MEMORIAL DAY HAS A DOUBLE MEANING FOR US.

Later today, Jim and I will attend a Memorial Day Tribute  at the Thousand Trails Park in Hershey, Pennsylvania where we are staying. Our friend, Bob Gambol, lost his brother to PTSD complications and he asked us to remember, and we do. It put me in mind of my parents brothers, all nine served in the military. My husband, my sister, her husband, and my oldest brother served in the military. I have two nieces who are military.
One of my uncles suffered shell shock, now known as PTSD, during Korea and never lived a normal life after that. During his troubles, he lived with us for a short time, thinking a change of scene might help him. It didn't. We have much to remember. But, this year, Memorial Day fell on May 27th which is the one year anniversary of our accident in the Canyon De Chelly. Jim and I are still having physical problems from that accident. And that date is unforgettable and pops up at both of us as a traumatic time in our lives. Here, then, are  pictures of the accident.  We discussed yesterday, how grateful we are to be alive and went to the park store for a bottle of champagne for a quiet private toast today.

This is what the vehicle looked like with two rows of bench seats welded to the flat bed. People are loading and the Driver is checking out his vehicle

We wait for everyone to settle, Don Cassidy, Dr. Richard Crowe and his wife Debbie, Margaret and Anne behind them.

Jim and I are right behind the cab in the first seat. On our side, is the only couple to refuse medical treatment. They are from Michigan. Red haired Debra, moving toward us, and her husband Richard,  sat in the vacant chair behind us that is empty in the picture.  Bill Repshur and Sophie are settling in at the back.

Mrs. Crowe, on the ground after helping drag her husband out, and Anne, just climbing out with help. Mrs. Crowe, as far as I know, was first out and I followed her. Three men driving by, were our first helpers, you can see them near Mrs. Crowe and helping Anne.

The driver, the uninjured couple and two of the helpers dig with their hands and little sticks found on the ground and help people out on the other side of the truck.

Dr. Crowe is moved away from the wreck to allow room to remove others buried in the dirt. His wife tries to comfort him. He died about two hours later.

After Dr. Crowe was moved, they were able to get Debra out.

A bunch of people from a second tour vehicle came to our rescue, and one of them helped Jim and led him away to rest under a tree.

Debra's husband, Richard, in the striped shirt and Bill's wife, Sophie are removed.

Davis, the driver, called several times on the radio demanding quick help. In the canyon, there is no such thing as quick help. He was injured as well. Don Cassiiday jumped and landed on the road above before the truck overturned. He too was injured. Rescuers are just pulling Bill Repshur out.

Margaret was the last person dug out of the wreck.

It took three hours before the first helicopter with medical kits and more water arrived.

Richard and his wife Debbie were considered the most seriously injured and were loaded onto stretchers and removed first. Followed by Sophie and Bill and the rest of us.
It was a horrendous accident and hopefully our last. I'm so grateful to travel with Jim because he is such a safe and careful driver. He avoids the high-speed inter-states whenever possible. But none of us can predict our fate.

BRAIN DEAD.

Some mornings you wake up and you are brain-dead. I tried to write my Christmas letter and all I could focus on was the accident and the aftermath. A close friend lost her husband Thursday. And, another friend's grandson was murdered by his own daughter's murderer, the husband/father. A serial killer on our road? Hard to believe.

Suddenly, I felt like I had no good cheer to offer this morning.  Gotta get a grip! Plus, it vexes me that I don't have access to pictures I took and stored with my Motor Home computer, and stuff on this computer is not available from the Motor Home unless I carry a heavy computer back and forth. They were uploaded to Picasa, but I can't figure out how to get them burned to a disk from Picasa.
I pressed a friend to teach me how to put pictures in a Christmas letter, so maybe I'll hear from him today. 

Yesterday, I put up some of the Christmas lights and have a living room full of boxes to decorate for Christmas. Not a card sent. Maybe today will be more productive and spirited. Put on the carols, have some mulled wine...hey, it is time to get into the spirit of Christmas.
Today, I'll just post a couple of old pictures I like.


