Mysterious Footprints

When I walked in this morning, there were white footprints the length of the restaurant's green carpet into the main room. What kind of person would leave such a mess?

An hour later as I left the restaurant, I passed the new sports bar they are constructing next door, just as a sheet rocker walked out to his truck.

Friendly Help

At Panera's, two third grade boys sat next to me in an overstuffed chair. The grandparents of one of the boys had brought him and his best friend. They shared with me the best of third grader jokes. Then I told them that my grandson would be six next week and asked what they thought were the best toys.

They said they liked playing the computer game Minecraft. The grandmother suggested they recommend a "real toy" that one could touch. They suggested a few toys--including a Hula Hoop. Eventually they all left the restaurant.

Several minutes later, the boys came back in the restaurant to tell me they had forgotten to tell me about Lego toy kits.

Slide Show

Tonight we were shown a couple of thousand pictures of a trip to Peru and the Galapagos Islands--including at least fifty takes of Blue Footed Boobies and fifty of Frigate Birds. It was a long trip; nice to be home.

Father/Daughter

This morning the sight of a father sitting with his daughter of seven or eight for a breakfast of tea and toasted bagels and cream cheese at a table for two by the restaurant window triggered nostalgia of similar early morning talks long ago with my young daughters--and now young granddaughters.

As I left I overheard him say, "I could hire a consultant who could give you some fashion tips."

Happy Birthday, Darrel

Our friend of some forty years, Darrel, celebrated his birthday yesterday. His wife Marilyn requested that we and other friends send cards with our pictures, and she would bring them to him at his new home: The Aspen House, an Alzheimer care center. She reports he has adapted to the heart wrenching change: He thinks he works there and loves his job.
 
    

We may have faded from your memory, Darrel, but you have not faded from ours--Happy Birthday.

Doctor to Patient

Most every morning, Tom, a university grad student, studies for medical school over coffee and a bagel in the booth next to me. This morning, before he morphed to full study mode, he told me of his "Communicating with Patients" class. The biggest challenge for most of the students is learning how to speak to patients without using vulgar language—habitual words of their youth which heavily color their everyday lingo.

The North Wind

The two entrances to Panera's face north; a big deal this morning as a cold front blows from the north with a chill factor of zero degrees. The door to the main entrance has a two door airlock. The door to the fireplace room where I sit has a single door.

A woman strains against the north wind to pry open the fireplace room door and is blown in with the cold blast. Papers fly from tables and booths.

People with a chill reach for their papers and coats; she walks to the main room to order.

Sundance

Lois and I walk in the parking lot toward the Y as the cold front blows in. We hear two "kee-eeeee-arrs," then see two hawks at fifty feet doing an aerial dance. We pause, enjoy their show, then continue to the Y—but on the way I stop to talk to a guy sporting a kaki shirt with an AK-47 on the front, his eyes focus on the hawks. "What are they doing?" I ask.

"Red-tailed hawks are considered sacred by my people. They are my spirit guides."

"Spirit Guides?"

"For my people spirit guides are like angels and connect me to the Great Spirit. They have already shown me two signs."

"That's cool."

"I am a Native American, Marine, bodyguard and caretaker"—pointing toward a white amblicab with the driver door left open.

"What tribe?

"Choctaw, Cherokee and Norseman It's a bit crazy."

"What tribe was that last one? Norsewhat?"

"From Scandinavia, got Norwegian blood in me."

"Then we are brothers—my grandmother was 100% Norwegian."

"I was raised on the reservation near the northern Georgia border. There I was taught the way of the Red-tailed hawk. I learned how to coax 'em down to the ground right in front of me—I have it on tape."

We watch the hawks in the high winds, backlit by low steel gray clouds, spaced several feet apart and frozen in space. Their large wings point up in a high V dumping large amounts of the uplifting air. Their legs and talons hang straight down braking them like spoilers on a fighter jet. They remain stationary for a while, then leave to soar in arcs of a few hundred yards—one to the right and one to the left—let out spine-tingling "kee-eeeee-arrs" and return to the same spot without the flap of a wing.

"That has to be a sign," I say.

"When the female flies in the large circle, she looks agitated—she looks very angry."

"What does that mean?"

With furled brow, squinting eyes, jutting jaw and pursed lips, he imperceptibly shakes his head, and grunts a low ominous "mmmmmmmm;" following with: "Not good; not good at all.

