Cocoposts

Driving like a Jet Pilot

One of our family myths was that my father was a great driver.  I remember him telling us this.   Because he was a fighter pilot and not shot down he was Best Automobile Driver Ever.  I also recall clinging to  door handles to avoid flying around in the backseat as he took corners too fast.  

The Bicentenial Wagon Train - Part Next

In 1976 I rode on horseback across New Mexico - south to north.

 In honor of the nation's 200th birthday, several  "reverse-commute" wagon trains traveled east to Philadelphia.  Each State hosted the train as it passed through their jurisdiction.  My father was the route coordinator (or Trail Master) and spent over a year doing the advance work - locating each night's encampment and determining which roads would be used for the month-long trip through the State. 

Did I mention it was February?

Garage Sale

There was a garage sale in cocoland yesterday. OMG, why?  Well OK,  I couldn't fit the car in the garage or open the guest room door but heavens, that was a lot like work.   Heavy work.  Emotional work.  A very nice Barbie for $10?  What was I thinking?

Dragging out the damaged furniture of your family's life and tagging it in 25 cent increments.  Deciding what to sell and what to keep, I imagine this conversation with my dead sister.

You're selling Grandma's jewelry box? 

It's broken.

It's always been broken.

It was broken when she gave it to you?

Yeah.  That's why  I got it I suppose.  :pause:   OK, but put a big price on it.

$5 it is then.

Mojitos for May

 

Mayday Dog RIP

Mayday, aka Yellow Dog, died today.  She was my companion for nearly 16 years and outlived many other family members who knew her - my mother, sister and brother.  I will miss her snappy little attitude and frantic alarm-bark that earned her the name.   To the staff at Town and Country Animal Hospital and Dr.  Kathleen Blackshear, thank you for your compassion.  I'll miss her.

Early Riding Lesson

The photo is of one of my first horseback rides.  My brother is watching me on the horse we called Blanco.  We're on the southeast mesa where the Kirtland riding stables were located in the early sixties.  (I cropped the  darn thing for a banner and can't find the original.)

My brother would also trap coyotes in Tijeras Canyon.  I think there was a Boyscout badge for it at the time.  The horse wouldn't have anything to do with those awful traps that are still hanging in the barn somewhere.  I still have that saddle too.

I recall Blanco running away with me.  "Running away" is a euphemism for sitting atop a leaping hulk of horse as he tears through space out of control.  Experiencing this before your feet can reach the stirrups will leave an impression on a girl.   Of terror.  I heard yelling, Turn him! Turn him!  But my arms were no match for his mouth.  He gripped the bit in his teeth and we flew across the mesa.

It  seemed like miles before we got to the edge of an arroyo where he slowed to a walk, winded.  As we turned back to the stable, he started to trot.  I remember getting just a little mad at that moment.  (A horse will do that to you - send you from scared to mad fast.)  I said, Whoa!, like I meant it for the first time in my life.   We walked back. 

My brother was just asking me to ship the old traps out to Florida.  I think he was at battle with a possum.   I told him he was crazy.  He said to pack them up as camping gear or put them in my luggage next time I came out.  Leghold traps with the giant blood-rusty teeth and chains?  Right.  No way.  He said I was getting all PETA on him.   When he came out that last time in March before he died, I hid the damn traps from him. 

Incorrigible hunting-fishing-trapping gene is much evident in his spawn.*  Me,  I like horses.

  *UPDATE:  To this I offer photographic evidence of recent gator-killing.  Update to update:  Here's bigger picture, as requested.

Tonight,  I'm eating the brown trout this nephew caught a couple of weeks ago.  Salted with this fabulous oak-smoked salt from Wales.

Above Lake Whitelodge

Coco's niece-in-law-to-be above Vallecito Lake.  More photos cross-posted at Capt. Mels Fishing Report where coco-nephew, Soylent Green, frequently posts about fishing adventures.

P.S. When we hiked up there as kids you couldn't see the lake for the thick pine forest.  Note the scrub oak on the hillsides now.  This is an area burned by the Missionary Ridge Fire of 2002. It narrowly missed the whitelodge thanks to firefighters.

Fishing Photo Plus

Coco's Auntly activities this weekend included bait fishing for Brown and Rainbow on the lower Pine  - and yes, I gutted a fish.   Thence beer sampling in Durango at Carvers and an art fair at which little dog hats, modeled  by testy little dogs, were for sale.  I resisted. 

Ornaments in Newspaper

There are plenty of good reasons not to like the morning daily.  In my case it's genetic.  My Mom hated the Albuquerque Journal editorials so such that she would frequently rip out the section to wave it around and throw it to the ground in disgust.  We'd have to piece it together later to read what she was going on about.   

I unwrap her old Christmas decorations from worn sections of newspaper that remind me of her no less than the ornaments themselves.

    

Food Coma

Just now, a week later, waking up from my Thanksgiving food coma and attempting to fit into my thin jeans.  No.  Luck.    I'll be out walking the dogs a lot before the winter feast.*

Thanksgiving dinner consisted of:  stone-crab claws, deep-fried turkey, sweet potato pie, brussel sprouts, roasted rutabega, three bean salad,  four pies, flan, cheeses, fresh bananas.  Did I leave any thing out big brother?  Oh yes, and twenty-two varieties of dark chocolate and probably 10 or 12 bottles of wine. What a great cook.  Reminds me of Mom.  

The Sam's Club chocolate, imported from Belgium, proved to be my favorite. Go figure.    

*The epiphany party will be Sat. January 5th this next year.