Mountains or Microwaves

Our plane begins to descend into the quiet Seattle morning.  Daylight is just beginning to brush across the landscape and a new day is getting started.  My usual visits here are typically greeted by ever gloomy skies, rain, and on occasion....snow.  The meteorologists this past winter were in a particularly humerous mood, as I spent 3 days drudging between airport and hotel enduring a never ending snowstorm that the airport was obviously ill prepared to deal with.

However as the wheels skidded onto the runway, I gave my cursory lift to the window covering to peek outside. Instantly I was blinded (as was my unfortunate seat neighbor) by the streaming sunlight coming from just above the horizon.  This would not be my typical Seattle visit.

For someone who comes from the desert, driving from Seattle over to Tacoma is therapy treatment for the eyes. Tall strands of deep green forests give way to our intrusive highway, and like ants on a mission, we all make our way in one direction or the other...busy on our business to support the colony. 

This particular morning I rounded the bend heading into Tacoma where the trees thin to make way for the Puyallup river cutting through the valley.  Glancing off to my left at the Ansel Adams scene, I was startled by the view of a massive volcanic shaped mountain I had never seen before on my travels through this spot.  Something that big I certainly would have seen before......wouldn't I have? 

My focus on driving along the freeway took a back seat to gawking out the window. I was trying to let my eyes convince my mind that what I was looking at was real.  The rush hour traffic soon brought me back to the task at hand, and I received more than a few looks from locals who were trying to figure out what was wrong with the idiot in the black rental car weaving and slowing down to stare out his window.

For a few minutes I considered the growing urge to forget about work for the day and drive over to experience this bulwark.  I wonder if this feeling is what makes so many climbers risk life and limb to spend time exploring and conquering these massive monuments.  Unfortunately, my work rarely allows for my inner explorer to be fulfilled, and my approaching exit reminded me that my life's adventure is more often performed in suits and ties, rather than comfort fitting REI outdoor gear and boots. 

When did my life take this left turn into chasing the corporate dream?  Isn't there supposed to be some golden goal ahead that the corporate road leads me to so that I can jump off and pull on my Levi's, tee shirt, and spend the remainder of my life being John Muir? 

As I went through my work day sitting in meeting rooms with large windows that bring the outside inside,  I couldn't help but talk about my morning mountain experience to those I met.  Now clearly they all know the corporate purpose of my visit is to cut costs and expenses. Yet my constant babbling about the scenery, and that mountain, were making them a bit restless and uneasy.  In their head they know the knife is out there somewhere waiting to do it's evil deed, but the crazy man is acting more like a Jack Nicholson character who rambles on in a bizarre rage about nature. 

As the drone of meetings finally came to an end, I turned the car back towards Seattle to catch my flight out.  Driving past that little spot heading out of town,  I gave my new mountain friend a final glance goodbye.  I thought about those few rugged and fit human specimans who spend so much of their individual lives training, conditioning, and preparing to make an assault on it's glaciers and peaks.  In some small way I think I felt a yearning of what drives them to put in such great efforts toward reaching their goals. 

As our plane lifted off, heading back homeward to the real life I too often leave behind, I was caught up thinking about the effort I put in at reaching my own goals.  The airline had graciously upgraded my seat, but gave me a window instead of my coveted isle.  Gazing out, I was silently surprised to see my new friend approaching again from just ahead of us. The relatively smooth and gently rolling landscape of the lowlands suddenly slopes upward into the sky and Mount Rainier's massive formation fills your vision.  It is the King of this territory, and even planes skirt around it as they make their way.  As we passed by at such a close distance you could make out individual features across it's face.  Making their way up one of the west facing glaciers was a team of climbers headed toward their long planned for goal. 

As I watched the scene drift by outside my window, I was taken by the irony of the moment.  The climbers and I, at this exact moment, each had a quite similar view of the landscape around us.  Perhaps years of training and conditioning had purchased them this reward and satisfaction in their life.  What I thought was perhaps a shared experience of the expansive vistas around us, really wasn't a shared experience at all.  I knew nothing of what they knew other than what my own vision could take in. 

