Weather Panorama

Here's a great weather panorama taken about 1:50 pm 12/27/12 looking north from a point on Highway 89A near Cottonwood at the Rocking Chair road intersection.  You might be able to click on the full size panorama to be able to scroll across to see it in better detail.  Below is the centerpiece of the scene--an awesome cell smack dab over Sedona.

Holiday Family Trip

Sorry to be so long in putting up these photos from Susun's trip to Visit Daughter Sarah, Peter, and Grand Sons Gage and Van.

Ho, Ho, Ho!

'Tis The Social Season to travel to the Holiday Homes of Dear Friends near and far.  Last night we visited with Diana and Michael Boyle high atop their perch in the Sedona's Heart of Red Rock Country.  Mkke & Diana were super gracious host and hostess, serving up turkey with all the trimmings amid the twinkling lights of their sparkling home.  In the photo above (l-r) John, Mike, Diana, Henry, Susan, Jeff, Joshua, Kate & Goatherder agreed to pose for photographer Miss Susun (left).  Half the fun of getting your picture taken by Miss Susun is watching here do her little "Photo Dance" as she prepares to actually press the shutter.  That's why everyone is smiling.  THANKS, Diana & Mike--Happy Holiday & Many Cheers, jp

Coincidence or karma?

Coincidence is defined as "A remarkable concurrence of events or circumstances without apparent causal connection."  Karma is defined as "Destiny or fate, following as effect from cause."

Perhaps yesterday's event was a karmic coincidence.  What are the odds?

And so it was that we had a very fine, if rainy, day Saturday.  A Cottonwood trip took seven hours off the day's game clock and we returned weary in the late afternoon's gray cloudiness and persistent drizzle.

We opened up our email and, lo and behold, there sat the final draft of the long-in-the-making Verde Paddle Guide (VPG).  We downloaded the five megabyte file and opened it up and about fell out of our chair.  VPG coordinators Chip Norton and Bob Rothrock decided to put a photo of Joshua and me on the cover of this 26-page publication.  Zounds!

After writing up the previous 'High to Low' blog post earlier in the day, to have this document show up on the same day was an astounding karmic coincidence for us.  Somehow it completed a huge circle spanning major Life Events during the past year, coming precisely on the only day where and when it could make such an impact on our Heart & Spirit.  What are the odds?  That's what we kept asking ourselves last night: "What are the odds?"

Frankly, the events of a year ago have been weighing rather heavily on our heart & spirit.  Practically the second we looked at the cover of the Verde Paddle Guide, that weight lifted and we once again felt a decidedly enjoyable spring in our step and spirit and a happy glow once again returned to our heart.

THANKS, Chip & Bob!  Life is Good!  Many Cheers, jp

From High To Low A Year Ago

Mai G. Parsons January 30, 1924 - December 15, 2011

As we all know, Life ebbs and flows and moves from highs to lows.  So it was a year ago today, December 15th, the day we learned my Mother was dead.

Most all Dear Friends & Loyal Blog readers know the saga of our Indiana Journey.  Today we will tell the story once again of going from one of our highest highs to our lowest low.  Ace Reporter Steve Ayers interviewed us about our multi-year battle to get the sand and gravel operators out of The Verde River.  Steve did a great article and it appeared in the Camp Verde Bugle and Verde Independent newspapers on December 14th.  

Oh, my, how the accolades rolled in via email, telephone and in person.  We were so high on the buzz from that article, we felt like we were walking on air that day.  In a nutshell, it was awesome and easily one of our highest highs in our life.  After more than 20 years we were finally getting some recognition for that pivotal phase of our life and, of course, a turning point in Verde River history.  Most of you have read the article but here it is again transcribed from the original (now paywalled) piece:

https://myarizonatales.blogspot.com/2019/09/steve-ayers-article-12132011.html

Not long before the article was published, Steve Ayers wanted to take our photo to include in the article.  It was a cold, rainy day and we went down beside the Verde River at Rezzonnico Park.  I took off my rain jacket and acted as if there wasn't a cloud in the sky.  Steve took a really nice photo and I told him I wanted to send the picture to my Mom because she would love it.  Steve dutifully emailed the photo.

The morning following the publication of the article, I was preparing to go to the Rimrock Post Office to mail out a copy of the article to my Mom.  The article was already in its addressed envelope when the call from the Lafayette Police Officer came.

There's something about receiving news of the death of a Beloved Parent that makes time seem to stop and stand still.  All those of us who have experienced that moment in our Lives know well of the impact of such news.  It's hard for me to imagine being as high one one day and then as low the next day, barely 24 hours later.  The back-to-back juxtaposition of those two events will forever redefine my concept and idea of "going from high to low."  Naturally, Mom never got to see the article or Steve's photograph.  She would have been so happy and proud.  Knowing Mom, she would have framed them both and put them near her roost in front of the TV.