I love this one of my brother warming his pizza on an iron. He was demonstrating how he did things in his younger bachelor days.


This painting from the Florence Griswold School intrigues me because it has that I'm taking a picture of you while you are aiming at me, effect.


And, this pen and ink drawing of a woman who seems just a bit suspicious of the viewers  motives.
Art heals, but I let the wood stove fire go out to remove the ashes and now I'm chilled. Gotta get a cup of coffee.

OUR LOCAL TREASURE.

A week ago, Friday, a group of us  met at Murphys Pizza Plus to celebrate Paul Moeller. While there are many things to treasure here, Paul  is considered by the community to be “Our Local Treasure.”  Like a blogger, he always has his camera and takes pictures wherever he goes, a lifelong habit.  But his major accomplishment, among many, since retiring here in 1964, is having founded Public Access Television in 1983.  Our Board of Supervisors didn’t know what Public Access was. He had to educate  them before we could get consideration in the cable contract for channel access.  Paul  got a studio built in 1992 when we had no money.  And he produced over 3,000 shows for Calaveras Community Television, Public Access.  Except for studio equipment, those shows have been shot and edited on his own equipment.  I’m proud to say, I am one of the founding members of CCTV.

I wrote the reason for our celebration on the Pizza Parlor’s blackboard.  The mortgage on our  studio, named for him, has been paid off.  None of the counties around, Amador, Tuolumne, not the big cities closest to us, Modesto or Stockton, have a studio.  Only Sacramento has a studio. Our studio is considered the Jewel of the Mother Lode. We’ve had offers to rent it from Reno, Tahoe, Lodi and other entities. Claveras High School, and Columbia College at one time held video classes there. It is an exclusive and valuable asset to our community, just like Paul.

In 1992, Paul went to the carpentry class at Calaveras High and asked if our non-profit, CCTV raised the money, could the class build us a studio? Yes!  The class started the foundation upon Paul’s design and volunteer Betty Deakin’s professional drawing.  But then, school was out, and the kids and teachers all went home. Did I mention that Paul has a fierce work ethic, he is impatient and likes to get things done now?

Paul spoke to local Supervisor Dick Gorden and he said, “You know, we need a studio. Do you know anyone who could help us?”  Gorden knew Contractor Gary Hensley, who was trying to keep his crew working when work was slow. Hensley’s first question was:  “How much do you pay your people?”  Paul told him, we are all volunteers,  we pay nothing. “How about programs, and  mileage and gas and stuff like that”  Paul repeated, nothing, we don’t get mileage or gas, or video tapes. Everyone volunteers and pays for everything including their own cameras and equipment.  We pay nobody. Hensley was in.  With promise of help, the bank gave us a loan for $84,000 for materials, at 12% interest, secured by the County from funds from the Cable Company designated for Public Access.  Hensley is the guy in the center in the white shirt with his crew around him taking a break. Paul is videotaping.

The crew would come in at 6 a.m. and work half a day for us, then go to their paid job for the rest of the day. Our only cost was to bring a load of volunteers to unload lumber, have it ready for them, provide water and bring a picnic lunch for everyone before they left.  In three weeks, we had the shell of our building finished.  By the way, it sits on leased land belonging to the Calaveras County Water District with a very generous lease of $1 per year guaranteed for over 25 years.

Local contractors did work, and many of them donated their time. Even PG&E returned our check for a permit to hook up.

Paul called the sheet-rockers on stilts, acrobats. Once the electrician, plumber, air conditioning and window guys were gone, the rest was up to the volunteers.

Paul installed the many spotlights. We painted and got donated pieces of used carpet that we taped to the floor like a patchwork quilt.  Spray painted egg cartons became sound proofing on the ceiling. Paul found a second hand studio curtain for $700. ($5,000 new).  He built a stage and sets.

None of this would have happened if the Supervisors, the local business people, the water company and the community did not believe it could be done under Paul’s tenacious and unrelenting work habits. Always punctual. Always there, wherever and whenever needed or asked.  We’ve shared a lot of productive years together volunteering in this county. On Thursday, our “local treasure”  was in a serious car accident.  Somehow, he failed to see a red light and T boned another car at the intersection.
Paul was seriously injured and taken to Davis Medical Center in Sacramento. But, before they took him away in an ambulance, he took pictures-OF COURSE.

