Rocky Mountain High, Part III

It's Pat Green Day! You've been waiting for it....

But first, a tour of CU, where Sara H. works and takes classes. 
It's an absolutely gorgeous campus...HUGE, to me, and all the building are made of the same materials and in the same style, so it has a feeling of cohesiveness and continuity.

When I first started walking around the campus, while Sara H. was in her meeting, it was eerily quiet.  The people I met on the sidewalk were completely silent, even those who were walking together side by side.  I said hello to a couple of them and there was no response. Student zombies? I don't know.  So I started taking pictures of the buildings, to avoid the CU zombies.

I absolutely love this phrase, on the library building.

I went into the library and immediately felt smarter for having done so.

How little I know! And I could (and would) spend days in that place, learning as much as I could possibly absorb, if given the chance.  I think it would be so easy to disappear into colleges, never to be seen again.

I'm not sure what building this was, but I was trying to show how lovely the setting is, with the Flat Iron mountains behind it. 

I'm always fascinated with angles and strong lines....

Those little bump looking things on the wall are actually gargoyle-y faces. 

Ah, the spiral staircases!

I went into this building, too, to see if I could find the magic path to the enchanted staircases, but it was an administrative sort of place and there was no magic. And no humor, either, from what I could tell. (No, I didn't ask about the enchanted staircases, although some of you are thinking that I surely would have...)

I'm sure there's some sort of symbolism, here.

Something mobius-like or ancient druidism....

I just think huge architectural art is fun, and I spent a lot of time looking at this, waiting for Sara H.

*A note, here, about the CU zombies....that was between classes. When class got out, the campus flooded with students nearly running and hollering "Text me, dude!".  Thank GOODNESS. It was a happy sound to my ears, because a silent campus is just wrong....

After Sara H. got out of her meeting, about noon, we were HUNGRY!

(Again. Still.)

So we walked off campus to a great little street that had a myriad of crazy shops and eateries.

A side note, here, on crazy shops...Medical marijuana is legal there, and it's pretty obvious that the term "medical" is very open to interpretation. So along with ski shops, art stores and Thai food carts, there are places to stroll in and get weed and all its accoutrements.  And cookbooks, just in case you get bored with your medical marijuana the old fashioned way.  We saw in one of the entertainment weekly papers, an ad with a heart shaped box of marijuana. Because nothing says "I love you" like a box of weed...

Anyway, Sara took me to this little indoor plaza where you can get ANY sort of ethnic food you can think of.  Thai, Indian, Greek, Italian....it was all there, along with a burger stand, just in case you might be feeling a little bewildered by the choices!

She wanted to take me to her favorite little stand where they served gyros.

Big gyros.

Two pound gyros.

With fries and a Coke.

And baklava, if you thought you were man enough.

I don't know how many of you like the Greek sandwich of seasoned roast lamb, cucumber sauce, and veggies, wrapped in flat bread, but I completely crave it sometimes and this was glorious!

Here's the little stand. I like the poster of the hot chick behind the counter, trying to convince that eating gyros is sexy. I guess I've never thought cucumber sauce oozing out of a sandwich and running down your arm to your elbow was all that alluring, but I've been wrong before...

You can't really see, but there are all sorts of combos....next time, I'm getting a curry.

We missed the really good special, it would appear. But the gyros were very special and we both inhaled ours. (As well as the BEST french fries I've ever eaten...double fried...and ice tea made with rose water.)  We sat at a table with three ladies who were waiting for take-out from the Thai counter.  One of them was on a diet and was so hungry that she'd ordered TWO entrees, much to the surprise of her friends.  She was very cheerful about it, and fully intended to consume both in one sitting. I love that "can-do" attitude!

Students waiting for their Thai.  That was a very slow counter, but no one minded because all the food was made from scratch...no pre-done anything. 

We then went to a used bookstore downtown that made my heart beat fast. It was so crammed with books that you had to step over piles to get to the shelves. And the shelves were from floor to ceiling, crammed full of every sort of used book you can imagine.  For a while, I thought there was no order whatsoever, but then I saw the hastily scribbled sheets of copy paper tacked up on the ends of the bookcases, telling you that there was "Fiction" or "Alternative Medicine" (which I'm assuming meant medical marijuana) in that aisle.

To my GREAT happiness, I found fishing books shelved under the "Addiction" section.  This is a store that really knows its business and clientele! I bought a leather bound copy of Sir Izaac Walton's "The Compleat Angler" and nearly dropped happy tears on its blessed cover upon finding it. 

Then, worn out from treasure hunting and eating our weight in Greek fast food, we wobbled home to recover by sitting in the hot tub outside, so we'd have strength for....PAT GREEN!

To be continued....

Rocky Mountain High, Part II

(I fear this is going to get into Roman numerals I don't know off the top of my head...)