As you know, we arrived back on the banks of the Wabash River December 17th and buried Mom just before Christmas on the Winter Solstice.  We went on to spend six strenuous weeks there before returning to Sweetie Susun and our Dear Friends. Even though there's a sea of memories from that trying time, it's the ballistic shift from high to low in a single day that will forever stand foremost in our memory.

I Love You, Mom.  Rest In Peace in God's Glory Forever.

Friday Report

Our overnight rain totaled three-quarters of an inch, pretty much what "they" said it would be.  We doubt the Rim Country got all that much snow because the temps look to be at or above freezing.

As you can tell by the blog post below, Susun is feeling the glow of love from her Family in San Diego.  Very Special Times for them.

We have the typical whirlwind trip earlier this week.  We were away from Second Chance Ranch a grand total of 54 hours and somehow managed to squeeze in 33 retail stops during that time period.  Whew.  We were very tired upon our return here but rallied up to spend seven hours hunting yesterday with our Dear Friend Tom B.  Neither of us fired a single shot or even saw anything with four legs but we have a really great time together.  You know, wearing camo and male bonding and all that stuff.

We managed our time well on 12-12 so that we could wind up completing a pilgrimage to WINCO at 12 seconds after 12 minutes after 12 noon on 12-12-12.  Nothing out of the ordinary happened.  Customers came and went and no one even noticed me taking a photo of my watch at that precise moment. The photo is blurry but you can clearly see the second hand where it belonged at the appointed time.

This morning, I have to beat feet out of here in under an hour for my first Verde NRCD meeting since last April.  We are promoting the idea of the NRCD becoming a co-sponsor of the March 23rd Verde Riverfest so, naturally, we have to be there to help the idea along.  Dear Friend Jodi is Chairwoman of the NRCD and she has learned to run a much better meeting than she did in her early days when meetings often last four hours or more.  This one will probably only last 2-3 hours.  YIKES!  That's makes the Idaho Falls P&R meeting look like a blur.

The overnight rain finally coagulated the deep dust here so perhaps our allergies will go into remission during the Holidays ahead.  It's been a tough four weeks as far as allergies are concerned.  We are grateful for the rain and more is supposedly on the way after being gift wrapped by El Pacifico.

Not much else to report here--better get going if we're going to make the meeting on time.  Many Cheers, jp

Much Love from Susun & Sarah

Dear Sweetie Susun sent a Super Sweet email last night.  Here's the complete email in italic:


I  Hope I can share a little bit of, "a whole Lotta Love goin on here
" with Sarah, Pete and especially Gage and Van.  So, I will only share a few
of the most touching and beautiful quotes,

I left the light on for you Mema...Van
At 1:00 am to Sarah from Gage and Van...Where is Mema?
At 7:30 am, Gage to me... You are not getting on the plane today are
You? I miss you so much when you do.
Mema you are my friend, I like your blue eyes....Van
Mema, you are fun and silly.  Gage and Van
You smell good, I like your ear rings....Van
You smell good like a flower...Gage
Mema, you are the best...Gage
Mema, I love you....Van
Mema...watch me..Van
Mema, where are you?  Gage and Van several times thru out the day.
Mema , I  am so sited you are here...Gage
Where is John?..Gage
I love you Mema...Gage

There is no way i can describe the way they look so close at me, in to
my eyes and into my heart and spirit. There is no way i can express the joy of holding them in my arms and folding them into the love I have for them.

I am so wonderfully blessed and grateful for this beautiful family.

John, Stasea, Sarah...Brothers and Sisters..Friends
I Love You

Aw...Now that's one Sweet Email! Thanks, Susun, you really summed up a slice of your joy about being with Family during the Holiday Season!  After reading Susun's email above, her Daughter Sarah sent Susun this equally Sweet Email in italic:


Ok mom made me cry!!! We are all so lucky to have so much LOVE in our family!! No matter how often we see each other or not,  or far away or close we are from each other the love never changes!!! I am ( we are) so blessed to have two beautiful boys to remind us how precious we ALL are to each other!!!  I love you both as much as Gage and Van show you and tell you today and forever!!!

It really brings a glow to our heart and spirit to read such touching emails.  Many Cheers!  jp

DR & LBR Maggie Visits

Saturday was a Great Day!  Dear Friend and our very first Loyal Blog Reader Maggie came down from Flagstaff to spend two very fun hours with us.  We enjoyed a great eclectic breakfast by Susun.  What's an eclectic breakfast?  Kale and eggs.  As odd as it sounds, it's good.  We swapped a lot of stories and took a spin around the Old Field.  Maggie is Happy and it was super fun to be together.  We're planning on going up to see her and Steve on December 22nd. THANKS, Maggie!

