Halfway through painful legislative session

On this last Saturday in February, snow is falling and more is promised. On the plus side, the legislative session is half over. But that also means two more weeks of nuttiness from Republicans. I try unsuccessfully to keep up with the "Cheyennigans," the new term for legislative goings on. So I have to depend on the crusty commentary of others:

In today's post at Blowing in the Wyoming Wind (reprinted in the Wyoming Tribune-Eagle), Rodger McDaniel explores the influence of American Legislative Exchange Council (ALEC) bills in Wyoming. He concludes: "And Wyoming voters thought their representatives were dreaming up these crazy bills on their own!" Read some of my commentary on ALEC here and here. Here's the editorial cartoon the WTE ran above Rodger's column:

Veteran reporter Geoff O'Gara covers the legislature for Wyoming PBS. He wrote a column on Feb. 21 wondering if lawmaking in WYO hasn't become too complicated for the four- and eight-week sessions of the "citizen legislature." The Lege is proud of its part-time status. Yet is increasingly grapples with the world's complicated issues -- energy policy, education issues, healthcare, technology -- and a budget that now exceeds $3 billion. Despite conservatives' pipe dreams of returning to a golden era when men were men, women were in the kitchen, kids were in the one-room schoolhouse and the flocks were in the fields, Wyoming can't avoid the 21st century.

Kerry Drake was upset on wyofile on Feb. 18. He wrote about two Republican bills (one in the House and another in the Senate) that proposed turning every teacher in the state into a pistol-packin' mama or papa. Those bills mercifully died yesterday when they failed to get their first reading in their houses of origin. So much for gun-totin' in schools (until next year, anyway).

Wy Pols is a feisty new Facebook page that takes on the excesses of WYO Repubs. It features all sorts of snark and memes and gifs. Sen. Charlie Scott (R-Wacko County) is a favorite target of late. Not necessarily a bane to conservatives (who probably don't "Like" it) but it has been a delight to us Liberals. Here's a sample:

Wy Pols has been excerpting chapters from a 1980s book by new state legislator Troy Mader (R-Wingnuttia). Mader was named by Campbell County Commissioners to take the place of Rep. Sue Wallis, who died suddenly on Jan. 28. The commissioners may not have been aware of Mader's publishing efforts. In his 1987 book, "Death Sentence: AIDS," Mader blamed “homosexual terrorism” for the AIDS crisis and advocated for sexual and actual quarantine of people with HIV/AIDS. You can find Mader's complete list of must-read batshit-crazy books on the Wyoming Authors Wiki.

Mader's rise to prominence made its way to the pages of the Think Progress blog. Wyoming politics are quite popular on prog-blogs. It's too bad, really, since Wyoming is home to a thriving arts scene, good writers, a growing local food movement, some nifty creative placemaking ventures and award-winning craft beers. Not to mention bitchin' landscapes and wonderful people. But crackpots live amongst us, and their utterances are tempting fodder for bloggers such as yours truly. This is Republicans' Achilles Heel -- retro beliefs is an increasingly interconnected world. Their wacko POVs can fly around the world on the Internets. And, yes, we have the Internets in WYO. True, it's coal-powered and will remain so until I can get the high school kid down the street to patch me into the nuclear fusion reactor he built in his garage.

Upcoming weekend a busy one for Laramie County Democrats

This news from Laramie County Democrats:

On Friday, February 21 at Suite 1901 in downtown Cheyenne, 6-8 PM, is the Annual Democrats Legislative Reception. State legislators will be in attendance. There will be special drawings for some cool prizes too. The cost of the event is $15, proceeds go to the County Democratic Party.

Historically, the Laramie County Democrats Grassroots Coalition members have provided some of the food. For this year, please plan to bring desserts to Suite 1901 by 5:30 PM on the 21st. Your contribution to this event is greatly appreciated.

On Saturday, February 22, is the Annual Nellie Tayloe Ross Banquet. Keynote speaker is Faith Winter. FMI:  http://www.wyomingdemocrats.com

And coming up in March:

Mark your calendars for the Laramie County Democrats Convention on Saturday, March 15. In the evening, 7-11 PM, there will be Bingo at Suite 1901. It will be a fun-filled day and night.

Gun totin' in schools, El Rancho Avalancho and red state energy bound for blue state

Some things that irked and/or entertained me this past week:

The state legislature is in session. Opening day included the Gov's State of the State speech, a "legalize pot" march by Wyoming NORML and performances in the House chambers by WY Poet Laureate Echo Roy Klaproth and the UW Collegiate Chorale. The week was filled with debates over Medicaid expansion, gun-totin' in schools, minimum wage increases, early childhood education, more guns, Common Core, increases to hunting and fishing licenses, a decrease in coal taxes and, of course, more gun-totin'. Most bills were killed early so the Housers and Senators can get on to the issue at hand, the budget. Only three weeks left to do so. The big surprise is that Sen. Chris Rothfuss (D-Laramie) fashioned a bipartisan bill on Medicaid expansion that still is in the mix. Way to go, Sen. R! This is a miracle in this Obamacare-bashing state.

From the library shelves: "This Land was Made for You and Me (But Mostly Me)" by Bruce McCall and David Letterman. Yes, that's the same David Letterman as seen on late-night TV. And illustrator Bruce McCall was one of the Scots-Irish geniuses behind the rise of National Lampoon, the others being Michael O'Donoghue and P.J. O'Rourke. Letterman is a millionaire with a Rocky Mountain getaway in Montana. I'm not sure about McCall's portfolio, but it's intriguing that Dave and Bruce would turn their comedic sights on the super-rich and their favorite playgrounds in the West, places like Jackson Hole. This from the book's intro:

It all began a decade and a half ago or so in the far American West, in Montana and Wyoming and those other states that appropriated and misspelled the Native American words for "Big Empty Space" and "Much Bigger Empty Space"; there, a few daring pioneers from the pharaonically wealthy top crust embarked on a spree, powered by lust, inspired by a vision only they could see.

Because it takes more than money, privilege and cronies in high places to ransack nature's bounty for the private pleasure of a privileged few, in what poets might call acts of sublime idiocy (as if anyone would ask poets their opinion!), in other words, obliterating what always was, and making out of it what never existed before, then flanking it with armed guards and electric fences and Rottweilers.

