Garden of the Gods

Yesterday was a special day for me.  My 'big ticket item' for my trip to Denver was a visit south to Colorado Springs and the natural wonder that is 'Garden of the Gods'.

After my father passed last year, I was going through old photographs and noticed some rounded-edge pictures of some beautiful rock formations.  I asked Mom about them and she told me about the trip we took to Colorado when I was just a little guy.  I didn't remember it, of course, but the pictures were enough for me to know I needed to see this place with grown up eyes.

Saturday morning, Sophie gave me the keys to their Ford Focus and wished me good travels.  As I merged onto Highway 25 southbound out of Denver I was struck by the fact that not only was I heading towards a destination from way in my past, but I was driving a car very similar to my old '01 Focus.  The weather was tremendous and I drove with the windows down and the tunes up.  Seeing the mountains on the horizon grow closer made me smile, and by the time I arrived at the Visitor's Center at the Garden I was full of the same excitement I had when seeing Angkor Wat or the Colosseum.

The red rocks were jutting out of the earth, impossibly huge.  As I approached the central area, I couldn't help but gawk at their beauty.  Many climbers were up and about (including one guy dressed as Batman!) scaling the rock faces and perching atop some of the monuments.  I took one of the lesser paths and found myself in a secluded nook, higher than most of the central garden.  Looking down, I could not only see the bulk of the other tourists nearby, but I could look out over the Colorado landscape and the area near Pike's Peak.  It was easy to put myself in the mindset of settlers and seeing that this was a good land.  The warm sun and cool breeze kept me company as I sat there and listened to the sound of the earth turning.

Once I'd sufficiently explored the area, I got back into the car and headed back north, but back to Denver just yet.  Kurt had recommended a visit to the nearby United States Air Force Academy and said I really should visit the chapel.  When I arrived and saw the unique triangular construction, I sent him a text message thanking him.  The tall angular structure was stunning both inside and out.  Being on military grounds also brought an additional emotion of stoicism and respect.  The grounds were mostly quiet, but cadets in uniform were easy to find.  I sat in the chapel for a few minutes and reflected.  I'm not religious anymore, but the feeling inside that hallowed building was not unlike my recline atop the rocks back at the Garden.

Satisfied, I drove back to Denver.  Last night was a night of good conversation and old Tales from the Crypt DVDs.  Sophie is an amazing cook and has a lot of passion around hosting.  Today, Kurt returns from Pennsylvania and I think we're going to head out someplace beautiful and have a picnic.  I love this area!

To Denver

I love air travel.  Although it resembles public transportation more these days than the suit-and-fedora crowd of the 1930s and 40s, looking out the window at the clouds and squares of landscape is exactly the same.  Here I am, tens of thousands of feet in the air, speeding towards a destination that carried terrible risk throughout the vast majority of human history.  And I’m just going for a vacation.

I visited Colorado when I was a little boy.  I don’t remember it, but I have pictures to prove it.  I had a week of vacation that had been delayed several times and I decided just to GO.  When I told people I was taking two weeks of vacation, they typically responded with an allusion to my worldly travels of years past.  It was only then that I realized it had been nearly a year since I’d done any kind of traveling outside of my home state.  I must not let so much time lapse before I travel.  Sitting in the aipoirt, waiting on my flight in Tulsa brought back so many memories.

I’m staying with friends in the city of Denver.  Sophie and Kurt remind me of so many people I met abroad; free spirited, open minded, and generous souls.  I’m eager to experience their city with them.  Our conversations in preparation for my visit were also very familiar.  Eating habits, hobbies, interests, sights I’d like to see.  Honestly, the biggest appeal for me is the social aspect of learning more about my friends and just BEING in a new place.  There are places I’d like to see, sure, but I’d much rather experience a corner pub or local diner that isn’t “special.”  That’s what makes it important.

That being said, I do hope to take a short road trip down to ‘Garden of the Gods’.  It’s one of the places featured in classic Martin family photos that I’d like to see with adult eyes.  I wonder if I will be able to see the Rockies clearly. 

-Some Time Later-

So, it’s a little cloudy today.  I can barely see the mountains, but I can still see them.  The air is cool and the city feels relaxed.  Shortly after arrival, Kurt and Sophie took me to a favorite little Mexican food place and we went to the Denver Art Museum downtown.  I definitely appreciate museums a lot more these days and the setup here is pretty great.  There was a little interactive area and plenty of art that I didn’t mind taking in and discussing with my hosts.  After we finished there, we drove to a little place I read about called the Forney Transportation Museum.  None of us had high expectations, but the warehouse of old cars, trains, and motorcycles far exceeded them.  I got a lot of great pictures!