Susun rallied up some of her Sedona-area girlfriends for a Sunday morning hike.  She was out of here shortly after 8 am.  Below (l-r) Kate, Susan, Marilyn, Diana, and Laura are all smiles for this outing!

We're packing up this Monday morning to head down to Mesa.  Susun flies out on Wednesday morning.  We want to spend some Holiday Time with her brother & Family.  Plus, we have a big backlog of errands to run in the Really Big City. Plus, there's a Deseret Industries thrift store to visit...and a WINCO, too!  We do go into withdrawal without some quality time in a Dee-Eye and a WINCO.  We will get our DI/Winco fix and all will be well.

We will be returning on 12-12-12.  Turns out that 12:12 on 12-12-12 is going to be a big day for people who pay attention to that sort of stuff.  Maybe we will time our return for that minute.

Not much else to report.  Life is good.  Many Cheers, jp

Architects

First Description of photos below:

What you see below are two Redneck Architects using the tools of their trade--wood blocks and some glue.  Why, that's how Goatherder and Little Yonni designed themselfs a straw shed in 1993.  Yep, they didn't need no stinking pencils and rulers and, geeze Louise, Paper?  Ya gotta be kidding.  Why, you never seen such share tree architect dudes!  They whipped that there straw shed into a right nice little ol' model and when all their Big City Friends came to help build it, why they were mighty impressed.

Second Description of photos below:

Dumb and Dumber design a shed.

MIC

MIC = Made In Clarkdale.  MIC is one of the highlights of the Verde Valley's annual social calendar.  It's a shake-and-bake hybrid Family/High School Reunion all rolled into a premier debut of the latest and greatest original creations from the artists of Clarkdale, Arizona.  Way back in the Way Back Time Machine in 1986, a few MIC Mamas and Papas got together and decided that Clarkdale artists ought to have their own showcase.  Back in those days, only Jerome and Sedona were thought to have any "real" artists.  So, MIC was born to showcase ONLY Clarkdale artists.  No one else need apply.

(Editor's Note:  We did actually did attend the first MIC in 1986--that was a year before we got together with Sweetie Susun.  That was when we made the connection that got Richard Thompson (1986) involved in Verde River stuff.  We've attended "most" of the MIC's since but, to be brutally honest, when the belly dancers start swinging their stuff, we're outta there!)

Well, it turns out that Clarkdale harbors quite the eclectic crew of "real" artists and there's never been nary a single schlocky craft item to ever be seen in the annual art debut.  The Good Ladies of Clarkdale also use MIC as a reason to cook up all manner of home made goodies to serve free to attendees.  Meanwhile, MIC pops for free cardbordeaux wine for anyone who cares to imbibe.  Music and belly dancers provide entertainment.

However, beyond the art, food, music, belly dancers and ambiance of the historic Clark Memorial Hall. the true main reason we go is to reunite with many of our Dear Friends that we often see only once each year at MIC.  Hugs, smiles and handshakes abound.

We wanted to take many more photos than the dozen we put up on Facebook but it's tough to talk to Dear Friends and take pictures at the same time.  Next year, maybe we will wear a disguise so we can take photos all night long and no one will know it's us.  Maybe we could go as The Big Lewbowski.  Hum...food for thought.  Anyway, here's some photos.  If you have Facebook you can see others there.

 Dear Friend Marsha Foutz is one of only two MIC Mamas remaining from 1986.  Here she greets incoming attendees.

 Susun ponders Ellie Bauer's use of old piano innards in her latest esoteric artwork.

 Adventurer Stephan Block and Reporter Lu Stitt ponder a light-hearted moment.

 MIC is a one-of-a-kind slice of genuine rural Americana.

 Susun loved this painting of the water of The Verde River.

Susun with two honest-to-gosh, official, certified "Friends of MIC," Chip Norton & Kathy Davis.

Beautiful Sight & Site

 The Clarkdale Gazebo sits smack in the middle of the 100-year-old mining company town's central park square.  It's a Great Site and a Great Sight throughout the year.  However, during the Holidays, it goes from Great to Beautiful.  It's so charming and endearing and all those other Holiday words.  It really warms our Hearts to see it sitting so proud and wonderful in its place of Honor in historic Clarkdale.  Below is a closer view of the tree inside the Gazebo.  There's nary a single industrial Christmas ornament to be seen--everything (except the lights) is hand made.  SWEET!

