Excuses, excuses, excuses....

I really do have so many jottings scattered around on things to blog about but just haven't had the time gumption to do so.



Here are my excuses reasons:

Having not had my contract renewed and my position phased out last June and subsequently joining the ranks of the unemployed, some might say I have had plenty of time to muck around on the keyboard.

But...

I have been busy, you know....there was the downsize in living quarters, an acclimation to the "life of leisure," the scramble every two weeks to apply for jobs to receive unemployment (or even better, a job), family crisis (you just wouldn't believe the excitements there), a move and acclimation to a different type of lifestyle, reading great books on my iPad, finding fun apps and playing silly games, watching movies on Netflix, and then there was Halloween and Thanksgiving and the scurry to craft just the right thing for everyone on my Christmas list and all the things that go with the holiday season and...and....and.......

Okay. You've got me. It's time to stop making excuses reasons to NOT do what I really would enjoy doing.

Hence, one of my resolutions for the new year is to make an appointment with myself to do specific things every day and/or week.

Like pursuing one brilliant idea within my creative self that has been inside of me (I have let this idea out on occasion, gotten quite excited about it and then, when I realized that I might really do it, I've always chickened out and thrown it back in its crate for a couple more years. After all, what happens to the dream when I really do it? What happens if it fails? Or even succeeds? I would have to think up another dream, right?) (Yes, I wrote a jotting to myself that the dream will fail for certain if I don't do it...but that was a few months ago. And yes! The idea really does have merit!) And to makes matters worse, I have the complete support to pursue this dream from my husband but time is certainly apt to run out on this. (whispers to self "Do it now, do it now, now or never" yet the fear is still there to start..) Why is that?

I also always enjoyed reading my favorite blogs daily and sadly, that too has fallen by the wayside. I am lucky to play catch up every two to three weeks. Why is that?

I want to blog more too. I love the comments I have received on my past posts and feel closer to the "world." Blogging reminds me when I was in elementary school and searched for pen pals to write to in far off countries. To live vicariously in another culture through new eyes. I remember two special pen pals - one in Canada and one in British Honduras. I was always ecstatic to find a letter from each of them in the mail, trading our pre-pubescent thoughts on our special stationary. Unfortunately, I lost contact with both once I entered junior high school, although still to this day worry that the earth quake in British Honduras affected my pen pal there since I never heard from her after that.

So, I do have many appointments I need to make with myself and the only way I think I can funnel myself there is to make concrete time for them (although, time is not concrete is it?)



My apologies to those of you who have added me to their reading list but never fear - I am going to...

JUST DO IT!

Tiny Town or Bust!

It looks like the famous Wild West showman, Buffalo Bill Cody, is enjoying a ride on the back of this vehicle. Note the miniature vehicle in the foreground.

In 1915, a man named George Turner decided to build a wonderland for his daughter on a steep hillside near their home on the site of the Denver-Leadville Stage Coach line . Christening it "Turnerville," George chose the embankment above the small channel of water called Turkey Creek to construct child-sized replicas of the buildings one would find in an Old West Town such as a barbershop, hotel, bank, saloon, and a grocery store.

Seemingly taken with this new hobby, George continued to add buildings to his small metropolis until 1920, at which time public interest grew so keen that he decided to open his budding city to the community and he renamed it, "Tiny Town." Families looking for a pleasant mountain outing were able to park alongside the dirt road after an adventurous trek up the mountain to walk and picnic amongst the miniature structures.

With 125 buildings to see and growing, more than 20,000 visitors per year drove up from Denver to view the intricate "play houses" until the popularity of the site became a bit too much for George and he sold it to an interested buyer in 1927 who continued to add sporadically to the now famous site.

Floods damaged some of the buildings in 1929 and 1932 and, in 1935, a fire destroyed much of George's most important pieces while leaving many of the houses and businesses standing. In 1948, car traffic had grown to the point that the state decided to reroute U.S. Highway 285 above the blissful little metropolis, and Tiny Town started to fall into disrepair.

Then, in 1965, two families purchased Tiny Town and renovated the remaining structures. However, the work was for naught and the site is put up for sale. There aren't any interested buyers this time.

In 1969 a massive flood wiped out the restored buildings and Tiny Town is devastated.

Enter Lyle Fulkerson in 1972 who, along with his family, lovingly resurrected and improved the tiny city until his death in 1977.

Once again the buildings of Tiny Town suffered the onslaught of time, opening in 1980, closing in 1983, and finally in 1987, the Northern Chapter of the Institute of Real Estate Management assumed the dilapidated buildings as a civic project. Plots of land where the once beautiful "play houses" stood were leased to the community and, under the IREM policy and codes, Tiny Town once again rose on the shore of little Turkey Creek.

