FROM THE MOON TO THE EARTH I dreamt. In the dream I was thinking about human beings who had been off-world, standing on a surface not of terrestrial origin. The symbolism, being minor compared to the ACTUAL EXPERIENCE. Oh, yes. … Continue reading
Greetings, sports fans. Your humble editor/observer of whatever-it-is in what passes for his small corner of the yooniverse reflects and ruminates on various things. Fortunately, few, or no pixures of the aggravating stuff. The banged-up beat-up stuff. (Yes, our local … Continue reading
The horse-head profile of the Quadriped-Inuk of The Front Yard against the billowy blanket-rolls of the oncoming storm … somewhat benign (the storm, that is) at this point. Wish I had either the camera or (more probably) the patience, eye, … Continue reading
PLEASE CLOSE the GATE. (Another boring high-desert ramble Wif Da Dorgz)
I don’t know what they’re keeping out, or in. Perhaps they just want to make all the motor-idiots slow down, even stop, while going from one side to the other. This gate nor fence wouldn’t deter the bighorns, below …
The Nine-Mile Hill bighorn sheep herd, part of which is pictured above, hadn’t been very visible these past few months. Today, they’re out grazing, in their full glory for all the nearby highway traffic to view.
Meanwhile, back at “the gate” Rocksea, Sleven, and Dually engage in a pre-hike sniffaroony.
We stop on a ridgetop just south of what I call East Pass to Cactus Park. View is to northwest — with snow-covered Pinyon Mesa on the horizon, and the red desert sandstone cliffs along Unaweep Canyon beyond the relatively flat Cactus Park. What would be impressively visible just a couple miles further west — unseen from this vantage point — are the massive pre-cambrian granite cliffs which displace and replace the reddish sandstone.
Turning 120-degrees to the east, we look to the shaley steep slopes of theBookcliffs. What you can’t see is that my house, along with a few thousand others, is on the valley floor before the Bookcliffs.
Gibbler Mountain, the primary west-edge landmark of Cactus Park. A pleasant breezy cloudily-scattered-cloudy day.
Dool pauses alongside an inuk-thingy in the trees.
Rocksea peers down …
The truck is just off the “road” towards the left.
We get home. The kitten is prostrate at the foot of the Lithograph of the Cat-Saint Bearing Fish.
… we’re in trouble.
Dogzeneye discover the Wombat Cow-Skull Shrine.
Darned E T’s. What should be a glorious sunrise is compromised, thrown into a bit of doubt, by yet another of their hovering spy-craft keeping watch on us. The thinly-veiled attempt at disguising it as a cloud didn’t fool me. I think they’re wasting their time keeping me under surveillance! So, later in the day I decide to go on a foray into the Olivivas Wilderness Area, taking the dogs along with.
The weatherman warned to “expect a bit of weather,” and bit of weather it (whatever “it” is) did, indeed. What had been a dry mostly cloudless week rapidly changed. The front rolled in …
Dually peers down into gathering fog. Soon, it began to snow. (First of “the season” for this area). The white stuff melted pretty quick after it hit the ground, but there were brief intense flurries.
The clouds thickened. The wind picked up. RockSea gives the lower elevation one last look before we turned and …
… stumbled onto the Wombat CowSkull Shrine. In a mysterious* open area where nothing grew, the word “wombat” was spelled-out with rocks. Above it was a sort of … shrine? Totem? Warning symbol?
*(“Mysterious” as during our trek we moved through as thick a forest as one would encounter in the “high desert” — which our region is categorized as. Yeah … this forest wouldn’t be “thick” in, say, the Pacific Northwest).
View of the Wombat from right-to-left, and
from left-to-right.
Rocksea and the mysterious assemblage of bones. The dogs didn’t even linger to consider hauling off a piece for gnawing. (There was a large enough collection of the rest of the skeleton nearby).
I checked the time and we would have to hurry to get back to the car before dark.
I usually have a basic idea of where I am when in the Olivivas Wilderness Area. This time I was put to the test, what with fog and diminishing light. And I had a difficult time keeping my cigar lit. We arrived back where the car was parked with less than five minutes before it would have been completely dark.