Haunted Hamburger & Jerome

We went up to Jerome Thursday to chow down on two Haunted Hamburgers.  YIKES!  Those burgers are The Best we've ever had, bar none, without exception.  Period.  They retail anywhere from $9-$14 but this time of year they always run a "buy on, get one free" coupon so the free burger paid for our gas for the long trip from 2nd Chance Ranch.  It's probably 30-35 miles from here to Jerome and it takes a long time.  In Idaho, it would be roughly the equivalent of driving to St. Anthony or even Ashton, as far as driving time goes.  But it's worth it.  Jerome is a fun old ghost town full of strange characters and old buildings--or maybe that's strange buildings and old characters--whatever.  The view from Table 14 at the Haunted Hamburger is the Best Lunch View in all of Arizona.  We put up 24 photos on Facebook.  Here are a few for the blog:

Groovy Tuesday

Dear Friends, Jodi, Dex, Kate and Brock came to visit at camp fire time Tuesday.  All four are very busy with their work schedules and their weekends are jam packed, too.  We figured a week night camp fire and dinner would be just the ticket and so it was.  Thanks Jodi, Dex, Kate & Brock, you sure know how to make a Tuesday evening forever memorable!

 Jodi (left), Susun and Kate share some sisterhood around the campfire.

 Brock (left), John and Dex enjoy watching Susun taking the photo.

It's amazing what a little fried rice and sweet-sour soup will do to cheer up a gang like this.

Amazing But True

Sometimes some things happen which don't really make any sense and Goatherder and we have a saying that such things come from the "You Can't Make This Stuff Up Department."  Today's Amazing But True News is the the world-renowned Lonely Planet organization includes the Verde Valley as one of the Top Ten US travel destinations for 2013. In the list our Verde Valley is ranked #9 in front of Glacier National Park.  Oh, sure.  Yeah, right.  Well, it's amazing but true.

You can see for yourself right here:

http://www.lonelyplanet.com/usa/travel-tips-and-articles/77583#ixzz2EFQEyofG

These two words are very overused but they sure fit:  GO FIGURE!

Sunrise

You can click on the December 6th sunrise panorama for a much larger version.

Memory Lane

Memory Lane is a long lane.  It stretches into forever.  Memory Lane has no end.

Tonight we take a jaunt down Memory Lane.  It begins as we are reading Google News about the Wisconsin coach who bolted away from his Badger team BEFORE they play in the Rose Bowl to take a new job as head coach of the Arkansas Razorbacks for a $700,000 raise to $3.6-million annual salary.  Of course, the Razorbacks will also pay a $1-million "buyout" fee to Wisconsin so this coach could desert his loyal players before their final curtain call in the Rose Bowl.

All this soap opera stuff got me thinking of Jack Mollenkopf, Purdue's coach when I grew up and went to college there in the 1960's.  Mollenkopf was The American Idol back then.  He was the epitome of a loyal, hard-working coach who toted the same lunch box to work that he demanded his players carry when they showed up to practice or play.  There was nothing fancy about Jack.  He was Old School before people began using the term.

I've spent a lot of time on Memory Lane tonight thinking about Jack.  Jack would have never done what that Wisconsin guy did.  I bet Jack wasn't even making $100,000 a year "back in the day" when he took Purdue to its Glory Days in a 1967 Rose Bowl Victory.  Heck, Jack would have bene lucky if the tightwads at Purdue paid him $50,000.  A million buyout just to claim jump a job for a $3.6-million annual salary?  Jack's gotta be rolling over in his grave somewhere thinking about the absurdity of that.

You see, for Jack, it wasn't about money.  It wasn't about fame.  It was all about football.  Jack lived, breathed, slept and WAS football.  Football all the time, always, all ways 24/7/365.

I have to admit that I knew Jack.  Some people say they don't know Jack.  I knew Jack.  Honest--at least as much as a college kid can know Jack.  I idolized Jack back when I was in grade school.  In high school, he became larger than life and in college, well, Super Human would be an understatement.

And so it is that we now take a stroll down Memory Lane.  You see, I've always loved to write.  I've had writing in my blood and fingertips since I was in the cradle.  I started my first neighborhood newspaper when I was 9 years old. I LIVED to write.  When I got to high school the nuns wouldn't let me write for the high school newspaper.  They refused to allow me to even submit a "letter to the editor."  For four full years, I was excluded from writing and, I have to say, it really hurt my feelings and self-esteem.

When I went to Purdue as a freshman in the fall of 1965, I immediately went to the "Exponent" newspaper, which was first published in December 1889.  I asked to be a Reporter and the Upper Classmen in that dirty old newsroom laughed out loud at me.  It was very embarrassing.  You see, NO freshman had EVER been allowed to be a Reporter for The Exponent in the entire history of the newspaper up to that point.  The idea was unthinkable.

