Queen of the Double Wide on Wheels

Sammy Kershaw serenaded the country audience back in the '90s with "Queen of My Double Wide Trailer", and I found myself astonished as to who might want to live in a trailer park.  Those were the days when I was more of a snob.

Words that come back around to take a large chunk out of my ass - a big bite ... here I sit, in my RV, in a trailer park, writing about this very topic. 

We bought a RV in March, 2013.  Our condo recently went under contract, and hopefully will close at the end of November.  We've been living in very rural North Routt County, Clark, Colorado since Father's Day weekend.  Off grid has been an adventure.  No internet, no cable.  Water being brought in, rather than just turning on a faucet.  It's been a reality check, but a great reality check.

So, when winter came knocking a few weeks ago, the logistics had to be reconsidered.  In an area that easily sees up to 500 inches + of snow, living in the back 40 was not going to be very wise.  We moved in to town this past weekend, and smack dab in to the KOA campground.  A real life trailer park.

Looking around at the diversity of RVs, I am blown away.  You have the hippie stoner dudes who live in a small Streamline; I'm not sure how they all fit in there.  Next to them, a large 5th wheel Voltage with 2 slide-outs; I believe they are hunters, as I have not seen them since we arrived, and it's rifle season.  Last night an immense 5th wheel rolled in, pulled by a semi-cab, with license plates from Montana; a real palace - 3 slide outs.  They stayed one night. 

Today 2 friends from ski patrol moved in.  One has been coming here for 11 years, and filled me in on the skinny as to who lives here during the winter season.  He told me about some couple who own a million dollar rig, are also "swingers" and were on the hunt for people to swing with them - that sounds like the people I envisioned to living in a trailer park. 

I'm still a snob, although I've mellowed over the years.  A trailer park will do that to you!

Idiosyncrasies of Men

A recent conversation with my brother had me thinking that he had figured out the female race.  Oh, how wrong he is!

As I sit here at The Clark Store, plugged into my lifeline, otherwise known as the free wifi table, I can easily overhear the guys' take on life.  Oh how I wish my brother was here.

4 men, all with coffee or cokes, grubby clothes from shoveling shit - all types of "shit" and an odor or cow poo and mud, are discussing today's issues.  They are the champions of the world, or so they think.  It's enlightening to hear the conversations that range from moving big piece of wood with a skid steer, to family visits, how the "little lady" NEEDS their help for chores around the house, doctor visits, the price for a head of cattle, sharing pictures on their smart phones, sports scores, shooting bear,  outfitters in town,  killing, preparing, seasoning and then eating bear.  They are also discussing who pulled which tag for where, who has the BIGGEST, ha ha.....elk.  I'm loving it. Oh, and don't forget the guy who just killed the "biggest moose I ever saw, down in Soda Creek".

I know where all the great hunting spots are now; not that I really care to  know.  I'd rather hunt democrats.  But, in case you need to know...down near Ted Turner's ranch, boy scout ranch, Cimarron, soda creek, brown's park, 20mile.  Of course, if you're not from the Rockies, these locations might need a Garmin to locate. 

I love my brother dearly.  Aside from being my brother, he is my friend.  But he is slightly clueless when it comes to how he perceives women vs men.  These 4 ranchers at the table next to me are even sharing recipes as to the proper way to make jerky; while one even laments that he has never heard of a jerky cutter. 

Even more entertaining, is one young buck talking about how "tight his AR-15" is.  What would an old fashion man party be without gun talk.  But then again, Steamboat did just host a female gun shoot. 

Life is good, and every once in awhile it's very, very informative to hear how the opposite sex perceives the never ending battle between the sexes. 

Government Shut Down - Get A Pet Instead

It's been a long two months since I have written anything on my personal blog.  I have been devoting my time to my husband's blog site (www.mollydogimages.com)  and also traveling a bit before the snow flies.  Truth be told, it's already begun its flight.  Ugh, the white stuff - which I disdain.  I suppose residing in the Rocky Mountains has something to do with the weather that follows fall.  Silly me.

Living off grid has advantages and disadvantages.  Peace, tranquility, unencumbered lifestyle - you get all this and more when you reside in your RV, on a piece of property.  However, the down side, if you were to even consider it such would be the small toilet, small stove, the amazing one gallon shower, no Internet, television, cable reception, etc.  Mix it all together, and I believe it balances everything out in the long run.

