Keeping the world safe for democracy from crusty old broads

Not all was beer and skittles when Mombert and I went to Memphis, because to get to and from Memphis, you have to go to airports. The TSA folks are so meticulous, so stately, so dilatory that they'd try the patience of a tree sloth.

First up: Albuquerque. Thanks to one failed attempt at shoe-bombing 12 years ago, all of us lined up with our shoes untied and flapping. But it wasn't shoes they were after: they busted Mombert for having a plastic bottle of pump hairspray.

I didn't take my bonefish bottle opener on the trip.

Nor did I carry my Officina 365 pen, because there's no way in the world that the TSA folks would believe it's a pen.

The real fun began in Memphis when we were leaving. Before we even got in line, a TSA woman said to me, "You've been selected for special screening," as if I had won a prize or something. She looked at Mombert. "You may go ahead, ma'am. You're not being screened." I explained that Mombert was my mom and needed to stay right where she was. The TSA woman swabbed my hands with some solvent, put the pad in a container, and said I was free to get in line, which was stretching back to Little Rock, because only two guys were scrutinizing the boarding passes with all the intensity of somebody just stumbling on Yeats.

In line I had my glasses on the cord, not wearing them. I assumed the position in the scanner. There was metal on my chest! So I was pulled out for a pat-down. The nice woman asked if those were my glasses. Nothing gets by them.

Then Mombert went through. She was pulled over, and the nice woman used the metal-detecting wand on Mombert's lower legs (must have been her steely resolve—AH-hahahahahaha!).

The airport at Minneapolis/St. Paul sprawls from hell to breakfast, and naturally our connecting flight to ABQ was in some concourse in Iowa. Fortunately, one of those guys in an electric cart came by, and we joined a nice bearded young man with a turban and made it to the gate in time.

Next time we drive.

Synopsis of the opera Non puoi arrivarci da qui

Non puoi arrivarci da qui (You Can’t Get There from Here)

Atto I

Peggerina enters with her mother, La Signora Margarita. They discuss the possibility of going to Memphis, Tennessee, to attend the annual Donor Appreciation Event sponsored by the St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. (Spero che servono torta. “I hope they serve pie.”) Margarita encourages her daughter to go online and book airline tickets. (Non si preoccupi. Pagherò per tutto. “Don’t worry. I’ll pay for everything.”) Peggerina says she can’t do anything, for a problem has arisen. (La connessione internet è giù; il gatto è stato a giocare con il cavo. “There’s no internet connection; Flicker’s been playing with the cable again.”) They weep.

Atto II

The internet connection restored and Flicker sent to play outside, the two continue their search for flights from Albuquerque to Memphis. (Vogliono quanto? “They want how much?”) Peggerina says that Southwest does not fly to Memphis, and their partner, AirTran, flies to Memphis but doesn’t serve Albuquerque. (Si tratta di un sistema? “Is this a system?”)

They find an inexpensive flight that lasts nineteen hours, taking them from Albuquerque at 5:30 a.m. to Chicago O’Hare to Charleston, South Carolina, to Little Rock, and arriving in Memphis at 12:45 a.m. Peggerina is distraught. (Porca puttana su un biscotto. “Holy crap on a cracker!”) Margarita tries to comfort her sobbing daughter. (Calmati. Troveremo un modo. “Oh, calm down. We’ll find a way to get there.”) Peggerina is doubtful. (Io non sto prendendo un autobus che è certo. “I’m not taking the bus, that’s for sure.”) Margarita encourages Peggerina to seek an alternate route, perhaps through a different airport. (Possiamo andare per la città con un altezza di 1,609.344 metri? “Maybe we could go through Denver?”) Peggerina demurs. (Ogni volta che vado attraverso Denver perdono il mio bagaglio. “Every time I go through Denver, they lose my luggage.”) While Peggerina sobs, Margarita gets another cup of tea.

