During my Junior High School years (remember Junior High?) My parents placed me under the tutelage of an old, retired teacher, named Mrs. Lee. Mrs Lee, a great grand daughter of the famous Southern general Robert E. Lee, lived adjacent to my school in a large yellow antebellum mansion that was itself a bit mysterious for a young southern boy.
Mrs. Lee was a pint size jolly septuagenarian lady with silver hair and an infectious laugh. She had been a grade schoolteacher in her time and had developed special skills for teaching young persons how to read and continued tutoring kids long into retirement.
The house had tall slender windows with open panes that let in the light revealing flowery tattered wallpaper of an earlier era that revealed its age and the care of its owner. I usually arrived early for lesson, and was allowed to rummage around exploring nooks and crannies, trinkets and memorabilia on display or tucked at the end of shelves in her burgeoning bookcases.
I literally loved going there and being allowed to explore before getting down to the business at hand. One day, I can remember, I discovered a large square cabinet in the adjacent room. On its front were two long cabinet doors and a crank on its right side. Unable to restrain my curiosity I carefully opened the two vertical doors revealing an ornate grill framing oblong cotton cover. Addional inspection revaled that the cabinet top lifted from the front. Peering in I saw what should have been a turntable, but was more like a round tray with a ¼ inch high rim. Just to the right of the tray there was an arm like a phonograph but it had no needle, I could not figure out what this odd player would work. It was different from any I had ever seen. Confused, I asked Mrs. Lee when she enter the room to start the lesson.
“O honey,” she laughingly replied, “That’s an old Victrola phonograph, record player.”
“This does not appear to be able to play,” I replied.
“O, its been that way for years,” she continued, “One day years ago it just stopped working. There are some records in the lower cabinet under the speaker.”
I curiously assessed the apparatus before me once again. I discovered the circular tray was not tray at all. It was the turntable on the old machine. Years before someone had turned the playing surface upside down and left it. Mrs. Lee, not mechanically inclined, left it that way. To her mind it had stopped working. It was broken. I inverted the turntable and it fit perfectly. I turned the crank to wind the drive spring, found an old 78 record and inserted a wooden needle discovered in a small compartment. These adjustments completed, the old phonograph played as it had years before.
“That’s wonderful!” laughed Mrs Lee. I can hear those records once again.” She was like a child with a new toy. She began to rummage through the old hard discs locating music she thought had been lost to her. It was so much fun and I felt like my limited understanding of electronics had truly been useful that day. In the weeks that followed, she would recall with sheer joy how thankful she was at the return to function of her phonograph. I heard her comments as personal gratitude for what I had done.
Have you ever received gratitude for something YOU have done for another? Certainly, you have. Such grateful responses come as moments of great celebration and empowerment. You feel valuable to others and encouraged to do even more.
Thanksgiving is an annual national celebration of just that, GIVING THANKS, for what has been done for us. Ancestors who stuck it out. Weathering hardships most of us can not fathom in order to settle this new land and raise families that would see it as home. Every step we take, we are supported by the life-giving efforts of others who have gone before. Our weekly services of worship are actually times to pause, in our ever busying routine, to give thanks for the circles of caring and empowerment within which we live. Not just those we can list when we put our mind in gear, but the myriad relationships which we daily continue to take for granted or even those of which we are unable to be aware.
Mrs. Lee helped me experience the empowering feeling of being on the receiving end as someone to whom thanks is given. When you receive thanks, it is like loose ends are somehow tied together. When someone thanks me for something that I have done, it is as though they have validated the relationship, even if I had no ulterior motive in helping out.
NO PROBLEM A typical response these days, when someone else thanks us for something that we have done, is to quip off, “No problem.” We say “No problem,” rather than you are welcome or glad to do it, or something more relational. I have tried to eliminate this glycerin like expression from my responses for that reason. I suppose, when that is said, it is an attempt not to encumber the other with a sense of obligation. But along with it we eliminate the notion of value that is also implied. If you are someone of value to me, knowing that our relationship is worth investing in is a good thing. My response then is a way of affirming the value of our relationship and by extension, you as a person.
