2023 Rambles
Lost in Japan
We’ve just landed from a 15-hour flight to Tokyo. We stumble off the plane. Bleary eyed and bone tired we flow with the river of passengers to a sliding door where most everyone is boarding the train. Jody snatches a map from a nearby kiosk just before the doors glide shut. As the train quickly accelerates to parts unknown, Jody opens the map to figure out where we are headed. She then inspects her reading glasses. She looks again. Panic creases her face. The map is in Japanese. The overhead signs are all Japanese. The people around us all Japanese. Alice meet Wonderland.
We didn’t foresee the mindboggling complexity of the Tokyo subway system. Everybody seems to have it figured out, except us. The map shows lots of colored lines and stations. An utterly inadequate two-dimensional view of an engineering marvel that exists across three dimensions. The subway tunnels loop over and under one another for hundreds of miles on five separate subterranean levels. The map further disregards that the subway system is in fact a lively underground city with a multiplicity of stores, shops and eateries.
Entering the subway at ground level, you might exit a hundred kilometers distant. That is, if you can find the exit. Which doesn’t look promising in our present circumstance. To break the tension, I wisecrack “At least we have three weeks to find a way out before we need to fly home.” That comment doesn’t go over so well.
Trying to reposition us from lost to unlost, I hear Jody shout “ARIGATO” while stopping a Japanese businesswoman from the flow of rushing subway passengers. Before this trip, we were able to memorize a single word of Japanese, “Arigato” which means “thank you.” As it’s the one word we can pronounce, we thus use it for everything. Jody points at the “X” circled on our crumpled map indicating where we think the hotel awaits. The woman gestures that she doesn’t understand English and rushes away.
I just finished plumping my jacket into a serviceable pillow, in preparation for three-weeks sleeping in the subways of Tokyo, when the woman reappears. She politely motions us to follow her. We meekly obey. Down a corridor. Up a set of stairs. Around the corner. Along a hallway. To eventually reach a dark imposing door. The woman utters a magical password, and the door opens. We find ourselves at the entrance to our hotel. I unobtrusively unroll my “pillow.” This woman has just saved our marriage!
Tokyo is the most populous city in the world with 40 million residents. Four times the population of New York City. Despite this colossal number of residents, we never heard a driver honk their horn. Didn’t see trash on the ground. Never encountered a single homeless person on the streets. The Japanese are apparently delivering on civilized society pretty darn effectively. Especially when it comes to one’s backside. Let me explain.
It took me some time to warm up to the idea (pun intended), but the bidet is, in a word, exquisitely civilized. Every toilet in Japan sports a bewildering gadget next to it with lots of buttons. Each button adorned with a Japanese symbol we can’t interpret. Depending on the button you press you could: enjoy listening to some music broadcast from a hidden speaker; see an arrow projected onto the wall directing you to the exit, or duck from the jet of heated water erupting from the bowl. Though I never learned to decipher the buttons, I had a lot of fun exploring. Why not dance to encourage the morning constitutional? We are now bidet enthusiasts and have since installed them across our home. Visit anytime to try ours but be prepared to dance if you don’t read Japanese.
Bike Slacking from Sea to Ocean
The reason we visited Japan was to bike tour the Shimanami Kaido route with our besties, Mike & Betty. Mike had joined us five years back on an unexpectedly brutal self-supported bikepacking trip through northern Spain. We were surprised when he accepted our invitation to bike tour Japan but, like us, he was captivated by the glossy brochure gushing about the trip. Dedicated bike pathways weaving among the islands across the Seto Inland Sea to reach the Pacific Ocean. Lush traditional Japanese accommodations. Daily visits to onsens (public bath spas) to soothe sore muscles. Delicious seafood straight from ocean to frying pan. English speaking guide leading every ride. Van to carry your rucksack. I proclaim it Bike Slacking and it was great! Jody was smiling each night after visiting the onsen with Betty. I think she’s finally drunk the juice.
Here's a link to our Japan slideshow set to music. Enjoy
Via Ferrata Backtrack
Via Ferrata is Italian for “iron way” routes consisting of iron rungs & cables bolted to the wall to provide a secure connection to travel across steep exposed alpine terrain. Via Ferrata routes were first used in the First World War to help troops cross vertical rock walls in the Dolomite Mountain region of Italy. Via Ferrata routes are now popular worldwide and for good reason. The thrill of scrambling along a cliff face with 100 feet of nothing beneath you, without needing to wear painfully tight shoes, endlessly practice climbing skills, or impatiently belay your partner. What’s not to like?
We’ve climbed the downstream route of the Uncompahgre Gorge in Ouray, CO and Jody is now keen to prove ourselves on the harder upstream route. We confidently dismiss the “Very Difficult” signs posted along the approach. Can’t be any harder than getting through the subways of Japan unscathed, right? We first cross over a raging river, tight-roping across a single cable while holding onto another cable for balance. Soon thereafter, we encounter an overhanging rock buttress that requires a mountaineer hold with one hand while reaching around blindly to secure the next handhold.
This is where we learn that a “vertical” wall is one thing, whereas “beyond vertical” another. Entirely a different thing. I’m leading and holler back to Jody that this move is “kinda hard.” With some coaching and encouragement, Jody successfully traverses the buttress, but is fatigued. We then reach the 50’ vertical sky ladder. Fifty feet is as high as the tallest building in Durango. It’s a long way up. Jody watches the ladder sway as I climb, my arms vibrating with tension. Shortly deciding this route is too hard, she calls up to me explaining that she’s abandoning this venture, will scramble down the rock face and swim back across the river. The local climbing guide sees this pantomime from across the river and waves her arms that Jody WILL NOT unclip from the Via Ferrata cables and WILL INSTEAD backtrack to re-cross the river using the high wire. Jody is considerably worried about not making the return move around the buttress and ending up dangling from her safety harness with 100 feet of nothing beneath her. The climbing guide offers to assist, skates over the highwire, and with surprising strength, singlehandedly hauls Jody around the buttress. Jody can only think to say “Arigato”.
Pictures of France
Just a few years ago, photography required an expensive camera and expert skills. Photographs “that made it to print” were routinely remarkable. Smartphone cameras however require no training and now five BILLION photos are being taken every day. This number is inconceivable. Unbelievable that is, until someone offers to show you “a couple photos” from their recent travels. My warning is…RUN!
We’ve been to France and loved it. The baguettes themselves make the trip worthwhile. I was thus caught off-guard when my brother Dave excitedly proffered to show “a couple photos” from his and Sue’s recent trip to Paris. I accepted thoughtlessly. Dave then began scrolling through exactly 2,387 pictures of the Eiffel Tower. I counted. Pictures from far away. From up close. From different directions. Every single photo with the Eiffel Tower completely enclosed by a tall orange construction fence. Five hours later he needed to pause the slideshow to recharge his phone. I RAN!
