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Watching the Pioneer Avenue Safeway close was sort of like losing a family member… albeit a family member I barely knew.

In 2006, my cousin worked as a meat man at the neighborhood market. There, I watched as many pounds of beef were packaged when he let me behind the glass. The experience was a definite highlight of that summer and a warm welcome to Cheyenne, too.

Later that summer, I bought a fern at the Safeway. Lazily, I tried to cultivate it in my trunk. For two or three months, the plant received nothing but the finest neglect. When I was looking for a shovel in my trunk one day, I found the fern. I brought it inside and fed it a little water. It came back to life and enjoys a healthy existence to this day.

It’s really kind of sad looking back on the life of that little plant. No one cared for it and it survived despite the odds. Conversely, I never thought the fern would out-live the place from where it came. It seemed, after all, that the Safeway was cared for by the surrounding community. Despite this, the market was unable to survive.

I hadn’t actually been in said Safeway in recent years, though I drove by it regularly. To me, it existed much like an aunt or cousin I know is there, but rarely speak to. I may never buy another fern or witness the power that is meat packing again, but I will never forget the times I shared with the Pioneer Avenue Safeway.

Farewell, dear friend, farewell.

Thanks for looking.

So here goes my first photo story for the Tribune Eagle. I did mine on the folks who play pool at the Cheyenne Senior Center. It’s not really how you might picture a typical pool hall — filled with noise, smoke and stale beer stink. But, this pool hall is not necessarily for the quiet and reserved either. I found that it is a gathering point for a group of guys who are pretty young at heart, depsite being seniors. They give each other a hard time and get awfully boisterous.  They’ll tell you about the old days when a new pool cue cost $20 and a small town reputation was earned by beating up the toughest guy in the community.  You’ll also find quieter times when they gather to talk about health issues, family problems and other challenges in life. It appears that these people are really there for each other and need each other to stave off that loneliness that I am told comes with retirement. At the same time, I couldn’t help but think that I hope to be having as much fun as they are when I’m their age.

Thanks for looking.

This year for Lent, my dad gave up Wyoming Cowboys basketball.

From what I’ve gathered throughout the years, the things people give up for Lent are not meant to briefly better oneself. Sacrifices are supposed to act as a springboard for living a better life every day.

As a kid, my parents made me quit sweets, T.V. and misdemeanor criminal activity. For the most part, that made me angry, though not committing crimes was probably beneficial.

For a number of years, I haven’t attended church and had no intention of ever going back. In recent months, however, I became engaged.

Thus, I no longer make decisions — Linda calls the shots.

I say “yes” or “no,” even though I may not agree.

As such, I went to Ash Wednesday mass for the first time in years — twice at that (once for work).

Since I was there, I reflected and decided how to be a better person.

So, what to give up… my backbone? Already gone. My independence? Gone too. My Playstation? She probably smashed that after reading this.

Hmm…

Maybe my often-aloof father knows something I don’t after his 30 years of marriage. He sacrificed a bad UW hoops team, which really isn’t beneficial. His choice, initially, seemed so mundane.

Why not just give up tube socks or crust?

After tonight — and others like it — as I cease to exist as I once knew myself, I realize that in getting married, I am bettering myself in sense that I can no longer make my own decisions.

AAron just nods affirmatively when appropriate.

Since I don’t have control of the T.V. or groceries and I can never leave Linda’s sight long enough to light fireworks… I guess I’ll give up… Ziggy Comics and… Oh God, she’s coming, I gotta go.

Thanks for looking.

My brother and I went to Steamboat yesterday. We rode the mountain for about four hours before the binding on his board exploded under the sheer strain of his mass. Our day ended.

At the time, I was a little disappointed because I left Cheyenne at 4:30 a.m. to pick him up in Laramie before heading to Steamboat. Four hours seemed all too brief for a drive that I dangerously made while sleeping.

The abbreviated day sort of resulted in good things, though. As we drove back to Laramie, we came to a turnoff on Colorado Highway 14 outside of Walden. There, we were stopped by a sheriff — not for any illicit activities. He was actually holding traffic for a Bovine University graduation ceremony.

Yes sir, the fine stock in that class was prime.

A team of honchos and cow pokes were moving a bunch of cattle from Rand to Lewis Ranch just outside of Walden. While we waited, I asked my brother not to explode the car as I shot a few frames. He made no promises and I didn’t trust him either way, but I wanted to pass the time without sitting in a car with him any longer than necessary.

One of the cowboys said that when the team left Rand earlier in the a.m. the temp was about -8 degrees Fahrenheit — at the time I met them, it was about 30. The cows, whose faces were covered with ice did not comment on the weather, though they did seem to enjoy playing in the snow.

Below are more photos of the drive.

Thanks for looking.

(continue reading…)

Santa asked, “What do you want for Christmas?”

The little girl replied, “A horse.”

Santa, a little taken aback by the tall order, said, “Oh, a horse… Well, what kind?”

Without hesitation she spouted, “A mare.”

It was humorous. Nice attention to detail. If Santa asked me what kind of horse, I would have said, “One with legs, I guess?”

Today was a pretty funny trip back in time for me. I tagged along with Santa (who is apparently pro union and proud of that fact) as he toured Sunrise Elementary School. There are few things these days that really get me going. I’ve lost that lovin’ feeling for lack of a better analogy.

Unlike me, however, the K through 2 students at the school — and some older ones in the hallways — lit up at the mere site of S.C. Without hesitation, they gravitated towards him and spilled their guts about dirt bikes, Barbie dolls, perfume, and of course, mares.

The site of their faces and pure, unadulterated joy made me think back to what I wanted when I was their age… As far as I can remember, it was hoping my mom wasn’t going to cook that year. I must have been bad because, on occasion, she did.

I am hopeful that, again unlike me, these kids get what they want.

After all, it takes guts to ask a man flying a reindeer driven sleigh through brisk winter air to carry a horse… Not to mention finding a way to stuff it under a tree. I guess that’s all part of the magic of Santa Claus.

Thanks for looking.