Life is unique and interesting to say the least.  Instead of climbing mountains, I have microwave moments.  I don't have the time, energy, or ability to devote to something that I might really want to do, so instead I resort to microwaving my experiences into something less than a complete and full encounter. I convince myself that it gives me a quick and short enough engagement to make me think I know what it would be like, without putting in the effort.  From twenty thousand feet, and the comfort of a deep leather chair I see what others see, but only by hiking in their boots will I ever know what they know and feel what they feel.

Today was not really about mountains, or microwave experiences.  The real key to what I was learning happened a bit earlier on the way back to the airport.  I had stopped at an intersection on my drive where a man and woman held out a sign asking for assistance.  I ignored them for the most part, but watched as a car behind me rolled down their window to offer them something.  For a few moments, I wondered what had brought these two people to this intersection? What had they experienced in their life that left them here?   The light turned green and I pulled away with a bit of an empty feeling that I hadn't done something to help.  Perhaps it was because I felt they were to blame for their condition that I didn't offer help, I'm really not sure.  Down the road I pulled in to get gas, and couldn't let go of how inconsiderate I had been.  Who was I to judge them, or why they were there.  Sometimes God allows redemption.  Before I could finish pumping gas, a young man walked up to me asking if I had spare change.  He appeared to be a young man around 24 years old.  My first quick thought was why does this kid need to ask for money, he should have a job and taking care of himself.  But just as quickly, my mind came back to the couple at the intersection.  I would not make the same mistake twice.  I handed the young man what cash I had in my wallet, as a smile came across his face.  I returned to finish pumping my gas, when I saw him turn to a car parked against the curb and raise the small amount of money in his hand.  In the car, was a woman and in the backseat was a baby in a car seat.  As he reached the car, he turned back to me and said thanks, they had an appointment for the baby, but didn't have enough gas to get to where they were going.  He now had enough to make it there and back. 

I thought back to a young man some thirty or more years ago, with a young family and each week wondering if we had enough to make it there and back.  I could remember those feelings, aching, and struggles that were such a strenuous experience to go through each day.  Thoughts flooded of those who may have passed down that same highway before, and had offered help to us.

I may never get to climb a mountain, or experience the struggles and thrill associated with that goal.  For now, the microwave experiences may have to quiet my spirit in that regard.  However, there are other mountains that I have climbed, and spent a lifetime gaining experiences on.  If I remember to climb out of the microwave long enough, all around me each day are the most rich and filling experiences this human life can offer.  The mountain peaks offer magnificent vistas, but sometimes it can place you too far above to see clearly where the real beauty lives.  I quietly wished those climbers making their way up the glacier the best of luck as we glided past.

Ferrell

As a note....I am only leaving this post up for a temporary period of time.  A few individuals have asked me about the funeral, and I kind of felt torn about what I should do.  Ferrell was my aunt and I felt it more appropriate to let the incredible Farnsworth family put out information about their mother as they deemed appropriate. However, I also felt bad that there were others who were not able to attend, that might want to know how the funeral was.  As a result, I will temporarily post a few pictures and notes from my perspective. Others who attended probably have a much deeper and clearer view of the events surrounding Ferrell's funeral.  I apologize for the weakness of my words to fully convey the beautiful spirit felt that day.  Touching remarks from the family, and the overall feeling of love that existed cannot be done justice here.  Perhaps one of the Farnsworth family will capture appropriately, all that took place.

 

I had just learned of Ferrell's passing on Wednesday, and that the funeral would be on Saturday in New Mexico.  I flew into SLC late Thursday night, Michele and I packed the truck, and Friday we headed out on what may be the last time we ever visit Fruitland New Mexico.

 

Ferrell's obituary had requested anyone who had sung in a choir with, or under Ferrell's direction, to come an hour early to the church.  A choir practice would be held with those individuals to sing two choir arraignments that Ferrell had loved, "Faith in Every Footstep, & Battle Hymn of the Republic.

Michele and I did not plan to sing, but showed up early to spend a little extra time with those we might know or remember.

