Dawn's Mind Spout

Something this way comes continued

2011-04-22T17:11:00.000-06:00

My heart is heavy this afternoon. I'm incredibly sad. Hard to walk. My cheeks feel droopy and my eyesight is blurring. What is wrong? I did have a feeling before I left to see her but I wanted to meet with the hopes of making a new friend. A friend that shared a love of horses. The conversation was akward; hard to maintain eye contact. The highlight was the big warm blooded Hanavarian gelding. He was nuzzling and open. Just like all animals. Connection is always honest, non-judgmental, happy to be with you, comfortable. With a hug (she says goodbye, but the hug was cold. Not, genuine. Extending my hand may have set the cold mood, but the answering hug was worse. Was it me? Was I exuding the uncomfortable air that hung between us? Tha feeling won't go away. I'm just going to let the blue funk take me. From past experiences, I can't fight it. It always comes hard, sweeping, engulfing.

Part 2, "Something Wicked This Way Comes"

2011-01-20T13:15:00.003-07:00

A blur, a shapeless black blur moving. I saw it out of the corner of my eye. But when I look over in that direction... nothing out of the ordinary. Same furniture, same window, same bookcase.

I'm drifting back to a memory of the bad guy and the evil spirit blurs in the Patrick Swayze/Demi Moore movie, "Ghost."

"What are you?" I spurt out laud, then think to myself, "Are you crazy? There's no one here." Egad, I'm loosing it now. Talking to no one.

What was that? In the far corner of the cabin, I know I heard the floor creek. Now that my eyes are playing tricks on me, are my ears too? Holding back the urge to speak up again, suddenly I gasp for air as I have forgotten to breathe. The sudden intake of air seems to echo throughout the house, bouncing along the walls.

Clutching my sweater together, I can feel my heart beat. "Well at least I'm still alive," I think. Then turn towards another blur that disappears.

I've got to get out of here; just get in the car and drive away. But I can't. The snow's too thick, my car is stuck. I'll make myself a cup of strong coffee. Doing ordinary things will surely dispel my vivid imagination. Going over to the small coffee pot and filling it with water, reaching in the cupboard for the Folger's, I'm startled by lights from a car reflecting on the wall then gone into the night. No car engine running, I hear nothing, just the wind, howling and moaning. Did I say moaning? I'm loosing it for sure now. Slowly, I peak through the window curtain. The snow is so thick, I can't see the edge of the deck. Great. now what?

The gun that I always carry is in the car, outside, in the car that is stuck in the snowbank. Too far away.

(to be continued, yet again)

You are not alone.

2011-01-11T11:49:00.000-07:00

My brother, Johnny, died at age 23 of cancer.

For years, tears would roll down my checks whenever I saw someone who reminded me of him, until someone very wise asked me if I could still picture how he looked. "Yes," I said.

He then ask me if I could hear his voice, see his smile. "Yes I can," I felt the pleasure of this vision.

He continued to ask me if I asked Johnny a question do I know what he would answer. Thinking long and hard, and seeing Johnny in my mind's eye, hearing his voice, seeing his crooked smile, I responded, "Yes, I do know what he would answer."

Then, he replied, "Your brother is always with you. You can see him, hear him and talk with him anytime you want."

I have never forgotten that moment. I love you Johnny. You are... always with me.

OH NO, I KILLED IT!

2010-09-27T09:26:00.008-06:00

Limb by limb

I am now an official Killer. Yes, Christopher, my tree cutter told me so. When I was trying so hard to keep the ratty raccoons off my roof, I put a loose ring of tin around my spruce tree. Over the years, I'd have it removed and put back on loosely. It worked for the raccoons, but it did kill my beautiful tall tree.

I never thought in my wildest dreams that I would be a killer. Never had a killer thought, well, that's not true. There were the mean girls in Mission Beach Grade school that I'll never forget. After crying my eyes out, I did want to kill them. No, I really wanted to kill the words and looks they spewed out at me.

Standing on what?

I wanted killer looks in High School where I was friendly, but extremely shy and quiet. Too tall, bone skinny with greasy hair and acne, yes, it was not a pretty sight. By the time I went to college and help from a Charm School, Make-up and Hair training, Dance class, and singing lessons, (thanks Mother) I started to look and feel good. By the time I was hired by Disneyland in my Senior year of College, I had killer looks! My body had filled out, hair straightened and back combed, and that eye liner and eyebrow over my blond lashes brought out the tan California look. Going through the Disney Hospitality School back then, gave me poise, confidence, and charisma when I interacted with people as a hostess/tour guide and in every job since.

As I got older, (like 23) the killer looks didn't matter, for the inner look was coming out. I followed my passion and went to work on on a dude ranch in Grant, Colorado, so I could be a horse wrangler. Even with all that college, all that charm stuff, all that hospitality training, in reality all I wanted was to be with horses! Go figure.

Christopher cut stairs to the top,
then starting at the top,
took it down in small pieces.

So now that I am THE tree killer, I've got to do my time. Every day I'll look out my window and miss my friend, the tall spruce. My other friends will miss the tall spruce, too. The Downy woodpecker that graced the frame of my window. The other birds who hopped and sang to the spruce, even the squirrel who will now have to find another ladder to run around on.

Be careful what you do for there are consequences of your actions. Most of all, know that life is fragile!

The Ring

2010-08-23T19:57:00.008-06:00

My Granddaughter, Chelsea, is leaving soon for her first year at Stony Brook College in Long Island, NY. It's the start of only one of the many adventures in her life.

We had lunch today at her favorite Hamburger Place. Just the two of us. I mistakenly told her I liked her one line zingers in Facebook, such as: "We are the trifecta." referring to her best friends. and just this morning, "and then there was one."

Chelsea told me, with tears welling up in her eyes, that it was unexpected that she would feel so sad about leaving her best friends. One who was going to Colorado University and the other to a catholic college in Washington, D.C.

We also talked about her Facebook comment, "All it took was two boxes for my room not to be mine anymore" and she further wrote in comments, "It's sad my room feels so empty but my dad said if I had lost all that stuff earlier, my room would've been a lot cleaner."

With that the laughter began!

After lunch we did a little shopping. Suddenly I remembered that I wanted to give her my ring. We were at the check out stand, when I told her. "I want you to have my ring," I blurted out and took the ring off my finger and gave it to her. Expressing what the ring meant to me, I said, "My ring reminds me of my horses I loved so much for it looks like a stirrup or cinch. It has a line of square rubies, my birthstone, down one side." Looking into her eyes, I sighed and told her, "It's a simple ring that has a lot of meaning for me." Then when she put it on, I quietly said, "When you're lonely or feeling sad, just look at my ring and know that my circle of love surrounds you."

Not an original statement for long ago my step-mother, Alice gave me gold hoop ear-rings and told me that they represented the circle of love from her and my Dad. I wear them still today and rarely take them off. Once the back of one became so worn it wouldn't close. I had it fixed right away by Ken Nelson, my friend and goldsmith. He wouldn't take any money for it. Sometimes things that people say and do are "golden".

And like Chelsea says in her Facebook album: "Summer 2010: The Night is Golden," from the minute she was born, my life has been golden with Chelsea!

Passing the Reins

2010-08-14T14:30:00.007-06:00

Goodbye Buff, we will all miss you. Buff Rutherford, a 3rd generation Georgetown, Colorado resident died this week. He was 81 years old.

In the last two weeks of his life, he was still giving... like he always did. This time my 13 year old granddaughter, Olivia, was the object of his generosity.

When Livvy, cashed in her savings to buy an older Arabian mare, "Striking Lady" the start of her dream came true. The first thing she bought was a halter, lead and grooming tools. There was no money for a bridle and saddle.

Her Uncle Joe at Shadows Ranch, where she was keeping "Lady"gave her a small used saddle. It needed work. Grandma was worried about the leather, and would it be safe. There were parts missing. Thinking of the best person to evaluate the safety for her granddaughter, Grandma called her friend, Buff, the old cowboy, who gladly offered to look it over for us.

It was a match made in heaven for a little girl and a old cowboy. She hung on every word, as he explained what needed to be done. "I've got a lot of cinches," Buff said as he dug through a box of them. "Here's one that looks like it would fit." As he showed her the nearly new cinch, Buff smiled that quiet smile and told her, "You can have it."

Livvy asked about what a "dog-bit" looked like. With the customary patience, Buff was known for, he brought out a small box of bits and explained several. Then he took one he thought would work and said it was hers to keep. Buff Offered to buy a bridle, saddle blanket and reins that Livvy could pay him for later. Grandma was overwhelmed and had to walk into the other room, to keep her tears to herself.

"I'm working at the event center, setting tables, napkins and helping Joe in the kitchen, " Livvy excitedly told Buff, "I will have the money for you."

As they walked into the computer room, the screen saver was alive with a slide show of memories. Buff and his beloved wife, Mary Lou, hunting with horses. Their life together from early-on to more recently. Friends, children, grandchildren all flashing on the screen for a moment or two, giving Buff such pleasure as he explained the ones that meant something even more special to him.

As we left, Livvy, eyes bright with joy, couldn't stop talking about Buff.

Arabian Mare - Lady and Olivia

We didn't pick up the saddle that next weekend, for Buff and Mary Lou went to Denver to watch their granddaughter ride in a horse show.

Buff and Grandma later the next week exchanged "Granddaughter" stories. As the stories came out, Buff said he really wanted to help Livvy get started. He remembered that riding bareback with a halter and lead as reins was how he learned to ride when he was a kid and so in love with horses. "An old cowboy gave me the gear I needed and explained everything to me. I want to do it for Livvy," Buff tells me. "I also want to give her a book I enjoyed as a boy. She might enjoy it too." He is reliving his memories back then.

An act of kindness, as a Grandma, I will never forget ... neither will my granddaughter, Livvy.

Buff Rutherford, his haywagon, and my older granddaughter, Chelsea, who was only seven back then.

Something Wicked This Way Comes

2010-06-19T12:08:00.007-06:00

The house feels heavy as though the air held secrets... Not good secrets. As though the whispered words I only feel not hear were pushing down on my chest. Something I don't want to know.

The floors sagged slightly. Just enough to throw you off balance. No reality here. A hodge-podge of rooms added on sporadically. Another tripper step is just a few inches high that leads into a back hallway and out the back door. A door where the deadbolt lock won't open. A door you can't get out. Who built this? Is it their secret being whispered?

There are plenty of windows, big picture windows but it's a dark house. This cabin in the mountains along a dusty little-used dirt road sits on a triangular piece of pine tree covered land, yet the views are hidden by walls misplaced.

I've got the heat blowing hot from the wall heater. It's cold here... like it's seeping up from the floors, leaking through the walls. The cold, I can't get warm.

I'm uncomfortable, I want to leave. Why do I feel this way? I have to leave and soon. There is no reasonable explaination. I just feel it.

(to be continued)

If I were a Native American Child for a Day

2010-06-18T12:05:00.004-06:00

by Chelsea Nugent, Age 10

June 29, 1682

As the sun crept across the room and kissed my face, I wake up with a sudden jolt. Visions spin in my head as fear raced through my body. My heart is pounding. I blink once or twice bringing myself back to reality, realizing it is only a dream. "Not only do the Navajos raid Hopi villages," I thought, "they raid my wonderful dreams, too."

My father, uncle, little brother and cousin left to farm the fields on the mesa. My mother, aunt and I are outside grinding corn as we eat our morning meal of leftover bread from yesterday. Soon my arm ached from grinding corn so I stopped to rest. "Mother, what are we going to bake today?" I asked. "We are going to bake piki bread from this blue corn," my mother replied still grinding her corn. "Shooting Star, start grinding your corn, the sooner we can get baking," my aunt scolded. I sighed deeply and began grinding my corn again.

After all the corn was ground, my mother, my aunt, and I began making piki bread. First, my mom mixed the corn meal with water to make the dough. Then, I flattened the dough until it was paper-thin, and my aunt placed the dough on the stove to bake. "Now remember half of the bread is for supper, and the rest is for the ceremony," my mother told my aunt and me.

Ceremony? What ceremony? Then it hit me. The Coming Home ceremony! We have it every July as part of our Hopi culture, and it was only four days away! I must have looked shocked because my mother asked, "What's wrong Shooting Star?" "Nothing," I replied quickly. "Why don't you go help grandfather weave," my mother suggested.

Once I was on the second level where my grandfather was, I stepped into the weaving room quietly. My grandfather looked up and motioned to the loom on the other side of the room. I knew he wanted me to work on the weaving that I started yesterday. Soon my weaving was almost finished and the dark room was getting very hot. "Grandfather, may I go outside?" I asked. He looked up and studied my weaving. "Yes, you have done enough today, Shooting Star," he answered in a raspy voice. When I was on the roof, I felt a lot better than being in that stuffy room. I looked up at the sun and noticed that it was towards the west. The delicious smells of supper were rising from the kitchen.

Suddenly it occurred to me that it was time for my father, uncle, little brother and my cousin to be coming back from farming. I looked across the mesa. At the very edge I could just make out four figures in the distance. My body filled with joy as I climbed down the ladder with my long black hair flowing behind me and ran to the door followed by my mom, aunt and sister who clutched a Kachina doll in her hand. My father, uncle, cousin and little brother were just coming up to the door. We hugged each other and went inside for supper.

