Sidetracked Charley

Shadows of Time As I grow older I see time not as so many days upon the calendar, so many pages flipped over to reveal another, but as as shadows on the wall lengthening and then shortening; the breeze changing in freshness and from where it comes; the turnover of birds at the feeders and in the trees. All these things I take in stride. Remarking only to a friend one day last week that fall was here again. The unspoken being that winter was coming and I needed to begin preparing. But events, long anticipated, have again snuck up on me. Like Sunday becoming Monday without warning it seemed. The 49th high school reunion is now only 2 weeks away. Well, less. Two weeks from last Saturday. And while we are on the passage of time, how did I get old enough to be attending my 49th high school reunion? And why am I going? But that is perhaps another blog. This blog is about time. Oh so important when we are six. So important that we had to put in the "and a half" when applica

When I was younger I devoured books of far away places - Greece, Rome, Egypt. Historical novels were my cup of tea. Then one day I discovered Agatha Christi and I was off on a mystery binge that lasted decades. But if you could put a mystery in a historical novel I was a fan immediately. Writers like Mary Renault, Anne Perry, Dorothy Sayers never wrote enough in my humble opinion. I loved their research into the period they placed their mysteries. And the further away from home the better. Now I seem to be coming home. It began with Tony Hillerman and his mysteries placed on the Navajo Reservation. A friend turned me on to James D. Doss who writes about the Southern Utes. I started seeking out obscure and not so obscure mystery writers of the Southwest: J.A.Jance, Michael McGarrity, Cliff Black. Nothing set in Phoenix please. Has to be a small town and have a cast of western characters. You really have to live here to appreciate that. PBS turned me on to the new Longmire series

In the early days of my involvement with what has become known as social media I was on Y!360 and we had a Movie Monday, Poetry Wednesday and Word Thursday. There was also a Song Saturday and Art Sunday. I forget what Tuesday was. I obviously did not participate. Friday was for Fotos. But even though this is Friday this is a Word Thursday. And do not try to look any of what follows up in your Websters. This is social media language though some of it began with our parents. First word is dear . Contrary to dictionary definitions I do not believe dear to be a term of endearment. When my mother used it I would have defined it as Stop it. Generally used just before my formal full, middle and last name was called into the conversation. As an adult I considered it a term of belittlement. On social media it is used to herald a comment which runs entirely contrary to yours. A polite form of the word idiot. Another term in social media is the non-comment just before a link. In short the

Wayfaring Stranger If I had to pick a theme for 2012 up to now it would be revisiting my youth. No, I did not go back to disco dancing in bars. But I have reconnected to a past forgot in a step by step and sometimes painful process. A funny thing happened December 24, 2001. I had a ski accident. Not one caused by skiing too fast or otherwise pushing the envelope of my abilities as a downhill skier. Another skier slammed into me while I was teaching a lesson. At least that is what the accident report says. I don't remember it. Except for one or two out of body flashes four hours of my life was instantly gone. A half hour before and 3 1/2 hours afterwards is not unusual in a closed brain trauma. Eleven years ago we didn't know as much about CBT's as we do now. The Iraq War has taught us a lot about them and their different manifestations. But then I was treated and streeted because it was Christmas Eve and I was walking and talking. Now we know about walk/talk/die CB

Escape I live in paradise, or darn close to it. Out-of-staters pay a bunch of money to come up and enjoy the cool mountain air and take in the views. The vacation home across from me has been proof of that the last couple months. But I will admit to sometimes taking it for granted. So this morning since I had an early morning pet sitting gig beyond Black Lake I decided to take advantage of having the camera in the car. It had rained last night off and on and this morning the clouds were just breaking up over the mountains. I poured my coffee into a to-go mug and set out early. Time I figured to capture dawn over a strange mountain ridge. Golden promise Admitted this ridge was just five miles away but I am seldom there before the sun comes up. A New Dawn Same sun, same state, similar trees but so different it seemed from the dawn out my studio door. Maybe it was just the moisture in the air from the rain last night. Got an inch at my house. Wheeler kissed by the

Slice of Sky by J. Binford-Bell Narrow The path seems to narrow these days choices so few. One foot in front of another toeing the line. No room or time for deviation. No wiggle room Judgement  sits on either side awaiting a misstep. Time so confined cannot even sit down and cry. J. Binford-Bell August 2012 Wow And how Did I arrive At such a destination Thank you for the honor I nominate Wyoming Diva's Poem Missing

Garden August 2012 Oh, no, not another garden blog!! Yes, another. But this one is in response to a question which came up during a conversation with a new gardener: Why do I garden? And that is a really, really good question, because I have always been bad at it. Or at least that is my conception of my ability. Mother was the perfect gardener. Never a weed to be seen and nothing dared not grow. I can remember gardens back to preschool days when we had a truck garden that covered a whole acre of land. And sold veggies at a road side stand in the summer and fall. We also sold eggs and puppies but that is another story. My first garden of my own was in 1972. I was being earth mother. I raised goats, angora rabbits, geese and zucchini. I had never eaten a zucchini in my life but it was the only plant that survived Solomon and Sheba my two angora goats. Friends sent me cookbooks and recipes for zucchini and my collection of "Goats Don't Eat Zucchini" recipes for a fu