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Your humble host sits atop "Gravel Rock," a feature of the Wichita Mountains in southwest Oklahoma.
Just posted on The Traveller: The Ghost of the Wichitas, a trip report forty years in the making.
The Narrows of Cache Creek are just one of the items featured on the new trip report, Ghost of the Wichitas.
Although we were not able to make any pictures at the concert itself, the rare occasion of photographers being together during that period of history inspired us to at least make a few images, like this one of me, Robert, and Paul in Scott's home.
As an outdoors person, one might expect me to have been pretty cold and miserable on any number of occasions, but the truth is that while I love to hike and camp in the colder months, the one time I was colder and wetter than any other in my life wasn’t in the wilderness at all, but at a rock concert.
It was April 29, 1994, and our friend Scott invited about seven of his friends, all Pink Floyd fans, to stay at his home in McKinney, Texas, and for all of us to attend a Pink Floyd Concert together at Texas Stadium in nearby Irving.
I must with some shame admit to being quite ill-prepared to deal with any kind of bad weather, which I should have been given that Texas Stadium was an open-top arena. By the time I was halfway to the Dallas metroplex, I was driving through sheets of pouring rain, thinking about all the rain gear sitting at home in my closet.
Once at Scott’s, the rain continued, but we all very wishfully thought it would clear up by concert time. In fact, the rain did stop in time for the concert’s start. We arrived at the stadium in three groups, and not all at the same time, so we didn’t all end up setting together. I remember the concert started unceremoniously with the band’s lesser-known Astronomy Domine as their lead song. I also remember being very unimpressed with the show in general, since in spite of efforts to dress it up with lights and mechanical devices, the size of the stadium made the band members themselves, David Gilmore, Rick Wright, and Nick Mason (since it was long after the departure of Roger Waters), appear as tiny figures in the distance.
This is the ticket taped into my journal a couple of days later, with the appellation "An all-weather event, thank you."
I also noted that in addition to the usual weed that was passed around, at least two people near us were snorting lines of cocaine, which to me doesn’t say “Pink Floyd fan,” but “drug addict.”
I’ve been to better concerts. Probably the best was Kansas, who we saw in 1982 at Lloyd Noble Arena in Norman, Oklahoma, which is much smaller. I could actually tell who was who, and the relatively smaller crowd created a better sense of intimacy between the performers and the fans.
Just about in the middle of the show at Texas Stadium, there was a flash and a peal of distant thunder, which of course was greeted by a peal of cheers. Before long, rain and more lightning started in ernest, creating an environment that was not only dangerous, it was soaking any of us who were seated (read: standing) on the stadium floor.
The concert continued. It seemed like it went on for another 45 minutes, yet my friends and I didn’t leave, nor did anyone around us. I suppose we were trying to be “die hard” fans, but in truth I was getting pretty miserable, drenched in cold spring rain, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and jeans with a hoodie. Within minutes it was all soaking wet and hanging low on my body.
After the concert finally ended, we started to make our way back to the car in drenching rain, much of the way wading in six-inch-deep rivers of ice cold parking lot drainage.
In the end, I found the whole experience a gigantic waste of time, and by the end of the night I had been colder and wetter than any time before or since.
An amusing sidebar to this entry is the fact that I recalled the entire thing from memory and wrote it all, and only then went home and looked it up in my journal, to discover that pretty much every recollection was accurate. I’ve still got it!
This is the whole Pink Floyd concert group posing at Scott's house. There are three people in this image, one mostly hidden, who I don't know. (I know Scott, with the camera, Paul, Robert and myself.) If you read this and know who they are, please comment and let us know.
This is the stitch that was inside Max the Chihuahua's groin for more than six years. (For scale, it is taped to a piece of notebook paper.)
For some months, Abby and I have noticed, to our annoyance, that Max the Chihuahua has been licking himself more frequently and more intensely. We tell him, “no licky!” but the next time we check, he is licking himself again.
Chihuahuas tend to be very clean dogs, almost like cats, but this was not only more than typical for the species, it was bordering on obsessive.
I took him to our vet today, where our friend Stephanie examined him, joined by the other vet, Bruce. Together they examined him with great care, then with a tweezer teased out a stitch, which had to have been left behind from when he was neutered, sometime prior to when Abby and I got him in 2006. I have to say I was surprised that it was something as simple as that, and a little amazed that it’s been in his body for nearly seven years. Steph gave him an antibiotic injection and sent him home.