DMP Bike Park
In 2023, the Durango Mesa Park foundation built a state-of-the-art bike park in Durango. Machine built flow tracks. Jump lines of varying difficulty. Gap jumps, drops, banked berms. A whole new level of merriment for us mountain bikers. These new trails are burly. The critical weakness, in my case anyway, is judicious prudence. I marvel at the young bike champions sailing 25’ (twenty-five feet) across gap jumps doing flips in mid-air. Remember however that these kids are made of rubber whereas I am held together with a few screws and lots of adamantium plates. As I was preparing to send it this year, I overheard a young whippersnapper whisper, “Let’s watch this old geezer jump. It’s likely to be a train wreck!” Geez…the lack of respect. I nailed my 20” jump this past year (inches not feet) and am working up the courage to send 25” next year.
Monopoly with Mom
Jody’s mom, Donna, presents herself as a mild-mannered woman but make no mistake she is a wolf in lamb’s clothing when it comes to Monopoly. First, she acquired all the railroads and charged everyone $200 for railroad rent every turn around the board. Then Jody ended up trading her Park Place to pay off debt. After that the game proceeded swiftly. Soon all players had to roll a 12 to avoid landing on a property blanketed with hotels that was owned by my mother-in-law. Late in the game, I rolled the dice and seeing a hotel laden result quickly scooped them up for another roll. Big Bad Wolf meet Wile E. Coyote!
You Look so Pretty
Jody has been telecommuting for over two decades, and over that time become exceedingly comfortable with video conferencing. Perhaps too comfortable. In a recent video conference, several of Jody’s co-workers paused to comment on how pretty she looked. I came into her office to peek. As usual, she was wearing her favorite old, faded fleece vest. But she had indeed brushed her hair and removed her favorite ball-cap. In my considered opinion, she did look remarkably beautiful.
Life in Durango
Jody continues as a Vice President of Strategic Initiatives with Mr. Cooper. I am involved in a wide variety of community efforts and take care of Jody. TTTK is now 15 years old and still likes to be held all the time. We make him into a kitty sandwich when we hug. When we part, he always meows to request sandwich treatment again and we, of course, always oblige.
We delight in writing this letter each year and hope you enjoy it. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Codicil - On December 19, 2023 at 8 p.m., Thomas passed away. He gave us such joy throughout the 15.5 years we were his humans. It was a good death. Although this has been devastating for us, we have been enveloped by a tsunami of love from around the world which has helped us immensely. Travel well my little cheetah kitten. We will miss you forever.
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We are now smack dab in the center of the middle of nowhere! Memories of 2022!
;)
Derby Dilemma
We don’t dress up often, but we do try to shine up for notable events. Such an occasion emerged when Mr. Cooper invited us to the Dallas racetrack to watch horse races including the 2022 Kentucky Derby live on jumbo screen. Sporting a bow tie and high heels, we hobnobbed with other attendees until the stadium quieted for the Kentucky Derby and we witnessed the unbelievable sprint of “Rich Strike” to win the race
Jody watched the video of that race at least 80 times (matching the odds against Rich Strike). Test your own interest in Jody’s obsession at https://youtu.be/o_8ZgLZSWMk. Be careful however, since Jody’s enthusiasm for this race resulted in her subsequent trip to the ER. (If you’ve received this letter before, you knew that one of would end up in the hospital. Sigh.)
The sequence unfolded in this manner. The week after the Derby, Jody hosted her first in-person meeting with the team. She was fired up and the meeting was progressing great! After a few hours, she called for a quick break to make a dash to the restroom…imagining herself to be like Rich Strike. She started at the back but running fast and smooth secured a clean line through her coworkers. She leaned around the second turn when her high heels (which she hadn’t worn in three years) conspired against her. The carpet caught a heel and she cartwheeled to land against the wall. Her coworkers described it looking like Wile-E-Coyote testing an Acme rocket. Her foot was quite broken. Unlike Rick Strike, my girl wouldn’t be lauded with a rose blanket.
Swimming Boldly
Jody was desperate to regain her fitness after being sidelined for two months after breaking her foot. Promptly after her cast was removed, she hobbled over to the local rec center swimming pool. Jody stands, wobbling on crutches, wearing pink inflatable arm floaties, patiently waiting for an open lane for the “Masters Swimming” class to begin. The swim team captain’s jaw drops. Even Jody’s mom concedes that Jody doesn’t swim “like a dolphin” rather her style is more akin to “cannon ball…y”. A famous poet once wrote, “Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it.” but one needs to have enough self-awareness to realize that boldness won’t prevent you from drowning. The lifeguards become more agitated as class continues and Jody progressively resembles a “cannon ball.”
Eventually, the lead lifeguard rushes over to throw a buoy and shouts “Are you OK?” The team captain leans over to delicately suggest that Jody consider a different class like “Learn to Swim.” Jody flashes back to her memory of the only class she ever failed. Swimming. Back in kindergarten! She fumes… but faces a dilemma. She needs help getting out of the pool!
River Dance
There are good trips, not-so-good trips, and great trips. Our summer trip, boating the Gates of Ladore section of the Green River, was magical. Everyone in the boating party was well prepared. The beaches were sandy. The sun was warm. The river passes through an extraordinary landscape of sculpted metamorphic stone in the Uinta Mountains. Deep swimming holes invite splendid “Cannonball” runs from the adjoining beach. Paradise!
There was however one little hiccup. Our final night on the river, we celebrated successfully navigating the many challenging rapids we’d overcome. The music was awesome and we seemed to dance on that beach forever. We danced late into the night and drank far too much. The next morning everyone hobbled around like a crash victim. We each nursed our pains over fresh coffee and shared stories about everyone’s replacement body parts. We agreed that these new parts just don’t perform as well as OEM (Original Equipment from Mom).
Digital Breadcrumbs
;)
This fall, we arranged a weeklong hike with Mike, Betty, and Rhonda following the Salt Creek Trail in the badlands of Utah. We have travelled here to tour the ancient Puebloan dwellings scattered throughout this valley and pore over messages contained in the many primeval pictographs. Despite this being some of the more remote country we’ve been to, I have confidence that we won’t get lost because we have excellent maps. I carefully monitored Jody as she downloaded gigabytes of satellite imagery so that we could follow our ‘dot’ along our digital trail. Jody academically informs my luddite sensibility that it’s like 21st century breadcrumbs.