After a delicious meal of piki bread, corn, beans and pork, we sat around the sitting room telling stories and laughing, all happy to be together again.

We were safe from the raiding Navajos today, but sadly, you never know what tomorrow will bring.

Comments from the Clear Creek Courant Newspaper editor.
"You have every right to be ultimately proud of your granddaughter. What a delightful article! She should be writing children's books. She has a knack for simplicity and wonderful description."
Einar

January 27, 2003

Chelsea and the Horse Camp

2010-06-17T23:12:00.009-06:00

First Day. First Lesson.

   Ben the horse, Chelsea the seven year old. Although Ben has tutored many seven year old children, Chelsea only has lived with dreams of horses.

   Those of you who have dreamed of having horses know what that's like. In dreams, everything works out right, you are instantly the expert, things are perfect. You and the horse are a team. Whatever you can picture in your mind always works.

   In reality, the camp is almost overwhelming at first. So many things to remember, all at once. No matter how much you want it, nothing seems to fit together. "Hands up? How high? Put my leg where? Elbow back? What? Put my seat down? Does she mean my bottom? Ugh, I forgot what the teacher just said!" Too many thoughts for Chelsea. It's in her eyes, " Why can't I get it? I want it so much."

   At the children's horse camp at Anchorage Farm in Pine Junction, Colorado, each child has a four day intensive experience with the horse - their "adopted" horse. This is not your average experience at a horse camp. This is not just trial rides or arena clip-clopping games. Here you learn all the parts of a horse from the large jowl full of huge teeth (except in the middle where the bit goes) to the vernacular of horse coloration - a paint, a pie-bald, a pinto, a bay, a buckskin. The children learn the names for all the various tack that goes on a horse or used around a horse. What goes in the horse must come out, so they learn feeding and cleaning stalls. It is still fun and necessary to keeping a horse. Whew! It's a very busy day.
   "Oh yes, Grandma, these are called reins not ribbons" Livvy, her three year old sister called them that. Chelsea is getting it and proudly reiterating her knowledge. "I knew what a saddle was, Grandma, but not all the parts to it. I now know how to put the saddle on a horse and take it off." She looks off in the direction of three tiers of saddles along the tack room wall. "Actually, I didn't know that there were so many different types of saddles."
   "When the horse pokes his nose out of the stall," Chelsea continues describing her morning, "his nostrils are quivering. When he touches my outstretched hand, he sort of snorts at the smell of me. Then he pushes his nose out even further and gives me that 'you're okay' look in his eyes.'" She stops and looks at me smiling, "He likes me, Grandma!" Her eyes shine with a brightness you only find in people who are passionate about what they are feeling.
   All the kids in the class have different personalities. Some demanding, others shy, some loud and mouthy, still others intense. Yet, all with a common dream of "their" horse in mind. I sense an amazing amount of cooperation and genuine kindness in these young people to help one another.
   Some of the group have a horse with a halter and a lead rope. They are learning the proper way to hold the rope, to lead the horse, and to stop the horse. The perfect way to teach a child how to safely handle a horse or to correct the horse. Basic training. Building confidence every moment.
   Here they are taught, horse thinking. Quite different than people thinking. Learning about the horse's basic instincts, how to interpret the animal's body language and what might be running through the horse's mind, builds skills and a sympathetic relationship of trust and friendship.
   One hour a day, each horse camper gets a one hour dressage lesson. How the horse moves, what makes him balance his weight, what makes him off balance, what pressure points does the horse move away from, how to feel the control of the horse through his mouth.
   Although I try to be with Chelsea, she is not interested in being with me. "it's okay Grandma, if you want to sit on the high benches and watch my lessons." Then Chelsea is off to help groom the horse after her lesson, leading her horse to their outside paddock, and happily talking to other riders about horses.
   One photo opportunity, that I reluctantly tell you I missed, happened when I came into the grooming and saddling room to find the Gray Arabian Gelding, Two Blankets, in cross ties - two ropes from the wall to each side of the horses halter. Swarming all over him with so much love and affection were no less than six small girls. One very small girl, standing on a step stool on his left side, was brushing his back. Another was brushing his side. The tail was getting a good brush and one girl was even kissing his nose. And the horse...my god, the half closed ecstasy in his eyes, I cannot describe.
   It's nonstop busy here. Everyone has something to do, that is except me. I'm just sitting here thinking on my laptop computer.
   "Grandma," Chelsea runs into the living room where I am working. "Grandma, my counselor, Lindsey, found this horseshoe and gave it to me to keep." This indeed is a great find for my horse dreamer. "Can you keep it for me?" Without even a glance backwards, she is halfway out the door again, "See you Grandma, I've got to go help with the horses."

And off she goes making her dream world into a reality.

Photo notes:
1) Cover Story and Cover Photo, "Colorado Serenity Lifestyle Magazine" June 1999.
2) Publisher's Note

When Aspens Weep

2010-05-17T09:05:00.003-06:00

The villain is out causing havoc again. The cold case is open once more. I'm never surprised, but always at odds when this happens.

Thinking back to January when the snows are fluffy and light and happy to be here, blowing in great burst of soft snow clouds. Pin pricks of tiny snowflakes tickle your face in playful teasing. Sometimes at night, in the halo of the street light, tiny silver strands of snow make the evening an amazing art show. It's a time of broom sweeping, sun shining, deep Colorado blue skies. The sun fights the cold air by warming your face. Satisfying!

So when does this magic become sinister and dark? It's a time when the light goes away. I'm not sure why, but it is certainly gone. Even at noon, there is no color. All color lies muted in shades of gray, blue gray, black gray. Rocks become a monotone. Gray paper skies. White mountain peaks disappear in heavy foreboding clouds. This — is Springtime in the Rockies.

Let's go back to the case of a very heavy wet snow this spring. Wet, drippy, bone chilling cold snow. Yesterday as I was struggling trying to lift the shovel full of snow, a plop of snow on my head caused me to look up at the huge aspen tree that dropped the wet snowball on me. I couldn't believe my eyes. Wiping my cold tearing eyes, I look again. Walking nearer, no it is not a scar on my aspens, it is indeed wet, watery tear drops running down the bark. Putting my finger on the trails of tears, I imagine a salty taste. Too quiet, not a hint of a breeze, only silence. Unbelievable. No road sounds, no dogs barking, nothing.

So I'm not alone, it is not just me that is sad this time of year. My trees are yearning for their pea green buds to appear, the sap to rise and warm their branches. Everything is waiting. We know it is coming. Just not soon enough. Tightly closed buds on the lilac bush, the flowering almond and the aspen remind me of a child closing their eyes tight not see what they don't want to see. Me too. I want to close my eyes tightly to not see the upcoming "mud season" and this year especially, the heavy wet snow.

As much in denial of the horror outside, last night I glanced out my front window onto my deck that I light up with rope lights and a red uplight for my aspen. I stopped, frozen in utter amazement. It was so beautiful. All the gray was gone. Warm yellow, pink, red and all shadows of colors glorified the snow.

I'll never solve this Cold Case and I'll never close it either. Sometimes when all is dark and dreary, beauty lies just around the corner. I'm just glad to see it and to share it with you.

Dog-Gone Days

2010-05-15T23:20:00.010-06:00

Hey there! Luc's the name, exploring is my game. Welcome to my world. Follow me, You'll like where I go. Pretty exciting... well some of the time it's exciting, like when I treed a family of raccoons and kept them up there. To tell you the truth, I sleep a lot during the day. But you should share my dreams. Wow, are they great. The kind where your eyes twitch and your paws do the phantom run.

It's my yard and I'll pee if I want to. This postage stamp yard isn't much, but just the right size for me. I patrol it all the time. Sniffing out any smells that don't belong there. You know, like raccoons, deer, dogs, chipmunks, ground squirrels, cats, fox and...errr, maybe bear or mountain lion. Sort of scared of those last two smells.

Hey get off my rocks, or I'll, I'll, I'll.... take that hose and spray you!

That an Ebert Squirrel I'm watching. In just a minute, I'll growl, jump and bark. He'll scatter away so fast and I'll roll over laughing so hard. Come on back. I want to do it again.

It's the red fox. I just know that he's my distant relative. Other dogs might originate from the Wolf, but Chihuahuas are special You knew that, right? We originated from the Fox.

Gidget widget is my good friend. She belongs to the Nugent Family — Dawn's daughter Diane. That Gidget is a fiesty one. We get into a scrap or two, but I stand my ground. We do play together, too. It's not all bad. Well yeah, sometimes, she drives me crazy. She goes camping with me.

Camping tonight, camping tonight! I'm a really dirty dog! Heh, heh, heh.

You. You Mr. Moose. Yes, You. What are YOU looking at? I can TAKE YOU Moose. You're pretty dang big but I'm not afraid of You.... well, maybe a little.

I can't go any further. Snow is up to my neck.

I found a spot on this snow wall to pee....ahhhhh.

I'm watching....where is she? When is she ever coming back. Maybe never. Oh, I'm so worried. Please, Please come home Dawn.

Is it, is it, is it? YES, SHE'S BACK!

I'm going to jump down and wiggle with joy, tongue out, prancing, just plain being cute. It's my job. "Too cute Luc" that's me.

Now I can eat, I'm so hungry, so hungry... Hurry Dawn, feed me, feed me!

Yep, it's ready for me now. Kibble Bowl on the ground. Got to go. See you later. Woof!

Hawaiian Guava, just try it

2010-05-15T12:16:00.005-06:00

Running up and down the grocery aisles yesterday, can't even tell you which aisle, my eye wandered to a can of... Guava Juice....

A flood of wonderful Hawaiian memories came over me as I reached for a can and lovingly put it in my cart. Ever tried Guava?

Guava is a tropical fruit. Easy to recognize, the guava tree has smooth, thin, copper-colored bark that flakes off, showing the greenish layer underneath. The fruit is a light yellow-green with an occasional rosy blush. Inside, the pulp has either a rose or off-white flesh and a center full of seeds. Usually you peel the skin, cut it in half and scoop out the seedy center. Eat it like an apple or puree the flesh. It is a little grainy somewhat like a pear. The flavor hints of a Piña Colada drink (although guava is not an ingredient). It is an addicting refreshing drink.

When I lived in Hawaii, all things guava were at the top of my list. Better than orange juice for breakfast; bake up a wonderful chiffon guava cake; add it to your favorite fruit or cream pie; top anything with a shiny rose guava gel, and experience a myriad of mixed drinks.

Surprisingly healthy, research from the Guardian Health Guardian, January 19th, 2010, the article about super foods: "100 grams of guava gives you more than twice potassium as compared to apples, four times more vitamin C than oranges for the same amount and yet, it is not considered a super star fruit. Strange, isn’t it?"

It doesn't appears in Hawaii until the early 1800's. Now it occurs throughout the Pacific islands. No one knows for sure where the Guava tree originated, most speculate Mexico or Central America. Today it grows in both tropical and sub-tropical regions all over the world. India has many plantations, so does Thailand and Spain. It is grown in Florida and in Hawaii. As long as it doesn't freeze, for Guava trees die in a freeze although sometimes the Guava trees have been know to grow up again from the roots.

My daughter, Diane, gave me a recipe for mini-cheesecakes made in a muffin tin and vanilla wafers. Here's my spin on her mini-cheesecake with Guava.

Diane Nugent's Mini-Cheese Cakes with my Guava Addition

In a muffin pan with paper-cup liners place one vanilla wafer cookie in each space. Option: I like to put a bunch of vanilla wafers in a plastic bag and use a rolling pin, crush the 'Nilla Wafers'. Put a loaded Tablespoon in the bottom of each liner, then tap it down with a juice glass.

Blend:

1/2 cup sugar

2 packages 8 oz cream cheese

2 eggs

1 teaspoon vanilla

1 teaspoon lemon juice

1 Tablespoon Guava Juice

Fill Muffin cups almost to the top.

Bake at 375° for 18 minutes. Turn off the oven, leave the oven door open and let the little cakes cool completely.

Guava Gel Glaze:

2 C Guava juice
1/2 C Sugar

1 Tablespoon Grenadine
1/4 C Cornstarch

Bring the juice and sugar to a boil. Take off heat.

Make a paste from cornstarch, Grenadine and a little water.

Stir the paste into juice pan. Return to heat, boil for one minute or until thick.

Spoon on each mini-cheese cake in the muffin pan. Cool cheesecake in the muffin pan in refrigerator until ready to serve. Freezes well.

Zuppa e Fagioli/Patate

2010-05-14T11:36:00.004-06:00

"Too Salty, just didn't like it. I even washed it with water first." That was yesterday at work, complaining about a Air Dried Salt Cured Country Ham I bought on the Internet from a famous Restaurant in Georgia.

What could I do with it besides throw it out? My friend Scott Goeringer, an executive chef, gave me a great suggestion. Beans and potatoes would soak up the salt and leave that smoky flavor. He also suggested leeks.

