Month: September 2021

I wonder why when I get gasoline in my car at the 85 octane level and have 30 cents off of the price of a gallon, the receipt shows I paid 30 cents more than the original cost of the 85 octane gasoline.  Definitely, not the reduced rate!  So, I when went into the cashier’s little building, showed him the receipt, complained about the cost, and waited for his answer, he assured me that I had pushed the premium button.  I assured him that I had NOT!  My car does not like premium gasoline.  And, I definitely was not happy.  Nothing changed.  So, the next time I go to that service station (that belongs to my favorite grocery store), I may just take along a black marker and warn everyone who pulls up to that pump to avoid it at all cost!

Have you ever considered what it must be like to be a widow (or, if you are a man, a widower)?  I’ve been a widow for more than four years.  I’ve already told you that I HATE that word – widow.  But, that’s what I am – a widow.  Every form I complete wants to know:  married, single, widow.  I always wonder why the form’s maker wants to know.  A woman becomes a widow with the lack of a heartbeat.

About a week ago, Daughter Number One and I took a short trip into the past.  The Cheyenne-based Big Boy steam engine had been trekking through the middle states, Louisiana, and Texas, with travel to its final state being Colorado before heading home to Wyoming.  The track from the eastern edge of Colorado to Denver was perfect for the Big Boy’s trip, mostly straight with some curves.

I know.  I told you I wouldn’t inundate you with cute pictures and stories about Lady Patricia, my almost five-year-old, white miniature schnauzer, so just consider this an update.  She does some funny little things, this girl.

Lady has found her voice.  For more than a month, she made no sound, at all.  Then, one day (about a month after she came to live with me), one of my Keith’s and I were talking in a part of the house away from where she was.  Her safe space is in her bed on the loveseat in the TV room – or just out of the bed on the loveseat.  When she heard our voices, she barked – as though she was telling me that someone strange was in the house.  That was the first time, ever, that she made any sound.  Since then, she has also started barking when the doorbell rings – either my doorbell or a doorbell on the TV.  I think Katie, our border collie friend, taught her that.

Writing haibun poetry is my favorite kind of poetry to write.  A combination of prose and haiku, haibun is better for me to tell a story than any other kind of poetry.  So, this week’s blog is a haibun of our ride on the Royal Gorge Railroad.  (The Cranky Crone)

Slow and Easy – A Haibun

Slow and easy is the ride on the Royal Gorge Railroad.  Powered by diesel, the ride does not include the soot and grime that accompanies a ride behind a coal-fired engine.  If you’ve taken the Cumbres-Toltec train between Chama, New Mexico, and Antonito, Colorado, or the Silverton Train in southwest Colorado, you know about soot and grime.  Both of those rides pass through beautiful country, but neither of them takes you into the depths of a canyon like the Arkansas River Canyon.  Before the Arkansas River goes crashing through the canyon, it has started somewhere near Leadville, Colorado, fed by winter snowpack.

Eons of time make

A canyon deep and narrow

Run a train through it