JoEllen Collins—a longtime resident of the Wood River Valley, now residing in San Francisco— is an Idaho Press Club award-winning columnist, a teacher, novelist, fabric artist, choir member and proud grandma.
A few days ago I visited my longest-time dear friend, who lives in Sausalito, California. Since our first meeting in Mrs. Silva‘s Spanish I class at Burroughs High School, in Burbank, we have never lost touch. I believe we were chosen to be sisters. Thus, we always have dynamic visits sharing laughs and tears over our important events.
When I left to catch an Uber, I giggled at the vehicle still parked in front of her hillside home overlooking the bay. There stood a very old London taxicab in the same spot it has occupied for decades. The neighbors are sufficiently pleased with its presence that they petitioned the city to allow it to remain in its whimsical location. Someone had pasted a message under the passenger window, “in pursuit of magic.” While feeling warm about this obvious endorsement of a memory-filled vehicle, I thought that it accurately described the nature of both of our long lives.
Always risking sentimentality, I prefer to think of my longevity as aided by the many magical experiences, incidents, and friends and family I have known. It was “magic” when I was adopted by a deeply loving mother and father, who saw me through severe asthma (I was bedridden for my whole third-grade year), and encouraged me in my early volunteering and travel even to then-considered faraway and perhaps dangerous countries, and always were thrilled with what accomplishments I enjoyed. They also tolerated my sometimes-poor choices in romance but gave me a consistent sense of gratitude for each other and for even the difficult days we live.
Of course, I was tasked with many incidents of sadness and fear, but somehow my family’s influence allowed me to recover, sometime poorly but also occasionally well. Maturity with a sese of joy only happens because we overcome the difficult incidents, attempts, and people during our time on earth. I am somewhat surprised that I do feel content with my splotchy life, one I never imagined with its disappointments and also amazing joys. I didn’t have the life-long deeply loved and respected marriage I thought was my goal but survived this unfulfilled dream by meeting so many new people around the world, finding fascinating women and, yes, men, during my adventures through the main years of my maturity.
I didn’t get a Ph.D. and become a professor in an exciting small college, perhaps in New England, nor did I attend the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts in England, then a dream of mine. Instead, I studied at UCLA to become an English teacher, a profession I loved. I have pursued, and found, magic through that choice.
However, I have since enjoyed other miracles: being accepted by my birth mother’s family, just a few years ago, treasuring my own motherhood, my daughters who have always been sources of joy, even now in their maturity, the creative projects I have tried, books, movies, theaters, occasional romances, lovely friends, and more than I could have expected of a beautiful life. Thanks for the pursuit of magic.
I just went back and looked at my files and discovered I have been writing this column for over five years. That amazes me because it only feels like moments. I go back and reread some of my articles and I wonder where that all came from, and I am in awe of how grateful I am for the energy that has provided the words I share. It seems so effortless and so I believe it comes from a connection of my higher self.
Have you ever had the courage to really accept that you can become your higher self even just for a moment? We have been taught to believe that we are mere humans, beings that must obey an outside source that will punish us if we don’t follow all the rules. I beg to differ with this thought as we all are capable of becoming our higher selves in moments of inspiration, or in emergencies of need or particularly in moments of total joy. I challenge you to find moments in your day when you allow your higher self to become your earthly self, if just for a flash in time.You would be surprised at how quickly that magic will flow when you acknowledge your grandness, not from ego, but as a creator, an experiencer of life, and then you share it with others.
I have this winter hat I wear out when it is a bad hair day and I love it. The energy must radiate from me because I cannot wear the hat anytime without people asking me where I got it. My husband says he’s never seen anything like the response to this unique hat. The joy I get out of connecting with people fills my soul and I know love energy has been exchanged.
I challenge you to create and explore ways to exchange love energy with strangers you meet. It is absolutely beautiful and life enhancing. When you give love, it comes back to you and everyone’s energy is expanded along with elevating the energy of the planet. Love yourself enough to be truly who you are as we are each special in so many ways. Recognize that you could just be the gift someone is waiting for, and we can alter the direction of our world. Love first, think later.
I was on a Zoom call the other night and so many in the group had no idea how to love themselves. It had been trained out of them. Loving yourself means having the priority to occasionally put yourself first, choosing for you rather than the whole, making yourself completely happy just for a small period of time. I think life challenges have sidetracked our ability to put joy first, but I have discovered that if you put the creation of joy first, the challenges of life solve themselves.