The government shut down.  I've been just ready to explode over this news.  One of the things that irks me more than anything is that Congress, the Senate and THE POTUS are still receiving their paychecks, while other government workers are being furloughed.  Can anyone recognize the hypocrisy of that one?  In states like Utah, where multiple National Parks are located, a force government closure will deeply resonate through the pocketbooks of those who rely upon tourism that comes from nature's ample parks.  Even here in Colorado, we've been affected.  The closure of Trailridge Road means that those who were nearly wiped out during the recent flooding are pretty much stuck with very, very limited ways to escape.  Up until the government closure, at least some of those stuck in Lyons, Drake, etc were able to utilize Trailridge Road.  No more.  Does anyone in Washington, D.C. even listen or care about the "little person" suffering?  Does the wooden headed Nancy Pelosi or Harry Reid care an ounce for those who are without fresh water?

So, I've been away from my own blog for 2 months.  During that time, I enrolled in school.  I'm taking small steps to further my medical career.  I am the oldest person in my class.  That's okay with me.  With age comes experience, and perhaps an ability to add something to the subject at hand.

While away from life in general, I've been surfing the 'net more often and come upon many, many rescue sites for animals.  I've always had a yearning; somewhat of a mythical draw towards animals.  They love unconditionally, they do not judge.  Everyday has the potential for something new.  I love it. http://www.vrcpitbull.net/dog/ , Is one of my favorite websites along with http://bestfriends.org/.  If dreams could come true, I'd love to work for either of
these organizations.  Their mission statements are a near to exact of my sentiments towards life. 



Look into the eyes of this happy little creature , named Brinkley, that lives at www.villalobos.com in Louisiana, and tell me his little smile doesn't bring instantaneous relief to a heavy day.



Or this handsome man, named Douglas who lives at www.bestfriends.org in southern Utah.  There are close to 1500 animals at this red rocked sanctuary, and they are always looking for volunteers.  Having spent a few volunteer visits to Best Friends, I never felt more loved.  There were special cats and dogs that just captured my heart.  In fact, when our beloved Mac dog died, we had him buried at Angels Landing, within the shade of red rocks on the Best Friends' grounds.  The place is magical.

So, while the government dicks around with our future, I try to look at it one day at a time.  To see deer in our front yard, or simply helping a small bird who flew into a glass porch door, we look at the marvels of the animal kingdom, and almost can forget what is happening around the rest of the work.

 

 

HAVE A GREAT DAY - GO PET A DOG, SCRATCH A CAT'S EARS, OR LISTEN TO NATURE.

Let's Talk PEACE

Most Christians have heard of him by now.  St. Francis Assisi.  Born in Umbria in 1182, Francis was responsible for the birth of the Franciscan and Dominican orders.  He quite literally lived the Bible, the Gospels, and spreading the word of PEACE.  Not just a verbal announcement of Peace, but in his everyday life's work.  A man of small stature, Francis exuded JOY.  Building a house, brick by brick, constructed of peace, happiness and a sincere longing and passion for others to experience the utter serenity that Jesus Christ taught throughout the Gospels.  St. Francis also received the Stigmata; a replication of the wounds that Christ suffered during his Crucifixion. 

So, how do I go from my usual rants and raves on all this political or of high anxiety, to a topic that is completely the polar opposite of that world?  Great question.  A catholic myself, I chose as my patron saint, Francis of Assisi.  A true believer of his message, I also reveled in the fact that St. Francis is the patron saint of animals, and the State of Colorado.  Those that know me well shouldn't be surprised when I say that I have rescued my fair share of wayward animals, much to the dismay of my parents when I was young, and now to my loving and tolerant husband John, who shrugs off a new furry friend as "well here we go again'. 

This weekend, our beloved Monsignor Tom celebrated his 60th anniversary (and 85th birthday) of taking the Holy Orders.  The joyous event was held at the Steamboat Sheraton Grand Ballroom.  And it was GRAND!   Fr. Tom, a Brooklyn native, known for is good nature, sharp wit and dry humor, packed the joint.  It was a Rolling Stones concert, sans the Stones.  Fr. Tom had past and present parishioners in attendance to witness a spectacular moment.  People from Aspen, Vail, New York, the Bahamas, New Zealand - all over the country were packed into the standing room only palladium to witness and be blessed by Fr. Tom.  Mass was celebrated with the presence of 8 priests, an abbot from nearby St. Benedict Abbey in Snowmass, CO and of course our own Fr. Ernst and Deacon John Franklin. 