So, you need to meet Sara Hagedorn Calvert, referred to as Sara H. from here on.  I MUST call her Sara Hagedorn, because that's how I've been hearing her name for 12 years, now.  But Hagedorn is a rather cumbersome name to type, and there you have the "H".  (In your head, you can say Hag'-uh-dorn...I do.)

I shamelessly stole one of the pictures on her FaceBook page, because it's my favorite.  Look at the dudes in the background...

This is Sara H.

Isn't that a beautiful face to be waiting at the top of the escalator to welcome me to Colorado?

She's even cuter in person. 

The best way to describe Sara H. is "passionate".

About food, politics, music, books, culture, agriculture, family...

She's one of the smartest people I've ever met, and funny. 

And stubborn. And quick tempered. (Lest you think I'm just buttering her up, here...)

I'm not going to take a ton of time, here, describing her, because it will come out in the rest of the story, which is exactly how I got to know her...in little increments, over the course of five days.

Anyway, we had plenty of time to visit at the airport because all the Great Lakes luggage took just forever to get to the baggage area.  We stood there in front of the conveyer watching the same six grey-black bags with wheels go round and round and round.  Occasionally, a new suitcase would pop up out of the mouth of the baggage belt and we'd get all excited! Just one.  To join the other six. 

It's so funny to watch people waiting for their bags at an airport.  They try to be all cool, but there's a sense that each person is thinking, "Well, DARN! They DID lose my bag. Glad I packed that extra underwear in my carry on...". And the look of relief when they see their bag come clattering around like an old aunt that takes her time getting across town.

We grabbed my bag and dashed to the parking lot, because we were HUNGRY and still had to drive into Boulder for dinner. (You'll notice that food plays a large role in this narrative.  In fact, it's almost like another character, hovering in the back of the stage, coming out for its hour in the spotlight, then receding, waiting for the next cue.) 

It was dark, when we headed out, and I really had no idea how far or which direction we were going, but we visited as fast as we could, catching up on family news and current personal events. It was no time until we pulled up to her house and I met

Max.

The world's second smartest, most adorable dog.

(After my Molly, of course.)

He wanted to come home with me. I wanted him to come home with me.

We couldn't seem to work out a fool-proof plan, so he's still in Boulder. *sniff*

Then off to eat!

We went to The Med, in downtown Boulder. It was HOPPING! There was so much energy in the that place that I lost any jet lag I might've had. (I know. What would you call it? Mini-plane lag somehow lacks the punch I was looking for, here...) Be sure and hit the link...it was fantastic.

I had the Ravioli Raimundo, which was a chicken-mushroom ravioli with vodka-tomato cream sauce and Sara H. ordered the Canelloni Lorenzo, which was braised pork, spinach, ricotta and parmesan cheese rolled in fresh pasta and baked with marinara & bechamel sauce.

I'll give you a moment to wipe the drool off your chin. I know I have to.

Both dishes have names like Italian guys, don't they? Raimundo and Lorenzo.  They were rich and comforting, the perfect pair for us. Later in the week, even, we were fantasizing about Raimundo...

And back to Sara H.'s house for a big glass of wine from her private cellar, and then early to bed, because the next day was PAT GREEN!!! Can't be all worn out for THAT....

To be continued...

Rocky Mountain High, Part I

I flew out of Miles City on Great Lakes Air on Thursday afternoon and THAT was an experience all on its own.  There are some of you thinking, "Miles City has an airport?"  Yes, it does!  I believe there are two incoming flights and two outbound flights.  You can either go to Denver or Billings.  Perfect.  Where ELSE would anyone from Miles City want to go, anyway? You know. Besides Tahiti. And you can get there from Denver, anyway. 

The plane was about the size of our Cohagen School bus.  On a big day, it could carry maybe 21 passengers.  Three of us got on in Miles.  And the security people took their job VERY seriously, because we were obviously terrorist material.  It took four of them to screen the three of us.  My charm bracelet nearly detained us, which would've thrown the WHOLE crew and process, and probably provoked a pat down and interview.  In Miles City!  Fortunately it passed and we all heaved a sigh of relief. 

When the plane got there, one guy got off.  With no luggage or carry-on or anything.

We got on and just picked a seat, after consulting with the attendant where the optimum seating would be.  (Mistakenly, we thought we could sit anywhere.  Turns out we actually DID have seat assignments, but none of us thought to check that out.) There was a row of seats on each side, separated by about 12 inches of aisle to walk in.  And it's only, like, 5 foot of clearance from the floor to the ceiling, so you have to sort of sidle AND duck at the same time. Tricky. After careful examination by the attendant to make sure we had our carryons safely stowed and our seat belts buckled, it was time for take off.