Just after we unload the truck with our gear, our comforting little dot goes dark. I am unsurprised because I’ve long been “map cursed” (likely for doing something bad in a prior life). We are now smack dab in the center of the middle of nowhere. We could seek comfort in that we are unlikely to get lost following a creek bed along the canyon floor. But I must admit to having been lost many times when boating along a river. Don’t even ask how!
Before we hit the trail, I search frantically in the truck for a paper map. I grab an old decrepit sketch of a trail in New Mexico. At least we’ll have something on paper, even if it isn’t remotely close to where we are. Jody rolls her eyes. We begin walking. Thankfully, the “map curse” spares us this time and we reach the ranger station at the end of the hike. We see a sign that reads, “Lose your connection? Improve your perception.” Amen!
Diving with Mantas
When planning our visit to Hawaii this spring, Jim and Emmy encourage us to go scuba diving with the manta rays. With trepidation we sign up for the adventure. It has been 30+ years since we last went scuba diving. Upon landing in Hawaii, we are both nervous as we don our diving gear. It gets worse. Though we both ‘read the brochure’ explaining this would be a night dive, that fact didn’t really hit until…. we are in a boat, pitching about in ominous waves, preparing to dive into an inky black ocean, to swim underwater, relying on unfamiliar equipment, with implausible creatures sporting 25-foot wingspans.
There is…so…much….to…remember. Shortly after we begin our descent, having forgot to equalize pressure, I gesture to my ears. We return to the surface to revisit some diving basics. We sink again, very slowly this time, into the black abyss. I equalize my ear pressure every inch of the way down, my eyes the size of saucers.
We finally reach the ocean floor where the current gently rocks us back and forth and we must cling onto rocks to hold position. The ocean is menacing until our diving guide illuminates the bright lights mounted in front of us on the ocean floor. The first manta ray glides into view. Then a second. Then a dozen. These creatures have come to feed on the plankton attracted by the lights. They swoop and cartwheel above us, both fantastic and delightful, like dragons performing Cirque de Soleil. One manta ray’s wing slaps Jody’s head during a pass, after which all our eyes grow to saucer size. The next day, we stumble around in a stupor of manta ray euphoria while visiting the botanical gardens at Hilo with its stunning tropical plants.
The map for our journey ends at Volcano National Park. That night, we hike into a volcanic valley smelling thickly of smoldering sulfur. We reach a cliff edge and look out to see MOUNT DOOM! Lava bubbles, boils, and spurts! Smoke billows about! Smaug the Dragon flies overhead! Dorothy, we are definitely not in Colorado anymore.
Family Thanksgiving, Truth or Dare Style
This Thanksgiving, with family and friends, we visited Zion National Park near Hurricane Utah. Thirteen adults plus four kids. It was awesome! I was both entranced and threatened when the kids’ metamorphosed into cosmic fighters to defend the universe from invaders. As some of you may recall, these whirlwinds can deliver real damage when launching from a chandelier.
While the galactic kids tumble & wrestle, we adults start a game of “Farkle.” One might expect a no-stakes dice game like this to remain casual. You’d be wrong. Our game quickly devolves to “Farkle – Defcon 1”.
After the neighbors demand we quiet down, we switch to a quieter game of Spoons. To keep things interesting however, we declare the loser of each round must face “Truth or Dare” consequences. My brother Dave is soon “dared” to perform a chicken walk… which he performs rather impressively. I am “truthed” to describe my first jail experience…a story for which my mother holds some accountability. My mom faced the demanding “truth” question, “Who is your favorite son?” There is no winning answer, and she knows it. Her eyes dart nervously between me and Dave. Sweat drips from her brow. She then cleverly announces “Mike”, our other brother, who rests safely back in Colorado. Well played, Mom!
Life in Durango
Jody continues as a Vice President of Strategic Initiatives with Mr. Cooper. She won a prestigious ‘Challenger of Convention’ award which we intend to use for a bicycle tour to Japan next year in April during cherry blossom season.
I remain on the Durango’s Parks & Recreation Advisory Board and involved in several related community efforts. I’m encouraging the city to reauthorize a local tax to continue investing in the preservation and enhancement of our outdoor parks, open space, and trails. I’m also advocating for the city to authorize people with disabilities to use pedal assist eMTBs on our trail system as I clearly saw how riding an eMTB helped Jody recover.
Jody and I are proud to have helped Durango Botanical Gardens Durango Botanic Gardens - Home create an entrancing new Literary Garden next to Durango’s community library. This group literally transformed this previously unnoticed space into an exceptional sanctuary. This summer our hearts sang when we saw families reading books in this magical new oasis.
Please consider this letter our offering of joy to people we love. We hope you enjoy our Christmas tidings since it takes some effort! We pick a few of our best annual pictures for the photo card and develop stories which capture a fraction of each year’s absurdity.
Here is a smilebox of our Gates of LaDore River Trip. Enjoy with the sound on!
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Jody and Seth Furtney & Thomas the Tom Kat
11 Molas Drive, Durango, CO 81301
Jody Cell Phone: 970-385-5567 / Seth Cell Phone: 970-385-5547
Hello from Durango - 2021 Memories
River Serenity…minus Joe
Jody plans. I pack the bags. A practice we’ve followed for nearly 30 years. This summer, Jody planned a packrafting trip down the Gunny Gorge where it exits the Black Canyon. She persuades several compatriots to join us and in the flurry of pre-trip planning emails, I take responsibility for several key group items: a quality first aid kit, a robust water filter, and coffee service. Batting over 500 in baseball would be terrific, but when packing for a backcountry trip anything less than 100% isn’t great. We’ve long become addicted to a nice cup of java every morning. Unfortunately, I didn’t bat 1000 packing for this trip.
The first thing after hobbling out of the truck is to massage out the cramps from the bumpy 4WD road. We stand alone and isolated on the mountain ridge looking down into the sheer canyon with a huge pile of gear piled beside us: Boats, paddles, PFDs, waterproof river clothing, camping gear, tents, sleeping bags, food… and ostensibly coffee service. The trail drops precipitously down into ominous darkness with the river far below. Sorting things for the hike down to the river, Jody frantically starts throwing things this way and that. She stammers, “Where is the coffee?”
A river trip without coffee is like: a concert without music; a restaurant without food; a bar without alcohol. If anyone else is as addicted to caffeine as we, this is a serious problem. The Gunnison River is in a desolate part of the country without any nearby Starbucks. There could be rioting. Harm could come to my person. I frantically dig through my first aid kit looking for tranquilizer darts.
We survive this trip without caffeine but, after word spreads about this egregious oversight, nobody seems willing to join us on another backcountry trip. One friend couldn’t join us because of an unavoidable commitment to grease his garage door chain. Another couldn’t join because she absolutely needed to clear the leaves from her gutters. Even I can read between the lines.
