Inch by Inch, Row by Row

The 20-fourth annual celebration of the day someone, an awesome someone, happened to give birth to me--April nineteenth--was this past Saturday. I was fortunate enough to spend the morning with my father, cultivating our newly born vegetable garden. Two clumps of Chives were transplanted in from a worn, wooden barrel. Miniature matchstick seeds of Marigold were sewn along the outskirts for protection from the high possibility, or perhaps inevitability, of insects. Planted in days prior, the once pebble-sized seeds of bean and cucumber were already beginning to sprout into little creatures of a green only earth could give. From moist-soil starter pods, to proud little men stretching for the sun, in less than a few days--it never ceases to amaze me, the ability of "things" to grow. First we take hold with our roots, and then watch out, because there is no stopping the determination of a new life, nor that of one growing older.

Time cannot be saved; it can either be spent on trinkets or treasures, choose wisely.

So, the last time fingers tip-tapped black keys for this blog was October 26th, two thousand and 7. A little over five months later, the urge to add something new and of value has struck and digits once again tap on keys of black, not the ones between white keys, but the ones with white letters printed on them. In no way, shape, or form does this lapse writing indicate that nothing of value has occurred over the past five months; but rather it may stand to testify that the winter has been packed to near capacity with time spent in the company of snow, friends, family, and love, all of which are interchangeable at any given moment. Perhaps now, on the eve of completing the First Annual (unofficial) Cheese County World Championships (CCWC), I have found a square foot of space into which I can place my inner thoughts, and share them with these keys of midnight.

A few highlights from this season's winter escapades.

Believe it or not, the dinosaur I have mounted like a steer was the mascot for a local Steamboat chain of gas stations--puts some pizazz into the uncool of fossil fuels.



Doobie, Taina, and I snowshoeing it on top of more than six feet of snow, somewheres in the hills of Colorado.



Hot. Hot. Hot springs. Natural hot springs.



Fish eye and Fishkil Falls.



Heyo. Steamboat and eighties neon--not by default, by choice.

Love where you are. It is all there is.


Especially when you are in the company of one of your best friends. This one's for you B.

Only In the City

The idea of people working together. That's a good thing.


The idea of a life-sized Jesus statue, brightly colored, and poised between two other statues of the like. No comment.


Graffiti; street art; biblical allusion? Drastically different from the aforementioned statues? Origin; creator; reason?--Devil's advocate.


Morris the cat--having grown frisky in his old age--dons a zebra-striped harness, while riding the wind down busy NYC side streets.


I just like how empty school buses present themselves--with the swaying serenity of abandoned seat belts, and the pride of a shuffle-less corduroy aisle.

Fig Newts and Acorns Fall

After a quick clip-out to save myself from yet another endo, Wendi and I were pushing our cycles back up in order to run the line again, and it's a good thing we did. With her Eagle's eyesight, Wendi spotted a tangerine hued newt scurrying among the fallen leaves of burnt orange and singed rust. A quick fellow he was, and so this was the least blurry of several in the newt photo shoot. Our only hopes upon releasing the little man, or gal, were that we had not and would not accidentally catch one under the spinning death-grip of our wheels. Consequently, sometimes an endo is a good thing; it gives you the time to slow down and notice more of the littlest things--ants, centipedes, newts, and all.

moab girls.

roxy.

pretty picture. i love my job.