Monday, October 10, 2011

Fuzzy and the Promise


FUZZY and the PROMISE

How important is a promise?  Especially one made with a little finger hook together and a palm slap.  

That’s major important, more important even than a cross your heart, hope to die, stick a needle in your 

eye promise and we all know how important a cross your heart is.

This story began last summer with just that, a young mother’s little finger promise to her son Foster who’s sixth birthday would be coming up in a few months and this wonderful object was something he “just couldn’t live without”.   Of course, when you make such a promise you need to be able to follow through, and guess what?  This mother couldn’t follow through with it, at least not at the time the promise was made.  She thought she would have plenty of time to save the needed money, but tires had to be replaced, child support only took care of necessities, and of course the time flew quickly by.  When her finances were finally in a position to purchase the subject of her son’s desire the object was nowhere to be found.  The Costco in Vancouver, Washington where Foster first spied the object had run out and no more would be ordered.  Next, the stores in Portland, Oregon were called, “sorry, we’re out too”, the same story was to be told in Seattle, and every other Costco in both Washington and Oregon, finally the young woman resorted to calling on family members in California and on the east coast, again, the same story, NO LUCK! Obviously, this particular item was so wonderful that it had sold out almost immediately and wouldn’t be replaced in any of the Costco’s where it had been originally sold.

“What am I going to do?” the young mother exclaimed to all of her friends, her family, and to all of her Facebook contacts, after all I made a little finger and palm slap promise and I just can’t break that kind of promise. can I?  Foster will be broken hearted, this is all he talks about, he mentions it at breakfast, he talked about it at school, how he would bring it in for show and tell, he’s even cleaned a spot in his room so this wonderful item will have the perfect place to live.

All of the employees at the local Costco were aware of this major promise and how heart breaking it would be if this young mother couldn’t keep her word for her son’s birthday.  An urgent message was sent via e-mail to Costco’s all over the different districts, phone calls were made, is this object pit there?  After all an important promise was made.  But still the object was nowhere to be found.
One of the young woman’s friends just happened to telephone her mother in a small city in Alabama, when her mother said, “I think I saw what you’re looking for at our Costco.”  I’ll go right back and if it’s there I’ll buy it for your friend.”
Lo and behold, one of the wonderful objects was to be found, tucked away in this small Alabama city.  “There was just one”, the friends mother said, so I bought it and will send it UPS right away. “After all a mother’s promise is at stake.”  Finances were arranged and the object of the young boy’s desire was wrapped for it’s trip and put in the dark hold of a large UPS jet to make the long journey from Alabama in the southern part of the United States all the way to Washington State in the far northern part.

When Saturday, the day of Foster’s sixth birthday party dawned the object still hadn’t arrived.  “You go on and take him to his party, I’ll wait for the UPS man to show up, it’s on the tracking papers and should be here today.  As soon as it arrives I’ll bring it on to the party,’ said the young woman’s father.  An hour later the UPS truck drove up, and when the boy’s grandfather went out to meet it he watched the driver searching his truck for the package that was mentioned on the manifest, but the object was nowhere to be found, unfortunately, the paperwork had arrived but the object had been put on the wrong truck.  The object was riding around somewhere else in the State of Washington. 

So, Foster’s sixth birthday came and went, and with a weekend in between by the time the object was found two days had gone by.  A beautiful, shiny red bike, a gift from his grandparents helped ease some of the disappointment, and of course the young boy loved his mother, so he wouldn’t let her know how sad he was about a broken promise. Foster didn’t think about the object much during the day, he was so busy learning to ride his new two-wheeler and was so tired by the time he went to bed that he could only dream about the object that just wasn’t to be his.

The following Tuesday after breakfast, as he had the two previous days he ran to the garage to make sure the red bike was still there and hadn’t been a dream like the object of the promise had been.

“Foster, come upstairs, what did you leave under your covers?”  his mother called down the stairs to him.  “I didn’t leave anything Mom,” the boy said as he hurriedly ran up from the garage and opened the door to his bedroom.   “Well, you’d better pull back the covers and check what’s in there, it looks awfully big to me”, I can’t Mom, you check for me, it scares me, it could be an ET from outer space, cried the boy.  “It’s your bed, so you check it son” said the young mother.  Slowly, Foster crept to the bottom of his bed, grabbed a corner of his blanket, and closing his eyes tightly he yanked as hard as he could.  There, when he slowly peeked out of his half opened eyes, lying half hidden under the edge of his blankets was the object of his desire, a stuffed bear, soft and furry, bigger even than he was.  The object of his mothers promise, the object that had been the answer to a young mother’s prayers, a bear that had traveled all the way from the hands of a caring woman in Alabama, to a little boy in Washington.  A bear whose story touched the hearts of people all over the United States.

“He’s so soft, I’ll name him Fuzzy Bear, I can’t wait to take him for show and tell”.

“and Mom, thanks for keeping your promise, I love you.”

Thursday, May 12, 2011

Ahhhhhhh, Quiet Time (or maybe not)

Isn't retirement supposed to be restful, quiet, tranquil and serene?  HA!  It's supposed to be an adventure, full of new vistas (even if they're in your own backyard), turning new corners, some you never even thought of in your paid working years.

Ron and I have both been lucky enough to have had jobs that filled our thirst for knowledge and adventure, now in our retirement years we are filling our thirst for art, music, writing/reading, getting to know other folks who just might be different than us, yet so much the same.  Life is oh, so interesting, just like a treasure hunt, you have to usually dig below the surface to find that rare gem.

We had a very successful "Blaine Studio Tour" this past weekend, people loved our art and the photographs that our wonderful friend and neighbor Christine was showcasing (her photo of salmon spawning in the Canadian Adams River looks just like a Monet painting.  Of course it's always successful when you sell your art at a show, which we did, but the true success for me was seeing that glint of a gem and digging just a little to find such amazing treasures in the people who passed through our show.  One couple just completed a sailing trip to and from New Zealand, now they needed artwork for the bare walls in the first house they've lived in and owned in over twenty years, for some reason you can't fit much art on the walls of the sailboat you've lived in.

Another couple were thinking of moving into this area, but wanted to rent first to see if they liked it.  Their criteria for a rental landlord was "you have to like animals."  They have three dogs, three cats, three children, and a nine month old spider monkey named Trixie.  (Christine decided maybe they weren't for her rental house)  They informed me that Trixie the monkey had her own web-site.  Of course I went home later to check it out, never found Trixie, but found there are lots of off color sites with the words Trixie and monkey.  Oh well, I can have fun imagining that family.

The sun is shining today, we've had rain every other day for months.  Sunshine, rain, sunshine, rain, I don't think we'll have had a real Spring at all this year.  Of course the grass, trees, and flowers are flourishing with this mixture.

Hope you are all as blessed as we are, from Nancy of the Boat House in Birch Bay

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Tulips at the Boat House

Ron took these amazing photos of a couple of our tulips:


Then we spent the rest of the day getting ready to set up for this weekend's Blaine Studio Tour.  I made homemade spiced biscotti with chocolate chips and Ron made home made caramel glaze to put on top of them, then I put on a very slight sprinkle of herbed sea salt.  YUMMY!!  Come by and see our art and taste some goodies.  

Best wishes from Nancy at the Boat House in Birch Bay


Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Are My Bones Still Alive???

I'm back, but not sure my back's back.  It's been a tough month away but things are looking up now.  Ron has had paramedics here once and ER once, with the end result being an acute MS attack and not the stroke we thought it might be.  After three days of chemo, he is now weaning off of those three days with ten days of pregnisone (UGH!)  As usual Ron's spirits are pretty high, his seem to be higher than mine, but I'm improving every day.