I love take offs!  That rush when the plane takes off, the little tummy lurch as it leaves the ground, the shrinking houses...everything.  Turns out not everyone does, and the poor white knuckled lady across the aisle (6 inches away) kept saying, "Most crashes happen during take off or landing..." I was sort of thinking of "the unlikely event of an emergency water landing", myself, and plotting how to lash together the unused seat cushions so I'd have a raft. You know. In case of the unlikely event of sharks...

Half an hour to Gillette, Wyoming, where we FILLED the plane.  Filled it up.  Loaded 12 people. The guy who got on in Miles was moved out of his seat by someone who HAD read their ticket and seat assignment, and wasn't going to sit anywhere else but there.  Very serious.  The other 11 boardees had to wait while this was arranged to his satisfaction and delayed us nearly 2 1/2 minutes....to the great distress of ANOTHER passenger who had a connecting flight to catch in Denver to St. Paul or something.  One wouldn't think flying from Gillette or Miles City would be so intense, but it was pretty high drama stuff.  And no in-flight cocktails to ease the tension.

Mostly because the flights were no more than 63 minutes long, at the most.

Well, we finally made it to Denver International Airport, in the right seats, about 2 1/2 minutes EARLY, thanks to a tailwind!

And I made it through the airport, all dazed and wondering if I'd be able to find Sara OR my 80 pound duffel bag. (If anyone from Great Lakes Air asks, it was 50 pounds. Exactly.)  At the top of the 12th escalator, I hear "MARY! MARY!" and there was Sara.

To be continued...

I've always loved this!

Seeing red...

I'm not going to burden you with yet MORE snow pictures.
And I'm not going to try to scramble around and find appropriate examples in my stash of 2347 assorted images.

You'll just have to read and use your imagination.

*GASP!*

Eastern Montana is not known for its spectacular color. 
With the exception of the sunsets and sunrises, the tones and hues of the land are quite subtle.
And in the autumn and winter, one might even use the words "monochromatic", "bland", "monotonous" and downright "depressing". 

Which is sort of funny, considering the fact that the people who live here are usually quite colorful. 
(Remind me to introduce you to Judd Twitchell, someday...)
Not in their dress or their outward appearance.  In that way, most everyone is very restrained.  There's a lot of practicality....a lot of beige, blue, black and green.  In a way, people around here dress as though they could somehow fade into the landscape.

Anyway, living here sometimes makes the eyes and heart crave color.  After looking out, day after day, at grey as far as the eye can reach, or white land and sky and water, people like me (and I'm guessing many others as well) are so very thirsty for ANY sort of difference!

For me, it's red.

The color of ripe fruit, of hearts drawn with great feeling and little skill by children, of ladybugs and tulips and rose hips and tomatoes, of cheeks fresh in from the cold, of lifeblood.

My friend Lilly once told me she thought every room should have a touch of black in it.  (Lilly has scads of good taste, so I listen when she says things like that.) But I've come to realize that my rule of thumb is to have a touch of red in every room.  And a little goes a long ways.

Never having been one to do well with boundaries, I went right ahead and painted my kitchen red. It's the happiest room in the house!

And it matches my toenails, 11 1/2 months out of the year.

My phone is red.  My computer is red.
Red heels, red lipstick, red front door, red cap, red wine...
My football teams are even red, for heaven's sake!  (Just occurred to me, this winter...doing laundry. How handy is THAT?)

When I went out this morning, Day 110 of winter, to start the Farmer's pickup, I realized how much I crave that color.  Mile after mile after endless mile of white and grey...which to some people would perhaps be soothing and restful....was like purgatory for my eyes.  The sun was just starting to come up, with its cold brilliance, and the first tone to sneak across the horizon was red.  And I was so very grateful. 

Now...when the greys and whites get too much to bear, I go to Pollywog Creek, where my friend Patricia lives. (Well, I don't actually go there....but in spirit....) Her photographs are like medicine for the Eastern Montana eyes and her words are like sunshine for my heart.  I tell her this time and again...and now I'm going to share it with you, in case you haven't been there.  Perhaps you've seen her comments on sticky notes...and smiled.  Well, put on your sunglasses and make a visit! (Ask her about the Swamp Cabbage Festival...true story.)

In the meantime, look around you and see if your rooms need a touch of red.

Really!

Pat Green Jeans

You may be wondering who Pat Green is, and why I have his jeans...

It's a long story.
And you're going to get most of it.
So go pour yourself a beverage and get comfy...

Here we go:

My friend Anne and I took a mental health day to Miles City, the first part of December, in which we mostly just ate out, pretended to Christmas shop and ended up spending about two hours (conservative guess) in a little shop called Ravishing.

It's a store we dare not even walk by, with children.
It's a store we don't let our husbands check the price tags. On anything.  Not even the belts.
It's got the most FABULOUS clothes you can imagine.
Sort of like a celebrity dress-up store, in a little cowtown!