We as humans, now, more than ever, need to put our joy as our focus and the energy will rise to the occasion. Make a list of joy-filled moments, keep a journal by your bed and describe a joyful moment before you sleep. Your dreams will be good and your tomorrows will blossom with magic. Give yourself the gift of loving you. Blessings, Dove.
Bryce Angell – The outdoors has always been a large part of my life. My father was an outfitter and guide for 35 years and I was there to shoe and care for the horses and help him do the cooking. We took many great trips into the Yellowstone area. Even now that I’m older, we still ride into the Tetons, Yellowstone and surrounding areas. My poems are mostly of personal experience. I am now retired and enjoying life to the fullest. I plan to do more riding and writing.
The year was 1942. He’d barely turned eighteen. The February snowdrifts were like none he’d ever seen.
The boy, turned man, now had a gal who lived three miles away. So he hooked his dogsled to old Jake and soon were on their way.
The young man and his one-dog team then made the best of time. Even though the last few yards were all an uphill climb.
His girlfriend was a portly gal. She sat down on the sleigh. The young man hollered, “Jake,” and they were sleigh-bound for the day.
The three of them were sailing. hey were sliding down the hill. But when they hit the level ground, the sleigh was standing still.
So, the young man and his sled dog pushed and pulled till out of breath. While the young gal on the sleigh was almost frozen half to death.
The young man started wondering if a gal is worth the work. He thought about his father’s words, “They’ll drive you plumb berserk!”
The time seemed like forever till they reached his family’s farm. He walked his girl into the house. Inside she’d find it warm.
Hot cocoa and fresh donuts had been laid out by the fire. That day the young man fell in love. He couldn’t feel much higher.
But the young man didn’t have the strength to push his gal back home. And Jake had disappeared, so he’d be pushing all alone.
So the young man hitched up Tuck and Molly to the family sleigh. He’d need to make the best of time, not much left of the day.
He grabbed some hot rocks from the fire and blankets off the rack. Old Jake had reappeared and he had hopped up on the back.
The young man wrapped his girlfriend like an overstuffed cocoon. Then hollered, “Tuck and Molly” — had to get her home real soon.
He walked his girl up to the door. Her father in plain sight. He turned the team and hollered, “Haw.” Then drove into the night.
Jake snuggled to the young man. They would keep each other warm until the sleigh and riders would reach the family farm.
Alas, the young man was bone tired. He went where dreams can roam.
Then woke up parked next to the barn. Tuck and Molly drove him home.
Young Adult Author Nathan Hale has his childhood doodles and history bend to create hilarious takes on American history. The Utah native was either going to make his living on snow—as his family does—or, take his illustrations, research and storytelling ability to make a life. Wood River Middle School students were thrilled he chose the latter. Photo Credit: Samantha Archibald Mora
Author Nathan Hale Might Just Have Found An Antidote For Our Kids’ Literacy Malaise
By Jennifer Liebrum
WRMS students challenged Nathan Hale to a quiz show using details from an array of popular young adult literature. Hale landed somewhere in the middle. Photo Credit: Samantha Archibald Mora
Judging by the reaction of the toughest crowd any human can face–middle schoolers–Nathan Hale seems to have honed a remedy for the nation’s reading and retention problem.
As a New York Times best-selling author of historical fiction for young adults, Hale knows his way around titter-inducing fart humor and gasp-inducing gore.
But cannier still is his ability to amplify historical events that might otherwise be overlooked, bringing to light some encouraging and little-known facts, recounting them in a palatable way using his skills as an illustrator.
His incredibly popular Hazardous Tales–13 historical non-fiction biographical novels with a focus on American history are celebrated for “lively, rigorously researched, visually engaging stories,” according to the School Library Journal.
Hale is retired from the school circuit, but was coaxed out thanks to Wood River Middle School librarian Samantha Archibald Mora, who met him at a book signing.
“I told him that if he were ever to visit, he should come to our school. His reply: If you can get me skiing in Sun Valley, I’ll come to your school for free. Deal struck!”
Mora secretly went about upping the ante to ensure an RSVP from Hale.
“Our community did WAY better than that,” Mora said. Hale was invited to a two-week stay as a Writer-in-Residence at the Hemingway House through The Community Library.
