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Faerieworlds!

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged on July 29, 2012| 2 Comments »

Ms. Danu Saturnfly and I flitted ourselves on down to Eugene, Oregon, to join the dozens of other Fey Folk in a celebration of everything Faerie and Magickal.

It was unfamiliar territory for both of us: I did not know the way and Ms. Danu had never been to Faerieworlds. We only made two wrong turns and both were easily corrected. Hooray for a good navigator and an innate sense of direction!

My dear friend, Lady Mary Foley, was there with some wee-folk  (grandchildren) and the Leprechaun, Walter O’Shaughnessy. (I may have spelled Walter’s name incorrectly, but I did me best)

       This Gallivanting Fox of a Fellow was only quite happy to pose for the camera. I didn’t ask where he was headed with that axe… But he had such a happy little jaunt in his step. Step in his jaunt?

I loved her wings. I had to edit her companion out of the photo, however: such a sour and angry face! It was very out-of-place with the event, so I simply made her disappear!

Poof!

At Faerieworlds, all manner of people get along for the day. Here was have a Satyr sauntering along with a Pirate & Wench, a sort of Knight (?) and a… Steampunk?

More beautiful wings on the faerie on the right. The Red Faerie seems to be admiring those wings as well.

The “self-proclaimed” Wizard of Faerieworlds made a loud and disastrous entrance into the Realm. But I did like the Fey behind him, to the right, walking away past the May Pole.

    There are so many things I could say about this young Barbarian. Bad posture. Great personality. He was quite the charmer. And I have no idea how he kept his skin so shiny white in the sun that beat down on us. Besides his tats, he was showing off his Pacific Northwest “Moon-tan”.

Some Beautiful Faeries! (Note the Fey in the top hat,  far left corner – I never did see her smile and she managed to fit herself into several photos of mine.)

Why, there she is, up close! And still frowning!

And again!

This Bad Faerie has captured a… I’d say a Faun, but he’s hidden his hooves inside of Tennis Shoes!

More lovely wings. We don’t ask about the thong…

These Faeries were traveling together. They were all quite sweet (and admired my home-grown wings as well).

“Oh! I put these on and suddenly I feel like I am making sense of the world!” she exclaimed. A moment later, she removed the glasses and uttered, “Oh, my! Suddenly I feel like I have no brain!”

It is not unusual to see a Unicorn in the Realm.

My Faire Fey companion, Ms. Danu Saturnfly.

 The Male Faeries were diverse as well: Simply adorned to flashy grins and wings!

Musical

Ready for War.

I kept hearing a sharp bird cry. I do not know how many times I looked at this Wood Elf, trying to determine the origination of the bird call. Can you see it? Atop his head!

(Quit looking at the background! I have video of the Aboriginal Faeries for another post)

    The parrot was not intimidated by the Barbarian Vampires.

At 3:00 PM (more or less, since we were on an Adventure), we met with the Ladies Mary Foley (left) and Desdemona (far right) for High Tea under the canopy in the Campground. Besides myself (Ms. Rose Bindweed) and my guest, Ms. Danu Saturnfly, we were graced with the presence of a French Faerie (with the Pixie hat) and her companion Faerie from the North Aegean Sea. Sadly, I do not recall their (foreign) names.

I do, however, recall their mission: they are guardians of the Park on Mt. Pisgah and take great care to protect the native flora of the area.

Many other fey folk paused to watch us as we partook of the wonderful spread provided by Lady Mary Foley (cucumber-and-cream cheese sandwiches, fruit, hot tea and wonderful desserts). One rather bold Barbarian even approached to remark how wonderful it was that we could pause to have High Tea. Then she curtsied!

More Faeries traversing the Pathway to the Village away from the Realm. I believe the Barbarian in the Utili-kilt was jealous of the leg-extensions!

A curtsey at the end of a dance.

A Norse Faerie with a Faerie… Raven? They were well-put together!

     The Gypsies learned Caravan Art from the Faeries. Or perhaps it is the other way around? There was a strong Gypsy influence on the traveling homes of the Fey.

  A typical Merchant booth in the Realm. This year, the merchants were – by and large – quite friendly and quite happy to please. There were a couple exceptions (like the booth that would not post price tags nor quote you a price until you picked out a dress), but for the most part… The merchants were there for the Faerie Consumer.

Ms. Rose Bindweed poses with her new Faerie boots, courtesy of the aforementioned Fey Merchant (a local Eugene artist – Faerie Toes)

Many business cards were collected and a list of links will be provided at the end of this post.

  Faerieworlds did take place in the Pacific Northwest.