And we must've hit the owner on a magnanimous day, because that's what she let us do: try on clothes to our hearts' content. 
It takes awhile.  Our hearts weren't content for a long, long time.  And it was only when we started baiting each other and disagreeing about styles, that we called it quits.

Typical snatch of conversation at the beginning of the session:

"Oooo! Anne, I really like that.  You should try it on.  It'll be FUN!  Besides, you look great in that style!'
"Mary, that dress is perfect.  You need that.  How much? Oh. Well. I wonder how long you can wear it around the store..."

Typical snatch of conversation at the end of the session:

*"I don't like that.  At all."
"Well, I DO. I'm going to try it on."
moments later...
"I still don't like it."
"I DO.  I think I'll have her write it on my Wish List!"

Aaahhhh, the Wish List. 
The owner keeps a little index card with each customer's name on it, the size and style of the desired clothes, and the price.  We didn't really count as "customers" per se, seeing as how we didn't have $198 on us at that moment to buy the perfect dress.  And probably never would.  But she kindly wrote down our information and thanked us for coming in and wearing all her clothes. Sort of. 

(Incidently, the maximum time you may wear a black, shimmery Joseph Ribkoff dress that fits like it was made for you that day, is around 20 minutes....Anne distracted her and I took advantage.  *sigh*)

On my list were two items: the previously mentioned perfect dress and some jeans that I impulsively tried on and fell in love with....because they were so impractical and...well...you'll see....

After we returned home, we excitedly told our husbands about our big day, and they sort of asked what the prices were, turned a pale-ish sort of shade, and the matter was dropped.  Or so I thought.

The Farmer, knowing I was going to the Pat Green concert in February, and feeling flush with dough, or insane or something, snuck into Miles and bought the jeans for me for Christmas.  I never imagined that he would.  I was slack jawed when I opened them at his parents house.  (So were they, to be quite honest.)

And here's why:

What are all those things on the back of them?

Those would be rhinestones.

(Karen, tell me what Dad says....I can only imagine....)

They are incredibly flashy, for this Eastern Montana girl, and I love them.

They are also completely form fitting, with not a milli-skeeter to spare, so I've been trying them on once a week to make sure the runs are still working.

Only just...

Anyway, when you see a post about my trip and it refers to the Pat Green jeans, now you have the background on 'em! I don't REALLY have Pat Green's jeans. (Poor Marina probably just about fainted with envy, on that first statement.  Sorry!)

(They go GREAT with my tiara...)

*Just in case you were wondering, Anne and I left the store as good friends and decided it was low caffeine in our systems that was causing the irritability.  We went to Kafe Utza, got a good slug of the good stuff, and had a great rest of the trip!)

500!!!!!

*The VERY MINUTE I had to wait to make the 500th post, I had 10 pop up in my head.  The VERY MINUTE I sat down to write this, pffft!, I couldn't think of a doggone thing!

We have the tiara!

Honestly. Do you know how often the need for a tiara arises in day to day functions? It's astounding! 

All the socks matched in that load? Tiara! 

 Jello for a potluck sets up? Tiara!

Only got yelled at once, in the corral, all day? Tiara!

Remember your mother's birthday in time to send a card with no apologies after your signature? Tiara!

Every woman should have one.

I don't know what I did without mine!

 We have cake!

Liberally coated with sprinkles and those magical frosting flowers...

You can't tell, but it's Funfetti cake, too!

Nothing says, "Cohagen Chronicles" like Funfetti cake with sprinkles.

The very first Chronicles post was during a snow storm when I couldn't go to town to get my hair done.

And I didn't tell ANYONE that I was blogging for nearly 6 months.  I didn't really know how to drop that into conversation...you know?

"Hi! So...um....I have a blog where I write about skunks and dead flies and hole-y underwear and near-death experiences with bull relocation projects.  You should check it out! Pass the ketchup?"

Ah, yeah....no.

Today, I was trying to think of the earliest reader.  I think it was Country Wife. 

The most far-flung reader? (That admits to reading the Chronicles..)  I'm sure it's Nancy, in Britain.

The most famous reader? I gotta tell you, I know Patsy Clairmont read it once, and Homer Hickam reads it!

The most surprising lurker? Texas Ghost Rider.  He scared the dickens out of me!

Most faithful readers? Well, I know for sure that Denise and Sara are all over me when I miss a day or two. Or 10.

I can't even remember how we found each other, Alice and Patricia!

The guys who won't admit in public that they read the Chronicles....the Mikes. (There are two of them. They don't know each other. God forbid they ever meet...)

Family, family of family, friends of family of family, friends, neighbors, people who stumbled on The Chronicles when they typed "Ranch wife" in Google, Singaporians who are looking to make a buck....

We aren't going to get into youngest, oldest, or any of those sensitive areas...

I can't believe the posts that get the most comments.

George Strait.

My crazy purse, Madame Serenghetti.

Squeezers.

