Thanksgiving?

Okay, it's a week late. But that is a picture of Peggy atop the shifting sands of Great Sand Dunes National Park on Thanksgiving. 

Since neither of us has immediate family here? We typically try to do something different on this holiday. This year we spend T'give eve in Taos, New Mexico. [SEE PIC TWO] And then spend the special day of giving thanks climbing the Sand Dunes.

How special are the Sand Dunes? [SEE PIC THREE] 

T'give night we spend in Salida where some of Peggy's kin used to hang out.

So what are we thankful for? We get a room in Taos with out calling ahead.  There isn't enough snow for the winter crowd to show up yet.  We are also here on the last day of the traditional off-season.

Now here is a new one on me and I'm sure thankful about it.  On this day we are eligible for both Triple A and the AARP discounts. And on top of that?  We get a gift pack that includes a ten dollar razor in it?  And we get a free glass of wine at the bar.  And we get 15 percent off our evening meal?  And we get free hot breakfast.  (We have to pay for the orange juice.)

We are thankful for the beautiful drive back up to the Sand Dunes. We are thankful we get to the top of the Dunes for the first time. [You'll know what I mean when you try it sometime.] But guess what?  The only day of the year they waive the fee to get into a National Park that I know of? You guessed it!

But the thanks just keeps comin'. In Salida? Here we are thankful for the ONLY place of business OPEN to get a "bite to eat" on this special EATING day. Name? You might of heard of it.  PIZZA HUT!

Thank you, thank you, thank you Pizza Hut. I'm pretty sure I give our waiter a "tip" he can retire on.  You ever try their "meatball pasta?"  Not bad on Thanksgiving after spending the day crawling up a Sand Pile.

Oh, and we're also thankful for the Turkey Dinner our neighbors, The Kwits, bring over to the house the day after Thanksgiving.

My goodness we are blessed. And, oh yeah!  We are so thankful our friend Stephenie Davis is out of the hospital and on the mend.

That's all the big stuff. Hope your thanks list is a good one, too.

[Addendum: Thanks to our other neighbors the Helvigs for shoveling our sidewalk.]

A Quickie!

Every once in a while (hardly ever actually) some one asks me what it takes to become a TV photographer. [DON'T CALL THEM CAMERA MEN OR WOMEN!] 

Well, clearly, I'd say five years of  ballet, ten years of yoga, all concurrent with 15 years of weight training.

( Just as an experiment?  I try to get into that position without a camera? Put the chiropractor on retainer! Man, it really stretches the spot where the Hamstring and the Glutumus interact.)

I'm going to take a break from this for a few days. Happy Thanksgiving.

Make sure you read the posting before this one and you'll know quite well what she's lookin at.

 

That's new, isn't it?

[Credit where due: My Camera. Peggy's Eye!]

They've opened a section of Light Rail here that is finally functional for "MOI".  Peggy and I joined the masses and explored it for free for a day. I am so excited.

I was actually doing a daily radio feature back in the 70's called "Tighten Your Belt." It was motivated by one of our other energy crises. On a particular week I'd explored the on-going reluctance of citizens to get into car pools.  So let me run this by you as kind of a test.

Car Pools don't work in the West because?

A. Western Folks like their personal freedom.

B. Nobody goes to work in the same direction at the same time.

C. It's tough to get more than two people at a time in the cab of a pickup.

D. People moving here from Chicago, Boston, New York and D.C. are alone behind the wheel for the first time in their lives.

Well this was a time of great in-migration in this state. And the answer from regional planning surveys of the time?  Uh, huh! D!! So as is turns out....most of us born and reared out here in God's Country will kill to let someone else do the driving.  Cars are for vacations and business trips.

I take my students on little "Golly Gee" walks near campus a couple of times a semester.  I love to point out that Light Rail actually originated in this "Cow Town."  And that was apparently the problem, and part of the reason it's taken another hundred years to get it going again. You see?  The early railcars were driven by electricity installed right down there with the track.  Seems you get a good rain? Well, SPARKS FLY. And? Say goodbye to some cows and horses and a few good men.  I'm sure there  is some "myth" in there somewhere.  But I'm assured that's all ESSENTIALLY true.