Before I post the next photo, I need to tell the reader about “code-words”. When my niece first came to live with me (she was 10), she had no “filter”. We were at an antiques expo in Portland and she was quite taken by the “People of Walmart” who showed up. I pulled her aside and explained the need for a filter and we agreed upon a code-word for “LOOK! BAD DRESS!! FASHION FAUX-PAS!!” That code-word is “Pickle”

My Companion said, “Pickle.”

The Pickle is on the left. Fortunately, this year, there were not too many of these.

“Pickle” indeed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My friend, Ms. Danu Saturnfly (also a co-worker) wants to revisit Faerieworlds in the future. I believe I have not only a convert to the Realm of Fey but a good friend. It was a very good day.

www.unicornsndragons.etsy.com

www.etsy.com/shop/copperalia

I was going to provide more links but it would seem that an awful lot of Faerieworlds Vendors do not update their Etsy shops or websites. Too bad. their loss.

In all, it was a Very Good Day. And, boy – were my wings tired by the time I got home!

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He’s BACK! The “Other” Man

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on July 25, 2012| Leave a Comment »

UGH. Just before we left for Colorado, I picked up the phone on one of those stupid 1-800 calls. We never answer those because they are either telemarketers or political. But I had it in me to give “whomever” whatever. The woman asked for my husband. I explained he was out of the house and asked who she was/why she was calling. She refused to disclose this information to me.

So I told her that “this is a junk call.”

“No, ma’am, it is not a junk call.”

“Then who are you, who do you represent and why should I pass you on to my husband?”

“I cannot disclose that.”

Well, we aren’t behind on any payments (BTDT) so I told her, “Nope, this is a JUNK call” and I hung up.

She called back and left a message while we were gone. Bill collector.

WTF? Sorry about the “French” but we have paid our dues. We’re current or ahead on all of our bills at this stage in our lives. But before I would let Don call her back, I ran a quick credit check.

And He’s BAAAACK.

The man with the same name as my husband, but not the same Social Security Number.

We first encountered this man’s presence when we first moved to Portland. Someone called with a great job offer. Said they were a college roomie or something. NOT. Wrong man.

Then there was the call from the lawyer in the early 1980’s. She wanted her payment for the divorce. I laughed at her. “We haven’t been divorced,” I said with a smile on my face. “You have the WRONG phone number.”

OOPS. She quietly disappeared. And all was silent until about three years ago when we got this fat letter from the State of Washington demanding back child support. It was an interesting letter in that it included the Social Security Numbers of the man they wanted money from, his ex-wife and their two children (ironically, a boy and girl). It also included the mailing addresses of the ex-wife and the children.

Really?? I sent it all back to the State of Washington with a really nasty letter implying that they didn’t even bother to check my husband’s SSI against their information and they provided us with more than enough information for us to steal identities and commit fraud (not that I would ever want to be the other “ex” Mrs. Presley) Or her children). We never heard back from the State of Washington, not even a “oops! Thank you for catching our error.”

I check our credit report about every 12 months to 18 months. The State of Washington didn’t even appear on the credit report the last time I checked, which was after I sent the nasty letter (which I still have because I am obsessive about keeping track of details).

But our credit report on July 9th included the State of Washington for back child support. And the IRS for back taxes. For wages earned in the State of Georgia.

WTF?

I told Don to call 1) the credit bureau that showed those items and 2) the 1-800 number for the debt collector. He left messages on both sites, but the credit bureau won’t clean up our credit report for “up-to-two-months” and we’ll have to PAY to check that in November. And the 1-800 number took him to a voice mail where he left the last four of his SSI and the notation that he is *not* that person.

The 1-800 number called again the next day and Don picked up. He spoke to a live person.

“I am not the person you are looking for,” he said.

“Have you lived in Beaverton?”

“No,” he said. “That is the other person with my name.”

“Georgia?”

“Sorry, but I have only ever lived in Oregon. The last four digits of my SSI are…”

“Oh. You aren’t who we are looking for…”

DOH!

I can tell you exactly how much money this A-hole owes the State of Washington in back child support and how much he owes to IRS. It’s a lot. It’s more money than I dream of. It’s more money than we make in a year.

I really hope the IRS and the State of Washington catch up with him. I hope it almost as much as his ex-wife hopes it (she who has had to support their two children on her own income for how many years?) I really, really pray this upon the man with the same name as my husband.

Because that man is a real jerk.

And the IRS really should research SSI#’s before calling people out of the blue to say they owe taxes. We file every year. Early.

Don’t ask me what I think about the State of Washington and their searches. Idiots. Do they really think this guy would have a publicly listed phone number?

It’s almost as bad as stolen identity.

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Bad Harvey. Bad, bad, bad.

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged on July 25, 2012| 1 Comment »

There’s no such thing as a bad dog, but a bored dog…

Harvey was bored. His people left and they took Murphy with them. Harvey wanted to go. He couldn’t remember getting car sick. He was sure he’d be a good doggie. But his people left him behind.