The guest of honor was there, in his wheelchair, but alert and gregarious as always.  Time and age has begun to show in Fr. Tom's ability to stand for any length of time.  His voice quivered when he stood to address the congregation after Mass was over.  His sermon was to the point, direct and shot straight to the heart.  PEACE, JOY AND LOVE.  Fr. Tom called us to learn from the newly appointed Holy Father Pope Francis.  He spoke of the ability to truly immerse ourselves in the spirit of what St. Francis of Assisi lived, and what our Pope Francis preaches to Catholics, in fact all people, all over the world.  The message isn't complicated.  In fact, it takes absolutely no extra time, strength or complication.  It's the Golden Rule.  Treat others with respect.  Love with unlimited power.  Exude peace in your everyday life.  Toss a smile towards someone you may not know.  These actions go a long way in making others feel better, and all the while, giving yourself a shot of gratitude for your own life.

A few years ago, I read the book, "The Shack".  I did not give it much thought, as I perused the shelves in the book section of Target.  I was on one of my many rendezvous to Moab, Utah where I garner my strength from the red rocks and peaceful beauty of the simplistic desert scape.  I often stop in Grand Junction, Colorado to hit the potty, and perhaps grab a few books.  I read almost anything available, and relish I each and every book I hold.  Has anyone ever experienced the joy of holding a book?  Sweet feelings!

At any rate, where was I? Oh yes, "The Shack".  Starting out as a family who is grieving and attempting to come to grips from the horrific murder of their young daughter Missy, Mack, the father,  is having a difficult time with his relationship with GOD.  Now  listen - before the eye rolling begins.  No matter your religious, spiritual or high power beliefs, most of the free world has some sort of conversation and repertoire with GOD.  We all experience a unique bond with the big guy.  So, as the book carries on, Mack begins his long journey and then mystical meeting with God and the Holy Trinity.  I fear that divulging anymore of the grit to the story will give away the final chapters and revelations that Mack experiences - but let's just say, I see some St. Francis all over the book.

St. Francis upon his death bed was to have recited Psalm 141., the Psalm of David.  He lived his life for the Gospel, for servitude to the poor of spirit, the weak of heart and to teach the love of GOD.  If during your reading of my blog entry today, you take an extra 5 minutes to consider the lesson to be learned from St. Francis, I can't help but wonder...

WHAT WOULD LIFE BE LIKE WITH A LITTLE MORE PEACE, JOY & LOVE?

Baiting a Hook - Fishing Tips

Recent headlines have left some groups whirling in a dirty dust pile.  All the colors of the rainbow have been brought to the forefront of the human gene pool.  You can be black. You can be white.  Hispanic, Asian, etc.  You can be half, or a 1/3, 1/4.  To hear some media outlets describe race, it sounds like a recipe for baking an upside down pineapple cake with chocolate frosting and whip cream.  Ludicrous.

The way I see it, liberal media spends far too much time poking a stick in the race card.  It's as if a small child, with a sharp stick, is prodding and poking at a very ripe, and very dead carcass  The carcass in this case being America.  An America as we knew it was.  As a whole, we humans haven't evolved completely.

News stories report that a dozen or so black teens were murdered in Chicago during the course of the Zimmerman trial.  Where was the outrage and media coverage for those kids?  Did Sharpton and Jackson suddenly become deaf mutes?  Ignoring the obvious facts that crime exists on a constant basis; that statistics from the FBI show proof that 91% of homicides upon blacks were executed by other blacks, doesn't make for happy race baiting fodder.  Sharpton and other race baiters mock and ridicule their own race by ignoring those facts.  Perhaps race baiters garner some sort of macabre personal gratification by pontificating on the nonsense of alleged racial inequality within the borders of America.

