Signing off...Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

 

Bookemdano signing off for 2021...

NFL continues to roll with 14 games in the books for all teams

 National Football League

It's crunch time in the NFL...

With all the turmoil revolving around one virus after another, the National Football League keeps plugging away.

As of this morning, all 32 teams have completed 14 games and it's shaping up to be a wild finish as the final weekend of 2021 approaches.

The top teams and their records:

Green Bay   11-3

Kansas City 10-4

Dallas          10-4

Tampa Bay  10-4

LA Rams     10-4

Arizona       10-4

New England 10-4

Tennessee   10-4

Dallas is on top in the NFC East; Green Bay heads up the NFC North; Tampa Bay leads the NFC South, while the LA Rams and the Arizona Cardinals sit atop the NFC West.

In the AFC East, New England leads the way; Tennessee sits atop the AFC South; Kansas City is in the driver's seat in the AFC West, while Cincinnati and Baltimore find themselves locked in a duel for the top spot at 8-6 in the AFC North.

I found a rental I can afford

 "I found a rental I can afford" -- Dan Price

The Prices are sky high along the Western Slope.

No pun intended.

The first day of winter/2021

 The first day of winter/2021

Welcome to winter along the Western Slope. My friends are back this morning. I never get tired of

watching these creatures roam -- up close and personal.

A clear sky and a current temperature of 24 degrees, heading for a high of 40 today.

That's my morning weather report -- just four days away from Christmas. It may stay warm -- warm as in too warm for a big snow fall. The mountains will get plenty. The skiers will be happy.  The slopes will be full of young people, scurrying to the top to await their downhill experience.

At 76, I must stay clear of such danger. Too bad. I've ordered some new feet through Amazon. But the waiting list is long. Now struggling with my share of pain with arthritis-related injuries of  one form or another, I'll never experience such excitement -- unless a family member straps me to a board and lets me fly.

My aging heart would be stunned. "Hey, Dude! What are you doing?" There's always a time to dance, but rolling downhill with my snowboard stuck in the snow, back at the starting gate, seems a little much for this old timer. To all my friends and readers out there: Enjoy the first day of winter.

Cardinals on a downhill spiral

 Arizona Cardinals (10-4)

Once the cream of the crop in the NFL, in 2021, my Arizona Cardinals find themselves in a downward spiral. With a 7-0 record to start the season, Arizona has now gone 3-4 the past seven weeks and are suddenly moving toward the middle of the pack at 10-4, after a loss  today to the Lions  (2-11-1) at Ford Field in Detroit.

Yes, the Cardinals are dealing with key injuries -- the latest: the loss of wide receiver DeAndre Hopkins, who tore his MCL last week. Still, the Cardinals have lost their mojo.

My Wildcats are still cruising

 Arizona Wildcats (11-0)

My Arizona Wildcats continue to remain unbeaten at 11-0.

Ranked No. 8 in the country by the Associated Press College Basketball poll, Arizona faces 18th-ranked Tennessee Wednesday; 4th-ranked UCLA on Dec. 30 and 10th-ranked USC, sporting a 12-0 record, on Jan. 2.

If the Wildcats win all three it would be a feather in their cap, using an old cliche, but it wouldn't be devastating if they lost one. All three games are away. Bummer! Tough games on the road and you can add the game in Tempe on Jan. 8 against the Arizona State Sun Devils to make it four straight games away from the friendly confines of McKale Center.

If the Wildcats continue to get four players in double figures (currently Bennedict Mathurin, 17.4 ppg., Azuolas Tubelis, 16.1 ppg., Christian Koloko, 13.6 ppg., Kerr Kriisa, 11.8 ppg.) and play well defensively, well it is possible the unbeaten streak could continue, making it a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year for Arizona fans.

Photo: Mathurin, who leads the Wildcats in scoring, after 11 games, with a 17.4 average.

Bob Seger says:Turn the Page

We all continue to turn the pages

The great Bob Seger released his classic tune, Turn the Page, in 1973.

At that time, I had already turned the pages twenty-eight years. The pages back then seemed to stick, frozen in time -- creating moments in time that lasted forever.