As to my achy bones, well we invested in a WII and I'm a couple of days into exercise that I haven't done in years.  Obviously, I should have been doing something like this all along, and now I'm paying the price, oh, and that brat Ron beat me at bowling (he had four strikes and a spare in a row).  This is one more thing I need to practice.

In the midst of all of this I was scared that we had killed off one of our beautiful Pileated Woodpeckers.  Ron and I were both napping when we awoke to a loud THUD, one of the pair flew into our sliding glass door and was lying in a heap on the deck.  When I went out to check he shook himself off and flew off.  Thank goodness they have hard heads as he is back and doing well, at least I think it was the "he" as the female would have better sense than to fly into our window (I think he thought he was cheating on her with another woodpecker) surprise, that'll teach you!!

Well, life goes on and we are preparing for the Mother's Day weekend "Blaine Studio Tour".  Hope some of you can make it up this way to our neck of the woods to see the amazing art being created here in the farthest NW reaches of the United States.  Ron has been working on his glass art in between medical emergencies, and I have finished some pendants.  Check out www.blaineartists.com for tour maps and information about the artists.

Better stories to come.

Nancy at the Boat House in Birch Bay

Sunday, March 27, 2011

The Night the Rabbi Danced Part I

They say it's something in your blood, that special something that makes your heart pump faster, makes one's hearing fail, in fact, the only thing you can hear is the beating of your heart, and you could swear you can almost feel whatever it is in the air pressing against your face.  The scent around you is humanity, almost primal.  Is this what it was like when early man discovered fire for the first time, when he brought down a lion, raided his enemies camp to acquire a wife?

The locals say it sounds like an old trite joke, but the story I'm about to relate isn't a joke, it's very true, a story full of drama, fire, and most of all glee.

Okay, okay, I'll get back to the story!  Do you remember when the Rabbi, the Priest, and the Catholic Father went into the Cantina?  Yes, I know, it does sound like an old, trite, joke, but again my friend, this is a true story, I know because I was there and witnessed it with my own eyes.  I also felt the hot air pressing against my face that night, I too could hear the beat of my own heart, and I swear, I could just possibly hear the beat of everyone else's hearts.  My ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton, and I too felt the passion, the drama, and most importantly, the glee!

THE RABBI

This day was like many others in Santa Fe, everywhere you looked objects took on the look of crystal, a clarity only found in this place.
There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and one felt like you did when you were drinking a wonderful sparkling wine, little bubbles of light bursting against your skin.  This kind of sunshine makes you feel giddy, and the colors of the sunset on the Sangre de Cristo Mountains only reinforced the Rabbi's belief in his God, even though, as the Priest at the local Episcopal Church kept telling him, "You know that the name means "Blood of Christ, don't you?"his beliefs didn't lie in that direction, but as she was his friend he was willing listen to what she had to say and to still be moved by this majestic sight.

He was a tall, gangly man, feeling every one of his 51 years as he stretched long arms up above narrow, tension filled shoulders, rolling a head that was covered by a wild, dark, shock of straight hair, moving his head from side to side, trying with very little success to alleviate some of stiffness he felt.  He could hear little crackles and funny noises every time he moved the different parts of his torso.  He knew his body was trying to give him the message that he should exercise more and quit sitting around. As he did almost every day, he promised that he would "start a new exercise program tomorrow", of course, he'd made the same promise before but more important things always seemed to get in the way.  Important things like the people in his congregation, taking care of Synagogue business, his friendships with local religious leaders, the time he spent playing Bridge with one of the local Pueblo Governors, everything seemed to take precedence over exercise.

The religious leaders of Santa Fe still met once a week with the common goal of alleviating suffering in a town that was thought to be a wealthy man's town, but was in fact, just like every other place on earth, full of people in need of the basics, food, clothing, housing,  people who were poor, middle class, and yes, even those wealthy men and women had a need for mercy to be met and a caring spiritual shoulder to rely on.  Of course, these shoulders were awfully stiff at the moment, so once again he whispered his promise to exercise starting tomorrow.

The Rabbi had just spent an exhausting twelve hours at the local hospital, arriving at 6:30 in the  morning, and spending most of that time sitting inside a small, sterile, room where a young child from his congregation lay fighting for her life.  Tubes were connected to and from her arms and nose to machines that made slight humming sounds.  A light sheet covered the slight, five year old body.  Her blood tests had revealed that she had contracted "Bubonic Plague," an illness thought to have been eradicated long ago, but was still very much a concern in this part of the Country, where prarie dogs and mice carried the deadly fleas.  Whenever he would step outside to stretch and have a cup of the strong coffee that the nurses offered him he would ignore their strong suggestion that he not return to the quarantined room, instead, he would re-don the scrubs and mask they provided and go back in to relieve the child's exhausted father.  He would set next to her, telling her calming stories about the God that he knew, who would make her feel better.  He knew his place was inside of this room with this family, not out in the hallways and waiting rooms.  He entreated God to have mercy on this young child, to keep her younger brother safe, protect her father and the grandmother who took turns inside the room.  He also asked God to give the child's mother serenity and peace as she paced the hallways outside of the sterile room, stopping after each pass of the room to look through the small windows that created a barrier she could not breach.  She wanted nothing more than to hug and protect her child, knowing all the while that she couldn't.  The young mother was a pretty woman, but lack of sleep and worry created dark circles under expressive eyes.  Her third child was expected soon and she was frustrated when the doctors insisted she wasn't to be allowed into the place where her daughter lay so ill.  Everyone who looked at her could feel the worry and tension emanating from her.

By the end of the afternoon the child's fever had broken and the worst was over according to the doctors who had earlier lanced the swollen node in her young neck.  The Rabbi felt he could now leave the family on their own, they were in good hands.

As he put the key into the lock of his rusty old sedan the Rabbi looked west onto the mountains that bordered this beautiful city just as the ruby red colors flowed like icing on a cake from the top of the Sangre de Cristos down to their base.

Friday, March 25, 2011

A Multitude of Misc.

First of all, I know most of you live a distance away from Birch Bay and Blaine, WA., but, if you happen to be in the far Pacific NW on Mother's Day weekend, plan to visit Ron and I and dozens of other artists for the Blaine Art Tour.  http://www.BlaineArtists.com/.  Our neighborhood will be showing our glass art and two of our local neighbors will open their studios to showcase their wonderful photography.  Others in the Blaine/Birch Bay area include potters, knitters, painters, sculptors, and winemakers (one of my favorites).  What a multitude of talented people live around here (of course we're rained in all winter so have time to be creative), but it sure is inspiring for we retirees.  These are Ron's works, I make dichroic glass jewelry.








I've spent the past week tearing out flooring in our master bathroom.  The seal on our commode gave way and managed to soak the underlayment of our floor.  Oh my aching bones!!!  I was fine until yesterday, luckily a friend is helping with the work of putting in new subfloor and commode.  This is our handicapped bathroom so it's a real problem to have it out of commission.


On a nice note, flowers are blooming, grass is growing, sun is (mostly) shining, and life is good.


Hope your world is full of Spring flowers and your knees are full of spring!


Nancy of the Boat House in Birch Bay



Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Hope, Sadness, Prayers

As Ron and I drink our morning coffee, we watch a juvenile eagle soar above the trees outside our window,  yesterday two of them were racing each other and riding the air currents up and down, a beautiful sight, their mature relatives are nesting down the road at this time, waiting for life to go on.