Two strange people came to the house. That was good. Harvey was happy that he had someone to stay with him. But they weren’t his people and he knew it.

For one thing, they didn’t have the upper hand. He knew that because they talked baby talk to him.

And they didn’t watch him as closely as his people did. His people never let him have any fun…

The new people were nice and petted him and said nice things to him, but they didn’t come out into the yard to see what he was doing. He liked that. When they called, he’d come running and he’d let them wash all the mud and dirt off of his chest and paws and he’d smile real big because they just thought he was a really dirty doggie. And he wagged his tail.

One day, he found a secret way into the Forbidden Garden. That big old rock that blocked the gate couldn’t stop him now! He could get into the Forbidden Garden because the bad neighbors finally fixed their fence and there was a gap that he could fit through, back behind the shady hazelnut tree.

He didn’t know that he scared the new people. When they found him stuck in the Forbidden Garden, they didn’t yell. They praised him! And they left the Forbidden Garden Gate open so he could get back out the next time.

Oh, what joy!

In the Forbidden Garden, Harvey could work at the pesky outer fence. He pulled a board off of it so he could see the kitties that crossed the neighbor’s yard.

He chewed on all the boards to make them shorter and he dug and he dug and he dug. He loved to dig!

OOPS! That board splintered! Oh well, now there were two boards off of the fence and Harvey could really see into the other yard. Too bad they weren’t side-by-side, because then he could just go over into the other yard.

He dug so hard that he could get his whole entire head under the fence. He really liked that the new people told him he was a good doggie when he came to the back door and they had to wash all that mud off of him. He was a good doggie!

He pulled four boards off of the fence and dug deep holes all along the border and he chewed up every one of the remaining boards. He was such a good doggie!

“Oh Hi, Mom! Are you looking at the hard work i did while you were gone? I was a good doggie! That dog sitter said so!”

 
The dog sitter also said, “Oh, I wondered why he was so dirty when he came in…” when Mom mentioned the fence.

In the days following our vacation, Harvey’s mom had to go over to the neighbor to reassure her that we would replace the fence. She’s in her 80’s and hadn’t been outside to notice (yet). She was very gracious, chuckled, even, and said, “Oh, I don’t need the fence, but I think you do.”

Touché.

Then came the note on the front door from the other neighbor, also elderly. “We’d love to help the dog, but we don’t know why he is barking. He just will not stop.”

Oh, great. I called and spoke to the son (who works nights and lives there). “Well, I was going to call the cops, but Mom said I should let her write you a note because you are real nice and she likes you…”

After I finished apologizing a hundred million times, I asked, “How long has he been barking like this?”

“Oh, just the last couple weeks.”

Great. The bark collar came off and stayed off.

Harvey had been so good about barking. I had to use the bark collar every few months to reinforce the rules: no senseless barking, but in two weeks’ time… ALL that went out the window.

He’s had the bark collar on every single day since the note on my front door appeared. I couldn’t apologize enough. I promised the man on the phone that we are *not* that kind of neighbor! We do not allow our dog to bark, on and on and on and on.

I haven’t priced the boards to replace the fence. I have secured the Forbidden Garden again and Harvey can’t get in there. More chicken wire has been applied to the perimeter of the yard.

Harvey seems quite happy, but he just has this wanderlust. He *has* to try to figure out how to escape. I think, for me, the worst was that two years of conditioning went out the window in two weeks’ time.

Next time: Harvey gets boarded out. It’s expensive, but it seems like the only alternative.

I told my husband that since Harvey is already four years old, it seems very unfair to consider giving him up because he eats fences. It seems to me that the responsibility lies on the shoulders of the humans watching the dogs. We are responsible. He is just a dog, albeit a dog with very bad habits gleaned in the first two years of his life. He will probably only live to be ten or twelve years old, which means we only have six to eight more years of this. That’s a very short time period in human terms, but a life time in dog terms.

Harvey loves us. He has a little separation anxiety when we go away (ya think!!!??). All I have to do is figure out how to stay ahead of him for the next few years, the rest of his life.

Obviously, a dog sitter isn’t working for us. She really thought she was doing a great job… she had no clue what he was doing behind her back.

Bad Harvey. Bad, bad, bad.

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Last Leg Home

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on July 24, 2012| Leave a Comment »

We certainly packed a lot into a two-week road trip. We capped it off with a barbecue at my cousin’s home in Sparks, right after we went through the Auto Museum.  That was a very nice way to end the trip – and Don finally got a tour of the BSA bike collection.

I have a wonderful family. I’m so glad that I grew up close to my cousins! We spend years apart sometimes, but when we see each other, we pick up right where we left off – and we always laugh a lot. And we all sing out of tune.