I can't believe the people that walk up to me on the street and confess that they are long time Chronicles readers, secretly. Then tell me what they'd like to see more of.

I can't believe how many cool people I've met and corresponded with, thanks to this blog.

I can't believe I came up with 500 things that I thought were publish-able.

So, in the sticky notes box, if you'd tell me how you got here and what your favorite post was, I'd love to know. I wish I could say I'd send you some sweet thing in the mail, like a box of 500 Bequet caramels, but realistically, that would never happen.  I still have 3 Christmas cards sitting here that need mailed. The odds of the caramels making to the post office are astronomically slim. 

AND, because there are so many who say they don't know how to leave a comment:

Write your message in the box and sign it.

Choose the "Anonymous" box.

Type the weird word and enter.

Voila! Comment!

I love the sticky notes.

They're why I keep writing this blog, you know?

So, YAY 500 posts!!!!

Thanks for the fun.



There's no blood in this post!

And that's a cotton-picking miracle, considering we're on Day 5 of snowed-in-minus-20-degrees-don't-leave-the-house-or-you'll-die-in-10-minutes-according-to-John-Pulaski-the-"meteorologist". 

One of my friends asked what we're doing with ourselves, during this cozy time.

Darn little, I can tell you that.

But here's a pictoral portrayal for you, of Snow Day #100-102:

Mile after mile after mile after mile of this landscape...

But inside, it's a lot more colorful!

I don't remember exactly, but I think this was the day he was a pirate good-guy cowboy. 

There's really no reason to narrow it down to one lifestyle...

 I do hair and makeup to go to Bobby Burns, only to end up folding yet another basket of laundry and watching a British/Irish movie called Widow's Peak.  This is just to show you that I am, indeed, alive and that I haven't succumbed to the bathrobe slouch. Yet.

 Water color painting at FIVE IN THE MORNING!!! I believe we'd burned through all the entertainment choices by 8 a.m. that day...

Lots of reading...we do LOTS of reading....

 They put themselves down for a nap! Out of sheer boredom, I believe.

But I'm not going to look a gift nap in the mouth....

Aren't they angels when they sleep?

 They're not kicking each other!

 Even Twilla...who was grouchy at being photographed with her hair all askew...

 They were watching the first Star Wars movie, which I have to say, would probably put George Lucas to sleep, now. 

 Homework. Maggie is teaching Angus how to do math.  He ACTS interested, but only because someone is paying attention to him.  He really doesn't care about numbers until it comes to bargaining for more cookies.  Then he's pretty astute.

 We do puzzles...teeny-tiny 500 piece puzzles....ugh.

 Pirate ships capsize and sink, death and destruction everywhere, glorious carnage....

 I actually like the blurriness of this picture....it's probably how the cat sees all the "loving".  You know, I used to feel sort of sorry for the cats, who get squeezed and dressed in doll clothes and hauled around in Tonka trucks, but then I realized: it was them or me. 

 We bake. A LOT.  Here's a recipe for Cranberry Coffee Cake from one of Shelly's gorgeous cookbooks.  The books have really good recipes, of course, but they are just little albums of art, and I often just sit and look at the pictures! And miss Shelly.

One bottle of wine, left.  How sad! I love the picture of the frazzled housewife behind it...

And that's pretty much what one of our snow days looks like. 

I didn't post pictures of the crying and tantrums, snarling and pulling out of hair.

My blog, my editorial privilege.

Besides, you don't need to see me in that state....

Tuesdays are the armpit of the week...

It's true.

They stink.

Mondays, for as rough as they seem, at least hold sort of a fresh-start feeling. 
Wednesdays are half-way there!
Thursdays, you can see the light of the weekend.
And of course, Fridays are days of rejoicing and the beginning of the weekend! 

But Tuesdays have nothing going for them. 

(Now, I know there will be an outcry and a quick listing of fabulous happenings in the sticky notes....why your Tuesday DOES have merit and interest! Bring it on. )

It was once pointed out to me that all my days looked the same, that there was no difference from Saturdays or Tuesdays or whatever...that my Friday was basically just another of the same! Made me mad.  Because it was true.  I almost hung the phone up on the person who tossed that out to me! Wow, that stung!

(I managed to get back by calling that person back around 4 p.m. on a Friday afternoon and pouring a cocktail, while happy hour was still an hour and a half away for her/him. There ARE benefits to working from home, where every day is the same.  Tiny, tiny benefits...)

Now.

This is the 498th post, on the Chronicles. 
Who ever thought I'd have 500 posts in me?
(You...in the back...I'll deal with YOU later.)

Anyway, I'm SO glad the big event isn't going to fall on a Tuesday!!!

So, on Thursday, we're going to party, here at the Cohagen Chronicles!
I'll wear my tiara!
We'll bake a cake!
Names will be dropped!
Honors will be handed out, left and right!