Is everything related to everything else? or are there many disparate un-connected random chaotic aspects and things and trends winding about? Somehow, it made sense when I got home and checked the stats on my blog. One search term which someone had entered, and was directed to this site was:
“Our give a shit expired long ago”
It’s like the man said, when this happens, I think you can then DO THINGS without a sense of attachment nor identification with the fruits of your actions. Hompity ho …
She? and what she knew … we’ll get to that. But first, wha gwan a la casa baytoonawdaw …
Slev & da Rox watch the SunTea Brewin’. Broodin’? Does a watcht pawt ever boil? May a Moody Baby Doom a Yam? (i borrerrd thet frum Bela Fleck, a palindrome sawng).
I made up a palindrome once. Maybe it’ll fit in, somewhere, nicely, some day. Probably not.
A big windstorm swept through our place over a week ago. Among the usual tree branches and trash cans donated to downwind neighbors (and inheriting similar from houses upwind) the inuk-thingy in the middull of the yard blew over.
I started to rebuild it last weekend. I mentioned to Betty that I’d been considering quadripedal inunnguaqs (except that particular werd applies to “human-like”) — or inukshuk. “Why not start now, with this one?” she said.
I’ll build another, as soon as. Prob’ly ain’t obvious, but I have a toadull amphibious aspect in mind.
View from opposite dye-erexion.
The people who built our house, almost 60 years ago! were the only inhabitants ’til we acquired it some 20 years ago. Yeah, “my, how time flies” — or the maggots self-propagate, or whatever. Anyhow, the lady of the house took pride in her roses. Won ribbons at the county fair. It’s amazing the roses persevere, regardless and definitely IN SPITE OF our continuing benign neglect. Above is just about the last rose of the season.
There aren’t many pixures of Terry, or sometimes “Serena.” Terry struts down the walk and by choice/volition doesn’t get out much. (At first I didn’t notice the Inuk-of-the-Lower-Yard, at top).
No-one’s gettin’ in the lower level door without this doorbell ringin’. Or, more probably, a lotta tail-waggin’ and droolin’ from Doolie.
Bruce is about to attack a pile of dandelion leaves. A new era, in whatever form it’ll manifest we have no idea, is underway, in that I discovered Bruce likes certain kinds of DOG-FOOD. (I didn’t know that ’til today).
Dandelion devourment.
milli hangin’ with “the bird”
This is one bird, the only bird on the premises, which the cats usually leave alone. Da bird is ensuring that the flower-planter-box on the north side of the house continues to be inhospitable to flowers, as it likes to lounge in the safety and comfort many afternoons there.
Earlier today (mercifully NOT pixured) I ran a 5k race and failed yet again at what has become my only goal in any race –> DON’T set a new P W (for non-runners: “personal worst” — slowest time ever). I smashed my previous PW. But I’m still, barely (barelier) sub-8. Then … Betty bought a new bed (to replace the one we’ve had for 20-plus years) and to prepare for the delivery in a few days, we spent a few hours clearing, cleaning, re-arranging, cleaning, tossing stuff out, un-re-arranging, consolidating and, while we’re at it, put up new curtains and hardware over some windows. The heavy lifting was done by two of Betty’s college life-guard swimming buddies who moved the old bed and all appertunances thereto to the garage. You don’t want any pixures of that, do you?
Retreating back in time, I went into the secret laboratory and brought an old essay back from the crypt. Not quite a blast? (more like old w(h)ine) from the passed.
blorg of the least beast high on fermented yeast? or —
She knew the nagual, and the nagual knew her.
okeh… how’s that for the start of the book? depends. if i conjured up 300-some pages to go with it, great. however, the never-ending downward spiral seemingly is infinite. sigh.
i do NOTHING well. that is, i’m really good at nothing. everything, or anything — for that matter — i’m not so good at.
i aspire to be mediocre at various things. golf: mediocrity would be a step up. hockey: gosh, i’d like to improve two or three steps to become merely mediocre. home-improvement projects: well, i think mediocrity is within reach, but it slips away, usually.
i am good at a thing, or two, but i can’t really tell anybody. really. whether or not i’m right about that, it doesn’t matter. (yes, it’s like that).