This light rail thing was a big story for me while I was reportin' for a livin'. I can ramble on till you keel over suffering from severe ennui. Not gonna happen.

I'm going to steal some wit and wisdom from local schizoid reporter Adam Schrager. (He is a print and TV reporter on the same days.) Sharing with one of my classes a few years ago he says, and I quote I think, " In print I write to explain. In TV? I write to enhance."

Take one more look at Peggy's picture. I've already over-enhanced.

Follow the Bouncing Ball

Any effort to disquise my age went out the window with the selection of that title. If you're scratching your head, just ask any AARP card carrying member in your neighborhood.  [Make that the AARP card plus 10 years.]

"Why would I follow the bouncing ball?"

So in my on-going effort to find a variety of activities to keep me in shape? What can I do, all by myself if need be,  that will enhance muscle building, flexibility and aerobic capacity?

Well I'm down in the basement looking for a box or something and trip over what looks to be a dried up pumpkin.  On closer examination I discover I am in the presence of a deflated basketball. Touching it with my fingers sets off an explosion of long term memory spikes. It feels like shock treatment [I think].

Most of my BBall life consists of street pickup games. Fortunate for me betting on the outcome isn't a big deal in my "time." Just so you know? I am the poster child for "White Men Can't Jump." Only, unlike Woody Harrelson? I'm not faking it.

But I'm not a bad shot, and in a half court game, I can move around quick enough to get a shot off now and then. And football teaches me enough tricks to survive on a basketball court when there is not a referee around. Part of my nickname "Rhino" is derived from my basketball court behavior.

Anyway, finding this "pumpkin" in the basement inspires me to spend a buck and half to get some air needles and pump that sucker up.

[They always sell them in twos because they know you are going to push too hard  and break the first one.]

So, anyway, I miss getting any exercise yesterday? And so I decide to punish myself at 6 am by heading out with my blown up pumpkin to look for an outdoor court.  [IT'S 33 DEGREES OUT.]

I know this is going to be helpful to just a scintilla of you. The rest have no conceivable rationale to follow suit.  The fact I find the court and have it all to myself might be a clue.  But for anyone, who for any reason, might find a motivation to follow suit, I'd like to share with you my impressions.  The rest of you can just restrain your guffaws while I get through it.

My first surprise is this park court has both it's nets up and intact. Wow! Not in my day. I'm even pretty sure the rims aren't bent more than an inch or two. There must be a BBall cop in the neighborhood.

Some quick advice if you are going toshoot hoops at this time of day?  Check for ice.  The window scraper from your car can be helpful at this temperature.   Also, with a flashlight, check the surface for cracks that might eat your ankles or swallow you up in the dark.

I'm still talking only to those of you who are thinking about doing this for no good reason. Don't even consider leaving your warmups. Odds that you will?  Warm Up?  Not good.

Here's some good news. I 've been wondering, although I never see it? Can you shoot a basketball with gloves on?

You know Golfers use them, Quarterbacks and Wide Receivers use them. Hockey players wear them, etc., etc., etc. [You know I don't think I've ever seen Rugby Players wear them.] And my visual memory has never recorded a basketball player wearing them.  So maybe, just maybe, I'm breaking new ground here. I am hitting just as many shots with them on, as off. Are they even legal?

I don't have a whole lot else to share with you.  In fact, I think I'm going to bow out with this next piece of information.

If you are going to shoot around at 6 am, before the sun comes up? Expect a reaction. Folks in the neighborhood have accustomed themselves to the PLOP of the morning paper. They can sleep through the KLINK of the milk bottles being set down on the front porch [I didn't even know they did that anymore]. The RUMBLE, CLUNK,  KARUSH of the trash truck is tolerated.

But to my knowledge most folks are not used to FOLLOWING THE BOUNCING BALL at this time of day. And from what I can see? And hear? They don't like it.

They also don't seem to like the honking horns of commuters driving by who can't believe you are out here!

I probably won't do this every day.  It IS nice to know though,  that you can always get a court.

Try shooting with gloves some time. It's a hoot!

"Whose Tripping Down The Streets of The City?"

"EVERYONE KNOWS IT'S WINDY."

[Don't call me, Larry Ramos. I know she spells it with an 'E'.]