Now, at the age of 76, the pages move faster. It feels like a hair blower is attached to the electrical socket in the wall, and the switch on the apparatus is turned to high -- the end of the blower directed toward the final chapters of my life, the pages now blowing by at a much faster pace.

Back in 1963, a walk in the park or a cruise down Main Street in my hometown seemed to last forever. Maybe it was a moment in high school when I stared at the clock awaiting the final bell to ring -- releasing me from my assigned desk, freeing me to the outside world and the endless possibilities and the exciting "hours" ahead.

No worries. No mortgages. Instead, nothing but special moments ahead. I'd crawl into my jalopy, turn on the radio -- instantly, a Duane Eddy instrumental roared through the speakers, maybe accompanied by some annoying static, no Sirius XM  back then -- just a single channel selection to punch for the tunes of the day.

My friends are waiting, just a mile ahead -- all of them mingling at the A&W Drive-in. No plan in place for the rest of the evening for any of us. The minutes on the time clock would click slowly -- plenty of time...plenty of time to do whatever.

We all would be in bed by 10 o'clock on a school night, 11 on a weekend...midnight if we were getting straight A's. No cell phones, no video games. A peek at the Ed Sullivan Show to see a kid with the swivel hips performing Love Me Tender.

Stopped at the local tavern the other night. It was Karaoke Night -- all singers and non-singers were out in full force. Suddenly, a long-time friend walked to the stage, picked up the microphone, and proceeded to bellow out Seger's Turn the Page.

For six minutes, I listened to my friend sing. 

I realize the song is about the plight of a musician as he or she makes their journey down the road:

Out there in the spotlight, you're a million miles away

Every ounce of energy you try to give away

As the sweat pours out of your body

Like the music that you play

Later in the evening, as you lie awake in bed

With the echoes from the amplifiers ringing in your head

You smoke the day's last cigarette.

Remembering what she said

But as I continue to listen to my friend, the meaning of the lyrics, from my point of view, settles in. My friend at center stage, all the people in the room, all the characters I have met in my life, are all turning the pages in their lives. 

We are all in different chapters of our lives.

For those lucky enough to continue to turn the pages, remember we are all reading the same book: The Book of Life.

Here I am on the road again

There I am, up on the stage

Here I go, playin' the star again

There I go

Turn the page -- Bob Seger

By the way, my friend did well.

The answers are not hidden in the wind

 On the Way Out series

Vol. 6

Part 9

Many of us old-timers find ourselves alone.

Some have created our own loneliness. Through no fault of our own, some of us find ourselves alone in this big world of ours. How we ended up there is no longer important, but how we deal with the aftermath is -- a mighty challenge for sure, the kind of a challenge that will eat away at our very soul.

There is no age limit on loneliness. We can be young or old and suddenly find ourselves listening to the crickets sing in the middle of a late-summer afternoon or listening to the wind blow late at night. At the same time, an uncut branch of a giant oak tree keeps pace with the wind, swirling and scratching against the window pane.

The noises can overshadow the distant sounds of the traffic in the city or the constant barking of the neighborhood dog just doors away.

We listen for the sounds.

Maybe we have finished the latest chapter of a book, and suddenly, our hands let go, and the book slides down, the pages finally nestling against our chest.

We question the wind. 

Bob Dylan said in a song he wrote in ten minutes back in the early 1960s. He said the answers were blowing in the wind. Yes, it was a political song, and maybe he meant if we ignore such things long enough, the answers to those tough questions will scatter in all directions and disappear forever.

The answers are not hidden in the wind. The crickets are not speaking to us. In fact, the male crickets are lonesome and are actually rubbing their wings to attract the female crickets.

The answer for a lonely cricket is to make plenty of noise. Humans do not have wings, and we handle our emotions differently.

If a good book doesn't get you out of your doldrums, hop to it, get out there, and meet some people.

In this day and age, you are not alone. Millions and millions of people are isolated, and in the past three years, the coronavirus hasn't helped matters.

Please don't wait for the wind to blow, and, as for the crickets, they are too busy to notice you.

My 11th-ranked Wildcats improve to 7-0

 Arizona Wildcats Basketball

My 11th-ranked Arizona Wildcats improved to 7-0 and 1-0 in the Pac-12 with a 90-65 win over the Oregon State Beavers today in Corvallis.