now, back to the realm where mediocrity is a possibly unattainable dream… a guy i knew about 20 years back joked about starting The Institute of/for the Useless. he was a/the prime example. at that time i felt somewhat above useless. but when talking about it, i had not only empathy, but what i thought were good suggestions for the curriculum.
now, i’m not so sure — about being “above” useless — what with the aspirations for mediocrity and all.
there have got to be good and positive and healthy and spiritual and emotionally-uplifting things going on, for somebody, somewhere. has to be. a counterbalance to all this negative stuff.
what negative stuff? someone might ask. whoa — somebody might question the absolute force of negativity in this whirled? heh …
ah, fee-yuck. shuck the attempts to be filosawfeekal. the flip sighed uv the quoin is apprehension of the open-ness, the un-folding, whirled without comprehensible end, omen.
tomorrow betty wants for us to participate in a double-suicide attempt. take both horses out on the trail. maybe it’ll snow, or the good news snoid will slither by with directions to the treasure chest in the forest, or one or the other or both of us will be struck in the head by the effervescent esoteric luminescent tendril of good sense and/or sublime intelligence or in some other fashion have my/our/her I.Q. instantly elevated to at least double what it/they is/are presently. ah …. (intoned after a good voiding).
suicide? tomorrow, continued: and in a vain/futile attempt to re-establish a semblance of familial harmony, she has arranged for my brothers and us to go out for dinner tomorrow. the sort of experiment i/we don’t need. speekin’ of weird experiments … in a little over a month we venture with the one (non-disparate) brother to las vague-ass to attend the spamalot show.
but, what is it, if anything, i’m looking forward to? perhaps i’d like to be in the mindset or spirit-set where i really do have to pay complete attention all the time. not a lascivious, greedy, soul-sucking sort of attention. attention to … it.
she knew the nagual, and the nagual knew her.
sara didn’t know she knew the nagual. it was a gradual thing. the nagual, of course, didn’t care.
Who is “sara”? she is the protagonist (the main one, other protagonists take the stage from time to time) in my ongoing novel (gnawvell) which will probably never be published. The way I’m “writing” Sara, she does seem to intuitively know Naggy Wall, but not let it affect her. It’s like she doesn’t know she knows. Kind of like how I think I might feel some of the time when I depress the clutch on the personal-interaction-with-the-world mechanism, and just, let, it
rosco betunada, in the year 2007, hadn’t, fundamentally, changed, at all.
¿Alguien quire saber que algunas personas con un nombre apellido español quienes en la clase media hacer un Sabado ordinario? Nada mucho. No somos ricos, no somos pobres. Pero, no nos gustamos los dos partidos polìtico mejor. ♪ Vote partido tercero! (Pero local, vote con su corazon y su cerebro).
Digo que no esta un vistazo significado — esta ordinario (o menos que ordinario).
La primera cosa esta mañana para me fue una carrera (de pie). Corrì bien. Entonces, a casa mi esposa quiere parame a ayudar ella en jardinerìa. Afuera, hace calor, por lo general. Entonces … tiempo por el piscina. Mejor …
Arriba: hay 22 fotos. Mas temprano, son de la piscina. “Betty” esta alado de, con un gato debajo su asiento. Mire los nublados sobre los “BookCliffs” al norte de nosotros.
Hay viente-dos; a la izquierda a derecho, arriba a debajo:
1. Sì. Bookcliffs, nublados, la piscina de Betty … El perro es “Koda.” Estamos cuidado el perro de nuestro hijo.
2. Bookcliffs, nublados … verano despacio y …
3. ¿ Ve el gato debajo el asiento?
4. El gato debajo el asiento …
5. Mas de mismo, y nalgas de RockSea …
6. Nublados sobre del “Book Cliffs”
7. El (la ?) inuk-thingy en frente del casa, y flores, y …
8. Vista al sur de la casa (cerro sin arboles)
9. Nuestro “lago” (estanque) y nuestro canoa esta listo para un viaje corto
10. Nosotros cuidar un niño, no … cuidar el perro de nuestro hijo. Pelota pelota — “ball ball.” (El gusta a traer la pelota).
