Category Archives: opinion

Posted in opinion

The Scarlet Shirt

By Comments:9 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

                               “The pang of it will always be in the heart”

                                                                                                                                                        Nathanial Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter

 Red R     My travels last week were supposed to take me to Salt Lake City for, what I must say with all false modesty aside, an induction into the University of Utah Athletes Hall of Fame. OK, it wasn’t exactly me being inducted, it was the entire 1964 Liberty Bowl football team, of which I was a member. OK, I wasn’t actually a regular member – I was a ‘red shirt’ member.

     For those unfamiliar with the term ‘red shirt’, it is a college athlete, who is on the team, but does not suit up and play in games for the entire year in order to save his or her eligibility.  As a ‘red shirt’ quarterback, I ran the offense of our opponents that week, against our first team defense. I felt it was my job to give our defense confidence with my inept play – I apparently succeeded beyond my wildest expectations. “That was a feckless performance Sparrow”, the coaches would shout and I would beam with pride until I learned the definition of the word feckless.  The origin of the term ‘redshirt’ is sketchy at best, but my experience tells me that these non-playing athletes were so bloodied from getting beaten to a pulp in practice that their jerseys were red.

UofU

Picture Day – The only time I was allowed to wear a University of Utah uniform

   My red shirt never came off; I came to Utah from junior college and transferred after my redshirt year to play for George Siefert, who had taken his first head coaching job at Westminster College in Salt Lake; yes the same George Siefert who coached the San Francisco 49ers to two Super Bowl championships. The same George Siefert, who at a reunion was quoted as saying, “Yes, I coached Joe Montana and Steve Young, but Bob Sparrow was my first quarterback.” I approached him afterwards to thank him for the recognition and he said, “No, I didn’t say first quarterback I said worst quarterback.”  Oh.

     The Utah Liberty Bowl team was honored at half time of this year’s Utah-Fresno State game and at a banquet held the previous night – I imagined my ‘redshirt invitation’ to these events would look something like this . . .

 Dear Redshirt,

     The 1964 Liberty Bowl football team (and you) will be inducted into the University of Utah Athletes Hall of Fame. There will be a banquet Friday night at 8:00 p.m., could you please get there an hour early so you’ll have time to eat before hand and then serve and clear dishes for the regular team? We have sent commemorative blazers and rings to all the regular players, and have enclosed for you to wear that evening, a double extra large commemorative red shirt. As a special favor, we’re asking that you please plan on sticking around afterwards to help clean up.

expendable

The shirt says it all

     The team will be honored at half time of the game on Saturday; would you mind getting to the stadium a little early to wipe down the seats after you finish lining the field? Don’t forget to wear your redshirt to all events, as we don’t want anyone to confuse you with any of the regular team members.

    Maybe I was letting my imagination run a bit wild , but I was just trying to get something off my chest . . . and back – it’s that damn red shirt! Truth be known, I actually got a nice invitation and would have loved to attend, but had other commitments.  I actually had a good experience at Utah and a great experience at Westminster College, where I played football, wrote for the college newspaper and met my first wife . . . OK, two out of three’s not bad; I think she was just a red shirt anyway.

 

(If you enjoy our blog, please ‘Share’ it with your Facebook friends)

Posted in opinion

OUR BELLA SERA AT THE BELLA SERA

By Comments:5 Comments

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Bella Sera nightHearty appetites are the hallmark of our family.  That,  and drinking.  When we can combine both we are like pigs in slop.  No one in our family says things like “Seconds?  I couldn’t possibly” or “Gee, I’m so full I couldn’t eat another mouthful”.  In fact and practice, we all eat like we are going to “the chair”.  So how fortuitous that Bob’s daughter, Dana and her husband Joe, now own a restaurant (with a lovely bar) in downtown Monrovia, California.  In our family, Joe is the rock star of cooking.  For Bob’s 70th birthday he cooked for days and presented cuisines from five diverse countries.  We think Dana married VERY well.