Before I got to his house yesterday afternoon,  he had already developed and printed pictures  for me to see.

Both cars were totaled. The wheel sitting in the middle of the intersection is from his car.
He had two shoots arranged for today, and was willing to cancel one, but the other he must do, he told me on the phone. Our Studio manager, Ed Lark, convinced him he would take over his  shoot and Paul could edit it. Paul  reluctantly agreed. He has another show on the 22nd that he expects to do.

He is soon to be 85 years old. His sternum and back have suffered major trauma. He can barely get up and down from a chair. It is even more painful to lie down and rest. He is walking with difficulty and is on major pain medications. He can lift nothing with his left arm. Could I find someone to help him with the shoot? I told him I would hire some-one to set up his camera and unload his van that he uses for location shoots. I then called his anchor person, Mearl Lucken, and asked him if HE could talk Paul into resting and let somebody else do his programs for a couple of weeks. Whatta ya’ gonna do with a guy like that? But, now you know why we have a jewel in the Motherlode, because our “local treasure” is a hard working, trusted and admired individual who never gives up.

Paul lost his wife of 65 years two years ago. He named his driveway, Martha Lane. He told me he pats her pillow every night and says goodnight to her. Now it is our turn to take care of  our “Local Treasure”, if he will let us.

DON'T BUY FISH ON A HOT DAY.

I’m used to  good mileage in my Prius and filling up the tank of my old 1994 Ford Ranger put a good-sized dent in the wallet. I made it to the Bay Area with nary a hint of a leak and it was certainly worth it to drive my truck and let it know I still cared about it. It responded by purring  all the way to the Bay.  I expect a lot from this truck when I need it.

I founded the Alameda County Sheriff’s Department Archive Association and worked hard over the intervening years to get it up and running, along with a lot of volunteer help, of course.  When I turned it over to Bill Rhodes, top left, it was the right decision. He has made so many positive changes that every time I do attend a meeting, I hardly recognize the place. He has expanded our buildings, is having a new one built and is rebuilding our old  guard tower. Next to him is Vic Agapalo and attending with a broken foot is Rich Barlow.

Al Ianarelli checked in as did Bud Harlan, not pictured.)  New is a case made for this missing child’s bust  that came out of evidence.  The new building will hold a mock cell with old style jail doors we have stored, along with other heavy equipment.

We will go from three large rooms and three storage rooms to one-third more space and we have enough stuff to fill it.  It is a great project and my contribution since being on the road with Jim is to interview deputies about the history of the department. I spent my time interviewing Rich Barlow, yesterday.

A recent donation to the archive was business cards and a shield that once belonged to  Hell’s Angel Berdoo. The Angels have changed their image from the old days.  When my husband was a detective, he arrested Sonny Barger and confiscated his stolen motorcycle and put it into evidence at the County Garage Impound Yard. The way it worked, when someone came to pick up their vehicle, he  took the elevator down to the garage, the civilian clerk  would ask for their  release order, then he would open the locked  gates to drive the vehicle out. Sonny, out on bail, with a friend, went to pick up his vehicle. He had no release. The friend distracted the clerk and Sonny got  into the yard rolled his motorcycle into the elevator and went out with it through the building. My husband couldn’t make his case without the evidence and Sonny went free.  The clerk, of course, was not a cop.
On the way home I stopped at a Costco to buy some batteries and refill on cheaper gas, at $3.93.  Murphys price is $4.29. I found some beautiful U.S. wild caught cod and bought it, figuring my air conditioning would keep it cool enough to get home. Well, long story short, my newly cleaned truck smells like fish; I had to poach the whole package when I crawled through the door at about 6:30 p.m. I can’t possibly eat all that fish.  I’ll have to be creative and invite company over. I had six messages on my phone. One an emergency call from a friend who was in an accident. It took me two hours to locate him. He was so drugged he was practically incoherent, one arm in a sling, and a whip-lash collar. His car totaled.  Another cold beer night.

