1: I squinted when my words were later hurled back in my direction. I know why I've got crows feet. You are what you eat.
2: People work themselves to death in salt mines. I don't get it. Salt is just ocean - less water. Put some ocean in a bowl protected from rain and wait. Voila!
3: The next time I see someone in a pricey car parked across two spaces twenty feet from the WalMart entrance, I'm gonna wait 'til the car on their driver's side moves, then park six inches from their door, film their reaction when they come out, and make them famous on a TV home video show. With the money I'll win, I can fix the dings in MY car from doors and carts being thrown into it. Or maybe I'll have enough to quit shopping at WalMart (for philosophical reasons), or even enough to buy a new car, which, of course, I'll want to show off to my fellow WalMart shoppers while protecting the fruits of my hard won wealth.
4: I know someone who jumps a foot every time the cell phone vibrates in her pocket. Everyone around her also recoils when she gets frantic for no apparent reason, like horses on the trail when the lead spots a rattlesnake. She doesn't get many calls, but when she does, the whole room becomes energized. I call her occasionally from the business phone a few feet away just for effect. I'm considering packing my own cell on vibrate, or maybe just randomly flinching or squirming like a chipmunk ran up my pants leg, just to create some buzz.
5: A safety memo came out warning of the dangers of leaving the paper shredder powered up when not in use. I wonder out loud what horrible accident created the need for this notification. I'm picturing the destruction of a perfectly good silk tie and someone's face. I.., um, someone... printed a copy of the document and mangled half of it in the shredder, then smeared a bit from a catsup packet on what remained. It rested on the brink of the trash can for the night shift to notice. It was not IN the can the next morning, and I'm fearing a long and expensive investigation into whichever sophomoric moron is not taking safety seriously in the company. If they find them, they should fire them.
6: We set a record for consecutive days with rain in Anchorage. Woo-hoo. Not many folks seem to be celebrating our accomplishment. I, on the other hand, am a lemonade fan. A wet summer has many (ok, some) benefits. The parks are not crowded, so, while we took our lab swimming (he doesn't mind the rain), we picked over forty types of mushrooms. We brought them home for study, compared them to the trusty guide, and found three that "might" be edible (and might be poison). So, I took the puppy into the dark forest on the slope of my property, and found more interesting varieties, all without food or hallucinogenic value (darn). But we learned a lot, and the shrooming season has just begun. We did find that the rain has not dampened the bugs' spirits, or slowed any plant growth. There were a few berries, and a place where a large animal made a day bed (probably at night). It's looking like we can put off getting refrigerated air for another year, and there will be plenty of mulch for the perennials. I haven't spent much time or money on golf, or wasted any effort searching for northern lights or meteor showers. I chose not to feed my lawn in the rain, so it's growth has slowed to where weekly cuttings are enough. Anywhere else, these rains would create torrential floods, but there is no natural topsoil for our gardens here, so the water just drains away. And as any true Alaskan knows, it's plain silly to complain about the wet; You don't shovel rain...
7: At the end of the golf season you can find bargains on golf balls. I bought some new Armour brand for a third of the normal price. They seem very playable, but I understand the marketing problem that exists with the hot-dog connection.
8: My partner was wearing a tortoise-shell claw in her hair. It looks like some kind of medieval torture device. I asked if the thing was a brain monitor and how it was doing. She said, "Actually, it's not doing much of anything." She said it. I didn't. Not to worry; She seldom reads this stuuuuuu
Ow.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Grandma, What a Big Thirst You Have!
- Sisters in Southeast Alaska, getting into mischief. One of those towns where nearly everyone has a name ending in 'sen', Peterssen, Andersen, Gundersen... descendants of the Nordic pipeline. A village that has an interest in everyone's personal business, tolerates their quirks, helps out when they can. Sibling girls, condemned by their mother to daily visits to the home of the town alcoholic, Mary Bersvendsen. "That's what neighbors do", she tells them.
- So, every day, after school in the usual rain, they slog to Mary's house, check her health and do small errands. They know Mary's story, how she couldn't have children, how she lost her husband in a fishing accident, how she cried non-stop until she started drinking, and how she became one of those drunks that puts the second six-pack in the freezer to cool while she drinks the first, and never freezes a can.