Dana and Joe during rennovation

Dana and Joe during renovation

In May they took over an established Italian restaurant – the Bella Sera Trattoria-  and completely renovated it.  It has been a great success, with all tables full on many nights of the week.  In a business that is notoriously tough, they have been a rousing success.  Which goes to show that good food, beautiful surroundings and hard work are still appreciated in this day and age.  We have been anxious to visit ever since it opened and this week on our way over to the Central Coast, we finally had our chance.   I wrote Dana ahead of time to let her know we were coming, and would be meeting Bob, and his wife Linda, for dinner.  We are simple people, but we do have a few requirements for any restaurant so I wanted her to be prepared.  They were little things like:

  • We can only eat salmon that has been caught on a Thursday, preferably by a native Eskimo.
  • Salad greens need to come from California (of course) but need to have been carefully picked by a Swedish woman who uses Dial anti-bacterial soap.
  • Our wine should come from Chile, with grapes grown on a south-facing slope, and from a vintner who also weaves his own serape (I like to incorporate my love of needlework whenever I can)
  • For dessert, we LOVE chocolate but only if it’s been flown in that day from Belgium.

Oh…and we needed a separate chair for Dash the Wonder Dog, who loves to sit at the table and pretend he’s “in” on the conversation.   Dana didn’t blink an eye.  I think she already considers me “her crazy aunt”.

At last the evening arrived!  We were amazed at how beautifully they have completely transformed the space.  It is warm and inviting with a contemporary flair.  But the main attraction was the food.  We didn’t eat all day in anticipation but I think we didn’t start early enough – we should have starved for a week.  Dana thought we should begin with some wine.  I’ve always thought she was a very smart girl.   Next, she brought out a plate of bacon-wrapped dates stuffed with ricotta, mascarpone and a blueberry reduction.  That “light” little starter was followed by Portobello mushroom fries with a fabulous sauce that should be named “Straight from Heaven”.

Me - with Bob - who thinks he can turn water into wine.

Me – with Bob – who thinks he can turn water into wine.

Then we had more wine, followed by entrees that were all varied and all mouth-watering delicious – pastas, lasagna, halibut – each dish looked better than the last.  And then as if we were in need of more food, Dana emerged from the kitchen with tiramisu and her special dessert creation of the evening, a chocolate cookie filled with marzipan cheese and then smothered in a chocolate ganache.  I forget what she was calling it but I think it was “Watch Aunt Sue gain 10 pounds”.  I wanted to lick the plate but some deep-seated shred of dignity kept me from making a complete fool of myself.  Although in retrospect I’m thinking it would have tasted awfully good and besides, I’m never going to see those other customers again.  Next time I won’t be so constrained.

As I sat back in my food stupor I watched as Dana and Joe bustled about, making sure every dish coming out of the kitchen was perfect and each customer was happy.   The evening really was magical, not only because of the food and drink, but because it is really wonderful to see two young people, working hard, and realizing a dream.  You can’t buy the look of satisfaction and happiness that is evident on both of their faces.

So if you happen to find yourself in the cute little town of Monrovia, be sure to stop by the Bella Sera Trattoria.  You will be treated to delicious food, great service and a fun atmosphere.   Just don’t blame me if your pants won’t button up the next morning.

 

 

 

Posted in opinion • travel

The Freaks at Venice Beach

By Comments:

Have you subscribed?

by Bob Sparrow

Venice-CA-1913-winwardave

Venice Beach circa 1905

On July 4, 1905 tobacco mogul, Abbot Kinney dug some canals, opened a few shops and launched ‘Venice of America’ next to Santa Monica Beach, hoping to ‘recreate’ Venice, Italy and attract lovers of art, music and culture – it did not.   Being the ever-astute businessman, he quickly scraped the idea of bringing the Renaissance to America and instead brought in exhibits, amusements and freak shows that attracted young counterculture artists, poets, and writers. I don’t know about artists and poets, but I’m here to tell you that the freaks have definitely survived – I was one of them last week, when I made my first visit to Venice Beach.  With summer drawing to and end, the usually packed boardwalk had thinned out, the freaks were fewer in numbers, but no less freaky and it seems that even some of the homeless people had gone home. What I noticed was a lot of older guys walking around taking pictures – I guess we were the freaks.

Muscle Beach

“Stop, no wimps allowed on Muscle Beach!”

In the heart of the Venice Beach boardwalk is ‘Muscle Beach’, where guys can workout in the open air on the sand. I thought it would be fun to drop in and do a workout, pump some iron, maybe throw in a clean and jerk. I was stopped at the entrance and told that I would give ‘Muscle Beach’ a bad name if I took off my shirt, and was admonished that if I tried to enter the workout area, a ‘jerk’ would certainly be part of my future.