Max lounges on one of the couches in our living room this afternoon after having his stitch removed.
The sun is masked by a pall of southern Oklahoma dust as high winds blew throughout the entire day.
Since I don't eat meat, I enjoyed some of KFC's side dishes.
Abby and I spent the day in her hometown, Ryan, Oklahoma, today. As we sometimes do, we bought chicken and side dishes at KFC in Duncan, 35 miles away, and brought it for the family. We gathered at the home of Abby’s father’s widow Ethel, who is always glad to see us.
Abby, Ethel and Abby's sister Gail exchanged Christmas gifts after lunch.
As the day progressed, we were inundated by a fierce wind storm, and the dust in the air reminded me of late winter or early spring days growing up in Lawton, Oklahoma, 70 miles to the northwest.
It was quite cold and still yesterday, and quite warm and windy today, and when the weather changes harshly like this, it seems to make Abby’s rheumatoid disease flare. I would like to read up on the effects of weather changes on arthritis sufferers, though as it stands now, I can tell you that it is a very real occurrence.
This is Ethel's dog Winnie.
By late afternoon we rummaged through some of Abby’s father’s things in the old barn, including some tools he used to create custom engraving on firearms he made. Finding it brought tears to Abby.
We got home after dark, with dust in our hair.
I walked to the end of the south pasture to make this image, the brown sky bringing me back to days growing up in this part of the Sooner state.
Eiffel Tower Replica at Paris Las Vegas, October 2011.
Walking down our 100-yard-long driveway in the cold recently, I thought about times in the past, walking in the cold, my shoes making that tell-tale crunch and grind, my breath streaming, the sky darkening with night.
It reminded me, of course, of hiking, which is one of my favorite things to do in the world. As I walked, I waxed rhapsodic in my head about all our adventures. It’s always best to have Abby by my side, though I sometimes like to venture out alone, or with one of my hiking buddies from around the globe like with Kev, David, Michael, or Robert. Abby and my friends and I have tasted many fruits of the open road as the years have raced by, from the blinding glitter of Las Vegas to the lonely shack of a store in Bedrock in the Paradox Valley of western Colorado. It’s all been amazing.
This image of the store at Bedrock, Colorado made in October 2009, shows its rustic character and, if you look closely, Abby's reflection in one of the windows.
Thinking about this got me wanting to plan again, and update my “A-List” of places I want to see and hike. One of these places came to mind again and again, since I have been so close to it many times, and sworn again and again I would go. The place is The Maze District at Canyonlands National Park, one of the most remote and inhospitable places in the lower 48 United States. There’s the rub, really. I want to see and hike The Maze, but I don’t own a vehicle quite as capable as it would require (though Abby’s 4WD Frontier comes close), nor am I willing to venture out there alone.
Still, though, it calls. As recently as October 2010, at the end of the Grand View Point trail at Canyonlands, I could literally see it, but it was completely out of reach. In 2008, at the Confluence Overlook, I was less than a half a mile from it, yet it was across the 1000-foot-deep Colorado River gorge. I am currently trying to humbly ask a couple of my more experienced hiking/canyoneering buddies if they are interested in such a trip, and I am hopeful that it will materialize soon.
I might have 20 items on my “A-List,” but the list resides in my head, and changes almost daily based on what I read, how I feel, and what kind of map is before me. But The Maze has been on it every time, and always near the top of the list.
I made this image of The Maze from the Grand View Point trail at Canyonlands, and have highlighted two of its dominant features. Despite being able to see it, from where I stood it would have taken an entire day to get there.
Robert lifts a branch from our fire near the garden behind our house tonight.
Katie smiles for Robert's camera during their recent travels in eastern Oklahoma.
Robert is in town. He spent New Year’s Eve in Dallas with his lovely girlfriend Katie at a concert by his favorite band and personal friends Brave Combo, whose career and music he has followed for nearly 20 years.
Robert’s just passing through, but even for short periods it’s fun for us to make pictures, which we did all day. In the afternoon we took Abby’s truck to town to gas it up and wash it, and at sunset we drove around downtown Ada looking for the light.
Tonight after dark we made our way to the back yard for one of my favorite country-life chores, burning the brush pile by the garden. We got it going very nicely, then of course had to photograph it. Robert was particularly instrumental in orchestrating our imagery.
It was a perfect clear, cold and still night, and by the end of the evening, a summer’s worth of elm and mimosa was up in smoke, complex and elegant conversation had taken place, and many photographs had been recorded.