Of all the weather conditions we are asked to weather? Wind would be my least favorite. Maybe it is all those liveshots in snowstorms where the reporter takes the brunt of the wind so the photographer can keep his or her lens clear.

[If you've ever judged a reporter in that set of circumstances with something like, " Jeez, can't  that reporter pronounce anything right?" Well, TAKE IT BACK!  You try it sometime.]

Maybe it is this story where I'm in the parking lot, on the east side of a 7 story building, in January? This downslope wind from the west kicks up to 60 mph? Well it swirls around the building creating a wind shear over ice?  This wind shear sucks me in and sends me speed skating in my Florsheims for about 200 feet. I escape with a scraped knee...but you can imagine what it does to my wind opinion.

There are a hundred of these stories, but I think you get my point.

I know it is going to be windy and chilly today? It kills my enthusiasm for a bike ride.  So I opt for a brisk walk. And oddly, I'm glad. You see there ARE some really NICE things about wind .  Of course some of them have to do with timing and no snow.

I tell my Broadcast Journalism students to always be looking for great moving pictures and dramatic natural sound. Check your calendar and see if you can guess where I'm going with this.

I don't care where you live on the planet, or what your allegience, there is almost nothing more dramatic and heart rending as a Flag Flapping at Full Rectangle.. Thank you Veterans day for reminding me. You could have your eyes tightly shut.  And if I were to play a pixel or two of a flag flapping, 98.9 percent of you would identify it immediately. [ A few of us might mix it up with apparrel out on the clothesline. Just a few of us.]

But if I want to kick it up to 99.9 percent, I'd add the rhythmic rapping of the hardware on the flag's tether against the flagpole. Nothing else sounds like that. Nothing else spurs the same emotional clanking in the brain.

And I've always loved the wind's relationship with leaves.  Today, this late in Fall, the leaves are dry, thin, crunchy. And yeah, they rustle a lot on grass.  But I like the sounds they produce on concrete and asphalt. I love the big crisp Mapleand Oak leaves on asphalt. They sound like galloping herds of horses. If you've got a tailwind, it's as if you are running with them.  A head wind? Look Out! You are about to get trampled.

Two neighborhood girls come by last week, and want to rake our leaves? I say "come back this coming week when all the Aspen have undressed."

When they get here I think I'm going to make handing them a rake provisional on them playing in those leaves for an hour. That's another cool windy picture full of natural sound I'd forgotten about.

Of course, we could skip to the Spring and get the father and his offspring in the Park. They are running and gleefully shouting,  hanging on to a taut string. There is that wonderful flapping of tissue paper kites just before they dive to their earthly demise.

[I won't say whether or not I really like that THUD sound, too.]

[Why is it mothers never fly kites? I think it is a vestige of sexism we've overlooked.]

Still it is my least favorite weather condition. As I'm saying that I can think of just one other great thing about being in wind?  GETTING OUT OF IT.

NO FAIR!

So I do a two hour health club workout last night.  I get up this morning? That danged pound is still around!

"So," says I, "LITTLE POUND, you are goin' DOWN!"

I hop in the car at 6 a.m. headed for a little 2.7 mile loop trail I know. As you can see from the picture this is not your average sea level padded track.  At some points the grade reaches something close to 10 degrees. Athletes like to do their triathlon training here. For me? I just want to shed a lil' ol' lb.

So I park, do some quick stretches, inch past the "WATCH OUT FOR RATTLESNAKES" sign, and hit the trail. As I'm heading up hill at what I think is a pretty good pace? I hear the "pitter patter" of little feet in front of me. I look up to see two middle aged ladies (pardon me ladies if you don't qualify for middle age) just chattin' up a storm. And they are "pickin' em up and puttin' 'em down at a mighty rapid pace. Of course they are coming down hill at the end of their loop, and me, I'm just gettin' warmed up heading up hill.

Well I am wrong. The "pitter, patter, chatter" just keeps getting louder. I now realize they are going around again. It is at this moment it becomes clear God hired some freelance women to show me a little humility.

They are not just going around again, they are going around ME! Right in the middle of their "daily sharing," without any huffing and puffing, they pause to say, "Good Morning."