As we walked into the Church, it was filled with what sounded like the voices of 2,000 people singing those songs.  We were drawn into the Chapel to see who was there singing.  What had sounded like thousands, was probably closer 40 or 50, with Mori playing the Organ & her daughter on one piano, and another family member on another piano.  I have sat in the Tabernacle dozens of times and listened to the Choir and organ in all their power.  The music made in this Chapel on this day sounded identical.  I had a hard time containing my emotions as they worked their way through the Battle Hymn of the Republic....and this was the rehearsal!  When they finished, the majority of the choir had become emotional and Ren who was directing, commented to them that his mother was there listening and weeping with them.

 

We made our way to the viewing room when Ferrell's body arrived.  The room was packed with family, friends, and people who had all been touched by Ferrell's love in their life.  Ferrell's cousin, Jay Ferrell, had driven down and was trying to greet as many people as possible.  He commented to me SEVERAL times throughout the day that he couldn't understand what a beautiful girl like Michele was doing with a guy like me.  I kind of had to agree with him.  He wisely noted that we (me and him) had both married up in life.  More stories about Jay will come.....he was full of them this day.

 

The casket Ferrell's body now rested in was built by her son Mark.  One of Ferrell's last requests of him before she died was that he would do this.  Mark fully honored his mothers request by creating the most beautiful casket of polished wood.  I spoke with him about it, and he felt like he hadn't had enough time to finish everything on it the way he wanted, but from my perspective NOBODY would know.  It was completed with the most expert craftsmanship and care.  This was a labor of pure love from him and as he expressed it, an honor for him to perform.  Even in her death, Ferrell knew how to get the absolute best from her children.

 

The funeral opened with Mori directing the choir and Ren accompanying the song "Faith in Every Footstep".  It set the tone for what was to come.

Instead of reading an obituary, Mori and Ren stood together at the pulpit and took turns telling Ferrell's life history, and filled it with stories from their lifetime full of memories with their mother. 

They reflected on Ferrell's youth, and one story Mori didn't tell at the funeral but told me later.  Ferrell and her cousin Jay were working at Saratoga Springs in Lehi Utah one summer.  At the end of one particular day, Jay went in to an outdoor changing booth to get out of his swimming suit.  Mischievous Ferrell snuck over and grabbed Jay's cloths and took off running with them.  Jay, not to be deterred by a little bare skin, took off after Ferrell...and tackeled her.....while not wearing a stitch of clothing (which was all in Ferrell's now screaming hands).  She ran off yelling, he got his cloths back, and the rest is now a family treasure story to be told for generations to come.

Mori and Ren spoke about her unusual name, and getting her mission call addressed to ELDER Ferrell Madsen.  To arrive and find out she was scheduled to sleep with other Elders.  They spoke of her love for the Mexican people and some personal stories from her mission.  They spoke of when she came home and went to work as a secretary for Mark E Peterson of the 12 Apostles.  One story of Ferrell's dogged determination happened while she was working there.  She was asked by Elder Peterson to not let anyone disturb him the remainder of a particular afternoon, as he was working on a message he was giving in a publication.  Ferrell received a phone call from someone wanting to speak to Elder Peterson, and she informed the caller that Elder Peterson was not taking any calls or interruptions.  When the caller pressed harder, Ferrel pushed back in her own way.  The caller started giving her a hard time about being such a watchdog and that he REALLY needed to talk with Elder Peterson.  Finally she told the caller, it would take someone with a whole lot more authority then he had to get to speak to Elder Peterson, and the caller finally said ok, but would you take a message.  "Please tell Elder Peterson to call President David O McKay when he is done" and hung up the phone.  Ferrell was aghast, and immediately told Elder Peterson that President McKay needed him to call.  Soon Elder Peterson told Ferrell that he had some papers to give to President McKay and that she needed to deliver them personally.  She tried to get another office worker to deliver them, but he said no, she needed to deliver them personally.  Ferrell made her way to the presidents office and hoped to leave them with the secretary.  But when she arrived at the office, the secretary said...."go right on in, he's waiting for you".  As she walked thru his doorway, she heard....."So Your The One".  He got a good laugh, Ferrell had heart failure.

It was to Elder Peterson's office that a young man came one day.  A returned missionary who just so happened to speak Spanish.  Ferrell and this young man managed to strike up a conversation that apparently didn't really ever end.  Two months after meeting him, they were married and Ferrell was soon off to find the place she would call home for the remainder of her life, in New Mexico.

