“Jeffy! I don’t have time…

It was way back when on a yearly Florida pilgrimage to see my Dad. (AKA Sid), when I noticed his reading habits. 

Just like a precision Swiss watch a Sunday edition Palm Beach Sun Sentinel newspaper would materialize at his door. Sid would then meticulously sort it out in order of importance. TV section placed reverently by his remote. Grocery ads stacked into a pile. International and National news sections placed on top. Beneath were the local news and arts and entertainment last. The sports section got the heave ho, unless I was around. Through the course of a week, he’d ration out that one newspaper. An article one day, a section the next day and maybe interspersed with a rest day. 

Me being me, thought, “Hmmm! I’ll call the Sentinel and buy Sid an everyday subscription of newspapers. That way, he’d be up on current events and he wouldn’t have to dole out his news each day.”  So that’s what I did.

A few days later, I got a call from Sid. 

“Jeffy!” He shouted. It was in his tune me up tone of voice. 

“Yes? What’s wrong?”

“Did you get me a subscription of daily newspapers?”

“Yes. I thought you’d like that.” 

“Jeffy! I don’t have TIME to read the newspaper! I’m BUSY!”

Mind you this came from a man whose daily schedule revolved around meal purchasing and preparation. The other hours were spent napping. 

So if you’ve been following my blog along, you’ve picked up the “BUSY! “ capitalized for emphasis.

This is a Sidism. I consider it a Yogism only less poignant or hilarious. 

So now, when I phone people, I’ll ask (if they pick up), “Are you BUSY? Do you have time to talk?. I’ll keep this short.” 

Most Americans lead BUSY lives. I don’t and I won’t.  

There were heaps of other Sidisms. Here’s a few of the Sambur family favorites.

“Wait awhile! Wait awhile! You mean to tell me…” He said this when he was trying to grasp a new concept. 

“I analyzed the situation. I should have been a psychiatrist.” 

“Jeffy! You need to be your own Doctor.” 

“God Willing!”

“You’re pissing your money away.” This was his financial advice. 

“You’re talking crazy!” (I use this one all the time. So succinct and straightforward).

So… on the eve of a Father’s Day weekend, I’d like to say, thank you Sid for all of your lines of wisdom. We didn’t always see eye to eye (I was three inches taller than you) on things, but I  knew you always loved and cared about me. You were a little man with BIGLY opinions. You were a character. 

Like your youngest turned out to be.

Cheers to all the great Dads out there. Sid was one of them.

Jeff 

A Sand Country Almanac

“Embrace the Sand!” shouted the jovial boatman on a two week Grand Canyon float trip. 

At the time micro rocks had been blowing in a 360 degrees fashion for days on end. The gritty particles found their way into crevices, gaps and unmentionable orifices. As if the sand wasn’t enough, there was the endless annoying sound of something without a true substance. When the winds finally abated, all us campers sighed an audible “Ahhh!”

Now back to the present. (If that makes any sense.) In early February, I began a somewhat common Coloradoan migration. I turned my back to our glorious (then cold and icy) mountains and set my sights on the desserts of California, Utah, New Mexico and Arizona. It’s sand country. This year it was blowing sand country. 

In February, I ventured to Death Valley National Park. Originally, I was going to stay for over a month. However, the reality of Covid brought me back to Colorado. My buddy Paul L scored me a few Moderna shots via a website. I was craving to be out of Covid hell. I wanted to be part of the solution instead of part of the problem. In Death Valley, I discovered my camper can withstand 60 mph gusts of wind. (Numerous times). Yes, there was sand and shmuts (Yiddish for dirt) everywhere. I’ve had gentler visits there.

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2021/03/a-thinking-persons-national-park.html

In late March (pre-second dose Moderna vaccine)  I drove to the Island in the Sky district in Canyonlands National Park. I posted a blog about the experience. It was windy, it was cold. When I wasn’t hiking, I was hunkered down in my camper with the furnace at full bore. 

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2021/03/the-coldest-campout-in-world.html

In early April I had my first visit to Chaco Cultural  National Historical Park. Initially, I thought what were those Ancient Puebloan thinking! The area is stark! Water is hit or miss in a nearby wash. Piñon pine and junipers for possible fuel or building materials are on top of the mesas. It’s cold in the winter and hot in the summer. In the campground, dust devils and an overly enthusiastic volunteer host performed continual laps. Both were annoying. As near as I could tell, the location was all about the big views for seeing and being seen. After all it was a cultural, administrative and trading center. No one really knows the whys. I guess the Ancient Ones had their reasons.

In mid-April, I returned to the Needles District of Canyonlands NP. It’s one of my All-Time happy places. Mother Nature cooperated. There was no need for a Shop Vac to Hoover out the sand. Many old friends joined me at our shared group campsite. Happy Hours were sociable and entertaining. A wonderful time was had by all.

A few days later (No rest for the WW J) I camped atop the Horseshoe Canyon district of Canyonlands NP. I hiked up-canyon the first day to see the Great Gallery and other amazing artful artifacts. I tried getting to Bluejohn Canyon to see Aron Ralston’s exit way. He’s the adrenaline junkie who amputated his right arm after a being detained by an irate chockstone. Once again, I was in awe of Mr. Ralston’s pluck, endurance and toughness. I never did see Bluejohn, it would’ve been a massive day hike. The second day I headed down-canyon. It was more scenic but the Green River was too far away for an out and back. In between those hikes, I read inside of my truck. It was too stupid windy to sit outside and get sandblasted.