In my defense, I was overwhelmed by the novel storage options presented by our new packrafts. We can now bring along down pillows, folding chairs, dining table…concert piano. With the plethora of cool new items to pack, I skipped over an old one. An oldy, but a goody. You need not remind me that our normally sunny disposition depends upon a cup of Joe each morning.
Aquarius Trail Travails
This year has been the rare gem where I wasn’t admitted to a hospital. A rather big achievement in my rather small brain! I personally didn’t experience the shiver of a cold stethoscope. Nevertheless, I needed to visit the ER several times to attend to Jody. Now she has had to learn the complicated elbow twist maneuver required to hold the backless gown together in order to keep her bare backside covered. Now she can develop increasingly remarkable stories about how she earned the gruesome scar on her forearm where a sizeable slab of flesh was reattached after a bike crash.
Our first ER visit was for the doctor to sew her flesh back together. Our second ER visit was to save the arm. It’s only been three days since the original injury and contrary to “doctor’s orders” we’re now riding the Aquarius Trail across parts unknown of Utah on a hut-to-hut trip. Jody’s forearm has swelled to a size Popeye would envy and her fingers look like polish sausages. Mike and Betty are retired doctors riding the trail with us. They take a closer look at the inflamed appendage and deliver a simple statement. Get antibiotics right now or wave goodbye to the arm. Pun intended.
I appreciate that they make the proclamation in stark black and white terms. We had just listened to a nightmare story of a Denver ER in which Covid infected patients literally line the hallways. This accounting makes us extraordinarily reticent to visit any hospital facility. However, with dry throats, we race to the ER in Panguitch, Utah whereupon we enter the Twilight Zone. The hospital parking lot is empty. The emergency room completely serene. Nobody is anywhere in sight. To announce ourselves, we literally reach across the receptionist desk to “ding” the bell. From somewhere down the hallway, we hear someone yell, “A customer, a customer!” Responding like a seasoned Indy 500 pit crew, three nurses and a doctor materialize from nowhere. In five minutes, Jody bares ass for an antibiotic injection. In ten minutes, we’re ready to get back on the road.
That’s when the pesky issue of “doctor’s orders” comes up again. The ER doc, seasoned and grizzled from a lifetime of handling trauma patients, flatly tells Jody that her ride is over. Upon hearing this news, Jody just glares at him. Blue eyes sparking. Saying absolutely nothing. The quiet grows heavy. The clock ticks. The attending nurse sidles furtively out of the room. After an excruciatingly long stare down, the doctor drops his view to the floor and mumbles, “Of course, that is only a suggestion.” Jody jumps up to give him a hug using a seasoned elbow twist maneuver like a pro. On the way out, using her good arm, she unlocks her bike from the reception desk.
Bears Ears – Desolation?
We’ve all heard stories about a careless driver blithely following the “Google Maps Voice” onto an impassible road only to later be rescued by emergency personnel. The local newspaper mocks the humiliated motorist to their sardonic readership memorializing the event. Accordingly, when our Google in the sky tells us to turn off the highway onto a worn dirt road to enter the new Bears Ears National Monument, we stop and look around nervously. No road signs. No structures. No signs of human civilization. Nothing except a cow carcass mummifying in a dry arroyo.
Thus begins four days of exploration. Undisturbed desert extends in every direction. Comb Ridge extends across our western horizon. Bears Ears buttes rise to our north. The rugged landscape is peppered with sandstone, cactus, dried grass, and lots of tarantulas. We discover trails leading to ancient ruins and reflect on pictographs from another time. Cottonwood leaves rain down in a parade of gold ticker tape with each breath of wind. Small pools, evidence of recent rains, reflect the afternoon sunshine.
We become present. We think more slowly. We meander. After an indeterminate period, we reach an unmarked junction of two indistinct dirt roads. “Smartphone” maps are worthless here in the badlands. We embrace “old school” by dusting off the old decrepit Utah Gazetteer map stored under the rear seat. We wonder where we are and continue further inside. Knowing that we might be “lost” or as Jody likes to say, “temporarily not found,” everything is perfect. We’re in a lifted 4WD truck with good tires. The gas tank is full and a spare tire, jumper cables, and tow straps are in place. We have enough food and water for several days. A propane fire pit keeps us warm each night as the Milky Way emerges. We snuggle deep into our sleeping bags, nesting like a kat on a lap. We have found heaven on earth.
Where are my glasses?
Of all the annoyances of being over 50 years old, the need for reading glasses may be the worst. Jody & I have a dozen pairs of reading glasses scattered throughout the house…strewn across pockets of jackets…in our glovebox. You get the picture. I can rarely find a pair when I need them yet refuse to use an eyeglass chain to keep a pair of reading glasses handy. The probability of unintentionally transporting morning toast crumbles throughout the entire day is simply appalling. Only “really old” people use a cord for their reading glasses!
On a recent camping trip, we were invited to play cards and unsurprisingly Jody & I need reading glasses to read our cards. We look around but can only find one pair – so we pass them back and forth. Tiresome but effective. As the game proceeds, we notice our somewhat younger campmate, Gretchen, squinting at her own cards. We suggest she try the reading glasses, but she rolls her eyes theatrically and proclaims that reading glasses are only for “old people.” After further badgering, she nonetheless agrees to peek through our reading glasses. She bolts upright, upsetting the table and scattering the cards. She sings out “Holy Sh$t, I can read!”
From that point forward, we develop a three-way pass of the reading glasses. Apparently, one need not necessarily be 50+ to benefit from a little help. A few days later, she asks us in confidence what magnification she should buy… tacitly acknowledging that she is “officially middle aged”.
Later this summer, I visit my 80+ year old mom and notice how handy it is for her to find the reading glasses hanging from a gold chain about her neck. It’s so dang…convenient. I reluctantly decide to buy an eyeglass chain, crumbles be damned!
Nemo Nemesis
We have a major problem. Thankfully not an asteroid on a heading to destroy the earth. Rather, it’s that TTTK loves the movie, Nemo. He slinks back and forth across the coffee table and tries to “catch” the little fishes with his paw as they swim across the screen. Tail swishing. Making little “caw, caw, caw” noises. Black pupils the size of saucers. After a half hour of intense prowling, he nests himself squarely on my lap for a snooze.
The problem is that we “watch” Nemo weekly to accommodate TTTK’s habit. Friends think we are bat kat crazy and they would be right. My New Year’s resolution is to put the kibosh on this behavior. We’ve now watched Nemo over 100 times. After briefly fawning over TTTK’s cute antics at the start of the movie, once again, we fall asleep.
