Vista View

Vista View

At the edge, I close my eyes, I breathe and listen. It's calm and tranquil.
I do this - Because I can.

I open my eyes. It's beautiful. It's as I imagined.
I do this -Because I can.

And then, if no one’s around, I yell, the "Tarzan-Call" as loud as possible.
It's not perfect, it’s kind of funky and detracts from the moment
…But, it's who I am.

And I do it, because I can.

Mel Judsen

A long, long time ago...



One Thanksgiving; the family was sitting around talking old sports stories with friends. Dad started talking about Mel Judsen and about what a great athlete he was. He said, “I used to love watching Mel play football. He could hit people so hard. Boy, was he good.” And then he would say, “I remember when he played baseball, Boy was he fast." And then he said, "I remember going to the baseball park just to watch Mel play baseball. Boy, could he throw that ball.”


And then I said, “You know Dad, I was on Mel’s’ team.” And he said, “Oh, well, I used to like to watch you play too.”



It was funny.

A Day to Remeber

A long, long, time ago...

As a child, we used to wander the hills of Marin County in search of adventure. One day, my friend and I were on an expedition for snakes and lizards. An exploit that would take us to one of the many small reservoirs hidden in the hills of Marin.
This was a day in which I will always remember.

As we climbed the road to the top of the Dam, there were several families standing at the edge of the lake; cautiously staring at a group of older boys, who were pelting the tin roof and sides of the delapetated wooden spill-well with rocks. It appeared, as though they'd been drinking and didn’t care much about anything, except the loud bang! the rocks made as they hit the tine roof.

My friend and I figured we could slip past them if we just kept to ourselfs, minding our own business. In retrospect, this probably wasn’t such a good idea. As we neared the rowdy group, they begin to yell, “Catch-em! See if they can swim!” We ran for the horse trail. While I was running, a rock hit me in the head and sent me to the ground. I was bleeding. We ran home.

At the same time we got home, my dad was pulling up in his car. He was driving the green Volkswagen. My father, a High School Teacher, and Coach, was dressed in his wing tip shoes, slacks, white shirt and tie. He stepped from the car and I told him what happened. He checked my head and said, "You'll be fine." Then sent my friend home and told me, “Get in the car, and take me to these boys!”

Walking up the hill, the same hill I'd left an hour ago, it was difficult keep the pace with Dad. every step he would take, I had to run a little, skip and hop just to keep in stride. Once at the top, we could here them - and they were still throwing rocks.

Ignoring the crowd, dad walked straight ahead. Even as rocks flew over our heads, he walked. It wasn’t until we were directly in front of the boys, did they acknowledge us and I thought, how odd and disrespectful this was and I was surprised that they weren't scared of my father.

My father spoke first, saying. “My son was hit in the head by a rock. Which on of you threw the rock?” It was a direct question and I suppose, if you knew my father, it would be in your best interest to reply with a direct answer. But of course, they didn’t know him and so there was no response. He asked again. “Which one you threw the rock?”

A frizzy haired boy, who stood in the middle of the group, stepped forward, and said. “Old man, there’s six of us, and only one of you, what are you gonna do about it?” And I thought, WOW – I’ve never heard anybody talk dad that way.

Dad looked at me and smiled, turned and faced the boys and then - BOOM!!!

Just like lightning, he hit that boy so fast and real hard too. He hit him smack-dab in the center of his chest, it sounded like thunder, loud enough to send ripples across the lake and loud enough to here a roar of approval from the crowd that gathered at the other end of the dam.
The boy flew over the bench, tumbled down the rocky hill and lay motionless at the bottom.

And then, dad said, “Now, there’s-five.”

It’s a day I will always remember.