Atto III

Peggerina offers an alternate plan. (Siamo in grado di guidare. Interstate 40 ci porta direttamente a Memphis. “We can drive. It’s a straight shot on I-40.”). This time it is Margarita’s turn to object. (Non c’è niente da vedere lungo la strada. Mi piace scenario. “Are you kidding? There’s nothing to see. I like scenery!”) Peggerina says they can take the side roads. Margarita says that Delta flies to Memphis and urges Peggerina to continue the research. She finds a flight leaving Albuquerque at zero dark thirty and, after a brief layover in Atlanta, arriving in Memphis well before the reception and dinner. Margarita is ecstatic. (Prenota esso, Danno. Qui è la mia carta di credito. Fare con quello che volete. “Book it, Danno! Here’s my credit card. Do with it what you will.”)

The two rejoice and practice an aria to sing during the flight. (Novanta nove bottiglie di birra sul muro. “99 bottles of beer on the wall.”)

Durango, December 2012

Michele, Frankey, and I enjoyed a long weekend in Durango, Colorado, last week. We left on Thursday morning and arrived in Durango in time for lunch—an easy, scenic 4-hour drive.

The first order of business was to go to Maria's Bookshop, one of our favorite independent bookstores. It's dog-friendly, and Frankey was a little star. She got skritches and cookies. Michele and I picked up . . . um . . . a few things. A stroll around the vibrant downtown completed the day.

We stay at the Doubletree by Hilton because it welcomes doggies and is right on the Animas River. This image is from the hotel's website.

Then it snowed. We had planned to drive to Dove Creek on Friday to buy some yummy beans at Adobe Milling, but the highways were snowpacked. We had all those new books, so we settled in for a peaceful day of reading.

Thursday had taken a lot out of Frankey, and she was one tired Gaucho. Good thing she had her blankie for comfort.


Here is the view of the river from outside our room.


Some gnarly guys were fishing in the river near the bridge on Friday morning, but I didn't get my camera in time.


The mountain was socked in by fog for much of our visit. That's okay: I didn't want to climb it anyway.


We left Durango at 9:00 on Saturday morning. Travel through the snow was slow; it took us two hours to go the 60 miles to Pagosa Springs. For about half that time we followed a snowplow, and the driving was comparatively easy. From Pagosa Springs to Chama, 45 miles, took us about an hour and a half. Heading out of Chama, we traveled on clear roads all the way home.

You have to stop at Bode's in Abiquiu for cookies, lest the Republic fall. Frankey likes the peanut butter cookies best.

Busman's Holiday, Part 4: Mesa Verde

When I was a kid, it seemed that all the kids in my class got to a) eat enchiladas every Wednesday at the S-Site cafeteria and b) go to Mesa Verde National Park. The Hansons seemed to go regularly, and the kids at school would say, "Oh, we went to Mesa Verde for the weekend." "We camped at Mesa Verde." "We always go to Mesa Verde."

I never ate at the S-Site Cafeteria until I a team leader at the lab, and I had never been to Mesa Verde. But on our way back home from Salt Lake City, we stopped and visited Mesa Verde National Park. Woo-HOO!

The Spruce Tree House is visible from the visitors' center, and you can tour the ruins without a guide.

The Cliff Palace, on the other hand, is off limits unless you have a ticket for a guided tour with a ranger.

People tossed coins onto a ledge by the Cliff Palace. Maybe they were making wishes.

"I wish I will stay on solid ground and not fall into the canyon."

It was hard to bring in the groceries at the Cliff Palace.

You can see the results of two lightning-caused fires from 2000.

I just liked this.

Nature bats last.

Busman's Holiday, Part 3: Southern Utah

John Steinbeck, in Travels with Charley, said that Yellowstone National Park is "a wonderland of nature gone nuts." So is southern Utah. Click on an image to enlarge it.

Church Rock, north of Monticello, Utah, features three divisions of Entrada sandstone: the uppermost Moab tongue caps a thick Slickrock member, with the Dewey Bridge member as the base.

We spent a day at Arches National Park. According to an "artist in the park," whom Michele characterized as "a bumptious lass," a photograph of the Three Gossips is a requirement of all who enter. We did not want to be arrested or sent home, so we took a picture.

Michele and Frankey enjoyed the scenery.

Here's an arch in the making.

A balanced rock.

Sandstone formations with the La Sal Mountains in the background.

A Shoe and Kev Special.

One of more than 2000 arches in the park.