I awake hours later with a cricked neck, spittle dribbling. Nemo’s dad Marlin is looking at me from the screen asking “Are you still awake? Please turn off the movie. I’d like to go to sleep.” I rub the cobwebs from my eyes. Marlin bumps his nose against the TV screen and repeats his request more urgently. The movie has long since scrolled through the credits. We are even past the announcement that no animals were harmed in the making of Nemo…which I’m now apparently failing to honor. I turn off the movie. It’s way past time to go to bed.
Thomas has sauntered upstairs sometime much earlier. When I reach the bed, he is now soundly asleep on my (his) pillow. As I get under the blanket, he nonchalantly yawns and stretches. He looks at me dreamily and transmits his kitty thoughts “That film is so awesome. Let’s do it again next week.”
Granny gets her Uber On
Jody’s mom, Donna, routinely calls Jody when she needs tech support with anything electronic. She recently requested Jody help her install the Uber app on her smartphone for an upcoming trip. These tech support sessions can get quite testy. How do you explain to a tech neophyte how to open a browser…where to find an app…how to download it. The Baby Boom generation simply didn’t grow up with technology and has a hard time adapting. They most certainly walked miles uphill to school every day (both ways), but that didn’t prepare them for computer technology.
After several hours coaching her via phone, Jody finalizes Donna’s installation of the Uber app. They end the call with celebratory shouts! The next day unfolds with Donna again calling Jody to ask why random people keep texting her expecting an Uber ride. Baby Boomer meets Uber. Aaargh!
Life in Durango
One unexpected development is that Thomas has become a Tik-Tok sensation. Jody’s coworker Naveen and his lovely family visited this summer and during their visit his teenage daughters posted a “super-cute” video of TTTK in the kitchen sink drinking from his hamster feeder. We’re told he’s trending on WeChat and a non-fungible token of him is trading in the Metaverse on Bitcoin. We have no idea what any of that means. Millennials meet Gen Z!
Jody continues as a Vice President of Strategic Initiatives with a mortgage company, Mr. Cooper. She hasn’t been on a plane in 2 years and loves interacting with colleagues operating from their home offices across the entire world.
I enjoy my role on Durango’s Parks & Recreation Advisory Board and am involved in various community initiatives but didn’t win a seat on City Council. I invest my spare time taking care of Jody and…strategizing on my New Year’s resolution.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Jody and Seth Furtney & Thomas the Tom Kat (who loves Nemo!)
11 Molas Drive, Durango, CO 81301
Jody Cell Phone: 970-385-5567 / Seth Cell Phone: 970-385-5547
Email: jodyfurtney@hotmail.com / sethfurtney@hotmail.com
Howdy - 2020 Memories
Packrafting Serenely
We simply can’t resist the river’s call each spring. Jody and I recently purchased a couple of contemporary packrafts since our hard-won experience in kayaks is fading to a fond memory. Packraft marketing reflects couples smiling idyllically while paddling on peaceful lakes. These gentle illustrations are enticing when I recall the painful (and thankfully distant) memory of dislocating & then relocating my shoulder whilst in my kayak.
We decide to test our new craft on our local Animas River which is flowing high with spring runoff. We know every rock and cranny on this river. However, Jody’s instinctive sense of self-preservation reawakens when we reach the infamous Smelter Rapid. At this spot, the river narrows while thrashing, crashing, boiling, and bubbling like a witch’s caldron filled with dry ice. The water was snow about 2 hours ago, so water temps are well…chilly. The original name for the Animas River translates to “River of Lost Souls”, but in the spring, “River of Frozen Souls” may be more suitable.
Jody paddles to shore to scout while I wait and wait. I awake from a nap about an hour later and she’s still scouting. Our packrafts on shore have grown scorching hot from the blazing sun and, concerned that the increased air pressure will damage the packraft’s airtight seals, I release pressure from Jody’s packraft. A few minutes later I decide to run the rapid to demonstrate “the line” for Jody to follow.
I run Smelter Rapid and my face doesn’t even get splashed. From the bottom of the rapid, I wave to Jody indicating that this was a “clean line”. Though still kind of worried, Jody “trusts me” and proceeds to her packraft. She launches, and once into the main current, immediately realizes something is dreadfully wrong. The packraft simply will not track…. certainly not when its operating as a half-deflated beach ball. This may have been a vital piece of information that I failed to convey to Jody before launching. Jody paddles mightily trying to keep her bow pointed downstream, but her efforts are hopeless. Her beach ball wobbles and sways down the entry wave. I close my eyes knowing this is not going to be pretty. I open my eyes to see the packraft being pummeled in a vicious hydraulic and Jody missing.
I run along the shore desperately looking for her and I finally spot her near the end of the ¼ mile long rapid. She is crawling onto shore. Her skin shimmering a frosty aquamarine blue. All things considered, she looks great! A spectator runs up to me holding her camera overhead shouting that she got the whole thing on video “Isn’t that cool!” she exudes. A bit too “cool”, I suspect.
Despite my being but a thoughtful husband - albeit focused too intently on keeping her new boat secure - Jody holds me responsible for her near-death experience. She has placed me in Purgatory until I make amends.
ER Punch Pass
The river calamity is over, followed by an extraordinarily long, very hot shower and a full night’s rest. The next day, Jody suggests we enjoy a local mountain bike ride. I’m still trying to negotiate exit from Purgatory, so promptly agree. She declares that we will ride the Snake Charmer trail with its demanding features & jumps.
I wake up in the emergency room. My head is throbbing, and I see stars. I’m certain Jody must have smacked me good in retribution for the previous day’s escapades. Appropriately the nurses ignore my babbling that I was only trying to help by releasing air from Jody’s boat.
The ER doctor is the same attending physician for my prior visit and she exclaims “You’re the WALK IN!” when she sees me, recalling when I hobbled into the ER on crutches with a dislocated hip a couple years ago. I’ve apparently become somewhat infamous in the local medical community and been granted a nickname. She explains to Jody that I’ve suffered a concussion but, because I’m such a persnickety old bastard, the tree probably looks worse for the wear. Though “Walk In” may not be a great reason to be renowned, who decides one’s basis for stardom? Given my notoriety, I’ve asked the hospital to issue me a punch pass. Buy 10 and get 1 ER visit for free.
Magic on the Gunny Gorge
We were transfixed this past summer. Imagine a remote river in a deep canyon (just like in the marketing pictures this time). We hike a mile to access the river and then enjoy the day gliding our packrafts on crystal clear water through the stunning geology. The days are long. The air is soft. As evening arrives, we set our camp on a patch of desolate sun warmed sand in which we delightfully walk barefoot. The full moon is just rising above the canyon walls when we hear splashing across the river. We look over our idyllic setting to watch two river otters arriving.