Mori and Ren spoke of what a hard worker Ferrell was on the farm, not letting the fact she was a girl keep her from doing any of he tasks a man could do.

She taught Piano to hundreds of children from around the area, She felt it was her calling to fill this small New Mexico valley with music, and so she did.

At the end of their talk, Ren announced that they would be taking Omer to Utah that afternoon and if anyone from New Mexico wanted to say good bye, they would have to do it quickly.

 

Mark spoke of the love he had for his mother.  He reminded us of the tough taskmaster both of his parents could be, and gave several examples to emphasize this fact.  He noted particularly how tough his father could be, and shared a story from that very morning.  An elderly man that had known Ferrell and Omer most of their time in New Mexico had greeted Omer that morning at the viewing with the reminder to Omer that he was "Damn lucky Ferrell had stayed with him all these years".  And then they both shared a laugh and embraced.  Mark spoke of the true love his mother had for others, and the gifts she gave and shared that most would people would never know about.  He told a story of one evening when his mother was planning to try and put on a talent show in what he called the po-dunk town of Farmington New Mexico.  She was trying to get enough people to participate.  On this particular evening she asked Mark if he would sing at the event.  Now, Mark feels he is NOT the musically talented member of the family and was sure his mother had lost her mind.  He told her no.  She asked again and he told her he didn't want to do it.  In her motherly way she said...."I didn't ask if you wanted to, I asked if you would".  Mark's love of his mother and his desire to honor her request overcame him, and he said he would do it.

As her death approached, she again made two requests of him.  1) To make the casket her body now laid in.  2) that he would sing a song at her funeral.  The casket was completed, and now he would try and honor her 2nd request.  Mark is not someone who goes around singing for others.  I'm sure he wondered if he could even make it through this last request of his mom's.  I didn't, and don't, know the name of the song.  Mark's voice was perhaps a bit husky and wavering as he started.  I could see myself telling my mom to forget it had she asked me the same thing.  But here he was, doing what was actually probably harder than creating the casket.  I didn't pay too much attention at first, it seemed like an old time song about a man loving his wife, her smile, her face.  There are several versus to the song.  It progresses as the man and women of the song grow older, and the love the man still has for his wife as age comes on, and perceived beauty wanes.  The song concludes as they are both in their final years and he sings to her how much he loves her, her thinning smile and wrinkled face.  I don't know how Mark held it together thru the song.  The entire audience was weeping quietly as he finished.  A mothers request honored. 

 

Then came the performance of the Battle Hymn of the Republic as the closing song.  The organ, two piano's, and the voices coming from both earth and heaven, fully overwhelmed the size of the Chapel.  From somewhere beyond, other choirs joined in and honored Ferrell with this final send off.  As the final Amen rang out and the last note sounded, I'm sure a now red headed lady somewhere in the room had to be as Awed as we were.  It was the perfect last note to her life so richly and fully lived.

 

I don't know if the Farnsworth's requested this,or not.  But there was no herse or morticians in any part of this event.  After the funeral finished, the grandsons surrounded the casket and carried it out to the family van where the casket was placed inside.  We all made the short drive from the Church over to the cemetery.  I don't know if the local police do this for everyone, but the main highway running from Shiprock to Farmington was shut down in both directions while we made our way across this highway and over to Ferrell's final resting place.  From the number of cars backed up, I assume that it must have been shut down as soon as the funeral ended.

 

The family van showed up at the cemetery and again the grandsons carried the casket to the burial spot.  Omer, limited to his wheelchair for several years now, dedicated the grave.  It was done in pure Omer fashion.  He got the dedication part taken care of quickly, then prayed us a sermon about how to live our lives and honored Ferrell with his words.  As he finished, the warm New Mexico afternoon gave way to a cooling breeze thru the quiet valley of Fruitland.

 

A nice dinner was provided by the ward after the funeral. Special conversations were shared between cousins regarding the Madsens, and the fun reunion that must surely be taking place.