Our fire, the Christmas lights in the front yard, a number of stars, and traces from our flashlights are visible in this 30-second exposure tonight.
Abby arrives at home in her 4x4 Nissan pickup on one of the coldest nights either of us can remember.
“Spare. Pithy. Lean. Concise.” ~Interiors
Abby and I pose for photos at the Shoffner Family Reunion in October.
Robert Stinson shot this image of us in September; aren't we the cutest?
A bright future awaits our grandson, Paul Thomas Reeves.
Abby, Paul, Dorothy and Chele enjoy Paul's first Christmas ever in our living room Sunday evening.
With no need of a false beard due to my own greying, I hold Paul dressed as the jolly elf Santa Claus. I haven't dressed as Santa since I was in the sixth grade Christmas play. Then, as now, I required a pillow to make me look fat enough.
For the Christmas season it is our pleasure to entertain Abby’s daughter Chele, her husband Tom, and our grandson Paul. As many of my friends know, I have decided that my grandson should call me “that grimy chap with the ill-fitting trousers.” But since Paul is just an infant, we are simply working on getting him to say “Grimy.” Part of that has been that all the Christmas gifts were tagged “From Granny and Grimy.”
Santa wishes everyone a safe tactical Christmas.
Add to that the fact that Abby asked me to dress as Santa Claus and the whole Christmas Day celebration got pretty funny.
Then today as the ladies and baby napped, Tom and I went down to the pond to do some tactical shooting. We only brought .22s, which we thought would be funner and less likely to wake those resting. We ended up having a terrific time, including shooting some cans of expired soup I cleaned out of the pantry earlier this week, and shooting some old jugs of iced tea. At the end of the day we laid out a tactical assault course and ran it several times, often with Tom running as fast as he could from one station to the next with me behind him shouting, “Move! Move! Move!”
Tom delivers Christmas presents from Abby and me to his 11-month-old son.
Since Abby has been in recovery mode after her heart attack, all of the Christmas decorating duties have fallen to me. One side effect of this is that it has gone slower than I would like, but I am finally getting close to done. Tonight I finally finished decorating the tree. I thought I was done last night, but when I looked at it, I wasn’t amazed, and I am capable of creating a Christmas tree that is amazing, so tonight I added more, particularly bulbs, bells, drums and bead garland.
Tonight, it’s pretty amazing. Abby’s daughter Chele, her husband Tom and their son Paul Thomas are slated to arrive in two days, and I am happy to have an amazing tree for them.
These silver bells went at the bottom of the tree instead of glass bulbs, since Paul Thomas, who is 11 months old, might get ahold of them.
I am counting on most of my fans to be like-minded in the way I let music carry me away. For example, if I listen to “Crystal Baller” by Third Eye Blind, it takes me back to my first vacation with Abby in 2003. If I listen to “Mercy Street” by Peter Gabriel, it takes me back to the first weeks I spent with Kathy Sterbenc in 1986. If I was listening to something a lot during a season, that song takes me back to it.
This is a Cessna 152 I rented sometimes from an FBO in Shawnee, Oklahoma. This image was made after I landed following a fantastic tour of the Dallas-Fort Worth airport and Fort Worth Air Traffic Control Center in September 1994.
Tonight my iTunes shuffled to “Subterraneans,” one of the three movements of the “Low” symphony by Philip Glass, and I was instantly taken back to one particular season, the summer of 1993. I was logging a lot of Cessna hours back then. The airplane I rented most was a Cessna 150, and it was cheap enough that I could sometimes fly a couple of times a week.
It was on one of those days that I wanted to play around with the airplane and my experiences. That hot summer day in 1993 I decided to climb that little airplane to 10,000 feet. It took quite a bit of patience. Unlike airliners, by the time you get a Cessna 150 to 10,000 feet, it’s 108 horsepower engine is struggling to climb 100 feet per minute. By the time I finally got there, it was an absolute pleasure to feel the cold rush into the cabin through those infamous Cessna “beer can” vents at 40 degrees cooler than it was when I left the summer-hot tarmac.
I excitedly noted in my log book, “10k feet!”
Another piece of music that brings back that summer with intense longing is Grie’s Piano Concerto In A, Op. 16 – 2. Adagio. I can listen to either of these pieces of music and close my eyes and be there again, alone in that tiny airplane in that big sky, just flying for no other reason than to be flying.
Listen to Subterraneans here…
This is an image of Abby for anyone who forget how she looks.