In the waning light, these two supple creatures playfully chase a fish. In a few short minutes, they smoothly glide to the shore and flop down, fresh trout in mouth. They devour their dinner hedonistically, frolicking in the spoils of their hunt. A bloody marvelous scene with particular attention to bloody. They slip & slide and roll in it. We cannot tear our eyes away. As the Milky Way winks into the night sky, they slip quietly into the water and disappear. Magic!
Black Canyon
Jody’s been cold before...in fact not long ago. I suspect many of you have been cold. However, I didn’t expect to be so cold on our recent bikepacking trip in the Sonoran Desert. Who’d a thunk that the Black Canyon trail near Phoenix AZ would get so frigid? A lesson I’ll share with you. Do not trust an old “45 degree” down sleeping bag to be comfortable when the outside temperature dips well below freezing and the night lasts 13 hours. Trust me, I tried everything. Wearing every stitch of clothing helps a little. Additional layers of sunscreen don’t. Sleeping with your head inside the sleeping bag feels good briefly…but in short order the icicles growing over your exhales start poking into your face. Robbing your spouse of every calorie of heat she generates and shivering wildly will (most likely) keep you alive. Just don’t expect to sleep. I wake up to see Jody’s skin shimmering a pale aquamarine blue. It looks familiar.
Asia Trip
It has been 20 years since we left Coroico, Bolivia on our midlife walkabout. I still regret leaving. It was bliss to sleep in a soft bed after a half year of rough travel in South America. Joy to again sit comfortably upon a toilet seat with toilet paper. Wonderful to revel in a warm shower. The charge for a masseuse was $5/hour. Paradise. It still stings me upon reflection to realize that we spurned this utopia just to visit Andean llama mummies. What were we thinking?
I may have finally discovered a calming salve. Last December, after a bruising 16-hour flight across 8 time zones, we booked three days’ rest in Chiang Mai, Thailand. After a fitful night, we arose the next morning to behold…a massage studio on every corner. Within walking distance. Who am I to argue with such a fate? We walk to a nearby studio.
The Thai masseuses are 5 feet tall & weigh 90 pounds. Being so tiny, I wonder whether they will be able to unkink my knotted everything. The practitioner looks at me unconcerned and in one assertive stretch-twist movement nearly dislocates my shoulder. She then applies her elbows in ways I didn’t know one could. I begin to worry what will happen if she treats my recently reattached left leg in the same aggressive manner. Sure enough, she grabs my bum leg and pushes it somewhere behind my head. I screech that this isn’t a good idea, but apparently, she doesn’t understand cursing in English. My hip stretches and strains but luckily holds, else the Durango ER would have to grant me a new nickname, the “FLY IN”. We survive three days of massage in preparation for our bike trip through regions of Myanmar and Vietnam
Visiting Myanmar was like being whisked back to the 18th century. Jody was downright statuesque compared to Burmese women who all measure under 5 feet. She was entranced by the cotton washers who laughed and sang as we walked through their small factory. Her enchantment not a bit surprising since these guys had physiques like GQ models, muscles rippling, covered with sweat as they stomped in tubs of hot water full of raw cotton. We encountered industrious people doing everything one can imagine. Tradespeople paddled their goods to market, silk weavers weaved, wood carvers carved, candy makers candied, peanut farmers farmed, elephant tenders tended. With the help of strangers, I learned how to properly tie on a longyi to enter the temples. Travelling helps refresh our experience of welcome kindness everywhere. We came back to the United States with a renewed appreciation of the hard work involved to make a community.
Sleeping with the Mayor
I’m increasingly involved with the “happenings” in our fair town and have decided to run for City Council next year. I ask Jody what “motto” I should use for my platform and she doesn’t miss a beat, “Seth Knows the Jail System Inside and Out.” I know the backstory and welcome her sense of humor, but my instinctive sense of self-preservation calls me to scout this rapid. She recently interrupted a conversation about my campaign I was having with my brother to declare that she might be sleeping with the mayor. He went quiet and then responded skeptically, “Oh really?” Jody giggles and explained that since the mayor is a rotating position in City Council, were I to win, she really might be sleeping with the mayor.
Life in Durango
Due to travel restrictions this year, we stayed nearby and explored remote and magical places around the Four Corners. We so enjoy our plentiful public lands and are doing what we can to preserve them for future generations.
Jody continues with Mr. Cooper (a mortgage company) as a Vice President of Strategic Initiatives. She was in Dallas when the WHO declared a worldwide pandemic in March. She skedaddled home on the next plane. In the next few weeks, Mr. Cooper converted nearly 100% of its 8,000 office employees into telecommuters. Wow! One hopeful result from COVID-19 is that the modern world is creatively evaluating new and alternative ways of learning and working.
Though Jody has been telecommuting for nearly 20 years, we nonetheless confront some of the same foibles many are now experiencing working from home. Let me introduce you to our blender, by far the most formidable piece of industrial equipment in our house. When you hit the start button, the lights dim, the roof shakes, and the kat shrieks. One morning, I wasn’t thinking clearly and “hit start” while Jody was on a Zoom call with all her company big wigs. Everyone on that call experienced Armageddon. But it wasn’t over yet. The kat subsequently posed for the webcam and then I carelessly flushed the toilet next to Jody’s office. The Zoom facilitator commented that the connection from Durango was “lighting up” the call. Yep...guilty as charged.
Someday I may become Mayor, but until then I remain a consultant as well as household cook and bottle washer. The election is in April and I’m just starting to gear up. I hit my first snag when “my campaign manager” didn’t remember our agreement to be my campaign manager and (more importantly) neither did his wife. I’m now pleading with Jody to help me with my campaign. I must admit, she creates a crafty motto.
TTTK remains an affectionate cuddly kitty kat. Jody has become concerned about some black freckles appearing on his nose, so on a recent visit to her dermatologist, when the doctor asked if she has any other questions, she whipped out a close-up picture of TTTK’s nose and asks him to evaluate these new “cheetah spots”. He chuckles and obliges. As she’s leaving, Jody hears him laughing with the nurse in the hallway asking that “Crazy Kat Lady” be added to her medical record.
SMILEBOX SLIDESHOWS:
SouthEast Asia - December 2019
Lori D's 50th Birthday Tribute - February 2020
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Jody and Seth Furtney & Thomas the Tom Kat
11 Molas Drive, Durango, CO 81301
Jody Cell Phone: 970-385-5567 / Seth Cell Phone: 970-385-5547
Email: jodyfurtney@hotmail.com / sethfurtney@hotmail.com
Jody
Dad
The days quicken as the sun arcs south. The corn lilies in the high mountain meadows bear just a touch of frost. The aspen leaves are green with gold-tinged tips. The oak brush burnishes orange. There’s a bit of fall in the air, as you always used to say.