Be thinking of your favorite Chronicles posts, because that's what I'd like in the sticky notes. 
You have some time to go back and find it.  It is, after all, Tuesday. 
(You didn't have anything else going on today, did you?)

It gets crazier...

In ten days,I'm going to fly to a place I've never been, to stay with people I've never met, to eat food I can't pronounce, attend a concert I never dreamed I'd get to and try an activity I've never had the opportunity to try.

How cool is that?!

Or crazy.

Or both.

I like that sort of thing.


Once upon a time, there was a country girl from Broadus who had traveled the world and reconnected with a childhood friend, whose wife had a little blog called The Cohagen Chronicles.  The Chronicles were read surreptitiously and ravenously, because they were like home, only without all the guilt. 

After some time spent in sneaky reading, the girl from Broadus wrote the author of the Chronicles and confessed.  The author of the Chronicles had heard COUNTLESS stories of this chick (the Farmer's dad and her dad have been friends since college) and immediately forgave her and started a correspondence. 

The girls discovered a mutual love for (brace yourself) food, wine, travel, books, their home state of Montana and Texas singers, most especially Pat Green.  What are the odds?  Pretty good, actually. 

The girl from Broadus, as it turns out, is wicked to the core.
Evidenced by the menus she regularly sent to Montana, from French and European restaurants that she'd recently visited.
Evidenced by the picture of her personal wine cellar.
Evidenced by her rather casual mention of her hot tub.
Evidenced by sending e-tickets AND pictures of the CU-TTU game she attended, knowing full well the depth of my love for the Red Raiders.
Evidenced by her travel blog, of Europe.

In a fit of....what I can only surmise was winter insanity....the Farmer told me to use our credit card reward points to buy a ticket to Denver to see Sara Hagedorn, as my Christmas/birthday/Valentine's day present.

So I did!

Sara H., bless her heart, is in the middle of her doctoral (doctorate?) exams and I presume was too shocked and overwhelmed to come up with any sort of excuse to be out of the country at that time.  So she's stuck.  Ah, well....

BUT....GET THIS.....!!!!

Pat Green had the great grace to book a show at the Grizzly Rose (in Denver) at the exact perfect time.
That's RIGHT.
We have tickets.

You've never heard such screeching of delight!
And, I believe on one of the shaky-with-excitement emails, I counted no fewer than 56 exclamation points.
It's true.

AND she somehow convinced her husband Chad that we should go to a couple really incredible restaurants while I was visiting, as her Christmas present.

AND Chad (in a moment of what we can only surmise was winter insanity) mentioned going skiing while I was there.  Which I've always wanted to do, but never have.

AND we have several bookstores to visit.

AND then, there's the hot tub and wine cellar.

*sigh*

I certainly hope we get along...

Burns...in preparation

If you've been reading the Chronicles for a couple years, you'll remember that the last Saturday in January is the annual celebration of Bobby Burns' birthday, in Miles City.  And tomorrow, you'll get a more complete post of the actual celebration...it's incredible!

Robert Burns is THE Scottish poet.  I'm not sure there is another, really.

My Gramps really loved his poetry, and I remember him reading one or two aloud to us, when we were kids.  They made absolutely no sense, whatsoever, because Burns wrote as he spoke, and anyone who has listened to a Scottish burr will affirm that even though it's English, it's completely incomprehensible to the average bear. 

So every year, I try to post a Burns poem on this weekend.  I appreciate his dry wit, his attention to detail and personality quirks, his great respect for the natural elements. The following poem is tragic, as many of his are, but it's one of my favorites and not just because of the title!

Highland Mary by Robert Burns (1759-1796)
Ye banks and braes and streams around
The castle o' Montgomery,
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,
Your waters never drumlie!
There simmer first unfauld her robes,
And there the langest tarry;
For there I took the last fareweel
O' my sweet Highland Mary.


How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade
I clasped her to my bosom!
The golden hours on angel wings
Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me as light and life
Was my sweet Highland Mary.


Wi' mony a vow and locked embrace
Our parting was fu' tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,
We tore oursels asunder;
But, O, fell Death's untimely frost,
That nipt my flower sae early!
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,
That wraps my Highland Mary!


O pale, pale now, those rosy lips
I aft hae kissed sae fondly;
And closed for aye the sparkling glance
That dwelt on me sae kindly;
And mouldering now in silent dust
That heart that lo'ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary.

Hello, Sunshine!

We've had some beautiful, bright, warm days this week....in the mid-30's.

Perfect snowman making weather, you know.

Heck, for Montana, it's almost swimsuit weather...

Anyway, Angus and I made a snowman and then rolled around in the snow for the afternoon, soaking up the sunshine!

Even the snowgirl was happy.

The wind blows the snow into fingerdrifts everywhere, rather like frozen waves.