But Friday morning, Don was itching to head home. Sadly, I had to break a date I’d made with my high school best friend, Janet. She was going to try to drive over to Reno from Round Mountain (near Tonopah). We haven’t seen each other since graduation. I was her maid-of-honor. I really, really, really wanted to see Janet.

But we were on the road. We headed up through Susanville (I hate that stretch of road! And why do we always get stuck behind the idiots when Don is driving? If you’ve never experienced it, here’s a sample: Nevada made it a four-lane freeway. California refuses to widen it. Once you pass the California inspection station, it goes down to a two-lane highway with occasional passing lanes. But it needs to be four lanes all the way into Susanville).

When I traveled with Chrystal last year, we cut over to I-5 both times. It isn’t because I like that stretch – not at all! – but the weather was “iffy” and I wanted to be on the most traveled route if something went wrong. But with Don, we could by-pass Susanville and head toward Alturas and Lakeview. It’s a much prettier drive and a lot less traffic.

We stopped in Lakeview for gas but decided we’d go on ahead to set up camp on the Chewaucan River before eating lunch. It’s not a long drive along Forest Service Roads, and it’s very pretty. And, once again, we found ourselves camped along the Chewaucan at Jones’ Crossing CG. I’ve blogged about it here and here. Granted, the second post is just about strange things that inspire me, but…

I was a little concerned about finding a good site. This was the weekend following the 4th… But I needn’t have worried. All the treed sites were taken, but thanks to Don’s Christmas present, the Rhino canopy, we were happy in the big, flat treeless site.

How cool is that? We just roll out our own shade! One person can manage the Rhino cover, but two are better.

The extra spare tire as a work of art.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh. Murphy did this in the Colorado, too. Don had to keep him on a leash or he’d just swim away. Besides, we had a lot of neighbors who wouldn’t appreciate a loose dog in camp.

Speaking of camping neighbors…

We called these people “Bonfire People”. The photo didn’t capture the smoke very well, but when we pulled in to camp, their fire was burning merrily away, untended. They left several times while the fire burned. And when it got dark, they piled a ton of wood on it until the flames leaped four feet into the air.

We wanted to walk over and tell them that 346 homes just burned in Colorado Springs. We wanted to flag down the Forest Service pumper trucks that passed on the main road. It’s a big ticket for leaving a fire untended. We wanted to haul water over and dump it on their bonfire.

We considered going over in the dark and starting to dance around the fire like Kevin Costner in Dances With Wolves. We seriously considered that option.

We didn’t think Bonfire People would have been amused.

But we would have been.

Two beetles.

The Chewaucan is always a hive of insect activity.

Western Blue Flax.

There were lots of wildflowers still in bloom.

On Saturday, we made the last leg to Portland. Don’t you hate the last day of vacation?

Harvey was very happy to see us. The dog sitter was at work, so we came home to a cleaned up house and a happy Harvey.

The unmowed lawn waved happily at us, too.

When the grass is deep like this, you can see the different kinds of grasses in the “lawn”. Someone please tell me WHY we bought a house with such a huge lawn?

UGH.

Oh, but that wasn’t even the worst.

The dog that is curled up on the floor behind me right now had been very, very busy while we were off camping without him. And that is fodder for one more post on our wonderful trip to see Baby Korinne.

I plan on printing this out as an 8×10″ to remind me how precious this little girl is.

Tomorrow: why Harvey should get to live… or not.

 

 

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Randomness and Going Home

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on July 23, 2012| Leave a Comment »

Eventually, everything must end. Vacations among them. Work beckons. The need to make money again beckons.

We had to drive back to Portland. Big sigh.

Tonight, I think I will end my story with some of the random photos taken over the course of our trip (that didn’t fit in anywhere else).

Murphy’s “photo-bomb” with “Dad” and the box Dad came in.

I didn’t even know I had this photo. I was reviewing all my photos late last night and thought: “WHAT?!” And then I started laughing. My dad might not appreciate this photo, but my MOM would have loved it.

The view from Hinckey Summit, south toward Paradise Valley. This is the “permanent” view my parents have of the world (summer version – winter is a different story).

There’s a natural arch in the basalt that rises over my parents’ ashes.

Life and Death in the high range: some bird had a feast of fritillary butterflies. Guess they were yummy, indeed.

Living butterflies dotted the mountain. I haven’t even tried to key them out: I know they are fritillaries, but that is it.

And birds like them.

 

 

Wildflowers on the arid mountain. I can name some of them and I should try to look them up, but not tonight. Buckwheat, Indian paintbrush. penstemmon, trumpet flower. There were lupins blooming, too. Spring comes very late to the alpine meadows.

Deserted Ranger Station with the Bunk House in back.