Well, you know me and I was undaunted.  I just KNEW that, in spite of having no resume and nothing to show them, that I could somehow be a Staff Reporter for The Exponent. My glass wasn't just half full, it was overflowing!

Somehow the Managing Editor picked up on my belief and he said, "Well, we're going to give you a test assignment.  If you pass the test, we will make you a Staff Reporter.  Go see the Sports Editor."

Little did I know the test couldn't possibly be passed.  It was a lose-lose situation.  But, nevertheless, I went to see the Sports Editor and he smugly said I had a Story Assignment.  I could see all the rest of the upper classmen in the newsroom stifling guffaws and laughs.  Just like Forrest Gump, I said, "Well, what is My Story Assignment?"

And the Sports Editor said, "You have to go interview Jack Mollenkpof."  At that point, some of the lesser contained newsroom residents burst into audible laughter.  You see, NO ONE from The Exponent had ever obtained an interview from Jack Mollenkpof.  Jack has been coaching at Purdue in one capacity or another since the year I was born in 1947 and he HATED the Exponent.  He HATED the mere mention of the word and (as I learned later) had been known to go into near stroke or heart attack mode simply when someone uttered the word "Exponent" within ear shot of the famous coach.

So, that's what they did--they gave me The Kiss of Failure.  Well, you see, I didn't know any better.  I didn't know the "back story."  Stupid is as stupid does, as they say.

So, I called up Coach Jack Mollenkopf's Office and asked for an interview.  The Secretary paused on the phone and said, "What did you say?"  I repeated myself.  There was a long pause and she said, "Did you say you wanted to interview Coach Jack Mollenkopf?"  Of course, being Forrest Gump, I said, "Yes, that's what I said."  There was another long pause.  Then she said, "Just a minute."  I heard some muffled voices and then this really loud burst of male laughter in the background.  I didn't know what to think.

She came back on the phone and said, "The Coach will be happy to see you tomorrow at 1 pm in his office."

Well, you see, I didn't know this was historic and that no one from The Exponent in a couple of generations had done this so I thought it was normal and I made my notes for questions and so forth and went to the Coach's office the next day.  I wondered by everyone looked at me so weirdly as I walked down the hallways toward his office.

People were looking at me like I was some guy walking to his death in the electric chair.  Luckily, I was too stupid to know WHY they we're looking at me like that.

The secretary ushered me into the Coach's office.  to me at the time it seemed palatial--trophies and plaques where everywhere.  Mementos, game balls, jerseys, framed autographed photos and much more filled the walls and the surfaces everywhere I looked.

The Coach was truly gracious.  He stood up and told me to "sit down and make yourself comfortable, young man."  Before I could begin asking my questions, he leaned across his expansive desk and asked in a very simple, innocent way, "Why are you here?"  Well, not knowing the back story, I told him the front story about how I wanted to be a Staff Reporter and how they gave me this assignment and so forth.  I was quite honest.  The Coach sat back in his chair and stared off into space.  He was quiet for a very long time.  I sat and became somewhat nervous as he stared into space.

Finally, he swiveled his oak office chair back toward me, steepled his hands on his desk, smiled and said, "I'd like to answer your questions.  What do you want to know?"

I proceeded to ask him a list of questions and he proceeded to answer each and every one of them dutifully, honestly and graciously.  I took notes as best a freshman could and then I stood up and thanked the Coach for his interview and we shook hands and he simply said, "You're Welcome.  Good Luck, Young Man."  I will never forget him staring me in the eyes and saying "Good Luck, Young Man."  I can still see his eyes staring into mine as I write this.

(That's why this is a trip down Memory Lane!)

Anyway, I went back to my little freshman hobbit hole or whatever it was and I really put my heart and soul into writing up what the Coach had told me during the interview.  I finished up my story and took it down in the bowels of the basement newsroom of The Exponent.

I walked up to the Sports Editor and said, "Here is my interview of Coach Mollenkopf."  The haunty upper classman grabbed it out of my hand and started to read it.  As he read the story, I could see his demeanor and body language change.  His head leaned forward--his eyes changed.  He pulled the story closer to his eyes.  He looked at me and he said, "Just a minute," and he took it right over to the Main Man--the Managing Editor--and I heard him say, "You've go to read this."

The same thing happened to the Managing Editor.  His head and eyes and body language did the same thing.  Then they both came over to me and the Main Man said, "How did you get this story?"

I said, "Well, I called up his office and asked for an appointment."  The Main Man and the Sports Editor looked at each other in disbelief.  The Main Man said, "You mean you just called up and got this interview, is that what you said?"

Heck, I didn't know what else to say so I just said, "Yeah, that's what I did."