Anyway, this post is a little jumbled.  It’s been a while since I’ve written travel posts.  I hope to get back into the swing of it quickly. 

Last Breakfast at Blue Dome

Today is Tuesday, July 24^th.  It has been exactly nineteen months since my father and I sat down at a table together to have a meal for the last time.  I’m at the same restaurant, sitting in the same booth, about to enjoy the same meal he did.  This is going to be the only time I’ll be able to do this, as the Blue Dome Diner closes in less than a week.

Dad came down the day before Christmas Eve in 2010 to visit and go see the new Coen Brothers film ‘True Grit’ with me.  We went to Brewburger for lunch, went to the movie, and relaxed in my one room apartment afterwards.  We ended up watching Zombieland (Dad hadn’t seen that, either, and loved it!) that night and Dad slept in the overstuffed easy chair that made up 100% of my living room seating.  The next morning, Dad expressed an interest in breakfast.

Breakfast is the meal that always brought us together as a family.  It sounds silly and cliché, but it’s the truth.  It’s the one meal the four of us could come together and chip in.  Nobody will ever be able to make eggs like he used to.  Anyway, Dad had recently started on a new diet.  His kidneys were having some serious problems and he hadn’t taken stellar care of his diabetes.  For some reason, he could have waffles but he couldn’t have pancakes.  I wanted to introduce him to a new place I’d discovered downtown and suggested we drive down to the Blue Dome to have breakfast; surely they’d have waffles. 

Well, they didn’t.  I could tell Dad was a little disappointed, but he ordered a half order of pancakes anyway.  We sat in the corner and talked of many things, shared memories of Christmas past.  My wife and I had recently separated and he encouraged me to save my marriage if I could; he told me that his divorce was the hardest thing he’d ever endured and he didn’t want me going through the same heartache.  As breakfast wrapped, Dad paid for my meal and was sure to tell me how much he enjoyed his food and coffee.  We walked back to the truck and drove home.  On the way back, I got to talking about something and nearly ran a red light.  My momentary panic as I slammed the brakes cracked him up tremendously.  We got home, Dad packed his overnight back, we hugged, and he headed home to Pawhuska.  That was Christmas Eve.  Less than a month before he was gone for good.

Sitting here in the same seat after what feels like a decade is at once comforting and wrenching.  The fact that he’s gone is foregone knowledge.  When my brother and I get together, we tell stories and laugh about him.  When I scroll past his picture in my phone, I don’t pause to contemplate his image.  His chapter is closed.  But I still have times when a memory surfaces unexpectedly or my mind settles on the memories I’ve made since he passed that would otherwise include him.  It’s like looking into a deep chasm; I get that same stomach-clenching feeling and know that I could make quick decision and plummet to the bottom.  But I haven’t fallen in a long time.

Today is my farewell to the Blue Dome Diner and not only the memory of my father here, but the meet-ups with my friends that have taken place here.  I know something new will open up here, but it won’t be the same.  Blue Dome will open somewhere else, I'm told, but that won't be the same either.  The memory embedded in these walls will stay here.  Just the same, though, nothing lasts forever/  I’m thankful for one last hurrah. 

As my food arrived, Deep Purple’s “Hush” came on the radio.  It was one of Dad’s favorites and one I selected to play at his services.  I choose to live in a world where this isn't a coincidence.  Miss you too, Dad.

Arbitrary Day

Maya Angelou said, "I am a human being; therefore, nothing human can be alien to me."  This is what I drew inspiration for when thinking about my Arbitrary Day gift for my random 'secret santa' giftee I had been assigned this year.

Every year, Reddit hosts a huge international Secret Santa.  People fill out basic profiles and are matched anonymously; outside of said profile, it's up to you to do your own internet research to find a gift this person would like.  Some folks just pick from an Amazon wish list and others really dig to find something special.  You might recall my participation last year involved a hand painted portrait of a recently passed dog for a college student in Austin, TX.  Needless to say, I'm more about the research method.

Not only do they do this at Christmas, but halfway through the year there's also an 'Arbitrary Day' gift exchange that is pretty self explanatory.  Being more familiar with the process, I waited eagerly in anticipation for matching, which occurred last week.  This time around, I was matched with a young lady in Maryland that had a lot of interests I could relate to, like gaming, wall art, dogs, and movies; horror movies in particular.  That's the path I looked down first.  Perhaps something related to John Carpenter's Halloween, one of my favorite horror films.  She's pretty big into Guild Wars 2 according to her posts on Reddit, maybe I could find something in that vein that would be appropriate.  Then, I found what I was looking for.