Bennedict Mathurin scored a game-high 29 points to lead the Wildcats.

Cardinals reach 10 wins

 Arizona Cardinals

The Arizona Cardinals improved to 10-2 with a 33-22 win over the Bears in Chicago today and continue to own the best record in the National Football League.

Quarterback Kyler Murray threw for two scores and rushed for two touchdowns.

Way to go, Cardinals! 

Where are they now? Joanna Pettet

 On the Way Out series

Vol. 6

Part 8

In 1967, I lived in Moab, Utah and a Western was filmed there,which turned into a box office flop, but still the movie had it share of stars. Our local town softball team had the honor of playing members of the cast at the city park on Sundays, during the summer. In the front row, fifth from the right, kneeling next to Ricardo Montalban is Joanna Pettet, an English actress, who starred on both the wide screen and television.

On August 8, 1969, Pettet had lunch at the home of actress Sharon Tate, just hours before the arrival of members of the Mansion Family.

Pettet, now 79, retired from acting thirty years ago and currently lives in Southern California.

By the way, that is me in the back row, third from the right. I was 21. Pettet was 24.

Small town America

On the Way Out series

Vol. 6

Part 7

Living in small town America requires some traveling.

It's a different way of life compared to the big city of Denver, two-hundred miles to the east. Less hustle and bustle. The residents of Parachute and Battlement Mesa, Colorado -- Parachute on one side of the Colorado River, the Battlement area residents on the other, enjoy a laid-back lifestyle and plenty of outdoor activities, including hunting, fishing, hiking...and skiing just a few miles south on the slopes of Powderhorn.

The area, with a combined population of 6,000 -- an estimate, which may or may not include yours truly, was once the seasonal campground of the Ute Indians.

Settlers moved in soon after and the area turned into a farming and ranching community in the early part of the 20th century, but, in the 1950s, along came mineral extraction -- mostly oil-shale resources --  and the area and the life of its inhabitants changed drastically.

Along came Exxon Oil and other oil companies followed. Suddenly a Boom Town mentality engulfed the area. People, searching for high-paying jobs and a better way of life, filtered into the area. The word was out of a "new oasis" situated along the Western Slope of Colorado.

By the 1980s, the entire area was a "hot spot."

Suddenly, it was all over. Exxon abandoned operations in 1982. They pulled the plug, along with the other oil companies, and left thousands of people stranded without work. It was called Black Sunday.

Fortunately plenty of good, hard-working, strong-willed people remained. And now, here we are in the 21st Century, heading into 2022 and the residents are just fine. They have found their way and their way is a good way. Jobs are out there. The jobs may be an hour and a half away -- like in Aspen, or forty minutes away in Grand Junction or a thirty-minute drive to Glenwood Springs.

Some will work two jobs. Families will be raised. Children will grow up in an area where the Ute children once roamed -- hunting, fishing, rock climbing, hiking...skiing -- a comfortable way of life.

And the characters I have encountered are so diverse -- all finding their way. Small town life with big and beautiful surroundings. Deer in backyards, wild turkeys roaming the streets...snow on the mountains and a river runs through it.

I met a nice hard-working fella yesterday name Jose. His day, during the peak season, includes driving to Aspen and his fast-paced days as a cook at an upscale restaurant. Back home, Jose has opened a new restaurant in Battlement Mesa. A risky undertaking, but he hopes the word will be out soon and he'll be able to turn his small business into a moneymaker. Jose is married and has three boys -- the oldest 11 years of age. He hails from the Los Angeles area and was born in Mexico where his grandparents grew vegetables.

He learned his trade well. His breakfast burritos are to die for.

Another example of the people along the Western Slope.

Is it possible small town life will be the wave of the future?

Will more people filter from the big cities to country living?

The residents of small town America  hope not.  

I heard noises during the night

It's twenty-seven days till Christmas Day/2021 and I'm in Western Colorado with my family. I went to bed early and dosed off. I was midway through a Zane Grey novel...the book clinging to my fingertips, just inches from the floor.