Today is my day off and I am inspired to run with Scott's suggestion. I didn't have leeks in my refrigerator, but I did have an onion. Maybe it was the can of Cannelini Beans in my cupboard, but Italy memories started swarming through my mind. On one of my Italy trips, I saw a cook, throw a good jigger of red wine into her soup. Checking my liquor cabinet, right there in front was a great bottle of Porto wine. Port is a little sweet with still the robust flavor of red wine. Going with an Italian theme, garlic, tomato, basil leaves and a tiny bit of dried rosemary floated through my mind.

Since I don't measure anything, I'm guessing these measurements are about right.

Note: Don't add the wine, basil and rosemary until you are just about to serve the soup. You soup will stay fresh and the flavors won't be lost.

Keep that spoon handy and taste often! Enjoy, I sure did. Thanks, Scott.

Zuppa e fagioli/patate

Inspired by Scott Goeringer

1/2 medium Onion diced

1/2 Red Pepper diced

1 cove of Garlic, peeled and sliced thin

1 tablespoon Olive Oil

A couple of pieces of Smoky Ham or Bacon

Saute until onion is translucent

Add:

1 Red Potato, peeled and diced

1 Tomato skinned and diced

1 can drained Cannellini Beans

1/2 teaspoon of "Better Than Bouillon Chicken Base"

Water to cover ingredients.

When potatoes are cooked, remove ham or bacon and throw away.

Add:

1 oz Porto Wine

Chiffonade a about a dozen Basil leaves

tiny bit of dried Rosemary

The beginning of the dream.....

2010-05-10T14:50:00.004-06:00

I was three year old when I first talked about having horses. It was my first obsession. Mother would tell me how she would buy all these beautiful dolls, but I wouldn't play with them. Instead I'd sit in a corner with her wooden clothes pins and imagine they were my horses. In Southern California in the mid-50s, as soon as you got your drivers license, you'd be driving to the beach. Not me. As soon as I got my license, I started my secret life. There was a Buffalo Ranch in the area where Irvine, CA has grown up now. Back then they had stables, gave riding lessons, and also did trail rides. I worked odd jobs, one at a jewelry store, and of course babysitting, saved my money and took riding lessons. I'd hang around and help clean stalls, feed, and just take in the smells of the hay, the grain, the horse. Listening to their munching, their nickering, the swishing sound their hooves made in the straw or looking deep into their liquid eyes, watching them twitch their tails at a fly or shake their beautiful necks or paw at the ground was better than the Symphonic Orchestra playing great composers. It was music to me and I could be part of it. Just to touch that soft, warm muzzle and hug their neck, snuggling my nose into their scent was the most intoxicating part of my teen years.

After college, I worked at a Dude Ranch. Heaven! I was with horses every single day for hours on end. I really believed I married because he promised me a ranch with cows and horses. It never happened with him, and even after two children, I never gave up on my dream. Probably I married money the second time and I did buy my first horse, then later my Arabians. Guess I shouldn't be surprised that marriage didn't make it either. But my dream of having a horse ranch never died. At age 38, I did buy my horse ranch.

The first horse born on our ranch, was Darq Sirroco, a black colt out of my Palomino Half Arab/Saddlebred, Penny. The kids and I were so excited about the upcoming birth, we strewed straw around in the large stall, put up a 8x8 tent in the stall next door, put in cots, a battery operated light — we didn't want to miss the big event.

Penny started circling around and around and finally went down late in the afternoon. Just then, our neighbors from North Plains came down to the barn. They were old time farmers, and I was relieved that they were there. We whispered back and forth — me asking what I should do next; he with a grin answering to just let the mare do her thing! It wasn't much after that conversation the two hooves came out covered inside the bag and very fast, bloop, out slipped the baby. Nosing and thrashing, out of the bag a shinny wet thing gasped its first air. Nudging me to rub down the baby with the towel I had in my hands, and telling me to bond right away. Gingerly, I approached the little one, down on my knees, rubbing it dry and talking low and soft to both the baby and the mare. It was a colt, a boy! Wobbling up, sideways, down again. One leg up, three legs down, now back legs up, front legs down. So funny and amazing at the same time. With knickers of encouragement from the mare, finally up on all fours and looking for the milk. Well after a suck or two on the mare's front legs, he finely got around to the right section. Don't know how he could miss it, with milk streaming down. With a huge sigh of relief from me and the mare, she (the mare not me) starts to nibble at the hay while her baby nurses.

Photo above: Champions in the making, Jeremy at age 10 or 11, Darq Sirroco age 2 weeks.

We named him, Darq Sirroco. His name, Sirooco, a wild desert wind. He grew up to be a Region II, IV, V Champion. Winning Futurities at 1, 2 and 3. He won in almost every show he entered. Eventually he won a Reserve National Championship!

My horse ranch became more of a reality than I ever dreamed it to be. And a great source of memories now!

Zapped by an Electric Fence

2010-05-10T13:52:00.006-06:00

Once upon a time and long ago, my children, Diane age 13 and Jeremy age 10 and I bought acreage with a small house and a couple of barns. It was the beginning of our horse farm. The five plus acres had already been fenced with barbless wire, but with babies on the way (horses not me) I felt I needed more protection for them than just wire. Ribbon wire was the in thing back in the 70s and 80s and it was easy to install, if the foals did break through, it was safe and would not tangle around their legs like wire might. Oregon dirt is easy to dig in and not a hard job for me to put up fencing.

Back in Oregon, one sunny day, kids in school, it was perfect for putting in an electric fence paddock outside the large birthing stall. Gathering all my tools in a box and "ho ho, ho ho and off to work I go." As the day progressed, it was getting hotter and hotter, that is if Oregon hot means the same as Arizona hot. Nothing could deter me. Onward in my mission to complete the job. I am rather one track when it comes to staying on task. Whew, finally I finished, looked out with pride at the electric corral I had completed, flipped the switch and checked it with my little plastic fence checker. Yep, it was working.

Picking up the tools scattered about and putting them back into the tool box, I bent over to pick up the hammer and backed right into the "hot" electric fence. The bolt got me good. I jumped about a yard or two then quickly looked around to see if anyone saw me do such a stupid thing. Now I'm telling you my nearest neighbor couldn't have seen me even with binoculars. "What are you looking at?" I hurl words at my dog, panting, tongue lagging out. I swear she was laughing at me!

Photo above: Half Arab/Saddlebred, Penny and Wind Dancer her little filly.

Wind Dancer prancing away. From the day she was born, this little filly just flat out ran, pranced, jumped and raced with the wind. She absolutely loved life! Isn't she a beauty?

Photo right: Wind Dancer just a few weeks old.

Illionois Small Town Childhood Memories

2010-02-21T18:56:00.004-07:00

Hi cousin Alan,

I only remember Illinois as a ten year old child and maybe for three weeks with Grandma Roberts (your Aunt Mae). If it was hot, I didn't notice it. Too much fun collecting lightning bugs in a jar; riding your horse bareback down a dirt road; slipping and sliding in the back of a wagon full of oats, bugs and grasshoppers, as your Dad brought it in from the fields; watching out for the "mean" goose in your barnyard; climbing Grandma's cherry tree; and endlessly cranking the ice cream churn. Yeah, it could have been hot, but I sure didn't notice.

My Dad came to visit us at Grandma's. He took us to a movie on the main street of Roberts. That's before they moved the water tower. Back then they hung a huge screen on it and showed a black and white movie with Bob Crosby. (Who knows why this stuck in my head!) The three of us sat on a blanket in the middle of the street to watch. Just before we settled down, Dad took us into the corner soda fountain to get a malt or a shake.

I loved that it didn't get dark until after 9 or so at night. Meant our normal bedtime didn't mean anything in Illinois. Dark always came about 8 PM in CA. Even so, through our complaints that it was still light out, Grandma, at 9 PM would make my baby sister, Marilynn, and I up go upstairs to bed — where we could read for awhile. I'm a reader even today - although you don't like the books I read - i.e. "The Road", Ha Ha!.

As I'd lie in bed reading in that glowing amber light of twilight, I'd also be waiting for the train whistle to announce the train was going through town along with the rhythmic click-clack of metal wheels against metal tracks. Such a comforting, haunting sound.

Always one of the fondest memories in my life — that short three or so weeks with Grandma Roberts in Illinois and on your boyhood farm.

Love to you, cousin. So glad we reconnected.

Dawn

6/29/09 Dear Dawn,

o They were called free movies. The town merchants paid for them to promote Saturday night business. That was when all the farmers came to town. The movies were an extra incentive to be sure and come. Nearly all the movies had a serial with them. Tess was bound and laid on the tracks and the train was bearing down on her - and then the reel stopped! You had to return next week to find what happened. Nearly every small town had 'free movies'. There was always a popcorn stand. The one who ran it may have been practising his only source of income during the summer. It was a time looked forward to by all the youngsters; more so for the commaradie than the movie. The girls hung with the girls and the boys with the boys. But they purposely crossed paths to tease and caterwaul each other. Besides you didn't want to miss, you might catch sight of that pretty/handsom girl/boy that you had your eye on. You are right, every one brought a blanket to lay down on the street. And they were shared, you didn't necessarily sit on your own families. Wonderful times; we'll not see them again - -

o I have no idea why you remember Bob Crosby - - -

o You memtion the water tower, did you know that Ralph Bradbury (a cousin of yours, about third) took a dare he could not fly his Piper Cub down main street because the tower was there. He flew it and managed to raise the plane fast enough not to hit the tower. You can agree to some weird things while sitting in a tavern.

o You are right again, it does get hot in Illinois. Jane and I often slept on the grass as it was cool and a breeze often helped. Then Dad built a screened in porch and we slept there. That reduced our time of scratching mosquito bites considerably. But I don't ever remember it being too hot to work or play.

o I'm glad you remember the farm. I do too, and your reminiscence caused me to recall fond memories - Thank you, Dawn.

o The work you had done at the Robert's grave site is beautiful. All of my sisters and I marveled over it. You and Marilynn are to be complimented and praised. Future generations will be proud to see their forefathers so well remembered. Love, Alan

Comments:

· 1) 6/29 Thanks for including me in the e-mail list, I enjoyed it. Jim Sinsley

· 2) 6/29 Dawn -- you make childhood sound so appealing. I remember lightning bugs --- something we didn't have in California. Carolyn Lawson

· 3) 6/29 Dawn - What a charming and well written email - It truely is an ode to youth and fun and summer and great childhood memories! Well written too! Looking forward to seeing you on Thursday night! Lots of love – Michelle Milash

· 4) 6/29 Dawn,

o I drove with Justin to Indiana last week. He got a job working for the Madison County surveying office. Justin's girl friend lives in Indianapolis. We drove really hard. Long distances everyday. I told him from the beginning that we were going to drive through Roberts. We drove past Dad's old house and through "downtown." I was tempted to stop at the Roberts Bar and Grill, but we were still pressed for time (at lease Justin thought we were pressed). We knew exactly where the cemetery was located. He had looked it up on Google maps. My mom gave me general directions to the Roberts grave site, but then lefts were confused with rights. The first familiar name I saw was Uncle Louie. He died in 1982 at the age of 99. Barbara and I met him the previous year when we did a cross country tour with Mom and Dad. Then Justin and I just strolled the rows until we found ROBERTS. Seeing Grandma Roberts' name, Uncle George, Aunt Elsie and Dad's head stone really got me choked up.

o I just wanted to tell you what a great job you did with the head stone. It was perfect. I had tried to make connections with people back there the year after Dad died. It just didn't seem to work. I think you had to be there to get the job done. You did it and did a fantastic job. I wish that I would have had some of Dad's ashes to bury there. There will be another time. We cleaned up all the Roberts head stones and took off toward Indiana.20A huge lightning storm greeted us as we hit the highway. It was entertaining for two hours.

o I'm headed to San Diego to visit Mom in mid July. Her vision is getting really weak. It will be great to visit her at the "institute." Thanks again sis, Brother Tommy

· 5) 6/30/09 Dawn, You bring back wonderful memories, and they are expressed in a captive, comforting story. If I had your creative flow and were to write about my childhood, I would choose to relate it exactly like you have! This is really special. Thanks, cousin Dianne Wissmiller

The Sense of Us

2010-02-21T10:55:00.003-07:00

The Sense of Us in Manitowish Waters, Wisconsin

Dawn Janov with her sister, Marilynn Roberts on their sister trip June 10, 2006

Soft as a kiss for a newborn.

Quiet as a fawn that is hiding.

Comfort in a sweater well worn.

Here is a place for the finding.

Sharp as a twig that is broken.

Beauty in all that you see.

For others a place that will open

Doors to a deep inner peace.

Listen to the lap of the lake

Partnered with the chirp of a bird.

What a great way to wake

Without ever hearing a word.

Thanks to you, John and Barbara McFarland.

It is a perfect plan.

The neat, restful, darlin’

The cabin of the "Otter Clan!"

Ukulele Memories

2010-01-31T16:30:00.007-07:00

I was nineteen on the beach at Waikiki listening to a group playing ukuleles. Trade winds ruffling my hair, warm sand between my toes, when all of a sudden this beach boy shoved a ukulele in my hands and said, "Try playing with us."

So watching my new teacher, I learned chords and strums. When I returned home, the first thing I did was buy a Martin ukulele. Sad story, about a year later it was stolen. I went on to play a tenor and eventually a Gibson guitar, but never was it the fun or the wonderful sound of the lost ukulele.