- The girls understood that Mary couldn't cope, but wondered why THEY were assigned to do the coping for her. Every day they cleaned a different kind of mess, fluffed her pillows, threw out the empties. But God knew THEY (the girls) weren't getting anything from the experience (much less getting paid), except for poor old Mary telling them how sweet they were for stopping in, and then sending them on their way as if she had invited them and suddenly had something she needed to do or live for.
- Years went by and Mary deteriorated. The town kept her house livable and spoke in whisper-tsks whenever the Bersvendsen name was mentioned. The girls reached the age where hormones and boredom cloud decisions, and they concocted a way Mary might do them a return favor. The boys their age were obsessed with MAN things, like boats, and chainsaws, and ...beer. Not that they had actual access to many of those things, but the girl who could offer a taste would be popular indeed.
- The girls knew that Mary seldom took nutrition except from a can, and that her kitchen had long since been relegated to storage. They also knew how she kept a tab with the Bottle Stop liquor store and the town cabbie, who delivered a new supply every few days. Occasionally though, she had some other random need, and one of the Olsen clan would bring their car and take Mary the three blocks to the town store, where people would fuss over her, ask about her health, wish her well, and shake their heads after she'd left.
- The timing was never right for several weeks while the girls perfected their scheme, but on a dismal morning just two weeks before school was out, the Olsen Ford crackled off the gravel driveway with Mary preening her reflection in the window, and the girls launched the plan they'd concocted. The youngest put on one of Mary's nightgowns, donned one of Mary's knitted night caps and jumped into the smelly rumpled old bed. The elder partner in crime spun the dial on the phone and handed the receiver beneath the covers to her sister. What came out of the girl's mouth was a gravelly mix of Julia Child and Little Richard.
- "Hello Mr. Anderssen? Could you pick me up some beer, Honey?", much the same way they'd heard Mary ask many times before. But Andy threw them a curve, "Sure, Mary, but I'll be a few minutes. I've got a real fare. That guy from the Fishing Commission and you know he won't want to go out of HIS way. Are you okay? You don't sound so good."
- "Sure, Sure. Um, I just ate a red hot", she croaked.
- Silence. Then, "So okay, Mary. See you in a little while. Bye." Dial tone.
- The older girl ripped the phone out of her sister's hands. "What the heck was that?", she yelled.
- "What!?"
- "That was the worst imitation of Mary ever!", even though she'd never heard an imitation of Mary.
- "You can do better? It's not like we practiced or anything!", even though she had practiced all week.
- "And what was that "Mr. Anderssen crap? Mary would never call him Mister!", though actually Mary was from a different generation, who often addressed people more formally.
- "It sounded less pretend than 'Hey Mac', which is prob'ly what YOU'd have said. Which, by the way, why DIDN'T you say it?" though actually she had been thrilled with the prospect of acting as Mary.
- "RED HOTS? RED HOTS?? Where did THAT come from?", even though she knew they had shared a tiny box of cinnamon drops that morning.
- "I COULDN'T THINK OF ANYTHING ELSE!!", she screamed. And that was true.
- The argument stopped when the crackly road announced the arrival of a car, and the girls looked out. It was Andy, the cabby, with the state official in the front seat, tippling a brown paper wrapped bottle, then handing it back to Andy for a swig. Evidently, the liquor store had not been out of the way after all. The girls dove back into their roles, the eldest pretending to wash the dishes she'd dirtied for appearances, and the younger pulling the stained quilt over her head. And then, with Andy balancing a case of beer waiter-like on his hand as he came up the walk, the girls tensed at the sound of another car pulling onto the road. It had to be, and was, the Olsens with Mary in tow. Andy waved with his free hand, thinking nothing of seeing the woman who had, just minutes before, called from her red hot sick bed.
- The girls panicked. The twice clean dishes clanked into the sink, the gown flew generally toward the closet, and two flying forms, one in a pink nightcap, flew down the rear walk where Mary, having noticed the cab blocking the front drive had asked to be driven around back, where she opened the gate just as two forms blurred past.
- "Hello dears!" she said to girls running at her.
- "I've got it! Just got one bag today." she offered to the girls zinging past.
- "You go on now. See you next time!", she finished when the girls were already well down the street.
- Then Mary went into her house, opened one beer from the case on the end table, put a six pack in the freezer, and settled into a strangely warm but comforting bed, daydreaming about how nice it was to live in a place where neighbors cared enough to take her shopping, deliver sustenance, and send their wonderful children to check up on her.