I heard noises in the living room...then laughter. The words of Zane Grey quietly hit the floor and vanished...replaced by the sound of a group of little elves, pint-sized snowmen...and miniature creatures scurrying around, all adding the final touches to a giant tree, ten times their size. I opened the bedroom door and made my way down the hallway and heard Brenda Lee bellowing out the words to Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree.

I suddenly realized the pages of Zane Grey were not on the floor; the book positioned upside down and safely attached to my chest. I had been asleep. My thoughts had been far away...inside a  fantasy world.

 I think!

To make sure, I put on my holiday slippers (just kidding...I was barefooted) and headed for the kitchen. I made myself some hot cocoa, grabbed some chocolate chip cookies and proceeded to turn on the Christmas tree lights.

I sat in the recliner. 

Not a creature was stirring...not even a mouse.

 

Oh! Deer Me!

 

Hello again!

I'm sure you heard about the human inside the window who pulls the trigger on a camera instead of a shiny,  elongated, scary apparatus.

Someday, you will hear that final sound, the explosion, and be gone for good. Until then, you must run, live, and survive in your little world deep in the forest. You must make your way, react to what's ahead, and avoid danger.

You think you could be more interesting, but you are.

You live alone in the wilderness. You drink by a nearby creek, search for food in nearby meadows, and cling to the brush to avoid harm most of the day.

You can feel the warmth of my fireplace. You can hear the laughter of little people scurrying through the house. You can see the Christmas tree lights glowing, but you must move on. You must disappear quickly.

Your life is filled with uncertainty.

Maybe, Mr. Deer. We may have something in common. 

We humans are all on the run. We have our own forest to run in and drink bottled water. We need food and water to survive, too. Unlike you, we create our own problems as we wander through our forest, weaving in and out of danger in our world.

We use credit cards to buy things, buy automobiles, and search for the latest fashions. We read books and listen to music. At times, we live in the past. We also plan for the future. Some of us hide in the open, some stay behind the scenes.

We are human. We are different creatures, but we enjoy seeing you.

There is a place in time for both of us, and that's the beauty of life.

We all must find our way. 

You are just as much a part of life as we are. 

We will both be gone soon.

The forest, though, will remain. The creeks will continue to run, and the rivers will continue to flow.

The beauty of life will continue. 

Enjoy your next step, Mr. Deer. I will do the same.

Eleanor Rigby, where are you?

On the Way Out series

All the Lonely People

Vol.  6  

Part 5

My last attempt at writing some meaningful stuff -- which touched on my real life's experiences, occurred a few years ago in the first four chapters of my fiction book, The Loner.

By the time Chapter 5 came around it turned into a fiction yarn, a crime drama, filled with a robbery, a kidnapping, some shoot-'em-up scenes, a journey to a village in Mexico...and finally an escape by the hero...and his journey home -- all of which never happened to me in real life.

But in the first four chapters of The Loner, I could have switched the name of the hero, Royce Reirdon, and inserted my name.

In former posts of my On the Way Out series, I have touched on tough relationships -- father-son, mother-daughter, girlfriend-boyfriend...well there are all kinds of relationships, and if you're one of the lucky ones, it can be an easy journey from the initial meeting, through a lifetime of happiness, followed decades later when you find yourself sitting by a fireplace...relaxed, eyeing your partner, knowing that you both had succeeded and done your best to get it right.

And then again human beings have been known to mess up. Some of us board a moving train to nowhere and create a path -- a crooked path that makes little sense...leaving, in his or her wake, nothing but debris in the rearview mirror -- the images of a once scenic highway, filled with warning signs on both sides of the road labeled: misery, bitterness and loneliness.

In The Loner, Reirdon is in a hotel room late at night, staring at a picture on a wall -- 

a peaceful image of a place he had never been. Maybe he would like to be in  such a place in the future, but at this moment his thoughts were cluttered as he headed to his hometown, to his ex-wife's funeral. Soon he would be there at the cemetery at the top of the hill with his family -- a group of strangers he had  abandoned years ago in his quest for stardom as a TV sports icon who would eventually spend his life comfortable in front of a camera, but uncomfortable and truly alone when he left the stage and turned off the lights.

As we begin our "golden years" some of us have succeeded and reached our goals in life, others have not. Some of us have messed up. Some have not.

