kajean

I laughed all the way through this chapter. Hilarious. Such fun! I am so glad I was not at that dinner party. Though it might have been fun to have been the proverbial fly on the wall. Rowena is a keeper. Suffers no fools. Tania, Rolph, Venetia; pity the fools. And I loved Gray's assessment of Felicity as a "professional widow". Not sure what that actually is, but it does seem to fit many of the ladies living in the retirement center where I also live. So, dear author, another triumph of a chapter.

I laughed myself silly all through this chapter. Thanks for the fun. The dialogue was hilarious. Thanks again.

Based on the previous story about this group, I thought the same thing.

Language does change all the time. That is the very nature of it. I have three degrees in English with minors in four other languages, two of them classical languages. Those two classical languages still exist in modern forms, but they have changed enormously. And over my eight decades I've watched (mostly with amusement) English change. Slang comes and goes, but always some of it sticks and becomes an integral part of the language. I hope it's obvious I enjoy language -- especially English -- with ALL its vagaries. To me, fighting the good fight isn't so much trying to hang on to the old styles, but defending the changes as they become entrenched. Thanks for the comment, Gary.

I've got to stick my two dollars in (inflation, don't you know). With everyone being hyper-grammatical today -- and I agree with all of it -- I must take dear Summerabbacat to task for one further faux pas. The verb in the second clause in the above quoted compound sentence should be in the subjunctive mood: "if I were Graham". With your usual precise use of English I'm sure this is just one of those typos that plague all of us. In my lifetime I've written several million words, and no matter how carefully I write AND proofread, the little buggers still show up. As to ghoti, it is frequently attributed to George Bernard Shaw, but Shavian authorities assure us that there is no evidence he ever used the word, even as an example of the sometimes exasperation the English language can elicit. In fact, the word seems to have existed as far back as the mid 19th century, before Shaw was even born. I've run across Scandiwegian, but offhand I don't remember where. And for all my vaunted expertise in English, I, too, missed "principal"/"principle". Great story, so far, Robert. Regale us with Chapter 4 soon, please.

I've never been to Mesa Verde. However, my brother-in-law was a park ranger there some 52-1/2 years ago. In fact, my little sister and he celebrated their honeymoon there during that time with the forest service. They returned for their 50th anniversary a couple of years ago, and enjoyed the place just as they enjoyed it when they were a LOT younger. About 30–35 years ago (when I was a lot younger!) one afternoon a friend and I were horseback riding from Penrose, CO, beside the Phantom Canyon Road leading to Victor and Cripple Creek. There in an embankment in the forest was a partially demolished kiva. (The photo below shows the stretch of road we were beside. The kiva would have been back in the trees to the left in the picture.) I've not been back that way, and I wonder whether the kiva is still recognizable. I was excited to see it, but then our part of Colorado has Native American artifacts just about anywhere you are. There was a spot on a hillside on our old ranch about 3 miles south of Wetmore that was simply littered with arrowheads. Supposedly that was the site of some battle. Or it could simply have been the local midden, which would probably be of more archaeological value, but not as exciting as a battle site. As an aside, my baby sister, who is a historian, feels that Native Americans should be called instead "First Immigrants" as a more accurate and descriptive nomenclature. I doubt whether she has consulted any of them, however, on their own preferences. Not her style; she's more than a bit opinionated 😄.

I can identify with David's enthusiasm for mechanical drawing. I was introduced to the subject when I was required to take woodshop in 7th grade (back in 1955). We began with mechanical drawing. I fell in love with it. My dad had been studying architecture in New York City before World War II but had to give it up when he went into the army. He had an exquisite set of drafting tools, however, which he gave to me when I became excited about mechanical drawing. I still have them. And I still use them. Computer Aided Drafting never has had quite the romance for me as drafting with these tools.

Thanks, Bill, the paragraph reads much more smoothly for those of us familiar with this part of the world. I never visited the Sand Dunes, however. My sister and her husband (an Eagle Scout) used to take their Boy Scout troupe every year for a campout there. One of their excursions was photographed for Boys' Life magazine. Long time ago now, 30 years or so. Their son, who was a member of that troupe, just celebrated his 46th birthday a couple of weeks ago. But they all still speak fondly of those trips to the Dunes. (And yes, my nephew also did earn his Eagle Scout award along with one of his buddies in the troupe.)

