I suspect this post may turn out to be a bit on the long side, so perhaps you should take a moment to make a cup of tea and prepare to sit a while whilst I wander down memory lane.
This morning started with a few texts from the Englishman who was on his way back from an overnight business trip. Just the usual back and forth - how are you? how did you sleep? how are the boys?
When I got to my computer, I noticed daughter #1, who works for him and accompanied him on the journey, had put on Facebook that her father had assisted someone with getting their bags on the train. I wasn't surprised, being the gentleman that he is. Then I noticed that the someone turned out to be Dionne Warwick.
As you can imagine, that prompted several "comments" under the post, along the lines of "did she tell you the way to San Jose?" and my inquiry, "will she 'say a little prayer for you?'"
In relating the story over the phone to my mother, I suddenly remembered a connection with the songs of Dionne Warwick from decades ago. Following my graduation from college, my parents took my sister and I on a three week car trip as far as Colorado, up to Wyoming and back. Yes. Three weeks. In a car. With my parents. And I had just quit smoking. Exceptionally poor timing on my part.
But here's the tie in. At that time, the best source of music in the car, when out of range of decent radio stations, were 3 or 4 cassette tapes that my Dad had. And one of those cassettes was - you guessed it - Dionne Warwick! For days on end, we would listen to the same songs over and over. After a while we almost became slap happy with the repeating lyrics and singing along. One of the other tapes was the soundtrack to Mary Poppins, with Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke. I've no doubt I could sing every word for you right now if you asked. But I'm sure you won't!
So after talking with my mother, I remembered that the Englishman recently scanned two containers of color slides that I brought home from my mother's house. Among them were some pictures from said trip out West. Which brings me to the next stop on my mind's little travel this morning......
Yes, this is me. Standing on a wooden bridge, admiring my feet. Why, you may wonder, am I not admiring the view? Why, you may ask, do my hands appear to be wrapped around the railings?
This is why.
This is a photo of the actual bridge I was standing on. It is Royal Gorge Bridge - the world's highest suspension bridge, about 1, 053 feet above the Arkansas River in Colorado.
Have I mentioned before my deep seated fear of heights?
Ah, now you see why I ventured just so far and no further. I was, to put it mildly, terrified. My father, God rest his soul, thought that if I just got out there and saw I was safe, could somehow overcome my fear.
Nope. Didn't happen.
He had to come out to where I was and peel my hands off the railing. Seriously.
And then, as if that wasn't enough, I then boarded, with my father and sister, the inclined railway down to the river below.
Yes, the adventure continued. I have found that closing one's eyes, very tightly, can almost fool the brain into thinking that what is happening to you is not in fact happening to you. Almost.
As frightening as it all was, I wouldn't have missed it for anything. I could see in my father's eyes that he sincerely believed that it was worth it for me to try to overcome my fear, to see and experience these parts of our country. And more importantly, that he was there. "I'm right with" he would say as he would hold onto my shoulders, nudging me towards the edge. I like to think that he is still with me.
Ok, that's enough reminiscing for a rainy day. The slides may start to pop up from time to time on this blog. If only to tell the stories, so my daughters and grandchildren know me a little better.
When the Englishman posted the picture of me on the bridge, he captioned it saying I was waiting for him.
He's right. I was. That's why when I met him I thought, "There you are. The waiting is over."
See what happens when you do a good deed! The result can be very rewarding for many people.
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