Then the Main Man and the Sports Editor went off and had a huddle between themselves.  After some time, they called in a couple of other people and the four of them talked and pointed and passed around my article and finally they broke their huddle and the Main Man came back to me with three other people standing behind him.

He said, "John Parsons you made history with this article.  Nobody from this newspaper has ever been able to get an interview with that football coach--he has hated us his whole life.  We've decided to make you the first freshman Staff Reporter in the history of this newspaper.  And they they started clapping and then everyone in the newsroom started clapping and they go up from behind their desks and they gave me a freaking standing ovation.

Well, nothing like that had ever happened to me before in my life and I really didn't know how to take it or what to make of it.  It was all so surreal and I didn't even know what surreal was back in those days.  All I could do was blush and look around like a sheep at a mountain lion party.

I went from a nobody to a somebody in a blink of an eye and they gave me huge latitude right from the git go.  I got to get a field pass for the Boilermaker's football games and open access to the players and the coaches and it was just so totally freaking awesome.  Whenever Coach Mollenkopf saw me he would smile and touch his hat and even nod sometimes.

Oh, geeze, maybe I ought not travel Memory Lane--sometimes those memories can become very emotional.

I think of that Wisconsin coach basically abandoning his players, fans and community on the eve of the Rose Bowl and all those fond memories of Coach Mollenkoph come flooding back.

Ah, come on, cue "The Way We Were!"

Many Cheers, jp

Coach Jack Mollenkopf (November 24, 1905 – December 4, 1975):

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jack_Mollenkopf

Walking .88 Mile in 7 seconds

Here's our first attempt at turning a series of time lapse digital photos into a

YouTube video.  We set the GoPro Hero2 helmet cam to 10 second interval.

The camera took about 110 photos and we deleted 11 pictures for a total of 99.

The original photos tallied 400 megabytes but we batched them down to 100 megs.

Then we converted the photos to an AVI video that weighed in at a mere 20 megs.

We have to put embed the video with the privacy mode enabled here to prevent

having all those weird so-called related YouTube videos from being tacked on.

It's an OK first attempt and we look forward to more such experiments.

Phyllis & Friends Monday Hike

Dear Friend Phyllis (far right in group photo) has a knack for gently rallying up a group of cheerful, enthusiastic hikers every Monday.  This week, Phyllis & Friends went on a strenuous six mile jaunt from Peggy's Place down to Oak Creek.

Susun was totally tuckered out when she returned to 2nd Chance Ranch.  One of the benefits of this hike is being able to see the Arizona Centennial Stamp up close and personal.

Photo by Susun.

 Slippery going down and a real lung-burner coming back up and out.

 Classic views of Red Rock Country in all directions.

Hum..looks like a wee bit of artistic license between the real thing and the stamp below.

Happy ˈhäbē

Once or twice a year, we revisit the topic of hobbies.  What happens is that we get to wondering and pondering precisely what actually ARE our hobbies and whether they are hobbies or something else.

If this sounds strangely esoteric and arcane, well...it is.

Lately, our minds have been occupied with whether our activities are hobbies or if they are a retired-guy career.  Before retirement, activities that weren't strictly work-related would meet the traditional, classic definitions of a hobby: A) "An activity or interest pursued for pleasure or relaxation and not as a main occupation" and B) "An activity done regularly in one's leisure time for pleasure."

But what about the role former hobbies play in one's life AFTER the so-called "main occupation" becomes a distant memory?  Since retired peoples' lives are filled with so-called leisure time, are hobbies really hobbies or do they assume a different mantle?

We are beginning to form an opinion that hobbies actually morph into life and what we do with our so-called hobbies becomes how our life is defined in your retirement.  Somehow, they aren't really hobbies any more--they segue into becoming our "main occupation."

Yes, we know this discussion is splitting hairs. We are well aware of that.  It would seem there are perhaps several ways to define our retired life:  A) His Life is consumed by his hobbies; B) His retirement career is a hobby or perhaps C) He works at his hobbies.  Hopefully, our DF & LBRs will add other observations to this hair-splitting (and brain-numbing) discussion.

The last time we took up this discussion, we were wondering what the heck our hobbies actually were.    Other than normal life-management and social activities common to all creatures, our so-called Hobbies include:

• Blogging
• Walking & Hiking
• Shooting Sports
• River Sports
• Camping
• Camp fire mgmt.
• Happy Hour
• Chess
• Darts
• Bowling
• Cribbage
• Golf
• Hunting
• Croquet
• T-store shopping
• Volunteering
• Studying weather
• Suzuki Samurais
• Driving back country roads

That's a pretty long list, actually, so long that when taken together on any given day one or more of the above completely occupies practically every waking hour of our retired life.