Abby is home. Her heart attack was the result of one artery, the one that feeds the front portion of the left ventricle, with a 95% blockage. Her symptoms came on gradually since Saturday, but as they peaked and she was asked by EMS her level of pain on a scale from 0-10, she told them “23.” In discussions with her at the hospital, I learned that upon exertion, such as using the elliptical trainer at her office, she experienced chest pains for some time now.
She is resting comfortably now, and, except for being told to take it easy for a few days, is just fine. She plans to return to work on Monday.
All of this is pretty impressive, since my dad had a similar cardiac event just 15 years ago, and had to undergo a coronary artery bypass graft, one of the most invasive surgeries you can imagine. He was down for six weeks. Abby, on the other hand, remained conscious throughout her procedure and felt better immediately afterwards.
As Abby and I travelled home last night, she complained increasingly of indigestion. Although she was able to sleep last night and actually get up and start to prepare for work, eventually she needed to lay back down. I called and got her an appointment with our family doctor, but by the time we actually got there, it was obvious she was having a cardiac event. EMS took her to the emergency room, where she responded well and immediately to nitroglycerin therapy. Doctors determined that she did indeed have a heart attack. As I write this, she is being flown to Oklahoma Heart Hospital, where we imagine she will be given a cardiac catheterization and, if necessary, a cardiac stent.
I have to say that I was pretty frightened as the morning progressed, particularly when her substernal chest pain peaked; I had never seen her in such pain. But after talking with emergency room personnel and seeing the relief she received, I felt much better. I will keep everyone updated here, but at the moment she is okay.
Update: they took Abby straight to the cath lab and did a cardiac catheterization before I even arrived. They found a blockage of 95% in one of the coronary arteries, and inserted a stent. She is going to be fine. I was already a believer in interventional cardiology, but quite honestly, this is amazing.
Medical technicians load Abby onto a helicopter this afternoon; as I was writing this, one of the med techs called to say she was at the Heart Hospital, safe and sound.
My aunt Margie, second from the left, poses with her daughters, my cousins Valerie, Stacy, and Leslie Saturday night at Nicole's wedding.
Abby and I just got in from a whirlwind visit to New Orleans, where we were privileged to attend my sister’s wedding. She and Tracey Hammill tied the knot at the New Orleans Athletic Club Saturday night in what could only be described as a perfect ceremony.
Assisting Abby and me with photographic duties were Michael and Thea. In attendance were a phalanx of Nicole’s friends and coworkers, many of whom I have know by proxy for many years. Most significantly for me, however, was the presence of my aunt Margie and her daughters, my cousins Leslie, Stacy, and Valerie. I hadn’t actually laid eyes on my California cousins since 1974, and it meant a lot to me to see them after so many years.
Despite the brevity of the event, we all had an amazing time. See the complete trip report now on The Traveller.
Tracey and Nicole beam as they are married at the historic New Orleans Athletic Club Saturday night.
I baked these two cornish game hens for Abby. Even if she doesn't eat any today, they will make nice meals as the week progresses.
As the Thanksgiving weekend progressed, we were under a pall of grey skies, cold winds, and one or the other of us being sick. It turned into a four-day festival of hibernation. The exception was this afternoon, when though sheer force of will I made myself roast two of Abby’s cornish game hens and my Tofurky©. Abby still hasn’t eaten much, but I actually enjoyed a huge helping of my dinner.
Hopefully we’ll both be feeling better after this long weekend of rest.
This is my Tofurky© right out of the oven. These things are so good I could probably eat the rest of it by the end of the day.
Abby the dog stares me down as I maneuver to photograph her four newborn puppies today.
Our adoptive mother-in-law Dorothy was recently given a dog. So things would be as clear and unconfusing as possible, the dog is named Abby, just like my wife. For a few days Dorothy called the dog Abby, but it became obvious that it wasn’t going to work, particularly after Dorothy called us and said, “I can’t find Abby anywhere. Can you help me find her?”
My wife responded, “I’m Abby.”
From that day forward, Dorothy called the dog Abbygirl. Abbygirl was pregnant from just about the day Dorothy got her, and last night she delivered four puppies.
I went down to see and photograph them, but Abbygirl was miserly with the photo ops, and I really could only see one or two at a time. The whole time I was there, Abbygirl growled and barked at me, but I stlll managed to get a couple of images.
This is one of Abbygirl's new puppies, nestled on an afghan in Dorothy's living room today.
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