Today was my dad's birthday. He would have been 79 years old today. I thought of him yesterday, and thought to myself that I would have to remember him today, and maybe give him a little public recognition.

But I forgot about this for most of the day, until tonight I was catching up on an aviation blog I look in on now and then. My father flew from the time he was about 16 years old until he retired from American Airlines after 33 years, 33 days in service, during the 'golden age' of civil air transport. I remember this because I was a passenger on his final flight as a crew member, returning from Hawaii to California. The flight attendants had a contest among the passengers to guess his time with the airline, and they served a cake they brought aboard.

After my father died just before Christmas in 2005, I took care of his afairs as best I could, with the assistance and support of my two sisters. One the the things that needed to be dealt with was the disposition of all his accumulated belongings. I tried very hard not to keep anything for myself, allowing only a few momentos into the box where those things accumulated over the several weeks we spent in the emptying house. I think now that maybe I should have kept a few more items, and feel bad for the way I dispassionately discarded so many things that must have meant something to him.

Earlier this evening, I was out at a cafe with some friends, and for no particular reason, I had a profound flash of realization even as those around me laughed and chatted that there was an end to life - something we all believe we know intellectually, but rarely acknowledge in a personal or complete sense. We fret about the past and anticipate the future balancing hope and regret, seeking reward and avoiding punishment. As though we could occupy ourselves with such frivolous (but seemingly important) nonsense for an eternity, always seeking to get it just right.

Maybe those few moments of clarity were the first remembering today of Dad's birthday. His passing is a sad reminder of how little opportunity we have to find contentment, which escaped him so much of the time. This short remembrance today is my birthday gift to him. I wish he was here to enjoy a goofy card and a phone call. When I had to clean out his desk, I found numerous cards and notes I had sent him over the years. It was a gift to me knowing that he cared enough to save them when the wastebasket was so close at hand.



Feliz cumleaños, papacito.

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Went to two more graduate recitals today, both percussion. Yesterday I also attended two, one harp, one guitar.



This is a great opportunity as graduation approaches each year. The undergraduate and grad students must put together a recital as part of their music studies program. The events draw surpirsingly small audiences, with the recital hall being perhaps five percent full. All performances are open to the public and free. Most of the people attending appear to be students fulfilling educational requirements or family members (some from far away). Forgive me for saying so, but I fear the greater American public prefers to sit on the their sofa eating Cheez Doodles and watching Nascar...



After several performances, I have been facinated by the pieces that were chosen for the recital, and found that even the most obscure or avant-garde is likely to be on YouTube. An amazing musical education repository. For example, the piece piece the guys are playing above is called Rain Tree, by Japanes film score composer Toru Takemitsu. Here it is, performed by an ensemble at the University of Alaska...

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It seems Spring has firmly arrived now. I planted four containers of pansies and alyssum for the front deck today, and Pat mowed the grass in the front and back for the first time since last November. There is a forecast for foul weather (lluvia si, pero nieve no, gracias a Dios...), y por eso it seemed that everyone within earshot had their noisy fume-belching mowers out for their seaonal debut as well, and several neighbors followed that act up with a rototiller session in their backyard veggie plots. We have the virtuous reel-type push mower - ain't we green?

I will need to haul out the box of seeds from last year and hit the nursery soon for my own planting - probably will have carrots, lettuce, chard, beets, and beans in the ground by the end of the day next Sunday. The first round of peas went in a week ago...

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This afternoon I was back at the University performing arts center for a graduate student violin recital before running a few errands. The violinist had a name right out of an Annie Proulx Wyoming story - Wyatt True. While he is not a Wyoming native, he does perform with the Cheyenne Symphony, so I guess that makes up some for his Pennsylvania roots. By the way, Annie Proulx has a new (third) collection of Wyoming stories, Fine Just the Way It Is, which I just received and am looking forward to reading.

The first piece Mr. True performed was Bach's Sonata in A minor - and once again I found myself blissfully dozing in my usual seat as the dreamy second movement enveloped me.

Tonight on YouTube, I found an astonishing performance of this sonata by a violinist namesd Hilary Hahn - below is her rendition of the 4th movement, the Allegro. The first three movements of this performance are also out there if you care to arrange them in order to enjoy the entire sonata...I Grave, II Fuga, III Andante.




I read a comment that there are only one or two violinists in a generation who are able to do justice to Bach violin sonatas. Hilary Hahn is one such artist.

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After work today I had to drive straight to the VW shop North of town, to meet with the owner and go over the ambitious Vanagon mechanical refurbishing project that is likely to begin next week. I was really tired this afternoon, and it pisses me off that I can't take a nap when one is so obviously required. Most of the day was filled by a single customer who had security configuration issues I was unprepared to deal with due to lack of training and experience (and interest, I suppose).



After the review of my big list of campervan parts and tasks with the shop guy, I stopped by home long enough to walk the dog properly, and then headed out to a student chamber music recital at the University School of the Arts a couple of miles from home. It was a satisfyingly diverse program, ranging from string quartets to a euphonium and tuba ensemble.

I fell blissfully asleep at least twice while enjoying the concert, but hopefully didn't snore. Much.

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Mona was down from Wyoming for a program at the Shambhala center here in Fort Collins over the weekend. With our full time work and never enough time for whatever else needs attention around here we haven't been getting up to the ranch, so it's great to have her down here. She always brings a few treats from her kitchen - this time including some of the best cookies I've ever had.



We went to the center to meet her at the conclusion of the second night, and tagged along with most of her other program participants to a nearby retaurant, where we hung out for around three hours eating, drinking, and talking.



Tonight I went to the Bean Cycle bookstore/cafe for the weekly Spanish conversation, which has recently attracted some skilled speakers. It's a good exercise, and and seemed especially timely for me this week after I spent half of Sunday catching up on some of the better blogs from the ex-pat community scattered across Mexico.

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Last night we headed to old town after work, although we were both pretty wiped out by the worday/week. It was First Friday, so the gallery circuit was part of the agenda, but we also wanted to meet up with some of the work folks at a local brewpub to have a drink with one guy who was celebrating a birtday. We both wanted to have a chance to see some of the work people away from the cubicle acreage. It was OK, but two beers set us back about eleven bucks with tip, and I had the pleasure of learning that I am the oldest person working in the group. The guy I thought was probably older than me seemed very pleased to lose this title. Pat came in second, being a few months older than the former site-geezer.



In the pre-dawn hours this morning, the Colorado sky emptied its frosty bowel on us one more time, disregarding all the promising signs of spring. It's a wet sloppy snow that blankets everything today, but we had no problems driving around to get a few errands out of the way. I'm grateful that the watering circus is postponed for a few more weeks.

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Monday night I went to the Bean Cycle in old town for an evening of Spanish conversation with our assortment of regulars and newcomers. After parking around the corner, I noticed in a nearby space the rusting hulk of an American Luxury Car. Minus hubcaps and front grill, it had a soiled and frayed interior of the kind of velour and many-segmented cushions that I guess were at one time supposed to conjure up visions of a carriage delivering the Royals in a ceremonial procession to Buckingham Palace.

It occured to me that this sad vehicle was a reasonable metaphor for the country in its present state. It provided a simulation of luxury in its better years, financed by a lot of debt, and now the sad sacks that have to tool around in them are tapped out and trying not to notice the deterioration that surrounds them. The Detroit auto industry and Washington economic infrastructure are in a state of near collapse.

In both cases, there is an unmistakable sense that things are no longer as cushy as they once were, doubt that things were every really as good as the trappings hinted at, and a nagging fear that at any moment, the wheels might fall off.

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