Although I've been back to Hawaii many times with my family and for work, I've never been tempted to buy another ukulele.

Now that I'm old, I'm looking forward to my first love again, the ukulele. This time I wanted the best and a wonderful piece of history, the Kamaka Pineapple Ukulele. Thanks to Chrissie and Tekla at the Kamaka factory for helping me chose the right ukulele. It's being made right now by caring dedicated people. In a few short weeks my house will soar with music once more.

Here I am in a Colorado winter growing older, but I'll always be young in those places of my memories. I can still close my eyes and conjure up the places I saw through my eyes, the sounds and smells around me, and best of all, what I felt in that summer of 1958. My mind's eye is such a happy place to visit.

Hmm, makes me think about my resolution to only live in the now. Trying to enjoy the now is something I struggle with every day. Perhaps there is room for everything, the past experiences, the "right now", and a dream of where I want to be tomorrow. So for now, I'm spending some time in my memories. See you later. Aloha and Mahalo for reading my blog.

Happy New Year 2010!

2010-01-01T10:58:00.002-07:00

The full Blue Moon climbs over the mountain top The fierce wind is blowing all the overcast clouds away clearing the path for the moon. The Ponderosa pines are swaying in a twisted dance to the siren song of the wind. The naked Aspens laugh at the fray.

The only one not enjoying the night is my Chihuahua, Luc. All he wanted to do is sniff the yard and choose a pot to pee, but the mischievous wind blew him a treat that scares him so bad he was jumping in 180 degree turns. He takes a look at the open door and makes a run o fast you can not see his legs.

Come on 2010. We are ready for you and the adventures you'll bring! Happy New Year's Eve.

Ah, It's Wintertime in the Mountains

2009-12-08T08:37:00.012-07:00

It's snowing here and the temperature is 3 degrees. I'm inside and the temperature is trying to stay at 66 degrees. Luc is snuggling close by my side in the chair to keep warm. He wears his red plaid fleece coat, runs outside, does his stuff and hobbles back sometime when he stays to long and his paws hurt. "Gives Luc a concerned look"

What? I'm still talking about loving winter? Yep! Don't know why? It is so beautiful. Sort of like coming out of a sauna and hitting a cold shower. Invigorating as long as you don't have to stay outside in it too long.

Since I haven't traveled anywhere since my "sister trip" several years ago, I'm feeling old and comfortable. I'd love to visit Alice in San Diego, my son in Corona and Disneyland again, my sis in Martinez with Peitr, another look at Lake Superior in Little Girl's Point and Bayfield, a trip to my Dad's gravesite in Roberts, Il with my cousins there, make a long trip through the South, spend time in New England, especially Maine...
Ah, dreams. Most of all, I'll love to spend months in Northern Italy and Southern France.

Maybe I'll just think of all my old memories in places I have visited and people I love, then dream what it might be like for places that I haven't.
So for this Holiday Season, I'll enjoy my decorating my home, my daughter and her family, my friends and relatives everywhere and most of all Luc, my long haired Chihuahua.

With a Boo and a Hiss!

2009-11-22T10:34:00.001-07:00

Only one more weekend of villains and heroes and laughter! Since 1981, the Mill Creek Valley Players have raised money to restore historic buildings, one boo, hiss and cheer at a time. If you’re looking for an evening of absolute entertainment, read on.

You might be surprised how many good actors, writers, and musicians live and work in Clear Creek County and you’ll find them in unusual places. Bert Weaver has volunteered his time for thirteen melodramas. You’ll find him at work as the Clear Creek County Planner. Ed Rapp, former Clear Creek County Commissioner, has been in five plays. Bruce Bell created the Java Mountain Roasters in Idaho Springs and taught in the Rock House School. Carolyn Gingrich is a substitute postmaster.

So many more: a counselor from Denver, a cook for the Sheriff’s Office, a truck driver, a llama breeder, a junior high student, a recent graduate, all volunteers.

There is more history lurking in the audience. Joanne Sorenson, another former County Commissioner, sits with her husband Tom. Brenda Gorman, an honored guest, glances at a photo of her late husband Skipper that sits on top of the piano nearby. Larrice Sell, president of the MCVHS, introduces her to the audience and dedicates that night’s performance to Skipper for his long time support of their efforts.

Another couple sitting in the front row, is Buff Rutherford, a third generation Georgetown resident with his wife Mary Lou who came out as a teenager with her family from Chicago and met her cowboy. Her family stayed at the local boarding house at that time, the Hamill House, now a well-restored museum.

Royalty sits among the audience. Les and Arlie Clark are the crowned King and Queen of Clear Creek County’s 150 Year of Mining History. Les Clark, “It’s only spelled with one ‘s’,” he jokes, was born and raised in Idaho Springs. Les met his wife in Northern California when he was in the Forest Service. His wife, Arlie, (she did spell it for me) was born in Las Vegas. “I think I was the 59^th baby born in the new city,” she proudly boosts. They returned a few years ago to Idaho Springs. Sitting next to them is their son, Dean Clark, who moved to Lakewood to be near his folks.

Larrice M. Sell wrote this year’s melodrama, “White Gold or We’re Going Down Hill Fast.” Before it starts, Linda Goymerac, hits the ivories on the upright piano and the sing-a-long begins getting everyone into a joyful mood. The light’s go down and the music from the Sound of Music, sets the scene. Throughout the melodrama patter, a couple of jibs at the nearby towns bring even more laughter. Lines forgotten only bring out the wild side of the actors who joke with the audience. The Inspector Dufus, master of disguise, was simply amazing as he held a sheet high and turned to the wall. The back of the sheet blended perfectly into the same patterned wallpaper and he did disappear.

The efforts of the dedicated people, who make up the Mill Creek Valley Historical Society, are not disappearing. They have restored the 100-year-old One Room School House in Dumont where they hold their annual melodramas.

In the late 1980s, they moved the Colburn Cabin onto the property as an additional piece of history. This cabin was Clear Creek County Commissioner, Joan Drury’s, great, great grandmother’s house in Lawson. The log cabin was built for Margaret Colburn between the houses of her two daughters. Colburn was somewhat of a folk doctor using herbs to help people get well. After I-70 came through, the log cabin was moved to Georgetown and now it’s back to take a place of honor next to the schoolhouse.

Next on their agenda is the restoration of Sarah Greene’s family roadhouse at the east entrance to Dumont. Just this April it was listed on the National Registry of Historic Buildings. Originally, there were two log cabins joined together. These roadhouses in the 1800s were always located out of town and by a well-traveled road. Sometime they were a full service stage-stop, offering food, rooms and drinks. Others were only bars with food, and maybe a pool table.

Ed Rapp wrapped up his feelings, “In broader terms, I’m involved in the Historical Society not because I’m a preservationist, but because I’m always a conservationist.” He explains, “I look back 7 generations and forward 7 generations and think about decisions and values so my future grandchildren will have resources to live a decent life.”

Think about helping these restoration efforts for your future grandchildren. Go and enjoy this next weekend’s performance. It’s more than a play; it’s a part of your community. Take a bow Mill Creek Valley Players. We're proud of you. Call for reservations: 303-567-4026. Tickets are also available at the door.

There are other roadhouses in Clear Creek County. Grumpy’s Roadhouse in Silver Plume was originally a garage. Inside there was a tall rectangle tabletop, over a car lift. When it began as a roadhouse, it was not only a bar, but also a meeting place to musicians of all types. Sometimes a local resident would bring a crock-pot of food to share with all who walked in the door that night. Now it is closed, and another part of history has past on. Kermit’s Roadhouse is open, operating a bar, foodservice and pool table. It still fits the definition of a roadhouse, right off I-70 and certainly not near any town.

New Foodie Hangout

2009-11-09T17:24:00.005-07:00

Ed’s 1859 Cafe

Ed's 1859 Café opened a few weeks ago in Georgetown and the question on everyone's tongue is, "Who is Ed?" The owners are Jeff McGlothin, (not Ed) and Kerry Ann McHugh. Who is the mysterious “Ed?” A decade ago, Ed Tharp was the mayor of Georgetown, and it’s not him. Ed was a talking horse in the 60s TV show, Mister Ed. That’s not it either. Georgetown has had its share of celebrities that have lived here, some for only a short time while filming. John Denver, Peter O’Toole, Ben Affleck, no Ed’s there.

Early in Georgetown history, a cantankerous man got into a fight and shot his opponent over a game of cards with a can of oysters at stake. Locals tired of this troublemaker, promptly took him out to a tall tree and hung him for murder, although the man he shot later recovered. He was Ed Bainbridge. Every now and then someone claims to see his ghost around town, but it definitely is not him.

Maybe it's named for Edward Scissorhands? Stop laughing. Okay, as long as you're laughing, here's the last one, Ed the Hyena in “The Lion King.” Now that's a stretch, but it's close if you consider the hyena has the appearance of a far away relative of the canids family. The hyena is not a canid; they are from the mammalian family and more closely related to the family of mongooses and meerkats.

Let’s talk about the canine or dog. There have been so many good books written about a favorite dog and how much they mean to us. Movies, TV shows have featured dogs. Rin Tin Tin, Lassie, Benji, and more recently Marley and Me are just a few. Dogs appear in articles on every possible aspect of dogs and our love for them. We’ll get back to the dogs later.

Jeff McGlothin was 16 when he started working at the Disneyworld kitchens and at 17, he became the youngest manager in the park. He worked at Chile's, Columbia Harbor House, and various Italian restaurants including honing his skills at the prestigious Strollos.

As the years went by McGlothin met Kerry Ann McHugh and they decided it was time to get out of Central Florida. The two hit the road in a used RV traveling the country from the east coast, through the mid-west and on to Colorado.

After eight months of travel, they started to have trouble with their RV’s brakes and money was running out. With only $7 in their pocket and seven hot dogs in their refrigerator, they put a finger on the map and ended up in Black Hawk. This was June 1992; the town was just a mess of dusty construction, not where they wanted to live. They migrated further on, landing in Idaho Springs.

A few years later, they found the perfect lot on the creek in Georgetown, built a big purple house and moved in with their Lab/German Shepherd mix, Edwina, that they adopted from the Denver Dumb Friends League. She was there to greet the two children when they were born, Dylan in 1997 and Sam Ann in 1999.

McGlothin worked construction jobs in Denver and eventually ran his own Clear Creek Construction company. Meanwhile, Kerry Ann McHugh was hired by the Georgetown Loop/Royal Gorge Railroads as Director of Passenger Services. When the Royal Gorge Railroad in Cañon City needed a temporary chef for their dinner train, McHugh suggested Jeff and he was hired on the spot. Not only was the chef back doing what he loved but the Railroad owners loved him too. They offered him a permanent job as Executive Chef and the two-year run, in an almost impossible job - cooking on a moving train, began. During this time, Chef McGlothin was written up in magazines, newspapers and featured on TV for his elegant eight-course dinner train menu and received accolades from their many diners.

It was the call of the high mountains and a job offer for McHugh with Clear Creek Power that led McGlothin and his family back in August 2007. Back to their purple house in Georgetown and to his new job as Executive Chef at Copper Mountain ski area’s, JJ’s Rocky Mountain Tavern.

Another two years commuting with a nagging thought that wouldn't go away. McGlothin kept saying, "Georgetown needs a café with a quick, good and well-priced menu." When McHugh was laid off, the timing was perfect to start their café. With the gift of a commercial grill stove out of the historic Old Georgetown Station, their café became a reality. The menu came easily. Good reasonably priced hamburgers, skinny fries, the perfect seasoned fajitas, a jalapeno seasoned meatloaf, absolutly delicious soups and all types of organic free-trade tea, coffee and espresso. Bring your computer for they have free Wi-Fi. Plenty of seating inside during the colder months and enjoy the sunshine on their patio this summer.

But, what to call this new café? That elusive name just wasn’t materializing. Remember their dog, Edwina? She was called Ed, and would sneak out at night to make friends with the cook at the Silver Queen and sometimes wander downstairs to the bar, where everyone knew her name. She lapped up affection and gave it out double.

Every night at home, up the stairs she’d run to kiss each child good night. Every morning she’d be right there licking their face to wake them up and hustle them downstairs for breakfast. Patiently she’d wait by the front door until the family was home again.

Last year at age 16, Ed died peacefully in her sleep. “Let’s name the café after Ed.” It was a family decision even though their daughter, thinking about how much she missed her furry best friend, said, “It’ll be too sad.” And so it was named, a truly glowing tribute to their old friend.

How many people can say they named a café after their beloved dog? Now you know, the McHugh-McGlothin family did and Ed’s 1859 Café is simply Dog Gone Good Food!

The Spice Trader

2009-10-12T12:08:00.006-06:00

Take a trip around the world. Just close your eyes and take a bite from one of the twelve Spice Trader's Artisan Chocolate Collection. Your trip begins!

Scott Goeringer, second generation candy maker and award winning chef from Georgetown, Colorado, has an ethereal affair with chocolate. Inspired by his time abroad, a deep love of history and a touch of the artist, Goeringer has perfected and is still creating masterpieces combining spices and chocolate.