It's been too cold lately for dust, or that's what they would have left me in.

But hey, I'm still not warm and I'm not competing with them.  I'm just here to drop a pound. So I lock in what I'm pretty sure is a lose a pound pace. I reach the acme of the first mini-hill and I can see the ladies layin' em down going down hill about a quarter of a mile ahead of me.  But that's not all I see.

As I've now started downhill I see this faint moving object coming UP HILL hill directly towards me at an AMAZING speed. It's not long before I can make out the object. It is a lone female humanoid sprinting up this hill. At least this one appears to be mid to late 20's.  There is no way I'd be expected to compete.

She has her arms draped peacefully at her side, her hands loosely cupped. I'm probably exaggerating? But it looks like her knees are hitting her chin with each stride. I'm thinking she is just trying to show off for me? And when she gets by me she'll just collapse.

"Hi! Beautiful morning for a run, huh!," she says with controlled articulation.

"Yes, " I say.  But what I want to say is, "Yeah, right!"

No she doesn't collapse as she passes, and she is still sprinting as she crosses over the horizon.

Well, like I say, I'm just here to lose a pound. It'll be a "nice day for a run" after I've lost it.

Not that I am feeling competitive the least bit? But I DO run down hill for about a quarter of a mile following that brief encounter.

Well now it seems I have the loop to myself.  And that's good because the hardest and longest climb is just ahead. And just when I'm feeling comfortable in my lonliness?  From a feeder trail appears  a woman, probably in her early 40's. She is being pulled behind two canines about the sizes of Lassie and Rin Tin Tin.

She has my instant sympathy. The "puppies" are chomping at their bits and tugging at their umbilical leashes. The poor woman. Surely she'll fall to the ground and I'll have to call 911.

But, Ah, God has planted another test of my humility. Within three strides, this woman is pulling the DOGS up hill, THEY are doing the panting, and she is running like that "post teen" on the other side.  And I mean she is crankin'. This is a good three quarter mile stretch of 5 to 10 degree uphill grade. And in two minutes she is out of site. That, the out of site part, is at least a blessing.

As I crest the final hill I look down to see all of my 'Xena The Warrior Woman' apparitions driving away in their SUVs.

Okay, is down right humiliated the same as humble?

Silver lining?  I break my own time record for the loop. Sorry I don't LOOP and TELL.

The POUND? Just a second, I'm going to go check.   

NOPE! Still there.

"THE BULLYDOZER GIVETH. THE BULLYDOZER TAKETH AWAY."

They've now built up our backyard berm so high we won't even know there's a throughfare a hundred feet away.  But they've built that sucker so high we can no longer see Pike's Peak. (We can still see it from the upstairs guest bedroom. Of course you need to take the screen off, hang out the window about two feet, and crank your head to the left.)

That's been my day. I think tommorrow I'm going to try and meditate that pound off.  With humility of course.

Don't tell me women shouldn't go to war.

Just one political comment. Don't anybody do happy back flips or sadly jump off any bridges. While you're doing that, these guys and gals whose names are on the ballots will all be out hugging and buying each other drinks. We have funny ways of getting things done in this country. And sometimes funny ain't that funny.

You Can Do It!

I wake up this morning, head to the person's room, step up two inches and balance my mass on the scale. Whoa! I'd been so frustrated trying to get the final ten pounds off to reach my goal? Well, here I am just one pound away.

So? I better get in some exercise...maybe a little 15 or 20 mile bike ride.  So off I go!  Less than a mile into my adventure I experience something out of my past. I think the best way to describe the event? KUUUUBLOOEEEE!

I have my first BLOWOUT....Now Peggy and I have already repaired a slow leak on her bike, but the blowout on  a mountian bike tire...is something else. (very good for elevating your heart rate).

As you can see it requires a readjustment of the functionality of one's kitchen.

I've got to run so I can get to class.  I'll add to this later. I'll at least let you know how I did on that pound.

Nothing to report on the pound...and no...I am not competing with Kirstie Allie....although?  Never mind. I don't want to be on Oprah.

Guess what?  I see the Pink Semi again today...and it is a Male behind the wheel. This guy has to be some Macho Hombre. I'm going to tread lightly if I ever get an interview with him.  I'll bet his name is Sue.