 

There are chapters left in our life. We have made it this far. The ones out there who are searching to get it right, still have time. The lonely, too, can survive.

The Beatles touched on loneliness, back in 1966.

Ah look at all the lonely people
Ah look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby, picks up the rice
In the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face 
That she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Father McKenzie, writing the words
Of a sermon that no one will hear
No one comes near
Look at him working, darning his socks
In the night when there's nobody there
What does he care

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Ah look at all the lonely people
Ah look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby, died in the church
And was buried along with her name
Nobody came
Father McKenzie, wiping the dirt
From his hands as he walks from the grave
No one was saved

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

I was never a fan of the Beatles. I found them hard to dance to.

Ascertaining the lyrics to the song Eleanor Rigby leaves me with more questions than answers. In the end, the song leaves us loners with some words of wisdom: never give up.

That I can do.

A young man finding his way...one step at a time

 Indoor climbing

Chaseman's journey to the top

On the Way Out series Vol. 6 Part 4

My grandson, Chase, knew where he was headed. I, 76-year-old Grandpa Dan, was on a new journey with his 12-year-old grandson as we sped west -- a  40-minute drive to Grand Junction, Colorado.

We were headed for a facility and a sporting venue so foreign to me. I get the feeling this is just the beginning of my journey with a middle school adventurous young man who, at this special  moment in time, was about to enlighten this old codger on the art of indoor climbing.

I had know idea.

And we haven't made it to places like Powderhorn yet, the closest ski area, which is just a short drive upward if you veer south at an exit midway between Parachute and Grand Junction.

Today we would roll past that exit and end up indoors at a place where humans strap on special gear and proceed to act like monkeys.

Chaseman found a pair of climbing shoes -- a specialized type of footwear designed for rock climbing. He entered a room, much like a first stop at a bowling alley and found a pair, close enough to get the job done for his two-hour journey up, down and then up again. Chase will eventually need a pair of his own climbing shoes. Maybe, Grandpa could take care of that item. (Oops! I checked out the average price for a good pair: $168).

Street shoes will not get the job done. Grandpa's first lesson on rock climbing. 

Climbing shoes are designed to hold a lot of weight up by your toes and should fit tightly, Next you strap on the harness and cover the palms of your hands with chalk, which instantly dries out your hands, allowing the climber to hold on to to small things -- rock like things, of which Chaseman will discover on his numerous routes to the top.

Once equipped, Chase proceeds. He finds his level of difficulty and begins his journey to the top...one step at a time. If he doesn't succeed the first time, he releases the line and gradually descends to the floor...and tries it again, eventually making it to the top with a smile on his face.

A lesson on life, whether he realized it or not.

Chaseman, your life's journey is just beginning.

A quick stop at McDonald's and we headed home. Chase's hands were sore. I, on the other hand, felt great. 

Our little journey was in the books.

Is the cowboy talking to me?

Is the cowboy talking to me? My thoughts from two years ago.

Quote of the Day: "Don't forget that you're human, and it's okay to have a bad day... Just don't unpack and live there. Ride it out and then refocus on where you are headed."

The quote comes from a Facebook page out of Canada called Cowboy Classified Inc.

I'm on a journey along the Western Slope. Let me be honest with you- I'm no cowboy. I couldn't walk a mile in their boots. The other day, I met a real cowboy (see my previous post), and we discussed cowboy boots.

"I wear an old pair only when I climb on my horse. I'm in my mid-60s, and I don't always wear boots," the cowboy said. He looked down and wiggled both feet, showing off a waterproof, solid-looking pair of tightly laced work shoes.

And another...

Quote of the Day - "When you are truly comfortable with who you are, not everybody will like you... But you won't care about it one bit." ~ Artist ~ Buck McCain

I'm still working on that one. I've spent a lifetime worrying about what other people think and spent too many decades carrying that burden around.

The cowboy I met the other day is comfortable with his boots on or off and spends his quiet time at night, away from the range, engrossed in a Zane Grey book...no television...no CNN, just him and his best friend -- a dog named Hazel. She loves him and doesn't need anything more than a good meal, plenty of water, and to be in constant contact with her master. 

How does one become comfortable in his or her own skin? We all come into the world shoeless...and we will head out of this world the same way.

