Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m 64? (The Beatles)
YES! Happy Birthday, David, love of my life!
All posts by Sunny Bridge
Wipeout!
David and I are recently back from a couple of weeks at Sunapee, the family lake house in New Hampshire . . .
. . . where the sunset light on the lake tends to be breathtaking.
My quest for the perfect loon photo continues (and will never stop, I’m pretty sure). Although I’m finally realizing I’d need a longer lens and a tripod to get an excellent shot, I got a few decent shots this year.↓
As peaceful as the above photos look, in fact the potential for mess and drama is always rather high in a big house with a lot of people. And in a vacation home, someone or other is always arriving or departing, or moving bedrooms, which are sort of first come, first served, with occasionally some midweek shifting about if needed. Plus, the house is 90 years old, so there’s almost always a new maintenance issue or two (or three) to manage or work around. This year was no exception. And although Chelsea and Will could not join us this year, of course there’s family . . . lots of family.
It’s a little like summer camp (only a little), with all the possible activities . . .
. . . (and the spiders), but no “Reveille”, thank God, and the only hard and fast scheduled agenda item is cocktail hour at five o’clock . . .
In an effort to minimize the chaos of so many people sharing one house, over the years certain expectations have become . . . let’s call it, firmly established. There’s a definite Approved Way to do most things, from folding dock towels to washing dishes to how many seconds you can vacate a chair without pushing it in to the table (not many). It works reasonably well for someone with a personality like mine, since I tend to be the instruction-reading-and-following kind of person. (Sorry–I know you thought I was more exciting than that.)
But although I’m usually relatively on-board with the Approved Way at Sunapee and elsewhere, I’ve finally figured out it doesn’t work as well in creative endeavors . . . ↓
. . . Seriously. This is NOT what a roof is SUPPOSED to look like, but how cool is it? (David and I spent the night before our flight at the new Westin Hotel and this was our view.)
Remember my previous attempt at watercolor back on Folly Beach? I’m ecstatic to report I finally found an excellent class for beginners here in Fort Collins. Woohoo! I happened upon the glorious paintings of Sibyl Stork during an artists’ studio tour a few weeks ago. Sibyl’s work is vibrant, color-rich, sometimes a bit mysterious or whimsical, and all-around fabulous, so I immediately signed up for a class, which started the day after we got back from Sunapee. I was still in “trying to do it right” mode, since that’s my default, but what a revelation the first class was. I wasn’t anywhere NEAR “getting it right” but it was just SO MUCH FUN. Sibyl is such a gentle, encouraging soul, all you want to do is keep painting and trying new things. In the midst of all the tragic news and the wrenching struggles of many we know and love♥, what a joy to have this little respite. Thanks, Sibyl!
I read a wonderful article recently, “The Days of Reveille and Taps” by Dominique Browning*, in which the author writes of summer camp and the joys of discovering water skiing: . . . nothing could dim the pleasure of wiping out — being allowed to wipe out, being urged not to be careful, being pushed to the edge of what I could do . . . .
Doesn’t that make your heart sing? “. . . allowed . . . urged . . . pushed to the edge of what I could do . . . . ”
Wishing you all the freedom of discovery and the joy of the wipeout!
Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep. ∼ Scott Adams, creator of Dilbert cartoons**
*New York Times Travel Section, 17 July 2016 — And be sure to check out Browning’s book Slow Love: How I Lost my Job, Put on My Pajamas, and Found Happiness. Loved it.
**Yes, I’ve used this one before, but it’s too apt not to give it another appearance.
♥ Our little buddy, Sam, is still in the fight of his life against cancer, so please continue to remember him and his family in your thoughts and prayers.
Bikes and Bikes
I didn’t really want to delete this pretty lilac photo, so I’m leaving in the first part of this post, even though it was written a few weeks ago and is COMPLETELY inaccurate now. I’m afraid after realizing I didn’t have a few of the photos I wanted, I put it on hold until I could get out and take a few more, but I took longer than I had intended to get back to this. My apologies! (I’ve added a few corrections and comments to make it more current):
The lilacs are mostly finished . . . (DEFINITELY long gone now)
. . . but other flowers have come into their own. I do love the last bit of spring, when the weather feels almost like summer, but we’re not actually roasting (Um . . . we are now officially roasting). The evenings on the deck are getting to be standard fare, but not quite enough that the mosquitoes anticipate our presence and get there first (I’m afraid they’re starting to catch on). We’re making plans for all the great things we’re going to do during the summer and not yet dreading the crammed fall schedule. Anything seems possible (hence, the now-crammed SUMMER schedule),
Ah, well. Love it. Summer officially arrived Monday evening, and we plan to take full advantage of it.
One of the things we missed while in France and on our extended east coast road trip was taking Harley trips with our neighborhood friends. The first overnight trip of the summer was a few weeks ago, and although we didn’t go for the overnight, we did ride up the Poudre Canyon with them as far as the Arrowhead Lodge Visitor Center . . . ↓
This fabulous place is now a National Historic Site and a Forest Service Visitor Center, but it used to be a guest resort with log cabins and was the childhood home of our dear friend, Christy French. Can’t believe I didn’t get a shot of anything but the sign. Sheesh. Sorry!