“In the distance,” Tom stated at one stop, “you can see the Santo de Cristo Mountains, which means ‘the blood of Christ’ in Spanish. The mountains were given that name by the early Spanish explorers, because during sunset and sunrise they claimed the mountains sometimes seemed to be bathed in a reddish hue.” Good morning, all, and a very happy Christmas and holiday season. I think, Bill, this may be a typo. The mountains are called "Sangre de Cristo", which does mean 'blood of Christ'. "Santo de Cristo" wouldn't work, as it would mean something like 'Saint of Christ', neither grammatically nor theologically correct. And they ARE truly spectacular whatever their name, especially from Westcliffe and Silver Cliff (see the photo below of Main Street, Westcliffe, looking west). Been there many times in Westcliffe. My mother attended high school in this little town. One further point, they seem red at sunrise from the east side of the range (from Westcliffe and Silver Cliff), and at sunset one would have to be MANY miles to the west on the western slope of those same mountains to get the red effect. The drive from my town just 30 miles east of the front range is pretty amazing, too, as the front range towers over one. Then up through the canyon beyond the tiny hamlet of Wetmore until one is at the top of the world. The road now continues westerly across fairly desolate high prairie and finally circles a rather high mound of a hill, and suddenly -- no warning at all -- there they are: Reaching from the south to the north and to the skies themselves, the breathtaking Sangre de Cristos. You weren't at the top of the world after all. For there, the Sangre de Cristos reach twice as high as the mountains you just ascended.

“OK. Try not to run over too many reporters.” What a delicious line! Thank you, Robert; the line had me giggling all through the rest of the chapter. A satisfying and happy holiday season to all.

A wonderful start to another wonderful Charlie Boone story. Thank you, Geron. We, your many fans, have no way to accurately express our appreciation.

My pleasure. I take it as a sacred duty. 😄 😄

As usual, you shine a spot on the problem to be illuminated! Now this simply will NOT do! This is a serious literary website as you well know. You have been warned before that punning is not allowed here! 😄 😄

Carl, too. And all the rest of the family and friends.

Quite a few years ago (I was still working, long before retirement, and I've been retired for 20 years) an old college buddy and his wife visited me here in my town about 30–45 minutes east of Canon City. They wanted to visit the Royal Gorge, so I hosted them. This was long before there was any amusement park stuff. It was just the visitors' center and the suspension bridge. There was a train ride available via an elevator down to the canyon floor. My friend was so acrophobic that he wouldn't even leave the visitors' center to cross the broad plaza to get to the edge of the canyon and the bridge. So his wife and I walked the bridge and enjoyed looking between the slats. It made me a little dizzy to do so, but it was also fun. We strolled across and back. There was nothing on the other side back then. But there is usually a rather stiff breeze causing the bridge to sway noticeably. My buddy was so frightened for us that he actually was sweating. He couldn't wait to get back into the car and leave the mountains. His wife and I thoroughly enjoyed teasing him, which he took well. And the scenery is fantastic. These days I'm a tad more cautious about heights. I live on the fourth floor of my building, not very high up at all, but I find I really do not like standing on my balcony. I have no problems with bridges or looking out windows -- even those on our twelfth floor -- but even changing the cover on my AC unit on the balcony is not on my list of comfortable things to do. And at my age I have no desire to visit the Royal Gorge again. This remains an entertaining story. Good work, Bill. The town of Jamesville where our protagonist Mac lives is fictitious, of course. In Chapter 46 Mac mentions that he didn't want to go to either University of Colorado Pueblo or Colorado Springs, even though they were close. So what town is Jamesville in actuality? To the west are both Florence and Penrose, but those won't work because Canon City's eastern city limit is literally Florence's western city limit. And Penrose is just slightly northeast of Florence on Highway 115 to Colorado Springs. Just north of Pueblo is Pinon, but it's a tiny collection of houses and not a town. Fountain is a southern suburb of Colorado Springs. So that leaves the towns east of Pueblo on both Highways 50 and 96. So, Bill, where is Jamesville? 😄 😄 😄