Take a bite of the Aztec Tiles and picture yourself sitting with Montezuma in Mexico sipping the first known xocolatl drink as a tribute to the goddess of fertility, Xochiquetzal. It is a slightly bitter, spiritual drink, whipped to froth with just a hit of hot chili.

Another wonderful bit of romance happens as you savor the Chocolate de Provence. Imagine the salty Mediterranean Sea and thoughts of a young Italian, Giacomo Casanova, the world’s greatest lover comes to mind. Rosemary and lavender reminiscent of intricate lace and smooth velvet. Sea salt and slight mustard tang add a sprit of adventure.

Wander the world. Visit China with Beijing Bites and a lingering flavor of five spice; Dip next door into India, and taste the cardamom and ginger of New Delhi Melts. Chase that with the melt in your mouth Chai Chocolate Chews as a cup of tea fills your mind. Let your thoughts soar to the heights of Mt. Everest as the Sherpa’s Secret is revealed through Goji Berry and Shichimi Togoarashi.

Down to sea level again, imagine the exotic dances of Thailand, as you taste the curry, cashew and coconut of the Siam Bar. Then onto the ancient exotic beauty and culture of the Persian Rose, a white vanilla chocolate, fennel, hibiscus salt, orange peel and tiny rose petals. Truly an exquisite mix of taste, beauty and romance.

Heat up your life as you garner the Marrakech Marvels, with their Moroccan spice blend. Sail across the Straights of Gibraltar to Spain and make your way through the saffron and anise vanilla Valencian fudge.

Come on home with the early explorers. Spice up your palette with pink peppercorn and citrus in Sir Lancaster’s Lovelies. He was reputed to the first to sail around Africa and established the lucrative East India Trading Company. Now it’s time to return home with Captain Cook’s Compulsion, settle back in your easy chair; explore your own craving for chocolate with aromatic spices, citrus and chili.

Did you have a great trip? You can savor a repeat trip whenever you want. The Georgetown Valley Candy Company is as near as your computer or a short scenic drive up in the mountains on I-70W to exit #228. http://www.shopgvcc.com or 303 569-2778.

Bugs are Crawling in Georgetown

2009-10-10T22:26:00.019-06:00

Bugs in Georgetown? Don't get excited. This is not an infestation. Those bugs are concentrated in the Music Room at the Georgetown Charter School. The Bug Mobile has arrived and here's the assignment. What are the differences between an insect and a spider? A friend of mine told me, "Very simple. The spider is terrifying; the insect is not."

All day long, classroom after classroom hike down three flights of stairs to the Music Room for their hour with Fiona Garvin, of the Colorado University Science Discovery Program.

It was Mrs. Timberlake's First Grade and Mrs. LaGiglia's Kindergarten class that interested me most. Down the stairs, in a line, came the classes to sit down on the floor in orderly three semicircles. At that age, I expected animated ekes and yucks. I was wrong. They sat in rapt attention as Fiona Garvin started talking. After telling them about five groups of arthropods, every time she asked, "How many?" they all knew and returned a chorus of, “five!”

Garvin began by going up and down each row, showing each child a plastic case with a Tiger Centipede (many feet) wreathing within. She tells them, "This bug only sees light and shadow." She warns the group that they are poisonous, “Not that they would kill you, more like a bee sting.” One child pipes up, “I’ve been stung by a bee.” Now all are interested.

Next comes a millipede that she takes out of its cage and it crawls out on her finger looking like a worm with feet. "This bug is a non-poisonous vegetarian," Garvin tells them. When asked what they eat, many volunteers from the audience raise their hands and answer, "plants, grass" - all correct. There were a few wrinkled noses as Garvin continues to tell about the millipedes emitting a stinky gas when threatened by birds. You can almost see them imagining the awful smell. A few perked up when Garvin tells them that these millipedes were around during the Jurassic Park era of dinosaurs and at that time these little bugs were three or four feet long. When asked how big that was, the resulting demonstrations remind me of fish stories from the fishermen in my family.

After reaching in another cage and getting a huge Hermit crab, we are on to crustaceans. I’m not sure that the children really understood that the crab's hard shell was an exoskeleton, a skeleton that is on the outside of the body compared to our skeleton that is on the inside, but maybe. I did like the reference to a suit of armor the crustaceans took off as they got bigger, or molted, and then grew another one. Rounding out the story of the crab and other crustaceans (the lobster, shrimp, crawfish) as the clean-up crew or the garbage men of the sea eating dead plants and fish in the ocean made me smile.

Again Garvin says, “How many arthropods are there?” Boys and girls together respond with a loud clamor, “Five!” “How many have we seen?” she replies. They know, and answer in unison, “Three!”

The insects were next, the largest group. She pulls out a large branch with a huge leaf eater, looking very much like the stick it is sitting on. Pointing to a child with camouflaged pants, she explains that these insects were masters of changing colors to blend in to their surroundings. After looking carefully at his pants, the boy again looks up in amazing attention as Garvin continues to tell them about an insect's three body segments and antennas.

Then out comes a huge Madagascar beetle, making a hissing sound. “These cockroaches are a favorite monkey food on Madagascar Island.” Garvin explains further, “This hissing sound will startle the monkeys into dropping them and they can escape.” My eyes widen when she tells them the sound comes through air holes in their bodies. "That’s how they breathe," she concludes.

Last were the spiders that have a body with two segments, eight legs and no antennas. Garvin starts out by telling about the scorpions with their long poisonous stinger in their tails. Not to kill, but to paralyze its prey.

The grand finale, you guessed it, the Rose Tarantula. It’s huge. She reaches in and it climbs on her hand. Garvin in a hushed voice, kids leaning in to listen, creates sympathy for Rose. “You don’t want the tarantula to get excited and perhaps fall off and get hurt.” Especially when she says, “They could even die from a fall.” With a closing statement about the tarantula’s defense or when it gets angry, how they rise up on their hind legs and show their fangs, Garvin then sits in a tiny chair and asks each child to sit in the chair opposite her. With her larger hand and the smaller one, the tarantula moves quietly around, sometimes touching the small hand resulting in a tiny smile. An unusual connection.

At the end of the hour, the thoughtful children line up at the bottom of the stairs as another group comes in to repeat the magic of the “Bug Mobile.”

Thanks to John Ewers at the library for arranging this wonderful experience on behalf of the Georgetown Library Association; the Butterfly Pavilion for providing the bugs; and especially to Fiona Garvin, CU Science Discovery Program, for touching so many young lives with a hands-on science adventure.

When Life Was Simple

2009-09-27T22:36:00.008-06:00

Ah, the “Good Ol’ Days!”

Astonishing, some people remember those days happening during the Great Depression. A life before TV, cell phones, IPods, computers, movies… what was it like for kids back then? What was it like growing up in Georgetown, a small mining town in the 1930s, imagining adventures, playing outside on old mine dumps, walking over a tall railroad trestle, running up and down dirt streets and in grassy yards? It was a day filled with family, friends, relatives, and neighbors. In those days, it did take a village to raise a child.

To a standing room only crowd in the Georgetown Community Center, Jean Rutherford Duaine reads aloud from her newly released book, “The Colorado Whoopenhollars.” Duaine recalls how Georgetown kids never felt the struggle of their parents during the Great Depression. Her mother, Ethel Ecklund Rutherford, always made sure that Jean and her four brothers had three nutritional meals a day. Although, Duaine remembers, “we were never full but we were never hungry either.” She continues, “We didn’t know that we were poor, and we certainly weren’t depressed.”

Their dad, William I. Rutherford, was lucky to get a job with the Civilian Conservation Corp during that time, but that meant he was away from home a lot. Missing his children, he started writing stories for his five children back home, the adventures of the Whoopenhollars kids.

From these handwritten stories and letters that have been carefully kept by the family for over 75 years, the inspiration to publish the book began. Instead of answering questions from the crowd, with a smile and a twinkle in her eye, Duaine simply said, "it's in the book."

People lined up across one whole side of the Community Center to buy the book and have it autographed by Jean and her three remaining brothers, Bill, Buff and Glen. Her twin brother John died 10 years ago. There were many old timers in the crowd who also remembered Georgetown "when" and many others who really wanted to know more about Georgetown's history.

Cook-off Delicious!

2009-09-20T18:53:00.010-06:00

Bob Gibbs, on behalf of Historic Georgetown, Inc. (HGI) awarded Georgetown's first Dutch Oven, One-pot Cook-off $300 Grand Prize to Team Hungry Mommas, Sharon Rossino and Tristen Greenleaf of Georgetown.

The $50 first place category winners were: Team South Enders with a delicious pork and sauerkraut Miner's Stew; Team Ole and Lena's Grub won the Bread choice with a molasses Swedish Rye Bread; and the Cobbler award went to team Hungry Mommas, a sweet sumptuous peach/blueberry cobbler.

With an overwhelming vote, The People Choice award went to the Chuck Wagon team, We'll Shine Again, for their elk stew cooked over hot coals. One team member is a banker, the other is a horseshoer.

Georgetown closed the downtown street to traffic at 7 A.M. Contestants lined the street, popping up shade tents and tables, pulling out iron pots of all kinds, firing up the coals and propane stoves and the cooking began.

Music and live entertainment played throughout the day. The crowd joined in the festivities learning to square dance. More jumped in to dance the twisting and turning Macarena. The Tommyknocker's Beer Garden was open for business on the Hamill House lawn with a "beer bus" shuttling people back and forth.

People were milling through town all day long to tantalizing aromas, waiting for the judging to begin. The crowds became heavy as it became closer to the time for the judges to taste the stews, breads and cobblers. The judges were Scott Goeringer, from the Georgetown Valley Candy Company and an award winning chef; Ken Nelson, Goldsmith and gourmet cook; Joyce Jamele, Silver Queen B and B; and Dawn Janov, author and former food columnist.

That's when the spoons and forks came out and the crowds gathered around the booths making their way up and down the street tasting all the entries and voting for their People's Choice favorite.

This very successful fundraiser for HGI ended with the crowd crowing cries of "next year."

Thanks to the sponsors of this event, Lodge Cast Iron Products, Clear Creek Economic Development Corp, Henderson Mine/Climax Corp, Krystal 93 FM Summit County, Tommyknocker Brewery, Georgetown Parks and Recreation, Green Waste and Recycling, Mile High Rafting, Rocky Mountain Cabana, the Laurita family, the Reynolds family and Empire Sports.

Tom Elliot and Marvin Geisness Miner's Stew first place winners.

Lois Kruger winning first in the bread category for her molasses Swedish Rye Bread.

Loveland Ski Area Chef, Eric Mohn and Stephanie Behring made a wonderful lamb stew.

Dan Wilson, from the Longs Peak Chapter of the International Dutch Oven Society, smiling about the awards he's taking back home.

Getting Down and Dirty in Empire

2009-09-13T22:02:00.006-06:00

Boom-da-da boom boom! The loud speakers blare hip-hop, rap music to the crowd. The rhythmic beat gets the heart pounding; hips’ swaying as each dirt boarder gets ready to race. Off each one jumps, down, down, up and over, twisting, and turning in the air.

It's a good crowd in Empire for the 2009 Altitude Cup Mountain Board Challenge. This new Board Park is the biggest in the country and an up and coming new sport to match. Standing on the edge of a deep gully, looking down onto a vast vista of dirt mounds, raised lifts, steep dirt ramps, and cones lining an obstacle course, this huge dirt area stretches out football fields in length.

Jason Lee, (or J Lee) is The Godfather of Dirt," a title given him by his peers. "I was always athletic," Lee says with a slight smile. A skier since he was three years old, summers honed his skills as an avid skate boarder and as a Pikes Peak VMX Bike Racer. Later on it was snowboards. The snow season was short and Lee had an idea. "Imagine being able to ride everywhere, anytime, you don't need tarmac, you don't need snow, all you need is the passion of riding."

Credited for producing the first mountain board in 1992, using four fat tires, an independent suspension, and click-in bindings, and co-founding the Colorado Springs, Mountain Board Sports a year later. "With the boards," Lee explains, "you can ride anywhere you want...the whole planet is really open." It is the variety of terrain that makes Mountain Boarding so exciting. So grab you board and hit a trail, BMX course, or just down a beautiful mountain grass hill.

Competition is the name of the game and this sport is International. Lee is a seven time World Champion Record Holder in Pro Boarder Cross events. Another record for Lee was Ripley's Believe It or Not, where he successfully jumped and did a back flip 29' over a pit full of alligators.

Both David Kennedy (or Gonzo) and Phil Sheader (or Yeti) of Altitude Sickness Boards in Empire and a sponsor of the event, stressed the importance of padded rubber body armor and helmets. The equipment is easy to understand. The deck is the base for the rider to stand on. Trucks are the springs and axles attaching the wheels to the deck. Various types of bindings hold the rider on the board. Wheels have pneumatic 8-13 inch tires. It becomes more complication with decisions on how much air goes into the tires for speed, what type of binding to use, steering, brakes... the list continues.

Dust clouds erupt when wheels hit the dirt, and the event continues. Friday: a day of teaching techniques for beginners and for the more advanced. Saturday: the four-person head-to-head racing BoarderX and the Dirt Slalom through gates. For the first time ever the dirt slalom was held as a timed event. Sunday: The Big Air Freestyle, tricks and flip time. From riding rails and over mounds, to a steeper downhill run again over mounds with tricks. The most exciting was the very steep dirt hill for experts doing snowboard type giant flips and tricks.

