Another young Waksman photo

 I am proud I was a sportsman from a young age. It never developed much.

In this shot I am catching small fries in the Tarn River.

Driving to Las Vegas and Back with Barb

Before I forget our stops:

Heading out:

Wilkes Barre PA, Pittsburgh, Sikeston MO, Webb Lake on the White River AR, Clarendon TX, Winslow AZ, Las Vegas

On the way back:

Tucumcari NM, Mt Vernon IL Clayton OH, Pittsburgh, HOME.

We camped at Webb Lake and in Clarendon TX. Clarendon is a town full of nice people. I talked to the Lady at the motel, the Sherriff, the mechanic "Byron" who was recommended by the lady (he vented our condensation duct, for the price of a handshake), and the gentlemen running the water authority plant. The poor town got 0.58 inches of rain last year and I hope they do better this summer. I see a couple thunderstorms in their forecast. We discussed how beavers couldn't work with total drought.

I can tell you I took my grandchildren to see my little hill in Hidden Valley. I failed to engage them, as I got more interested in what is under my own feet. On the subject of archaeology, I failed to get to any river's gravel. Although I saw many fine stretches of gravel as we drove, they are all fenced off. Even in parks that contain a river, the river is fenced off. I found it particularly annoying in Winslow AZ, where Homolovi Park surrounds a stretch of the Little Colorado -and yet has the river fenced off from visitors. What a pain! By contrast I got to the edge of the White River in AR and it was high water and silted in. IN fact I failed to get to gravel at every river I tried:

Ct river in Glastonbury; the Susquehanna in Wikes Barre, the White River in AR, the Salt Fork of the Red River (in Clarendon) - where I actually did hit up a bit of gravel walking around the shrunken lake. The Little Colorado in Winslow AZ. Parenthetically, I nearly got on some gravel next to the Newark Octagon: there is a Racoon Creek behind some gas stations. Would have been well worth a look but it was a steep bank with poison ivy and uncertain footing. 

I should also mention some food experiences. I had my first Chicken Fried Steak with white gravy and mashed potatoes in Las Vegas. I had an exquisite second example at Del's in Tucumcari on Rt 66. I never had Chicken fried steak and -boy- is it good. I also had a great birria corn taco in Las Vegas. Later I had a great Ham Hock at a large German restaurant in Pittsburgh, with out friends the Ratz's.

A little joke or two

 - There are no clouds on the horizon

 - ....er.... that's not the horizon.

Another: The espresso was no better than what you can get at a gas station [or variants]

My friend Dave Larson re-enters the picture

After ignoring my phone calls for several months, for whatever reason, an old friend decided to get in touch again. He added to his previous poem (see here):

SEARCHING FOR ARROWHEADS IN NEVADA WITH PETER WAKSMAN

The breath of the ancient ones did flow

Carried by westerly winds to the soul

Treading lightly on their hallowed ground

Through light and silence, there was no sound

Searching for signs of their time on earth

Carefully sifting through stones, desert hearth

Looking to find simple marks of their time

Migrating across this timeless sublime

The ancient ones can fill your soul

With dreams and visions that take their toll

Eyes to the ground but look up ahead

A stone circle gathering place we are lead

We can sense and feel their feet at the fire

As they rested, and ate, smoke rings rising higher

To see their lives and works turned to dirt

Opens the window of death... and it hurt 

I was hungry so I painted the garage

The title "I was hungry, so I painted the garage" was an example of a non-sequitur that can be resolved with an intermediary narrative. For example, 

I was hungry and walking into town. I saw a woman working in the yard of a house and she said she would give me a meal if I painted the garage. I was hungry, so I painted the garage.

The point of this story is that the phrase "I was happy, so I patted the dog" works without an invented narrative, because we all know that passion evokes action. 

To explain "I was hungry so I went to the kitchen" is a little more work.

Flowery language

 You could cut the tension with a fork.

Sunset across Gardiner Rd