Sunshine is breaking through the eastern horizon, shooting soft colors of pink and purple over the Canadian Islands we look out on, lifting our mood a little after six days of grey, is that grey a reflection of humanities spirit as the world watches this drama unfold in Japan?  Yes, life is continuing, but we realize it will never be the same.

Friends in Tokyo are safe, but for how long?  Fellow humans are suffering and all we can do is pray, send relief money, help our countries send supplies and personnel.  Colleagues Ron and I worked with before retirement are on their way to Japan as part of the IAEA teams, can they help stop this nuclear tsunami that seems to be rushing toward Japan, toward a world that has been turned upside down?

Japan, Tonga, Libya, and many other parts of this world are under extreme duress at this time, Our prayers are for protection for all of these places, peace for all of these places, and for this world as life goes on.

Prayers from Nancy at the Boat House in Birch Bay

Monday, February 21, 2011

Tacky Road Trip or "Aliens be Afraid, be Very Afraid"

Hey Aliens, you'd better watch out, the Boat House is coming and you need to be afraid, be very afraid!

The year my grandson John graduated from high school we invited him to come and visit Ron and I in New Mexico.  My son Ryan drove down from Denver to join us on this wonderful journey so we would have a merry group in our rental car.

Thus began the saga of "tacky road trip".  Our primary destination would be Carlsbad Caverns in Southern NM, but oh the sights we would see on the journey between Santa Fe and Carlsbad, lots of cactus, deer, antelope, fields of chiles growing in abundance, mountains to explore, apples to buy from the orchids on the side of the road, "Christmas" chile on our enchiladas (green and red).

The "secret" stop Ron and I had planned for this trip was to be Roswell, NM, the home of a purported UFO crash in the 1940's.  After all, we worked at a National Laboratory north of Santa Fe where those aliens from that UFO were rumored to be held.  I personally never saw an alien there, at least I don't think I did, but you never know for sure, do you?  Now, you have to remember, a lot of our co-workers and colleagues had very different accents, and some looked and acted a tad strange, even to two people who had lived on the West coast in our younger years, where we had more than our share of strange people.

John and Ryan both groaned when we pulled into the dusty little town, UFO signs and pictures of alien museums abounded, everything a lover of "The X Files" would go crazy over.  As an aside, I think it's interesting that we ended up moving to the same part of the U.S. as "the smoking man" from the X Files.  We feel very safe here in Birch Bay, because I'm sure, with "the smoking man" living here the aliens surely won't follow.

Anyway, I digress, the first thing we did after pulling into Roswell was to find the tackiest rubber alien statue outside of one of the many museums on the main drag.  "John and Ryan, I want to take your picture next to him/her/it."   Ron immediately pulled into the nearest parking place ahead of a little old lady who was vying for the same spot.  John groaned, "you guys don't seriously believe in this stuff, do you?"  "Well, we'll just have to see" I replied, again,  after all "you never know".

After paying a small entrance fee (probably for buying alien food) Ron and I pulled our reluctant grandson and son in through the double front doors.  Ron and I went in eagerly, anxious to see all of the amazing out of our world stuff,  John kind of hung his head and looked around to make sure there were no girls watching him go into such a place, and  Ryan was now kind of getting the idea and a spark of interest was starting to grow in him.

"Look John and Ryan" I said, old photos of the Alien autopsy, "what color do you think their blood is?", I can't tell because these photos are all black and white, "maybe their blood is actually black and white." Another louder groan, "oh grandma, pleeze!"

After touring all of the sights, and touching all of this alien stuff (would this be the cause of later health issues in Ron and I, or were we just destined to get older like everyone else?)  But, once again I digress, as we walked around looking at the photos on the last wall I let out a loud gasp, "Ron, Ron, come and look at this, this is amazing!"  There on the wall was a photo of one of my co-workers, someone I used to car pool with.  Maybe there was some truth to the rumors of Aliens stored where we worked after all.  It turned out that my co-worker was shown testing something found in a Roswell field that turned out to be a piece of jewelry (or so say they say).

Anyway, after a great lunch in a local restaurant, Christmas on our enchiladas, off we went to Carlsbad, and a more normal part of our "Tacky Road Trip".

As to the aliens.........(you never know)

Sunday, February 20, 2011

The Red Vase

The boy's tongue kept licking at his cracked, sunburnt lips, it was kind of like poking at a sore tooth, as hard as he tried he just couldn't leave the spot alone and it stung a little more every time he touched it. As sweat trickled from his sun tipped hair, it ran onto his smooth forehead creating a fine, dusty path, stinging his eyes first, then meandering along the lean cheekbones of youth, onto lips that were already chapped by a summer of mowing lawns.  He could taste the saltiness, the brininess reminding him of the warm Pacific waters of Birch Bay where his family usually vacationed every summer.    This summer was an exception, his Mom had broken her ankle, and in spite of her protests his Dad said they would stay home so she could rest and heal some more, they would go to the beach next year instead.

His friends thought he was crazy, mowing yards in the neighborhood every day in the hot summer sun of the Spokane River Valley when he could instead be playing ball with them at the local field, or hanging out at the public pool where they would feign indifference when the, soon to be, seventh grade girls would flirt with them. He was pretty sure each of them was secretly flattered by this attention, after all these same girls had suddenly grown more interesting in the past year, even though they had gone to school with most of them for the past seven years.

No, as much as he'd like to be out playing with his buddies he had a quest this summer, he just had to raise another $17.50 to add to the stash he had already earned, and once he had that amount he would have enough to follow through on his plan, a plan that he was pretty sure would cheer his usually happy Mom up.  Her birthday would be in a few weeks and he now had the perfect gift in mind, something that would take her mind off of the injury she had received when she had fallen over something he had accidentally left out on the sidewalk leading to the garage.  She didn't blame him, but Dad had sure lit into him about it, and to be honest he felt kind of guilty, though he would never had done anything to hurt his Mom.    

He had spotted the glass vase in the front window of the new gift shop after it had opened on Main Street earlier in the year.  He was frantic that if he didn't get the rest of his money collected soon someone else would buy it because it was just too beautiful, in fact, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and if someone else bought it would be lost forever, and would be a tragedy for sure.  This was the perfect birthday gift for his mother, something she would never, ever buy for herself.  The color was exactly right,  hadn't she always said red was her favorite color, and this glass vase was the most amazing red he'd ever seen.  Whenever the sunshine hit it bright red rays would shoot out in every direction, tinging everything they touched with a ruby glow.

Finally the day came, his hard work had paid off, after counting his stash of money one more time, he know that he had exactly the right amount and he could hardly wait to rush downtown to purchase the beautiful vase.

Something was terribly wrong, as the boy turned the corner the sunlight  that was shining through the glass windows shone onto a set of blue dishes, pretty dishes true, but not something that would turn his mother's world a cheery rosy color, not the red vase he had been yearning to buy all summer long.  Oh no, this can't be happening!  All of my hard work, Mom feeling down because of me and now everything I've saved for is gone, how could this have happened?

The bell hanging over the entrance door cheerfully tinkled as the boy slowly pushed it inward toward the colorful interior of the air conditioned shop.   The coolness of air seemed to slap his heated face, a face that looked as if it were on the verge of tears, although twelve year old boys surely don't cry in public, he thought to himself.  It was all he could do not to turn around and run for home where he knew he could shut himself in his room and grieve in private, but he steeled himself to go in and talk to the woman who owned the little shop.