Sure, it's easy for me, a white woman, to point a finger at the race baiters and easily see through their thin veils, and realize they are serving only their best interests.  Where was the outrage of liberal media, liberal leaders, race baiters, etc when O.J. Simpson got off vis-à-vis "jury nullification"?  Don't hide in the shadows and imagine or pretend for one moment that Simpson wasn't guilty as sin in the heinous murders of Brown-Simpson and Goldman.  All evidence pointed in that direction. 

My mother recently said to me..."You don't need to be so outspoken.  Sometimes it's better to sit quietly"...  Ah, Mother.  I'm not a radical by any means, but when I see something that is wrong, I am going to say something.  I'm not a sideline kind of girl.  I'm not a pick a fight kind of gal, either. 

I often wonder about blacks, and their choices of role models.  There are so many positive, wonderful blacks who have excelled in society, government, medicine, music and history.   If I can, as a white woman, see all these incredible attributes, why then do the youth of today pivot towards the negative?   Is it a lack of higher education, or the absence of a male father figure in their upbringing?  Is it the drug scene, and the money, bling, cars and women? 

What it would it be like if race baiters switched bait, and started tossing a line out to the positive role models that exist in abundance?  Why not promote education, staying in school, defying the false enticements of the drug scene?  Why do race baiters dangle victim bait in front of the kids who have yet to form solid opinions, and push them into the belief system that society as a whole "owes" them something?  What about the positive notion that hard work does pay off.  That being a moral, decent person is something to be proud of?

The tackle box is full of bait, but sadly, and at the expense of today's floundering youth, the likes of the Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton and liberal media are hooking our children, and then tossing them back out into a sea of troubles.

The Wilds of the Animals - Or Angry Rioters

So, ..................a huge sigh.  I've been thinking about animals.  Our move to the country has been enlightening to say the least.  I have no television, cable reception, and my phone gets Internet, but it drains the battery, and I have failed to master pecking out messages on a tiny keyboard.
Every morning, I drive 8 miles to a local grocery, café, etc to plug into an outlet and get my addiction.  It's brutal. 

Without modern technology, I have been blessed with an abundance of time to enjoy nature in all its glory.  I take the time to listen the birds, or the sound of the wind as it passes through the tall grass.  It's mesmerizing.  Deer amble through the hayfield.  Other small creatures make their way through adjacent fields, and the river gives passage to the trout and all life in the small piece of heaven we reside on.   The wilds of the Rocky Mountains go on about their lives all around us.  We are but a tiny, almost invisible spec of pollen in the big picture.

I look at the animals and what they must endure to ensure their survival.  They are tough.  If roads, cars and hunters weren't a daily source of turmoil, animals are part of the huge cycle of life.  Eat, or be eaten.  They are smart.  They survive against odds that mankind can't even begin to fathom. 

And now we come to the segment of "angry rioters".  Some refer to the rioters, acting like goons as animals.  I believe that is an insult to animals.  Goons destroying property.  Goons on the freeway.  Goons rioting.  All because the justice system worked.  A jury found Zimmerman not guilty on the charges brought forth by the State of Florida.  Color seems to fall into everything nowadays.  Its repugnant, stale and nauseating.  Get over it all ready. 

I watch the animals in the fields.  I see the wind rush through the cottonwoods.  Today, a warm sunny day in the Rocky Mountains, I am once again reminded at the terrors and dangerous obstacles the animal kingdom must face.  A dead deer on the side of the road, victim to a car.  I sigh at the realization that animals face far greater troubles than an idiotic goon rioting on Interstate 10 in Southern California. 


"...With carved bird, saint, and suns the wrackspiked maiden mouth
Lops, as a bush plumed with flames, the rant of the fierce eye,
Clips short the gesture of breath.
Die in red feathers when the flying heaven's cut,
And roll with the knocked earth:
Lie dry, rest robbed, my beast.
You have kicked from a dark den, leaped up the whinnying light,
And dug your grave in my breast."

Dylan Thomas

White Russians, Black Irish, Creepy White Ass Cracker

I swore to myself that I would not touch the race card with a ten foot pole!  But, today I read that CNN  has taken to referring to George Zimmerman as a "white Hispanic".  With that said, the flood gates have opened and all bets are off.

A few weeks ago, I blogged about the colors in a crayon box.  Being raised by socially liberal, Democratic parents, colors were for drawing.  We did not cast labels on human beings.  A person was judged by the "...context of their character..."(MLK's famous speech) and that was it. 

