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 |   Tales from real life |
| Well, if they're not true, they oughta be! |
Have you ever seen the sun set in the east? It may sound strange, but it was a regular occurrence for my Montana family during the spring and fall. I grew up on a small ranch about twenty miles west of the Mission Mountains. The Mission range is part of the Rockies, with peaks that reach up more than 9000 feet. Their name comes from the Jesuit mission church that was established in 1854 to minister to the local native population. The church still stands and draws numerous visitors to the town of St. Ignatius, especially in the summer months. The Missions rise abruptly from a glacier-scoured valley, looming more than 6000 feet over the farms and ranches below. Their peaks cast prodigious shadows to the west when backlit by the rising sun, shadows that reach across the entire valley. We didn't notice those shadows during the summer when the sun rises before 6 am or in the depths of winter when it doesn't rise until after 8. But at either equinox, the sun would rise just as we completed breakfast and set out for school and work. At those times of the year, I rose in pre-dawn dimness, but I could see sunlight on the low hills to the west as I went about morning chores. The sun would come up over the mountains by the time we finished breakfast and got into the car. My dad had a half-day job delivering the mail on our rural route. He headed off to the Post Office at about the same time us kids needed to be at school. Most of the time we'd ride into town with him rather than rattle around the countryside in the school bus. Another thing about the equinox is that the sun rises directly in the east. And the 8-mile highway into town is laid out along a perfectly straight east-west line. The sun, hanging just above the mountain peaks, would glare into the windshield at an angle that made the visors nearly useless. Dad would put his hand up in front of his eyes and squint through his fingers until we drove into the shadow of the mountains. Yep, the sun would appear to go down in the east as we drove into the shadows toward town. And then it would rise again, a few minutes after we got to school. This phenomenon can be observed by anyone who lives west of tall mountains. And I'm sure it works in reverse at sunset for those who live to the east. They can drive east out of the shadows, see the sun rise in the west behind them, and then stop to watch it set for a second time. |
| I was just sixteen when my older sister, Linda, got married. She and Greg Connor had a cozy wedding at the Missionary Alliance church in Ronan, Montana. It was a nice ceremony, and I served as usher and chauffeur for the happy couple. Afterward, I drove them to the Round Butte Womanâs Club for the reception party. The clubhouse was a small place out in the country, only a mile and a quarter from my parentsâ house. I felt so important and grown up that I didnât even sneak a peek at the rear-view mirror. Gregâs family was from Minnesota, and they were pretty strait-laced. His younger siblings were half expecting to arrive by dusty stagecoach with wild Indians in hot pursuit. The real Montana was a bit tame and disappointing for them, at least until the reception party got up to full speed. There were two punch bowls, one for kids and maiden aunts, and another that was spiked for the adults. Mom kept things in check for a while, but the adultâs bowl got âpunched upâ until it was pretty strong. There was music from a portable record player and the Fisher side of the crowd got louder and more rambunctious as the night wore on. There may even have been dancing. Greg and Lindaâs friends joined in, and the Connor family found themselves in a very small sober minority. Iâd had an occasional sip of beer while growing up on the ranch, and as a kid, I didnât like the taste. Iâd never even been close to drunk. But at sixteen, I was ready to show off my maturity and party hearty. The punch was a mixture of juice, soda, and rum with chunks of fruit blended in. It tasted a lot better than beer and went down easily. I snuck a few glasses from the adult bowl and already felt a bit tipsy by the time Dad broke out the hard stuff. He was happily celebrating his daughterâs wedding, and already pretty drunk, when he surprised me by declaring that I was, âby God, old enough to drink like a man.â I wasnât about to argue, so I choked down some Black Velvet whiskey mixed with Squirt soda. It didnât taste all that great, so I gulped it quickly. That was a mistake because Dad wouldnât allow my glass to stay empty. Things got blurry in a hurry. The next thing I remember is getting in the car to go home. It was only a quarter mile up a slight hill, a left turn onto a mile of gravel road, and then another left into our driveway. Dad insisted that he was perfectly okay to drive, exclaiming over and over, âI can drive right around the corner!