11. Casa, nublado (sobre el “Grand Mesa”), arbol
12. Bruce dormiendo. Es verano, vd. sabe …
13. Inuk-thingy, Sleven, RockSea
14. Dos inuk-cosas en las afueras de nuestro lugar. Miriendo a sur …
15. Ooh … ¿ ve el rayo láser despues el camión y el buzón ?
16. ♪¿ No paso en la mierda de perro!
17. No caminar en las hormigas …
18. No se la palabra en español por –> inunnguaq — o — inuksuit — o — inukshuk, me llaman los “inukthingies” (inuk-cosas). Este es el inukthingy en frente de nuestro casa, al lado de la buzòn. Mire los nublados sobre de la Grand Mesa …
19. Dos perros (uno es de mi hijo — “Koda”) al norte de nuestro casa.
20. Dos perros negros …
21. Betty es “Wulf-Muthur” (la madre de los lobos) — porque ellos gusta a estar cerca de ella mucho del tiempo.
22. Cuatro perros (y la bicicleta de mi esposa) en el camiòn de ella — sobre el “Grand Mesa” el Domingo pasado — que divertido.
Ay caramba. El ùltimo fin-de-semana de Julio fue difìcil para me porque estuve cansado. Asi que …
Mis perros y yo fueron de caminar cerca de las MicroOndas de Nuevo-Milla-Cerro (“Nine Mile Hill”). Este es “Duallie” en una caverna (pequeño) con un pared de “hornunculuses.”
Es el re-construccìon de “inuk-thingy” de Whitewater. Es un dìa nublado y un pocito magnìfico, verdad?
Dually (y la cola de Rocksea) cerca un otro “Inuk thingy” de Whitewater. (¿Es una lengua grande, sì?)
eddie and his mom brush (or maybe just ‘comb’) the beach at Port Angeles
Mi hija y mi nieto en la playa cerca de Port Angeles, estado de Washington. No, no fui allì — mis hijos fueron … fui solamente cerca de mì casa …
2 excellent high-octane darky cerverzas ..
Son dos de mi favorita cervezas oscuras. Old Rasputin (North Coast Brewing) y Storm King (Victory, de “Downington” Pennsylvania). Recuerde: fue un fin-de-semana que nada paso.
the feral cats in the jungle hog the watering hole
Los tigres buscan y quedarsen en un estanque en la selva …
the bean ranch arch, discovered by explorer dawgz
Un arco (“el” arco?) de Bean Ranch, Whitewater. Hay arcos cerca de mì casa que no estan en Moab !
arco de rancho frijole
Este arco es, mas-o-menos, veinte kilometros despues de mì casa. Hay un arco MAS GRANDE que es diez kilometros (o menos) despues de mì casa.
inukthingy de nuevo-milla palo, numero dos
Es el inukthingy de Nuevo-Milla Cerro numero dos porque construì un otro hace unos meces. Creo que numero uno es muy difìcil a encontrar …
Desafortunatamente, no estoy aqui. Mì yerno y mì hija fueron a Port Angeles mas temprano de este mes. Mì yerno tomò este foto. ¿ Magia, sì ?
Summer’s here, as it is, presumably, almost everywhere north of the eeek!weightor. Day-time highs have been 100 (f). Good weather for forest fires …
The Pine Ridge fire, only about 10 miles north of our house. It was the largest (17k acres) in our area for quite some time. However, outside of the immediate region, it was un-noticed, due to its larger and more dangerous brethern elsewhere in the state.
We promised our dogs, who hadn’t been getting out much, that they would become DOGS OF THE FOREST. Sunday, July 1, we drove up Unaweep Canyon, turned off and up Divide Road, into the Dominguez (or Uncompahgre) Plateau.
Telephone Trail (near Dominguez Wilderness Area) crosses laFair Creek
We got out at the north head of Telephone Trail. No idea why its called that. It was still hot and dry where we were, but about 20 degrees cooler than at home. I thought we hiked down, along, then across the upper Dominguez Creek — but looked at a map later and we were in the LaFair Creek drainage (a tributary of the upper Dominguez). Challenging trail — posted for hikers and horses only. I suppose real ‘gonzo’ mountain bikers might have enjoyed it …
dogs of the forest, or of the rocks
The dogs appreciate being off-leash, out of the yard, and loose.