"Why, hello young man, can I help you with something?" the pretty young woman dusting off a statue on a side shelf said, turning around as she put her cleaning rag aside.  "I've seen you looking in our front window before, is there something that interests you?"

"The red vase, what's happened to the red vase?"  the boy gasped, barely getting the words out, "I wanted to buy it for my Mom for her birthday, and now it's gone?"  "What am I going to do, he thought to himself."

"Why dear, I've just put it in the back of the store, so I could put the new set of blue dishes we just got in and show them off in the front window."  That vase is beautiful, isn't it?"  Would you like me to wrap it up for your Mom's birthday?

"Oh, look at the red colors shooting all around the room!" exclaimed the pretty woman, sitting with her leg propped up on an ottoman, a cast that everyone who attended her birthday party signed.  "This is the best birthday I've ever had, thank you son, I love you!"  "I love you too Mom!"

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Blizzard of 1888 and Eponine

First of all enjoying visit of son, daughter-in-law and most of all Eponine our two year old granddaughter.  We're babysitting tonight while Greg and Meka are on a date night.  What fun!


Secondly, here is a photo Ron took last Tuesday of Mt. Baker, color thanks to Photo Shop, but everything else is as we saw it, just beautiful.

Lastly, just finished a riveting book titled "The Children's Blizzard" by a gentleman named
David Laskin.  This blizzard arose in moments and killed many where they stood, unfortunately many school children died as schools were released at the time this storm hit.  Amazing what humanity goes through.  Do any of you have family in these areas who might have a family history of this storm?

Anyway, will be back blogging later in the week.

Stay warm all, from Nancy of the Boat House in Birch Bay.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

The Countdown Begins

Only 2 days to go and 2 1/2 year old granddaughter, daughter-in-law Meka, and son Greg will be here from the wilds of Colorado (Denver to be exact).  We're looking forward to seeing Meka and Greg, but, sorry guys we're reeeeeally looking forward to seeing Eponine.  Time for spoiling, rides around the neighborhood on Grandpa's power chair, and story times.


I spent yesterday moving furniture around, cleaning carpets (making our office into a little girls bedroom), the last time they were here she was still in a crib, time moves much too fast, and babies grow up much to quickly.

Will continue my blogs next week, I'm sure we'll be exhausted and exhilarated at the same time.

Have a great week, from Nancy at the Boat House in Birch Bay

Friday, February 4, 2011

"Open Wide"

Guess where I spent a couple of hours yesterday afternoon?  Yes, I had an emergency visit to the dentist after a week of an off again on again toothache.  Two separate friends had recommended this dentist, and he was exactly as described, gentle, calm, very nice, and most of all forgiving.  I haven't gone to the dentist as often as I should lately, a new roof, car repairs, emergency surgeries, lattes, and I admit it a slight fear of dental offices (I'm sure it's just the Musak),  always seemed to get in the way.  Well, lattes are on the back burner now and oral surgery is front and center, at least I have teeth to smile with and with the dentist's help I'll be able to keep on smiling.  So, I'm prepared to "open wide".

Pepper the pup is also "opening wide"  drooling all over the floor in the process.  Pepper is normally not a drooly kind of dog, but this is just too much for him to contain.  He's setting in the kitchen, looking up at Ron (who's also setting in the kitchen) with those sad begging eyes (Pepper that is, not Ron), just waiting for Ron to drop a scrap off of the cutting board where he's trimming meat for the grinder, to be mixed with his special spices, then on to the dehydrator for some of the best jerky around.

I've been busy today also, roasting fresh salsa for the Super Bowl party at Jim and Mary's on Sunday.  "Go Green Bay!", I'm a born in Wisc. girl after all.  The house smells great, kinda like walking down the middle of Olivera Street in Los Angeles.  I'll see if I can chew a few chips on Sunday, maybe I'll just have to sip salsa through a straw, and maybe Jim and Mary will make a soft dip just for me.

Anyway, "OPEN WIDE" Pepper the pup, the meat scraps will fall"; "OPEN WIDE" Philly defense,  so Green Bay  can run through to the goal; "OPEN WIDE" Super Bowl guests for salsa and chips and other  goodies; and "OPEN WIDE" Nancy at the Boat House in Birch Bay, the kind, gentle, and most of all forgiving dentist is waiting.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

What's the Remedy for Shyness? Gorilla Spit?

Yes, fellow bloggers, I was shy (I thought very shy), but I suspect most of us felt that way in our teens.  Of course, my teens were quite a few years in the past, beginning 52 years ago at age 13.  Of all the things you never, ever wanted to do when you were shy was draw attention to yourself, girls just wanted to be demure like Sandra Dee and Natalie Wood, guys wanted to be cool like James Dean, and Edd (Kooky) Byrnes.  Oh, those were the days, remember 77 Sunset Strip and asking Kooky to "lend me your comb"?  But I digress, we're talking about shyness here after all not shared dandruff.

It was a beautiful Spring day in Los Angeles and our high school was planning a field trip to the
Los Angeles Zoo.  We were all getting antsy because exams for the end of the semester were coming up, and following that was that most glorious of times, summer vacation.  This was a perfect way to get away from all of that high school stress.  My class (freshman, soon to be sophomore) weren't old enough, or popular enough, to be attending proms, so a day at the zoo was a perfect diversion.

"You've got to learn to assert yourself Nancy!" exclaimed my friends.  At this point in my life even a boy accidentally (or maybe not so accidentally) bumping into me turned my face bright red, all the way from the roots of my blond hair to the bottom of my neck, and maybe beyond, but I never checked my toes to see.  So I had the tendency to be very quiet, and yes demure.

Okay my dear friends, I'm going to be a different Nancy today (after all who at the zoo will know who I am), I can be anyone I want to be, you just watch me.

Just a little zoo background though, in those "good old days" zoos didn't have the wonderful natural habitats that they have today.  Most of the animals were in cages (it breaks my heart to remember this) and had only some swings and toys to entertainment them.)

So off I went, singing and dancing out loud, saying hello to everyone I met, the total opposite of the usual Nancy, suppressing my redness by saying I was sunburnt. HA!

What do I spot down on the rolling lawns but a huge building built of bars, four sides and top all bars, in other words a big cage.  Hanging from the top was a heavy rope with a tire tied to the bottom, big rubber balls to roll around on the floor, a fake tree built into one corner.  A large cattle trough filled with water, and another trough filled with fruit.  Inside this abode was the biggest, meanest looking, gorilla I had ever seen.  This was a magnificent animal, straight from the jungles of Africa.

It was time to show this crowd just how sophisticated and demure I was, and prove to my friends once and for all that I certainly was not shy. Walking around the cage I would look up and throw kisses through the bars at this big beast, put my fingers to my ears and wiggle them while making faces, crossing my eyes (soooo demure), and sticking my tongue out, after all, I wasn't shy.

All of this time this gigantic gorilla had his back turned to me, moving around his cage as I moved, ignoring this sophisticated blond.  Soon he tired of this game and sauntered over to his water trough, taking a big long drink of water, Ha, I thought, now these people will see my animal magnetism, that I can attract attention, just like the popular girls at school.  As my mind imagined my newfound popularity the gorilla turned and climbed up to the top of his tire rope, spun around, and spit all over me.  He then smiled the biggest gorilla grin you could ever imagine, green slimy teeth and all as I stood there covered in gorilla spit, blond hair handing wet and green across my very red face.

Oh well, one of us was the monkey, and it wasn't the gorilla.  To top it all off, I was called into the counselor's office the next day for "acting up" at the Los Angeles Zoo.