- Andy fluttered his fingertips at the girls on his way to the airport. "D.U.I.", the eldest mouthed while beaming her friendliest smile back at him.
- So, every day, after school in the usual rain, they slog to Mary's house, check her health and do small errands. They know Mary's story, how she couldn't have children, how she lost her husband in a fishing accident, how she cried non-stop until she started drinking, and how she became one of those drunks that puts the second six-pack in the freezer to cool while she drinks the first, and never freezes a can.
- The girls understood that Mary couldn't cope, but wondered why THEY were assigned to do the coping for her. Every day they cleaned a different kind of mess, fluffed her pillows, threw out the empties. But God knew THEY (the girls) weren't getting anything from the experience (much less getting paid), except for poor old Mary telling them how sweet they were for stopping in, and then sending them on their way as if she had invited them and suddenly had something she needed to do or live for.
- Years went by and Mary deteriorated. The town kept her house livable and spoke in whisper-tsks whenever the Bersvendsen name was mentioned. The girls reached the age where hormones and boredom cloud decisions, and they concocted a way Mary might do them a return favor. The boys their age were obsessed with MAN things, like boats, and chainsaws, and ...beer. Not that they had actual access to many of those things, but the girl who could offer a taste would be popular indeed.
- The girls knew that Mary seldom took nutrition except from a can, and that her kitchen had long since been relegated to storage. They also knew how she kept a tab with the Bottle Stop liquor store and the town cabbie, who delivered a new supply every few days. Occasionally though, she had some other random need, and one of the Olsen clan would bring their car and take Mary the three blocks to the town store, where people would fuss over her, ask about her health, wish her well, and shake their heads after she'd left.
- The timing was never right for several weeks while the girls perfected their scheme, but on a dismal morning just two weeks before school was out, the Olsen Ford crackled off the gravel driveway with Mary preening her reflection in the window, and the girls launched the plan they'd concocted. The youngest put on one of Mary's nightgowns, donned one of Mary's knitted night caps and jumped into the smelly rumpled old bed. The elder partner in crime spun the dial on the phone and handed the receiver beneath the covers to her sister. What came out of the girl's mouth was a gravelly mix of Julia Child and Little Richard.
- "Hello Mr. Anderssen? Could you pick me up some beer, Honey?", much the same way they'd heard Mary ask many times before. But Andy threw them a curve, "Sure, Mary, but I'll be a few minutes. I've got a real fare. That guy from the Fishing Commission and you know he won't want to go out of HIS way. Are you okay? You don't sound so good."
- "Sure, Sure. Um, I just ate a red hot", she croaked.
- Silence. Then, "So okay, Mary. See you in a little while. Bye." Dial tone.
- The older girl ripped the phone out of her sister's hands. "What the heck was that?", she yelled.
- "What!?"
- "That was the worst imitation of Mary ever!", even though she'd never heard an imitation of Mary.
- "You can do better? It's not like we practiced or anything!", even though she had practiced all week.
- "And what was that "Mr. Anderssen crap? Mary would never call him Mister!", though actually Mary was from a different generation, who often addressed people more formally.
- "It sounded less pretend than 'Hey Mac', which is prob'ly what YOU'd have said. Which, by the way, why DIDN'T you say it?" though actually she had been thrilled with the prospect of acting as Mary.
- "RED HOTS? RED HOTS?? Where did THAT come from?", even though she knew they had shared a tiny box of cinnamon drops that morning.
- "I COULDN'T THINK OF ANYTHING ELSE!!", she screamed. And that was true.
- The argument stopped when the crackly road announced the arrival of a car, and the girls looked out. It was Andy, the cabby, with the state official in the front seat, tippling a brown paper wrapped bottle, then handing it back to Andy for a swig. Evidently, the liquor store had not been out of the way after all. The girls dove back into their roles, the eldest pretending to wash the dishes she'd dirtied for appearances, and the younger pulling the stained quilt over her head. And then, with Andy balancing a case of beer waiter-like on his hand as he came up the walk, the girls tensed at the sound of another car pulling onto the road. It had to be, and was, the Olsens with Mary in tow. Andy waved with his free hand, thinking nothing of seeing the woman who had, just minutes before, called from her red hot sick bed.
- The girls panicked. The twice clean dishes clanked into the sink, the gown flew generally toward the closet, and two flying forms, one in a pink nightcap, flew down the rear walk where Mary, having noticed the cab blocking the front drive had asked to be driven around back, where she opened the gate just as two forms blurred past.