Once long ago, we camped there. I don’t remember how old I was. I remember that my parents hauled the mattresses out of the house and shook them to evict the mice and their babies. We children were told to stomp on the baby mice to kill them.

I burst into tears.

I don’t judge my parents: they lived in a different world. Mice are a plague. And I agree with them. I just could not stomp on the baby mice. It’s that sensitive thing.

Even today I would find a different way to kill the mice, one that didn’t involve me. I know: what a whiner! Mice – especially deer mice which these were most likely – carry Hanta Virus. And I hate mice in mattresses. But I was a little girl and my mind didn’t work that way then.

Chocolate Mountain. I’ll let you figure out how it got that name.

We watched this poor hang glider struggle to catch an updraft. We didn’t know where he started from, we only knew he was grounded on the side on the mountain and he had a companion (down in the lower right of the photo). there was a dog up there, too. I never bothered to change up to my 300mm zoom.

He did finally catch some air, but he came down – hard – shortly thereafter.

I don’t know the outcome of his adventure, but I suspect it was painful and not very successful.

AW! Back in Winnemucca. We stopped at a park where the old Navy Air Force Base used to be. And there was this sign. I remember when the Poke-n-Peek was founded. My best friend’s mom was one of the Catholic ladies who spear-headed the thrift store. And it’s still in business. Family friend, Norma, still works there. I don’t know if my best friend’s mom still does or not.

This used to be down at the park by the golf course. I can name the kids who vandalized it in the 1960’s. Back then, you could climb up into the cock pit.

Don and Murphy taking a break in the background.

The old WW2 tank. terry remembers climbing into it and manning the swivel. It was another one of those military displays that kids could climb on back in the 1960’s.

Winnemucca, Nevada. I can point out to you where I grew up. I only lived there for a short time in my life, but it seems like it possesses a part of my soul. Over in those brown mountains on the other side, is Water Canyon. We hiked up to Water Canyon from the house, sometimes. It was a couple of miles and a lot of hot sagebrush trails and watching for rattlesnakes. In my mind, I have a plethora of stories about Water Canyon, some with my friend Trudi and some with Lisa. And some with Terry.

And the mountain we are standing on – Winnemucca Mountain – has stories to tell, too. Trudi lived up there. She watched wild horses out her back window. There was a black stallion who led the little band of horses around those slopes.

We stopped in Winnemucca and visited people I barely remember. One woman turned and said, “Your mother used to sell Avon, didn’t she?”

What a strange memory.

Yes, she did.

And half-way back to Reno, I noticed this Murphy nose-print on the window.

It looks sort of like Heckle or Jeckle.

I started laughing and had to explain to my husband and brother how Murphy had created “art” with his nose on the window.

I consider it a Sign.

My mother sent me a sign after she died: two crow feathers.

Now my dad has joined her and the dog painted a nose-art rendition of Heckle or Jeckle.

It’s a sign.

Either my parents are in Heaven or they are trapped in a bizarre world of old cartoons.

Read into it what you want.

I think my mom was telling me that she was happy that Dad finally learned how to dance in the wind.

🙂

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Peddler on the Mountain Pass

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged on July 22, 2012| Leave a Comment »

Our trip to see our newest grandchild was also a trip that brought closure to some pain in my life. I wasn’t seeking that closure, wasn’t even looking for it. I had accepted that grief was part of the season of life I am in, and I really was only looking forward to seeing (and holding) Korinne, Micah and Justin.

It was accidental that we had time to drive to Winnemucca to scatter Dad’s ashes. If U-Haul would have rented a trailer to us, we would have spent  the 4th of July sorting through boxes and loading the trailer. But U-Haul will not rent to anyone driving a Ford Explorer, so we were left with extra time on our hands. And extra time meant a private family disbursement of Dad’s ashes into the same winds that blow Mom’s ashes over the Santa Rosas.

As it happened, so much of the drive was on familiar roads, evoking memories of different times and seasons.

In 2009, when I made the drive along I-70 with my brother, I eyeballed the jewelry being sold by Native Americans at the scenic rest stops. I didn’t buy anything, just looked.

This trip, I looked and contemplated.

My mother loved these peddlers. She returned home from an adventure with family friends along I-70 and gushed about the jewelry she’d purchased from “an old Indian on top of the mountain.”

My mother spoke in words that invoked an image of a wrinkled, ancient, white-haired Navajo with arthritis in her knuckles, sitting cross-legged on the rock beside her blankets of silver and turquoise jewelry in the hot sun and blowing wind.

Most of the peddlers were much younger women. They sat in lawn chairs in the sparse shade, drank bottled water and kept coolers in their cars.

We pulled into a rest area on the way west to Nevada and I realized I had not purchased any jewelry in honor of my mom and her legendary old Indian woman. I really wanted to do that.