Empire has paired with the future of the dirt boarder and this huge Mountain Board Park. Starting with skis and surfboard to skateboard and mountain bike then the snowboard and now, the newest adrenalin rush - the dirtboard.

Horse Farm Babies

2009-09-10T23:11:00.036-06:00

Whew, going through photo boxes and albums the other day, the waves of memories were overwhelming. My friend Kathleen said, "Leave it for your kids to go through." But there are stories here and I'm a storyteller. Maybe it has to do with my long ago Cherokee genes, they were great storytellers, too.

I've been a great believer in dreams, not ones that you have when sleeping, but dreams of what you want in life, what makes you happy. Since before I can remember, I've been obsessed with horses. My mother told me as a three year old, I would sit in a corner of the room and pretend clothes pins were my horses. In high school, when my friends got their drivers license they were excited to drive to the beach and hang out. Me, I drove to the Irvine Buffalo Ranch, took horseback riding lessons, helped feed and water the horses, cleaned stalls and drank in the smells and dreams of my own horse ranch.

After college and much hated office jobs, my family doctor treating me for an ulcer, told me to stop making my parents happy with their expectations and go to Colorado, get a job on a dude ranch where I could be happy wrangling horses. Man that was a real shock to my system. Cried many tears of fear that I could actually do it, but I did just that.

   The Tumbling River Dude Ranch in Grant, Colorado, is where I landed. It was a small ranch - only 42 guests at a time. As the new wrangler, I asked Ray, the old head wrangler, what horse he wanted me to have to lead the trail rides. He laughed and said, "Pick any one out there."

   There was a stout buckskin that caught my eye, but not my rope. I followed that horse around for what seemed like an hour. It was quite the game, just when I'd get close enough to touch him, off he'd go around the corral... again. Finally I cornered him in an open stall, but that was only the start of my troubles with that horse. He spooked at everything, a rock, the wind through the trees, a cracking stick under his feet. His nose would go right up in the air and he'd wildly try to run. Now how can you run on a narrow mountain trail looking up on the sky? I rode that horse every day, leading rides, tailing rides. Put a tie-down to hold his head down helped somewhat, but I never got use to the sash-shays along trail.

   Halfway through the summer, Ray gave me my first spurs and said I'd earned them. I was hooked on horses even stronger then.

   That's my son, Jeremy, when he was 11 with the first foal born on our farm, Darq Sirocco, a black Arabian. Can't you see the champion that he later became? The horse and my son, both winners. The top photo is Jerry Sindt, trainer, with Sirocco winning a National Championship.

Life happens in it's own time-frame. I was 32 when I finally bought my first horse, 38 when I bought my horse farm in Scholls, Oregon. By chance, my horses won in the Arabian show ring — big. Their babies won even more. It was a great life for myself and my two children.

This is my daughter, Diane, on Champion Darq Moon. This was the first horse I bought. We called her "Suzie." Don't ask, because we don't know why. That's just who she was to us.

The palomino mare above is Penny, a Saddlebred/Arabian cross who didn't have a baby who wasn't a champion at the horse shows. The baby by her side was one of my favorites, Wind Dancer. As soon as she could stand up, she was dancing, racing, prancing in style.

I miss them all, through Mt. St. Helen's eruption and the ensuing ash, to the difficult decision to sell them so they could fulfill their destiny. But they are all there in my memory, their smell, the sound of munching alfalfa and grain, their funny baby antics, their beautiful eyes, their trust. It's all there, just as though I can reach out and touch them... one more time.

Double Exposure in Alaska and in Life

2009-09-06T00:52:00.002-06:00

Leaving our ship on a small tender boat towards the town of Juneau, Alaska, gave way to nervousness for I was scheduled to fly on a small helicopter out to the glacier fields nearby. Jeremy, my son, was a calming influence that summer so long ago.

Before we left, the tour guide dressed us up in Mukluk boots and heavy coats. Into the helicopter and off we go, several copters following one after another, looking like a swarm of wasps flying in wavy patterns.

Landing on the ice, we were sternly warned not to go near the ice holes for some go down hundreds of feet. Not a good place to slip or slide. All the helicopters left and we stayed with a guide... all alone... on the ice. Sort of scared to move around much, but just looking at that beautiful glacier was an exhilarating feeling. The walls of ice that surround us were an iridescent blue/green with an eerie sort of translucence. The ice floor we were standing on was glazed in the sunshine. Minuscule ice fragments hit our checks in pinpricks when the wind would flair up. It was very quiet except for an occasional startling booming crack as the ice gave way to pressure and tumble down upon itself.

I'm not sure if it was a low camera battery in combination with the cold weather, but I was shocked and disappointed when I developed my film to find so many double exposures. Then I looked again and was totally excited because the tender boat was superimposed on the ice walls, our friend's face in a square and my son walking on the ice. Three different times during the day, truly combining all the emotions of that experience.

Another one had our pilot's hand holding the spiral corded microphone strung out over a girl waving and the surrounding ice fields. Again three different times of the day.

The photo of Glacier Bay captured the crew going out in a small boat to gather ice to carve later. The window of the bar where I took the picture wanders through the mountains of ice and in the lower corner navigating the floating ice was the boat.

Every time I look at these photos, I see something different. Looking deeper, just like in life. Layers of a day revisited. All at the same time capturing a flood of memories together... in one glance.

Put all this to haunting classical music and to me, that's what life is all about - fractured segments overlapping

layers of exposures, layers of memories.

Just to let you all know, I was snapping pictures, writing and drawing in the nice warm bar...

Pumping Iron & Hot Coals in Georgetown

2009-08-31T08:59:00.002-06:00

Something's going on. Am I smelling charcoal burning? It's coming from the downtown park. What's in that fire pit? It's summer and flowers always fill that pit. Hmm, not today though. The flowers are out and that pit is filled with iron pots stacked high.

There, in an apron and one hand in a heavy glove, stalking the pit, is Chuck Springer, president of the Long's Peak Chapter of the International Dutch Oven Society. In the pit there's also burning charcoal in tall narrow chimneys. It's almost noon, the town is full of people, and Chuck is getting ready for a demonstration of Dutch oven cooking.

Dr. Pepper BBQ Chicken was my favorite. The Biscuits were easy to make and so delicious, melting in your mouth. Both desserts were tied as the people's choice - Cherry Dump Cake and Chocolate Lovers Delight with a shot of milk. If you were lucky and in town for the day, you most likely were in line for these tastings.

Just in case you missed it, come to Georgetown, Colorado on September 19th for our First Dutch Oven Cook-off. Enjoy the Fall color season with us. All around town there's entertainment, storytellers, history exhibits, the air wafting with delicious aromas, a beer garden and brats on the Hamill House lawn, and finally the award ceremony downtown at 4 P.M.

Come on up! We're getting ready for you.

Southern California Gal Hits Below Zero & Grey Skies Forever

2009-08-26T22:23:00.002-06:00

If you were not raised in California, this story is for you. My first winter in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan was a real eye opener. Renting a too big, but very nicely furnished house in Bessmer, Michigan was a great start to my first winter experience. It was snowing and so beautiful. After dinner it was still snowing and even though is was dark, the streetlights cast delightful blue shadows on the new snow. It was quiet too. Unlike the patter of rain or the wind, snow doesn't make any noise. Snow seems to insulate any noise.

The next morning I jumped out of bed. I couldn't wait to look outside. It was another grey day, but it had stopped snowing. OMG! The snow had completely covered those bushes along our sidewalk. Just white lumps now. I couldn't wait to get out and play in that soft-looking white stuff.

What? The back door won't open. The snow has piled up against it. Here's another find. Snow can be heavy. Who knew? My husband, from this North Country, had to climb out a window and shovel the snow away before we could get out to do a few errands and later have lunch with his Aunt Mary and Uncle Joe.

I had been warned to layer my clothing to keep warm. No problem, long turtleneck, sweater, jacket. Throwing a knit hat on my head, pulling those boots on, out I went. Brrr. It was so cold. How cold was it? Zero. That's thirty-two degrees below freezing!

Plowing my way through snow up to my knees was damn hard work. Certainly not soft. Fell once and it hurt. Then I tried to get up, what a joke. Thank heavens my husband, trying not to laugh, came over to give me a hand or I'd have floundered there until Spring.

Couldn't understand why my nose kept running. Hard to wipe your nose with gloves on. Of course taking them off and on all the time made my hands numb with the cold. I wondered how I would know when frostbite sets in.

I'm cold in every inch of my body, my feet are cold, and my nose is frozen, though still dripping. There is not a warm spot on me. Finally we get to our lunch date. It is a custom for everyone to take off their snowy, wet boots in the entry. So I complied and tugged those icky boots off.

"Oh, child," Aunt Mary had a shocked look on her face. "Where are your socks?" Looking down at my bare feet, I answered, "I don't own any socks." You see no one wears socks in California - sometimes pantyhose with heels for that special occasion, but no socks with tennis shoes or flats. These were my first boots ever.

Well, I've never been rushed anywhere as fast as Aunt Mary rushed me upstairs, opened a drawer and gave me a pair of Uncle Joe's wool socks. Ah, they felt so wonderful and warm. I'll be eternally grateful for those socks.

P.S. I also learned that jeans are not warm!!! Wool pants and long underwear are what you wear "Up North."

All Alone in a Furious Storm... help!

2009-08-22T12:30:00.003-06:00

It wasn't quite dark. Just dark enough to create long, long shadows that danced a crazy jig across the road because the wind was BLOWING hard. No one else on this narrow two-lane road, my knuckles are white on the steering wheel. Here comes the rain... in sheets. I'm going through the heavily treed area now where the branches meet over the road in angry waving blows. Was that a scream? Man, my imagination is working overtime. The road is very wet, it's getting darker, I'm slowing down. Maybe that's not a good idea.

Dark. Very dark. Still raining torrents. Hard to see the road. The headlights are making strange images, or maybe they're just in my head. Is that my heart I hear beating? Got to remember to breathe. Ah, that's better. Now relax the shoulders. Oops, better pay attention to the road.

Gosh I hope I recognize the driveway. No street lights on this back country road. Ever so often, a glitter of light comes from a house way off in the distance as I pass by. That's a good sign. Getting into the area of lake houses at Little Girl's Point right on Lake Superior.

Yes, there it is, the Seagull Point sign. I pull into the narrow driveway, and run towards the cottage with my key at the ready. Luc, my long-haired Chihuahua is shaking at my feet. We're getting soaked, but I do manage to open the front door and burst into the dark house. On with the lights. Seems warmer already. Amazing how that works. Turning on the heat. What no heat? Just great. The temperature is dropping and it is cold. Oh no, all the lights go out. Calling the owner, now. He tells me the pilot light always blows out during a storm. Nice of him to tell me now. Also I'm told that the power will probably be out for days and that his handyman wont come out until tomorrow afternoon to relight the pilot light. Hey, but he does offer his cabin next door that has a wood burning stove.

After telling me details of how to get in, I gather my overnight things and head out with my little long-haired Chihuahua, Luc, who does not like this one bit. I've got my Gortex jacket hood tied tight, boots on. Luc has his raincoat on, too. Out in the dark again, with only a flashlight lighting about two feet in front of us. Luc is terrified but follows closely. The windbursts throw the rain around us. Luc is jumping in 180 degree turns. Finally we slosh our way over to the cabin next door.

Yes, I found candles, matches and paper. In no time, the fire is roaring and Luc and I are drying out. Went upstairs to get a pillow and blanket for I'm certainly bunking on the couch in front of the fire tonight. Will morning ever come? Huddling with Luc under the covers... Please sleep, come quickly.

Running with the Deer

2009-08-21T12:41:00.003-06:00

A few years ago on my way to Gogebic Airport in Ironwood, Michigan, under a bright sunshiny day, a cloudless blue sky and the grass waving waist high in nearby fields, I saw a doe with triplets peaking up over the grass. "Do you suppose that doe had all three fawns?" I asked, "Maybe she adopted an orphan?" With a quick smile and a knowledgeable nod, my forester friend told me, "I've seen triplets before, but it is rare." I'm sure that not everyone gets as much pleasure as I do seeing these three little ones in the most perfect setting, but for me, it is always lucky to see deer.

My cottage at Little Girl's Point is about a 20 minute drive to Ironwood, Michigan, the nearest town. Usually I would come home after dark. Everyone warned me to watch out for deer. It seems that deer hit cars on a regular basis in the UP (upper peninsula).

My car's speed drops from fifty-five miles an hour during the daytime hours when deer doze, to thirty-five mph from twilight on. I did see a lot of deer and felt fortunate when these majestic creatures would look at me from the side of the road, then flap their huge white tail and bound away.

One night on Lake Road, I had slowed down to twenty-five mph to make a sharp turn when a large doe jumped from nowhere right by the driver's side of the car. I didn't know whether to stop or hit the gas, so the car sort of did a little dance of indecision while to my surprise, the doe ran right alongside the car. It was magic looking eye to eye with her as we ran together down the road for what seemed like a very long time.