The next morning, I met Brad with his tricked out, accessorized and macho Toyota Tacoma 4X4 truck. I dubbed his conveyance “The Beast.”  We were about to enter the Maze. We’d need the Toyota’s spacecraft technology for a successful journey on a so-called road which is nauseatingly gnarly. The payoff would be camping and hiking in the most beautiful and remote segment of Canyonlands NP. Of course our forecast sucked. Warm and windy, followed by cold and windy, followed by cold, rainy and windy. Our tents were pancaked by the gusts. One blast broke my tent pole. Any attempt to sleep soundly proved futile. We did manage to get out each day for a hike. Once back we hid behind rocks. I wanted to cry more than once. On our six night campout, we scored 56 hours of fine weather. On that day, I celebrated by getting lost...again.  

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2021/05/she-left-me.html  

Don’t get me wrong. I love the Maze, but this time the experience was quite exhausting.

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2015/10/37-miles-in-6-hours.html

Five days later, I was schvitzing (Yiddish for sweating) at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. It was 93 degrees at Hermit Rapids. Once again Brad (plus two family units) was on hand. We hunkered in the meager shade provided by a few anemic willows. We couldn’t wait for the sun to go down. The next morning we hit the trail early to beat the heat. Five miles and a few hours later, we were hiding under the only cottonwood in Monument Canyon. We had plenty of time on our hands as we watched the nearby campsites fill in with other hot hikers. The following dawn, I was the first one up and out of M Canyon. It was another hot day. Eleven miles later, I shucked off my backpack on a picnic table at Indian Gardens campground. I was done. My Mojo wasn’t into this trip. My mind and body were saying, “No Mas!” For once I listened. The next morning I hiked out to cooler climes. Brad and family continued onto the Colorado River. 

Back in Durango, I finally scored some needed rest. One night, I slept over 8.5 hours, an astonishing amount for an insomniac like myself. I guess I was tired. 

Eight nights later, I was camped in four inches of slushy White Death in Great Sand Dunes National Park. OY! I finished one book and read 40% of another one before the onset of dinner and Happy Hour. The next two days, the snow melted or it might have been blown away. Yes, the winds returned. I hiked in the dunes way past the crowds. I enjoyed this giant cat box (minus the poop and acrid smell) all to myself. As usual I savored the solitude and serenity of those mounds of sand. 

Yet, I didn’t “embrace” the winds. 

And that’s all I’m gonna say about my Sand Country Almanac.

Cheers! 

It’s time to get back to the mountains!

Jeff

A Country of Contrarians.

A Country of Contrarians.

“I don't know what they have to say
It makes no difference anyway
Whatever it is, I'm against it
No matter what it is or who commenced it
I'm against it

Your proposition may be good
But let's have one thing understood:
Whatever it is, I'm against it
And even when you've changed it or condensed it
I'm against it”

Groucho Marx from “Horse Feathers.” 

There’s a lot of Doubting Thomas’,  Naysayers and Conspiracy Theorists in Merica these days.

Obamacare? Creeping Socialism

Climate Change? Chinese Hoax

Reasonable Gun Control Laws? A Govment intrusion on our sacred Second Amendment Rights.

Covid 19? It’s just another flu.

Masking up? Nope! I’m no masktubator.

2020 Presidential Election Results? The Dems stole the Election. It was rigged! (Despite no real evidence of widespread voter fraud).

The deadly January 6th  Attempted Congressional Coup? “Normal Tourist Visit.”

Now we are left with “vaccination hesitancy.” 

“The vaccine was rushed through!” 

“I’m not a Guinea Pig!”

“There’s a microchip in each dose!”

“I don’t need the vaccine. The Lord watches over me.”

Here’s an allegory. (I didn’t create it although I wish I had.)

The Mississippi River was rising! 

Local TV, Radio and emergency texts messages were warning,

“Flooding is eminent! Move to higher ground. NOW!”

Clem took it all in and tossed out a wry smile. “I’m not worried. The Lord will take care of me.”

He heard a knock on his door. There was a firefighter in knee deep water. “Sir! Follow me and I’ll get you to higher ground. It’s not safe here.”

Clem shook his head in the negative way and said, “I’ll be fine. The Lord watches over me.”

The firefighter shrugged his shoulders and moved on. There were others to save.

The river kept rising. Clem retreated to his second floor bedroom. Shortly thereafter a teenager in a rowboat came by. “Get in the boat, I’m rowing around the neighborhood picking up stragglers. I’ll get you to a dry spot.”

Clem shook his head. “No. I’ll be OK. The Lord has a plan for me.” 

The young Samaritan rowed away. There were others to save.

The river kept rising. Clem escaped through his roof hatch to the apex of his home. A helicopter hovered overhead. The copilot tossed down a rope ladder. Through a loud speaker the copilot shouted. “Climb up on the ladder. We will get you out of here. Save yourself! Your home is gone!”

Clem shook his head vigorously. “No! No! No!” He was thinking, the Lord will take care of me.

The chopper flew off. There was others to rescue and time wasn’t on their side.

Finally, the river began to overlap Clem’s precarious perch. He launched himself onto a piece of flotsam. Disappointingly he looked up at the Heavens. “Lord! I thought you’d  keep me safe!  Why is this happening?”

From the stratosphere there was a booming voice. “Clem! I sent three ways to save thyself. You turned them all down! You are now on your own. Good Luck!”

Folks! The vaccines are three ways to salvation from the scourge of Covid 19. Their names are Moderna, Pfizer and Johnson & Johnson. Think of these jabs as gifts from God. 

Or else, you are on your own. 

Good Luck!

From the New York Times:

There is no better way to crush the pandemic in coming weeks than to persuade the vaccine-skeptical to get a shot. It is the best way for them to protect themselves from the risk of Covid hospitalization and death. “If you are not vaccinated, you are not safe,” Dr. Rochelle Walensky, the C.D.C. director, said yesterday.

I know. New York Times. Fake News! Sigh.