The writer/illustrator duo go on to explore "the only Montana hunting lodge with its own indoor airport,"  El Rancho Avalancho in Idaho -- the world's first skiable mansion, and "the biggest goddamn bison in Wyoming." During the legislature's first week, it was good to once again laugh at the humor of wretched excess.

Speaking of wretched excess.... A Los Angeles Times story excerpted in my local paper today is about the largest wind ranch in creation, coming soon to Carbon County. Big enough to fit all of L.A. inside of it, the 500-sqare-mile ranch -- owned by gazillionaire Philip Anschutz -- will be home to 1,000 wind turbines and the starting point for a transmission line to carry all the energy to California. Cali needs clean energy and Wyoming breaks wind incessantly -- a match made in heaven. The irony in all of this is that the the most blue of blue states, with more enviros per square mile than anywhere else on earth, will be getting its energy from the most red of red states, a place that keeps its energy rates the lowest in the nation by burning coal, the dirtiest energy-creating substance there is.

California has until 2020 to ensure that one-third of its energy comes from renewable resources. Meanwhile, its cities are clouded in a haze that travels from pollution generated by coal-burning plants in China. Some of that coal comes from Wyoming's Powder River Basin. Wyoming currently is working with officials in Washington to build new ports to ship more coal to China.

The world is indeed an odd place.

Winter off-roading in Wyoming

A week ago today, I sat in my Ford staring out at the frozen tundra of Carbon County. I was about ten feet off of Hwy. 287, rear end facing the road. My tires had carved a trail as straight as an arrow from road to final resting place, a slight depression midway between asphalt and barbed wire. 

My mistake was going too fast through a slushy mix of snow and ice. You'd call it "hydroplaning" if the road was awash in rain water. The tires lose contact with the road and the car goes into a spin. Florida people hydroplane all the time. It's an official state sport.

But it rarely happens in Wyoming, where rain usually falls in a fine mist. Hail is a different kettle of fish. I once was caught in a hailstorm in I-25 near Buffalo. My car began to lose traction as hail swamped the road. Couldn't see either. So I slowly rolled to a stop on the shoulder, coming to rest five feet behind a truck hauling a horse trailer.

Last Saturday, I sat for a few minutes and then decided to take a look at my predicament. The wind blew about 50 mph but it was a warm wind, as these things go, not an Arctic blast but a downslope wind, a chinook or "snoweater" as Native peoples used to call it. It also blows freshly fallen powder snow in great quantities across roadways, leaving snow traps for the unwary.

My front wheel wells were clogged with wet snow. My running board rested on a snowbank. I guessed that I was high-ended, the term used when your car's mid-section rests on a mound of snow or sand or dirt and your wheels can't find traction. This usually means a tow, or getting pushed out of your predicament by a roving band of cowboys or collegians. When I was younger, I found pleasure in helping push people out of predicaments. My damaged heart won't let me do that any more.

A father and son in a small truck pulled over and asked if they could help. "Don't have anything to tow you out with," said the man. "Want us to call someone?"

I showed him my phone. "I'm going to call my insurance company."

He nodded and pulled away.

I extracted my gloves and ice scraper. I dug out around the front tires and poked the scraper beneath the car, trying to loosen the snow that kept me high-ended. I scraped the snow down to the prairie grass, hoping I could get a purchase on dry ground. Winded, I got back in the car and caught my breath. Bluegrass tunes played on the radio. At least I could get Wyoming Public Radio. 

I rocked the car -- reverse to forward and reverse again. The car moved a tad, but finally got stuck again. I shifted back into park and fished out my insurance company's 1-800 roadside assistance number. I called. Reached an electronic voice that transferred me to another e-voice and then I got a real person. She wanted to help me. I reconstruct our conversation from memory.

"Where are you located?" she asked.

"Off of a state highway about 10 miles north of Rawlins, Wyoming."

"Where?"

"Off of Interstate 80, north of Rawlins in Wyoming." I was tempted to add: "The big square state right in the middle of the map."  But didn't.

A few seconds passed. "I-80 -- found it," she said. "You said Rawlins?"

"Yes."

I heard her tapping on the keys in an office somewhere in Dallas or Indianapolis or Portland. "State highway, you said?"

"Can't remember the name. 287 I think."

More tapping. "Ah," she said. "Highway 287."

"Sounds right."

She asked me if I was stuck. I said I was. She asked if my car was damaged. I replied that it was OK. She asked if I was less than or more than 10 feet from the road. I thought it would sound better if I said less than ten feet so that was my answer. She asked if she could have permission to log into my phone's location finder. I told he that my smart phone was busted and that I had a dumb phone with me. That didn't seem to phase her. She said she was going to locate me, said I would get a call from the responder. We said our goodbyes and disengaged. Wind rocked the car. Old-timey banjo music played on the radio.

I looked to the south and saw two snowplows headed my way. You couldn't have been here a half hour ago? They stopped just short of me. Both drivers disembarked.

I got out of the car. 

"Need any help?" asked the first driver, who was surprisingly young. He looked at me and then at the car.

"I have a tow truck coming."

He nodded. "You sure?"

"I'm sure."

We parted ways. During this three-day trip, I had seen a dozen snow plows. It's winter in Wyoming and this winter is a doozy. The WYDOT plows get a lot of credit for keeping the roads open. But it was a closed interstate that brought me to this predicament. I-80 was closed between Rawlins and Laramie and it didn't appear it would open any time soon. And I needed to get home for my wife Chris's birthday party. So I was taking the long way around, going north around the snow, or so I thought.

My phone dinged. I answered an automated call. It went something like this: "Your roadside assistance vehicle is on its way. You can expect it in approximately six hours."

WTF? Six hours? I'll never get home. The call disconnected. I noted with alarm that I had only one bar of service showing on the phone face. How did I get so low? Now I was going to sit here for six hours with very little phone service, a heart patient trapped in a snow bank. Cars and trucks passed on the road. I thought about making a sign and standing out by the road. "Heart patient needs help." Or maybe "Help -- Wife will kill me if I don't get home for birthday."