Since then, I've been told that fox and bear will also run beside a car. My, oh my!

Lake Superior in the Fall

2009-08-20T16:27:00.003-06:00

Lake Superior is calling me. I can feel the nip in the air. Fall is coming soon. I've got to go back. The leaves start their neon color parade soon. They are so bright in the sunshine then flutter with shadows of blinkling lights under the canopy of hardwood trees. The hue is so intense, it actually hurts your eyes with flaming reds, oranges, green halfway to yellow. You won't believe it, but look closely at the photo on the right. I actually found trees with leaves turning pink!

It's a magic time for me. The smell of leaves falling down to the moist dirt below, turning into dank mulch. My eyes seem to see the forest, a wildflower, more sharply, more clearly. Ears on alert as a hawk shrieks overhead, or a twig that breaks under my feet. The touch of a loved one's hand in yours, a finger running along your check that follows down to a sweet kiss on soft lips.

There's a cottage at Little Girl's Point where I usually stay. A tiny white cottage that sits in a stand of trees with a panorama view of the Lake - Madeline Island to the west and the Porcupine Mountains to the east. Every morning as soon as it's light, I race to the big picture window in the kitchen to see what the Lake is up to. Some times, it is a shinny mirror broken only by a few whistling swans making their "V" ripple in the water. Other times, the wind whips up waves reminiscent of my California beach days. Every now and then I see off in the distance iron ore ships going toward Duluth, a fishing boat or two. I'm so homesick.

Something's Cooking in Georgetown

2009-08-18T06:46:00.002-06:00

It's getting closer. Everyone's coming. There's a song in the air. Beer Garden with brats. People dancing. Full skirts swirling. History everywhere. Food's sizzling. You've got to be here!

The Dutch oven has a history all its own. The early Colonist wouldn't be without one. It was on swinging on the outside of covered wagons going West. On those long cattle drives, every chuck wagon had one or two tucked away. Today, campers know just how great food tastes when cooked outdoors - in their Dutch oven.

On Saturday, September 19, Historic Georgetown Inc., is hosting their first Dutch Oven Cook-off celebrating 150 years of Mining History in Clear Creek County. The contestants will offer a Miner's Stew, Bread, and/or Dessert cooked on-site to the celebrity judges. Tastings can be bought by bystanders, too.

The Dutch oven cooking starts at 9 am. Live entertainment happens all day long. From dulcimer and country singers, square dancing and storytelling, old fire company hose carts and mining exhibits, to the exiting Awards Ceremony at 4 pm, Georgetown, Colorado is the place to be.

A short 30 minutes from Denver or Summit County, take I-70 to exit # 228 and come on downtown.

We're getting ready for you. Come join us for a great end of summer celebration.

Yippie Ti Yi... A Shepherder's Wagon

2009-08-16T22:22:00.002-06:00

My mind wanders back to a summer at Duck Lake, Colorado, near the top of Guanella Pass. The owner of Alpendorf Alpine cabins shows me her European style cabins and her honest-to-goodness wooden sheepherders wagon that she's restored and uses for her guests. Here at 11,000 or so feet, one can spend a romantic night and dream of days gone by.

In nearby Geneva Park, our government still issues permits to use the public land for cattle and sheep grazing. Today, Sheepherders can be found working in Montana, Idaho, New Mexico, California, Utah, Nevada and Colorado.

In the 1800s, the sheepherders were mostly boys from our South. Later, the Basques came over from Spain to tend the sheep. Today, Peruvians have taken over the job. They hire on for three years, sending every penny to their families back home. The sheep graze by the hundreds, sometimes by the thousands, watched by the sheepherder and their dogs. The early sheepherder’s wagon, its water barrel latched tight on the outside, pulled by a horse, had an oh so interesting interior. Equipped with a wood-burning stove for both cooking and warmth on those cold mountain nights; built-in cupboards, a fold down table, a kerosene lantern, and a wonderful bed tucked in the back made this small space comfy cozy. Think of it as the first ancient RV model.

The Alpendorf's wagon is just too wonderful. Perched between fragrant spruce and pine and swift running creek, you overlook the lake. So quiet, except for the winds murmuring soft songs. I want to stay.

I’m thinking back in time and how lonely the sheepherder's life would be. All alone in those high mountain valleys, surrounded by snow covered peaks. It's just you, hundreds of sheep, a dog or two and a close-up view of our amazing nature. Tons of white clouds racing against a deep blue sky, tiny wildflowers everywhere you look. At night, a million stars surround the different phases of the moon. And the quiet… except for a couple of bleats from the sheep now and then and the munching of a horse grazing nearby.

Was it here on a mountain top that one shepherd concocted the Shephard’s pie in the light of a beautiful golden pink sunset? He would use lamb, surely, not beef. Yes, he would have onions, canned vegetables and potatoes. Or … could it be that this dish was named after a man whose surname was Shepherd … from New York City?

But that's another story.

Teaching an Old Dog New Tricks

2009-08-11T19:39:00.000-06:00

No, not those kinds of tricks. Get your mind out of the gutter. Wait, maybe I should reconsider.

At the Candy Factory, I was hired to work in the office three days a week for about six hours a day. They needed someone to help with their website using Photoshop. I love computers and really looked forward to it.

The job entailed a lot more than office work. When you work in a mama/papa business, it's important to help out. Just hope I can do all the other stuff they have asked me to do. I love bagging caramel corn, hard candy and boxing chocolates. When I leave work, I bring all those great smells home with me. Ah, it's a heavenly aroma that surrounds me and stays on my clothes for hours.

They know I'm not physically strong, so thank heavens I don't have to help lift the very large, heavy brass pot full of scalding hot boiling sugar and dump it onto a sugared table. Scooping ice cream is not for me either. Even some of the really young employees tell me how their back and arms start to hurt when its busy.

Every thing was just great until the bosses asked me to man the cash register during the 4th of July celebrations when they just get slammed. No problem. Glad to help. After a quick 15 minute instruction one day and a quick recap just before we opened, I'm on my own.

Now for the new tricks. Doors open and people are streaming in, line goes out the door and down the sidewalk. Great for business. The Candy Shop does have an excellent reputation and a lot of repeat customers that come back every time they are in town. Some even do a regular mail order after visiting.

Okay, okay, on with the story. Feeling very useful, helpful and smart to pick up this cash register thing so fast, (never ever ran a cash register before) I'm getting the line through, weighing taffy, bagging stuff like coffee cups and tea pots, stuffed animals, boxes of chocolate, punching in prices for ice cream cones, punching in related codes, doing credit cards, giving change. I'm on a roll. Until....

One group changed things up. Oops. I saw a cancel button and hit it, thinking that would cancel the transaction and I could start over. I was getting muddled, these people were taking things back, adding more stuff. Eeks. Okay, I hit the total button. What!!! $4,256.00. Something is really wrong and the customer is not amused. There is a young teenager working there who comes to bail me out. But she pushes me aside like stale bread and delves into the tape on the cash register. I try to thank her for helping, she shoos* me away like I was irritating her to the max. So I step back.

She says problem fixed. I try to cash out another customer. Oh, no. It's still saying an ice cream cone and box of candy is in the thousands of dollars. This time another employee tried to help. Even then after a successful couple of customers, it starts again with the big dollar totals. Now the owner comes over because the computer is frozen. Quietly I tell him, I'm not doing the cash register, but I'll be happy to help bag candy.

As I leave, I hear that snotty little teenager, telling everyone how stupid I am. That's it, I'm going to be her worst enemy now.

Bagging candy and caramel corn goes on the rest of the day and I know that I've contributed —just not at the cash register. This old dog knows now that she can't be taught new tricks.

Page two: Once after my retirement, I was offered a job in the bakery of a food market in Mercer, Wisconsin. I'm a foodie and thought it would be a blast to work there part-time. It was early morning work, but hey, I'm an early morning person. Got there on time, punched in my time card, filled out all the tax stuff. Then went to work.

Heavy pans, heavy flour, heavy sugar. No time to have a break. Sweep the floors, bag the bread. No bathroom breaks. Stock the floor, push the heavy tray holders, wash the dishes in a huge machine. Quick break for lunch. Did go outside in sunshine for 10 minutes and ate my sandwich. Back to work. Eight hours of hell. Had a headache, arm ache, feet ache.

Back again the next day. NOPE! Called in when I got home and told the boss the work was too hard for this old lady. QUIT. And for all that work, he never paid me. I called a number of times, he always said he would mail it. Guess what, he never did.

This old dog is enjoying sleeping in the sun, dreaming of old times, eating great meals, doing just what she wants, having fun working a couple of days at the Candy Store... knowing that at this time of her life, she has limitations. No more new tricks for her.

*Shoo, shoos - definition: used to get animal to leave; wave away

Raging Dance with Raccoons

2009-08-11T18:30:00.003-06:00

Late last night as I was watching the News, out of the corner of my eye, a movement on my deck. My little dog Luc, at full alert, ears straight up, rushed over to the door and started to bark. OMG There was a raccoon eyeing my tender pansies. I clicked open the door, only to have Luc push through and start to chase the raccoon who fled behind the outdoor teacart for safety.

In another flash, down the deck, the clicking toes of Luc were making staccato music to his barking. Trying to see in the dim amber glow of my rope lights, Luc was in the far corner and singing and dancing furiously. At first I couldn't see anything, but as I walked down the deck, up on the rail, there they were, not one, not two but three huge raccoons snarling their own chorus down at Luc. Yelling for Luc to come to me, I also caught those nasty bandits glaring eyes. They have no fear. They continued to snarl and hiss at Luc and me.

After Luc finally came to me and into the safety of the house on my stern command, I turned my attention to those pesky rodents. Yep, they were now challenging me. Each of these "Three Amigos" must have weighed as much as a large dog - 30-40 lbs at least, maybe more. They were getting bigger and nastier by the minute. I picked up the first thing I saw, my loveseat pad from the chair and swung it at those mean spirited devils. Even though I hit all three of them with the heavy pad, they hung on, increasing the volume of their protest. I was in the fight now, and finally I landed a blow that caught one of them off guard and down he went, another one scampered away, the third lost his balance and I could hear the branches of the bushes breaking under his weight. No KOs, but Dawn, the victorious and brave fighter, WON that round.

Yep, there's more. Round Two. Breathing a sigh of relief, I turned to check on Luc who now was cowering in the house. I guess he thought I was mad at him from the excited and loud tone to my voice when I sent him into the house. What was that? Nooo. Not another raccoon. Smaller and quieter, I hadn't noticed him huddled in the corner behind the teacart. I tried to threaten him, but he wouldn't move. I ran into the house and grabbed a broom. He hasn't moved. Poking him with the end of my broom just seemed to annoy his haughty supremacy, but with continuing poking and yelling, he finally sauntered off the deck and down to safety. My beautiful flowers, patio tomatoes and English peas are safe... for awhile.

With all that commotion, I looked out at my neighbors' houses, no one came out to witness the fight, no cops came to check out the domestic disturbance. Just another night where the Georgetown population of 989 hid or slept in their houses while the army of raccoon, 28,532 in numbers, continue to plunder and destroy their town.

Tonight, one resident won the fight against the ever increasing invaders. Round three is coming...

Battleground photo above!

Sourdough? That is the Story.

2009-08-09T12:32:00.002-06:00

Way back when, I wrote a column called "Panhandle Polly" for the American Sportsman Magazine. Knowing nothing about sourdough, I asked my readers for recipes. So many responses came in, I was overwhelmed. Certainly sparked a life-long interest in sourdough stories and recipes.

Although some form of wild yeast leavening has been around for a long time, it is the Alaska sourdough pancakes or the San Francisco sourdough bread that most people talk about. Have you heard how the Alaska sourdough got started?

Picture a burro loaded with traps, mining equipment, pick axe, pot/pans, coats, tents, food. Old grizzled man standing in front of his crude log cabin in the deep forest. Off they go, not only in search of gold, but to trap beaver, fox or whatever finds their way to him. With one last look behind to make everything is secure, he heads out knowing he wont be back for at least a month.

It's a good trip for trapping, but no luck with gold. The money from the fur pelts, however, will carry the man through the rest of the year. Finally back home. He hurries in and builds the fire. As the cabin warms up, he's thinking about making a hard bread biscuit. Opening up the flour barrel, he found a puddle of bubbling goo in the middle. The roof had leaked and water had dripped onto the flour while he was gone. As he scooped up the mess to throw it out, he was struck by the wonderful yeasty smell. Hmm.

The trash missed out, for he put that bubbling mass into a bowl, added a part of it to more flour, and left it to rise overnight. In the morning, after several hours of unpacking, putting things away, gathering firewood, he checked the dough. Wow, the dough had double in bulk. He punched it down again arranged small rounds of dough in his Dutch oven to rise again. Can't you just see the excitement in his eyes and his mouth watering at the thought of a light yeast bread?

Putting the cast iron pot on the morning coals and adding more coals on top of the lid, he waited as the smell of fresh baked bread permeated the room. Thus the first sourdough starter was born.

My high school friend, Kathleen Hall, told me that she makes sourdough bread, or did until her husband thought it smelled bad and threw it out. She hasn't made any starters since.