 

Afterwards, we made our way over to the Farnsworth home.  Mark built a side room onto the main house for Ferrell and Omer.  So now there is a nice courtyard outside where we were able to continue to share stories and feelings with one another.  Ferrell's cousin Jay (is he really 85 years old??) decided to hang out with us "young" cousins and share stories of his own.  He told us how he and his wife were racing down from Utah and somewhere in the middle of the state he was pulled over for speeding.  The officer asked him where he was going in such a hurry...and he told him to a funeral.  The officer commented back, "If you don't slow down, you'll be going to your own funeral"!

 

Ren and his family packed up all of Omer's things and got ready to take him to his new home.  Finally by 9:00pm Michele and  were spiritually and physically exhausted.  We hugged and wished everyone goodbye....until the next time.

 

 

 

After attending each funeral, I always ask myself what my funeral is going to be like.  Have I done anything while chasing the sun around the horizon that matters?  Have I in any way done enough good to make up for all the things I seem to mess up.  Who knows in the end, but on this weekend,  I got to see a brief glimpse of what makes a person's life rich and full.  Ferrell didn't have the great honors that the world might recognize in the way of plaques, awards, recognitions, fortune or fame.  However, it was the personal gifts & talents she shared with others, the time she dedicated to her family, the love given from her heart to everyone she touched.  It is these precious things that will be our legacy, or our regret.  Thank you Ferrell for reminding me to see just what the real important things are in this life.

 

 

Riley Video

Riley

is getting married in two days.  In making this video, it took us back through twenty some years of memories, laughter, tears, and most of all feelings of love. Riley was nicknamed Smiley for good reason.  Nothing too much ever seemed to bother him.  He just rolled with the punches no matter what.  He gave his family endless memories of fun times.  Thanks Riley for all the years spent on baseball diamonds smelling fresh cut grass in cool evenings and listening to the soft thud of aball catching leather or the tin crack of a bat hitting a ball.  Those were precious times spent watching a son do what he loved. 

Best of luck in your new adventures ahead.  It will be thrilling and breathtaking at the same time.  Enjoy the ride.  If you ever need to stop by for a game of catch....the mitts still in the closet.  

The Journey

Another plane, another journey, to places I once thought so distant, and yet now for me are simply neighborhoods, parks, and homes not much different than ones I leave behind. I have found myself not giving these journeys much more thought than back on the days when I would mindlessly drive across the city to go to work somewhere. It's always the same thing..... Aircraft door closes, a heavy rumble down the runway, soon weightlessness finally quiets the shaking and the clunk of the landing gear being tucked away for flight. Suddenly just the quiet rush of wind past the cabin, and slow drone of the engines. There I am, just waiting for the "ding" that announces I can pull out the computer and get some of the work done that always manages to be waiting for me. 
Constantly in the back of my mind I am wondering about the person sitting next to me. Who will it be today? The obnoxious and somewhat stuck on themselves business person, who for some reason thinks I am interested in their latest stock trade, or what kind of car they drive?  Or the chatty perky person who wants to just talk happy mindless stuff for the next who knows how many hours?  Or heaven forbid, will it be the dark and brooding teenager who thinks the world owes them something and if there is nothing to be angry about on the flight....they will find something!  Or perhaps this time it's the drowsy girl who thinks I make a pretty good pillow and decides to sleep on my arm for most of the flight, only waking occasionally to whip her ponytail in my face?  All of these unique experiences happen to me in reprise, and I don't see them heading differently in any near future.

