I love this view! The photo was taken last Tuesday, on our way home from Flagstaff to the Grand Canyon, on Highway 89 north towards Page, Arizona.
Fire!
The photo above is from the Aspen Fire on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. It was started on July 29 by a lightening strike. It has burned more than 4,000 acres to date. If you click over there to read more about it, look at the map. I live about where the little circle is where it says North Rim on that map.
And this photo shows the smoke in Flagstaff last Sunday night, coming from the Taylor Fire, 13 miles away in the Coconino National Forest. The cause of this fire is still under investigation.
Both of the fires above have burned large areas, one in a national park, the other in a national forest. The fire crews have worked hard to keep them contained and under control.
When I was a little girl in the late 50’s and early 60’s, my parents left me and my brothers at home unattended while they worked. In summer, we had the run of the woods and the neighborhood, which was very rural back then. My father raised pigs for sale at the stockyard in Atlanta. He picked up the garbage from several restaurants about three times a week to feed his small herd (is that what a group of pigs is called???) of pigs.
The Agriculture Inspector from the state of Georgia came around, and inspected the feed about once a month. Sometime in the early 60’s, he instructed my father to “cook” the slop to a certain temperature before feeding to the hogs. So, my father had a cooker made. This cooker was made from two 55 gallon barrells, sliced in two pieces lengthwise, and welded together end to end. One half was attached to the other with hinges, to make a large kettle with a lid. This was on legs about two feet off the ground.
While our parents worked, my brothers and I had the chore of building a fire under this contraption, and keeping the fire burning for two days each time. We used old tires for the fuel, which gave off huge billows of black smoke. As you might know, we didn’t pay very close attention to that fire. We were kids, after all.
My oldest brother was about 11, I was 9, my younger brother was 8. We were so busy playing, that we did not notice that the fire had spread from under the cooker into the woods. We did not know what to do. I don’t think any of us even knew how to use the telephone, or who to call. I ran up to the road, trying to figure out what to do. The first vehicle that came by was a van. I don’t know what the man driving it was selling, but he had lots of burlap bags in the back of that van.
He ran into our house and called the fire department, then got a handful of those burlap bags out of the van. He wet them all down with the hose, and went with us to the fire. We all used those wet bags, slapping them at the flames to put the fire out. I don’t know how many acres we burned, or how long it took to get the fire out, but I can remember how mad my father was at us for letting the fire get out of control. I can not imagine something like that happening today, with just a bunch of kids in charge.
Oh the 4th of July, I met Smokey the Bear when he came to the Grand Canyon for the open house at our Emergency Services building. He gave me a can cozy with his picture on it:
It says: “Never leave your campfire unattended! Extinguish your fire using these three steps:
Self Portrait Day
I wore my hair short like this for more than 26 years:
Before that, I wore it very long, almost to my waist at times, and loved it. I had it all cut off the first time when I was pregnant with my oldest daughter, about three days before she was born. I just didn’t want to have to fool with hair that long while I was in the hospital, and I thought it would be easier to take care of after the baby was born. However, I hated it short and let it grow out long again.
When I turned 30, I thought that women over 30 shouldn’t have such long hair, so I had it cut short, like in the photo above, and wore it short like that until last year. In fact, my husband and a lot of my friends have never seen me with long hair.
While I don’t particularly like these photos I took today, they do show somewhat what my hair looks like now. Last year, when I started working for the park service, and having to wear the Smokey the Bear stetson hat:

I discovered that those of us who had short hair had atrocious “hat hair” at the end of the work day. Those of us who had long hair, not so much. So, I decided to grow my hair out long again. It is about half way to where I would like it to be. I know I need a trim, to give it more shape and take care of some loose ends, but it pretty much looks how I expected it to look.
I can’t decide if I want to cut bangs or not. I did have some cut back in April, but they are way too long now so I am trying to keep them neatly out of my face until my step-daughter, Becky, gets here to visit next month. She is a hair professional—I hope she will have some scissors with her when she comes. For now, I am trying to use some pretty combs I found at the mall, but my hair is too fine to hold them in.
My goal is to have hair long enough to pull back in a swishy ponytail while I am at work, wearing my hat, and be able to wear in a variety of styles on my off time. What do you think? (Oh, and I already know I need some make-up.)