Sourdough pancakes are the lightest, airiest ones you'll ever eat. After adding eggs, salt and a little sugar to the a couple of cups of starter, turn on your griddle and wait until it is hot. Then at the last minute add the soda to the sourdough pancake mixture. Once that soda hits, a chemical reaction occurs. In just a few minutes, it will bubble furiously and increase to twice its size. Then and only then do you pour half-dollar size dollops onto your griddle. They cook fast, so don't go far.

Dab of butter, maple syrup, and be surprised how many you eat.

Hey, I make a killer sourdough chocolate cake that you eat warm with butter instead of icing. It is soooo good. Want the recipe? Just ask.

Sand, Iron and the Way West

2009-08-07T09:11:00.002-06:00

If that black cast-iron Dutch oven could talk, what stories it would tell!

Even Christopher Columbus on his voyages across the sea to the New World listed an iron pot in his manifests. Those first black iron pots or cauldrons were pretty rough hand-pounded pieces.

In the early 1700s, an Englishman, Abraham Darbey, took a trip to Holland to inspect the dry-sand casting method they used to make brass vessels. Improving on this system, by baking the sand molds, Darby produced a smoother finish for iron pots and extended the number of times you could use the molds. Eventually the Dutch oven evolved to add a trio of legs to hold it up over the coals and a flat lid to hold more coals for baking or turned over, as a griddle.

Abraham Lincoln tells us stories of his childhood and sleepless nights keeping the fire going with a big Dutch oven pot hanging from a swing arm in the fireplace and memories of his mother cooking bread and stew in those pots. Lewis and Clark had their Dutch oven on their long exploration journey to the Northwest. The highly prized Dutch oven cookware was even listed in wills. Martha Washington left her prized and well-seasoned cookware in her will, evenly divided between her children.

Can't you just hear the clink clink clinking of the Dutch ovens swinging from the outside of wagons as they heading west. If you put them inside the wagon, the heavy pot bouncing along the rough trail would loosen the floorboards. Hang those pots on the outside. The Dutch oven was important during the massive western cattle drives during their long haul across the west. The chuck wagon was always supplied with a Dutch oven for the cook to make biscuits, stews and cobblers over the evening campfires. Those cowboys were hungry.

Wouldn't it be fun to be a time-traveling mouse, listening to all the stories around the fire, watching what they threw in their pots, how they seasoned their dishes?

September 19th, 2009, Georgetown, Colorado is putting on its first Dutch Oven Cook-off to celebrate 150 years of mining history... and I'm a judge. Oh, no. I am imagining more Dutch oven stories.... hmm.

My Dirt Eating Guy

2009-08-06T19:08:00.002-06:00

Ugh, not a pretty sight. Luc, coming toward me, big smile on his face, eyes twinkling, and around his mouth a nice ring of black dirt. No, no, no... I don't want a kiss. I'm backing up in my chair to get out of his path. Too late. He jumps on me and gives me a sloppy kiss laced with dirt.

Now why would anyone eat dirt? Mineral deficiency that gives you urges you just can't resist? Was it a dare? Were you just loopy and fell into the dirt on your face? Come on now. What were you thinking?

The campfire's blazing in the pit as it makes it way to coals. All of us are sitting, talking and standing around at our Colorado, Ranger Lakes Campsite. Just finished a great Campfire Stew that my daughter, Diane, made in her Dutch Oven. OMG it was good. There was not a morsel left. She was scrapping the bottom of that pan - everyone wanted more. Luc was pacing back and forth, looking for just one more bite.

I swear he was in constant movement the entire four days of camping. Hiking up the mountain, through rock slides, over and under fences, around the lake. Saw a lot of Moose with babies. He'd come back with the girls, panting, just beat!

Then there was the time, we all took a day trip to North Michigan Lake, just a few miles away. Most everyone was fishing, talking, etc. There were ten or eleven of us milling around. Dogs were jumping in the water after sticks. Lots of things going on. When we decided to go back to our campground and start dinner, Luc was over with Jeremy, my son, looking as though he was going home in the truck with him. By the time I got everything together, awning back up on my small 20 foot RV, put it in gear and started the slow turn around towards home, here comes running toward me, the lady who was fishing on the shore. waving her hands like crazy. I stopped and rolled down the window. "You left someone, he's been running trying to catch the RV or the truck."

What? I've never left anybody before. Face turns a little hot and red in embarrassment. I get out of the RV and ran towards Luc, meeting him in a rush, we hugged and kissed.

Thank god, the rest of the trip went without a hitch... then on the long way home, I had my granddaughter, Olivia, open the closet door and get the bottle of water out for me. Luc was sitting in the middle between the two front seats. Livvy went to the back and laid down on the bed to read. We were going up the mountain, a slow and twisting road to the top of Berthoud Pass, when on one of the turns, the closet door flew open, a table top and a couple of pipes banged, clanged all over the place. I was looking for a place to pull off, Luc was under my feet, shaking, he was so scared. He's right beside the pedals!

Now you may be thinking, that guy was under your feet? Yep. Luc is my long-haired Chihuahua!

Now you know, as Paul Harvey use to say... "the rest of the story."

P.S. Oh yes, when we did find a pull off, it led to the most amazing waterfall in the deep pines, wildflowers everywhere. We never would have seen it had it not been for the closet door fiasco! Is there a moral to this story? Agh, no! It's just a story to make you smile. Thanks for being here.

When the Lights Go Out in Georgetown

2009-08-05T19:28:00.001-06:00

TV's droning on in the background. My fingers are flying over the keys of my laptop. I'm trying hard to get photos to Alice via E-mail. Poof, TV goes out, all the lights on the deck go out, my lamp next to my chair goes out. Is it my imagination, or did it just get utterly quiet? No traffic noise. Absolutely dark everywhere except for the neon kind of light from my laptop that just went to battery. I get up slowly make my way to the deck door to look out. Man, the lights are out all over Georgetown. It is dark. I can barely make out the houses across the street. I can see two tiny headlights lighting up the road far away. Nothing more.

Where are the flashlights? Not where they usually are. Oh, damn. I remember that I used them all on the camping trip last week. They are in the RV way out back... in the very dark. Okay. I know I have candles, yep. there's one on the piano. I've got my hands on it. Now the matches are in the kitchen closet. It's here... I'm a Helen Keller now, feeling my way to the shelves, around the bread machine, over the blender. Yea! Finally the big box of kitchen matches are in my hand that is not holding the candle. Found the dining room table. Strike that match on the side of the box, a lovely spark, then the flame. Lighting the wicks, a tiny area lights up, but enough so that I can hold the glass container and move around the room, finding other candles, lighting them. I've got light.

Over to the window, I still see no other lights in any of the nearby houses. The lights are still out over the entire town, but now a full moon is making its way over the black mountain tops casting white shadows over the lawn, deck and outside furniture. The cushions are turning into weird patterns. Are they moving? Come on. Who knew that there were white shadows. Okay, maybe grey, but it's definitely lighting up my RV, some of the big boulders, pine tree branches. Oh...

You know... I'm getting a little scared. There's not a soul around, and there's no sound. Well, I'm guessing it is after midnight. I can't even hear my little dog, Luc, but get the sense of movement as he follows me around. Or... gosh, I hope it's Luc. I'm very scared now. Imagination on overtime. My dusk to dawn soft up-lights are gone. It's dark. I'm waiting for the lights to come back on. It's dark. Now my little Luc jumps onto my lap as though he knows I need a warm body, no matter how small.

Waiting as the candles burn down and get dimmer. Okay, I'm going to bed. This is silly. If the lights come back on, I certainly don't want all the lights on all night long. Let me guess... I think the back porch light was on, is the switch up or down for off? I do switch off the lamp by my chair. Funny, switch off when there is no light on. I wander through the house trying to figure what was on, turning it off.

Up the dark stairscase and one more look outside. Boy, what a perfect take over for some evil genius. Seriously, fighting my beating heart. Talking to myself now. Finding my nightgown hanging in the closet, pulling back the covers and climbing into bed. The stars are really bright in my skylight. I gather what comfort I can from their beauty and slowly slip into sleep.

Bright lights blasting, the ceiling fan is going full blast. I'm up. Yep, all the lights are back on, stairway lights, the TV is droning on again as I go downstairs to turn everything off and back into my bed, snuggling in.

All is well again and I... have had a wonderful adventure in the dark.

End of the Day

2009-08-04T20:52:00.000-06:00

A wall of windows peak toward the southern skies in my house. Although I tend not to even notice the view, it's always there waiting for me. Out of the corner of my eye, a movement catches my attention, and the very frenetic hummingbirds, dip and whirl around each other vying for position on the many feeders.

Tonight, I just happened to glance up and in the twilight, an unbelievable color bathed everything as though you were looking through rose colored glasses. Intensifying the greens of the pines, the ochre and umber of the rock, and most of all the incredible blue of the sky. The clouds slowly turn from light orange, to amber, to pink, and then finally a perfect raspberry rose. It reaches into the deepest joy of my soul and adds a dimension of calm and happiness.

Isn't it true in life, we sort of get caught up in our own mind and really the beauty that goes on all around is just not seen.

Crispness of early morning.

2009-08-04T07:51:00.000-06:00

My sister in Northern California stays up late and gets up late. For me, I'm light sensitive and awake when the sun comes up. Makes it really hard to call her in the morning for I'm in Colorado and one hour later. From 6 am until 9:30-10 am, I'm watching the clock tick slowly around. I'm afraid I'll get busy and forget to call her and sometimes I do. Then when I can't wait any longer, I'll call only to find, yes once again, I woke her up. She's grumpy when she first gets up. Damn! Oh, well.

I'm happy when I get up, my little long-haired Chihuahua, Luc's tail is wagging, and he's smiling too. Sometimes, if I don't just jump out of bed, he'll come up and give me a quick, dry lick. Always makes me smile. We have our routine. Potty first for both of us, make the bed, open the drapes and windows, get dressed (me not Luc,) down the stairs, dish out Luc's dry food with a little hot water to make it softer, espresso machine engaged. Then with coffee in hand I'll read for a while by the bay window or turn on the computer to see my Twitter world, check my E-mail and Facebook. Sometimes I'll turn on the TV for the news. Then out to water my plants, tiny green lawn and let Luc do his sniffing, and other necessities. I'd say poop, but one of my friends tells me I'm obsessed with that word. My favorite swear word is, sh#%! Maybe I'll use the word, Ka Ka. Ha.

Here in this narrow valley surrounded by mountains at 8,500 feet, the sun rises in the West. I mean I watch the sun catch the top of the mountain to the west first then slowly light up the mountain downward. The sun doesn't hit my south-facing deck until after 10 am. The early morning air is crisp and wet, sometimes just plain cold. It smells green to me in the morning. In the afternoon heat, the wonderful smells of pines fills the air as the sap rises in the huge trees around my house.

When I first moved to this small town, I was walking around the lake, tears dripping down my checks, despondent about moving from my horse farm in Oregon and my life there, thinking what a bad mistake I'd made by moving here. Thunder started over the mountain and a few huge drops joined the ones on my cheeks. Turning to get back to the house, I looked up to see a light show in progress. The setting sun has turned the tops of the mountain a golden rose color under the dark gray storm clouds. Thunder was roaring and lightning was flashing in a wild and furious dance on the mountain top that I'd never seen before. Then I knew why I was here. My soul has always lived here in the mountains around Georgetown, Colorado. I'd just come back to reclaim it.

Only one of my friends is an early riser like me but she has to go to work early. So I'm into enjoying myself and my dog for hours before anyone else gets up. Now I'm really excited because I have this blog and can talk to you. Thanks for being there for me.

Dinner at the Peck House

2009-08-03T21:22:00.000-06:00

Tonight I had dinner with another "Foodie" friend. We were talking about food, of course. I told her that it was so great because we remember events by the food that left an impression on us. We find it fun to talk seasonings, cooking methods, taste. Most people would not understand. Our conversation was as juicy as the steak and in some cases just as rare. From politics, to twitter, to forwarded e-mails with misinformation that just make us mad.

Then she told me it wasn't the food, nor the conversation that she enjoyed as just being in the company of others. Company. Now that's an interesting word with so many different meanings. Haven't you heard that the English language is one of the hardest languages to learn?

I'm assuming that she meant friendship, companionship, a state of being together, not a corporation, business, firefighter, theater troupe, ballet group.

Here is another diversion. Company can mean visitor, guest.

Makes me wonder. Aren't we all visitors to each other's mind or someone's guest in their life?We certainly have very little shared time. Most of our time is spent within our own mind. Even asleep, we dream within our own mind. Maybe that's why we crave a little time with another mind, conversation that leads to other ideas. More interesting than with just ourself.

Now tomorrow when I have leftovers from the Peak House, if you can call that delicious steak - left overs- memories of conversations, the full moon just peaking over the mountain, will come flooding back in a warmth of friendship and sharing. Yes, I may just be a visitor or guest in your mind, but thank you for having me.

video link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vbzQGbh3mvU

This Blogger's First Day

2009-08-01T15:21:00.000-06:00

NOT NOW, I'M JUST NOT READY TO TELL YOU A STORY.

SET-UP WAS ENOUGH ENERGY FOR NOW!

BACK LATER.