Today my excursion saw a confluence of several things coming together at once to make a Journey I would not soon forget.
Recently, a person who deliverers me wise and timely insight at moments I need it most, crossed my path again.   She reminded me of the importance of taking time out of each day to stop and appreciate the landscape and vista's of life's Journey.  My weakness is that I am ever racing to the next hurdle, planning the next event down the road, but never enjoying where I stand.  Today that wise insight, and my personal journey, crossed paths, at 35,000 feet. 
As is typical, I load the plane early and get situated with my electronic gadgets and other items to keep me busy.  People file by and load, without me really noticing.  When they announced the boarding process was complete, and I had an empty seat next to me, I was doing my mental celebration of the extra room I would have.  It was not a celebration that would last long.  Within a minute or two, a girl looking to be 19 walks up and informs me she has the seat next to me.......ugg.  I'm looking up into the face of what is actually a beautiful girl of African American descent.  Large gold earrings dangle to her shoulder, a strange tattoo peaks out from under her long sleeve shirt, and cole black eyes that don't distinguish between iris and pupil.  Then it hits me, she has the look in her face like she is someone who wants to chat.  She introduces herself to me, and I give a quick hello and then pull the stunt that usually halts any and all conversations....I put in my ear phones.
Now don't get me wrong, I've met and spoken to hundreds of people on planes.  I've sat next to Presidential Candidates, Music Stars, Movie Stars, Sports Stars, you name it.  I'm not a complete jerk on a plane, but most times I just want to work and be in my own world.  Today would certainly be different from so many of those other passages I have taken.
With earphones firmly in place, and not much work to do today for some reason, I just kind of lazily gazed out the window on a scene I have viewed many times before....both from the air looking down, and from the ground looking up.  As the Utah landscape floated by my window, I noticed something familiar.  It was the bright orange pinnacle spires that make up Bryce Canyon.  I remembered driving past that very spot so many times over the last decade.  As I lifted my gaze a little further east and south, I came across Lake Powell with it's stark contrast between blue water and red sandstone.  Just beyond Lake Powell was Arches and Canyonlands with the Lasalle Mountains rising prominently in the background.  Ahead and right beneath me, was Zions Canyon with Angel's landing easy to pick out.  Up over what seemed like a small hill from my perspective, but is actually quite a climb in a car, was the Coral Pink Sand Dunes and the red cliffs of Kanab.  My travel channel mind now in full throttle mode, I gazed my eyes forward to see what other creations of nature might be within my sight.  Sure enough, where Lake Powell empties into the lower Colorado, rose the Vermillian Cliffs.  The first and reddest step in the Grand Staircase of the Escalante.  How many times did we drive down the edge of those towering formations and look up into them wondering about the forces at work creating them, while pondering their solid and deep red strength.  As I followed the craggy Colorado river, the steep chasm it carved turned into the majestic Grand Canyon.  It is beyond comprehension how what appears to be a small river, churned and carved it's way through these mountains, leaving behind what so many photographers and painters have spent lifetimes capturing on canvass and film.
In the middle of my lost gaze over all of this, I was struck by the fact that what takes hours and hours to drive through, months and months to walk through, I could look at and take in with simply a slight turn of the head.  For me, it was as if a view I had always had, and was in front of me so often, was being seen by me for the first time, and in a perspective I had never considered.
The metaphor was not lost on just the landscape that floated outside the window. 
I had been lost in my thoughts and eyes fixed outside the window for quite some time when I finally sat back in my seat and wondered how many things I might have missed in life by failing to see and understand what was often in front of me.  Soon consciousness returned and I realized the girl who was sitting next to me, was now staring at me with a quizzical look on her face.  I popped out my earphones and smiled back.  Sensing it was ok to talk now, she asked me if I was ok?  My first thought was, who is this girl to ask me that question, why would she even think to ask it.  When I didn't respond, she commented that I seemed a bit lost or pre-occupied.  My mind was racing. How many 19 year old kids think or talk like that?  I assured her I was just seeing things differently than I had ever seen them before.  I glanced down at a book she was reading.  It was a book about families and relationships of some specific African American families.  Most teenage girls I see are more likely to have a Style or Cosmo magazine to read on the plane.  Following her lead to talk, I asked her about the book.  I was somewhat taken back as she shared with me that it was about HER extended family and relatives.  It was about her heritage.  As she spoke, it was obvious she had read it many times.  She then mentioned that she was headed back to the Southern United States to learn more about the people she came from, and who they were.  I was still having a hard time believing that this beautiful 19 year old girl, who could be anywhere she wanted, was on this journey.  Then came that tattoo.  What I had thought was just a strange tattoo was only strange because I hadn't really looked at it.  Now, I was looking.  She must have seen my gaze, and slowly rolled up her sleeve to reveal what looked like a large tree, with roots tracing up the veins of her arms.  As she talked, I sat stunned unable to even respond.  She had gotten the tattoo of the tree to remind her of where she came from, and who she was.  The roots of the tattoo that followed up the veins of her arm were to remind her of the roots of those lived before her and their lives that still ran through her today.  That she is a result of who they were, and that she must carry on in her life what they stood for and dreamt of. 
I was not sure which view had given me the most understanding.  The one outside the window, or the one sitting next to me on the plane.  At 19 I not only didn't know who I was, or where I was going, I don't think I cared all that much.  How is it that this young girl had such a deep understanding and vision?  Who or what in her life had given her the focus to see what is important?  Even today....in fact this very day, I am still coming to an understanding of seeing beyond myself.  My view outside the window showed me that I can see so much more.  My view inside the window was a realization that there are opportunities for us to not only see, but understand and do so much more that is meaningful.
As a sweet sister so unmistakably reminded me, life is not about racing to get to a new horizon, or hurrying to a perceived destination.  It is about the the life we live and the things we do along our way.
Thinking my short journey was reaching it's climax, I kind of lost myself in thoughts as we approached our destination in Phoenix.
After landing, my mind slowly came out of it's brief but fulfilling thoughts and I was suddenly back in the real world.  Being two terminals away from my next flight, I easily slipped back into my race mode and made a focused and driven pace down the long corridors.  On my way I was passing people who had easily become impediments to me reaching my destination on time.  Habits are sometimes hard to break.
I arrived just in time to load, pull out my gadgets, and sink in the deep leather chairs.  My mind drifting away as I prepared for the long trip to the East Coast.  To my surprise, the plane was once again loaded and the announcement rang out; "Boarding Complete, prepare cabin".  The seat next to me, to my astonishment was empty.  Thoughts of spreading out were already in process in my mind when an elderly gentleman looked down at me and and my stuff, and informed me that the seat next to me was his......uggg.  I smiled, said hello, and quickly reached for my security zone, the earphones.  Swiftly popping them in I felt the comfort and reassurance I would not be bugged for the next 5 hours. 
Aircraft door closes, a heavy rumble down the runway, soon weightlessness finally quiets the shaking and the clunk of the landing gear being tucked away for flight. Suddenly just the quiet rush of wind past the cabin, and slow drone of the engines. There I am, just waiting for the "ding" that announces I can pull out the computer and get some of the work done that always manages to be waiting for me. 