Justice is blind?  Really?  It appears that someone paid for Ms. Justice to get Lasik surgery, because she seems to be very, very keen on the color of defendants lately.  Maybe CNN and heavy breather Chris Matthews took up a collection for blind as a bat, Ms. Justice.

I was very shocked to learn that whites can also be referred to as "creepy white ass crackers".  Maybe Nabisco can produce a line of these tasty little snacks.  The racially charged slang's that are pummeled at whites, Caucasians, homeys, crackers, etc... seem to bounce right off them.  They are, after all, just words.  What did mom & dad teach us?  "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me."

I'm not implying that slavery was not a wretched, horrible part of history.  BUT, so was the extermination of the Jews under Hitler, the genocide performed by Pol Pot, the massacres of the Tutsi and Hutus, the mass exodus of running, killing and forcing the Americas FIRST people off their lands and onto to barren reservations, straight towards poverty, alcoholism and oblivion.... (the Native American Indian).  So, thus far, in all those evil encrusted acts, one thing is true and accurate.  There was a rainbow of colors being slaughtered.

"I was born and raised a poor black child"...the famous one liner from Steve Martin's, "The Jerk" was funny when the movie debuted, and after watching it in reruns, it's still funny.  But, how many will see it as a heavy duty, subliminal racist sling? 

I was born a white girl in southern California.  I knew there were different shades of colors, but never paid attention to it.  I had and still have friends of all shapes, sizes, colors and religious backgrounds.  I don't look at people through rose colored glasses.  I see just fine with the specs I have on.  Perhaps, as a white woman, I was the only one paying attention to MLK when he gave his famous speech on context of character.

So, here we are, on the cusp of yet another racially charged case of black vs.  creepy white ass cracker.  The main problem with this is that George Zimmerman is a Hispanic male.  The media has played the trial, ad nausea,  even "pausing" for commercials.  Interestingly enough, I've yet to see an ad from Keebler Cookies for creepy white ass crackers. 

We've heard the experts analyzing the case from every angle.  What  if, what if, what if?  In the long run, all I've seen and heard is evidence that supports Zimmerman's report that he was assaulted and battered by Martin, and that Zimmerman acted in self defense.  Was Zimmerman a bit of a cop wanna-be?  Probably?  Could he have been a bit over zealous in his neighborhood watch routine?  Yes.  But... this trial isn't about that.  It's a case of self defense.
 
We read in the headlines how the Sanford P.D. and the state of Florida are gearing up for possible riots when the verdict is announced.  Suddenly, I am looking through my car window, caught in heavy rush hour traffic, on the Hollywood Freeway, after leaving work early. No one in their mind wanted to be caught in the mid-Wilshire district after those verdicts were read - Rodney King. 

What about the poor fellow, Reginald Denny, who on April 29, 1992,  was minding his own business, driving a truck through south central L.A. on Normandie when: 

..."his rig crossed Florence, a group of rioters enraged over the Rodney King verdict rushed toward him, pulled him out of the cab and beat him to within an inch of his life. The attack ended when Damian Monroe Williams took a cinderblock and bashed Denny's skull, fracturing it in 91 places and causing severe brain damage. "Read more: http://www.time.com/time/specials/2007/la_riot/article/0,28804,1614117_1614084_1614511,00.html #ixzz2YqMw7yOS

What does this story say?  Does our system of justice allow for riots if groups feel slighted when things don't go as they want?  Are we really a society that needs to prepare for riots if a "white Hispanic" is found not guilty of second degree murder of a "hoodied" black kid?    Is this what Martin Luther King and  civil rights founding leader Medgar Evans were about?  History  would say no.  The 1963 assassination of Evans, outside his house, in front of his family was key in churning the hatred of blacks and white.  Although it took almost 30 years for justice to prevail,  Byron de la Beckwith was caught, tried,  found guilty, and ultimately died in prison.  Justice was served.  The former KKK member is probably enjoying some sauna time in hell. 

So, why, if a white jury can find Beckwith guilty of a racially charged murder, in the deep south of 1963 -  why can't we have the faith to look towards JUSTICE and rely upon her to do the same in 2013?