There was only one peddler at this rest stop, a woman with two black braids that fell down the front of her T-shirt. She looked to be about the same age as myself. She said nothing as I perused the goods. Some of it nice, some of it so-so. That’s how it is at all the rest areas, with all the peddlers: same stuff, but a little different.

There was also some pottery and I recalled seeing one of the other Indians at another rest area packing up the little bits of pottery. I probably wouldn’t have thought much of it, but this woman had something else out beside the pottery: Christmas ornaments in a Southwest Native American theme. Several were marked with a little sign, “horse hair pottery“.

Horses are something I have a hard time passing by.

I purchased a Christmas ornament.

It was a little spendy, but I knew that it was the gift my mother would have wanted me to pick out. I don’t know how I knew that, but I knew it. Jewelry would have been something she would have gone for, but she always urged each of us kids to forge our own way and there it was: a horse on a Christmas ornament decorated with horse hair.

“Do you want it wrapped?” she asked.

I followed her to her car and waited while she wrapped it in bubble wrap and placed it in a paper bag with little business cards.

She talked the entire time, telling me a story about her grandson and how she was worried about him. Her son and some woman had a child together, but they separated before the child was even born. The woman did not care for the child, didn’t hold him, just ignored him. The Tribal Council came to the grandmother and wanted her to step in and take the child.

She considered her life as a peddler and the long hours she spends on the mountain passes. Hot hours, cold hours. She determined it was not a good life for a baby and said no.

The council came back to her after a couple years. Please take the baby. So she did.

He did not know how to sit in the bathtub and play with water. He still drank from a bottle and did not know how to eat. He did not walk.

She put him in day care and had to leave the mountain every day at 4 in order to be back in town to pick him up. She taught him to splash in the bathtub.

Her son works as a well driller and travels to Wyoming. He sends the child’s mother $1,000.00 but the money is always gone by the second day and the child has nothing. Her son wants to raise his son.

She wants to keep the child from his real mother. Teach him to read, talk, laugh.

His name is Junior III, after his grandfather, Junior.

Other people came and wanted to buy from the woman, but she kept talking to me, telling me about this pain in her life, this sorrow that haunted her as she sat on the mountain, alone, peddling her wares.

Finally we were in the car and backing out. Don turned to me and said, “What was that all about? Suddenly you were her best friend.”

I don’t know. Kindred spirit. Maybe she knew I would remember. Maybe she knew I would look her in the eyes and listen without judgment. Maybe I didn’t treat her like a stranger, so she didn’t treat me like one.

I really don’t know.

But I will always think of and pray for Junior and his grandmother when I look at the ornament.

According to her business cards, the thin lines are from a horse’s mane and the thick lines are from the tail hairs. It is fired in a kiln and you can’t predict how the hair will melt onto the pottery. Every piece is unique.

Her name was Lora. She lives in Arizona some times and in Utah some times. Her business card gave me her phone number in both states and a PO Box address in both states.

And somehow, buying that Christmas ornament and listening to Lora’s story, I felt my mother’s spirit pass over and through me.

Just another little bit of closure.

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The Burning Display

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on July 21, 2012| 1 Comment »

I don’t know if I should start this post with a disclaimer: I have never been to Burning Man or if I should start it with: This is what happens at Burning Man.

You can read the history on Burning Man here. It seems to me that I have known about it “forever”, but that isn’t true. However, it is so huge and iconic, that I am surprised when I mention Burning Man to someone and they don’t have a clue as to what I am talking about.

It is a huge hedonistic party on the Black Rock Desert that also strives to leave no trace of the party on the playa afterward. I respect Burning Man. I’m not sure I want to go (for several reasons, the most outstanding being the heat on the unshaded playa), but I love the costumes, the art, and the themes. In short, every year, I visit the Burning Man web site and browse the photos.

It’s a little like the Faerie Festival in Oregon, but considerably more well- known. Or maybe it’s like Oregon Country Fair. But more epic.

Since I have only been to the Faerie Festival (you can read about that here and follow the arrows to the other posts I wrote in 2008 – tons of photos!), I don’t have anything to compare it to.

I know Burning Man is epic. It has to be epic to produce art that is of a quality to make it into a museum. Art that is mobile and makes it into Harrah’s Auto Collection. Art that is – well, as my husband would say (as he rolls his eyes, “Jaci art”).

I appreciate Burning Man art.

I really appreciate Burning Man art.

And I hate to do this, but I am going to stoop to a slide show. These photos of the display at Harrah’s speak for themselves. You don’t need me to narrate. If you want to see the full image, click on the photo.

Just too much fun…

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Road Trip Through Don’s Camera

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on July 20, 2012| 3 Comments »

I am sitting downstairs with Harvey, enjoying a quiet night without Don or Murphy. What do I do when Don is gone?