The men have been trying to keep the snow plowed, so they can get to the cows and we can get to the house.  It's hard to tell how big these piles are, until I give you a perspective.

So, here's Angus, climbing to the top.  He's probably about 3 1/2 feet tall, so you get some idea of the pile.

King of the mountain!

(It's not as sweet, if you don't have a sister around, pushing you down and trying to capture the crown.)

Cows, off in the distance....mile after mile of nothing but glossy white snow.

I guess you know he threw some snow down at me.

I love Cordelia's smile, here.  She just sat on that fencepost in the sun, watching Angus roll around in the snow, and smiled. 

So did the snowgirl!

Crazy Mary

Another deep, insightful post from Crazy Mary....
It's been awhile, hasn't it?

And there are a LOT of questions. 
Really good ones.
Really crazy ones.
Perfect!

Q: What is your least favorite song of all time?

A: Of ALL time? Since there was no criteria on this, I made up my own.  It has to be stupid.  It can't be made better by anyone...no matter who sings or plays it, it's still awful.  It has to make me want to shut off the radio IMMEDIATELY....that's pretty big, because I really, really like music of all types and can tolerate most anything. 

Except the song "Swinging" by John Anderson.
It's aluminum on tooth fillings to me. 
(I know.  A couple of you readers broke into a cold sweat at THAT description...)

Q: What were the most expensive shoes you've ever owned?

A: Again, no specific boundaries here, so I'm going with any sort of foot covering. 
I bought a pair of Danner hiking boots, when I was 25....spent my grocery money for the month on them....for $140.00 at Don's Sporting Goods store in Lewistown.  Turns out, they were worth every penny, every package of ramen noodles, every pound lost that month. I finally retired them a year and a half ago, and only because they were coming apart at the seams.   
The only shoes I pay more than $50 for are boots or running shoes. I clutch my chest in horror when I see in the Oprah magazine that editors are buying $300 heels and calling them affordable!   

Q: Of what room in your parents' house do you have the most memories growing up?

A: The conservatory.  Doesn't everyone?

Not really.  It would be the kitchen.  More memories were made there than anywhere.  Good ones and bad ones, you know? Almost everything went down in the kitchen.  Almost everything came out in the kitchen.  It was the center of our domestic universe, our everyday lives.  Still is.

Q: What piece of recreational equipment that you own do you most wish you would use more?

A: It was between the touring kayak and the fly rod.  I spent a lot of time deliberating this one.

And my fly fishing rod won.  I've NEVER used it.  Ever.  I get it out, a lot, and hold it,  feel the action, dream.  I don't know how.  I don't even know how to tie a fly on! Last summer, I was frantic to use it.  But...nothing. 

I love fishing...have since I was a little girl...and fly fishing has been calling to me for as long as I can remember!  I just need some instruction.  Anyone? 

Q: What was the first album you bought with your own money?

A: Amy Grant and I think the album name was My Father's Eyes. I'm sure I still have it...somewhere....

Q: Overall, which of the Seven Dwarfs best characterizes you?

A: Good GRIEF!! Well, I did process of elimination....not Bashful, Sleepy, or Sneezy.  I can't say that I'm consistently Happy or Grumpy, overall.  I swing pretty polar on those two emotions.  Daily.  So that left Dopey and Doc. 

And I'm Doc.  I wear glasses.  I tend to be bossy.  I get my words mixed up, if I can even FIND the words. My  little tunic is on the tight side.  I miss big, glaring things because I'm so busy getting everyone else lined out.

Yep.  Doc.

Q: Who is your pick to win the next year's (2012) Superbowl?

A. Not who do I want to win, but who do I PICK to win....entirely different horses, there.

Well, right now, everything is sort of in flux.  There are recruits being sought, coaches being hired, drafting, roughing up of personnel, illegal videos being sold. So it's a little tough to see what the teams are going to be like, right this minute.  That doesn't mean I'm going to flake out on the question, but when next Super Bowl rolls around, I don't want to be held against the wall for this prediction.  Fair enough?

We haven't seen a winner from the West in a long time.  And I think there's a lot of talent being gathered up, here, that isn't getting a whole lot of attention from national media.  The coaching has been TERRIBLE.  Wretched. Non-existent, really.  I love the teams from the West.  And they're going to be strong next year.  But none of them will win the Super Bowl. 

I'd pick the Jets. I hate them.  But they're stinking good.  

I think the 49ers will have a great year, and maybe even win our division.  But I have no delusions about their Super Bowl chances. 

There you go! 
Send any Crazy Mary questions to my email, and I'll happily answer them.

True Confession #296

I have a crush.

It runs pretty deep.
That would be down-playing it quite a lot, really.

Okay...so deep that the Farmer knows he wouldn't stand a chance, and has agreed to politely step aside, should my crush ever come calling.

(The odds of that actually happening are 25,000,000,000,000:1, so he's pretty safe.  But still...)