Psychic

“Most of your future is ahead of you”

Curious about what my real future looked like, I moved on to a nearby Psychic Fortune Teller.  I knocked on the door to the psychic’s office or séance room or whatever it was, and a pregnant young lady, with a cell phone to her ear, appeared.   She whispered that she was on the phone with the water company, who was threatening to turn off her water, and asked me to sit down. As I sat there for about 10-15 minutes I got to thinking, didn’t she know I was coming,  and, do you really have to be a fortune teller to know that if you don’t pay your bill, they’re going to shut off your water.?   I may be parsing words here, but isn’t it an oxymoron to have a pregnant psychic woman ‘expecting’ – shouldn’t she ‘know’?

cookie

Chinese Fortune Cookie

With some trepidation I paid to have both palms and my face read. She examined my palms and told me, I was married and had 2 to 4 children. I think my wedding ring gave her a clue to my marital status and I’m guessing 80% of married people my age have between 2-4 children. I wanted to play along to see what other amazing revelations she had in store for me, so I said, “That’s unbelievable!” She smiled knowingly and droned on for about ten minutes, giving me such gems as, “You’ve had some conflicts in the past”, “You’d rather give orders than take them”, “You will travel somewhere” and other phrases she had memorized from Chinese fortune cookies. The only thing I really remembered hearing was “You’re going to make a lot of money next year” – I think that one was accurately divined. After rattling off hackneyed phrase after phrase, she suddenly stopped, got up and walked out of the room. It was like the meter had run out and my time was up, or she suddenly looked into her own future and saw the guy from the water company at the side of her house preparing to turn off her water. I left and walked down the boardwalk with a little more spring in my step, comforted by the thought that I was going to make a lot of money next year.

Venice canal

There’s canals here???

I asked about 10 or 12 people on the boardwalk where the canals were, and mostly I heard, “There are canals here?”  I started to explain the Venice connection, but no one seemed really interested.  I finally found the canals inland about two blocks off the beach. There are only six canals left, there were about twice that many originally, and they are only deep enough to accommodate very small boats and kayaks, but the homes around them were small, but quite nice.

If Abbot Kinney were alive today, he might be a bit disappointed that poetry and art are found on tee shirts, the music comes from homeless street musicians and the culture does not evoke the Renaissance, but the business man in him would probably appreciate the fact that millions still comes to see the freak shows every year.

Rolling guitar

A Renaissance Man?

 

Homeless piano

One jar for tips, the other for his 401(k)

 

Posted in opinion

ANTICIPATORY BIRTHDAYS

By Comments:3 Comments

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Great combo – Medicare and Cake!

Three weeks ago I celebrated what might be my last “anticipatory” birthday – I turned 64.  These “anticipatory” birthdays are something that I completely fabricated (like a lot of other things I write about) to recognize that some years, all we really want to do is get to the next birthday.   For me, since my health insurance is being cancelled as of December 31, I am waiting in breathless anticipation to turn 65 and be eligible for Medicare.  Hopefully “breathless” is a slight exaggeration since I would prefer to be breathing when I turn into an official Senior Citizen.

But this birthday got me to thinking about other “anticipatory” birthdays I’ve had.  The first was when I turned 12 and couldn’t wait to be 13 – an official teen-ager.  I imagined all sorts of wonderful things would happen once I was finally in my teens.  Alas, all I got was a few pimples and wild hormonal shifts.  After that, I focused all of my attention to turning 16, when I could finally get my driver’s license.  Every teen-ager dreams of that day when the world opens up and you can cruise Main Street unsupervised. I spent my entire 15th year counting down the days to 16.   I took all of the requisite driver’s ed classes and then suddenly lost my desire to drive.  As I look back on it, I think I may have been unduly influenced by the teacher screaming in my ear and his constant pumping the imaginary brakes on his side of the car.  Or maybe, it was because

A 1962 Fiat - the size of a shoe

A 1962 Fiat – the size of a shoe

the car that I would have been driving was my mother’s 1962 Fiat.It was a strange, VERY small car, something akin to today’s Smart Car,only without any safety features whatsoever.  It also had something called “compound low”.  I was never sure what that meant other than anytime we needed to go up a slope greater than 3 degrees, my mother had to shift it into that gear.  So I actually waited until I was 17 to get my license, when my mother had upgraded to a 1967 Chevy, approximately the size of the Queen Mary.