STEAL HIS PHOTOS.

He has some awesome ones. He was much busier with his camera than I was.

City of Rocks, Idaho

View from I-70 in Utah. Love the clouds!

Cactus shadows.

The Arkansas River from the Royal Gorge Bridge.

Rafters on the Arkansas River.

Kaci, Justin, Korinne’s stroller and me pausing to take in the view off of the Royal Gorge Bridge.

A very thirsty squirrel sneaking into the dog water.

“Oh, Hi Hooman! I just be gettin’ some waters to drink when those dumbo doggies isn’t lookin’. I be’s movin’ on now.”

I don’t know why I missed this lovely view point at Royal Gorge. Don, Levi and Justin walked over to it.

Justin!

Pike’s Peak Cog Railway – waiting for the train.

At the summit.

The Colorado Rockies.

Hello Marmot!

Waldo Canyon fire from Pike’s Peak.

Somebody was bored out of his little toddler mind on the ride back down the mountain.

Love these boys!

Who is that mad woman?

Ely on fire! It was further from town than it appears. Notice the clouds forming at the top of the column of smoke? It was starting to create its own weather system.

The three of us: Me, Terry and Dad. Mom was probably there, too, but we couldn’t see her.

Dad’s last dance. Mom always said he had two left feet, but I think he finally perfected his dance moves.

(Thank you, Donald, for unknowingly allowing me to use your photographs. I give you all the credit. Love, your wife.)

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Stuck in Reno Again

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on July 19, 2012| 2 Comments »

(Name that song – only it’s a town in California)

Well, since U-Haul didn’t want our business because we own a Ford (and we left the KIA at home), we were left with some spare time on our hands.

My cousin, Val, drove over from California to see us and we all decided it would be fun to do something “touristy”: Harrah’s Auto Collection. I guess it’s called the National Automobile Museum, but I’ve always known it as Harrah’s.

Back in 1975 or maybe in 1977, I walked through the original museum: a huge warehouse full of old cars, parts, and more old cars. You couldn’t begin to absorb the enormity of the collection and after awhile all the old cars started looking the same and your feet started to hurt.

But the museum has been moved to a different location and only certain cars are on display, and all the replicas are stored elsewhere.

My husband had never been to Harrah’s. This was a real treat for him.

You’re allowed to take your camera in and snap as many photos as you want, just stay out of the displays (alarm system) and don’t put fingerprints on the cars! (I added that last bit)

There’s everything there and I couldn’t begin to snap photos of everything I fell in love with. This “horseless carriage” is a 1912 Baker. It was an Electric car (and you thought “”smart cars” were new technology)!

How about the 1921 Ford? Forerunner of the SUV. I like the picnic window and little canopy.

It became quite the little camp car with the tent extensions.

A little like this.

WHO doesn’t want to drive a 1925 Dusenburg??

Possibly my favorite (I love trucks): a 1937 REO.

A 1959 Scimitar. Lord! The brushed chrome! This car rivals the current crop of Yukons, Excursions, and what-nots with extra seats in back – and it has a lot more class. Probably doesn’t have the safety features, but, hey…

How about a 1961 Fiat? Isn’t that a crazy looking car?

A 1955 BSA Gold Star.

WAIT. I know that bike. That bike belongs to my cousin’s son, Tad. Tad set several land speed records with it at Bonneville Flats, the most recent being 104.745 mph.

Val reads one of the many plaques in the area where Tad’s motorcycle is (temporarily) on display at the museum.

That’s my cousin up in the upper left photo, “way back when”. Um, as in way back before her hair turned silver. In the lower left, Jerry (my cousin’s husband) and Tad embrace. We’re all pretty proud of Tad.

Terry, Don and Val admire the motorcycle.

There were so many cars and not enough space to post a photo of every single one of them (if I had taken a photo of every one, which I didn’t).

This was Elvis’.

I took it for my boss, who is a huge Elvis fan.

1973 Cadillac Eldorado Coupe.

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Across Nevada (Fire, Petroglyphs, U-Haul)

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on July 18, 2012| 4 Comments »

I have to back up a little now.

The only reason we camped on the Colorado River the second time was because we were going to Reno, and the only reason we were going to Reno was because we wanted to rent a U-Haul trailer to haul my meager inheritance home. My books have been stored in my cousin’s warehouse for the past year.

But more on that later.

We saw lots of smoke on the drive from the Colorado River to our next campsite in Nevada. Lots of smoke.

There was this plume of smoke rising over Scipio, Utah. It was burning on the far side of I-15 which we had to take south to the Hwy 50 junction to Delta. Coming back north into Delta, we saw the same fire was burning on the Delta side of that small range of mountains.

South of Ely: this didn’t look good. I was trying to guess where this one was long before we could see Ely.

It was gaining momentum by the minute.