The Utah native shared his unique riff on famed explorers Lewis and Clark, and given the audience’s rapt attention and laughter, Hale deftly proved he has their pulse.
“My whole job is to dig through history and find things that are positive,” he told a packed audience at the Hailey school last week. “That can be difficult to do since history is filled with so many horrible things.”
Author Nathan Hale filled up the auditorium with students. Photo Credit: Samantha Archibald Mora
At WRMS, it took Hale a little under an hour to bring history to life, and enlist a new batch of fans.
Sitting comfortably at a table, a small screen in front, mic in one hand, pen in the other, and a big screen at his back, Hale silenced a twitchy audience within minutes using his tenor and pacing to enhance a fast and funny narration of the following:
This misadventure began shortly after America purchased a whole lot of real estate called the Louisiana Purchase in 1803 and Capt. Meriwether Lewis and Lt. William Clark were dispatched on a U.S. military excursion meant to survey and document the land mass to prove its worth.
It was opined that Lewis should pick up a medical kit and some last-minute tips on field medicine from the then Surgeon General Dr. Benjamin Rush. Lewis balked, “we aren’t going to get hurt,” but, he went anyway because he was shamed by others who called that thinking, “the stupidest plan ever.”
Rush taught him to use blood-sucking leeches for simple wounds, you know, gunshots and such. If a broken bone isn’t healing, he was to grab the bone saw, and amputate. There would be a lot of blood on his face, and screaming, which should be ignored.
“I’m not telling this to make you laugh, this is real,” Hale sidebarred.
Rush threw in some liquid mercury and his namesake stomach pills, which he didn’t explain, just offered with a sinister brow.
The intrepid crew loaded up with the aforementioned bone saw, leeches, Dr. Rush’s Bilious Pills and silver “friendship” medallions. They donned their Captain Crunch-style epithets, loaded up a web-toed Newfoundland puppy, voluntold Clark’s family slave, York, that he was coming along, and went to locate 39 more for the Corps of Discovery tour.
York was born into slavery in the Clark home and was a childhood companion to Clark. York towered over everyone, broad and strong. The natives would dub him Buffalo Man, and they couldn’t keep their hands off his black and muscled body, or his fluffy puppy.
Told by superiors that a woman should be recruited next, Hale said explorers’ initial reply was, “No one even tried out,” but they still followed a lead from a French trapper to Sacajewea, a Native American woman stronger and shrewder than most men. She was pregnant with what would turn out to be the first baby of the Corps, a boy nicknamed Pomp.
“So this diverse group of people of all races and backgrounds,” proceeded along the river, noticing, naming and then barbecuing every single animal—from coyotes to pelicans—that they met on their journey. “Two hundred and thirty brand new species of animals and they barbecued every one of them,” Hale recalled.
This equated to six pounds of meat, per person, per day, with no fruits or veggies. This led to unbearable constipation.
Dr. Rush’s pills to the rescue with scorched earth style relief. Each popped a pill and headed off into the brush to relieve themselves in epic pain, glory and thunder.
York, it was said, “set off a mushroom cloud.”
Two hundred years later, explorers with metal detectors located giant, explosive piles of mercury in the Corps’ former campsites. They determined the toxic dump was because the pills contained mercury, a deadly metal if ingested.
As ugly as history has proven, Hale brightened the ending of his true tale noting that two white men, a French trapper, and otherwise powerless Americans, York and Sacajewea, were united and even shared voting rights.
“Pomp couldn’t vote though, dogs and babies are cute, but they are too dumb to vote. But, Pomp was the first baby to ever walk the trail.”
The Corps, Hale noted, was “an American history miracle.”
Moonies geeked out across the valley Thursday night, texting each other to stay awake and share the mystical experience of the lunar eclipse that turned the moon crimson in the early hours of Friday. South valley resident Salena Ortiz used her Galaxy 24 with time lapsed settings to track the path, and captured the perfect moment of totality.