The next great expectation was turning 20 – only twelve more months until I could drink!  Legally.  Actually, I didn’t have to wait a full year since my boyfriend at the time (well over 21) decided to “doctor” my driver’s license by scraping off the left-hand circles of the “8” , thus turning it into a rather lopsided “3”.  So all that spring and summer I flashed my license at every bartender and was served without so much as a farethewell.  I don’t think any of them were fooled by the amateurish editing on my license but drinking laws were not quite as strict then and I looked like I was good for the $1 beer tab.  Only I didn’t drink beer.  I decided it was ever so sophisticated to drink Gimlets.  I don’t know how or why I got that into my head – I probably had watched some old “Thin Man” movie and saw Myrna Loy drinking them.

A Gimlet - a surefire hangover

A Gimlet – a surefire hangover

 

And then since age 21 there’s been a dearth of “anticipatory” birthdays.  Sure, I’ve had parties to celebrate the beginnings of new decades, but other than having to start my age with a new number, they were all rather meaningless.  So I was convinced this was going to be my big year until I remembered that I’m not eligible for Social Security until I turn 66.  So I actually have ONE MORE big “anticipatory” birthday after this! I also learned this week that some people have additional anticipatory birthdays beyond Social Security.  Jimmy Fallon noted last week that Bill Clinton turned 68 or as Fallon “quoted” him – one more year until the “fun” one!

In any event, I will celebrate the coming year in style.  I will collect the deluge of supplemental medicare flyers that will come my way.  I will set up an Excel spreadsheet and compare each one and get my paperwork in three months early.  I will schedule an appointment for a physical and hope that I need some test that is horribly expensive, where I can just flash my Medicare card and have it all paid for by someone other than me.  I will, at last, be a “taker” rather than a “giver”.

 

 

Posted in opinion

A POX UPON OUR HOUSE

By Comments:5 Comments

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

 

2014-07-04 13.22.24-1

Gracie Gold…practicing her spins.

Let’s see…where were we before my brother went off into the wilds of Montana, losing both his wi-fi and his dignity as he chased after Sandra Bullock?  Oh yes, my husband and I were just starting a wonderful two month vacation in Sun Valley, Idaho.  We were enjoying the hikes, golf and watching the Olympic skaters who perform there every Saturday night.  We were ignoring the obnoxious people who frequent the town this time of year.  We had BIG plans for the summer.  And then something went terribly wrong.  It started out innocently enough.  My husband discovered a small, red spot on his forehead.  Now, let me just say right here that men react differently to illness than women.  When women get a cold they still have to go to work, cook dinner, take the kids to school, and generally run the household.  When men get the sniffles they take to their beds as if galloping pneumonia was going to carry them of to their great reward at any moment.   Okay, that’s a generalization.  But I’ve found in talking with my girlfriends that it’s got enough basis in fact that I think we can rely on it as “conventional wisdom”.  So I brushed off his complaints as being a bit overly dramatic.

 

Frankly, I was certain that it was a bug bite.  After all, we were in the mountains.  Plus, the wonder dog (who sleeps on our heads) had been running around in the bushes.  The second day, when the spot seemed a bit larger, he was worrying in the mirror over it, and asked me to look at it with the flashlight to see if I could see anything.  I did.  I saw a red spot.  On the third day, when two other spots appeared nearby, I told him to take a Benadryl and slap a little Calamine lotion on it.  But the next morning, he insisted on seeing a doctor, convinced he had the Ebola virus, or something close to it.  So off we trudged to the local clinic.  Usually when he is ill I go in to the exam room with him, figuring that two sets of ears are better than one.  This time, however, I let him go in alone, convinced he would come out chagrined about a bug bite diagnosis.  Besides, I was in the middle of a really good book.  So I stayed in the waiting room.  He came out ten minutes later, looking a bit shell-shocked.  He began to walk over to me, shaking his head.  This was not a good sign.  When he reached me he just said one word: “Shingles”.

We are of an age where several of our friends have had shingles and none of them have one good word to say about it.  We both envisioned large welts and agonizing pain.  Armed with an antiviral prescription, we went to the local pharmacy, where, as luck would have it, the pharmacist told us she had shingles just last year.  Great – an expert!  She assured us that the medicine would reduce the length and severity of the shingles.  I mentioned that I had been tested a couple of years ago and turns out I never had chicken pox, from whence the shingles virus originates.  I caught just the slightest rise of her eyebrow, but then she told us that it is actually pretty hard to transfer the virus.  Luckily, his shingles were a mild case, he never had any pain, and was back hitting golf balls within the week.

chicken_pox

Us…under quarantine

 

However, contrary to our “expert” pharmacist’s opinion, apparently it actually isn’t that hard to transfer the virus.  Sure enough, two weeks later I started getting chills and fever.  After four days, spots began to appear on my body.  I’m no genius but even I could figure out that I was coming down with “the pox”.  So back we went to the clinic.  Chicken pox for children means a week out of school and your mom bringing you endless bowls of ice cream and Jello.  For an adult, however, it is quite a different matter.  The doctor told us that the particular type of pneumonia that is caused by adult chicken pox can come on suddenly and lead to death if not attended to right away.  He said in a week either the medication would do its job or I would be in the hospital.  Alrighty then…that got our attention.