The same holds true in one’s relationship with God. The Hebrew idea of thanksgiving involved a recognition that God was the sole source of power in ones life. It’s a way of recognizing the value of the relationship as an important source and resource in our lives.
At Thanksgiving we remember the early stories of survival recounted by our genetic and spiritual ancestors. We recognize that we are NOT SELF-MADE PERSONS. Our lives are built on the dedication, sacrifices, genetics and spiritual contributions of other persons, often others who will, of necessity, remain nameless to us. Even those of us who have drawn on our own abilities, resources or achievements. We are eternal recipients of the contributions of others even if we don’t know who to personally thank.
Thus, Thanksgiving is not just a national celebration, its not just proper etiquette, it is lifelong state of mind we are invited to cultivate. Thanksgiving suggests THANKS LIVING. It is a recognition of the essential relationships that feed and empower our lives daily.
And so, may I invite you on this Thanksgiving, even if it is over a burger at a fast-food franchise. To join me and think on these things. OK?
Bob is a longtime friend residing in Englewood, Colorado and devotee of Mehr Baba. Earthy and deeply spiritual, Bob is a prized mentor and brother in the world of words.
On my way to work today I pulled up behind a Ford Ranger pickup at a busy intersection. Waiting on the light I began scanning the vehicle for clues about its driver. A large sign was posted in the rear window “Tune In To the Rock 106.9″ . I could hear thudding bass sounds throbbing from the cab. “Kid,” I thought.
I continued my investigation. Hanging on the rear window was the telltale gun rack. “A redneck kid who happens to like Rock,” I then concluded.
A little to far to make out what caliber weapons were hanging on the rack, I surmised high-powered with large scopes, maybe even AK47, just as well go big when I was imagining. I drew closer.
As I moved within striking distance of the Ranger bumper the racks contents became clearer, fly rods and spinning gear. “What!” my head screamed. “This can’t be!”
What self-respecting kid with a gun rack and a Ranger would be carrying fishing gear where guns ought to be? I was stunned. My mind couldn’t hold the dissonance.
Then I began to laugh at my propensity to build profiles with little information.
Jim Tipton’s poetry actually swells the nostrils and moistens the tongue. Few can suggest associations that burst with such flavor and elicit so many instinctive emotions.
James Tipton a Colorado Poet, who lived in Ajijic, Mexico, on the shores of Lake Chapala.
The Hot Tomato, Fruita’s fabulous eclectic pizzeria was born from the meeting of like minds on the corner of Mulberry and Aspen below the Fruita Masonic Lodge. Unlikely place until you look around the intersection and discover other persons dreams in living color. Over the Edge Sports a Single Trackers paradise and Camilla’s Kaffe are directly across the street. Aspen Street Coffee the home of the incredible bean, wonderful goodies and ingenious conversation reaches its sidewalk umbrellas from the diagonal. Around these very cafe tables the flicker which was to become Cavalcade was fanned into full flame. Finally across Mulberry west waits a brewery in the corpse of a recent entreprenurial vision soon to be reborn as The Suds Brothers Micro.
All this is to say that Cavalcade is beginning to thrive in a neighborhood where ideas come to reality over night and draw on the spirit of a young community being reborn in a seedbed laid by a crazy poet, William Pabor, in the former millineum who dreamed of Ute Indian country becoming a fertile garden fed by life giving canals from the Colorado River. When you think of it, what better place to begin a new venture.
Cavalcade is a novel idea, people giving birth to the joy of being together and reveling in one another’s individual gifts. Fruita has long been a secret haven for artists and performers who share their gifts elsewhere and return to the cafe tables on Aspen for brew and friendly conversation. Cavalcade now offers a venue for a sharing among friends. This is what originally made Chautauqua, New York what it is today. Is Cavalcade another Chautauqua in the making? Who knows? For sure those who give it life are unconcerned with grandeur only giving expression to what is wholesome, pure and exciting from the human heart. What better place to begin.
Written during an annual remembrance of my Dad, I THOUGHT addresses a myth regarding the finality of death. Other’s may relate to the images of distance and closeness. It reminds me that we seldom have ideal relationships with our parents. Often there are leftovers when they die. In somevery important ways, our relationship with each parent (or guardian) continues after their death. I have discovered a deeper relationship with my dad in the years and experiences since his death. I now understand him at a depth that I could never have imagined possible.
