From the neighbors. . .

We got this email from our neighbors tonight:

Stan and Kathleen:
We are hoping you guys have plans for really good decorations this year. We have our idea ready to go.
Sandy & Tom

 

Eagles Moment in Winslow

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Well, I'm standing on a corner,
in Winslow, Arizona;
I'm such a fine sight to see.
It's a girl, my Lord, in a flatbed Ford,
Slowin' down to take a look at me.

Stan writes:
"Take It Easy," certainly isn't my favorite all-time Eagles song, but passing through Winslow, Arizona recently, the old 70s lyrics kept playing in my head, and I just had to pull over to do a self-portrait by the red flat-bed Ford the Chamber of Commerce keeps parked on the corner on old Route 66. A self-portrait because it was way too early Sunday morning, without a soul on the immaculate streets of this desert town. A quiet stroll down the center of main street, with its preserved shops and buildings, brought on a moment of introspection and nostalgia as I recalled my very favorite all-time Eagles song: Desperado. 
Thirty years ago, the simple lyrics and logic of that tune helped make one of the best decisions of my life. 
Yes, my friends, "The Queen of Hearts is always your best bet."

Click to hear a live version of Desperado

The hole story

Dawn broke the chill Sunday morning over the still moonscape that is northern Arizona desert. Three strangers, a German, a Minnesotan, and Ernst from Cleveland, Ohio, sat silently in their cars. Each had risen early to see the massive impact crater left by a prehistoric meteor crash. Signs on I-40 had directed them south to this desolate spot. They had driven six miles down a dead end road, noticed only by bored cattle, and now at journey's end, were in high anticipation of a long look into a deep, alien abyss.
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Meteor Crater is a meteorite impact crater located approximately 43 miles (69 km) east of Flagstaff, near Winslow in the northern Arizona desert. Because the US Department of the Interior Division of Names commonly recognizes names of natural features derived from the nearest post office, the feature acquired the name of "Meteor Crater" from the nearby post office named Meteor. 

The owners of the Crater proclaim it to be "the first proven, best-preserved meteorite crater on earth."^{[3] Meteor Crater lies at an elevation of about a mile above sea level. It is about 4,000 feet in diameter, some 570 feet deep and surrounded by a rim that rises 150 feet above the surrounding plains. The center of the crater is filled with 800 feet of rubble lying above crater bedrock. (From Wikipedia)}

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Just yards before the road reached what appeared to be the meteor rim, the column was halted by a sturdy cyclone fence. The pilgrims now sat silently, alone with their thoughts, as they contemplated the meaning of the sign. "Meteor Crater, Open 8 a.m. to 5 p.m."
Eventually, the Minnesotan stepped out of his vehicle onto the bituminous apron in front of the locked gate. He made eye contact with the German in his rented Chevrolet, as he looked up from a lap full of maps and guidebooks. The window lowered and he shrugged. "It opens at eight," he said, his accent not quite thick enough to disguise moderate disbelief.
The Minnesotan grinned, shrugged and walked back to the third car. Ernst rolled down his window, shaking his head with incredulity. "It's a fricken hole in the ground," the Minnesotan laughed, "It's a HOLE!" The strangers bonded in common befuddlement, grousing about how American ingenuity could make a commercial enterprise out of a hole in the ground in the middle of nowhere. "You just stretch a fence and charge admission. By the time you get this far, you're not going to turn back."
"Perhaps it's a safety issue. The fence protects people from falling in," the Minnesotan said nicely. Ernst didn't think so. "Look at the Grand Canyon, you can fall to your death anywhere there. Nobody cares." Ernst had actually been to the canyon on the previous day. He was a bit tired today because he'd stayed in Flagstaff motel, unaware that it was located adjacent to a busy railroad track, a major transportation corridor from LA. Night and day, freight trains pass on the double-track right-of-way, pulling goods from China for eager Walmart shoppers. "They blow their horns, all night, all the way through town," he laughed, in remarkably good spirits for someone who had now made two bad travel decisions in a row.
No prices for a peek into the crater were posted and the gatekeeper wouldn't be coming for another half hour, so the Minnesotan bid adieu to his Ohio friend, explaining he had other priorities and had to be on his way. A few pictures, perhaps, of the cyclone fence, the rising desert sun, and the cluster of buildings servicing this outpost.  But no pictures of the hole today, no sir.
He drove off about a quarter of a mile, got out and framed up some landscapes, then noticed that Ernst had followed. Had he, too, given up?
"Wait," Ernst yelled from his Buick. "I found a picture of the crater in my Atlas. You can just take a picture of that," he gleefully offered, proud of his discovery,  hoping to make lemonade with this ridiculous gesture. 
Sure enough, on the overleaf, was this natural wonder, this hole of renown. 
The Minnesotan took this photograph, waved goodbye and drove on to Meteor City, there to see the World's Largest Map of Route 66. 
Free, open 24/7.