It was out in the sagebrush flats between Ely and McGill, and was barreling toward the Schell Creek Mountains. We were in Ely for about an hour, eating lunch and buying ice. The fire was on everyone’s mind as there are a number of homes out there. But it went uphill (as fires often do) and into the pinyon and junipers. That plume could be seen almost all the way to Eureka, 89 miles away.

We drove through Eureka and across the straight stretches of Hwy 50. I told Don about a late-night potty stop we made in May of last year in the deepest dark of a moonless night. I didn’t write about it because it was just that: a late-night potty stop and it was very, very dark. The campground is at a petroglyph site just out of Austin. Usually, we camp at Bob Scott CG, up on the mountain, but I was certain this other CG was worth our time.

I lived in Ely for four years and I’ve been along that stretch of Hwy 50 countless times, but I have never been to Hickison Petroglyphs – except for that stumble-in-the-dark stop with my brother, Chrystal and AJ. I figured as much as we love rocks, what the heck?

I did warn Don that the road is a little wash-board-y. But it is a short drive in and we still had plenty of daylight. Best of all, there was a short period of time when we had the campground to ourselves and Murphy could run around off- leash.

Most of the little garbage cans were full, but we were pulling in on a Monday night and we figured that the BLM had not had time to send out a crew to clean up the weekend trash. The outhouses (there were several!) weren’t anything to crow about, but they didn’t have that incredible aroma all the ones along the Colorado River had. And the campground was FREE.

Yep, you get trash pick-up and pit toilets and a clean campground, and it’s all paid for by your tax dollars, no additional fees. There’s a little trail (the brochures were missing from the kiosk) winding through the rocks where the ancient Native Americans carved their signatures and art work.  So you get something to do plus a clean camp plus pit toilets plus trash pick-up.

That’s important to know because when we signed the little guest book at the trailhead, we found this note inside the guest book box:

“Bathrooms are a mess + no TP even empty rolls Boo Hoo! Please do not disturb our packrats in the outhouses! They’re harmless.”  A Reno telephone number was written on the bottom of the note.

WUSS.

This Nevada girl is laughing at the stupidity of your note. Read my post: the pit toilets didn’t have that unpumped aroma. There’s trash pick-up. It’s FREE. And seriously? Your biggest beef was the pack-rats? Or the lack of TP? Go pee behind a tree.

Pack-rats are native animals. They’ve been a part of the camping experience for… Oh, hell, I remember pack-rats in the barn at Mahoney Ranger Station when I was two years old. They really are harmless (unless they’re caught in a leg-hold trap in the barn and you’re not supposed to be in the barn and you run and tell your dad that there’s a pack-rat in the trap and he comes and finds you in the barn and… you get your tail whooped). They steal shiny things. And most of their nests were in the rocks, anyway – it was only pack-rat poop in the bathrooms.

Get over it. And if you’re camping in Nevada, you should be packing your own toilet paper, anyway. And water.

Sometimes I am amazed at my lack of empathy.

We did walk the very easy path around the petroglyphs. Most of it is wheel-chair accessible (a pushed wheel chair, not a motorized one). Here and there, some modern Idiot thought he (or she) could improve upon the ancient art work and there were pitiful attempts to carve names into the rock by drunken local yahoos (or tourists), but the petroglyphs are deep and ancient.

I didn’t take my camera with me when we walked the little loop. I don’t know why. I don’t think I was expecting much. I took photos in the morning before we left and missed the good lighting. My bad.

We had a perfect view of the full moon.

The campground filled up overnight. A lot of people pull off the highway and seek refuge there, but not a lot of them hike out the trails. Too bad: they miss a little treasure in the Nevada wilderness.

We passed Bob Scott CG on our way into Austin: it looked pretty full (still) at 8:00AM.

We drove on into Reno and to my brother’s place without incident.

The bad news was that we didn’t look very closely at U-Haul’s website when we planned our trip. Well, I take that back: I can’t find it but my brother swears it is on the website.

U-Haul will not rent a trailer to anyone driving a Ford Explorer.

Apparently, about 12 years ago when Ford put faulty Firestone tires on their Ford Explorers, U-Haul was involved in some sort of dispute. 12 years later (and different tires, suspension design and so on), U-Haul will still not rent to anyone driving a Ford Explorer.

I can’t find it on the web page. I even typed in Ford Explorer. So – send me the link. I really want to see it. (Terry??)

So my inheritance was left in my cousin’s warehouse until such time as we can drive my KIA Sportage down to Reno to pull a trailer back up here because we were driving a 2006 Ford Explorer and U-Haul will not rent to us.

What.Ever.

So we scattered Dad’s ashes and then we spent time with my cousins. And tomorrow, I’ll post a little about Harrah’s Auto Collection.

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