Daydreamer

Day Dreamer

Just outside the cabin, in a small clearing, I sit in silence; waiting for the morning sun. Slowly, she rises from behind the mountain, and with each breath of light, summons wilderness to dawn.
Down from the mountain, a calm, gentle summer wind whispers through evergreens that tower rivers’ edge; while cool, mountain water flows over rocks, polished by her course. And like the thousand years before, the river sends soft ripples to shore. Pausing in the shadows, she silently moves on.
In the distance, a morning dove coo’s a melody in percussion with the sweet sound of a Mockingbird, and together they chime a romancing ballad, harmonizing wind and river. And just beyond the glade, in a meadow, a doe strolls with fawn, in silent-dance, taking heed of their presence and regard for their purpose in nature’s symphony.


Just then, a loud obnoxious BLAST! …Beep! Beep! A car honks! My mobile phone rings! And a jet flies overhead. Simultaneously, my eyes fly open, feet hit the floor. My mind discharges lame excuses for absence from, WHO - KNOWS – WHERE! “Hey daydreamer,” a familiar voice yells from the street. “Snap out of it. We’re late.” My body responds with reactive contortions, adjusting quickly to the call of reality. Hastily, I don my techno-face, grab the half-soaked paper from the unmowed lawn and squeeze into the car. “Oh well,” I shrug, shedding my melodic mood and fantasy of a cabin in the woods, “I guess its back to the grind.”

Family Practice Policy

This memo is in response to a memo we received from our sons high school with regards to sporting events practice and game policies. I in turn re-wrote it to express our concerns over "Family Practices."

If you plan on practicing or playing in a sporting event during a family vacation or holiday, subsequently bailing (“bailing on your team” is the terminology the AD/coach used in his memo to the parents) on your family, including your Papa, Nana, Uncles, Aunts and Cousins, which by the way, you do not see very often, please keep this in mind.

Given our work schedules, combined with our limited company’s vacation plans, schoolwork, school holiday schedules and sporting events; it has become increasingly difficult to find the time to Practice Family. Both your Father and Mother work very hard and need to take a vacation when time permits. Therefore if you choose to attend a sporting practice or event during a planed vacation; consequently bailing on everything that is really important, you will lose out on the following:

Jumping off the top of Diana and Rainbow Falls, swimming at the Dam, riding the quads, playing baseball and football with all your Uncles, Aunts, and Cousins, sleeping outside, hiking to the gold mind, shooting the pellet gun, driving without a license, sitting down to eat with forty people who love you very much. Playing card games, building forts, chasing wild pigs and making the biggest Bonn-fires you’ll ever see. Also, keep in mind. Unlike your school sport programs, during family vacations you are guaranteed unlimited playtime irrespective of your athletic ability. However, on occasion it will be required to collect wood for the fire, to keep Uncle Greg warm throughout the night.

If you should choose to attend a sporting event instead of a “Family practice”, you will NOT lose our respect or your standing within the family. We love you and understand how difficult it is to choose between your coach, teammates and family. We do; however, feel that it is unfortunate that time could not be set-aside for both - after all that’s why we have Holidays. I have always said, “My greatest memories as a child, my most vivid recollections are not those of practices and or games, but rather vacations I spent with family and friends.

Student Athlete signature: _______________________________________

Parents: _______________________________________

I’ve been-there and done-that. When a policy is written such that it forces our child to choose between his Family and his Sport; it puts our son between a rock and a hard place. Wouldn’t it be more beneficial to acknowledge that family is important, and recognize this value within your policy and not schedule practice for the day after Thanks giving?

The Cabin and The Moon

It was a cold winter’s night. From the cabin window, my son watched the moon fill the night sky. A fresh blanket of snow covered the ground. The wind howled, through cracks in the walls, like wolfs in the distance. The fire, warm, kept the vision of cold outside. It was a picture of simplicity, life in black and white, enchanted by his imagination. I envied his thoughts and put them to words.


Moon Daddy, Moon.

...Listen to the night wolf cry.
As winters moon fills the sky.

Her light cast down on new fallen snow.
The river iced, her banks a glow.

While Angels dance at rivers edge,
A child whispers this silent pledge,

“In my eyes of winters past,
Let the moon-lit night forever last.”

Judgment

I try not to judge people based on their political, social, spritual and or religious points of view. Rather, I choose to judge people based on my political, social, spritual, and or religious points of view. I don’t know - just seems to work out better that way.