As I contemplated my options, I noticed a surprising number of cars and trucks and SUVs passing me by. Would I stop if I saw a stranded motorist on the side of the road? Depends. It was the middle of the day and, if they were to get a good look at me, people could tell that I was somewhat harmless. What does a red Ford Fusion tell you about the person inside? Buys American cars. Wyoming license plate. Probably not a very good driver -- what kind of knucklehead slides off a road in the middle of a sunny February day?

Someone did stop. Dark blue pickup. Guy got out. I got out. Young Latino, maybe 30. Wore a light jacket and a ballcap. Asked if I needed help. I told him my story, said a tow truck was coming but not until dark. He walked over to the car and looked around.

"I think we can push it out." He spoke with a slight accent. "My girlfriend is in the truck -- she can drive."

I thought about it for a second. I really shouldn't be pushing out any cars, even my own. But he seemed very certain that we could do this. I nodded. He waved his girlfriend out of the car. She came out. Very pretty woman wrapped in a bulky coat. She walked over, the two spoke and she got behind the wheel. 

The man and I pushed. The girlfriend turned the wheels and the man said to keep the wheels straight. We pushed again, the car moved back a few inches and I fell on my face in the snow.

"You OK?" said the man.

I nodded. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Don't be a weinie. Heart don't fail me now.

We pushed again. I slipped in the snow. The car moved back toward the road, slowly, and then it gained traction and reached asphalt. Two cars on the inside lane had stopped, giving us some room to back up. The girlfriend backed gently onto the road, and then pulled forward on the shoulder. I breathed heavily, my heart pounded. 

"Thank you so much," I said to the man and his girlfriend. She grinned. I never heard her speak a word. The two walked back to the car. I got into my Ford, looked in the rearview mirror and saw them get into their pickup. I waved. I put my car into drive and gently pulled away, hoping I hadn't sustained any front-end damage. The car purred. I drove. It was a good 20 miles before I caught my breath. From there, it was mostly smooth sailing.

Also see my post that day from the new Burger King in Rawlins, written while I waited (in vain) for I-80 to open. This new BK featured gaming PCs at several of its tables and AT&T wireless. The password: ILoveBacon. Read my blog from Rock Springs about the travails of Elk Mountain here.

Little Ag vs. Big Ag -- which one grows the most food?

From Wyoming Public Media:

In collaboration with the University of Wyoming, a local food advocacy group conducted a study to find out just how many vegetables a backyard garden in Wyoming can produce.  The project is called Team G.R.O.W., or Gardening Research of Wyoming.

Gayle Woodsum is the founder of Feeding Laramie Valley, the group sponsoring the research. She says the idea behind the study was simple. “So these were gardeners who said, yeah, we’d like to know, really, how much are we producing.  And what value does that have in terms of numbers.  But what they did is they weighed every pea, every bean, every leaf of lettuce that came out of that garden for the entire season.”

The 22 gardeners in the study raised 4,500 pounds of vegetables on a little over a quarter of land.  Woodsum says the results show the harvest was as good as those reported by large-scale factory farms.  The study was funded by a $5-million USDA grant.

Woodsum hopes the results will help the group with future efforts to show policy makers why community garden projects should be supported and encouraged the same way large-scale farms are.

BTW, I think that third paragraph was supposed to read "a quarter acre of land." A "quarter of land" doesn't make sense.

How much square footage is a quarter acre of land? 10,890. Divide that by 4,500 and you get 2.42 pounds of food per square foot. I guess that's possible. I've been able to grow a couple pounds worth of tomatoes from one plant. Then there's zucchini. Your average gardener (and I'm pretty average) can grow about 5,000 pounds of zucchini on one plant, give or take.

I guess the big question is this: How much funding in the recently passed Farm Bill goes to big ag and how much goes to gardeners?

Anyone?

Getting religion on I-80

Stuck inside of Rawlins

With those Cheyenne blues again.

Don't you just love winter driving in WYO?

Since I just came from a literary event in Rock Springs, it's only appropriate to revisit a poem by one of that city's fine poets. Here's a sequence from Barbara Smith's poem "Interstate 80:"

...even if you drive the same forty miles

morning and night to work

and know every pimple on the lady's ass

every curve or incline

you could drive it in your sleep or blind

like you do half of the time in January anyway

whiteout white knuckle terror

braced against the blast of triple trailers

whipping like rattlers in the ruts.

This road will give you religion, mister.

 

Amen, Barbara.

Elk Mountain -- that's all you need to know

One of the constants of winter driving in Wyoming: Elk Mountain.

That's all you have to say. Elk Mountain. 

When I arrived in Rock Springs from Cheyenne, I was asked about the driving conditions. 

"Elk Mountain -- you know."

"Yes, I know."

I crept across the flank of Elk Mountain yesterday in a light snow. It drifted across the interstate, flakes swirling in great gusts with the passing of each truck. Yes, trucks were passing me because I was tailing a semi doing 40. The swirling snow made it hard to see the road. To make it worse, the sun peeked through the low clouds, which added a glare to the white landscape. I did fine as long as I kept my eye on the dark-gray square of the semi's rear end. 

Once I cleared the mountain, the low sky lifted and I could see more than 100 feet. Then it was off to the races. It was snowing in Rawlins but the road was clear from there all the way to Rock Springs.

My last drive over Elk Mountain was at night in mid-October. The road has patches of slushy snow but it was smooth sailing, for the most part. October is early in the season. The road is still warmed by the sun and the snow is wet. This February is deeply cold and the snow is a light powder. Great for skiers but not so great for motorists.

That part of I-80 has many moods. A few Novembers ago, I visited the facilities at the Wagonhound Rest Area. Elk Mountain was a snowy beast rising out of the prairie. And there was only a whisper of a breeze. Usually a brisk wind is halting my progress to the restroom or threatens to send me sailing back to Cheyenne. I could see a stunned look on the faces of other Wyoming travelers, unacquainted with such calm beauty.

Why isn't the wind blowing?

I don't know. It's Elk Mountain.

Must be global warming.

Give it a few hours and we'll be back in the deep freeze.
 

Just think -- only four more months of winter.