I think I'll cure my shyness in some other way.

Greetings, from Nancy of the Boat House, in Birch Bay

Monday, January 31, 2011

The Potty Boys

Today I'm on my own.  Friends of Ron's have picked him and his wheelchair up and off they've gone south to Seattle, to check out a huge pottery supply store.

We wives call this group of guys the "Potty Boys," although to be accurate they are the "Pottery Boys".  They all took beginner and secondary pottery classes from a fantastic artist, Brian, who also happens to be the local high school art teacher.  If you think your kids make a mess when they play with clay, you've never seen a bunch of senior men (and almost seniors) messing around with this stuff, and I don't get me started about glazes.  Unfortunately, they have all had enough science and math in their backgrounds to make you think they were creating the Acropolis all over again.  Some day archeologists will dig through the rubble of our back yard and base their assumptions on 2011 civilization on what they find buried here.

To be totally truthful, this is just another wonderful aspect of Ron's art (and the other men's also).  They have a kiln in Jim's big garage (now their man cave) and spend hours talking about ramping the heat up and down, they set and stare at the temperature gauge for hours (kind of like watching paint drying, not grass growing because ours actually grows pretty fast.)  Our clay salsa bowls are really pretty nice and best of all are the friendships that flourish right along with all of that wet clay.

Pot on Potty (oops!) Pottery Boys!

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Two Subjects, Civility and Antiquity

Two subjects moved my heart today.  Two subjects that may seem different, but in actuality are a part of the whole.

First of all how, as the political strife in Egypt expands, Egyptian civilians are rallying to surround the Museum of Antiquity to protect the exhibitions there.  Can you imagine the loss were rioters and looters able to ransack this place, stealing and setting fires?  I know, some would say it's just stuff, but it's really the heart of a people, their inheritance from the past.  In some ways it's our heart and past also, the world is no longer separated by weeks of travel, hours or months between communications, it is now a whole and as such we are a part of all of this.

Secondly, and something that is close to my heart is the word "civility".  The dictionary defines this word as a code of conduct, treating others with respect, in spite of differences.   I just watched two politicians, a Democrat and a Republican talk about being a part of a "Civility Caucus".  Amazingly, when I googled this there were numbers of people who were verbally against anything so "PC".  Luckily for them they are in a Country where they can feel and act on this rationale, our Country protects their rights, as it does mine to believe and say on-line what we feel.  It protects my passionate belief that civility is an important part of our world's peace.  My Christian belief mandates me to love my neighbor as myself.  Civility lets us respect our neighbor's differences, be they left/right, black/white, green/red, Republican/Democrat, young/old.

Again, we are all a part of the whole, let's treat the world and each other with civility.

Words from the heart from the Boat House

Friday, January 28, 2011

The Hidden Prize

I have to start by saying, today has been one of those days (SIGH!!!).  This day's problems actually started yesterday.  We invited our dear friends Jim and Mary over for dinner tomorrow night to celebrate Mary's birthday.  As it happens, Jim is a master baker, so even though I'm a pretty good cook, I never try baking for this pair. Mind you, they would never, ever, be critical,  but I couldn't  even begin to make the wonderful treats he makes for us so I normally don't even try.  But, this is after all Mary's birthday, you have to have a beautiful cake for that, don't you?

While waiting to go through the checkout counter at the grocers yesterday I spot a magazine with a photo of the perfect birthday cake/dessert.  My friends love flan, they also love chocolate and here in glorious color is something called a Chocoflan.  It's a creation that Jim would never make, it's just beautiful with caramel on the bottom, a layer of flan next and a beautiful home made chocolate cake next, the caramel created the day before and chilled, then the other ingredients the next day (today).  The recipe says prep time is only 40 minutes with 1 hour and 15 minutes of cooking time.  WELL, after using every bowl in our house Ron and I finally managed to get this concoction into the oven.  Almost three hours later not only is the cake still runny, but the flan is now a part of the chocolate cake, and the caramel is so tough it would take the fillings right out of your teeth.  To top everything off my right earring is missing.

I told Ron, I'm going to scoop the gooey part into parfait glasses, with layers of whipped cream, and tell my friends that whoever finds the gold earring in the dessert will have luck for the rest of the day.  Just make sure you avoid the caramel.

Bon Appetite Everyone!!!

Thursday, January 27, 2011

My Favorite Garden

I just finished commenting on a wonderful blog that I have been following, the Oregon woman who wrote this blog was discussing all of the wonderful food options that are just outside of our back doors here in the Pacific NW.

This reminded me of a local county park here in my neck of the woods, Hovander Homestead Park, in Ferndale, WA.  This is a go-to place whenever we have company from out of town, or for just spending a wonderful day in a lovely setting.   This park's gardens are maintained by the local university's agriculture department, they keep a lovely aroma garden on the grounds of one of the old homes.  The aroma garden has every kind of herb imaginable and heavenly scented plants.  The other old home (what was the original homestead) has other traditional gardens around the grounds, including a salsa garden (hot peppers, tomatoes, cilantro, onions, etc.) but my favorite garden of all is their weed garden.  Yes, you heard me right a weed garden.  Nice, neat rows with little signs by every plant that show you exactly which of the multitude of weeds you too are growing in your very own garden.  I can tell you right now, according to that plot of land I am a master gardener.

Enjoy!

Nancy at the Boat House

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Where Do Slugs Go in the Winter?

Okay, here's the scoop!!!!  Today is January 26th, it's supposed to be winter time out there, it's supposed to be cold, possibly a layer of snow, at the very least a layer of frost on the ground, but non-the-less cold.  I guess it's not cold enough.

Tonight, at our home, during our church home group, Pepper the Pup begged and begged to go out.  When I did let him out he made a total pest of himself, barking at imagined critters in our creek (or maybe real critters), running around unlike his usually lazy self, ignoring me when I told him to be quiet.  When I finally convinced him to stop his shannanegans and come inside the house in he traipsed with something black and wiggly on his fur, which was immediately deposited on my clean floor in front of all of the home group.   EEEEEEWWWWW!!!!!!  It was a SLUG!!!!!!

Shouldn't slugs freeze in the winter?  Shouldn't they become snow birds and go south for the winter like the birds and RVers?  What kind of summer are we going to have if the slugs are already here?  Nothing is worse than accidentally stepping on a slug in your bare feet, they are almost impossible to get off, water just makes them spread, and you have nightmares for months afterward, and here they were already invading us.

The Boat House is going to equip our feet with galoshes, and lots of salt to sprinkle on the diabolical creatures.

I'm afraid we are in for a SLUGFEST this coming year.  Prepare yourself people!!!

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Skeletons and Rats in My Closet

Here I was, checking out blogs and enjoying my morning coffee, Ron still asleep (or so I thought) when Pepper the Pup started yapping at the bedroom door. Oh no, I thought, somethings happened to Ron.  Well, something had happened, he had gotten up and into his power chair, drove it into our closet to get a clean shirt (I usually do this for him) and managed to get himself and his chair stuck.  I told him, he could have turned into a skeleton in our closet if I hadn't found him.

As to the rat part, Ron bought Pepper a remote controlled rat for Christmas, something he (Ron not Pepper) saw on television last December.  Well, Pepper thinks it is the best toy ever, but he runs, barks, growls, and creates havoc every time that rat is out, even if it isn't being controlled by the diabolical Ron.  Sooooo, the rat lives on a shelf in our closet except for special occasions when Ron is ready to drive Pepper (and me) crazy.