I found a mention of her sadness at Ray Bradbury passing.  A quick Google search turned up what would be her main gift:  a copy of the poem ‘Doing is Being’ by Ray Bradbury.  I felt the message was very appropriate for an event like Arbitrary Day:  the true blood of life comes from activity and giving of one’s self.  Not only that, but this particular item was the first printing of the poem, distributed on April 9, 1980 for Walt Disney Imagineering.  And it had his signature on it.  It was perfect and fit into my budget, surprisingly.


My mind returned to the horror aspect of her professed likes.  What could I add that addressed that?  It was then that Maya Angelou's quote came to me.  I needed something that represented the yin to Bradbury's yang.  I looked through my artwork and found the other gift.  It’s a picture I took inside S-21, or Tuol Sleng, a former high school turned prison in Cambodia used by the Khmer Rouge in the last half of the 1970’s.   It’s terrifying what people can be capable of, and being in a place where such atrocities were committed brought about a time of self evaluation and understanding for me.  


I wrote a letter explaining all this and shipped it off today.  She should receive it on Tuesday and I wait excitedly, hoping she will enjoy these things.
 

Cherished Memories

Tomorrow is Father's Day.  For the last month, advertising has been laced with reminders to remember your father and buy him something nice.  I've gone on about my daily business without paying it much mind.  I've noticed, however, that my emotions have been acting strange in the last two weeks or so.  It isn't anything specific, but just an understanding that I'm reacting differently and have a pit of anxiety in me that slightly influences everything else.  Sometimes it manifests as a desire to watch a sad movie.  Other times I just wander my house aimlessly, wondering why it's so quiet.

On Thursday, I decided to take the drive up to Pawhuska.  I don't think I've visited since last December.  I went out to my grandparents' old house in the country and took a few pictures.  Nobody was home, unfortunately, so I couldn't ask if I could get some close shots, but just the same it unearthed many memories.  I recall weekends running around the property, Fourth of July celebrations, and Christmas gatherings.  My feet crunching the gravel brought me right back to my youth and I felt 10 years old again.  I could hear the echoing sound of my hand hitting the propane tank.  I felt the flaking brick that lined the flowerbeds.  I could hear the spring in Grandpa's workshop door handle.  The feel of sliding down the storm shelter door.  I walked down to the creek where Grandpa and I fished a few times.  I was never big into fishing, but I still cherish those memories.  I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of the summer countryside.  I could've just as easily been playing badminton or running around with the dogs.

Before leaving town, I drove up to the cemetery and knelt by Dad's grave.  Looking down at the marker, it was still hard to believe it was all true.  Not only that, but it was a year and a half ago.  On the way back to Tulsa, I took a few pictures along the road that brought back memories for me and wondered what I'd forgotten.  I'm thirty-one years old now and a lot of details have faded from my childhood and beyond.  I am thankful that I have the opportunity to capture my world, whether it's by camera or written word.  My brother and I had dinner on Friday and we remembered Tony Martin while we ate and laughed together.  I'm very pleased that we get along so well these days.  Dad would've liked that.

This Father's Day, I remember my Dad for his strengths, his faults, his life, and his laughter.  There isn't a day that goes by where something reminds me of him.  I strive daily to be a good man to those around me and display the same honor and integrity that he taught me.  I love my friends and family and try not to take them for granted.  I approach each day with an open heart and a hopeful spirit.

Love you, Dad.

A Change is Gonna Come

This past Saturday, I finally made good on my Christmas gift for my mother and took her to see Roger Waters perform 'The Wall' live in Tulsa.  I've always been a Pink Floyd fan, but I always defaulted to Dark Side of the Moon over The Wall.  Don't get me wrong, I appreciated the grandeur of the semi-autobiographical double album of 1979, and the bizarre animated film that it begat, but I never looked too deep into it.

Until this past weekend, that is.

Mom came over to the house at 5, dressed nicely and very excited.  We went out to dinner first at Kilkenney's on Cherry Street.  We ate there last Mother's Day.  We had a nice meal, talking about all sorts of things, and then went to the BOK Center downtown.  For Mom's big Christmas gift, I'd purchased two VIP tickets to the show.  It not only afforded us floor seats, but a nice little goody bag as well.  It came with a program, a lanyard, a t-shirt, and some other nifty items.  But the greatest part was the aforementioned floor seats; once we wandered down to the floor, we discovered we were on the eighth row.

Mom and I were both really excited and the hour wait before the show started breezed by.  We talked about music; she felt that rock and roll music is her generation's greatest contribution.  She talked of the first time she heard Led Zeppelin's "Whole Lotta Love" on the radio and how it completely changed what music could be.  She spoke fondly of time spent listening to records and how music is still one of her biggest loves.  As we talked, I noted that the arena music was exclusively Bob Dylan.  We talked about his major part in the industry and Mom specifically points to him as the artist that opened her eyes that singers were more than that; some of them wrote for other artists and had talents beyond their top hits.  Not long before the show started, a few non-Dylan songs played.  One of them was Imagine by John Lennon, to which the filling auditorium partially sang along.  Then a song played that I hadn't heard in over a decade:  A Change is Gonna Come by Sam Cooke.