A “Blood Moon” is a celestial event that occurs when the Earth moves directly between the Sun and the Moon, causing Earth’s shadow to fall across the lunar surface. Unlike a solar eclipse, this phenomenon is safely visible to the naked eye and can be seen from anywhere on the nighttime side of Earth. The red color appears because sunlight passing through Earth’s atmosphere is filtered and bent — a process called atmospheric scattering — which removes the shorter blue wavelengths and allows longer red and orange wavelengths to reach the Moon. This filtered light gently illuminates the Moon even while it’s in shadow, creating the deep copper or crimson hue that gives the “Blood Moon” its name. This is the same reason sunsets and sunrises appear red or orange. Photo Credit: Salena Ortiz
The beauty of the community in this Valley is in the conversations, the friendship and laughter we have at the market, the post office, the liquor store. The history here is held together by our conversations and the luxury of reading about our trials, tribulations, successes and happiness in our publications. This very paper you read now is testament to the value of love that happens when we get together, when we make it real to deliquesce into joy over a shared laugh, dinner, drink, or kiss.
Community grows from sharing our adventures—with our friends and neighbors but also with what might be strangers, for the moment, until that time when your life meets theirs. These papers keep us together, informed, and allow us to put the “Hey!” in our week.
A rancher’s daughter, wonderful woman and friend, Winnie Bird, was so kind as to donate one of her cherished copies of the old Hailey Times to remind us what the Valley has been about for so many years.
This cache of Hailey history was published on Thursday, June 21, 1956, titled:
“75 Years of Progress in Idaho’s Famous Wood River Valleys” – notice the plural
This old Hailey Times paper is in, essentially, a magazine format, measuring around 10 by 17 inches. The stories are fairly long and packed with local characters. Coming in at eight or more pages, we are, perhaps, reminded of a time when reading was the primary mode of finding entertainment and information.
The stories range from mentions of Jay Gould, “one of the richest and most influential men to ever visit the Wood River Valley,” to memoirs of influential Hailey characters and wild tales of partying in Bellevue. This being from ‘56, mining stories abound along with quirky advertisements and fun histories.
This sample was taken from the story:
PIONEER CHARACTERS WERE PLENTIFUL
by Keith McBride
‘From an Interview with Joseph W Fuld.’
“There aren’t many of us real oldtimers left,” Joe commented. “The real old characters, like Lousy John, or insectivorous John, as George McLeod used to call him, are all gone. I don’t know whether John was really lousy or not, but he hung around all the saloons and took a few drinks for pay.”
It goes on to talk of an “unforgettable character, Old Jack Rafter,” who was apparently “bow-legged, stooped and had a dignity that was charming. He was honest as the day was long and generous to a fault.”
Days used to be long! A very unique advertisement reads:
“ADVERTISE FOR HUSBANDS
June 27, 1883.– Any two respectable men, widowers, bachelors, or young men, in good circumstances, that wish Missouri girls for wives, can get them by replying to this. We are orphan girls and it is our desire to have Oregon husbands. Our ages are 17 and 24, respectively. J.D. and A.M. Wiliams”
We certainly don’t see ads like this these days. And they’re looking for Oregon husbands! The times they did change.
And don’t we often hear a similar sentiment, how ‘old Hailey was’, or how ‘The valley used to be xyz’. It’s so common and understandable. We cherish our own stories but how amazing it is to peer into the ancient history of those who inhabited the same space as us only so long ago. Most definitely some who live here will remember these times and perhaps even the names.
The Valley has always had characters and unique individuals. Just ask Gorb at The Casino about TK or Joyce, Linda Anderson or Kelly Dawson. It’s a fantasy and a history that intertwine like vines from the same grapes of wrath. The Hailey Times is simply full of charm and nostalgia with so much rich history.
With much thanks to Winnie Bird, you can view multiple photos of the old Hailey Times draping stories on its pages from the Valley in the mid ‘50s.
If someone tells you that love takes time, tell them to wait for it, then. Meanwhile, we push toward our own happy future by relishing the past.
Bryce Angell – The outdoors has always been a large part of my life. My father was an outfitter and guide for 35 years and I was there to shoe and care for the horses and help him do the cooking. We took many great trips into the Yellowstone area. Even now that I’m older, we still ride into the Tetons, Yellowstone and surrounding areas. My poems are mostly of personal experience. I am now retired and enjoying life to the fullest. I plan to do more riding and writing.
Maybelline was a pretty blonde with four white stocking feet. And Scoot, an older gelding whose good sense was hard to beat.
Well, Maybelline and Scoot were down in Goblin Valley way. The trail was long and winding. They’d be gone most of the day.
Maybelline said, “Scoot, I’d like to make a small request. I see it’s almost lunch time and these cowboys need a rest.”