More arches. Click to enlarge and see the people.

Delicate Arch is the most famous formation in the park. We couldn't go on the trail to it with Frankey, so we just enjoyed the view from below.

A cliff wall and desert varnish at Park Avenue.

Busman's Holiday, Part 2: Traveling with Frankey

Traveling with Frankey can be fraught with excitement. She's an enthusiastic, bouncing passenger. She can lower the rear windows by stepping on the window buttons, which is a real heart-stopper if you're driving over Glorieta Pass at 75 mph. She can also activate the hazard lights when you drive down Central Avenue; the flashing lights tend to alarm the pedestrians and alert members of the LAPD, who eat downtown to sustain the slender thread of life. And she can knock the car out of gear when you're backing out of the driveway.

However, having finally shed the shackles of reason, we decided that it would be a good idea to take her on the road trip to Utah. To keep her safe in the back seat, I bought her a harness that buckles around her; just feed the seatbelt through a loop on the harness and latch it, and Frankey is confined to the back seat but can still see out the windows and comment on what's going on in the front seat. She rode in it very nicely from the pet store to home, a distance of a good 2 miles.

When we set out for Utah, we didn't use the harness. In Española, she decided that sitting on Michele's lap would afford her a better view, not to mention a closer barking proximity to large trucks and motorcycles, all drivers of which are known to be packing heat. Once we reached highway speeds on the way to Chama, she calmed down, things were peaceful once again, and our ears stopped ringing. Until a motorcyclist appeared behind us and followed us into Abiquiu. Frankey stood on the back seat and barked through the rear window until the cyclist passed us.

Dogs prefer to ride shotgun.

When we got to Chama and switched drivers, I told Michele that for safety's sake and the sake of our sanity and hearing, I was going to put Frankey in the harness. As Michele pulled out of the parking lot at the visitors center and headed west toward Pagosa Springs, Frankey joined me in the front seat. Our little Houdoggi had slipped out of the harness within seconds.

From then on, she was free to move about the cabin. She was pretty quiet on the highways, but whenever we slowed to go through a town, she came into the front seat and sat on the passenger, or stood on the center console, one foot on the driver's shoulder, and peered intently ahead. When we left Cortez, Colorado, on the way home, she fell asleep with her head on Michele's shoulder. That was really cute.

A travel break at Dove Creek, the Bean Capital of Colorado

We took nice walks every morning and evening, and most of the shops we visited were dog friendly. Maria's Bookshop in Durango had cookies for their dog visitors, and Frankey got lots of pets from the staff of The King's English in Salt Lake City.

Frankey enjoyed the broad streets and sidewalks of Salt Lake City and the grassy spots around downtown. She didn't bark at the trucks on the street—unless they were near our hotel, in which case they were intruders and needed to be warned off. She barked at only one person, a street guy who was teasing her.

Frankey liked the pet-friendly accommodations we booked. The Doubletree in Durango provides a water dish, mat, and bag of dog cookies, and the staff of the Hotel Monaco in Salt Lake City always greeted her warmly after our jaunts around town. She didn't seem to be bothered by noises outside and slept peacefully on her blankie every night.

The view from our room in Durango

Ike had always disliked elevators, but Frankey didn't mind them. We were on the 11th floor of the Hotel Monaco, and Frankey always stepped into the "zoom room" with no hesitation. When we got to our floor, she marched right down the hall to our room.

Frankey at the Hotel Monaco after a day of urban hiking

We visited Arches and Mesa Verde National Parks and obeyed the pet rules: dog on leash, clean up wastes, and go only where a car can go. Frankey really liked all the new smells, and we didn't feel constrained at all.

Mom iz not constrained. Mommie Shelbert iz not constrained. I iz constrained.

Now that we all understand how we travel, what we like to do, and where we like to sit, the three of us will take another road trip.

Busman's holiday: part 1

Every year we go to the annual conference of the Mountains and Plains Independent Booksellers Association and get together with our fellow booksellers to discuss business, exchange ideas, learn what's hot, and talk books. Every year we say that we're going to visit our colleagues' stores. And this year we did.