Deadline for Wyoming Writers, Inc., writing contest set for March 15

From my friends over at Wyoming Writers, Inc.:

Wyoming Writers, Inc., is now accepting submissions for the 2014 writing contest in these categories: 

1) Adult fiction
2) Children’s/Juvenile Fiction
3) Nonfiction
4) Traditional poetry
5) Free Verse
6) “Short and Sweet” 

Deadline is March 15, 2014. 

Rules and entry information may be found here. 

Good company: Cheyenne, Billings and Loveland

Cheyenne is 15 years behind Billings.

It's playing catch-up with Loveland.

At least we're in good company.

On Wednesday evening, I attended a public meeting featuring staffers from Artspace in Minneapolis. Artspace describes itself as "America’s leader in artist-led community transformation."

At the meeting, Billings, Mont., was represented by Jack Nickels, the tall-drink-of-water cowboy who's point man on its city's nascent Artspace project. Loveland, Colo., was represented by Felicia Harmon. She's been working for more than three years on the Artspace project at the Loveland Feed and Grain building. It breaks ground Feb. 14, which is always a red-letter day in LOVE-land. This makes it the 36th Artspace project in the country, the first in Colorado, the first in the Rocky Mountain West.

Artspace's Wendy Holmes and Stacey Mickelson answered a call from Cheyenne to come on down. Issuing the call was a committee made up[ of reps from the Cheyenne DDA, Arts Cheyenne, LCCC, and a few others. Artspace held meetings with the mayor and city council, artists and arts groups and the general public. They toured three buildings with the potential for artistic live-work spaces: the Hynds, site of the "Lights On!" project, the former Z Furniture Building and the old power plant. They all hold promise as the site for live-work spaces for practicing artists, office space for arts orgs and retail space for arts businesses.

Everyone who spoke at the public meeting was very excited about the possibilities.

But hold your horses, said North Dakota native Mickelson who now works out of the Artspace D.C. office.

The Artspace staff visit is just the first step on a long trail. Artists and arts groups need to be surveyed. Local officials need to be brought on board.

"If elected officials and bureaucrats aren't interested, we can't do it," he said.

It was good sign that the mayor and six council members attended a meeting on Wednesday morning, Mickelson said. But luncheon meetings and agreeing to work together on a long-term project aren't the same thing.

The typical project takes around four years. The quickest turnaround was three years in Buffalo, N.Y. The longest was in Fort Lauderdale, Fla. -- 12 years. While the excitement level remains high in Billings, that project is on hold. The Artspace Billings Facebook page continues to grow and generate interest, according to Nickels. Some city administrators are holding up progress. The Billings downtown is home to a thriving arts scene, including the Alberta Bair Theatre, the Yellowstone Art Museum, the Writers Voice of the YMCA, an annual book festival and a new people-friendly, energy-efficient public library. Many of our northern Wyoming neighbors travel to arts events in Billings. Billings also featured in the new Alexander Payne film Nebraska (Wyoming, too, in one short scene). Get on over and like Artspace Billings on Facebook. Loveland Feed & Grain, too.

We're all in this together.

Sort of. Loveland's on its way. Billings is on hold and Cheyenne is just beginning. It's going to take a lot of people on the ground in Chey-town to make this project a reality. It will take some aye-sayers to get things down and to blunt the bleating of the nay-sayers. You know, the "Beware of Agenda 21" crowd. They'll be having their own meeting this week. Tea Party fave and Laramie County Commissioner M. Lee Hasenauer is hosting a town hall meeting at 3:30 p.m. on Saturday, Feb. 8, in the Cottonwood Room of the Laramie County Library. According to a flier promoting the event, the meeting will be held "to discuss the impacts of PlanCheyenne," the city and county's master plan. Hasenauer is leader of the local Tea Party, and last heard from celebrating in front of the Capitol when the Wyoming Supreme Court ruled in favor of Cindy Hill resuming her duties at the Department of Education. The Tea Party believes that every step in the name of progress is a commie plot. And you know about those commies. Russkis putting on Olympic games. Chinese buying up the Great Lakes. Viet Cong bringing their coffee to Wyoming.

What's next? Prairie hipster artists taking over Cheyenne''s old power plant and waking up downtown with a robust blend of art happenings and poetry slams and coffee shops and brewfests and all kinds of creative capitalist ventures?

You heard it here first.

Happy trails, Sue Wallis

This time last year, Rep. Sue Wallis (R-Recluse) was an ally in the cause to promote a domestic partnerships bill in the Wyoming House. I was at home, recovering from a heart attack, and I had plenty of time to listen in on the proceeding of the legislature. I blogged about it, too. Read the post here.

Now it's the last day of January, 2014. It's cold and gray outside. And Sue Wallis is dead, possibly due to a heart attack that killed her at 56 (the Gillette News-Record obit described it as "natural causes"). She was alone in a Gillette hotel room, spending the night in town to attend some legislative committee meetings on Tuesday. Later in the day, she was going to fly out to Elko and the National Cowboy Poetry Gathering, an event she helped run back in the 1990s.

That's just one of the scary things about heart attacks. You can be alone and then you can be dead. Or you can be alone and passed out of the floor, gasping for air. You could be calling 911 on your cell phone, if you're able, and then just hope that the EMTs arrive in time.

Wallis was a rancher, cowboy poet and Lynne Cheney supporter. She advocated for humane horse slaughter and food freedom for farmers. She didn't like Barack Obama or the EPA. She stood up for abortion rights and the LGBT community. A real Wyoming mix. The Campbell County Republican Party will try to find a replacement but she can't be replaced.

After I heard the news, I went to her blogs and read some of her poetry. It tells you a lot about her. Go there and see.

And get that heart checked.

Dear Students: It ain't easy to feed this fiction-writing habit, but you gotta do it

What secrets will I be sharing with student writers at Western Wyoming College on Feb. 7?

It's a secret. Don't want to ruin the suspense. What kind of fiction writer would do that?

I will begin by telling them a bit about myself. I was born a poor white child in suburbia. My father built homes for rocket ships. My mother was the Florence Nightingale of Denver. I spent my youth reading and taking care of my many siblings. Along the way I started to write and haven't stopped since.