"I'm glad my client saw 'em from the van. I'm his caretaker, er ah ah assistant caretaker, Native American, Marine and bodyguard."

"Hey, I hear my client in there; gotta go."

"I'm Sundance. Friends call me Sunny."

"Glad to meet ya, Sundance."

Pikes Peak Highway

As I drive on the steep winding road to the top of Pikes Peak, just past Glen Cove at 11,500 feet, I can finally pass the Kansas Flatlander I have trailed for five miles. As I finish passing—"Oh-Oh"—a ranger walks to the center of the road with upraised hand. I stop. "Sir, please don't pass on a double line."

"Sorry. I didn't see it," holding back my indignation—after all—I had learned to drive on Montana mountain roads where the only driving guideline was Reasonable and Prudent.

"I'm here with this herd of mountain sheep," she said, looking toward the herd and group of people holding binoculars....

"Thank you," I said—and continued to the top to meet my cousins arriving via the cog railway.

After my cousins depart down the mountain, I begin my journey down the highway; this is the main reason I drove up—to test my car brakes on the way down. Years ago at Glen Cove, where rangers do a brake check, our Caravan hubcaps measured 450 degrees, and our family and van were fortunately quarantined for half an hour.

I drive our 2010 Camry with a hybrid engine. The hybrid is the unknown; how well will it do in the descent? It features dynamic braking: The electric engine morphs into a generator pumping energy back into the huge battery—slowing down the car. Depressing the brake pedal seldom activates the real brakes; rather, it pumps energy into the battery—at least on flat land. I set the shift lever to "B" for "Engine Braking."

As I approach Glen Cove—"Oh-Oh"—I see the ranger I met on the way up is going to check my brakes on the way down. I stop. From her hip, she aims a laser/infrared gun at my wheel, double checks her reading, and says, "Wow, 125 degrees. That's just from your tires warming. You are welcome back anytime."

"I'm the double yellow line guy."

"Yah, I know."

With no one behind me, we discuss my dynamic braking, how poorly she says the Prius-hybrid braking performs, mountain sheep…and more…until a car approaches from behind.

Warning Sign

As I drive north on I-25 behind a semi-trailer stacked to the sky with crushed cars, I can't read its 18" x 18" sign until I get within 20 feet:

CAUTION!
DO NOT FOLLOW CLOSER THAN 300 FEET.
NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR BROKEN WINDSHIELDS.

Jimmy John's

Today, Friday at noon, I stalled in Garden of the Gods Boulevard gridlock--fifteen minutes to inch by two blocks. The beat up car ahead of me sported a suction-cup sign on the roof: JIMMY JOHN'S SANDWICHES--FREAKY FAST DELIVERY.

Old Technology

This morning as the old man (about my age) walked by our house, a talk show blared from the 1950's salmon-colored Bakelite-plastic five-transistor radio he held--with its antenna fully extended.

The Minister

Promptly at 7:30 every Saturday morning, at the long table near the fireplace in Panera's, a minister leads five to ten men in a lively Bible study.

When I arrived yesterday for coffee at 6:45, the minister had claimed the table—adding smaller tables at each end. While waiting, he distributed handouts and reviewed his heavily tabbed and marked up Bible.

When 7:30 arrived, the minister sat alone. Twenty minutes later, he picked up his Bible and materials, put the borrowed tables back where he had found them, and left.

The Combination Lock

When the wiry white-haired senior walks into the locker room, he always uses the second locker from the wall, hangs his backpack from the top locker hook, lays out his gym clothes in order, dresses, places his glasses on top of the locker, weighs himself, records his weight in a spiral notebook, puts his glasses back on, slips on his workout gloves and I-pod, drapes a folded white towel over his left shoulder, secures his locker with a combination lock, twists the dial first clockwise, pauses, twists it a full turn counter-clockwise to the number 12 ½--and then leaves for the gym.

Deadheading

Our granddaughter Sarah (7) helped us maintain our out-of-town neighbor's deck flowers. While watering a large barrel covered with faded blooms, she observed, "This needs some serious dead-heading."

Safety First

As the hundred-plus car freight train sped northbound on the overpass, I noticed that those tanker cars tagged with the most dangerous rated hazmat labels (like 4-4-4-USE NO WATER) --were also heavily tagged with impressive ghetto art and gang signs.