Rich or poor, famous or not-so-famous, maybe we are out there somewhere, alone...alone on our own "home on the range," wrestling with that narrow path we have chosen. 

Will I settle here, along the Western Slope...or will I move down the road?

Will I need a good pair of cowboy boots or a pair of dress shoes along the way? 

When I get there, will I continue to write? Will I continue to meet characters and new friends along the way? Will I finish my next book?

Maybe I'll just be. I may forget those blank pages ahead; those thoughts are still unwritten. I'll stop the running and become comfortable in my own skin.

I get the feeling the old cowboy I met the other day would tip his hat- his old, worn-out Stetson if you will- if he heard through the grapevine that the "city boy" he befriended once upon a time in Parachute, Colorado, had finally found his way home.

Zane Grey once said: "To fight the bitterness of defeat and the weakness of grief; To be victor over anger; To smile when tears are close; To resist disease and evil men and base instincts; To hate hate and to love love; To go on when it would seem good to die; To look up with unquenchable faith in something ever more about to be. That is what any man can do and be great."

Grey died young, at the age of 67, of heart failure at his home in Altadena, California. What would the great Western writer have done if he had lived on? How many more books could he have written had he reached his 70s or 80s?

His writings his wisdom, speak to me even now. I visualize Grey sitting in a cabin with the fireplace crackling, the words flowing onto paper as the wind whistles through the windows and sneaks through a  crack in the front door. I also visualize my new cowboy friend on an icy morning, with the wind blowing in his face, repairing a broken-down fence on a plateau on a ranch in western Colorado.

My travels- my current tour, if you will, of Colorado- allow me to visualize both men- a famous writer of Western lore and an honest-to-goodness cowpoke who lives such a life. This is a life you can grab ahold of in a Zane Grey book or, in a few isolated cases, when you turn on the television and let Ed Harris and Amy Madigan in Riders of the Purple Sage, or maybe Tommy Lee Jones and Robert Duvall in Lonesome Dove, show you how the West was won.

My journey continues. Time for me to Cowboy Up. Winter is approaching.

NFL Update: Cardinals own best record at 9-2

 NFL Update

My Arizona Cardinals beat Seattle 23-13 on Sunday, thanks mainly to a couple of TD passes from Colt McCoy to Zach Ertz as the franchise improved to an NFL best of 9-2.

The Tennessee Titans own the best won-loss record in the AFC with eight wins and three losses, after their win at home on Sunday over the Houston Texans, 22-13.

Next up: Three games on Thanksgiving Bears at Lions; Raiders at Cowboys and the Saints entertain the Bills.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!

 

I met a Colorado Cowboy today

My visit to the high country...two years ago today 

November 22, 2021

In my ongoing pursuit of characters along the Western Slope, I found my man today at a local watering hole in Parachute, Colorado -- a real-life, rugged cowpoke who could be a dead ringer for Sam Elliott, the veteran film actor who has made a pretty good living portraying rustic cowboys from the 1880s for more than fifty years.

"My ribs are a bit sore," said the cowboy named Calvin. "I had a horse fall on me up in the high timber. I broke three of them (ribs). At my age, it takes a little longer to heal."

Calvin, at 64, was born in nearby Meeker in 1957. "I left school, started ranching, and didn't get my GED till later. I didn't go in the service. They didn't want me. I'd already banged up my knees, calf roping and riding broncs."

"I'm working south of here, up near Collbran. The couple who own the ranch are in their 90s and actually live in the town of Collbran. My boss runs the ranch, and he lets me do my thing; it's mostly repairing fences. I rent a small cabin in De Beque and drive back and forth. It is a small place, with a stove and no television. I read a lot of Zane Grey books. I love to read. Enjoy setting out on a sunny day and just turn the pages."

Calvin is thinking about heading to Arizona. "I worked in Prescott Valley about a year ago. It's a lot warmer. I like the Camp Verde area, around Cottonwood."

But he's a busy cowpoke up on the Grand Mesa in Collbrun.

He's not alone.