To my private delight, the new traveling companion of mine had fallen asleep.  Perfect time for me to have some non-chatting time to myself.  I decided to jot down some notes of the past few hours before they were just a fuzzy memory.  It didn't take long for me to wander in and out of the thoughts and meanings of what I had experienced.  I was sharply brought back to the business of travel when the attendant, for the second time, had to shake my arm and ask me to choose a dinner selection.  Popping out my earphones, I gave no thought to the choice, and told him I would have whatever the last option was he mentioned.  My new neighbor gave me a quizzical look,then requested the other option for himself.  As the attendant moved on, my elderly friend asked me if I even knew what I had ordered, all the time wearing a smug little grin.  I was stuck between wanting to ignore him, and also wanting to know what was so funny from his point of view.  His comment wasn't long in coming; do you even know what you ordered?  I somewhat arrogantly responded, Nope! (I was not going to give him the edge in the conversation).  I didn't have a clue what I had ordered because my earphones were in my ears as the attendant was talking to me, but I  wasn't going to give this nosy neighbor of mine any advantage.  The earphones went right back in, and I ate the airline food more out of a need to break up the boredom than from any physical want or need for food.
Our adventure across the country had made it to just east of St Louis when I reached into my bag and pulled out my Golf Magazine that had arrived at home, but hadn't had time to read it.  As I thumbed through it's pages, my elderly new friend asked if I had golfed any of the top 100 courses listed in the magazines cover article.  I had SEEN a couple of the courses, but golfed none of them.  However I tried to act like I knew about some of them (luckily I had read about 3 or 4 of them and could speak to it).  As I finished my stupid conversation and trying to appear like I was knowledgeable, my old friend gave me some insight......HE HAD HELPED WRITE THE ARTICLE.  What do you say to someone who was just able to call your bluff, and yet was as patient as could be in listening to me bloviate about my stupid knowledge.  He then shared with me the stories of how they chose each of the courses.  There wasn't a course I mentioned that he hadn't golfed.  Soon he turned the conversation to me.  Where did I live, where did I regularly golf.  When I mentioned Utah, he pulled out a visor from a golf course that Nicholas had designed in Utah.  On the visor was an autograph to him from Johnny Miller.  He offered me the visor.  I was looking at him in disbelief.  Who was this man?   Where did he come from?  Why was he offering me a gift?  I thanked him, but declined his offer.  We spoke of Palmer, Torino, Player, Mickelson, Tiger, and so many others.  He had either played with each, or known and interviewed them each.  His stories shared so much more insight than just the game of golf.  The stories were not about great shots, or exciting tournament moments.  His stories were about each player as a person, who they were, what made them great as a person. 
At some point, I had to ask him his age.  I thought him to be in his early 60's, but having known Palmer, Player, and Nicholas he had to be older.  78 was what I heard, but in my mind I couldn't comprehend and I asked him to tell me again.  78 was the response a second time.  His body was still fit, his mind and memory sharp.  Perhaps it was my repeated comments about his age that shifted our conversation.
He pointed out that at my age, he looked a bit like me.  Slightly overweight and not as active as he should be (what did he mean I was slightly overweight?  should I be offended?).  He almost whispered his secrets.  He said, "Your from Utah, and if you stay there long enough you will learn some things about health".  Really?? I replied.  He told me that he had never smoked.  He quit drinking alcohol after college.  Didn't drink tea or coffee.  Then came what he felt was the biggest benefit... he never had a need to live a life out of control.  He focused on family and health.  He made a point to discuss the value of getting enough sleep.  Finally, he spoke of the importance of never retiring.  He was impassioned as he spoke about doing something you love, and to never quit.  My AhhHaa moment was about to come......
It was as if he spoke in slow motion, and my mind could hold on each word.  "Take time to appreciate the moments that make up each day".  He shared how regrettable it was for him to think of how many things he missed in his life while he was chasing something else he thought was so important.  Turning serious, he asked me how much I travel.  His eyes closed and his mouth pulled back into a pained look.  Then turning and looking me directly in the eye, told me to do everything I could to not let the fast pace of life overcome what I wanted to be.  All my mind could keep thinking was....who is this guy at 78? why is he sharing these things with me?  Why have I now been given this message three times in one day? 
As the plane landed and pulled to the gate, he shook my hand and let me know how much he enjoyed our conversation.  As strange as it seemed to me, my emotions were close to showing.  I quickly thanked him for the perspective and vision of life he had shared with me.  His words had not just been casual conversation.  He smiled as he pulled down his bag and commented that he wasn't supposed to be on that flight, but had missed his earlier flight.  Our flight was sold out, except for the 1st class seat next to me, and so he took it.  His final words as he started toward the door...."Funny how life goes sometimes". 