- "Hello dears!" she said to girls running at her.
- "I've got it! Just got one bag today." she offered to the girls zinging past.
- "You go on now. See you next time!", she finished when the girls were already well down the street.
- Then Mary went into her house, opened one beer from the case on the end table, put a six pack in the freezer, and settled into a strangely warm but comforting bed, daydreaming about how nice it was to live in a place where neighbors cared enough to take her shopping, deliver sustenance, and send their wonderful children to check up on her.
- Andy fluttered his fingertips at the girls on his way to the airport. "D.U.I.", the eldest mouthed while beaming her friendliest smile back at him.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Low-Word
- Pizzaman has really good local pizza. They also serve schooners of microbrew. So, with our house trembling from guest prep, there was little question where I was going for take-out. When I walked through the door, a line of folks waited for seats. One bleached little southern lady in heels bypassed the line and beat me to the cashier. "How long is the wait?", she drawled.
- This cashier is one of my favorites. She is cute, courteous, professional, and very, very pregnant. She asked about the size of the party and estimated a fifteen minute wait.
- The tourist raised her eyebrows, hesitated a second, brought three fingers to her cheek, and wailed "Oh Low-word!". Thats the way she said it; two full syllables. The hostess noticed my reaction, but controlled her own. She shrugged an "I'm sorry", and the little belle wheeled and stormed away.
- The cashier smiled at me, reached for my order, and told me what I owed.
- I threw my hips to the side, raised my hand to my cheek, shook my head, and moaned "O Lo-word!!"
- I must have done it well. She doubled over and roared. The next customer in line was laughing one of those mouth-wide-open-but-no-sound-coming-out guffaws, and the waiting-for-tables crowd, who hadn't heard the earlier exchange, were smiling that somethings-funny-but-we-don't-know-what confused half grin. I shrugged an "I dunno" at them and waited for calm, but it wasn't happening. The poor girl laughed so hard that she sat, actually sat, on the floor gasping. Two waitresses ran out of the dining room to her side. "My God, What happened? Are you okay?"
- Through tearing eyes, she was staring up at me staring at her with a fake concerned look. "He... He...", she tried between heavy breaths, "is gonna make me have this baby!"
- The man behind was shaking his head. One waitress was giving me hate looks, the other was helping the plumpish one to her feet. She took some time, softly cradled her belly, then waved the other staff away, composed herself, and took my money. She thanked me with a smirk, then pointed her finger at the man behind and said "Don't even think about it!"
- From the car I could see her calmly handle business with the next customer, and as she called someone to fill in, I saw her mouth the words you come to expect from a woman in her condition, "Low-word, I gotta pee!"
- This cashier is one of my favorites. She is cute, courteous, professional, and very, very pregnant. She asked about the size of the party and estimated a fifteen minute wait.
- The tourist raised her eyebrows, hesitated a second, brought three fingers to her cheek, and wailed "Oh Low-word!". Thats the way she said it; two full syllables. The hostess noticed my reaction, but controlled her own. She shrugged an "I'm sorry", and the little belle wheeled and stormed away.
- The cashier smiled at me, reached for my order, and told me what I owed.
- I threw my hips to the side, raised my hand to my cheek, shook my head, and moaned "O Lo-word!!"
- I must have done it well. She doubled over and roared. The next customer in line was laughing one of those mouth-wide-open-but-no-sound-coming-out guffaws, and the waiting-for-tables crowd, who hadn't heard the earlier exchange, were smiling that somethings-funny-but-we-don't-know-what confused half grin. I shrugged an "I dunno" at them and waited for calm, but it wasn't happening. The poor girl laughed so hard that she sat, actually sat, on the floor gasping. Two waitresses ran out of the dining room to her side. "My God, What happened? Are you okay?"
- Through tearing eyes, she was staring up at me staring at her with a fake concerned look. "He... He...", she tried between heavy breaths, "is gonna make me have this baby!"
- The man behind was shaking his head. One waitress was giving me hate looks, the other was helping the plumpish one to her feet. She took some time, softly cradled her belly, then waved the other staff away, composed herself, and took my money. She thanked me with a smirk, then pointed her finger at the man behind and said "Don't even think about it!"
- From the car I could see her calmly handle business with the next customer, and as she called someone to fill in, I saw her mouth the words you come to expect from a woman in her condition, "Low-word, I gotta pee!"