Calvin has Hazel with him, a border collie/Australian Shepherd, who just happens to have her own ID -- a card issued to her from the Elks Club in Humboldt, Arizona. "She's out in the truck," Calvin added, pointing toward the north window of the pub/restaurant. "Hazel is older now. Doesn't work anymore, but believe me, that truck out there is hers, not mine." 

"I've been married a couple of times," Calvin said. "It didn't work out. I have three horses. I don't move them around much anymore; it's too expensive. I board them at my ex-brother-in-law's place in Rangely."

Calvin ordered another bottle of Coors, and I shook hands with my new cowboy friend and paid my tab.

"Nice talking to you. Maybe I'll see you around," he said.

"I hope so," I said. "I'm still awaiting the first snowfall. I'm a city boy from Arizona and have much to learn."

"Just take it easy, and you'll do fine."

I headed home. I imagined Calvin and Hazel sitting by the fire later that night- a peaceful evening along the Western Slope. There would be plenty of work tomorrow at the ranch near the base of the Grand Mesa, but for now, Calvin relaxed, reached for another Zane Grey novel, and patted Hazel on the forehead.

All was right with the world.

Photo: No picture taken of my new friend, Calvin, but Sam Elliott will do.

Parachute's Pride and Joy

I walked onto the Grand Valley High School football field on a Sunday afternoon. 

For a newcomer like me, just three weeks into residency in Parachute, Colorado, a small town with a population of little over 2,000, I was taken back at what I saw -- a field in perfect condition, an artificial turf, surrounded by a rubber-coated circular track like you would see at a high school at the 6A or 5A level in a big city -- not at a 1A school with a student population of 351.

The mountains of the Western Slope overlook Toby LeBorgne Stadium -- a little gem situated along I-70 between Grand Junction and Rifle -- which just may be the most spectacular prep football field in Colorado.

To be a young local athlete, heading for their "high school days" in Parachute, they must be chomping at the bit to get their share of playing time on the dazzling, colorful field at Grand Valley High School.

Go, Cardinals!

Impressive!

From the desk of Parachute newcomer Dan Price.

A record breaking day in Denver

From the desk of Dan Price -- the new Western Slope weatherman

I'm 199 miles away from Denver and I'm thinking this morning that I may be the culprit -- the reason records are falling for snowless days in the Mile High City.

The latest date on which Denver has officially recorded snowfall was on Nov. 21, 1934.

Since I may be the only person crazy enough to move from the warm climate of Arizona to Parachute, Colorado this fall, maybe I've created some kind of an imbalance with the weather system as we approach the first day of winter -- now exactly one month away.

Of course, that is a silly thought.

Meteorologists believe the lack of measurable snowfall in the Denver area could be due to La Nina some 1,200 miles away in the Pacific Ocean, a phenomenon causing water temperatures near the equator to be lower than normal.

As for the Western Slope towns of Grand Junction, Parachute, Rifle and Glenwood Springs, it is another beautiful day in the neighborhood with highs of 50 degrees under sunny skies.

Now my great grandson, Fallon (photo below), would just as soon see the white stuff fall from the sky but Great Grandpa Dan would just as soon enjoy another beautiful day in the neighborhood.

Good morning, everyone!

Blue sky in Parachute as far as the eye can see...8 a.m. -- November 21, 2021

The Colorado River runs through Parachute...and continues west to Grand Junction

On the Way Out series

Vol. 6

Part 1

I rolled down another Western Slope country road today. I didn't have to venture far. I was on the backside of Battlement Mesa and the Colorado River weaved left then right and then left again through the town of Parachute. . .one moment the river was on the south side of I-70, the next moment the rushing water weaved to the north side of the interstate.

Yes, the sound of the river was forever present. The Colorado River was void of debris and the two-lane asphalt highway I was on was void of potholes! It struck me how can that be? Look at the highway below. I have yet to find a pothole! Of course, I haven't ventured to the big cities of Denver and Colorado Springs.

I need to check with the pothole police. Where I come from we have potholes that'll shake your car and your teeth. Somebody is doing something right up here in the high country -- 5,280 feet above sea level.

I left the smooth country road and headed east on I-70...now only a half hour from the big city of Grand Junction...with a population of 70,000 residents, 10,000 of them students at Colorado Mesa University with farming, fruit growing and cattle raising as the main three economic activities in the area.

