Jaci Dawn

Cutting across the sagebrush flatlands out of Delta, Utah, we saw a couple strange contraptions. There was a solar panel and a long flat bed of what appeared to be rusty metal out in front of the solar panels. While we pondered what they might be, we began to realize there was a pattern to them. Not only a pattern, but a whole lot of solar panels and beds, neatly arranged in a grid across the desert and all aimed the same direction.

Terry suggested they might be searching for aliens.We had no idea how close to the truth he was: they are “Cosmic Ray Collectors” and they cost the taxpayer (that’s you and me) $17,000,000.00. Roughly speaking.

We should have stopped and taken pictures, but since we didn’t, you’ll have to follow a couple links Terry found when he tried to look the contraptions up. I especially encourage you to read The Desert Survivor’s blog on the Cosmic Ray Collectors. I think she’s a lot more lucid than the other link – and a whole lot funnier.

I wish we’d have taken photos.

We should have taken photos of Scipio. There are some pretty cool old buildings in Scipio.  To be fair, Terry offered to stop in Scipio, but I didn’t realize then how much I would regret not getting photos. And we had a long day’s drive ahead of us.

We didn’t stop to take photos until somewhere out beyond Green River, where the country changes abruptly to sandstone, sedimentary and metamorphic rock formations. Breath taking.

There are several scenic pull-outs along I-70 (still Route 50).

Photos can’t do the country justice. The grades were steep, the hill country layered in green-gray-white-pink with occasional strips of coal embedded in the rock. There were “Frequent Deer and Elk” crossings (no Major Deer, only Frequent ones) (we saw no Frequent deer and only one Frequent elk – and it was quite dead).

“HALP!”

Seriously, I can’t take him anywhere.

It was a long day of driving up-up-up and over mountain passes. We made Grand Junction, Colorado after dark. The weather was still holding for us despite some threatening clouds earlier in the day. My son wasn’t so fortunate in Colorado Springs: they had freezing rain and icy roads.  Which is why Terry and I decided to back-track a little on Monday morning, to allow Colorado Springs to thaw out.

Tomorrow: strange chicken tales.

Don’t worry, I’ll get to Bigfoot.

And dinosaurs.

And grandbabies.

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The adventure is over now and I am at home recuperating. My ears are not quite unstuffed, but I don’t know if that is the fault of the change in altitude flying out of Reno to San Francisco or the slight cold I caught at 12,095 feet in Colorado, wearing only a windbreaker in the snow.

I made a lot of notes, not the least of which was “why I love Nevada” and “why flying is no longer any fun.” The answer to the latter is TSA and the endless security measures we now subject ourselves to. And the stupid Air Bus that United Airtlines put me on between Portland and San Francisco (and the return leg as well): the seats are made for tall people and the “pillow” gave me a kink in the neck because I am too short for the seats. However, the little planes I rode in between San Francisco and Reno had comfy seats.

From Reno to Colorado Springs and back was all by pick-up truck: thank you to my big brother who drove all the way. More on him, later.

Why I love Nevada.

Sure, nearly every state in the union now has legalized gambling on Indian reservations, but in Nevada, it is everywhere. This was the sign over the door to the restrooms at a gas station in Fernley. You can’t go anywhere in NV without a one-armed bandit waiting to shake your hand. If they could put cameras on them, they’d be inside the bathrooms, too.

At least most places have gotten rid of the gaudy red velvet wall paper.

Terry & I cruised across US Route 50 (The Loneliest Road in America) from Reno to Ely on Saturday the 11th. We took the old highway which is slightly more scenic than the new (and considerably more winding).

We stopped in Austin to buy ice cream from a local business and found this sign. Dang! Not only is it slippery when wet or icy, but now it is slipery, too!And that just sounds slimy!

There were signs I did not get photos of. For instance, I did not get a photo of the sign warning “Major Deer Crossing”. No idea where Private Deer cross.

The first time I saw this particular placard hanging on a fence, I assumed it was a spelling error. But after awhile, I got the distinct impression that the extra “t” in there was on purpose. Without knowing the particulars of the issues, I still have to say that it’s quite the campaign. Got my attention.

We spent the night in Ely, visiting with my dad who is now 81 and my nephew, John. My dad is on oxygen these days and the elevation doesn’t help him breathe. Ely sits just under 6500′ (1962 meters) and funnels the north wind through all winter. Ely is a dusty little town, that vacillates between boom and bust. Usually it is more bust than boom, but the town seems to hang on anyway. There’s a little tourism to keep people coming through and the intersection of highways between Reno, Las Vegas and Salt Lake City. (US Routes 6, 50 and 93 converge in Ely.)

A series of storms were purported to be moving in from the coast, so we wanted to get on down the road before they hit (the possibility of a good snow is a good motivator). One night in Ely and breakfast with my dad at the Jailhouse, and we were back on the road Sunday morning.