IKEA Legalease

In the Denver IKEA store, a 3' x 12' sign hangs from the high ceiling:

 

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ALL BEEF HOT DOG*
50 Cents
[Picture of a 2' x 10' hot dog and bun]

*Not actual size

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The Yellow Jackets

When our family vacationed together in Montana, my granddaughters, Sarah and Genevieve who have never met a bug they wouldn't pick up, decided to rescue hundreds of dumb yellow jackets that were drowning in the wading pool. They picked up the near-dead wasps, carried them to dry land, and observed them--as they dried off and flew away. Some yellow jackets were not grateful and both cousins received a couple of stings. Unnerved and wiser, they changed their tactics and handled the bugs with vigilance and special tools. Many yellow jacket lives were saved--so they could pester us later in the evening around the campfire.

Road Rage

Lois pulled into the left turn lane under the freeway as the turn arrow changed to red. From our right, traffic started to move past us on the one way frontage road—except for one car with dark tinted windows that appeared stalled at the light. A woman in the car behind beeped her horn—perhaps for a second too long—because the stalled car door sprang open ejecting a muscular young guy who gesticulated and yelled profanities as he ran back to the horn blower's car. She backed up with a start, maneuvered around his car and sped away.

Now there were only two vehicles left for a quarter mile: ours with two seniors on board; and his with still opened door--while he was angrily kicking the side of his car. When he saw us watching his antics, he ran over to my window cursing with pumping fists, screaming that we were just sitting there and watching him—why weren't we helping him? [I have helped many stalled motorists in my life—but never under duress.] I shouted to Lois to get out of there. She did—legally so—properly waiting for the left turn arrow to turn green.

The Well Dressed Woman

Early this morning at Panera's I sat alone in "my" room in the over-stuffed chair by the fireplace, listening to classical background music, drinking coffee and reading the paper, when a well-dressed woman in her fifties sat down in the booth nearby, taking items out of her book bag to set up her space: three books stacked to her right, a computer tablet at the back, an old leather bound book to her left and an open journal and pen in front. When everything was in its proper place, she began gazing into the distance, stopping occasionally to jot down her thoughts in her journal.

After a while she left the room to return with a breakfast sandwich and a tall coffee.

I went back to reading the paper, when out of the silence came an ineloquent, "SHIT!" Her tall coffee cup was turned on its side. She didn't need my offer of help and cleaned up the mess, as I returned to my world.

Butte Beer's Unique Taste--revised

When I had a summer job with Reardon's plumbing shop, I took a plumber up to Butte Brewing to change a two inch gate valve that was leaking on the bottom of a thousand gallon holding tank of beer. We couldn't just drain the tank; this had to be a live operation. The plumber had to unscrew the valve--losing gallons of beer in the process--and replace it with a new valve. It was a surprise to see a mouse with extreme alcohol poisoning flow out with the beer. We had discovered the secret to Butte Beer's unique flavor.

Debt Collectors

As I stood in line to order coffee I overheard two guys behind me with English accents. They looked somewhat like Manchester soccer hooligans--dressed in rugby jerseys with watch caps pulled down over their ears. Lanyards held their company ID cards.

Smiling and looking at their IDs, I asked, "So, what do you guys do?"

"We are collectors for Bank o' America."
...
"So, you might come to my door to collect money?"

"Whatever."

Impatient

On the way to Costco I listened to a funny sketch by the overly heavy-weight comedian John Pinette (whose ongoing theme is always about food) talk about his unbearable waits in fast food lines--like standing behind the first in line who slowly vacillates about what to order or another who after ordering searches for their checkbook (and then for a pen that works).

After shopping at Costco, I decided to order something for lunch and queued up behind two other people. As we waited the guy in front of me freaked out as the much-over-dressed-for-Costco woman, who was in the middle of ordering, searched her purse for a ringing cell phone.

"I hate it when this happens!" he impatiently shouted. As soon as the woman had paid, he ran up next to her and handed the clerk the receipt that he had pre-paid at the checkout stand--which was quickly exchanged for a hot dog--and then he was gone. Meanwhile the woman was still standing next to the counter and talking on her phone--unaware of his angst--or anyone else.

Memories

These days the only way to recall a thought is to write it on a list; unless I forget that I have a list.

My thirtieth birthday

My decade birthdays have never been much of a concern until my seventieth when I realized that I may be running out of decades; however, with the German report last week that seventy-two is the new thirty, I now look forward to my thirtieth birthday in May.