Then Scoot replied, “I guess you’re right. These cowboys like to eat. We’ll stop here for an hour; get them off the saddle’s seat.”
Two cowboys stepped on down and moseyed over to the rocks. They pulled out fish and crackers from an overstuffed lunch box.
Then Maybelline said, “Scoot, do cowboys always eat canned fish? It’s all I’ve ever seen ‘em eat. Must be their favorite dish.”
Well, Scoot said, “Maybelline, a cowboy is a different lot. There’s no predicting what they’ll eat. Their stomachs must be shot.”
“And cowboys must be bashful, quite unlike both you and me. Each time that Mother Nature calls they go behind a tree.”
Then Maybelline said, “Scoot, you’re right. Sometimes they’re quite absurd. But my rider tells a story better’n any song I’ve heard.”
Scoot then smiled, “Well, Maybelline, does he stretch it just a bit? I heard my rider say to him, ‘I think you’re full of @#&*’!”
Both horses gave a belly laugh. The riders looked their way. Each rider shrugged his shoulders, said, “That was a funny neigh.”
Then Maybelline said, “Scoot, those cowboys really have no clue. ‘Cuz if they knew what we’d just said for sure we’d both be glue.”
Scoot said, “If it weren’t for us those cowboys would be lost. The best thing they’ve seen happen is when our paths were crossed.”
Maybelline said, “Scoot, those cowboys move just like a snail. Let’s get ‘em in the saddle ‘cuz it’s time to hit the trail.”
Then Scoot said, “Maybelline, I’ve sure enjoyed our ride today. We’ll get these cowboys back to camp. That’s where they keep the hay!”
Did you know that whenever you hug somebody, the energy rises to the frequency of the person with the highest vibration? It does not even matter what type of hug it is, it just has to be that connection to someone with pure focus, even just for a moment.
A hug can balance your energy in a breath. Just think about what hugging your animal does for your energy, because our animals share their energy and hold nothing back. The pure joy you receive when hugging an animal is off the charts. I found that my animals could totally change my energy. How blessed we are to have animals and each other to hug.
Instead of having a day that celebrates race or color or history month, why don’t we have a day to celebrate giving hugs from the heart, either energetically or physically. Just think how the energy would expand if none of us were afraid to just hug our neighbor or the clerk who served us at the store. The hug can be in the version of a compliment, not always a physical touch.
I have heard it stated that it takes twelve hugs a day just for survival. Have you given or received your hugs today? You can always hug a tree—they love to be hugged!
We are blessed with physical sensations that move us emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. We can read something that makes us feel, or watch a movie that makes us cry. How blessed we are with these abilities to perceive joy.
Balance in life is a very special gift. It seems to make everything work in harmony. When we are balanced, physically, mentally, emotionally or spiritually, life flows easily. It is only when our focus becomes so one-sided that our ability to live with ease evaporates.
I always try to look at how I am balancing my life to determine where I need to change some things. If I am focusing too much on the spiritual, without taking care of the physical, I find that I am ungrounded and not able to function in the physical world with joy. If I participate too much in the physical side of life, ignoring the spiritual, I also find I become separated from my intuition and higher self. That also does not work for me. If I mentally let the world news and energy become dominant, I find that I get very tense, and my joy disappears.
I know myself well enough that each day I must find time to be creative, be it with cooking, gardening, sewing or any of the other choices I choose to play with. I have come to know that, for me, the balance of life is essential for my health. I must incorporate all aspects of self into my weekly existence. I don’t have to do it every day, but my week must consist of a variety of energy—physical, mental, spiritual and emotional.
Have you had your hugs today? If not, give yourself one. Better yet, find a live person to hug.
When I worked in an office, we always started the day with a hug. Hug yourself into balance. Hug someone today and raise both of your frequencies. You can even hug your dragon. Blessings, Dove
JoEllen Collins—a longtime resident of the Wood River Valley, now residing in San Francisco— is an Idaho Press Club award-winning columnist, a teacher, novelist, fabric artist, choir member and proud grandma.
Sometimes I find myself repeating certain stories that open up conversations with my friends. I hope I am not retelling again the tale of a favorite moment at my home of almost a year and a half in Walnut Creek, California. Just yesterday, for example, I found myself at a table in our dining room with the featured person in that long past moment, so I think it is worth remembering what some words meant to me as a new member of a senior facility.