After we waved goodbye to our friends and let them continue on up over the pass, we headed back down the road a few miles for lunch here . . . ↓
It may not look like fine dining, but the quirky set of characters manning this trailer serve amazing burgers and, if you’re lucky, keep you entertained with running commentary on the birds, the bears, the weather, the tourists, and most amusing, each other.
After lunch, we decided to take a longer, scenic route home — in France called le chemin des écoliers (literally “the route of schoolboys” meaning of course, the longest possible route), which took us behind and eventually up and around the south end of Horsetooth Reservoir . . . ↓
We also recently bought bikes (with actual pedals, requiring exertion by the rider) . . . ↓
. . . to add some variety to our exercise options. The same day as this first long Harley ride, we decided to try out our new bikes. Really poor planning. Our . . . um . . . nether regions were NOT HAPPY. We went back to the bike shop and bought padded shorts the next day! Now we can ride all the way to Old Town, and generally do, every Saturday.
But now, I very much wish I did not have to tell you about one person who, in a perfect world, would be riding his bike this summer, but is not currently able to do that. I’m sorry to report that Sam Glossi’s cancer has come back and he is in the middle of a series of chemo treatments and enduring the brutal side effects.
←Here he is just after his pre-chemo “Just Like Dad” haircut.
And here he is excited to be able, finally, to eat bread after a tough week of no solid food. →
Love this photo, because he’s seriously adorable, obviously, but also because I routinely have that exact same emotion about the prospect of eating bread!
His smiles are tiny moments of respite and joy, but I know you understand that this is a really hard summer for the entire Glossi clan. Please keep Sam and his family in your thoughts and prayers.
Joy is prayer; joy is strength; joy is love . . . . ·Mother Theresa
It is not how much you do, but how much love you put into the doing. ·Mother Theresa
Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness. ·Desmond Tutu
Prayer is not asking. It is a longing of the soul. It is daily admission of one’s weakness. It is better in prayer to have a heart without words than words without a heart. · Mahatma Ghandi
Wishing you all, and especially Sam, comfort, healing, peace, joy.
Memories of Dad
My dad’s struggle is over at last. He died Sunday evening, the 1st of May, at the age of 84, his wife by his side. I am so grateful that I had an opportunity in recent years to spend a little more time with him, and especially that I was able to say goodbye a few weeks ago. So it seems like the perfect time to write a post honoring and remembering my dad, highlighting those ways he influenced or inspired me.
I was looking through a photo album for the picture of Dad that you see above, and also found this one, the wedding photo of Dad’s parents, which I’m including mostly because it’s one of my favorite family photos.
Don’t you love it? The lace, the Harry Potter glasses, the bouquet with the streaming ribbons. And, seriously? How fab is that braided headband?
But now, out of the photo studio and into the woods . . . . 
Some of my earliest memories are of family hikes in the state parks of the American Midwest, mostly Indiana. Dad was a dedicated hiker, even up until just a few years ago, but it was never about just the fresh air and exercise. For him to really enjoy it, he had to know as many arcane details as possible about the history of an area, the flora, the fauna, the geology, whatever. And he would be delighted to share this information with anyone who’d listen. You just had to have a spare hour or so. My brothers and I learned not to ask him any question, no matter how seemingly simple, unless we had at least half an hour. Still, his enthusiasm was endearing, if not always completely contagious. I can’t identify many trees, but I do love the hardwood forests.
I think my dad also passed on to me, if not exactly a LOVE of math, at least a reasonable aptitude for it. You’ve probably never met anyone as excited about a slide rule as he could be (and you certainly won’t in THIS century). Although I always preferred the crisp, clean lines and logic of geometry, math skills do come in handy sometimes, so thanks, Dad.
Dad also had a deep appreciation for classical music, a taste as children we did not share, especially since our main exposure to it was by way of a static-filled University of Illinois radio station during the seemingly interminable half-hour drive to church in downtown Indianapolis, crammed into the backseat and wearing our scratchy, uncomfortable church clothes. 
On the plus side, he had quite an album collection, so I pretty much aced every Music Memory test during my years in the Indianapolis public school system, and I always did love acing tests. Ironic, in light of my early loathing, that I would choose to get a degree in music and develop a love for nearly all genres of music, including classical.
But probably the most inspiring thing about Dad was his refusal to ever give up. For as long as possible, my dad was not one to let age keep him from his goals. He earned his MBA at 41 and was nearly 60 when he earned his doctorate. Then, after many years as an industrial engineer, followed by a few years as an adjunct professor, he traveled and worked his third career as a Contract Auditor / Trainer / Consultant for ISO 9001 (and several others with more letters and numbers than you could possibly be interested in wading through). He continued this until age 80, when the company wouldn’t send him out on any more assignments. I never did succeed in convincing him it was perfectly reasonable to be retired by the time you’re in your 80’s. Not sure I can live up to this one, Dad!
But now he’s gone. Our house is filled with flowers . . .
. . . courtesy of kind friends and family.
Expressing love was not his strong suit–too much engineer brain, maybe–but the message eventually got through. And I’m pretty sure he’s the only person who has ever called me Princess and meant it as an affectionate nickname and not an insult!
Goodbye, dear Dad. You will always be in my heart.
Say not in grief he is no more, but live in thankfulness that he was.
—Hebrew proverb
The song is ended but the melody lingers on…
–Irving Berlin
Death—the last sleep? No, it is the final awakening.
—Sir Walter Scott
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