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Fireworks - A Requiem
I used to love big fireworks shows. Now I don't care. Last night I sat alone in the guest bedroom and waited after midnight for the first boom. It shook the house and startled the puppy from his sleep. I hugged him and crated him, and went back to the show that was well on it's way. There were no oohs and aahs, no squeals of delight, no patriotic music; Just me, a wall full of family photos, and a picture window dotted with colored splashes against the dusky Alaskan sky. And like the movie that isn't quite good enough to involve you in the story, the show became interesting for it's rhythm, and the exact two seconds it took for the sound to travel to me, and the puffs drifting in the breeze the opposite direction of the clouds behind them. I began to start predicting which types of shell would come next, and wandered to the realization that nothing had been new in the fireworks game for a very long time. Then I began to remember the fireworks of my childhood, where fuses were lit only by child-like adults, and the explosions were all huge, and names were written in sparkler glare. I remember losing power to the entire block when a tossed splattering stick crossed the feed wires. When I first beheld a commercial display, with it's shimmery old glory and layers of exploding beauty, I knew my life had purpose. But there is no Stanford School of Pyrotechnics in my old neighborhood, and the closest I could get was to become a professional firefighter where all of my coworkers were similarly obsessed. I had eighteen runs including a house fire one July 3rd while operating only a brush truck, and it was the pinnacle of the adrenaline driven portion of my life. But the best, the very best, fireworks came when my girls were little, and we watched the reflections in their wide eyes, and their wriggly forms, hands on cheeks, backlit by the flashes, jolted by the booms.
- One of those girls came to visit last week. We had a wonderful time, and now she's gone off again to grad school, and she's grown into a beautiful, fun-loving and independent woman that any father would be proud of, and I'm sitting here watching the celebration of the birth of our nation considering whether her generation will be able to restore any of the ideals dreamt of by the founders, then mortgaged by the people on my wall, me included. I'm wondering if one man's vote will mean again what it should, and if real leaders will emerge that can decide issues based on diverse individual judgement rather than a party line. I wonder if race will ever become irrelevant. I'm hoping that the earth isn't already too polluted to recover. And I'm wondering, watching fireworks, how many of those other people watching are still proud of this country, willing to make real sacrifices for what it stands for, what it means to the history and destiny of humankind. I'm missing that feeling in myself.
- Mostly though, I guess I'm just sliding off the highs of last week, sad that time is over, already missing my daughters, missing my youth again. Even fireworks don't fill that hole.
- One of those girls came to visit last week. We had a wonderful time, and now she's gone off again to grad school, and she's grown into a beautiful, fun-loving and independent woman that any father would be proud of, and I'm sitting here watching the celebration of the birth of our nation considering whether her generation will be able to restore any of the ideals dreamt of by the founders, then mortgaged by the people on my wall, me included. I'm wondering if one man's vote will mean again what it should, and if real leaders will emerge that can decide issues based on diverse individual judgement rather than a party line. I wonder if race will ever become irrelevant. I'm hoping that the earth isn't already too polluted to recover. And I'm wondering, watching fireworks, how many of those other people watching are still proud of this country, willing to make real sacrifices for what it stands for, what it means to the history and destiny of humankind. I'm missing that feeling in myself.
- Mostly though, I guess I'm just sliding off the highs of last week, sad that time is over, already missing my daughters, missing my youth again. Even fireworks don't fill that hole.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
The Boring Road
- There is a road in New Mexico that no locals want to drive. "It's the most boring drive in the world", they say. "Look harder", I tell them.
- Hauling a load of European tourists, I kept hearing how beautiful the rocks were. (The ROCKS!) How the layered colors of the badlands played the light between snow and shadow, the sedimentary folds in the cliffs. I remember feeling closed in when I first visited a place where the vegetation was so thick you couldn't see into the forest. I remember visiting a place where the sun didn't come up that day, at all, and the still cold caused the cabin smoke to shoot a fifty foot column into the air before it dispersed. I thought it was beautiful, but I didn't live there. Those who did live there thought it dreary, and miserable, much the same way most feel about this road. It's a matter of perspective, and the willingness to look.
- Folks used to mount plates that read PRAY FOR ME. I DRIVE NM44. The highway number has changed. The speeds have dropped while the surface is better. But black ice and alcohol, large wild animals and very rural driving habits still kill people here too often. The old road ran along the cliff edge. You can still see remnants of Dead Man's curve, where a pile of old cars used to rest.
