Dal, this lady is a beautiful, petite, medical doctor and intellectual who takes her two dogs into the mountains searching for the treasure. She brings a different flavor to the chase. Maybe your bloggers will enjoy her slant, slightly edited and forwarded with her permission.f
Dear Mr. Fenn,
How have you been? I hope you and your family are healthy and happy. As always, there is too much I would like to tell you. Half are stories about my recent adventures. Half are thoughts that I believe pop like balloons into my consciousness, inspired and inflated by your subliminal airs. Lucky for you that my memory is that of a brain damaged caterpillar’s rather than an elephant’s (or so my sister has informed me). I may have told you already that I have been prioritizing actual exploring over writing of my roamings. Tengo prisa for so many reasons. Winter will be here too soon and access to my favorite hunting grounds will be difficult. The reliability of the 4 runner has been in question and hippo-worthy mud puddles have made for some interesting moments. JCs gray-gowned patience is exhausted despite my efforts to spare him from my daily “discoveries” within your riddle. And I’m afraid that the heft of reality and repeated failures may tip my scales, outweighing the lightness of imagination and hope. The best laid schemes oft go awry, at least for this mouse. Such an imbalance would fill my tramping boots with cement and drown desire.
Orion has found his way into my sky again! Another year chases its quarry around the solar system without gaining ground but gaining experience. Just now he appears to be reclining against the Sandias in silhouette, marvelling at the Milky Way.
I am enslaved by my habits. Only recently have I been exploring all the alternate routes to my destinations. The latest path takes me past a different quarry. For the most part, however, I ask for advice and direction but kind words go in one deaf ear and out the other without leveraging me out of my rut. And my perspective is as focused as from a fixed periscope, only seeing 10 degrees of the horizon through one unblinking eye, missing the other 350 degrees above and everything below. With such sensory deficits I have to rely upon my dogs’ noses that much more to guide our search. But Kiva’s olfactory skills are blunted by time and Sombra’s are blunted by the deer droppings.
I feel a bit overwhelmed. Perhaps that is my MO. Surely this contributes to my inability to write. And of course, there is the issue of plausibility. It is not because I could ever be clever enough, but because I have such dogged perseverance, that I hope to understand the web you weave. It is a daunting prospect. JC was out of town this weekend so I researched and fanangled explanations that might tie some loose ends together. Piles of information. Where will all of these hours lead? Oddly, I am considering this time as meditative, brain wave frequencies harmonizing with the universe. well. In the past few weeks I have searched along the sharp edge of Shakespeares blade, red-eyed and relentlessly, over hills and vales, far from the arroyos where I started, going full circle. I have made multiple trips to criss cross the web space and pace the curves of this “holy field.” I’ve incensed myself and gone around and around and around, chasing the wrong tail. Its like motorboating in a morass, frustrating. But at the end of each day, its not the pot at the end of the rainbow but the rainbow’s kaleidoscope, which was the treasure. I fed ruby red Fuji apples to horses through barbed wire fences. The last of the aspen’s gold shone against sapphire skies. Dark emerald evergreens gave shade to Kiva and Sombra. You’ve heard all this before. To give you hints as to the piece of peace I seek, tiny slice of my heart, miniscule portion of eternity, is the only way I can show you my appreciation. So I carry on almost incessantly.
Tangentially, you have inspired me to check out some books from the library today. Prior to reading your memoir I had not read any biographies nor autobiographies. Now that I am trying to write my patient’s photobiography, it occurred to me that I better study the art. My intended subject was Van Gogh but I found books on A. Earhart, Oppenheimer, Ben Franklin, Keith Richards, and Houdini instead! I think I wish (I’m always careful about how I wish for things) that I was a speed reader with a photographic memory. But I wouldnt wish that if it was at the expense of my health or happiness. To some small degree, maybe ignorance is bliss. Who knows?