Northbound: Breaking for home on I-25 after day at work on 65th birthday. Coop and I have tomorrow off. (Well, he has every day off, but tomorrow I’ll be joining him). Yeehaw.
Northbound: Breaking for home on I-25 after day at work on 65th birthday. Coop and I have tomorrow off. (Well, he has every day off, but tomorrow I’ll be joining him). Yeehaw.
Age 65, which I am near, is starting to seem weird — as if I didn’t take 40, 50 and 60 seriously. Did I even have those birthdays? And who is that white-haired guy in the window’s reflection? If I could draw, the cartoon of my thoughts would be a dinosaur trying on Google glasses …
Placitas hammered on Tuesday and soaked again on Friday. Flooding in downtown Albuquerque. Roof leak here Tuesday night. Seafood on my patio this morning. iPhone suddenly shooting black and white. Most of the state had substantial rainfall in July and so far it’s continuing into August. Sure seems like storms have been more electrical than …
Pat Houghton, loyal friend to many, the talkative red-haired guy with the irrepressible grin and photographic memory, died Sunday at home in Vancouver, Washington, from kidney cancer. He was 60. My best to his wife, Judy, who took care of him, kept us all informed and deserves a rest. Up in heaven, I’m sure photographic-memory …
Here’s to my old friend and crew mate, Pat Houghton, who’s struggling with cancer up in Vancouver, Washington. Young and healthy, he’s manning a Cobra drill here in the High Sierra in 1972, with Hugh Provost to the left. Looks like the drill, one of our two, actually was working this day and there was …
At last I had time to read on my Fourth of July weekend. The trail seemed full of convergences but also roots and rocks and plenty of switchbacks. The big picture stayed over the horizon. Maybe the history of the West, as Wallace Stegner once defined it for Larry Calloway, simply is, “ One big …
Blast from the past, recalled on the Fourth of July. What we wanted the country to be. Click for YouTube: “If I Had a Hammer.” Peter, Paul and Mary, March on Washington, August 1963.
A previous ramble through old family photos turned up a random but almost invariable inclusion of a rooster. My latest tour through the yellowing files shows that dogs might be even more prevalent. There is my grandfather, Homer W. Robertson, relaxing with the famous Jan, who I never met but whose name I heard often …
— Above the Ute creeks confluence, Weminuche Wilderness, 1992. Your 64th birthday trip. Typical smart-ass son, I made you walk to some place I had only been to on horseback. No fish, but reading weather good. And it was good to share a tent on your last mountain trip.
Trusting the Internet reaches heaven, I just wanted to say hi, Marcella Jean Robertson. You passed on this day 26 years ago. Sorry I never got you that escalator. Now I’m thinking voice recognition software. Rest in peace. Here we are, all together, you with your head on your brother’s shoulder, just as you would …
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