So…we made the decision to leave Sun Valley the next day and drive back to Scottsdale.  I figured if I was going to get really sick, it was going to be in my own bed with my own doctor nearby.  My dear husband earned a lifetime of brownie points by completely packing up our belongings, shipping most of it back to our house via UPS, and then loading up the car.  I think this means I can never say anything bad about him again.  At least for a while.  We took off, spending the night in Ely, Nevada again (see blog of July 7) where, contrary to common sense and a need for rest, I laid awake all night worrying that my fever would spike in Ely and I would never see real civilization again.  Luckily, however, we made it home where I saw my own doctor and am now practically recovered.

As for our summer – well, it hasn’t exactly gone as planned.  But isn’t that just the way life is?  We are loving being back in our own home, I am strategizing a re-decoration of the family room, and we are planning for our trip to California in September.  So it’s all turned out okay.  But I’m not sure we’ll be going back to Sun Valley any time soon – the “bug bites” up there really suck.

Posted in opinion • travel

Yellowstone Nat’l Park: Go for the Flora & Fauna not Old Faithful

By Comments:3 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

Upper Falls

Upper Falls on the Yellowstone River

My first experience of Yellowstone was yesterday’s geezer of a geyser and as you have no doubt surmised, I was less than thrilled. Today was a totally different story as we headed to Canyon Village in the heart of the park, which affords some of the most spectacular views of the deep canyons that the Yellowstone River has carved out over the years. Pat, Pam and I took a 6 miles loop hike on the South Rim that gave us spectacular views of Upper Falls, Lower Falls, Artist Point, Lilly Pad Lake, Clear Lake as well as some close up inspections of geysers, mud holes and hot springs. We could have run into any type of animal on this hike so I made sure I had my bear spray with me. Which reminds me that I forgot to tell you about our encounter with a bear at Jenny Lake yesterday. We were hiking around the south end of the lake, minding our own business, when hikers coming from the other direction said that they just encountered a bear a few hundred yards up the trail. They said the bear had ‘faked charged’ them and one of the men who had bear spray stood in front and sprayed the bear, who then retreated. I thought I was being smart and prepared when I brought along some bear spray, but since I was the only one who did, I ended up being the stupid one as I was pushed to the front of the pack as we headed down the trail towards the bear. The rest of the group stayed close behind me, very close, in fact I was concerned about stopping quickly and getting ‘rear ended’, so to speak. We did indeed run into Mr. Bear as he crossed the trail about 50 feet in front of me; I stopped (and wasn’t rear ended, thank you!) and pulled out my bear spray and had my finger on the trigger not knowing exactly what would come out or how far it would go if I squeezed it. The bear must have sensed that I was ill prepared for this situation and moved on without incident. It wasn’t, however, without accident, as my shorts were in need of some laundering.

Back to Yellowstone – we wanted to see some buffalo – from a distance, and our server at Saturday night’s dinner recommended we go to Hayden Valley just north of Yellowstone Lake. So after our hike and another lunch of cheese and wine (I was feeling so ‘French’ that I think I started to smell bad) by the river, we headed out to see some buffalo – which we did. If I can get a video on this blog (NOT!) I will show you a buffalo walking right down the middle of the road right past our car – he was a huge, magnificent animal. We also saw elk and moose along the way, just minding their own business, making this place even more beautiful. The wildest of animals in the park are the multitude school-aged children, and I applaud the parents for introducing their children to this environment at an early age, but a quick travel tip, if you plan to visit Yellowstone, go in September when the kids are back in school.