Last week Michele, Frankey, and I went on a busman's holiday to southern Colorado and Utah to visit Maria's Bookshop in Durango, Colorado; Arches Book Company in Moab, Utah; and Sam Weller's Bookstore, The King's English Bookshop, and Ken Sanders Rare Books in Salt Lake City, Utah.

The wonderful thing about independent bookstores is that they reflect the spirit and interests of their area. You won't see the homogenized, strip-mined selections that you find in the big chains. Instead, you'll find a carefully curated selection of general books and specialties, and attentive staff members who actually read. And you'll probably come home with a carload of books you didn't know about that some passionate booksellers recommended to you. (So Sophie was resting on the axle on the way home. Big deal. That's why we got the heavy-duty suspension.)

Maria's, for example, features books on railroadiana and regional archaeology, history, and culture. If you want everything Edward Abbey, guides to the gnarly activities in southeastern Utah, geology of the Colorado Plateau, and Native cultures, the Arches Book Company is your store. Sam Weller's has purt neart everything; Shoe and Kev would love the bottom floor, which is filled with maps and geology books, including rare and out-of-print books. You want Mormon history? They have more Mormon history than I ever imagined. The King's English is passionate about their local and regional authors. At Anne's recommendation, I got a copy of Curious Masonry: Three Translations from the Anglo-Saxon by Christopher Patton; it's a gorgeous little book with an embossed cover and the text, in Anglo-Saxon and modern English on facing pages, printed on laid paper. And at Ken Sanders Rare Books, I unearthed a first edition of Witter Bynner's Grenstone Poems with his bookplate, which was designed by Kahlil Gibran.

Coming next: Traveling with Frankey, or How Did She Slip out of Her Harness? I Thought She Was Fastened to the Seatbelt

Civics, Geography, and Use of the Globes

One of the problems with road atlases is that you sometimes don't get a sense of the distances involved, particularly in the West.

For example, Wyoming looks like a little state, occupying as it does only one page on the typical atlas, whereas little New Jersey gets a double-page spread. I read a novel by an author from Massachusetts who had a character drive from Cody, Wyoming, down to Cheyenne and back for a little errand one afternoon. It's about a 12-hour round trip, sort of like my driving to Las Cruces to pick up some chicken for tonight's dinner. When C. J. Box visited the store several years ago, his New York publicist had him flying from Cheyenne to Denver (93 miles), then allowed him three hours to drive from Los Alamos to Phoenix (375 miles). "Daddy, who's that driving at Mach 2 with his hair on fire?" "That, son, is the mystery writer C. J. Box on his way to Arizona."

Earlier this week a couple came in soon after the store opened. They wandered around with interest, but, judging from their quizzical looks, I figured that something was amiss for them. "May I help you find something, answer a question, or make a suggestion?" I asked. The woman said, "Where's Roswell?" I said, "It's about 200 miles south of here on US 285. Just go east on New Mexico 502, turn right at Pojoaque, and follow US 285 south to Roswell. It's about a 4-hour drive."

An "oh shit" look passed across her face. They were in the wrong place. There are no aliens in Los Alamos! (Okay, maybe the guys in the Theoretical Physics Division at LANL. But you didn't hear that from me.) She exchanged a few fraught whispers with her husband, and they smiled wanly at us, hurried out to their car, and headed east.

******

At least once a summer a visitor asks, "So where up here did they test the atomic bomb? We'd like to get a shot of the crater." We tell them that if the Manhattan Project boys had tested the bomb here, the place would have been uninhabitable, then tell them about Trinity Site. "It's about 200 miles south of here," we tell them. "And it's open only twice a year, the first Saturday in April and the first Saturday in October." And at least once a summer, an "oh shit" look passes over the visitor's face. Then we console them by selling them a piece of Trinitite and a copy of The Green Glass Sea and sending them next door to the museum.


"It's not far from Farmington to El Paso. They're only one Life-Saver and a hairpin apart!"

Frankey's big adventures

Frankey has had some big adventures this weekend.