Autumn - I just like the word

It was autumn when my friend came to be, her smile gentle and kind.

An Evening with Dad

Every night, she would sit on the front porch, looking over the valley to the mountains in the distance.
It was this time, when the shadows grew tall; a warm summer breeze would descend from heavens, cross the valley floor and touch gently upon her skin.
At that moment, she would close her eyes; raise her hands towards the setting sun and with slow intention, she would breathe in the memory of her father and imagine the soft echo of his voice. Slowly, she would breathe. And with each breath, the warmth of her father's prescence and his embrace would return. And at that moment,once again, they sit side by side and together they bathe in the fulfillment of past memories and enjoy the gift and spirit of time.
Then, just as each night before, the sun sets behind the mountain, and the shadows blend into night. With a sigh of rejoice, her hands return to her side, and she gazes into the twilight.
The memory of her father and the warm summer evenings they shared slowly gives way to the sound of children playing. Rising, she turns towards the laughter, but before she goes, she looks back into the night sky, and with a quiet whisper, she says. “…Good night Dad, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her day, now complete, she reflects on what a glorious and wonderful day it has been.

Old Man

An old man, dressed like our fathers, in a hat, sweater, shirt and tie, was standing on the edge of the street. His hands were at his side, one holding a cane while the other shook uncontrollably. He mumbled as I walked by.
…So, I stopped and I asked.

“Excuse me sir! Is everything alright?”
“No!” He said, “The bus is late; it’s usually on time.
But today it’s late. Otherwise, I’m fine.”

I said, “Sir, It’s been ten years since the bus stopped here.”
…He stared at me, what seemed like forever.
He got real old and his body surrendered.
He dropped his head, his shoulders fell.
He whispered, “Son…, I don’t feel so well.”

I asked him his name, he said "John Cook."
I held out my hand, in which he shook.
I said, "John, if you have time.
How ‘bout some coffee - it'll be my dime.”

The Old Man worked hard for a smile,
And said, “That would be nice and
if you would, I mean, if you have the time,
could you stay awhile?”

So we sat and talked, spoke of old times.
He told his stories and I told mine.
It was strange how similar our lives had been.
The same old stories, over and over again.

The more he spoke the more I learned.
The more he spoke, his memory returned.
And then, in quiet-refrain, he mumbled,
“Son…, what’s your name?”

I looked at him, thought a second or two,
And said; “That’s funny! It’s the same as You!”

…And there I sat, all alone.

The stories I told were those of my own.
An old man in my hat, sweater, shirt and tie,
my hand was shaking, and my cane was at side.

Coach

Coach,

I don’t know enough about baseball to do much harm - so you’re “safe!” and I don't have the right to pass judgment; for my house, is but a stones throw from my neighbors. I also know that my opinion is exactly that – subjective in truth. So the following paragraphs are merely observations and/or suggestions made in kind.

A child’s dream is his or her most sacred of ambitions. It remains untouched, sheltered from the bitter truths of reality. As parents it’s our duty to protect them from the insensitivities of reality and pacify their dreams to the best of our abilities. All of our boys dream the same dream, that one day they will achieve greatness in sports. Unfortunately, the reality is that very few will play professionally, and even though this is fact, we will continue to encourage and foster the dreams against all odds.
Why? Simply because, we love them, and perhaps, it’s because we know that our child’s success is based on their ability to believe in themselves. By denying them this opportunity based on our assumptions of the “game” and the emphasis on the WINNING, is wrong.

Therefore, given the circumstances of the “Traveling Team,” (expense, travel, and time involved), I would encourage that an extra effort be taken to let all children play equally. Trust me; I understand the game of wins and losses, and the “Thrills of Victory.” But these are not the virtues of great men. Great men are compassionate; they are honest, confident and wise. Great men are not all great athletes, but I would wager that some time in their past, they had a coach who believed in them more than they believed in themselves.

Sincerely,
Pat Chavez