Buffalo Bar

Start of the West Yellowstone ‘Pub Crawl’

We drove back to West Yellowstone, cleaned up and as I write this we started our pub-crawl. We decided that we’d have one drink at each of the five bars that our server on Saturday night said were the best bars in town. We decided we would all go to the first bar in one car, which we’d pick up in the morning and walk to the others, which were all within a couple of blocks. First stop, the Buffalo Bar, which had a bunch of buffalo, elk, moose and deer heads hanging on the wall. After two drinks (We wasted little time in breaking the one-drink rule), we wondered how hard those animals had to be running to get their heads through the wall like that. Also on the wall there was a sign that said, ‘If you have to drink somewhere, drink in the Buff’.

Next stop was the Slippery Otter, which we drove to (Oops, broke another rule). It had a scuffle board table in it, which some people played while others drank. I started wandering if it was a good precision to bring my laptop and record this as things were starting to get a little fuzzy navel. Bob Pacelli complained that he tasted the soap used to wash his wine glass, but the waiter said that was implausible as they never wash the wine gasses. We then waddled to the next block to Bull-wrinkle’s, where we ordered some more imbibing. We ordered some sliders, but they brought us these little hamburgers instead. We didn’t want to raise a rumpus, so we just ate them and currampulated over to the next salon, which was Wild West Pizzarena. We ordered another rounder and listened to the guy praying his guitar and singing like a bird-watcher. By now we were slurping our word and acting incognito, so the servant recommended that we have coffee. We told her we were not driven, but we ordered a Long Island Iced Coffee just to make her snappy.

end of crawl

End of the ‘Pub Crawl’

The last place we went, we didn’t go to, as it was getting latte and we were no longer Thursday. So now I’m thinking I’m back in my hotel womb, as I see a bed that needs buttering and I believe I was over-swerved, but want to varnish this before I crush.   But tomorrow I’ll be somber as we get back on the Rhode Island and head for wherever we’re headed.  Chow.

 

Posted in opinion

WHERE IS BOB????

By Comments:

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

 

Missing in Action

Missing in Action

 

Well, by now we should have heard from Bob about his adventures in Yellowstone Park.  But suddenly he seems to have vanished from the face of the Earth.  Was he the victim of a bear attack?  Was he swallowed up by Old Faithful?  Did he run off with Sandra Bullock?

The answer is actually more mundane.  He doesn’t have any wifi connectivity.   So we’ll all just have to wait to hear about his travels through the Park.  Stay tuned…he should be back online in a couple of days.  Or not.

Posted in opinion • travel

Grand Teton National Park

By Comments:3 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

tram

Jackson Hole tram

Sorry this is late (you weren’t awake anyway!); no I wasn’t off somewhere with Sandra Bullock, she never called, if you can believe that! It’s been a very busy couple of days. Friday we took the tram to the top of the Grand Teton Ski Resort – visibility was 70 miles! It was spectacular! That evening we went to a dinner show of ‘Paint Your Wagon’, which was surprisingly quite good.

The next morning Linda’s sister called from Rochester to let us know that their father, Warren, had had a heart attack the night before. He’s 90 and has had a quadruple by-pass, but has otherwise been in very good health. The prognosis was not good and the doctor’s suggested that the family come as soon as possible. So Saturday morning Linda flew out of Jackson Hole into Rochester, MN. The news is good – they put in a stent and he is doing miraculously well, in fact went home on Sunday! Linda will be flying back to Missoula, MT on Monday to rejoin us; we’ll pick her up as we’re passing through on our way to Flathead Lake, MT.  Thanks to those who were aware of this – your prayers worked.

Gang at Jenny Lake

‘Hoodwink Hikers’ at Jenny Lake

Meanwhile, the seven of us drove to Jenny Lake, which is named after a Shoshone Indian woman who married an Englishman named Richard “Beaver Dick” Leigh. I’m not making this stuff up! The lake is at the base of the Grand Teton Mountains and spectacularly beautiful and serene. Some took a boat and some of us hiked around the lake to ‘Hidden Falls’ and half way up to ‘Inspiration Point’ where we got half inspired to have a wine, bread and cheese lunch on the shores of Cottonwood Creek that flows out of Jenny Lake (apparently the picture is not available at this time).

DSC01520

‘Less-than-faithful’

radiator

Just as exciting to watch

After lunch we continued up the road another 50 miles to Yellowstone Nat’l Park where we drove directly to ‘Old Faithful’ and waited, and waited. As we sat waiting along with a thousand other ‘tourists’, it took an hour-and-a-half to see this ‘every 26 minute eruption’ erupt. For me it was like sitting at the roadside waiting for your radiator to explode – it’s hot water and steam coming out of the ground for crying out loud.  The big deal was that it did it so consistently, it was so regular, predictable . . . faithful!  Not so much anymore.  I put a check mark by ‘see Old Faithful’ and we drove another 30 miles to West Yellowstone where we had dinner around 10:00 p.m. and crashed.