Words of wisdom: The Nike ad said it best -- "Just do it!" If I had a nickel for everyone who told me, "I want to write a book," I would be as rich as Warren Buffet. If I had a nickel for everyone of those people who actually finished a book, I would have enough to buy a cup of coffee -- at Starbucks. If I had a nickel for everyone who finished a book and got it published, I would have enough for a cup of coffee -- at the Loaf 'n' Jug.

Last year, I read a quote by Florida Governor Rick Scott who said that Liberal Arts degrees were a waste of time. He may be right. If you measure an English degree on production values, it isn't very practical. Will it help it get you a job? Possibly. Let me make a list of the jobs I've had since graduating with an English degree from the University of Florida:

Correspondent for a construction industry trade journal
Book store clerk
Book warehouse order filler
Sports reporter
Telephone salesman
Junior high paper grader
Weekly newspaper managing editor
Weekly newspaper columnist
Business newspaper editor
Teaching assistant
Partner in an advertising/marketing firm
Free-lance writer
Free-lance editor
Newsletter editor
Literary magazine editor
Anthology editor
Corporate publications editorhttp://hummingbirdminds.blogspot.com/
Fiction writer
Essayist
Photographer
Free-lance writing teacher
Adjunct professor
Arts administrator
Event planner
Grants panelist
Grants writer
Arts magazine editor
Public Information Officer

Some of these jobs overlapped, especially the free-lance ones. Almost all of them had something to do with writing and editing. All of them fed my fiction writing habit.

Author and National Geographic Magazine roving correspondent Mark Jenkins of Laramie (who spoke at WWC last year) once told me that he majored in philosophy at UW and then retreated to the mountains for a year to think big thoughts. Eventually he had to come down from the mountain and decide how to make a living. And he did. He became an international adventurer and wrote about it. Wrote very well about it. He's won all of the fellowships you can win from the Wyoming Arts Council. We don't have any fellowships for philosophers. But we do for those people who want to spend the 10,000 hours it takes to become a good writer or artist or musician. And that's just for starters.

I can't wait to address those emerging writers coming to my workshop at WWC in Rock Springs on Feb. 7. By the end of my workshop, they will either be scared to death, ready to find a practical major such as agronomy or nursing, or they will be fired up and ready to go write and write and write some more.

I'm guessing it will be the latter.

From beach boy to beach cowboy

I'm not a Florida beach guy. Not anymore.

Salt water once ran in my veins. The sun freckled my skin on a daily basis. All summer long, I lived in my baggies and toughened my feet by walking barefoot on scalding asphalt on my way to the beach's hard-packed sand. My car wore surf racks and patches of rust. By the time I graduated from high school, it was almost ready for the scrap heap, although a neighbor forked over $100 so he could turn it into a dune buggy.

Nights and evenings, we worked so we could surf during the day. I was a busboy at a combination Kentucky Fried Chicken joint and a pancake house. We busboys spent a lot of time flirting with the waitresses, trying to get them into our cars for an after-work beachside rendezvous. When that didn't work, we'd drive down to the Daytona pier and see if any tourist girls were interested in canoodling with busboys. We lonely guys often ended up parked on the beach (you could drive on it back then) talking about our plans for the future.

I had plans. I didn't know what they were, but I had them. Life was waiting for me and I had no desire to remain a beach boy or, worse, a beach bum. The world was tough on me and I did return to the beach after being booted out of college. I surfed and worked, waited for the Army to pluck me from the waves and send me to Vietnam. But the call never came and I had to figure out the next steps. Traveled, returned to school, worked, returned to the beach again although spent less and less time actually on the beach. Guess I always thought it was something to grow out of.

My brother Dan found that the beach was something you could grow into. He surfed until he was almost 60, until leukemia claimed him late last year. His 50- and 60-something buddies all surfed. They formed a church called the Salty Church that is a block from the beach.

Meanwhile, I made my home in the Rocky Mountain West and only rarely looked back. Until recently. When retirement raised its head. Now I'm spending time at funerals and weddings of my loved ones in The Sunshine State. It's not the place I left in 1978. Scads more people, traffic, developments. I was surprised during my recent trip that you can still walk with your best girl on the beach -- and be the only two out there. It has to be windy and 45 degrees, but it can be done.

But as I said in a previous post, the beach is nice but I can't see basing a retirement on that one thing alone. I can't surf until I get my knees fixed and/or replaced. I don't fish, like some of the codgers I came across on my beach walks. My Celtic skin won't tolerate sunbathing. I don't own a boat.

The warm weather is nice. Lots of cultural offerings. My family members are there, as are old friends. I care deeply about my old Florida schools -- they shaped me.

Still...

Spend a few decades in a place and you change. I've lived in Wyoming since 1991, with two years off in the mid-90s to work in D.C. As it turns out, I still have salt water in my veins. That's because all humans have salt water in our veins, even those of us who live in the Land of the Ancient Seas. Millions of years ago, my little lot in Cheyenne was underwater. If I excavated my entire backyard instead of just my small garden plot, I would find fossils of sea creatures. When the wind blows from the south, I smell the salt air. It could be from the nearest saltwater patch in the Gulf of Mexico. More likely, it's the moisture by storms. Or it could be my imagination.

Most of the time, the wind brings the scent of the dry prairie or of snow from Gulf of Alaska storms. The landscape reveals no waves, unless I use my imagination and wonder what it would be like to surf a wave as high as the nearest sandstone bluff.

I have to admit that I am more of this place than of the place where I did my growing up. I am no longer a beach guy unless you count the fact that I have walked "the beaches of Cheyenne" that Garth Brooks sings about. No longer the beach boy but a beach cowboy.

Wyoming Writers, Inc., and Bearlodge Writers offer conference scholarship in Gaydell Collier's name

Not too early to contemplate summer arts events....

Wyoming Writers, Inc., holds its 40th anniversary conference June 6-8 in Sheridan. It's a terrific writers' conference, one I've been attending for more than 20 years.

How does a mostly volunteer-run organization persevere for four decades? The passion of its members -- writers and poets and memoirists and children's book authors and mystery writers and digital scribes and so on. Attendees get tons of good advice and have a great time in the bargain. Sheridan is home to an energetic group of writers and was the site of the first WWInc conference.