I live with this every year…for the past 30 years…knowing that these signs track the passing of another year I didn’t get to spend with you. I’m 52 this year and 22 when I spread your ashes up on Sleepy Cat.
What do you say in a letter like this? There are so many times that I want to pick up the phone and have you answer. I try to remember your voice but the memory is faint. And so now, I hear you in cricket chant on a warm summer evening, in the rustling of wind through aspen leaves, or in dawn’s delightful bird song.
When I was growing up, I remember you sitting on the back porch after a hard summer day on the ranch just enjoying the evening coolness. And now, I'm at an age where I can understand the joy that gave you. I sometimes sit on my front porch after a stressful day at work and watch hawks winging on thermals above the mountain ridge. It is in ephemeral moments like this that I feel you near.
I rage at the universe for taking you. But in some ways, I occasionally make my peace with her. I hear the gurgle of a river flowing through time. I revel in feeling the softness of sun warmed sand under my hands. I sit in the quiet of a desert canyon and try not to make sense of what happened but what is.
I miss you...still and always.
Love,
Sis
2019 Memories
Two Kayakers
Jody & I have just launched our borrowed canoe for a week-long float trip down the San Juan River with some friends. The sun is shining. The birds are chirping. The boat is sturdy. The water level is perfect. We watch our novice boater friends nonchalantly paddle their canoe through the first ‘riffle’ without even getting their faces wet. We have nearly 40 years of river experience between us. With ‘green bean’ canoeists toddling through without trouble…what could go wrong?
Well, let me count the ways. First, white water kayakers are particularly unfit to paddle a canoe. Kayakers are unaccustomed to the unique and differing responsibilities for a bow and stern paddler. The golden rule is that the stern paddler (that’s me) is the navigator, a.k.a. “the boss”. The bow paddler (that’s Jody) is to follow commands and provide muscle. Unsurprisingly ‘Just Follow Orders Jody’ in the bow is convinced that she is the boss while I’m just flotsam in the back of the boat. Secondly, we naively agree to Jim & Emmy’s request to carry 40 gallons of water in our canoe. Though skilled at controlling our small fast whitewater kayaks, we are now paddling a watercraft 2X longer and 10X heavier - a task demanding integrated teamwork. In essence we’re: (a) wearing oversized shoes; (b) filled with cement; (c) trying to run a three legged race. With this setup, a mafia hit team would be giddy.
We strap everything down and kneel low in the hull. We enter the ‘riffle’ precisely where we want. Then…EVERYTHING GOES TO HELL. A 10’ tall rogue wave appears from nowhere (that’s my story and I’m sticking to it) filling our canoe with cold river water. Our craft transforms from a floating canoe into a ~2,000 pound submarine…without requisite buoyancy. Even though submerged, the craft continues upright and so we continue to paddle, as the water laps at our necks. It somehow feels better to be doing something in spite of it being hopeless. When our gear starts to unspool, I shout up to Jody, “Saaaaave Yourself!”
I am being assaulted by a cacophony of water jugs, coolers and the toilet when a perfectly tossed throw rope lands across my shoulder…an immaculate throw…from the green bean canoeist no less. Not being one to dismiss benevolent gifts lightly, I grab on tightly. My pride has long since washed down the river. I’m pulled to shore, sputtering & shivering. We’ve completed 100 yards of today’s 15 mile boating plan.
While we wring water from our clothes, our trusty companions manage to fetch our boat and floating detritus to shore. Jody regards me with arched eyebrows voicelessly asking “what were YOU doing?” I return a look retorting “what were YOU doing?” Our boating compatriots suppress their chuckles while ducking the invisible daggers flying back and forth. After the adrenaline drains away, Jody & I sign a peace treaty with each other and chalk this one up to the River Gods.
A month later, we invite Kent and Shawna to dinner to thank them for lending us their canoe. Kent is a former whitewater Olympian who has coached many professional river runners. Listening to the telling of our story with a smile on his face, he declares early on that he could train us to properly paddle a canoe “In Five Minutes Flat”.
However our story expands magnificently as we drink more wine and the aforementioned peace treaty starts to smolder. Just as our invisible daggers start to materialize, Kent announces it proper time for them to return home. On the way out, I hear him whisper to Shawna, “Those two should probably just stick to kayaks.”
Boy Meets Tree
Our friend Erin is busy packing the raft on a separate trip down the Dolores River. Her son, Jack (age 2) needs to pee and Erin looks over to Jody for some help. Please know that Jody & I are purposeful DINKs, so Jody isn’t familiar with handling toddlers and most certainly hasn’t any experience teaching a young boy to pee. Nevertheless in order to help out, she walks with Jack to the nearest tree and declares “Pee!” He looks up at her confused so she encourages him along by emphasizing, “C’mon you can do it! Boys are supposed to pee on trees!” He finally decides this is indeed a great idea, so he drops his britches and lets it fly. For the remainder of the trip, he pees on every tree he can reach with an enthusiastic smile on his face.
Some weeks later, Eric & Erin & Jack come over to our home for a party. We are sitting on the deck, enjoying beverages and brats around the fire, when Jody notices a guest with a horrified look on his face. She turns around to see Jack, pants down to his ankles, peeing proudly on our wooden deck fence. Jody turns to Erin with ‘arched eyebrows’ (a look I know well) who retorts, “You trained him!” Erin then gets animated explaining how much money they’ve saved on diapers ever since Jody taught Jack to pee outside. Geez, parents these days! What is the world coming to?
Lumbersexual
Jody and I had just returned from a camping trip to join what has become a favorite annual event. The “Costumed Halloween Mountain Bike Ride” at Phil’s World. When packing for camping, we had neglected to bring Halloween costumes and thus just joined the tribe in our camping clothing. The weather being brisk, I wear blue jeans, flannel shirt and leather work gloves, an outfit surprisingly similar to my standard cool weather bicycling gear. Jody is talking with a new acquaintance after the ride and during their conversation points me out as her husband. He looks over at me and responds, “Oh the one in the lumberjack costume!” Nice.
Just Having Some Fun?
Somewhat like norms of cycling clothing, I’ve also been accused of disregarding some most all of the rules that apply to board games. [Authors note: I am indeed attracted to “mischievous pranks” that invite just a tad of discomposure]. When the Jenga stack looks precarious… I am susceptible to bumping the table. If the first card is uninteresting… I pick a replacement. If the first set of Dominos is wretched…I pick a new set. If my first roll of the dice isn’t stimulating…I re-roll. It honestly doesn’t matter to me one bit whether I win or lose. In fact I intentionally perform my transgressions boldly and without camouflage…looking eagerly for a reaction to my mischief. I typically perceive the faces of competing players displaying conflicting sentiments. Did I just see that? Is this a problem I need to contest? Should I make an accusation? Though I think this is just fun & games, sometimes my behavior does lead to unfortunate results. In fact this summer during a sea kayak trip in the San Juan Islands, I was permanently banned from playing monopoly. I found myself sulking in my tent, all alone, petulantly listening to everyone else’s shared laughter. Apparently some temperaments (perhaps everyone?) find my mischief infuriating. From my point of view, I think that everyone should relax and bump the table once in a while to experience how it feels to live (just a little bit) on the wild side.