Remember Whensday

This is a picture of me, around Thanksgiving, 1971 at my home in Neunkirken, Germany with a vase our neighbors gave me for Christmas. My first husband was in the Army, and I had gone over to Germany to live with him and await the birth of our first child. My son was born in Wuerzburg on November 14, 1971. Shortly after his birth, we found out that my husband was going to get an early release from the Army. So, we opened our Christmas presents early, then immediately packed them up for shipping home. I flew out of Frankfurt, on my way to Atlanta, the day before Christmas Eve. My son was one day short of being six weeks old.
After my husband dropped me off at the airport in Frankfurt, there was a flight delay that lasted about six hours. The delay caused me to miss my connecting flight from JFK in New York, so I sat in the airport in New York for another 12 hours, waiting for a standby flight. I finally got on a flight to Atlanta because my son was the youngest baby waiting, and I was running out of supplies of formula for him. I was so happy to finally arrive in Atlanta at Hartsfield Airport, way beyond exhausted. And when my mother picked me up? The first words out of her mouth were “Be careful with the baby.”
Black Bart’s Steak House, Saloon, and RV Park
We escaped the North Rim today and headed down to Flagstaff for a doctor’s appointment on Tuesday. We decided to make it a mini vacation, and treat ourselves to a dinner out. We asked at the front desk of the motel for the name of a good steak house, and they referred us to Black Bart’s. We haven’t been eating much beef in the last few years, but occasionally we do like a good steak. And boy, I have to tell you, if you want a good steak in Flagstaff, Black Bart’s is the place to go!
From the outside, it doesn’t look like much. It is at the rear of an RV park, which by the way, has some nice, level sites, and can accommodate long rigs. We were wondering if we were in the right place, because it didn’t look like your every day steak house. But, we went inside anyway and took a seat in the corner of the dining room.
The cover of the menu says it is a Steakhouse, Saloon, & Musical Revue. It didn’t take long to figure out they meant what they said, as the wait staff doubles as entertainment. Our waitress, Rae, said they all attend Northern Arizona University there in Flagstaff, and have to audition for their jobs at Black Bart’s. She is pursuing a minor in music while she sings and waits tables to earn her keep.
A first look at the menu let us know it is a high dollar place, but what the heck, we were out on the town for the first time in months. FabGrandpa ordered the 24 oz Porterhouse, while I opted for the 12 oz prime rib. We started out with a tossed salad and some potato skins. When my salad came, I realized immediately that I forgot to say “no crouton, please” when I ordered, but Rae was very pleasant and brought me a new one quickly. And OMG, those potato skins were delish! They were soft, and had just the right amount of cheese and real bacon on them, along with some green stuff that was probably chilies, and mmmm, mmmmm, mmmm.
The dining room is decorated in an old west motif, and has trophy animal heads hanging on the walls. Wooden tables have no tablecloths, which is fine because I would have just made a mess of it. The place was pretty crowded for a Sunday night.
The kids did a great job of singing a variety of broadway tunes, some of which I recognized, and some I didn’t. I especially enjoyed “Be Our Guest” and “All That Jazz.”
When dinner was served, Rae brought out a pan of sourdough biscuits with cinnamon honey butter. My mouth was watering from the smell of them, but of course I was not able to eat them, because they were made with the enemy, wheat! FabGrandpa said they were heavenly, and the honey butter divine!
My prime rib was perfectly pink, just the way I asked for it, and barely needed a knife. The horseradish sauce could have had a bit more heat, the au jous was just right. Looking at the picutre makes me hungry all over again.
FabGrandpa’s porterhouse was almost as big as his plate. He said it was delicious. His came with fries, which I tasted and wished I had ordered them instead of my baked potato. He said whoever the cook was has cooked a steak or two in his day, because his was perfect.
These portions were way too big–we wound up getting a “to go” box. It is the first time since I have known my husband that he has asked for one. He said he couldn’t eat it all, and it would be a crime to leave any of it behind. The leftovers will make a good breakfast for two days!
Our bill was not too bad, considering that we ordered an appetizer, we each received huge portions, and there was fabulous entertainment all throughout the meal. Rae was very attentive, and made sure we had everything we needed and wanted.
Scenic Sunday
Want To Know What I Think About…..
In The Mail Today
I’m sure you remember the sad, sad story of my Big White Bowl. I was really missing it, because I didn’t have another bowl big enough for mixing things like that gluten free brownie mix. I bought the mix about three weeks ago–it has been sitting there in the cupboard since then.
This morning, I received a package in the mail from my sister. I have to say, I am so happy first that she thought of me, and second that she sent me this bowl. I live in a very remote area, and have been to all the stores and thrift shops in town and there was just no bowl to buy, anywhere. Now I can make those brownies, probably tomorrow. Thank you, my seester!