WWInc has traditionally offered conference scholarships. Now there's a new one. WWInc board member and Bearlodge Writers member Andi Hummel provides the details:

A founding member of both Wyoming Writers, Inc., and Bearlodge Writers (BLW), Gaydell Collier’s dedication to the craft of writing and her encouragement to writers of all ages buoyed many people for many years. 

Bearlodge Writers, with the gracious approval of the Collier family, is honored to remember Gaydell by offering a scholarship in her name for the upcoming WWInc conference. Keeping Gaydell’s generosity in mind, we hope this scholarship will prove an encouragement and help its winner to grow and become the best writer he, or she, can be.  

The Gaydell Collier Memorial Scholarship (GCMS) will be awarded for the first time at the 2014 WWInc conference to be held in Sheridan, Wyoming, June 6-8 at the Holiday Inn Convention Center. The GCMS is open to any writer wishing to apply (BLW members are not eligible) and will include a full conference fee, a one-year membership to WWInc, and a $200 stipend. BLW will pay the registration and membership fee directly to WWInc, and award the stipend to the recipient at the conference. The recipient’s name will be publicized.

To apply for this scholarship, applicants are expected to follow a few simple guidelines. In a maximum of 250 words, answer this question, “How will attending the Wyoming Writers, Inc., conference propel you forward as a writer?” The author’s response must be typed, double-spaced, with one-inch margins, in Times New Roman font, size 12, on one side of one sheet of 8.5” X 11” white paper. Name, address, email address, and phone number should appear at the top of the page. Submissions should be mailed to Bearlodge Writers, P. O. Box 204, Sundance, WY 82729-0204, and postmarked no later than March 1, 2014.

The GCMS recipient and one alternate — chosen should the initial recipient be unable to attend the conference — will be notified on or slightly before April 21.

Artspace comes to Cheyenne Jan. 29

Cheyenne's downtown needs help.

I'm not the first one to say that. The lead editorial in today's Wyoming Tribune-Eagle said it. So has our mayor, city council people and just plain folks such as you and that person standing next to you.

Artspace, by itself, doesn't have the only answer to a vital downtown. But it can help. And it's good to see action replace complaining.

This Minneapolis-based organization's mission "is to create, foster and preserve affordable space for artists and arts organizations." It has helped cities from Minot, ND, to Fort Lauderdale rehab old spaces into thriving live/work spaces for artists. On Valentine's Day in Loveland, CO, Artspace will be part of a ground-breaking for artist residences at the old Loveland Feed & Grain Building, part of new arts campus. Loveland once was known as Fort Collins' sleepy southern cousin. Then it carved out a niche as a hotbed for sculpture, and now it boasts a downtown focused on the arts.

The Cheyenne Downtown Development Authority and Arts Cheyenne propose to partner with Artspace to create downtown spaces for artists to live, work and collaborate. Plan to attend one of the meetings on Wednesday, Jan. 29, to share your ideas with Artspace, and to hear what the organization can do for our downtown.

Here are the public meetings:

11:45 a.m.: City Council and community leadership work session at the Historic Plains Hotel, 1600 Central Ave.

2 p.m.: Artists and arts organization focus group, Old West Museum, 4601 Carey Ave.

5:30 p.m.: Public meeting, Plains Hotel Ballroom.

The 2 and 5:30 p.m. meetings will include a summary of Artspace artist survey results, possible sites for Artspace in downtown Cheyenne, and PowerPoint loop presentation on arts organizations.

Not every Artspace visit leads to a project. As an Arts Council staffer, I attended an Artspace session in Casper that did not lead to a project. However, it started the ball rolling on the revitalization of the city's downtown and its adjacent Old Yellowstone Historic District. The Casper Artists' Guild has designs on an old downtown warehouse and is halfway to its fund-raising goal of a million dollars to purchase and rehab the structure which it will share with a business, possibly a brewpub. The Nicolaysen and the city and a private developer teamed up to replace a crime-ridden apartment complex with LEED-certified low-income housing units, a public plaza and a unique sculpture, with funding help from the National Endowment for the Arts.

I also attended the "Living Upstairs in Wyoming" conference in Sheridan which explored the city's thriving downtown and the trend toward transforming the upstairs units of those buildings into living spaces. Sheridan's downtown is also home to dozens of outdoor sculptures. Cheyenne could learn a lot from its northern neighbors.

Southern neighbors, too: Loveland, Fort Collins, Greeley. Yes, I know that Wyomingites are intensely proud of the state and profess a dislike for its neighbors, "The Greenies." But it's self-defeating to not use all the ideas we can find to reinvent our downtown.

Mike the lawn ornament

Walked outside barefoot this morning just to see what 35 degrees feels like on coastal Florida.

It was cold.

Freeze warnings were in effect. A wind chill warning.

I spied no frost on my rental car's windshield. I did last week during the previous cold front.

Do I walk outside barefoot in Wyoming in January?

In a word, no.

It's much colder, for one thing. For another, my front yard is filled with pine cones and pine needles which are tough on tender feet. And often there is snow, also tough on bare feet. We had 20 below at the tail end of 2013 with wind chills down to 40 below. Flesh freezes quickly at 40 below. I may have stuck to the ground, might still be there if not for our usual January thaw. Mike the lawn ornament.

"Love your new lawn ornament, Mrs. Shay," said the postman

"That's my husband," Chris said. "He went outside barefoot. Thought he was in Florida."

"He'll be right as rain by May," said the postman.

"I'll miss him," she replied.

Yesterday I walked on the beach after the rain and before the cold front charged in. The ocean was calm, waves tiny. Wind blew in clouds from the west. I came across some quaint fisherfolk on the beach. Guy with New York accent reeled in his line. I greeted him. He said that he was having no luck today. His pals were up on the sand building a fire. "Smoking your fish?" I asked.

"No fish to smoke," he said.

He reeled. I walked, wished him good luck.

A half hour later, I walked by the fisherfolk again. Guy said, "Caught two big ones."

"Great!" I said.

He shook his head. "Just kidding."

"Maybe later."

"Maybe."