The beginning orchestral strings swelled, and my heart followed.  Although I didn't know the words, my heart remembered the sentiment.  Suddenly, the song personified my place in life at that very moment.  The hope from despair spoke to me about my father's death.  It spoke to me about my repairing relationship with my brother.  It spoke to me about my girlfriend, Cindy, who has been a tremendous blessing and has quickly become the center of my world.  The song settled into my soul and said that I'd slogged through the mud in the last year and a half and that a change had, indeed, come.  I got a little emotional and played it off as best I could, not being able to form words.

Shortly thereafter, the lights went down and the show started.  What followed was several hours of bombastic spectacle that I'd only read about.  Roger had a stage presence unlike anyone else and the scope of The Wall became evident quickly.  A song written about a boy whose father had died in WWII and coping with separation from loved ones/society worked in any time; pictures of veterans and civilians that had died as victims of warfare.  Giant inflatable creatures represented authority figures and a lack of trust in government showed up in lyrics and projected Wall graffiti alike.  It was nearly overwhelming; my earlier emotion was recalled throughout the presentation of this larger-than-life rock opera.

After the show, Mom surprised me.  She spoke up and said that she worried that her leaving Dad back in 2004 had disappointed her sons.  I told her I would've been disappointed if she'd stayed in a relationship that wasn't working and that I loved her for the strength it took to stand up for herself.  I pointed out that I credit Dad with a lot of things; he taught me how to be a man, how to work hard and provide for those I care about.  But my mother taught me how to treat people, and how to respect those that I care about.  I make a living because of my Dad, but I make friends because of her.

We had a wonderful time.  Mother's Day is this coming Sunday; be sure your mother knows how much she means to you.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Hi Dad!

Today would have been your 58th birthday.  It's hard to believe you've been gone for over a year now.  Part of me feels like it was just yesterday; though another part of me, an almost equal part of me, feels like you've always been gone.  That part of me hurts more.

I've had an eventful few months.  In February, I was nominated and awarded 'Coach of the Month' at my job.  It was the first time the award involved a nomination process that came directly from our associates, so I take a little extra pride in that.  I just go to work every day and do what I feel would make you proud.  I work hard, complain little, and try to leave the place better than it was when I arrived.  I am honorable and perform with integrity.  I try not to emulate you too much, though, and keep a better work/life balance.  You taught me lessons even in your imperfections.  Thanks for that.  I know you meant well.

I met a really great girl in March!  Her name is Cindy.  We hit it off immediately and have been having a wonderful time together.  She has a big heart and a keen mind; she makes me laugh often and challenges me to be a better person.  I think you two would've gotten along and enjoyed giving each other a hard time.  She takes good care of me and we love each other very much.  You'd love her dogs; they're a lot of fun and mostly obedient.  I took care of one for a few weeks and we bonded pretty well.  I know your only question about Cindy would be, "Does she make you happy?"  My answer is emphatically yes.

Mom and Tyler are doing well.  I'm trying to spend more time with them; it feels like life just keeps getting in the way.  Talked to Grandma Mary yesterday, too; I don't know when the last time was we had a conversation.  Family is important, and I'm all too aware that I don't have much in the way of immediate family.  I haven't talked to anyone in Pawhuska in a while.  I should make a trip soon.  It's hard because every time I want to see you and I can't.  I can't see Grandma or Grandpa, either.  But I think of you all every time I get on Highway 11.

I'm taking good care of the Mustang.  Got it fully serviced the other day; even had the transmission fluid changed out!  You'd be proud; I changed a flat tire the other night all by myself.  I hadn't had the gumption to do that since the Explorer fell off the jack and crushed my hand.  I wanted to call you and celebrate.  Hell, I want to call you all the time.  I knew what you'd say, but that doesn't change the fact I'd still like to hear it.

I'm 31 now, Dad.  Hard to believe I started out so small and fragile.  I celebrated with friends and family last month and knew how lucky I was to be surrounded by so many people that cared about me.  There lies the true wealth of a man.

Anyway, that's about the size of it.  If you were here, I'd take you out wherever you wanted to eat.  Even though it's your birthday, you'd want me to pick where I wanted to eat.  All you cared about was the company.  We had some good laughs together and I think of those more often than the vacuum of your absence.  Still, anniversaries are hard.  Some days hit me out of nowhere.  I suppose that's to be expected.

Love you, Dad.  I miss you.