Somebody in this town has a sense of humor, hallelujah. There is a new comedy (play) opening in town..titled URINETOWN. Well as I'm driving down the highway? About ten stories high on this ugly building?  There is this massive banner promoting URINETOWN. So who owns this big ugly concrete building designed like an old 40's upright radio? What ownership would proudly display the title URINETOWN?

At least one of you have guessed.  Unless the building has changed hands since I did a story there a long time ago?  It belongs to the Department of Public Works.  YEAH! URINETOWN is right up their alley.

That's all I got tonight.

Enough Already!!

So I'm out to breakfast once last week?  Peggy is out of town...and the paper hasn't shown up.  So I take the latest copy of my Smithsonian subscription with me. While I've brought it for company and to slow down the ingestion process? I am also displaying it boldly so I can look intelligent.

So how intelligent does this look?  The wait person arrives at my table. I lift the magazine so she can clearly see it's dramatic three color cover.  And just  as she is handing me the menu? Three, count 'em, three rectangular sheets of thick card stock come flying out. One flys up and nearly hits her in the eye. Another slams into the menu.  And yet another does one of those "to  and fro" slow drifts to the carpet.

Let me assure you I've participated in far more embarrassing wait person, patron encounters. In this case, more than anything?  It's allowing me to vent my rage over what is probably not a critical issue in your or my life. But what the heck is a BLOG for anyway?

These three rectangles? They all have bold printed TITLES on them. The printed titles are all identical in both texture and content.  And what does the title say? "SMITHSONIAN." From there each card finds it's own way toward letting you know, as a card carrying Smithsonian member, you are eligible for a DISCOUNT if you re-up now.

Here's the annoying part. The three pieces of heavy card stock? They are but three of TWELVE such inserts in this 'ERUDITE" magazine. One nice thing about this time of year?  Usually a small percentage of them are decorated with a HOLIDAY theme, hoping to capture its share of the spirit of giving. It's never worked for me, but maybe, just maybe I'm not normal.  I tend to get irritated and CAN my subscription for a year or two.

I remember working in radio and television? There was (and may still be) a way to tell how your station was doing in the ratings. If all you would hear all day long? "LISTEN TO (WATCH) station W (K)BLAH, the BEST darn station in the WHOLE darn world, DANG IT!"

In case you haven't picked this up.  They are running these promotional spots because they have all this commercial time to fill. Why? It's because nobody is listening to their station. So  nobody is advertising on their air.

And so who are they  reaching with these promotions? Nobody. That's because nobody is watching or listening to the station. Why wouldn't you promote the station on someone else's station or newspaper or magazine or bill board or sandwich board or bulletin board?

I wonder if anyone at the Smithsonian sees a parallel.

Silver lining? These inserts make decent bookmarks. And when you are done reading the mag?  Just toss them away (the inserts).

Well, that's all I've got to say about this ISSUE.

s

BOOOO!

Every once in a while there is a PICTURE, still or moving, that says it all.  There ain't no more. That's the case here.

I love halloween.  I love watching the toddlers out on their first scary trip. I love the little princesses and the mean little Darth Vaders. I even love the 15 year olds who self consciously show up because they can't break the habit.  But Mostly?  I really love the pre and early teen gangs that gather on your porch enmasse.

And when you say, "Smile, I'm going to take your picture!"

That up there is what you get.

I have THEMEs that I like to implant in the brains of broadcast students.

One of them is when a microphone opens, or a camera has a light blinking? "YOU COME ALIVE!"

In Broadcast Journalism I preach "GET YOUR BEST VIDEO AT THE TOP OF YOUR STORY!"

I also scream "IF YOU'VE  GOT GREAT NATURAL SOUND? USE IT."

I'm sorry you can't hear this motley crew. But I'm sure you can kick in you aural memory bank and go there.

I do on occasion get students, who after hearing my sermons, bemoan, "I don't get it?"

Well, these are not concepts you can intellectualize.. You just have to GO THERE!

Just look at the uninhibited release going on up there? And GO THERE!

The next time some one says," I don't get it?"  I'm sending them to this posting.

I just love HALLOWEEN.