Standing on the corner, watching all the girls. ..

One of the reasons our attractive 40-something daughter stays in such great shape is that she bikes everywhere. Today she met her mother for lunch in Uptown. Afterwards they agreed to meet back at Marcy's place, with Kathleen driving her little bug, following her biking daughter.
At the intersection of 39th and Lyndale, a gang of eight construction workers in bright safety vests stood idly on the sidewalk next to a work site. Marcy zipped past them on her bike. Kathleen, waiting on the light, watched from her car as eight heads, the entire group, simultaneously turned to follow the blonde on the bike.
Kathleen couldn't resist. The light changed, she drove her car up to the curb and rolled the window down as if asking for directions. About four of the guys took the bait and leaned down to help.
"I saw you, I saw you watching my daughter go by," she loudly hectored the big boys. Busted, they all grinned sheepishly. But one was quick with a retort, and Kathleen now happily reports it:
"Well," he said loud enough so his whole gang could hear, "We can sure see where she got her good looks!"

All's Well at Cafe del Solveig

Stan's mission to Tucson to make repairs to house and body got off to a good start yesterday. The acacia tree that dropped a limb in a storm last year has recovered nicely. This is an old photo of the tree. The limitations of the Tucson computer make updating it impractical.
The weather is record hot for November. Stan's car thermometer got to 88 yesterday while making a trip to Home Depot.
Yesterday we had a man on the roof to diagnose and then repair a leak. Today we tackle a balky water softener and a sticky front door latch and aging barbecue grill.
Our neighbor Leno showed up just in time with some silicone spray to loosen the latch.
But first, it is off to the fitness center, where the entire cast of characters we left in place last February continues to push, pull and lift the same objects in their Sysiphan struggles against weight, condition and age. Honest. The same people, on the same machines at the same time. Same managers too.
If consistency is the key to success, these folks will live forever. Which is a good thing. Somebody has to spin those stationary bikes.

Happy Birthday, Briggsy!

Happy Birthday, Briggs!

Hope all is well in the new St. Paul apt.!

We're just not sure. . .

We received this photograph from our daughter Marcelline today. It is her teenage son and his father. No explanation, other than that the father, Hoi, actually sewed these outfits. We are in Tucson with questions: Will they be waiting tables? Is that a codpiece on the apron? Will the word ancient or honorable be used in any explanation? And they don't seem to be very happy about whatever this is, why? Help.

H1N1 do-it-yourself mask

With vaccine and masks already in short supply, as a public service, your blog editor offers this emergency suggestion for a handy do-it-yourself H1N1 mask. (For best results, be sure fabric is clean).

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Tonight, your editor will enjoy one of the benefits of swine flu: a grilled pork loin.

 

Made it to Mesa

Stan headed southwest on Friday morning, Tucson bound, for a month of sun, house repairs, exercise and golf, determined to "Take It Easy."
Drove straight through, 1,500 miles, to Winslow, Arizona, home of the girl, my lord, in a flat-bed Ford (Eagles 70s). Spent the night there in a cheap hotel, ($39.99 includes pool, wifi and breakfast - they wouldn't take AAA or AARP or senior citizens discount or give a weekend rate) but it was not the cheapest hotel  in town ($29.99). Slept 12 hours, taking advantage of Mountain Time and Daylight Time and free time, all in one night. Shot tons of photos, of course, but can't figure out how to load them on Dave's laptop. This machine is harder to master than the new cellphones Kathleen and Stan presently struggle with but were somehow able to use for progress reports through Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico and Arizona.
Birdie and Kathleen are fine, and will make the trip in January after the holidays.
Today Stan is enjoying the hospitality of his former Chaska neighbors, Dave and Jane, at their Mesa, AZ, residence. They played 18 lovely holes this morning and plans are for a big pork loin on the grill tonight. Great hosts, Stan will extend  for another day, for another round, then on to Tucson Tuesday night.
Sunday, the three enjoyed the Vikings game in a packed Irish pub, as the game wasn't available on home screens... something about the Cardinals having priority. First thing upon claiming a rare chair in the pub, Stan spotted Greg and Phyllis, for chrissakes, his Shakopee neighbors from across the cul-de-sac. Go figure.
This afternoon, Dave is hosting some Minnesota Club function over at the Leisure World Community Center. He's got some poster about  Minnesota Nice. Too much activity for Stan. He'll finish this post, then nap, and perhaps think about fixing the water pump in Tucson some other day soon.