Are they then hobbies which are supposedly "done regularly in one's leisure time" or have they become our life, our career or our "whatever" as a retired guy?  Somehow at this juncture of turning 65 a couple of weeks ago, all of the above don't really seem like hobbies any more so much as they seem like an aggregate that has become the "main occupation."

On any given day there never seems to be enough time to do all the things and activities that we would love to do with regard to the list above.  Some of those activities can completely consume entire days, sometimes days on end.

We're beginning to distance ourselves from thinking of them as hobbies.  Instead, we're viewing them as our life--like when we had a job.  You get up, get dressed and go to work.  We get up, get dressed and go to play.  It's kind of the same thing, only a whole lot more fun at this age than all the "work" things were in our various past lives.

Susun is getting a chuckle out of this mental hand wringing over whether they are hobbies or just our life.  In the end, it doesn't matter what they are called, simply that they are an integral part of what we do.

Perhaps we are now simply "Career Hobbyists."  Who knows?  More importantly, who cares?

Well, now it's time to get back to work at one of the above, so we will leave this topic alone again for a few months.

If you've read this far, you are definitely a "real trooper!"  Thanks for reading.  Have a great day & Many Cheers, jp

Sun On High

This is what tonight's sunset looked like from "On High" up in Flagstaff at 7,000 feet.  Below is what it looked like "On Low" in Rimrock at precisely half Flag's elevation.  (We're 3500 feet.) Photo by MJ.

Photo from 2CR by JP.

Aerobic Bowling

Is that an oxymoron? Aerobic bowling? Those two words really shouldn't be used together should they? Bowling is supposed to be a sedentary-drink beer-smoke cigarettes-kinda-sport.

What the heck is aerobic bowling? Well, lemme tell ya, rolling ten full games in 85 minutes definitely qualifies as aerobic bowling. That's just about as fast as technically possible to bowl ten games.

We might have been able to make it in under 80 minutes but we had to wait on our neighbor bowler once in awhile. It's called "bowling etiquette," and perhaps that's yet another oxymoron.

Anyway, here's how our weekly bowling mini-marathon turned out today. We averaged 138.4 today versus 126 last week. That's a 10% gain. Best of all our strike count rose to 31 from 19 last week, an increase of over 50%. Unfortunately our spares were down to 24 vs. 29 last week. Our Open Frame count dropped to 48 from 59 last week.

Once again, we won two free bowling hours including shoes because we rolled a strike when the red pin was in the first position. We now have a four hour bowling credit there. We did pretty good in the strike department and had three separate triples--that's three strikes in a row.

Our five high games were: 177, 166, 158, 148 and 147. We were within striking distance of our goal to average 150 but had four "bone balls" as we call gutter balls. Last week we didn't have a single bone ball so we're clueless as to why four of them popped up this week. Having those four ball make contact with pins would have probably put us over a 140 average this week.

Oh, well, that means there's always room for improvement and ample incentive to keep bowling. We must admit, bowling ten games in under an hour and a half is a real workout and we are plumb tuckered. Many Cheers, jp

The Mark Jefferson Connection

Welcome to December.  It's all downhill from here as Holiday hoop-la looms.  Before you know it, New Year's Eve will be history and we'll be waking up to welcome Twenty Thirteen. The countdown clocks begins.

How about a long story this morning to Mark December.  Yep, this December story will be about Mark--Mark Jefferson, that is.

You see his name in the bright lights of the blog post below.

Who is he and how do we know him?  Good questions, Dear Friends. So, settle in for a really LOOONG Story.  Here goes.

We moved from Indiana to Tucson on Valentine's Day 1979.  We quickly took up with the U of A's "Whitewater Explorers" club and became an avid, addicted kayaker.

In the Spring of 1980, one of the club members invited us to go on an Idaho Middle Fork trip.  We refused since going there would take us through Flagstaff.  At that time, we had made a lifelong personal vow never to set foot in Flagstaff again as long as we lived.

Note the use of the fateful word "never."  It seems whenever people use the word "never" that they are destined to do whatever it is they said they would never do.

Anyway, we resisted mightily, citing our vow as ample evidence that we couldn't be dragged kicking or screaming inside the City Limits of Flagstaff.

You see, back when the woolly mammoth bubbas roamed in Pleistocene Times, we once had a summer job in 1967 at Happy Jack.  We lived with an Apache Indian in a one-room log cabin at Mormon Lake for $30 a month (split two ways, of course).

Anyway, every time we went to Flagstaff that summer, sum dum cowboy always wanted to pick a fight and beat the stuffing out of us.  We weren't well suited to fight cowboys back then and whenever push came to shove (or worse) we always lost.  A visit to Flagstaff was akin to getting a root canal with no pain killer.  That's why we had our personal vow never to go there ever again.