- There is a place close by where water flows in decent volumes from the ground, so hot you can't touch it without scalding. But cold water flows on the surface here too, and by careful placement of a rock or two, you can soak in a healing bath, take in the clean pine scented air, and study 600 million years of geology in the red sandstone cliffs across the canyon. When the air is still and cold, you can see the steam plumes here; hundreds of them. There was a hotel, with a swimming pool, once. Then it became a commune catering to "flower children", and they predictably didn't pay their bills, and the tribe that owns the land bulldozed it.
- There is the old Blanco trading post, where the trader McDonald was murdered, and his ghost still wanders. Navajos avoid the place. The "chindi" drives them away.
- There is the long white hill, at the north end of magic valley, so full of fossils that a young mother told her little daughter that a whale had died, and all the little creatures it had eaten are preserved there in stone.
- A rancher still runs his cattle along the Rio Puerco in a place infested with tree cactus. On the day he rented equipment and chains to clear it, the blooms were stunning, and he couldn't destroy them. The same rancher found the body of a man who had "fallen" from an airplane on a remote part of his property. How did he know where to look?
- The ghost town of Cabezon somehow still exists near the volcanic remnant with the same name. They filmed a movie there, but nobody knows it's name. The Spanish conquistadors camped near long before. What maladies did they encounter along the trail of the seven cities of gold to have named the mountain "Head of the Devil?"
- There is a place the bureaucrats call a wilderness, where no tree grows, just round clay hills, plates of sandstone, hoodoos, and wide fossil filled washes. I did have a picnic under a tree there, however. Sticking out of the undercut bank of a black arroyo was a huge petrified log. The sand was moist and cool, and the shade was most welcome.
- A narrow guage rail line ran here, to haul lumber and coal. The real old-timers still hear a steam whistle now and then.
- Just over the hill on the old road, before the washed out bridge, is a field of random large white boulders. There are no white mountains nearby. How did they get there? In the fall, the fields around those boulders are filled with purple aster and grey sage. One hill beyond is arch spring, with its little black and red painted Ansazi birds, and the outlier ruins on the bald hill across the valley.
- Near the gypsum cliff is a square rock that will warp your radio signal. A physicist told me that is impossible. His radio didn't work either.
- Two sandstone owls used to guard the magic valley, the boundary between the nomadic Navajo and Apache lands, and those of the more citified pueblos. The legend says the owls warned the pueblos when raiding parties came near, and that as long as the owls stand guard, an uneasy peace will exist between the tribes. Today, the owls have eroded to nubs.
- "La Ventana" was a long stone arch you could walk across only fifty years ago. Today, it's a pile of rubble, and almost nobody knows why it has a name.
- There is a gnarled grove of pinon trees, just hundreds of feet from the highway and hundreds of years old, that will produce, every seven years, the sweetest fattest nuts you can gather anywhere. At the right time you can lay an old sheet under a tree, send a limber young person into the branches to shake it, and within minutes you'll have more pinons than you can use. You will also have one filthy, tarry limber young person in the car with you, so take an extra sheet.
- There. We've traveled the road some think is boring, and we didn't get into any of the outlaw stories, or the tales of the rough and tumble Truby sisters. We didn't discuss horse rustlers, or quicksand in Largo Canyon or barfights at the Coon's Holler. We didn't mention that the whole town of Counselor was for sale not long ago. Wiese's place with the ancient orchard, sawmill stories, Chaco canyon... Shoot, we're really just getting started.
- Every boring road has a thousand stories. Many quiet persons have a tale or two to tell.
- Hauling a load of European tourists, I kept hearing how beautiful the rocks were. (The ROCKS!) How the layered colors of the badlands played the light between snow and shadow, the sedimentary folds in the cliffs. I remember feeling closed in when I first visited a place where the vegetation was so thick you couldn't see into the forest. I remember visiting a place where the sun didn't come up that day, at all, and the still cold caused the cabin smoke to shoot a fifty foot column into the air before it dispersed. I thought it was beautiful, but I didn't live there. Those who did live there thought it dreary, and miserable, much the same way most feel about this road. It's a matter of perspective, and the willingness to look.