Anyway, Ron is rescued, Pepper is calm, and it's time for coffee with my darling husband.

Happy boating all!

Monday, January 24, 2011

A Treasure Hunt Worth More Than Diamonds

I've just discovered the way to hunt for amazing treasure from the comfort of my own home.  No, I'm not cleaning out my closets and rooms, although I should.  What I'm doing is finding blogs that are just amazing, following those clues and bread crumb trails that bloggers who already interest me leave.

Rosaria, thanks for leading me to Bethany Wiggen's, it's such an inspiration to find someone who started writing later in life.

I'll pass another treasure on to all of you, check out Jane Kirkpatrick's blog, she is an amazing Oregon author who has won many awards and has just been nominated for a major Oregon book award.  

Anyway, happy treasure hunting all!

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Retro Retirement

There has been talk on some of my favorite blogs about how hard retirement is financially for many people, with the future looking even darker.  I do agree with all of this, Ron and I have been caught up in this trap, BUT, we all need to think about Retro Retirement.

Retro seems to be a style statement, in clothing, furniture, design, movies, etc. etc.  Why are we all so caught up in having to have everything new and changing constantly?  I know, I know, media excites us about new granite counter tops, top of the line stoves, cars that make us sexy, and vacations to exotic places, shoes that double as stilts and dangerous weapons, clothes that look great on teens, but hey, my legs haven't seen the light of day in years and aren't about to now.

As Ron's illness progressed (before Medicare) our bankbook got smaller and smaller.  We've tightened our retirement belts and somehow have managed. In the meantime I've planted container gardens, (yummy salads and herbs) invested in a bird book for our area (so our backyard becomes our exotic place), inviting friends over for pot lucks, music and the written word have become my entertainment of choice, and playing gin rummy with Ron every day helps keep our minds sharp (it takes a lot of brain work to keep up with him).  In other words, we've slowed down our lifestyle and as the saying goes, we've stopped to smell the roses and SURPRISE, we are enjoying ourselves more in our "retro" lifestyle than we ever did in the old rat race.

So to my children I say, why do you think you need four bedrooms when you only have one or two children, why do you need three bathrooms and a kitchen covered in chrome and granite? Yes, you can work and strive toward those things after you've started out slowly, but for goodness sakes a simple place will do just fine in the beginning.

Oh well, I'm beginning to sound just like my folks, I must be getting old.  OH I AM GETTING OLD!

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Prunes and Pasta

I didn't actually have pasta with prunes today, but I did prune trees and Ron and I joined good friends for wonderful Italian food.

I started the day by pruning all of our fruit trees (well we've asked a friend to help with the cherry trees, as I'm nervous about trying to prune while on a ladder).  Tomorrow I will clean up the mess I made pruning.  Thank goodness for gardening books because this was a new experience for me.

Then we went with our friends to Bellingham to the new Harbor Freight (the guys were in seventh heaven) and Mary and I even bought stuff (stuff is an appropriate word for the treasures we bought), then off to Giuseppe's Al Porto Restorante Italiano, in a beautiful new location down at the Bellweather waterfront.  We sat and watched the boats in the marina, ate Giuseppe's delicious appetizers and had a wonderful visit with our friends.

Now I'm stuffed from prunes and pasta and have had a wonderful and productive day.

Ciao!

Friday, January 21, 2011

Spying on my Neighbors

As Ron and I were having our morning coffee today, during our customary game of Gin Rummy, we happened to look out the window and there sitting dejectedly out in the rain was Desi our neighbor.  He usually looks dashing and debonair, but today he just looked lonely and kind of soggy.  Usually Desi and his wife Lucy set side by side in the sunshine talking to each other, but I think Lucy is staying home these days preparing for the birth of her children and it's Desi's responsibility to provide for his family.

I hate to complain, but these two are some of our messiest neighbors, they throw their castoffs out into the yard, they yell at the neighborhood pets, in fact there are moments when I actually fear for our dog Pepper, oh, the looks Desi and Lucy give him would chill you to the bone.  (I can't say a whole lot about messy homes since I did admit to you that I have dust bunnies). I digress though,  not complaining mind you, but these two have no consideration for their neighbors, and the way they scream at their teenagers, it's just horrible.  Of course, once your kids move out maybe you would also get upset if they try to move back in.

Ron and I aren't angels of course, we do admit that sometimes, while looking out into the Bay with our telescope we accidently see into Desi and Lucy's home, but we would never purposely spy on our neighbors.

Anyhow, this morning we were actually feeling sorry for Desi, hoping all was well with Lucy, and honestly being glad that they are our neighbors.  Of course you've never lived until you've had to wash your car after Bald Eagles poop all over it.

Welcome to the neighborhood Desi and Lucy, we're really glad your nest is next door!

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Sipping Wine Through a Straw

"But honey, you're beautiful", that's what my husband Ron keeps saying as I talk to him through clenched lips, eyebrows raised in permanent arches of surprise, a chin that is bright red, a red that would put Rudolph's nose to shame. No, I didn't have a facelift, but I did have brows, upper lip, and chin waxed. All I can say is OUCH!!!!! Oh, I also had my hair cut, but that's an experience I can relate to.

So, I set here sipping a glass of wine through a straw, but you know what, after a glass of wine, I am beautiful.


Oregon Beach Walker


We took this photo on a Newport, Oregon beach Christmas morning a couple of years ago. No one in the area knew who this man was (or who his faithful companion was) or where he went after. Love the trail they left on the beach. Enjoy:

Back Yard Wanderings






Ron's still in bed, Pepper the Pup is laying on top of my feet (dogs are sure good feet warmers) and I have a nice warm cup of Ron's coffee. For those of you who don't know Ron roasts his coffee beans (Starbucks eat your heart out) and his coffee is amazing. Ron also creates amazing art, even though his legs don't work any longer his mind and hands just keep on going. Here is an example of some of the art plates/bowls he has made in the past months.

I've also added just a couple of our back yard visitors, it's amazing what entertains you when you are retired, and you know what, it's top notch entertainment.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

A Sure Way to Solve the Federal Deficit

I've figured out how to solve the National deficit. All the federal/state/county/city governments have to do is start licensing the new pets in my house. They are named Bugs Bunny, Thumper Bunny, etc., etc., they are all dust bunnies. For some reason they multiply as fast as I sweep them up. I turn around and BINGO there they are, peeking out from under my couch, playing tag with my broom, hopping from one spot to another. Can you imagine the income our governments would have if every house in America licensed their dust bunnies.

We could also knit sweaters out of what they shed, stuff mattresses, fill down jackets and use them for insulation (we shouldn't have any heating bills with all of these critters running around!)

Oh well, I'd better go figure out how to feed them, Costco, do you have bunny food?

Dinner for Friends

Ron and I love company, and we love eating (imagine that!), so we decided to combine the two a couple of evenings ago. Instead of the usual fare I decided to try to create something different. Found a great recipe for Morrocan food, so we ended up with Beef Tangine, Cous Cous, and a wonderful salad, for dessert we had freshly made Pear Sauce that Ron had made that morning.

Beef Tangine

Small roast, cubed and dusted in cinnamon, cloves, ginger, salt and pepper
Saute in olive oil in Dutch Oven, remove and saute small onion and one clove of garlic.

Cube two sweet potatoes

Put all back into Dutch oven, cover with chicken broth and bring to simmer.

Put into oven at 275 degrees for two or three hours, til beef is tender. Serve over rice or cous cous made with chicken broth and raisins.