Anyway, our Tucson paddling buddies kept it up and finally tricked me.  They said, "What if we go through Flagstaff at night and you never know you were there?"  Well, we're gullible, no doubt about it, and that really turned the trick.  We agreed to go to Idaho to kayak the Middle Fork.

Trouble was that it actually WAS a trick and they pulled up to a duplex on West Aspen in the middle of the night and we were stuck right smack dab in the middle of the city madder than the proverbial wet hen.

That's the night we met lifelong Dear Friend Gary W.  Gary was the very first person we met in what would become our New Arizona Life.

We met Gary again on the way back south from Idaho and then again when Bryan B. got us onto our first Grand Canyon river trip in September 1980.  After finishing up that life-changing 21-day trip, we had swung 180 degrees and now wanted to move as close as possible to the Grand Canyon, which meant basically Flagstaff.

We went back to Tucson and made our decision to pull up stakes in The Old Pueblo and move to Flagstaff as soon as possible.  The basic trouble with that decision was that we didn't have a place to actually LIVE in Flagstaff.  Small problem.

So, we called up Gary on the landline and asked for a favor.  In typical Gary-fashion, he quickly agreed.  We then called the local newspaper and placed this ad:

"WANTED:  Room to rent on edge of city with athletically-minded roommate.  Call 602-774-GARY."

Gary agreed to field the phone calls and go check out whatever prospects might surface from the ad.  Sure enough, the day the ad came out, some guy called from 912 West Grand Canyon Avenue in Flagstaff.

Gary dutifully went up to check out the place and that's how Gary became the first of many of our Dear Friends to meet Mark Jefferson.  His little house was definitely on the edge of the city there on the flanks of Observatory Mesa.  And Mark was definitely athletically-minded, in like a really Big Time Way.

Gary called me up and told me about the place and said he felt it was perfect.  We called Mark and made a deal sight-unseen to rent a room from him for $100 a month. Back in those days, paying only $100 a month for rent wasn't all that uncommon.  Money was different then.

We packed up our old Hostess Twinkie bread truck and headed north, pulling into Mark's pine-shaded driveway like we already lived there.  Mark and we hit it off immediately.

He was the Perfect Room Mate and Dear Friend.  He was (and continues to be) a Role Model and an Inspiration in so many ways.  Our New Arizona Life began as a result of Gary and Mark getting together to help us find our niche in that Mountain Town named after a ponderosa flagpole.

It would take far too long to begin to tell the many stories of our time together with Mark Jefferson.  Each of those stories should someday be told in separate articles.  The story that appears below from April 12, 1987 is but one of many memorable moments.

You see, Mark was (and is) an incredible journalist.  No, Mark doesn't (and hasn't, as far as I know) worked for a newspaper or other media outlet.  But he is a journalist of the first order.  He keeps incredible meticulous notes on everything he does.  He began keeping such life notes many, many years before we crossed his path.  His keen eye, sharp wit and sense of priorities make his journal notes the finest such personal writings we've ever encountered.  Oh, would that we ourselves could have kept such copious notes over the decades!

Eventually in the late 1980's Mark's life path veered away from Flagstaff and, as the years marched on, we lost contact with each other.  Somehow in the past few days, we were induced to wonder if there was anything as a web domain for Mark's name.  Lo and behold, there was an email address for Mark.  We sent a quizzical note to the address and, POOF, who should appear in Ye Ol' Inbox but Mark himself, just as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he ever was.

After exchanging a couple of "WOW, is this really you?" kind of emails, Mark had to leave his computer.  You see, he has a quest to climb all 53 of Colorado's "Fourteeners."  The Fourteeners are mountains whose peaks meet or exceed the 14,000 foot level.  Mark has climbed all but 18 of those peaks and earlier this week, he set out to bag yet another one of them.

He didn't make it to the top but wound up having an epic experience the likes of which would make a great episode in a great HBO mini-series entitled "Mark's Amazing Adventures."

Yesterday, Mark sent along a narrative of his latest scintillating escapade and I shared it with Gary when Gary and Robin came over for the Friday Night Campfire.

Then, late in the evening, Mark transcribed his journal notes and sent along the account of the April 12, 1987 river trip described in the blog post below.

Oh, what a rip tide of emotion Mark's notes sent rippling through my Heart!  All kind of memories just flooded back in big waves of recollections.  We called Gary late in the evening and he read Mark's 1987 story right away.  Gary called back and said he would never forget that day and still carried vivid memories of the vignettes Mark described.

It's so amazing that Mark's life path has crossed ours again here late in Year 2012. We are very pleased.

Thanks, Mark!  Thanks, Gary!

Many Cheers, jp