- Folks used to mount plates that read PRAY FOR ME. I DRIVE NM44. The highway number has changed. The speeds have dropped while the surface is better. But black ice and alcohol, large wild animals and very rural driving habits still kill people here too often. The old road ran along the cliff edge. You can still see remnants of Dead Man's curve, where a pile of old cars used to rest.
- There is a place close by where water flows in decent volumes from the ground, so hot you can't touch it without scalding. But cold water flows on the surface here too, and by careful placement of a rock or two, you can soak in a healing bath, take in the clean pine scented air, and study 600 million years of geology in the red sandstone cliffs across the canyon. When the air is still and cold, you can see the steam plumes here; hundreds of them. There was a hotel, with a swimming pool, once. Then it became a commune catering to "flower children", and they predictably didn't pay their bills, and the tribe that owns the land bulldozed it.
- There is the old Blanco trading post, where the trader McDonald was murdered, and his ghost still wanders. Navajos avoid the place. The "chindi" drives them away.
- There is the long white hill, at the north end of magic valley, so full of fossils that a young mother told her little daughter that a whale had died, and all the little creatures it had eaten are preserved there in stone.
- A rancher still runs his cattle along the Rio Puerco in a place infested with tree cactus. On the day he rented equipment and chains to clear it, the blooms were stunning, and he couldn't destroy them. The same rancher found the body of a man who had "fallen" from an airplane on a remote part of his property. How did he know where to look?
- The ghost town of Cabezon somehow still exists near the volcanic remnant with the same name. They filmed a movie there, but nobody knows it's name. The Spanish conquistadors camped near long before. What maladies did they encounter along the trail of the seven cities of gold to have named the mountain "Head of the Devil?"
- There is a place the bureaucrats call a wilderness, where no tree grows, just round clay hills, plates of sandstone, hoodoos, and wide fossil filled washes. I did have a picnic under a tree there, however. Sticking out of the undercut bank of a black arroyo was a huge petrified log. The sand was moist and cool, and the shade was most welcome.
- A narrow guage rail line ran here, to haul lumber and coal. The real old-timers still hear a steam whistle now and then.
- Just over the hill on the old road, before the washed out bridge, is a field of random large white boulders. There are no white mountains nearby. How did they get there? In the fall, the fields around those boulders are filled with purple aster and grey sage. One hill beyond is arch spring, with its little black and red painted Ansazi birds, and the outlier ruins on the bald hill across the valley.
- Near the gypsum cliff is a square rock that will warp your radio signal. A physicist told me that is impossible. His radio didn't work either.
- Two sandstone owls used to guard the magic valley, the boundary between the nomadic Navajo and Apache lands, and those of the more citified pueblos. The legend says the owls warned the pueblos when raiding parties came near, and that as long as the owls stand guard, an uneasy peace will exist between the tribes. Today, the owls have eroded to nubs.
- "La Ventana" was a long stone arch you could walk across only fifty years ago. Today, it's a pile of rubble, and almost nobody knows why it has a name.
- There is a gnarled grove of pinon trees, just hundreds of feet from the highway and hundreds of years old, that will produce, every seven years, the sweetest fattest nuts you can gather anywhere. At the right time you can lay an old sheet under a tree, send a limber young person into the branches to shake it, and within minutes you'll have more pinons than you can use. You will also have one filthy, tarry limber young person in the car with you, so take an extra sheet.
- There. We've traveled the road some think is boring, and we didn't get into any of the outlaw stories, or the tales of the rough and tumble Truby sisters. We didn't discuss horse rustlers, or quicksand in Largo Canyon or barfights at the Coon's Holler. We didn't mention that the whole town of Counselor was for sale not long ago. Wiese's place with the ancient orchard, sawmill stories, Chaco canyon... Shoot, we're really just getting started.
- Every boring road has a thousand stories. Many quiet persons have a tale or two to tell.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Growler
The widow's lamp is still lit. The Iditarod is still running. Half the field has finished. Lance Mackey and his dream dog team won again. The Seaveys, Mitch and his son Dallas, finished strong in the top ten together. Dee Dee Jonrowe smoked in her pink outfit (the dogs had pink booties) and took 22nd. She dedicated the race to her Mom who has cancer, and whom I'm sure is so dang proud. Newton Marshall, from Jamaica, looks like he'll finish, but is rumored to be a bit miffed at the -40 deg temps Alaska provided. Pat Moon is recovering from the conk in the head he got from running into a tree. Celeste Davis also blacked both her eyes on a tree, but she's still running for the red lantern. Trent Herbst, the fourth grade teacher from Idaho who summers in Homer, has made it into Safety and looks sure to finish. His students, who helped build his sled and sewed booties for his dogs, are probably glued to their monitors, cheering. Wattie McDonald, running Siberians he raised in Scotland, looks to finish his first run. The lost dog, Whitey, was found, and flew in his owner's arms back to Anchorage. The convicts in Eagle River correctional center took care of the dropped dogs until they could be returned to their home kennels, and I'm guessing some serious bonds formed in the week they had together.