The Shining

Lois and I drove up in the mountains this morning to Estes Park for a wedding which we just attended; we go next to the reception at the Stanley Hotel--which inspired Stephen King's "The Shining." I really get chills when I near the magnificent Stanley estate, remembering King's scary movie and room 237.

Last night winds stoked up the fire that has been smoldering in Rocky Mountain National Park... since the first of October. Now highway 36 is closed to Boulder and those to the west have been evacuated. There is a heavy haze, and the smell of the smoke which hides the Rockies. Air support and 26 more fire engines are on the way.

In spite of this, the wedding was beautiful in a rustic church of the mountains. We are staying the night here; the man at the front desk assured us that: "Everything will be okay and that the firemen are working hard to keep the fire in check..."

It sounds like an intro for a Steven King thriller--we'll let you know...

Overwhelmed

As we entered the Colorado Railroad Museum, five-year-old grandson Andrew--overwhelmed by the sight of acres of railcars and engines and then experiencing the loud gongs of the bell, an ear-piercing whistle and the scary hiss of escaping steam from an engine pulling railcars of passengers about to leave the station--enthusiastically shouted with fingers plugging his ears, "And they don't even know how much I love trains."

Japanese grammarian

This morning when I visited a Toastmasters club, it was difficult to understand a new-to-English Japanese woman describe to guests her duties as the grammarian for the meeting. Later, at the end of the meeting, when she gave her report on everyone's usage of the English language, she told one member that he had said "to who" rather than "to whom." She was correct in this usage that most Americans don't understand, and the audience erupted in applause and cheers.

No thank you

Five year old grandson Andrew was watching NASA videos about Mars exploration on his mother's Android pad. At the end of one video he said, "I have to go to the bathroom."
"May I watch a video while you are gone?" I asked.
"No thank you," he said politely as he walked away.

TSA

At airport security the first TSA screener who looked and acted like an East German boarder guard was intimidating as she slowly examined our IDs under black light.

A nearby agent looked at Lois's necklace said, "I always wanted to get my wife a necklace like that. Couldn't afford it."

His partner said to me with a smile, "I'll bet you had to use a gun to get that."

They then waved us through, and we were relieved to have made it past the first centurions.

Firecracker Gun

 In the summer of '53 I remember the thrill of firing off a firecracker gun that I had made from 3 feet of 3/4" black pipe with a pipe cap screwed onto the end that I had threaded. I inserted a marble and a large firecracker in the breach with the fuse going through a hole dirilled in the cap. We fired it at a half inch sheet of plywood from twenty feet, and were amazed when it tore through the plywood and hit a garage a block away. It would be more difficult to repeat that science experiment today.

Handsome

When I walk in the cafe at dawn, I wear a baseball cap because my hair is a fright untill washed and drinking coffe is my highest priority. However, the other day I dressed up for and attended an early meeting and arrived later at the cafe. While Jeff took my order, Martha who sometimes waits on me said, "Geoff...I didn't recognize you without the hat. You are quite handsome."
....Silence....
As Jeff handed me my order she said, "Well...I ah-ah didn't mean that you don't look alright in that hat."

Troubling 24 Hours

The last 24 hours have been difficult. Yesterday, when I arrived with Lois to swim at the Y, I couldn't find my pool shoes. I checked at lost and found; they didn't have my shoes. When we got home, I was missing a ski glove that I knew I had worn on the way into the Y in the extreme cold; I did find my pool shoes.

This morning, I decided to go back to the Y to see if my glove had turned up. I wore an old pair of ski gloves and stopped for coffee first--so I had three gloves when I entered the coffee shop. After leaving the coffee shop I walked into Y and found that I had only two gloves--an old one and my newer one. Jan at the desk brought out a glove from lost and found that matched the newer glove. I now had three gloves. She suggested that perhaps a string with mitten clips that went through my sleeves would be of help.

I stopped by the coffee place, held up my old glove, and Jeff the manager nodded and brought me a matching old glove. I now had four gloves.

When I got home, I put my gloves on the table and was startled to find that I only had three--I was missing an old glove. I went to the garage and found the older glove on the floor. Five hours have now gone by: I have two shoes, and four gloves. I should be embarrassed, but that is just part of being seventy...and I have had a little help from my friends...