Just finding the pictures for this post...
Swoons-ville....*sigh*

(I made that larger, just for the other women who are reading this post and having heart flutters, frantically right-clicking to "save as" so they can use this image as a wallpaper...)

Yes.

George Strait

(We say that name with reverence, here....)

I learned to jitterbug in the dorm to his song, The Fireman and Unwound.

Drove hundreds of miles and wore out a couple cassette tapes of Amarillo By Morning.

Had a good cry when Easy Come, Easy Go coincided with a big break up.

Desperately wished upon a star that he would accidentally show up at a team roping in Billings.

He never did.

But I'm sure he really wanted to.

(I always wore make-up and did my hair...just in case.

I'm sure he'd wink at the girl turning out the steers, because she did a magnificent job and wore tinted lip gloss. Don't you?)

And it's not necessarily that he's a cowboy.  That's never really been a pre-requisite for crushing, in my world.  It doesn't HURT, but here's the funny thing: (ANOTHER true confession...) I never dated a cowboy.  Really. And married the Farmer! Who doesn't ride OR wear cowboy boots!

I think it's because he's such a gentleman. 
And because music is such a big thing to me.
And also because...well....my goodness...LOOK at him!

The really awful thing is:
I think my mom has a crush on him, too.

Anyway, Pandora has been very thoughtfully playing lots of George Strait this morning, and Sara H. could use a little inspiration.  I can't think of anything more inspiring, really, to post.

(And I know there are a lot of spiritual things I COULD post...Bible verses and links....but I'm pretty sure God gave us George.  And I, for one, am truly thankful....)

:)

BIG

Remember a couple posts back, where I set a couple reading projects for 2011? 
Pretty modest, except for War and Peace.....
I thought.

Perhaps, before boldly stating to the world that I'm going to read that AND a little tome called The Autobiography of Mark Twain, I should do a page count on both. And start lifting weights. 

Here, for your amusement and amazement, is a comparison photo...

It weighs a conservative 4 pounds. 

And I don't know if you can see on this crummy picture, but it's only Volume 1.

Gulp

If I fall asleep reading this one, it'll require stitches the next day.

Our Underground Bookclub selection this month is:

...a mere pamphlet, in comparison.  The Life and Times of The Thunderbolt Kid by Bill Bryson.

My selection!  So, I get to host the meeting in February, which means I get to take pictures and write about it here on the Chronicles.  And it's going to be a Valentine's Day brunch on Super Bowl Sunday afternoon....none of that makes any sense at all, does it?  Welcome to my universe...

Fortunately, we are having good reading weather...

I didn't take pictures of the fingernail marks on the walls beside the windows...



Postcards from the middle of nowhere...

You'll see floating cows and haystacks, in this post.

Well, not really....but they LOOK like they're floating, because you can't tell the sky from the ground. And they aren't even photoshopped!  Sadly...

This part of Montana is always rather vast and empty, even when the grass is green and the birds are making a ruckus; but in the winter, it feels like we're on another planet.  With cows.  Your head gets a little messed up when you look as hard as you can and can't tell distance or perspective...even three feet in front of you.  I can't run now, and not because of the volume of snow...I get vertigo and fall! (When one is NATURALLY dizzy, it's only enhanced by the weird snow phenomenon...)

Remember the cows who snuck into the yard on Christmas Eve?  They are LONGING to return.  They are PINING for the shed.  They LEAN on the fence, hoping it will give way and they will be able to rush back to their perceived Cow-topia.....

They are mad at me, because only MINUTES before I took this picture, I closed the big grey gate that had been snowed under.  They thought it was a sure thing, that they'd get in because there was no way I could possibly dig that bad boy out and get it shut.

They seriously misjudged my determination and strength.

They SERIOUSLY stood there, breathing heavily, watching me struggle....making cow bets. 

When I finally got it latched, you could feel the disgust in the air. 

You can't see from this picture of crabby cows, but if they REALLY wanted to, they could climb up that drift and hop over the top wire of the fence.  It's a HARD pile of snow that the Farmer plowed, and would easily support them.  #890 is smart and she took a trial run at it, after I went back to the house.  But she knew I was ready for her and decided to wait until I go to town or something.  I'll come back and she'll be in my junipers.  (She's the one who broke my yard fence and wanted to smear me into the garden shed. We're arch enemies.  I pray she never gets organized...)

Floating haystack.

Can you see the skyline?  No?

Me, neither.

Now picture that on a 360 degree turn.

And now pick yourself up off the floor if you're a natural blonde...

The trees are nearly buried.  And they're all 6 feet and taller...

Meanwhile, inside the house....

Twilla and her twin....

Squooshed cats, by a cabin fevered child....

Poor Figaro!

The sun is out today, and it's a balmy -1 degree F!

Spring is ALMOST here...

Right.