Absolutely delicious and very healthy for you! Enjoy!

sixtyfivewhatnow: Before this week...

sixtyfivewhatnow: Before this week...

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

TAG (Tuesday Art Group)

I had a great visit with the TAG (Tuesday Art Group) today. It's daunting to think of the years of amazing art that has been created every Tuesday, for the past 25 years (at least). As I looked around the group I noticed there are a few more gray hairs (I'm a part of that landscape), a few new wrinkles and some fantastic new art styles.

Unfortunately, my husband Ron couldn't attend today, his MS has progressed to a point where he can't maneuver even one or two steps but he keeps up with his glass art non-the-less. He's changed his style from huge five foot tall stained glass windows to new sushi plates and beautiful glass serving bowls created in my jewelry kilns.

Sandy (Sam) is doing a portrait of Ron and my granddaughter Eponine, her charcoal and pencil work is wonderful, I'll post a copy when finished, Dixie is doing an oil that I consider a love story, (of her granddaughter with her beloved dog, it looks like their feeling is mutual, they are looking into each other's eyes just with such feeling), the other Sandy who's home the group met in today, is doing a triple grouping of beautiful African faces, other's in the TAG are just as creative and such amazing mix of people. Amy's floral scenes just take your breath away, Dick has a way with birds and lighthouses, maybe he'll do a bird living in a lighthouse, Scot is the innovator of the group, mixing media, always trying new art forms that are just amazing. Roberta's watercolors adorn many public places in Bellingham, and of course my favorite is a huge mural of a sea scene that she created in our living room. Jim's western scenes reflect the life he and his wife Judy have lived on their farm here in western Washington (or maybe wished to live), Other members fade in and out of the group, unfortunately Jeanine passed away just last week, fighting a valiant fight all the way. I've moved from doing water colors and glass art to writing, and I'm not doing as much of that as I should. Somehow it just seems easier (lazier) to read, or do something else with my time. Anyway, it's and honor to be included in this great TAG group. PAINT ON............


Sunday, January 16, 2011

"The Invisible Man"

Year ago I worked with a woman who's great, great, etc. etc. grandfather was the honky-tonk piano player in Silverton, Colorado. This is what I imagined his story might be, enjoy!


“The Invisible Man”

He could feel the heat and the damp on his skin, and could almost taste the green, and he was positive he could smell it. This was a good smell, one that reminded him of those days when as a young boy he would fish along the creek running behind the little shack the boss let his folks use in return for their labor in his fields. This was a summer smell that made the old man feel that time was standing still. He lifted a trembling hand to half heartedly swat at the small insects buzzing around his face as he watched the water move slowly past the overgrown bank, creating quiet whirlpools , catching leaves and twigs that fell off of overhanging branches. He watched intently as they twirled round and round only to finally break apart and continue their slow journey to a small waterfall and then into the faster moving river below. He knew that eventually those very same leaves and twigs would find their way under the log bridge he had helped build in the early years of the bustling town of Leadville.

The old man sat quietly on the mossy bank, leaning gingerly against a rotting stump, feeling every one of his eighty years, he felt his eyelids droop as head nodded forward, it was one of those summer days when napping seemed to be almost as important as watching his bobber in the water. He figured it didn’t really matter if any of the fish would take his line he’d been here a thousand times and was sure he had at least a few hundred more visits to this special spot left in him. The fish and he had a pact, they would provide a meal when needed and their home would provide a place for him to ponder the world around him, and today he had lots of pondering to do. He often talked out loud to the fish, and he swore he could almost hear their answers. Of course he’d never tell a soul that he thought the fish answered him, but then there was no one left in his life to tell.

His wife of sixty years had passed on five years earlier, he still missed her terribly, and wished every day that she were still here beside him. She was laid to rest at the edge of the pretty little cemetery up behind the small church where he played wonderful hymns every Sunday.

The boy wasn’t here any longer either, he had moved away to the big city looking for a better life, not that he blamed him; this town hadn’t anything to offer his son.

He guessed he could always tell someone at the church what he had heard the night before, but it wasn’t something he wanted to burden anyone with, and he wasn’t sure anyone could do anything anyhow, besides it might be dangerous for him to reveal what he knew. Even if he told the preacher man he didn’t think he would have any power to thwart those two no-goods and the plan he’d heard them hatching last night.

He chuckled quietly to himself as he thought of what those same men would think if they heard him talking to the fish. Of course, if they knew what he was telling the fish today there would be Hell to pay. But Lordy, even those fish couldn’t come up with a solution for him.

The old man had left his cozy cabin the night before and walked the rutted dirt trail that meandered almost three miles into the bustling mining town. He walked slower these days, bent over, steps faltering slightly as he turned into town, but somehow he always managed to make it to the wooden building with the fancy hand painted sign that would sway back and forth above the swinging wooden doors when the wind blew. The ‘Silver Lode Saloon’ was set off the main street, just around the corner from the new Opera House. He had made this same trip many times over the past years and was amazed at the changes that had taken place in the town during that time. This place had gone from a sleepy mountain village to become a rowdy boom-town almost overnight when gold was discovered back in 1859. Thousands of men poured into the area, working the mines day and night, taking breaks at the end of the week to come into town and spend their newly acquired wealth in one of the many saloons that had sprung up over night inside canvas buildings, their false wooden fronts, trying, but failing, to look like some fancy big city saloon.

Only a year and a half after the gold was discovered it started to play out and the town started to die, nothing had been left but mountains of black slag leaving an ugly blight on the once beautiful mountainsides. These mountains of sludge were left over from when the miners separated out the gold they found in their sluice boxes and gold pans. After the gold petered out the mines were abandoned or sold for little or nothing and most sat empty for years, leaving only a bleak landscape surrounding the once pretty village.

Some twenty years later, new miners arrived and realizing that the “black slag mountains” that had been left abandoned were actually loaded with silver ore. They quickly bought up the few mines that remained and claimed those that were abandoned, and a new boom era had started. The silver boom was to be the making of this town and a steady growth started to take place, making the town even richer than the gold had those many years earlier.

One of the miners who had come into town from St. Luis in 1880 was James Joseph Brown, J.J. as he was known. Brown, along with his wife Molly, a feisty woman, who worked right beside her husband in the mine, quickly became one of the richest couples in not only the state of Colorado, but in the Country. The Browns and another miner Horace Tabor along with his second wife, quickly became the reigning royalty of the region,

The town the old man lived outside of now boasted a number of newer wooden buildings including a general store, a haberdashery, the church, a one-room schoolhouse, three saloons, and of course the pride and joy of everyone in town, the new opera house that Tabor had built for his new wife, Baby Doe, so she could perform the latest operas of the day.

Instead of a town consisting only of thousands of grisly miners and the businessmen who sold those miners the goods and services they needed, and a few “ladies of the night” the town was now growing with a steady stream of actual families, wives and children moved into the area while their husbands went about the business of silver-mining. These family women always went out of their way to avoid the “sinful” saloons and colorful “ladies of the night” by carefully lifting their long woolen skirts up above high topped boots that covered their ankles, then stepping gingerly onto the narrow wooden planks that had been placed across the muddy streets.

The large room that the old man now turned into smelled of old beer that had soaked into it’s pine plank floors, and of stale cigar smoke that caused a constant grey haze in the room.

Shuffling over those scarred wooden planks the old man made his way to the far corner of the large room where he sat down on a familiar oaken stool, a stool someone had brought with them from their home back east. The stool would spin up or down depending on the height the old man wanted it to be. He found lately he had to change the height slightly as he seemed be getting shorter. There was an indentation in the seat that had formed itself smoothly to his body over the years.