I gathered my bags and items and made my way out of the plane.  I figured if I hurried, I could walk with him towards our similar destination near the transportation area.  As I rushed up the Jetway and into the terminal, he was nowhere to be found. Walking on my way through the airport, I looked around several times, but couldn't see him.  As it turns out, we would not speak again.  Soon enough, I stepped out into the shirt soaking humidity of the evening on the East Coast.  In quiet I made my way to get my rental car.  Today's journey was coming to an end.  My destination was moments ahead and another accomplishment achieved.  However, this journey today was different.  For at least on this day, it wasn't where I stood that seemed such an accomplishment, but rather the things I learned along the way. My feeling of completeness didn't come from shutting people out and focusing on me, but came from when I pulled down my wall, and opened my eyes and heart to see others for who they are, and listening to what made them the unique souls they had become.  It was only then that I learned the meaning of what makes a soul, rich and full.
For a few short minutes I remembered those solid formations who had been such a strength in guiding my my life.  My memory called up thoughts of people who have touched my years so deeply, and how because of my inward focus I almost missed their guiding influence.  Finally I paused for a time to remember the wise words of an old man who passed my way and from his unique vantage point could urge me to live so fully in the day and not let it pass unappreciated. 
The hotel desk clerk greeted my arrival with the question.....How was your trip Mr Jensen?