That's fishing for you. As I walked, I followed a set of smaller footprints, a women's shoe size, I guessed. Saw someone way ahead, on her way south. Came across a middle-aged woman playing fetch with her German Shepherd. As I got close, she hooked the big beast to a leash. Dogs aren't officially allowed on the beach. Wouldn't do to have a tourist from Wyoming mauled by this big fella. As she walked her dog back up the approach, the hound tugged on the leash toward me.  Probably wanted to come over and say hello. I'm a dog guy. Dogs can tell that. I'm not a cat guy. Cats can tell that and swarm all over me, bathing me in dander until I sneeze.

Today, I take my last walk on the beach for awhile. I may even remove my shoes if it warms up. Leave my footprints for the surf to wash away.

Mike was here -- for a short while.

Whale of a tale

We ran into the whale watchers at the beach today. An elderly couple about my age, already retired, on the beat to record the right whales lurking off Ormond Beach. Chris and I were sitting at the beach approach, decompressing after a long walk in the sand. Actually, Chris took a long walk as I tried to coax my knees into overdrive without much success.

The couple is on the lookout for whales every Thursday, 8 a.m.-noon. They hit five stations during that time, recording any right whales they happen to spy. The Atlantic is home to some 500 of these whales, not many when you look out and ponder the size of the ocean. The man in the duo said that he's seen three humpback whales off of this coast. I replied that I didn't know that humpback whales came to this part of the world. He said that humpbacks are easier to see that others because they have a dorsal fin and white marking that help them stand out against the blue-green waters. They also move fast. Right Whales are slow movers. Humpbacks are more like linebackers while the right whales are no-neck linemen. I have football on the mind.

I took it all in, wondering about the different whales and why some are endangered and others are not. We must have had whales in Wyoming when our state was drenched by the inland seas. Forty million years ago, give or take. My property and that of my neighbors was under tons of water, home to prowling plesiosaurs, but not sure about whales. But it's pretty clear that the demise of the dinosaurs opened the door for all of the mammals, including whales. About 55 million years ago, 10 million years after a giant asteroid and/or a swarm of erupting megavolcanoes put an end to the dinosaurs, even-toed ungulates started branching off from pigs and deer to become the whales glimpsed off the coast of Florida. Cool -- whales are related to barnyard pigs in Arkansas and foraging mule deer in Wyoming. I also have science on my mind.

I liked the fact that these two retirees were scouting the sea for whales even on their volunteer day off. They must be very dedicated to the cause. During this trip to Florida, I've been reading a lot about the shifting sands of tourism, about the fact that tourists are not just coming to Florida for the beaches but for trips along inland waterways, bird-watching tours, wildlife watching and explorations of Florida's many cultures. We plan a side trip to St. Augustine to explore its 500 years of settlement by Europeans preceded by many generations of Indian settlement. We won't be going to the beach, although St. Augustine has a fine one. I like beaches. I like warmth. But many people have left the freezing north for the warmth and the beaches and have found heartache instead. They leave friends and family and the life they know for slick online ads or glossy brochures It's warm here! Friendly, too! Come on down to paradise!

It's never that simple. When my dying father in Ormond Beach was being attended by Hospice personnel, I talked to them. One nurse said that it was a nice thing that my father had many visitors and that we all seemed to care so much. I replied that this must be the case with many of her charges. She shook her head. Sadly, no, she said. Most of her patients died alone. The spouse had already passed and the children and grandchildren and friends all lived in Michigan or New York or even Wyoming. There was an occasional visit from a new acquaintance or a pastor, but a lonely departure was the rule rather than the exception. Made me think. Why are so many retirees willing to give it up for life in paradise? I know what it's like to be cold and old. I know what it's like to be braced against a 20-below wind chill imagining a warm walk on a beach.

But a beach is not enough. I could imagine living here. I can imagine whale-watching. We would go to many events and explore the historic sites and museums. We have passions and pastimes to keep us involved and alert.

But I think this mantra will be on my mind: The beach is not enough. Repeat after me: The beach is not enough.

Or, as a cynical, bleary-eyed bartender in Key Largo once said to me and my new bride on a brilliant May evening in 1982, the setting sun coloring the sky, "Just another day in paradise."

Such a huge ocean and such a small beach

We watched the trucks pour sand on Melbourne Beach. Truck after truck dumped their loads and returned for more.

"Where does all of that sand come from?" Chris asked.

"They may be dredging it from the ocean," I guessed.

The sand poured in. A grader pushed it into long piles against the dunes.

I looked out at the ocean from the sixth floor of the Double Tree. Compared the thin strand of beach with the wide swath of the Atlantic Ocean. Every few seconds, a wave broke on the shore, carrying with it grains of sands and taking away grains of sand. Many poems have been written about the relentless nature of the ocean's actions. I can't think of any right now because I lack coffee and my blood has no rhythm. 

You wonder how long this process takes, from dumping the sand, to the waves eating it away to the dredging of the sand and the replacing the sand for the gamboling tourists.

My brother Tim found out that the cost of the replenishment will be around $22 million.

Wonder how many times it will have to be done as global warming raises the sea levels and bigger and meaner storms batter the coast.

More sand!

On the beach

Thursday...

Walked the beach today in the face of a north wind. It was slightly cold, but nowhere near the ferocity of a Wyoming January gale.

We were the only ones on the beach. A few sandpipers skittered along the surfline. A stray pelican dive-bombed the waves for gullible fish. A shrimp boat rode the swells a half-mile out.

We walked the beach close to where the whitewater swept clean the sand. Bird tracks and human tracks. Sticks and seashells scattered along the sand.

Chris used to walk this beach every day when she was growing up in Ormond Beach. I spent less time walking and more time surfing, but my beach was down in Daytona, just up the street from the house my parents bought in 1965 and my father sold in the late 1990s. I drove by it on Wednesday and it looked foreign. I spent my high school years in that house, and was a frequent visitor during the '70s and '80s. My mother spent her last days there, rushed off to Halifax Medical Center in April 1986, dying there a day later, just a month short of her 60th birthday. She died young, just how young sinks in as I age into my 60s.

We walked the beach. Inhaling the oxygen-rich, salt-laden air, lungs grateful for the infusion after decades at 6,200 feet in the Rockies.