Slowly he lowered himself onto his wooden “throne” as he thought of it, scooting forward until he was comfortable with the distance between the ivory keys and his dark hands. He kept his long fingers limber by years of playing rousing tunes like “Ta Ra Ra Boom Dee Ay” on this same upright piano. The sound that came out was tinny, it had been years since the bar owner had paid someone to come to town to tune it, but the old man could still coax a sweet song out of it. Sitting down, he said a quiet prayer as he did every evening, giving thanks for having this steady employment. He felt he made up for working here on this out-of-tune honky-tonk piano by playing the beautifully tuned piano at the little church on the hill every Sunday.

His parents had been given a used piano when their son was young and his mother had soon taught him to play the beautiful tunes that seemed to flow from his fingers.

Every Sunday he found himself setting in a different sort of corner than the one he was in now, and over the years, he found he and his family were not just welcomed for his talents, but they were honestly welcomed as members of the congregation, and in the community. Molly and JJ Brown particularly had taken the old man under their wings.

Some of the men in the church who proclaimed to be holy on Sunday were the very same men who proved they weren’t so very holy on Friday and Saturday nights. The only time the old man mentioned this was to the fish, so their secret was safe, so far. But after what he had heard the night before the old man was in a quandary about what he should do, and how he should handle what he had heard.

He had played the tinny piano at the Silver Lode for so many years that the men who came into the saloon didn’t even notice him there any more, he might as well not even exist. The only time someone did notice him was when one of the drunks decided he was fair game to harass and then the bartender always stepped in and protected him from those encounters, after all what would the Silver Lode be without their honky-tonk piano player.

This particular night the smoke was thicker than usual and the noise level made playing on the out of tune piano a chore instead of the pleasure it usually was.

The assayer had left town on the well-armed stage for Denver hours earlier with his strongbox filled with pouches of the silver that the miners had pulled out of the mines and the slag hills surrounding Leadville. With money burning holes in the pockets of their canvas work pants the miners were anxious to take advantage of all that the Silver Lode had to offer. In turn, the Silver Lode was all to eager to take advantage of the miners and relieve them of the gold and silver coins they now possessed.

Fist fights broke out earlier than usual, men fighting over cards, over the flowery women they were anxious to visit in the upstairs rooms, even over what tunes they wanted the Honky-tonk player to play. The old man took it all in stride, ducking a couple of times when bodies came crashing down on the floor just behind his stool, even lifting his left arm to repel a ragged work boot thrown at someone in the card game at the table to the right of his space, while still creating a catchy tune with his right hand.

To the left of the piano was the doorway leading to the private games, the big money games the men who owned the large mines up in the mountains played in. The door was covered with a heavy red curtain and usually a big man in a bowler hat guarded the entrance, tonight the big man was nowhere to be seen.

Every time someone pushed the drape aside to walk into the back room the smothering smell of dust and smoke rose from the red velvet and would tickle the old mans nose and throat.

The night before, while playing one of the quieter tunes the old man had heard two muffled voices arguing behind the curtain. One of the voices was raspy just like one of the regular gamblers who usually frequented the Rose Garter Saloon around the corner, but had come to the Silver Lode for a particularly high stakes game of cards. As the argument grew more heated the old man could hear raspy voice mention Baby Doe’s name, along with an angry retort from the other deep voiced man, to “keep it down”, “we’ll keep her til we get what we want from that Kabob Tabor, I don’t care if we have to bury her a hundred feet under in one of those stinkin mines.”

In spite of Horace Tabor’s tarnished reputation in Leadville, having been ostracized since divorcing his first wife and marrying Baby Doe, the wealthy miner had always had a kind word for the old man, so when Tabor’s new wife’s name caught his attention the honky tonk player realized something horrible had happened.

“How can I find out where they’ve put Doe”, thought the old man, “without tipping them off that I know what’s going on?” The old man continued playing the notes to “She’s Only a Bird in a Gilded Cage” as he fretted about a plan to find Tabor’s wild young wife. She could be in any one of hundreds of mines in the area,” he thought, reaching up and wiping the sweat that was collecting on his worried brow.

(to be continued)

Saturday, January 15, 2011

California Institute of the Arts Rememberances

A DAY AT THE OFFICE

I could hear a sound coming from deep within the building, boom, baboom. At first it sounded like I would imagine my heart would sound after a hard jog around a track for a mile or two, but I knew this wasn’t my heart, after all I was setting quietly in my office, at my desk, in the building where I had worked for the past four years.

I looked out my third floor window to see if it could possibly be thunder, but, even as I turned I knew that thunder was rare in Southern California, besides the sky was its usual pristine blue, or it would have been pristine if the smog hadn’t been hanging over the mountains.

Baboom, boom, boom, the sound was coming steadily up the stairwell from the lower floors of the building, gradually snaking its way up toward my office.

Boom, another one!! I could tell the noise was getting closer and closer to where I was sitting, I could now make out loud yelling voices, and odd rattling sounds, It wasn’t an earthquake, at least I didn’t think it was, even though I could almost imagine the floors shaking every time I heard another baboom.

Now I heard what sounded like a thousand feet jumping and stomping in wild rhythm on the rose colored tiles in the hallway just outside the office door.

As I stood and prepared to dive under my desk for protection from whatever was now lurking outside in the hallway the door suddenly flew open, slamming against the inside wall. With a loud yell a wild eyed man, his dark face painted with intricate white designs, his body dressed in a long mustard colored robe with a leopard’s skin draped over one shoulder burst screaming into my office. Grabbing me by the arm he dragged me out into the hall to stand behind my co-workers who had also been pulled from their offices.

My heart was pounding as I leaned down, took off my high-heeled shoes and threw them back into my office at his hollered instruction. There, standing in my stocking feet I raised my arms up over my head.

I looked at the faces around me and suddenly grinned and yelled out gleefully as I continued down the hall with this entourage of strange people, stopping only to collect other workers and students along the way.

We were all now officially a part of the Cal Art’s African Dance Ensemble. The colorfully dressed men and women from the Ensemble carried drums, symbols and gourds that rattled. They had decided that today was the perfect day for a festival and there could never be a better time than now for a parade. Of course to have a parade you needed dancers and people, so you just went down the halls, closed all the offices and created your own parade, after all everyone should be included when it was time for a wonderful festival.

Soon we had the “Conga” line to beat all “Conga” lines going, at least a hundred people snaking down the halls and out onto the grassy quad. The fencers from the Acting Department put down their epees and came in full fencing regalia, there were dancers in tutus and tights, painters dressed, as artists have dressed for centuries, in their dark, torn, paint covered shirts, trying their hardest to look poor and homeless. Professors dancing alongside secretaries, even some outside visitors were now all a part of the whole, one large dancing mass, twirling, turning, stomping, dipping, shouting, laughing, following the drummers and the other African musicians who led this wave of humanity.

Here beside me were members of the Sequoia String Quartet from the music department, looking so unlike their usually stoic selves when they performed Bach or Vivaldi, actors from the theater department, some in Shakespearian costume, custodians, musicians from the Asian Gavalon band, all dancing as one.

As I danced along with this river of humanity on this wonderful day I was reminded that this is the way we should all live our lives. Every now and then, taking our shoes off, throwing our arms in the air, shouting gleefully, and dancing through the hallways of our worlds collecting everyone we come in contact with, and never forgetting it’s festival time!!!