Vik stopped at the Moose Tooth for a growler of Raspberry Wheat for yours truly, and I'm sitting next to a comfortable fire, raising a frosted mug to the athletes, man and dog, gutsy enough to run the Iditarod, the last great race.
Vik stopped at the Moose Tooth for a growler of Raspberry Wheat for yours truly, and I'm sitting next to a comfortable fire, raising a frosted mug to the athletes, man and dog, gutsy enough to run the Iditarod, the last great race.
Action in IHOP
- 5a.m.
- IHOP near a military base.
- "Good morning sergeant-major", as the last seat is taken at a table full of camo clad soldiers planning a day of training.
- Two elderly gentleman meeting for almost silent breakfast, like they do every morning.
- Two young men in civilian dress, but clean shaven heads and hangover eyes.
- Two gumpopping waitresses loudly discussing their boyfriends.
- A very young couple walks to the register. He's in fat pants, sheer t-shirt and sideways hat. She's in heels, tight jeans, and cut frilly blouse. She knows she'll be watched, so she puts on a show. Everything that can bounce and jiggle does.
- The breath audibly leaves the hangover boys.
- A forkful of waffle stops midway to a mouth at the geriatric table. The conversation stops, though, for only a few seconds.
- Training of he US military is temporarily on hold.
- Waitresses roll their eyes.
- Boyfriend is oblivious as girl looks back and smiles big. She takes her boyfriend's arm and struts out.
- My partner says "Clank", and I say "Ow."
Some are concerned there is debauchery here. Nope. Just nature. Some are concerned that men see women only as sexual objects. Nope. Very sexual beings, and so much more. Some would say something evil happened here. Guess I missed that part.
I'm allowed to notice, just not to stare. She says she'd worry more if I DIDN'T notice. I tell her it probably wouldn't matter if she worried, I'd probably still notice, but I'll try to not over-notice. She used to say she knows where I sleep, and she'll make me get down the heavy old cast iron pan so she can clank me with it. Now we're older and that sounds like more work than it's worth, so she just says "Clank", and I say "Ow", and we get the gist if not the lump. It's a pretty good arrangement, but it's still in my best interest not to notice to excess.
- IHOP near a military base.
- "Good morning sergeant-major", as the last seat is taken at a table full of camo clad soldiers planning a day of training.
- Two elderly gentleman meeting for almost silent breakfast, like they do every morning.
- Two young men in civilian dress, but clean shaven heads and hangover eyes.
- Two gumpopping waitresses loudly discussing their boyfriends.
- A very young couple walks to the register. He's in fat pants, sheer t-shirt and sideways hat. She's in heels, tight jeans, and cut frilly blouse. She knows she'll be watched, so she puts on a show. Everything that can bounce and jiggle does.
- The breath audibly leaves the hangover boys.
- A forkful of waffle stops midway to a mouth at the geriatric table. The conversation stops, though, for only a few seconds.
- Training of he US military is temporarily on hold.
- Waitresses roll their eyes.
- Boyfriend is oblivious as girl looks back and smiles big. She takes her boyfriend's arm and struts out.
- My partner says "Clank", and I say "Ow."
Some are concerned there is debauchery here. Nope. Just nature. Some are concerned that men see women only as sexual objects. Nope. Very sexual beings, and so much more. Some would say something evil happened here. Guess I missed that part.
I'm allowed to notice, just not to stare. She says she'd worry more if I DIDN'T notice. I tell her it probably wouldn't matter if she worried, I'd probably still notice, but I'll try to not over-notice. She used to say she knows where I sleep, and she'll make me get down the heavy old cast iron pan so she can clank me with it. Now we're older and that sounds like more work than it's worth, so she just says "Clank", and I say "Ow", and we get the gist if not the lump. It's a pretty good arrangement, but it's still in my best interest not to notice to excess.
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