Betty’s hat & fir symmetry
Betty notices things I don’t. Like intricacies of flowers, insects, and the pattern of fir-tree branches.
more fir symmetry
Telephone Trail, once we made the steep and difficult-footing descent into LaFair Canyon, and the steeper climb out, actually becomes relatively level. We continued into the forest, lamenting occasionally that the area sure could use some rain.
Bruce is doing well
Meanwhile, back at home, Bruce is doing well. She (Betty insists Bruce is female) eats a pile of food seemingly equal to her body size every day during “eating season.”
inuksuit watches fire
The Pine Ridge fire burned for about a week. As you can see, the smoke resembles cumulus clouds once carried up high enough. And, we promised Rocksea, Sleven, and Dually that they’d be Dogs of The Forest again, soon.
cumulus growing fingers, near Cedaredge
Betty wanted to visit an art gallery, in search of works of a particular artist. On July 4th we drove to Cedaredge, to the Apple Shed Gallery, where she bought a silk screen, reminescent of the Oregon or Washington seacoast. (Artist’s name is mostly illegible — “Houksema”?) Cedaredge is logical as the first part of a Grand Mesa loop.
Island lake (regionally famous) on the whirled-faymuss Grand Mesa
From Cedaredge, we continued UP into (and onto) the Grand Mesa. What we wanted was a trailhead that wasn’t crowded. All the big reservoirs were miniature Coney Islands. Crag Crest Trail, where we had hoped to visit, was pretty popular also.
Lake RockSea Mirror
We stopped at the Mesa Top Trailhead. There were three other vehicles there. We had never heard of this before — and later, when I looked at maps, it must be ‘new’ as it wasn’t on any map I viewed. The Mesa, once you’re on top, is about as “relatively” level as you’re gonna be in the forest … or the glades …
mesa glade
The Mesa Top trail is a single-track, marked for hikers and mountain-bikes only. It was quite a change from “back home, down in the valley” as the temperature was maybe 70 and the area did not appear dry. In fact, it sprinkled, light rain, on us a few times.
rocksea, slevven
And yes, they were DOGS OF THE FOREST. On our way back we decided that the two younger dogs may have gone twice as far as we — what with the weaving back and forth, charging off into the trees, and, as often as possible, into the ponds and swamps.
flower yellow butterfly
As stated before, Betty notices things.
leaf green bug
(This was actually noticed on our Dominguez hike a few days before).
mesa glade, rain cloud
Betty pointed out the red, white, and blue flowers. Pretty appropriate for the day.
the dogs liked this!
This pond was about a mile from the trailhead. A pretty neat camping spot. Later, I found out from a fireman that what I thought was state-wide strict fire-restrictions was relaxed on the Mesa. We could have camped, with a fire.
Dually, cairns
lavender? flowerz
Sleven, amongst the cairns
We turned around at “the cairns” — about 2.5 miles from where we started. Good thing, the black dog has gotten so that this is “far” for him.
ladies of the forest
The ladies of the forest. Usually Rocksea is off and away, looking for small animals to torment. Or strange grunge to either roll in and/or eat.
(axually, this is from the previous hike, top (north) of LaFair Canyon)
We got back to the trailhead and talked to a couple who were looking at the billboard-map. They told us that further out on the same trail, they had seen a moose. I remarked that (1) I had NEVER seen a Colorado moose, and (2) our dogs would have, no doubt, run toward it, only to be CHASED AWAY.
We packed into the truck and completed the loop, through Mesa Lakes, Mesa (itself), and I-70 back home. It was 90+ degrees. The rest of the day, due to fireworks restrictions, was about as quiet a July 4th as there ever was. Oh, and the cat was apparently waiting for the mailman. (He must not have known that there’d be no mail delivery on July 4th.)
The post(wo)man hates this
Our mail delivery-person is sometimes harassed by the dogs. Now he (or she, when he is “off”) has a different problem …
Does he think the mailman has kitty treats?
shadows on the periphery (5/17/12) Bowerman & the Men of Oregon Just read the chapter of the 1976 olympix, and what else gwan in the life of B B. I AM VINDICATED: i haven’t told anyone about this, ’til now, … Continue reading
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