The grand opening was held on July 4, 1988 with 150 new structures with over 10,000 people visiting the new and improved town.  

Tiny Town is reborn. Again.

As a child, I remember visiting Tiny Town many times, walking around and crawling into the tiny houses and businesses, pretending I was the mayor of the buildings whose roofs stretched as far as I could see. I so enjoyed the stage coach rides with the prancing horses and I took deep breaths to capture the smell of the coal as the miniature train took me on a tour of the grounds.

                                                                               This Stanley Hotel is not haunted. At least I don't think so...

They were joyful times, as I claimed each discovered structure as my own play land with the infamous Stanley Hotel as my throne.

And, over the ensuing years I have brought my children, my step-children, and my grandchildren to Tiny Town so they, too, could claim it as their own.

  May Tiny Town thrive for all the future childhoods to come!

A Dual in the Swamp

The night was crackling with excitement. Manny "Longlegs" Bribbet was settling to go head to head with Aloysius Croke-McGee in what many thought would be the event of the season.

A line of the expectant formed on the hardened dirt road leading up to the veranda of the only watering hole this side of the Mississippi - that is until you got to Padooka Springs, which was a good one-mile walk away. It's a fact that once the fire-water got into you, a one-mile walk was more like a hundred miles full of gators and such, not to mention the danger of meeting up with one of the rare speeding vehicles that dusted up the fields on it's way to somewhere else. Too many drivers just don't watch where they're going, you know. Take, for example, the tale of when Old Georgie Batrachian was hit - no, it was closer to mashed (so sorry for those with the weak stomach) on his way home from The Swamp in Padooka Springs one moonless night a few years back. His poor lifeless body was found the next morning by a search party when he hadn't returned for his breakfast of soft boiled cajun eggs. The Missus was so worried she rounded up all the males around with the promise of all the soft-boiled cajun eggs they could eat if they found the varmint, but when they came back she got a little emotional, and holed up somewhere for a few days until she took up with that other feller, Sal LeEnchen.

But that's another story.

Anyways, by the time the sun was hitting the water behind the cypress trees, Manny and Aloysius were a glaring at each other like there was no tomorrow and, since one of them was due to lose, tomorrow wouldn't be too high on one of their lists.
The crowd had started to get restless with anticipation by the time Thad Poole came out onto the veranda carrying something.

A ripple of excitement went through the crowd as he brought a worn wooden box over to the table where the combatants were sitting, and gently (nearly reverently if truth be told) placed it in the center of the table.

Aloysius was the first to move and ran his wrinkled finger along the side of the inlaid mahogany chest before he opened it up and took out his first five tiles. Manny, not wanting Aloysius to get all the good ones, grabbed for his tiles a little too greedily for Aloysius' taste and an altercation broke out. There was much fist thumping and hollerin' so loud that many thought those in Padooka Springs could hear, but of course, Padooka Springs, beings its over a mile away, slumbered quietly on.

The two settled down though, when the lightbulb finally went off in Manny's addled head that this here night just might be the most important night of his entire life and fighting was contrary to what was at hand. After some coaching they both sat back down and then quickly commenced to glare over the table at each other again until the signal to start was announced.

It took darn near all night for those two to concede a winner, but as the sun was coming up over the knobby hills to the east, with the score just about even somewhere in the hundreds (that was after the best three-out-of-five went to the best-five-out-of-seven and on up) Aloysius just keeled over and fell into the swamp. And Manny, tickled pink that he was the last one standing, jumped up into the air with all the aplomb of a duck taking off from a blind.

It was what happened after Manny's jubilant leap that had the crowd talking, however. Beings that Manny hadn't had a morsel of food the entire evening, when he saw that grasshopper a scooting down the road behind the old magnolia tree, his leap turned into a ravenous bound towards the escaping insect. Many say that once Manny had that crunchy little thing in his mouth, it was like some great magical net swooped out of the sky and took Manny off.

So's, there wasn't exactly a winner that night when those two stacked them dominoes up against each other, but then again, it sure was fun to watch while it lasted!

Please note that I actually spotted these two fellows in an antique store while shopping with my sister. I was sorely tempted to purchase this unique item but, I suppose for good reason, my sister talked me out of it. Instead, I snapped a photo of it with my cell phone to show my hubby that he had a rational and level-headed sister-in-law and a very whimsical wife!

Sadly, the next time we went into the antique store, the duo was gone...