On Friday, I wanted to go down to get a pamphlet from the Pajarito Environmental Education Center (PEEC) at the old Little Valley School behind LAHS. As we were crossing Diamond Drive at around 3:30, the latch on Frankey's leash failed, and she was loose with all the high school kids leaving the parking lot. My heart was in my throat. If I run after her, she thinks we're playing and runs faster. So she trotted off into the Denver Steels, with me trotting on her heels, and after about 30 minutes, she heard a motorcycle--motorcycles freak her out--and she finally came to me.

Frankey's path through the Denver Steels

Then as we were just standing in PEEC, the leash failed again. Needless to say I got her a new leash that just cinches.

Frankey's pretty new leash with reflective strands as an added safety feature.

Using the new leash, I took her for a walk Saturday morning, and she staggered along and made strangling sounds with her tongue out, mostly for the benefit of the neighbors, but she quickly became used to it and walked nicely.

On Saturday we went over to Las Vegas for a nice long walk. We started at Carnegie Park, then went down to 911 3rd Street, which has an elliptical trainer in the glassed-in porch. We continued to Baca Avenue, then turned west to the campus of New Mexico Highlands University. The Cowboys were playing football, and one of the banks had free food. I got Frankey a bottle of water, and I snagged a cookie. We had our treats in Melody Park.

We strolled around campus, most of which is covered with Astroturf. The high-rise dorm, Ford Hall, and the lecture hall next to the former SUB have been demolished. There's a lot of construction going on. I tried to feel sentimental about the demolitions and nothing being the same as it was when I was there, but without success.

We drove over to West Las Vegas to Tome on the Range Bookstore. Frankey got many pets and smooches from the patrons, and I got a calendar, a magnet, and a bumper sticker. Then we drove up and down 8th Street and saw three houses where I used to live. The MacFarlands' restored Victorian is for sale.

Frankey's walk

We had a nice time. Frankey sacked out on the front seat and snoozed all the way home.

Sedona

We spent the last two days of our vacation in Sedona at the Canyon Wren Cabins bed and breakfast. The Canyon Wren is six miles up Oak Creek Canyon from Sedona. It's very cool, and you should go. We stayed in the Morning Glory, one of the four cabins on the property.

Here's the living room, with its wood-burning fireplace. In the 90°+ heat, we didn't need a fire.

The stairs go up to the sleeping loft. You can see the air conditioner opposite the skis. We love air conditioning, baton twirling, liking people, and living in America.

Here's the little kitchen, with the patio visible through the doors. Every day the proprietors left chocolate brownies with peanut butter and caramel in them on the counter.

Here's the sleeping loft.

A balcony is right off the loft.

The area around Sedona is famous for the red rock monoliths and formations and for the red dirt.

After our hike to one of the energy vortexes, the soles of my sneakers were stained by the red dirt. Even after washing, the soles are still reddish brown. Vortical coincidence? I think not.

The most colorful place in the world in black and white

Here are some images of the Grand Canyon that I saved as black and white. I really like the last one.

Hero pictures and visitors

"One goes, not so much to see but to tell afterward."--John Steinbeck. These images prove that we went on vacation.

Michele at the Painted Desert

P-Doobie, ditto.

Here I am at Newspaper Rock. I was tickled by the visitors who were there with us.

Our companions at Newspaper Rock were some folks from France. I wish this image included sound, because they were all making gladsome noises and talking rapidly at once.

There's a reason for the guard rails, friend. Nice socks.

Here's Michele standin' on the corner in Winslow, Arizona. She's gonna Take It Easy.

We met our friends Jean and James, who flew in from New Jersey (and boy! were their arms tired!) at the Grand Canyon. We walked part of the Rim Trail together.

Michele and I went to the eastern part of the Park and sat for a while at a viewing area we now call Michael's Point. A young mom and her son, Michael, who had a developmental disability, stopped and asked us to take their picture. Michael's heart's desire was to see Meteor Crater, and the mom wanted to know whether they could see the crater, the Painted Desert, and Petrified Forest before they caught their 8:30 flight from Phoenix that evening. I hope that Michael got to see the crater. Here I am at Michael's Point.

We went on to Grandview Point, where a group of visitors from Japan used good teamwork to take pictures and stay out of the sun.

Michele took a break from the sun in Sedona.

Michele and I enjoyed the gentle hike along Oak Creek outside Sedona with Jean and James. We were near one of the energy vortexes.