And there's the beautiful bustling downtown area, just like I remembered the first time I was there 55 years ago. There were a few more shops and restaurants along Main Street, but not much different from when I arrived in town, at the age of 21, to be fitted for a Frontier Airlines uniform.

I picked up the fancy uniform and drove the 113 miles back to Moab, Utah and went to work the day after Christmas in 1966.

 

Today, there wasn't a cloud in the sky from Parachute to Grand Junction and back.

I'm still awaiting the first snow. I can wait a little longer.

Who is that man?

On the Way Out series

Vol. 5

Part 10

Well, Mr. Deer. Why don't you mosey over to what is left of the rose bushes and stay awhile. We will communicate somehow. My story might make those broken antlers on your head start to itch and you'll soon have to find a tree, down below in the thick brush, to scratch away the sudden annoyance.

I would rather hear of your travels this morning. What do you see at first light? Do you have a favorite watering hole? Are you constantly on the run this time of year, or do you have a safe haven to go to, along with your friends?

I've been told if I venture on a country road to the south of me and then veer west aways, I may run into some of your friends. But not the big fellas, the elk, as they intend to stay high in the timber and find a brushy cover during the night. 

Your friends though search for patches of food in the meadows at twilight and by the luck of the draw I might catch some of them…such beauty on four hooves -- only God could create.

I know they are out there. The hunters know where you are. Not the best time of year to be checking out rose bushes.

 There's no need to worry about me. I'm a city boy and I carry a camera not a weapon. I admire the adventurous men and women who hunt and do it the right way. A hunting trip from start to finish takes stamina, a knowledge of the wilderness, strength and mental toughness.

At my age I sit back and take in the beauty of it all.

I'm happy to watch the Colorado sun rise over the mountains and enjoy another misty morning, along my new corridor on the Western Slope.

Stay safe, Mr. Deer. Maybe we will meet again.

Good morning, everyone!

A Drive Down a Colorado Country Road

On the Way Out series

Vol. 5

Part 9

I took a detour today.

It wasn't really a detour. It was just an exit along I-70, somewhere between Grand Junction and Glenwood Springs. There wasn't a sign letting the driver of the vehicle know how far the next town was-- only a winding road ahead, which first went south over the Colorado River, then west...then a short stretch north...and then back west again.

I slowed down. A farmhouse was directly in front of me. There were flowers on the porch and wind chimes  on both ends of the porch. You could hear the chimes, almost like they were talking to each other. Suddenly, a sharp curve in the country road -- a wild turkey, with its feathers fluttering, crossed in front of me and made its way across the two-lane road, disappearing into the clearing below. 

I continued, adhering to the 35-mile an hour speed limit. . . slowing to 20 mph around the next curve and the next. Small ranches to my left. . .more farmhouses with more chimes to my right. . .farm equipment spread around the confines of the properties -- awaiting the owner to climb aboard and do in short order  whatever the machinery is supposed to do. The city boy, behind the wheel of the pickup that just rolled by, owned not one ounce of mechanical ability, and could only imagine what a day in the life of the ranch/farm owner was like. What did they go through to keep their little spread running smoothly... big spread in some cases? 

How early are they up in the morning? When does their chores end? What do they do when a blizzard blows through? What does a country breakfast taste like?

I suddenly wanted to be a ranch hand or a farm hand. More importantly, I wanted to meet those Coloradans -- those interesting people that lived inside the walls of those dwellings.

Did the fireplace crackle and pop every night? Was there a bearskin rug in the den, covering a shiny wooded floor and was there a four-legged critter comfortably napping at the feet of its owner?

Who are those characters that live such a life?

I wanted to pull in the driveway, walk onto the porch, knock on the door and find out.

There was a story there. I was sure of it.

I moved on and I reached the plateau to the south. I then looked north and eyed the town of Parachute, Colorado below.

It was a short journey, but this time I was left with only my imagination to deal with. No characters to write about this time. No solid evidence to report. 

Now it's time to turn out the lights. Another Colorado day has come to an end. The moon is shining through the bedroom window. I'm still awaiting the first winter snowfall.

I can only imagine.

Photo: Priceless Captures Photography by Amelia