Cullen Purser a great friend play with Jon Winn a performer in the 50’s and 60’s with Bob Dylan and others. John is one of the many talents that have settled and perform in the Grand Valley. Cullen was introduced earlier in my blog. He is one of our great young spirits, an artisan, fine carpenter, explorer and voice of hope for tomorrow.
Bob Jaeger was born in 1946 in Denver, Colorado. After a number of years wandering and working at jobs as varied as bank teller and oil field rough neck, he settled into teaching elementary and middle school in Littleton. When he retired in 2002, his memories of growing up in Denver were so far removed from the current reality that he moved to Fruita, a small town in Western Colorado, where he lived with his best friend and wife, Gerri, and their two dogs. Reclaiming and remodeling his home in Englewood, Bob and Gerri returned to the Front Range. He continues to Pilgrim to the Meher Baba Spiritual Center in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Bob is the father of Matt and Ben, oddfather of Travis and Jenn, and grandfather of Jalyne. He spends his days reading, writing, walking, cooking, enjoying home projects and gardening. Bob´s first book of poems, This Terrible Fragility, was published by Bread and Butter Press in 1988 (see http://bandbpresscolorado.com/fragility.htm).
James Tipton lives in Ajijic, Mexico, on the shores of Lake Chapala, where he writes poetry and enjoys village life. His work is widely published, including credits in The Nation, South Dakota Review, Southern Humanities Review, The Greensboro Review, Esquire, Field, and American Literary Review. He is also included in various anthologies and other works, most recently Aphrodite, by Isabel Allende (1998), Bleeding Hearts, edited by Michelle Lovric (1998), The Geography of Hope, edited by David J. Rothman (1998), and The Intimate Kiss, edited by Wendy Maltz (2001), Charity, edited by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer (Red Rock Press, 2002), Hope, edited by Sophie Elise Lalazarian (Red Rock Press, 2003), Haiku: A Poets Guide, edited by Lee Gurga (Modern Haiku Press, 2003), Readings for Weddings, edited by Mark Oakley, Vicar of St. Pauls (Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 2004), and Erotic Haiku, edited by Hiroaki Sato (IBC, 2004).
A collection of poems, Letters from a Stranger, with a Foreword by Isabel Allende (Conundrum Press, 1998), won the 1999 Colorado Book Award in Poetry. His most recent collections of poems are Proposing to the Woman in the Rear View Mirror (www.themetpress.com, 2008), Washing Dishes in the Ancient Village/Lavando platos en el antiguo pueblo (Ediciones del Lago, 2009), and All the Horses of Heaven/Todos los Caballos del Paraíso (www.themetpress.com, 2009)
He is currently working on a new collection of poetry in the ecstatic tradition titled To Love for a Thousand Years and a collection of short stories about expatriates in Mexico titled Three Tamales for the Señor.
Mr. Tipton is a popular speaker and reader at conferences and workshops. In addition to workshops on writing, he also offers workshops on a variety of spiritual topics.
Pilgrim Cafe 
Thanks Living
THANKS LIVING
During my Junior High School years (remember Junior High?) My parents placed me under the tutelage of an old, retired teacher, named Mrs. Lee. Mrs Lee, a great grand daughter of the famous Southern general Robert E. Lee, lived adjacent to my school in a large yellow antebellum mansion that was itself a bit mysterious for a young southern boy.
Mrs. Lee was a pint size jolly septuagenarian lady with silver hair and an infectious laugh. She had been a grade schoolteacher in her time and had developed special skills for teaching young persons how to read and continued tutoring kids long into retirement.
The house had tall slender windows with open panes that let in the light revealing flowery tattered wallpaper of an earlier era that revealed its age and the care of its owner. I usually arrived early for lesson, and was allowed to rummage around exploring nooks and crannies, trinkets and memorabilia on display or tucked at the end of shelves in her burgeoning bookcases.
