Bring On The Taco Vibes For Jello!!

Dear Jeff Lowe: On one of my better days, I was briefly mistaken for you! No joke! That was back in 1975 or somewhere in there, in Yosemite, and the resemblance was superficial: lots of hair, bandanna and conspicuous glasses. It was a fine day on Royal Arches, when I dragged myself and my hair onto the surprisingly crowded big ledge at the top of the Rotten Log Pitch and sat down heavily and started pulling up rope. I was still sputtering and muttering after the encounter with the saggy Log, which had wheezed rotten woodmeal into my face while I’d desperately clutched my way up the ghastly thing. From one of the resting climbers perching on the ledge, came an earnest, hopeful voice, tremulous with awe: “Are . . . you . . . Jeff . . . Lowe?????” For a few seconds, I planned to say yes, just for the glory, however ephemeral. But then came a huge, violent bray of laughter from one of the other inhabitants of the ledge: your cousin George, who knew too well what a duffer I was! To my intense irritation, George continued to laugh about this risible mistake for far too many minutes, his brassy honks of mirth bouncing off Washington Column and the Apron and Half Dome. For all I know, the echoes of George’s laughter are still rattling faintly over the Valley, wall to wall. I don’t think you and I ever met properly, but I would like to report to you what a fine example of honor and grace you’ve set for me then, after and now, and thank you for allowing me to enjoy the smooth burn of that brief and flattering confusion. I grew a foot that day, no matter what George thought! Thanks for all of it!