WALKING IN BEAUTY

Its been hot in the park.  We are both feeling much better, but not exactly up to par.  We decided to try the South Rim overlooks figuring getting out and about will hasten healing and leave us with the canyons beauty as our last memory.

The White House  of the ancients, sits among sandstone colored buildings. The Anasazi left no clues  why this building should be white. Maybe it is special, like our own White House.  We had planned to take the two-mile hike in to where ever it leads,  but we weren’t up to that, yesterday.

The South Rim Canyons are deep and for those who feel any vertigo, it is probably not the place to visit.

As I looked, I wished I was down on the canyon floor finishing that tour we started in that marvelous truck where you had 360 degree views. It was a wonderful sight-seeing vehicle and I’d do it again if  I could, despite the accident.

I love the monolithic rocks that just seem to rise from the canyon floor like sentinels.

And, these strange purple tufts that sit like caps on pudding.  It is obvious that this rock was at one time liquid some unknown millions of years ago.

The South Rim had rock climbing areas before you get to the edge of the canyon.  Normally I’d be all over them, enjoying views from every point. They are beautiful in their own right.

The trail at one overlook was marked with cairn rocks. I added a couple rocks to increase the height, as others have done.  Not this particular one, though.

This rock was defaced by grafitti, but the colors are breathtaking.

The famous Spider Rock is so named because in Navajo culture, the Spider Woman is the God of weaving.  To them it must have resembled a weaving. It is  a beautiful twin structure in a very busy and colorful valley.

On a closer view it is possible to see the lines resembling  a woven rug, perhaps.

These lichen covered rocks on the edge have an unbelievable number of colors.

We received a note (posted) from Anita, the woman I spoke about who drove the two hundred miles to Flagstaff the day after the accident to be there for her friend Margaret. She is healing as we all are. And, for the sake of accuracy, we reported to the Sheriff’s Department and the Special Investigator that the nut from the tie rod bolt had been turned in to them. Frank Shearer informed us that the women from his party found the nut, but he advised them to leave it where they found it so the Sheriff’s Department could investigate without them having disturbed its location. Again, it is easy to “mis-hear” and spread inaccuracies.  Thank you for that correction, Frank.   None of us will forget this horrible accident, but I hope everyone will also remember the beauty of Canyon de Chelly and walk in beauty.

IN TRAGEDY WE FIND FELLOWSHIP

Once the officials took over  the canyon accident, and the severely injured were on their way to help, the rest of us gave a collective sigh of relief, and finally felt like we could sit down, except,there was no place to sit without encountering cactus thorns.

The last person to be removed from the ravine was Richard Crowe.  The crew bowed their heads in prayer  before placing him in the helicopter.

I slowly made my way to the road and found it jammed  with vehicles.  Everything seemed chaotic  and I wondered how I was going to get out of the canyon?

Jim had been helped to the top and lay on a rock  waiting for the  helicopter to return and move  he and Bill Repshur  to an ambulance waiting on the overlook. From there, the ambulance took them to the Chinle Medical Center.
Jean, Chris, myself and Anita, the walking wounded,  were asked if we wanted to ride out with a volunteer family from the canyon.  The Bia family had come into the canyon that day to water their squash and corn plants with their children.  When they saw many emergency vehicles driving by, and heard the helicopters, they knew something terrible had happened and drove over to offer help. The kids gave up their back seat in the truck and stayed at the site with friends, (I assume), so  Jean, Chris and I took their place in the back of the pick-up.  We met Albert and Cecilia Bia, and Virginia (Bia) Lee, a brother and two sisters.  This wonderful family  turned to us after introductions and asked if we would like to pray with them. We all clasped hands on the back of their bench seat and the family prayed for us, and for all of those in trouble, in Navajo. A very touching gesture I will never forget.
Albert drove as quickly as he could, navigating the rough, bumpy road. He told us the canyon had been closed to traffic so we would meet very little traffic on the way out on the narrow roads.
As we bumped along, I realized something was wrong with my back. Sitting against the back seat, made my back burn. I was able to hook my toes under the front seat and sit upright enough so my back wouldn’t touch. It was wonderfully distracting to have Albert, Cecilia and Virginia tell us about their lives.
Families from their clan,  who farm in the canyon, where there is no electricity or running water and sewer, live “on top”. It would be more difficult  to get their children to school each day, and take care of daily life,  than to haul water down into the canyon to water their plants. He had driven in with the children.  He pointed out their farm lands as we  passed. And his cattle we met on the road.