Professional Qualifications
With decades of professional experience as a contracts manager, one would expect I’d follow a rigorous procurement plan to secure a new truck. Not surprisingly, I spend many hours researching trucks and eventually locate a promising used truck at an attractive price. The truck is 1,000 miles away in Idaho, but that I can overcome.
I fly to Boise Idaho; taxi to the truck dealer; realize I’d taxied to the wrong truck dealer and beg a ride to the “right” dealer; pay the dealer; grab the keys; and begin driving home. I’m super impressed with myself. I’m even more impressed that in a modern vehicle you can listen to 80’s music continuously for 14 hours. I’m somewhat of a Luddite and didn’t really realize that you can lock in a good signal in the badlands of Utah. I’m definitely a convert to rock & roll on Sirius XM vs gospel on AM radio.
The radio is blaring Journey’s song “Don’t Stop Believing”, when I pull into the driveway. I sweep Jody into my arms crooning “Just a small town girl…” My new truck is lifted, jet black wheels, low profile whitewall tires, chrome running boards. I imagine myself a Durango style Magnum P.I. (somewhat balding). The next day, Jody asks me for the title to the truck in order to store it in our fire proof safe. The song lyrics, “Just a city boy…” float unbidden into my psyche. “Where…is…the….Title?” I stutter meekly. My role as hopeless boat flotsam comes flooding back. Eyes downcast, I offer her the window sticker.
In spite of the MIA title, I’m thrilled. Jody soon catches the bug and insists we outfit the truck with a winch, roll bar, and snorkel. I innocently suggest that she consider a boob job to complete the makeover. That comment didn’t go over so well.
Chasing Snipes
On our sea kayak trip in the Pacific Northwest, we were eager to view this particular bay at night because it is famed to display glowing bioluminescent phytoplankton. Exhausted from our long paddle, I ask ‘Lori D’ to wake me when the glowing starts. I fall asleep to the sound of raindrops and a few hours later she shakes me awake. The rain is pouring buckets, but I remain excited. I stumble to shore in my tighty whities.
Lori swirls a paddle in the bay water and announces radiantly, “See that!!!” Staring at the dark water, I reply “See what?” She points eagerly down to her swirling paddle. Ever so gradually with eyes straining mightily, I start to see the underwater plankton awhirl and aglow. After 15 minutes I finally withdraw from my reverie and proclaim, “I’ve never seen anything like it!” I squish back to the tent and, in order to dry out, try to cuddle with Jody in her sleeping bag. This didn’t work out very well.
The next morning, while making breakfast, our guide asks how we slept through the heavy rainfall. Still shaking water out of my ears, I proudly announce my “out of this world magical midnight experience” with bioluminescent phytoplankton. The guide looks up at me curiously and states, all matter of fact like, “That’s odd… those critters don’t luminesce when it’s raining.” I stop, dead still, morning bagel in hand, mid chew.
I know full well how in situations like this, your brain can - and indeed will - create the reality you so desperately want to believe. My psyche still burns from being a 10 year old victim of the infamous Snipe Hunt joke. After weathering decades of suppressed shame and several years of psychological therapy, I’ve become emotionally stable…mostly. Did I see actual glowing…or did I just want to see it so badly that I imagined it? I start to feel pale and wobbly…again. Lori chortles. “That’s what you get for cheating at Monopoly”. Years of therapy gone to hell.
Ocean Front Property in Durango, Colorado
We announce (to those few who will still listen) that we will soon have ocean front property. Most of our friends imagine we’ve swigged too much climate change juice and respond by theatrically rolling their eyes. Actually the situation is more nuanced. I spent a respectable amount of my creative energy this summer creating Nemo & his dad. I toiled at shaping the plywood, then carefully painting everything from expressive eyebrows to Nemo’s lucky fin. Upon announcing completion, Jody comes out to my man cave to take a look. I proudly display my Picasso, my piece de la resistance! She steps back to admire the results. Stroking her chin, she then nonchalantly suggests that perhaps Nemo needs an ocean to swim in. My heart drops like an anchor. I recognize that she’s unquestionably right.
After unloading two truckload deliveries, I’ve acquired enough plywood to pursue the responsibility. I’ve started painting three hundred plywood sheets deep-sea blue and estimate that I should be finished painting by next summer. Next Thanksgiving, Nemo will have his ocean and our mountain home alongside ocean front! Every single day, I give thanks that we live in a neighborhood without Home Owner Association restrictions.
Life in Durango
Jody continues to work remotely for Mr. Cooper in the mortgage industry as a Vice President implementing strategic initiatives. She spends all day every day talking on her mobile headset, silhouetted in the glow of three large computer monitors. I bring her lunch because otherwise she’d forget to eat. Thomas the Tom Kat (TTTK) routinely invites himself onto Jody’s desk when he desires some attention. She never contests his sovereignty and contorts herself to stay on program. She carefully lifts his belly with one hand in order to view her screens, while typing with her other hand, and muting the phone to quiet his meows. When I see these contortions for the cat, I put forward “Just toss him onto the floor!” Her eyebrows rise and I know to withdraw.
I remain a representative for the community on the Durango Parks & Recreation Advisory board - work I find to be both worthwhile & interesting. Jody & I are also crew leaders for Trails 2000 and are helping to build the SkyRaider trail on Raider Ridge. We fortunately sold our commercial building in Pagosa Springs this year. That should give me the free time to build Nemo’s new ocean in Durango.
Jody delivered a live story performance at the Raven Narratives this year, telling a moving narrative about our relationship. She had the audience (including me) in stitches and then in tears…all in 10 minutes. I encourage you to listen to her story.
SMILEBOX SLIDESHOWS:
We’ve created musical slideshows for many of our adventures.
Desert Memories from Our Adventures in the Southwest
Pacific Northwest - Sea Kayaking, Backpacking and Hiking
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Jody and Seth Furtney & Thomas the Tom Kat
11 Molas Drive, Durango, CO 81301
Jody Cell Phone: 970-385-5567 / Seth Cell Phone: 970-385-5547
Email: jodyfurtney@hotmail.com / sethfurtney@hotmail.com