Good-bye to Ely and Hello to the next leg of our adventure. (Maybe we’ll find a jackalope!)

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Not Ellen Degeneres, but my dear friend, Ellen Eaton.

Ellen died Saturday morning after a very brave and truly heroic battle against ovarian cancer. I found out this morning when I opened my work email and saw an “Update On Ellen” post. I expected some funny description of surgery and recovery. You can imagine my shock.

Throughout this entire ordeal, Ellen was upbeat and hilarious. She wanted to host a contest to name her tumors when she was diagnosed. After months of chemo, she wanted to start a pool of bets to see who could guess how many tumors survived the chemo: the proceeds were to go into Ellen’s Milkshake Fund after surgery.

Initially, I was incredibly shocked. Sad. Disappointed. Grieved. I didn’t have much time for emotions as work buried me, but slowly, I came to realize that Ellen would not have wanted anyone to cry over her. In fact, the man who sent out the email regarding Ellen’s last hours (which he described very poignantly) ended the note with the fact that he & his partner were going “out for a steak dinner, which is what Ellen would have wanted.”

Driving home tonight, finally able to ponder the loss of a dear friend, I started seeing some lessons in Ellen’s life that I think we can all use.

1. When faced with the unthinkable, say something funny. Keep your sense of humor at all costs, laugh, and defuse the situation.

Ellen was gifted at that.

2. When your friends ask “what can I do to help”, think of something and let them help. Ellen didn’t hesitate when all the offers came pouring in. She took the offers seriously and organized a network of friends with whom she could connect via email. She came up with a grand idea to get free meals: offer everyone the opportunity to take her to dinner the night before a scheduled round of chemo.

Friends lined up. I took the last round of chemo and took her out to dinner at Newport Seafood & Grill. She had a huge T-bone steak (took most of it home in a doggie bag – another Ellen trick: order enough food to eat for the next few days).

3. Don’t complain.

She was in pain. As long as I have known Ellen, she has been in pain. She was in a couple severe car accidents that left her back permanently damaged and sore. She walked with a cane on her bad days. Then came the cancer and the pain of the chemo. Nausea for days.

She made jokes about it. You knew she was in terrible pain, but you also knew that she would not tell you because she did not believe in dwelling on it. She probably cried herself to sleep sometimes, but you never saw it in public.

4. Make plans for the unthinkable.

Ellen had a contingency plan. If things went wrong, she had a plan to notify her friends. If we didn’t hear from her within a few days of chemo, we were to get alarmed. And when she went in to the hospital for her surgery, she already had plans for the “what if?”

Those plans were honored by the two men who sat beside her bed as she died, holding her hands. They knew she did not want to be resuscitated and they knew she wanted the plug pulled if she reached the point of no return. Their knowledge (and power of attorney) combined with what Ellen had told the hospital before she went under helped make the decision to let her go easier. There was no question as to what she wanted when she was beyond the point of being able to verbalize her opinion.

5. Wear a hat.

At one point in her battle, some of her friends hosted a hat party for Ellen. We were encouraged to buy (or make) her a hat: silly or serious. There were some outrageously silly hats and some wonderfully practical ones. She tried every single one on and so did everyone else. It was hysterical fun.

6. Ask for help.

Ellen knew when to ask for help. She didn’t try to fight this alone. And she didn’t rely on just one set of friends, but she leaned on friends from many different paths of life.

7. When the judge sentences you to read a book, choose a big one.

She had to go to court during her ordeal. I’m not sympathetic about the charges: she flicked a lit cigarette out her car window and got pulled over.

She went to court. She was careful to not pull the handicapped “I have cancer” card, but when she removed her hat to stand in front of the judge, she was told she could put the hat back on. She refused because you just do not wear a hat in court. She refused a chair because her cane was good enough.

The judge was so impressed, he sentenced her to do a book report for her crime. Any book.

Ellen chose a long book and did a college-level book report. She could have chosen a kid’s book.

8. Eat steak.

That’s my favorite. To heck with being politically correct, Ellen liked red meat. Steak. If you’re going to die anyway, eat steak.

There are more, but I’m too overwhelmed thinking about it. I will miss Ellen profoundly. She was intelligent, witty, downright pee-your-pants funny (sorry if that offended anyone, but at my age it doesn’t take much to make you pee your pants when you start laughing hard), and she was very loving.

Oh – and she loved wirehaired pointing griffons. Before we got Murphy, we almost adopted her griffon, Casey. Ellen was moving into an apartment where she could no longer have a dog and she gave Casey to us. But before we could collect him, he died of sudden kidney/liver failure.

Ellen died pretty much the same way. Before I could go visit her in the hospital, she was gone.

So I guess lesson number 9 is this: love wirehaired pointing griffons. Even Murphy.

Ellen died surrounded by the love and community of diverse friendships, and holding the hands of two men who cared very much for her.

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