â Every time he said it, I echoed him, and we laughed like a couple of loons. I guess the idea of driving ârightâ around a left-hand turn was hilarious. At least for a couple of drunks. My sister Marcia was in the back seat. She says it was a scary ride as we wobbled from one side of the road to the other. Dad made a big, sweeping arc and took that first corner at about 10 mph. It might have been scarier at a higher speed, but at least the slow pace made Marciaâs terror last longer. Dad proved that he could navigate âright around the cornerâ but he probably drove an extra quarter mile with all the weaving back and forth. We eventually got home without accident, followed by uncle Roy and my cousin Joe. The whiskey was long gone, but Dad found a bottle of vodka. We continued the party for a little while without any ice or mixer. We swilled warm vodka from a water glass. The memory still makes my stomach churn. Dad soon decided to take a nap, âjust for a few minutes.â Uncle Roy tried to keep the party going, and periodically sent Marcia to wake Dad. She didnât have any success, and at some point, I passed out too. I donât remember undressing, but the missing buttons on my shirt the next morning were mute evidence of my state of mind. Roy and Joe stayed on until the vodka ran out. Milk cows must be milked, so Dad had to get up the next morning. He also rousted me out to do my chores. A hangover wasnât unusual for him, but it was a new experience for me. I was fairly certain that I was going to die. And it would have been a blessed relief if I had. I woke covered in my own vomit, congealed but still sticky. The sour stench of rejected fruit punch and vodka was nauseating. As were the half-digested fruit chunks. Words canât describe that sick, disgusting feeling. Or the debilitating pain that pounded between my temples and twisted my gut into knots. I dry heaved several times as I shuffled slowly through the morning routine, unable to even stand up straight. I was so sick that I didnât drink again for a full year. Iâd like to say I learned a lesson, that I turned my back on demon rum, but thatâs not how life works. By the next summer I was cruising with friends, drinking beer and attending keggers in the woods. But I still donât care for the taste of Vodka. |
| Hollywood really loves crap, so a Trump biopic is inevitable. Here are some ideas . . . Rage of Angles A twice-impeached, one-term president explodes in an impassioned fit of seditious lunacy. After failing to subvert the Department of Justice, he seduces a smitten conservative lawyer into a plot to overthrow the 2020 presidential election. The Fraud Couple The story of a mismatched pair of con men who disagreed on everything except the need to turn America into a fascist dictatorship. One is an aged, feeble senator and the other is a fat, loud-mouthed president. Can they put their differences aside long enough to destroy democracy? Little Big Man The underwhelming tale of a large man who casts a small shadow. Wince at the story of how he achieved high office with low character. Be amazed at the business acumen that turned a huge family fortune into a pile of leveraged debt. Yawn through repetitive, rambling speeches that sound like real words! Endure an endless litany of lies and self-promotion as he speaks loudly and carries a small stick. Donât miss the movie that promises everything and delivers nothing! Raging Bullshit A searing portrayal of the final days of Donald Trumpâs presidency. The powerful final scene shows him sitting alone and friendless in a darkened oval office. His orange face is limned by the glow of a smartphone as he sends angry tweets late into the night, making a last desperate attempt to âhit back harderâ. The Ugly American The story of a physically unattractive president who proves that ugly goes right to the bone. Cringe at his offensive display of cultural ignorance! Watch in horror as he destroys decades of goodwill and international cooperation! If thereâs one show you should miss this year, this is it! Gone With The Windbag Americaâs reputation is reduced to tatters by a self-promoting blowhard who wages an uncivil war on truth and decency. Aliens A beleaguered President Trump stands alone against illegal immigrants who pop up everywhere. He will fight them at the border, in the fields and orchards, at businesses small or large, in the servants' quarters of his penthouse, and even on the grounds of his own golf resorts! The Lyinâ King A young Donald Trump, alone and unloved, struggles to live up to the image of his famous father. Unable to achieve success in real life, he becomes a legend in his own mind. A Conspiracy of Dunces The story of how the Trump White House fucked up absolutely everything. |
| Not done yet . . . The Essence of Political Speech by Rand M. Noyes Wastewater Management by Yuri Nation Basic Frisk Technique by Patton M. Downes Arguing the Issues by Dee Bates Addiction Tango by Jewel B. Bach Cry of the Banshee by Waylon D. Knight Stormhaven Cove by Lee Shore Never Give Up! by Constance F. Oort The Agony of Existence by Olivia N. Payne Breakfast Favorites by Annie Moore Bacon Self Gratification by Holden Wood and Jack N. Hoff Oral Traditions by Anita Moorehead See also: "Another Pile of Peculiar Books"  See also: "Continuing With a Theme" |
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