(My second camera is now not working properly. And, it was bumpy and difficult to take pictures out the window, though I tried.)
Later in the day, Virginia and Cecilia climbed down into the canyon on the one of the Twin Trails.

(This is a very skewed picture of Twin Trails visible in the far right of the picture where Cecilia and Virginia walked down from the ridge.)
They are three of 12 siblings.  Navajo families work together on the land, and benefit together. Ned Bia, their grandfather, knew enough English to translate  paperwork when the government Bureau of Indian Affairs was parceling out their ancestral lands back to the families. Navajo families are divided into clans and traditionally have no last name. He became known as Ned Bia, for Bureau of Indian Affairs. The government wanted them to take last names and they often took the names of what they were doing. Like one man hauled wood. His name became Hollawood. (Not sure of spelling.)
When meeting other Navajo, they always ask, “What’s your clan”, because they cannot inter-marry within their own clan. The clans have very descriptive names like Two Walking People, Or Salt By The River Clan. (These may not be accurate.)
The Bias, like all families,  are concerned about the next generation. Will their children love the land? Will they appreciate the simple life and  the ability to  lead a self-sustaining lifestyle as they do?  The Bias  have cattle and gardens. Horses run wild in the canyon and do a lot of damage besides over-grazing. A currently unsolved problem. Some Navajo are opposed fencing them. Others feel each family should be responsible for their horses and keep them contained.  The families hunt deer in the canyon, as well.
Whenever we passed a place of interest, the Bias would explain it to us and answer our questions.  They pointed out Baby Trail. It was a narrow, vertical crevice in a huge rock edifice. Baby trail looked anything but baby trail to us. Named for  a woman with a baby on her back who was being chased by the Spanish. She managed to get up into a crevice to hide and she squeezed her way up and out to escape the Spaniards.  From then on, it was called Baby Trail. No one could understand how she made it up the crevice, including us.
When we arrived in Chinle, the Bias took Jean and Chris to the Thunderbird Hotel. Jim and I had our packs and took no money with us. The Bias refused gas money from Jean and Chris, then drove us on to the medical center. We can’t thank the Bias enough for their timely assistance and prayers.

I was examined and released to wait with Jim while they got the results of his chest scan. I had several abrasions, possible broken ribs, a huge lump on my head, a bruised eye and jaw, and a painfully bruised breast. He had a massive bruise on his rib cage, no internal injuries. His severe pain was due to gas bubbles in his intestines that would put him right down on the floor. The nurse offered to take our picture and I look at it and think how could I look so normal?  I was  tired, hungry, feeling dizzy and disoriented and exhausted. I wanted a hot bath, a bowl of soup and my bed. It was 9:00 p.m. by the time we returned to the motor home. Inexplicably, my camera worked for this picture, only to fail again later.
I want to say, that given all that happened, I would gladly take another trip in  the other six wheel drive truck  like the one we rode in,  open to the wide and glorious views of this beautiful, spiritual place. The beauty remains and the spirits keep watch.  Jim and I hope to feel well enough by Saturday to continue the rim overlooks.  In the last two days we’ve been visited by several officials from the park, the hotel, and the Sheriff’s Department. We gave our statements and pictures to the Sheriff’s Department for their investigation. Tanya, a canyon family member, stopped in for a visit.  Jean and Chris had purchased a painted rock from a young boy in the canyon from Tanya’s family.  During our drive out of the canyon,  Jean over and over said, please,please tell that young boy that we are uninjured and we saved his beautiful rock from the wreckage to take back to Wisconsin with us.