I literally loved going there and being allowed to explore before getting down to the business at hand. One day, I can remember, I discovered a large square cabinet in the adjacent room. On its front were two long cabinet doors and a crank on its right side. Unable to restrain my curiosity I carefully opened the two vertical doors revealing an ornate grill framing oblong cotton cover. Addional inspection revaled that the cabinet top lifted from the front. Peering in I saw what should have been a turntable, but was more like a round tray with a ¼ inch high rim. Just to the right of the tray there was an arm like a phonograph but it had no needle, I could not figure out what this odd player would work. It was different from any I had ever seen. Confused, I asked Mrs. Lee when she enter the room to start the lesson.
“O honey,” she laughingly replied, “That’s an old Victrola phonograph, record player.”
“This does not appear to be able to play,” I replied.
“O, its been that way for years,” she continued, “One day years ago it just stopped working. There are some records in the lower cabinet under the speaker.”
I curiously assessed the apparatus before me once again. I discovered the circular tray was not tray at all. It was the turntable on the old machine. Years before someone had turned the playing surface upside down and left it. Mrs. Lee, not mechanically inclined, left it that way. To her mind it had stopped working. It was broken. I inverted the turntable and it fit perfectly. I turned the crank to wind the drive spring, found an old 78 record and inserted a wooden needle discovered in a small compartment. These adjustments completed, the old phonograph played as it had years before.
“That’s wonderful!” laughed Mrs Lee. I can hear those records once again.” She was like a child with a new toy. She began to rummage through the old hard discs locating music she thought had been lost to her. It was so much fun and I felt like my limited understanding of electronics had truly been useful that day. In the weeks that followed, she would recall with sheer joy how thankful she was at the return to function of her phonograph. I heard her comments as personal gratitude for what I had done.
Have you ever received gratitude for something YOU have done for another? Certainly, you have. Such grateful responses come as moments of great celebration and empowerment. You feel valuable to others and encouraged to do even more.
Thanksgiving is an annual national celebration of just that, GIVING THANKS, for what has been done for us. Ancestors who stuck it out. Weathering hardships most of us can not fathom in order to settle this new land and raise families that would see it as home. Every step we take, we are supported by the life-giving efforts of others who have gone before.
Our weekly services of worship are actually times to pause, in our ever busying routine, to give thanks for the circles of caring and empowerment within which we live. Not just those we can list when we put our mind in gear, but the myriad relationships which we daily continue to take for granted or even those of which we are unable to be aware.
Mrs. Lee helped me experience the empowering feeling of being on the receiving end as someone to whom thanks is given. When you receive thanks, it is like loose ends are somehow tied together. When someone thanks me for something that I have done, it is as though they have validated the relationship, even if I had no ulterior motive in helping out.
NO PROBLEM
A typical response these days, when someone else thanks us for something that we have done, is to quip off, “No problem.” We say “No problem,” rather than you are welcome or glad to do it, or something more relational. I have tried to eliminate this glycerin like expression from my responses for that reason. I suppose, when that is said, it is an attempt not to encumber the other with a sense of obligation. But along with it we eliminate the notion of value that is also implied. If you are someone of value to me, knowing that our relationship is worth investing in is a good thing. My response then is a way of affirming the value of our relationship and by extension, you as a person.
The same holds true in one’s relationship with God. The Hebrew idea of thanksgiving involved a recognition that God was the sole source of power in ones life. It’s a way of recognizing the value of the relationship as an important source and resource in our lives.
At Thanksgiving we remember the early stories of survival recounted by our genetic and spiritual ancestors. We recognize that we are NOT SELF-MADE PERSONS. Our lives are built on the dedication, sacrifices, genetics and spiritual contributions of other persons, often others who will, of necessity, remain nameless to us. Even those of us who have drawn on our own abilities, resources or achievements. We are eternal recipients of the contributions of others even if we don’t know who to personally thank.
Thus, Thanksgiving is not just a national celebration, its not just proper etiquette, it is lifelong state of mind we are invited to cultivate. Thanksgiving suggests THANKS LIVING. It is a recognition of the essential relationships that feed and empower our lives daily.
And so, may I invite you on this Thanksgiving, even if it is over a burger at a fast-food franchise. To join me and think on these things. OK?
Thank you, and
You are welcome.
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