It was difficult to keep my mind on the wind, sky, waves. Flashbacks to 1967 and the joy of a day of good surf. Arms throbbing from paddling out over and over again, stroking hard to catch a good wave. Stoked from a good ride. Just hanging out at the beach, when time stands still. All of us, sunburned, happy but not truly understanding the depth of it because we haven't seen a lot of sorrow. Plenty of teen angst but not the adult kind which can grind you down to nothing.

Walked on the beach. Remembered.

Sunday morning round-up: Medicaid expansion, Buffy rock & shark sighting

Blustery Sunday morning in WYO....

Lots of news this week on the Medicaid expansion front. Wyoming Association of Churches sponsored a big rally Thursday on the plaza between the Capitol and Herschler Building. Wind raged that day so the crowd took shelter within the flared wings of the strangely structured Herschler, named for a WYO Gov, as is the case with most of the state buildings. Rally organizers (and two of the speakers) were Rev. Rodger McDaniel of Cheyenne and Rev. Dee Lundberg of Casper. One counter protester showed up. A young man clad in a stocking cap and a Duck Dynasty T-shirt held a sign that read, "Support Gov. Mead." Have to give the guy some credit, not only for braving the cold in a T-shirt but for showing up. I heard someone at the rally say, "I've been that guy," meaning that Liberals in our state tend to always be outnumbered when it comes to protests. Think of the brave few who showed up for Iraq War protests back in 2003 or those folks in Laramie and Sheridan who showed up for weekly peace vigils for years. During the heyday of the Occupy movement, three hardy souls in Pinedale attended rallies and posted photos on Facebook.

I received a call last weekend requesting phone calls and e-mails to legislators urging them to support Medicaid Expansion. The barrage of e-mails and the rally had some effect -- two ME bills made it out of committee this week. Kudos to the Wyoming Assn. of Churches and local Democrats for all their hard work on behalf of the state's uninsured.

To read the bills:
Medicaid expansions –- limited benefits -– 14LSO0139.C1 (Medicaid Fit)
Medicaid expansion –- insurance pool -– 14LSO0140.C1 (Arkansas model with modifications)

I continue to be amazed by the volume and quality of arts events springing up all over the state. My day job is spent broadcasting the good news about the arts via print and electronic resources. I'm especially impressed by some of the unique ways local organizers come up with the nurture the arts. Over the hill in Laramie, the indie newspaper News from Nowhere keeps tabs on cultural events and provides a forum for creative writing. It's sponsoring "It's Another Art and Music Thing" on Saturday, Jan. 18, at noon to whenever in the Gryphon Theatre and the gymnasium in the Laramie Civic Center, 710 E. Garfield St. One of the bands on tap is Laramie's Sunnydale High which performs songs based on the 1990s TV show "Buffy the Vampire Slayer." My son and wife are both Buffy fans, although I never really got into it. But that there's a band which is devoted to the show says a lot about creativity and fun and all the cool local resources that we have in WYO. The Jan. 18 event showcases other area bands and local artists. The Laramie Burlesque Troupe will perform. You'll also run into poets and writers and other scribes and bloggers and ne'er-do-wells. Tickets are $5 in advance and $8 at the door, which is yet another art and music thing bargain. E-mail for info: events@newsfromnowhere.info

Starting Wednesday, I'll be blogging from Florida for a week. I would say that I'll be in my shorts and flip-flops blogging from Florida, but temps are only expected in the 50s and 60s. That's warm for us snowbirds, but not sure how much beach time I'll get. May seem funny for Wyomingites, but it gets cold in January in The Sunshine State. But there should be plenty to blog about. Read this headline in today's Daytona Beach News Journal: "Great White Shark lingers off Daytona Beach coastline."

We're gonna need a bigger boat.

Fill in the blank: "_________ should not be a debt sentence"

Sign seen at the Medicaid Expansion rally held Thursday in Cheyenne:

"Cancer should not be a debt sentence."

You could customize that in a number of ways:

"Heart disease should not be a debt sentence."

"Diabetes should not be a debt sentence."

And so on. Plug in the malady that may be afflicting your family. I have heart disease and my wife is a diabetic. We have insurance. Still, my health care costs topped $200,000 in 2013. I ended up paying several thousand dollars out of my own pocket. Heart disease may have been a debt sentence, or possibly even a death sentence if I wasn't able to afford a stent and an ICD and a two trips to the hospital and rehab and many medications, some of them pricey.

Some of the people testifying at Thursday's rally face debt sentences for hospital bills they can't afford. Fate decrees that the insured and the uninsured alike keel over from heart attacks, wreck their cars, contract horrible infections, slip on the ice and break a leg, get a Big C diagnosis, etc.

We got news on Friday that two Medicaid expansion bills made it out of the Joint Labor, Health and Social Services Interim Committee for consideration during the legislative session.

"I think it is the responsibility of this committee bring it forward for a full discussion," said committee chairwoman Rep. Elaine Harvey, R-Lovell. "I would hate to think that 12 people would decide for the whole state to not do any kind of Medicaid expansion at all." 

Sometimes it seems that there is just one person one person on that committee who wants to deny health coverage to everyone in the state. This from Saturday's Wyoming Tribune-Eagle:

Co-chairman Sen. Charles Scott, urged the committee Friday to table the pending Medicaid expansion bills. He said the federal government's proposal to Medicaid brings out the worst in the American health-care system.

"It encourages excessive utilization of health-care services to the extent that they're not good for people," Scott said.

Wonder what Scott considers "excessive utilization?" Preventive care? Taking your kids to the doctor when they're sick? Riding in the ambulance to the emergency room when you could walk there on the two good legs the Lord gave you?

Sounds to me as if Sen. Scott is arguing for government oversight of what is "excessive utilization" and what isn't "excessive utilization." He wants to be the sole arbiter who decides if 17,000 uninsured Wyomingites get health insurance coverage under Medicaid expansion, a plan that will save the state $50 million, according to Wyoming Health Department Director Tom Forslund.

What is good for people and what is not -- and who decides?

Next thing you know, Sen. Scott will be advocating for death panels.

Maybe he already is.