"La vida no espera a que estés listo." Life does not wait until you are ready. — Anonymous

April’s Experience

Going Anyway

Dead and Company Playing in the Sand January 2020

I recently returned from a brief visit to Eagle County. Paul and I used to live there and have dear friends who still live there. I was up doing some dog-sitting for friends over the weekend. On my drive from Cortez to Gypsum, I was listening to the Sirius XM Grateful Dead channel. The song "Me and My Uncle" has so many complex meanings for me, as with many Dead tunes, that it is impossible to state its full meaning here. It brought me back to Mexico, Riviera Maya to be exact, at Dead and Company's Playing in the Sand. It was Sunday, and somewhere mid-1st-set when they played that song.

Steeped in memories, I allowed myself to drive while going back to that time. My toes were literally in the sand, Paul was with me, and we were having the time of our lives. The Dead had a way of doing that, bringing you to the time of your life. It had taken a lot for us to get there, and we were glad we did.

The road to that show was longer and more arduous than I had anticipated. First was the cost; it was the most expensive concert we had ever bought tickets for, and we really couldn't afford it. For anyone who has tried and failed to buy tickets to concerts knows the price of even just getting to buy the tickets. In our case, a friend had a pair of tickets we could buy, as we had missed the opportunity initially to get hold of the tickets.

Then there was getting plane tickets, the time off from work, and all of the things you need to do to go see music.

We managed to get all of that accomplished. I couldn't believe we were going, and that Paul agreed to pay that much for the whole experience. But we were set.

Richard, Wendy, and Maria the Iguana. Punta Cana, Dominican Republic, April 2019

Paul at Playing in the Sand, January 2020

Months later, my Dad got sick. We knew he had been sick, but this was different. I still wonder if maybe it wasn't COVID, but there wasn't a way to detect it yet. Regardless, he had a compromised immune system and was very ill in the hospital. It was very touch-and-go, and at one point, we started to realize maybe this time he might not make it out of the hospital.

After spending my Christmas break and then some during that time, I started to realize I may have to decide on the trip. It was agonizing, and such a huge dilemma. I felt like if I went, I was going against my father, and if I didn't, I was going against myself. So I was left with do I abandon my father, or myself? I had written about this kind of moment before, but I had no idea I was about to live it. If you have ever faced something similar,The Chateau Fights Back explores exactly what happens when a trip you love meets a life you can't control.

While muddling through this, I began to realize that my emotions were surprising. My first emotion was anger. What was wrong with me? How could I feel angry at all? There was my father, possibly dying in a hospital, and I am feeling angry? But when I really let myself feel it now, I realize that anger in that moment was not a bad thing. I vividly remember walking back to the apartment I was staying in after a long day in the hospital, knowing that I had to go to Mexico. Ironically, my father was a part of the decision to let me go to Mexico in the first place, back when I was eleven years old, when I went to a foreign exchange program in Mexico. So here was Mexico again. Beckoning. I had such a clear answer: I was doing right by my father in that moment, and I also had no business abandoning myself. It was never stated, but I know that my taking the trip, even with the possibility of getting that phone call, was a chance I had to take. My father was a world traveler himself, and knowing this gave me a quiet sense that I must go. It was a pretty short trip, five days in all, but important for me to go.

We drove from Leadville to Denver International Airport; the three hours in the car gave me time to think. Once we got to DIA, it was the usual semi-organized chaos that is getting through security, getting in line for TSA, taking your shoes, belts, etc. off. Getting to the gate. I remember Bloody Marys on the plane and the arrival in Cancun. One brief moment of disorganization was when Paul had handed me his passport temporarily, then I stepped away to see about going to the restroom, and lost Paul in the process. Upon my return, I found a furious Paul who asked me why I had left with his passport. It wasn't funny at the time, but as I look back at that moment, I realize that it could have been a comedic scene in a movie. We moved past that and found the shuttle to the Moon Palace in the Riviera Maya. When you go see music elsewhere in the country, you are usually greeted by the colorful Dead Head crowd that, in our case, filled the plane. Everyone was excited and ready for a few days of sun, sand, and Grateful Dead music. If you have ever wondered how to think about protecting a trip like this one, Force Majeure is worth a read before you book.

I did not see a lot of Grateful Dead in my early years. When everyone was chasing the Dead, I was raising children. I was a single mom and worked three jobs to keep us afloat. I did have the Dead playing on whatever listening devices I had, and I deeply loved and felt a strong sense of peace through their music. When Paul came into my life, so did the music again. I will forever be grateful to him for that. We have been through some rough moments in both of our lives, losing loved ones, surviving illness and injury, and through it all, there seemed to be the Grateful Dead.

Bob Weir at his best. January 2020

There were three shows in all, and we ended up having the time of our lives. We saw people we knew, and found ourselves at breakfast in the morning, which quickly turned into a party. We didn't do much of anything other than party by the pool, walk the beaches, sleep in, and get the pre-game going before the show. Paul and I couldn't seem to stay up for the after parties, but it didn't matter; the time spent there was golden.

This was Dead and Company, a beautiful compilation and reimagining of the music. As the Dead themselves often said, the music never stops. And how true that has proven to be. Over the past decade, at each other's insistence, we have been to many shows. But Mexico was special. There was a stage right next to the ocean. It was so close that we were wading in the ocean, cocktails in hand, with Dead and Company directly in our sights. Another fun thing about those shows was that the San Francisco 49ers game was periodically flashed up on the screen, showing their eventual win. There were also people running around announcing that the Colorado Avalanche had won too. Seeing a photo of the 49ers on that screen was pure Bob. What a night: the Dead, the ocean, and two teams winning. It felt like the universe had decided to make it perfect.

Paul and I, pre-game. January 2020, Riviera Maya.

It is always kind of anticlimactic when returning from a Dead and Company show. You build it up in your mind for weeks, you get all excited, you order something cute to wear on Etsy, you get all ready. Then you travel, then you get to the show. The whole thing is a buildup, and then the glorious moments spent in pure bliss surrounded by people and music you love. You feel so alive. And before you know it, it ends, and you head home. I try to spend time in deep gratitude, at least internally, when I return home from a show. But this time it was even more important, my father was still alive and had safely returned home from the hospital. We all know when our parents get to be in their 80s, how fragile life can be. This time, it was not just okay; it turned out to have been the right decision.

I knew I had made the right decision toward the end of our time in Riviera Maya. I woke up one morning and stood out on the little patio outside our room. I was alone, watching Mexico wake up. A calm, peaceful thought came over me. I had made the right decision. Maybe staying true to yourself is actually a gift you can give your parents. My father's nickname for me was Moo Goo Gai Pan, a Chinese dish that my parents had ordered many moons ago when I was still a baby. The name made me laugh, so it stuck. My father called me Moo Goo my whole life; it was one of those seemingly small things that, upon reflection, I now realize isn't so small. I was Moo Goo, and I knew that my father was okay. I managed to do both, be there for him, and be there for myself.

I was still driving, heading toward Eagle County. Bob finished singing Me and My Uncle. How can one song evoke so many emotions, memories, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude all in one song? It is the kind of thing that the Grateful Dead have done for me my whole life. There is also a calm sense that I did right by my father, too. Having been his daughter and a part of his life will always be special. I slowly came out of the memory, and my mind returned to the rest of the long road ahead of me, as I was coming out of the canyon past Grand Junction. Life doesn't wait for the perfect moment. Neither should you. If that idea resonates, Safety Third is where that thought lives more fully.

For my father, Dr. Richard Stieg, June 1937 - September 2020. He called me Moo Goo.