Opining Online

Take a look at the two images at Weather Nerd. Talk about a well-developed storm.

That is what I’ve done on the Democrat Convention. May I do so well on the Republican one.

I’ve outgrown slowing down to merely ogle, I slow down and get out of the way as soon as possible. Is that a sign of maturity? Probably not, since I’m doing it and I don’t claim maturity, just age.

It’s more like the novelty has worn off. I’ve seen plenty of that.

That’s why I’m not watching more of the Democrat’s Convention. Oh sure, I’ve seen snippets, read others and so far, nothing new. More of the same, except a bit jaded and worn around the edges.

That does not mean I don’t have a few observations to make. I did pass by, afterall.

Michelle Obama is a much better, much more articulate speaker than her husband with or without a teleprompter.

You just knew some silly TV reporter was going to have to try Rocky Mountain Oysters on camera, didn’t you? mmm… tastes like chicken nuggets, but much better than McDonald’s. Remind me to tell you about the parties some rancher friends of ours used to throw.

I don’t remember the Kennedy’s playing such a big role at the 2004 Dem convention. Is that my poor memory or is the Dems way of telling them goodbye? It seems strange. If it’s goodbye, is it hello to backroom Clinton influence for years to come? oh dear.

My Dad just called me and reminded me that we, the voters, are responsible for the candidates we get. Well… yes, and no. The two party system is part of the problem. The primaries narrow it down to who is supposedly the least offensive of the field, so we get to choose between two of the ones that survive that process. On the positive side, it does usually weed out the nuttier of the bunch on both sides.

Does that process really take into consideration who would be best for the country?

Term limits, folks. I’m in favor more and more.

Save Senator Obama Kogelo Secondary School

I’m not voting for Obama, but that’s no reason to ignore his father’s hometown school. Education is the first step. Obama’s father and Juliette Ochieng’s father both got the advantage of advanced education in the United States. I think it’s fitting that the offspring of at least one of them returns the favor.

Hopefully both will.

Not being one of the wealthiest people anywhere, I’m not able to donate very much, but I have so far donated a little bit two months in a row and plan to keep doing so. I hope some of you will join me!

I promised more photos of the picnic location in the post below. It is an area called Johnson Park off the Little Cimarron Road in Western Colorado.

In the early 1950s, my father and several of his relatives brought sawmills to the mountains of Colorado from Arkansas. This was a summertime adventure, as Johnson Park and the other places they placed their portable sawmills were not generally accessible in winter.

I was born in 1953, when the sawmill was located near Sapinero, Colorado. That’s not the Sapinero you will find on current maps. The Sapinero my parents lived in was moved when the Blue Mesa Reservoir was created in the early 1960s. The original location is now under water. I was born in the hospital in Gunnison, Colorado in mid July.

My very earliest memories are of living in a “sawmill shack” in Johnson Park. These memories probably date 1956-1957, making me about four years old.

Here are two Johnson Park photos of the slab pile burning and a lunchtime “picnic” for the men. It could have been a Sunday afternoon. The photos were developed and dated Aug 1955.

Here’s Here’s the sawmill site, 2008

Never underestimate the power of nature.  It’s hardly recognizable as an industrial site, is it?

I’ve been looking for a photo of the “sawmill shack” we lived in. It consisted of a kitchen (wood burning stove and table) and a bunk room. My parents had no privacy, nor did we children. It was basically a tarpaper shack built with slabs. I know a photo exists — I can see it but I can’t find it.

Here’s the current view from the front of where our shack sat:

Here’s the view from the back (to the right):

My mother had a dream that I drowned when she was pregnant with me, so she was paranoid about me going near the water. Nevertheless, I remember wading in the creek at the back of the shack. My brother remembers rescuing me from the middle of the creek when I was very young. He says that’s the only time he remembers me being quite that glad to see him.

Why did my father go to Colorado to make his “fortune”? The answer lies in his WWII service, which he spent most of at Fitzsimmons Hospital near Denver. He said he looked from his hospital window and dreamed of trucks hauling his logs and his lumber out of the mountains, but especially all those trucks had his name on the doors.

He is one of the fortunate people who saw their dream come true. Here he is during his time at Fitzsimmons:

That man does not resemble the robust character that I’ve always known as my father. He overcame a lot.

In the summer of 1959, there was a forest fire that threatened the timber my father wanted to cut. It also threatened the sawmill itself, but we stayed there throughout the summer. Dad has recently told of his theft of Forest Service water trucks which were not to be used on private land. The Forest Service was waiting for the fire to reach public land before helping to fight it.

Thanks to my Dad (and his relatives/crew) the fire didn’t reach public land. It would have if they’d not stolen, er… borrowed the water trucks.

I remember my mother cooking night and day for the crews fighting the fire. It wasn’t just our sawmill crews, but the men from ranches who had cattle and sheep in the area. Night and day she cooked and had food ready for the men fighting the fire. I cannot today imagine the labor and sheer strength it took to do this on a wood-fired stove with little help. What I remember is not being allowed to go outside and the ominous wall of flame I saw from the door.

This is one memory that helped form my distrust of “authority”. That fall, I was enrolled in public school in Montrose, CO and asked to tell about my summer “vacation”. I told about the forest fire and the teacher accused me of making it up. If I’d wanted to make something up, I would have told her about the fairies living in the skunk cabbage.

It’s obvious I do not know what I am doing when it comes to placing photos properly in Wordpress. Yes, I’m ignorant here, but I’m also tired of messing with this post… so, if you can’t figure out which photo goes with which text, email. I’ll try to explain.

Could it be simply the ability to play?

My father, age 85:

My father, age 85

My granddaughter, age 18 months.

So it took me a few days instead of just one to recover from our decision to drive home without stopping. My dear husband and I are too old for that.

The best part of the trip was my grandchildren. This is the first time we’ve ever had all four of them together and it was awesome. The best part of the grandchildren part was the birth of #4 happening while we were there.

Baby Addie, as she’s called by her big brothers, was born Aug 1, 2008. In this photo she’s about 3 1/2 hours old. For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure, I’m here to tell you that there’s nothing quite comparable to cradling a sleepy and content newborn in your arms.

My goal was to get a photograph of all four grandchildren together. That never got off the ground because it was hard enough getting the older three in the same room at the same time, much less facing the camera.

Here’s Addie’s big brother, Janson, waiting for his Papa to throw the ball to the sky. He’s 19 months old and quite a rambunctious character.

Addie’s bigger brother, Aidan, is really more interested in monsters and superheroes than baseball, but I think he’s got potential. If becoming a superhero or baseball star doesn’t work out, he’s got considerable heavy equipment operating experience to fall back on. He’s a first rate wielder of crayons too.

Their cousin, 18 month old Isabelle, was totally uncooperative in having Nonna get a nice still shot of her that day. Too many new toys, too many new cousins and way too much to do. This shot of her is a couple of days later at a picnic in the mountains.

In a later post, I’ll have several more pictures of this location. It is the first place I lived as a child that I have actual memories of.

We’re back home and we’re exhausted. I didn’t realize how tired I was until I walked in the door and saw my bed. I’m going to go crawl in it now. Pictures and commentary tomorrow!