We’ll be playing around Yellowstone today and then doing a pub-crawl in West Yellowstone – so if I’m late again . . . sorry.

Posted in opinion • travel

LIVING WITH THE SUMMER “SWELLS”

By Comments:5 Comments

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

The Sun Valley Inn

The Sun Valley Inn

Each year, beginning in 1988, we have travelled up to Sun Valley, Idaho to relax, refresh and, let’s be honest, get out of the Arizona heat.  Almost always we come in September, when the leaves are turning and – this is critical – the kids are back in school.  It is clear from our travel patterns that we are creatures of habit, for while other people dream of new places and revel in collecting travel brochures, we come to the same place every year.  Sort of like lemmings.  Sun Valley is made up primarily of the Sun Valley Resort, with its two lodges, ice rink, golf courses, shops and restaurants.  Walking through “the village” is like stepping back in time, assuming that the time was Bavaria in the 1930’s.  The resort was conceived by Averil Harriman, chairman of the Union Pacific back in the mid-twentieth century.  He employed surveyors and architects from Germany to carry out his vision and their influence is apparent from the moment you step on to the grounds.  The resort has long been a favorite of the rich and famous…but more on that later.

Downtown Ketchum

Downtown Ketchum

Ketchum, Idaho is the town adjacent to Sun Valley.  In fact, if you blink your eyes you will not see the sign that indicates you’ve left one jurisdiction and entered the other.  Ketchum is a former rough and tumble place that allowed gambling long after it was outlawed in the U.S. and is famous for hosting Ernest Hemingway in his heyday.  He was known to throw back more than his fair share of cocktails in the local bars and even staged a phantom bull-fight after one particularly “wet” night.  Ketchum is still a small town in many ways – the only national chain store of any sort that has been allowed to open is Starbucks and that was only after much hue and cry among the locals.  The shops and restaurants in town are owned by hard-working people who make a living catering to the seasonal crowds.  And some years are a lot better than others.  Last year, the wildfires forced evacuations the first week of August, thus cutting in half the normal summer season.  As if that weren’t bad enough, the snowfall last winter was a bit sparse, so the ski season was also worse than normal.  We have gotten to know many of the local merchants over the years and you could not find a nicer group of people.  Which is why they really don’t deserve the summer “swells”.

As I mentioned, we are usually here in September when it’s quiet.  It is a wonderful time to re-charge and appreciate the surrounding area.  This year we decided to rent a house for July and August.  Mistake.  Big, big mistake.  First of all, there are kids everywhere.  Why is it that when your children are crying and running around they are still darling, but when it’s other people’s offspring they are just a pain in the neck?   And up here they all seem to be on bikes, darting in and out of traffic as if they were in cahoots with the auto industry to test tire treads and braking efficiencies.  But the worst are the “swells” who come to the area to spend time in their summer homes.  Many of them are from Santa Monica or San Francisco, although I suspect there are jerks from everywhere here.  I have personally witnessed three occasions where these socialites have treated local merchants and their employees as if they were personal servants…or worse.  And the locals have to just grin and bear it as their livelihoods depend on “service with a smile”.   I’ve been appalled by what I’ve seen and heard and then last week we got “the treatment” ourselves.

Sun Valley in the Fall

Sun Valley in the Fall

We were on a walk down the “street of dreams” in Sun Valley, a lane that is resplendent with some of the most spectacular houses here – or anywhere, for that matter.  At the end of the road is a National Forest Service trail so the street sees plenty of hikers and bikers going up and down the road.  We were across the street from one of our favorite houses when the owner came out to the front lawn.  We were about to tell him how much we admired his home when his VERY large dog came bounding over to us.  He was intent on pouncing on Dash the Wonder Dog, so I picked him up to get him out of harm’s way.  The dog kept pursuing us and that is when I learned that you just shouldn’t threaten the Wonder Dog with my husband around.  He told the owner that he needed to get control of us dog.  No action.  Again, my husband asked him to get his dog away from us.  Nothing.  Finally, the man looked both of us up and down and asked where we lived. Admittedly, we were not dressed to the nines, but our jeans didn’t have holes in them and I swear that neither of us has body tattoos or piercings through our noses.  So “none of your business”, was our reply.  He then told us that we just didn’t “belong” on his street and that we should leave.  A public road!!