The second night after I arrived at my new digs, I sat down at a table with two other women next to another empty seat. I introduced myself and asked their names, and the three of us proceeded to begin to order our dinners. All seemed fine until a man joined us and sat down next to me. As I have always done, I introduced myself, said “Hello,” told him I was new here, and asked him his name. After he answered, one of the women spoke up loudly, “HE’S TAKEN!” I was shocked at the harsh tone, not interested in taking anything from anybody, and certainly wasn’t flirting. I was simply being a normal newbie.
After a few minutes of quiet eating, my new pal mentioned that he was also from Idaho, grew up on a potato farm near Jerome, and talked about the old Slavey’s and when the town church became Louie’s Pizza. We became friends; his significant other is a very sweet person with whom I also enjoy a positive friendship. The best thing about being with the two of them is the great sense of humor this man has, and I treasure laughing every time he’s at the table, as we smile, share jokes, and tell stories that have funny endings, a great delight of my contentment here.
My initial lesson here about being open or perhaps seeming to have ulterior motives is that one has not created a barrier to getting to know new people. Last night at our dinner, we again laughed after I repeated the story, because I wanted them both to know how blessed I am to have them as friends. I am not here to grab a lover. I am here to live a healthy and safe later life, experience meaningful companionships, laugh as often as possible, listen privately to stories that are sad, avoid gossip, and to understand that someone who doesn’t respond as I might like may be in pain or is forgetting names or some detail that used to be part of their communication.
I left my Idaho home and dear friends of nearly 45 years, but I know there are remarkable people wherever one winds up. I like saying good morning to everybody, chitchatting sometimes with our capable staff (I even have a special Idaho nickname for one of our servers) and thus I am aways aware of the gifts I’ve received getting to know so many fascinating people, and being able to tease and laugh as I experience my latest adventure.
A LONDON TAXICAB
A few days ago I visited my longest-time dear friend, who lives in Sausalito, California. Since our first meeting in Mrs. Silva‘s Spanish I class at Burroughs High School, in Burbank, we have never lost touch. I believe we were chosen to be sisters. Thus, we always have dynamic visits sharing laughs and tears over our important events.
When I left to catch an Uber, I giggled at the vehicle still parked in front of her hillside home overlooking the bay. There stood a very old London taxicab in the same spot it has occupied for decades. The neighbors are sufficiently pleased with its presence that they petitioned the city to allow it to remain in its whimsical location. Someone had pasted a message under the passenger window, “in pursuit of magic.” While feeling warm about this obvious endorsement of a memory-filled vehicle, I thought that it accurately described the nature of both of our long lives.
Always risking sentimentality, I prefer to think of my longevity as aided by the many magical experiences, incidents, and friends and family I have known. It was “magic” when I was adopted by a deeply loving mother and father, who saw me through severe asthma (I was bedridden for my whole third-grade year), and encouraged me in my early volunteering and travel even to then-considered faraway and perhaps dangerous countries, and always were thrilled with what accomplishments I enjoyed. They also tolerated my sometimes-poor choices in romance but gave me a consistent sense of gratitude for each other and for even the difficult days we live.
Of course, I was tasked with many incidents of sadness and fear, but somehow my family’s influence allowed me to recover, sometime poorly but also occasionally well. Maturity with a sese of joy only happens because we overcome the difficult incidents, attempts, and people during our time on earth. I am somewhat surprised that I do feel content with my splotchy life, one I never imagined with its disappointments and also amazing joys. I didn’t have the life-long deeply loved and respected marriage I thought was my goal but survived this unfulfilled dream by meeting so many new people around the world, finding fascinating women and, yes, men, during my adventures through the main years of my maturity.
I didn’t get a Ph.D. and become a professor in an exciting small college, perhaps in New England, nor did I attend the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts in England, then a dream of mine. Instead, I studied at UCLA to become an English teacher, a profession I loved. I have pursued, and found, magic through that choice.
However, I have since enjoyed other miracles: being accepted by my birth mother’s family, just a few years ago, treasuring my own motherhood, my daughters who have always been sources of joy, even now in their maturity, the creative projects I have tried, books, movies, theaters, occasional romances, lovely friends, and more than I could have expected of a beautiful life. Thanks for the pursuit of magic.