, mile after mile simply to quell the outer world and hear the voice within.
I hear that voice now without the running but as noted above, it took a long time.