So, would I recommend Sun Valley as a place to vacation?  You bet!  It’s got everything – hiking, golf, biking trails, rafting, shopping, and tons of good restaurants.  But I advise going in the fall. when the leaves are turning and the summer “swells” no longer own the streets.

Posted in opinion

ALL THE NEWS THAT’S FIT TO PRINT

By Comments:2 Comments

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Ely, NV

Downtown Ely

One of the joys of a long car trip is passing through towns that are barely on the map.  Such was the case on our journey up to Sun Valley, Idaho when we stopped for the night in Ely, Nevada.  Where, you ask?  Ely (pronounced EE-LEE) is smack dab in the middle of nowhere.  It is in the eastern part of the state on State Route 93, exactly 250 miles north of Las Vegas and 250 miles south of Twin Falls, Idaho.  This was not our first stop in Ely…it happens to be just a bit past the mid-point from our home up to Sun Valley so it’s a good place to rest for the night.  “Rest” being a relative term.

The nicest hotel in town is a La Quinta Inn that was built about five years ago.  It is pretty much what you would expect from a La Quinta  – the bare minimum of furniture in the room, cold bagels for breakfast, and people slamming doors at 2 am.  This trip we were delighted by people across the hall who left their baying hound alone in the room for five hours.  There are several casinos in town where, we assumed, the dog’s owners were on a hot streak.

However, as I stated at the beginning, I find a particular joy in going through small towns.  Having grown up in a town where everyone knew everyone else, I find it comforting to know that such places still exist.  A habit I picked up years ago is buying the local newspaper to get a flavor of what life is like in these small burbs.  In Ely, the local paper is called The Ely Times.  Clearly they didn’t spend a lot of time coming up with a catchy name.  On the other hand, I think simplicity is key in Ely.  My brother, Bob, has the same fascination with small town papers and we obviously came to that trait naturally since our parents owned our small town paper, the Novato Advance.  Or The Retreat, as some people took to calling it.

Mom and Dad in front of the Novato Advance

Mom and Dad in front of the Novato Advance

Regardless, the name of this blog is a tribute to a column that our mother wrote each week, “A Bird’s Eye View”, in which she regaled people with stories about local activities.  Her riveting articles chronicled such highlights as  “Mr. and Mrs. Tresch went into San Francisco for lunch on Thursday where they enjoyed a crab salad at Aliotos” or “Mr. and Mrs. J.J. Smith entertained their cousins from Modesto last week”.

So it was with some interest that I opened the Ely Times to see what constituted news in this small town of 4200 people.  Here were some of the major stories:

  • “The City Treasurer has been placed on a 90 day review for insubordination.  The Mayor asked her not to write a check to the Fire Chief, but she ignored his orders, asked the opinion of another council member, and then went ahead and wrote the check anyway.”
  • “Mrs. Zelma Brown died in February but the town will be celebrating her life at a memorial to be held at the Pool Park next Saturday.  Refreshments will be served but seating is limited so bring along a chair for yourself.“
  • “The Ruth Mining Days competitions will be held on June 21.  There will be a mill ball toss, rock hammer toss, tire roll and a tug-of-war over mud.  In addition, we will hold the annual Adult Mucking Competition.”
mucking

Mucking..or something like that.

Mucking competition???  I thought that was a skill held by scrappy newspaper reporters trying to “get the goods” on corrupt politicians.  But, being the intrepid reporter that I am, I did a little research and discovered this is a very serious competition, conceived to keep old-fashioned mining techniques alive.  There are seven events in the competition: Jackleg  drilling, gold panning, hand mucking, hand steeling, timber sawing, surveying and track stand. Points are assigned in each event and the lowest cumulative score at the end of all seven events is the overall winner.  I guess it’s sort of the decathlon of mining.

 

I was sorry that we had to miss all of the festivities…I’ve never been one to pass up a good mill ball toss.  Driving out of town the next morning we passed the new Dialysis Center.  I recalled there was an article in the paper about the local quilting guild that donated dozens of quilts for the comfort of the patients undergoing treatment there.  In Ely, if someone is in need, there is someone to help out.

I’m not sure I could live in a town that small again; I’ve grown accustomed to Costco, Starbucks and high-speed internet.  But I envy these people in ways that others envy the Kardashians.  They live life simply, they take care of their neighbors, and the only muckraking they care about has nothing to do with politicians.  I think they’re pretty darn lucky to live in Ely.