Story for Anna and Luke: My Old Denim Jacket

I've had this Lee Storm Rider jacket since I was a sophomore at Durango High School, purchased in the fall of 1975. Most every boy in high school at that time, wore a denim jacket. This one is insulated with a flannel liner, which made it very warm in those Durango winters, when winters were deep and cold, not like today.

Dad bought it for me at Basin Co-op. I only wear it about once or twice a year now; don't want it to fall apart. The left cuff has damage from battery acid-- from jump starting our tractor. I remember Dad warning me to clean it thoroughly as soon as possible, otherwise, it would "eat it away like cancer."

The jacket was stolen while I was at a party during college, probably in 1981. About a month after the party, I saw a fellow wearing it in downtown Durango at a bar-- The Sundance Saloon. I politely approached him, though I was pretty tense. He claimed the jacket was his. I said, "I'm pretty sure it's mine and if it's mine, there's a blood stain about the size of a thumb on the left sleeve just below the elbow."

A friend was with him and my friend, Steve Janes, was with me. The fellow lifted his arm up and we all saw the stain. There was about five seconds of awkward staring at each other, then he took the coat off and handed it to me without saying anything. I said thanks, and that was the end of that.

Steve was always much more interested in fighting than me, so he was a great backup, but I was definitely not going to leave without that coat. It had all sorts of sentimental value, especially since Dad had died just a couple of years before, in 1978.

Hacking Into Our Voting Systems

In 1993, Ron Gault and I met with the Federal Election Commission after our NSA-contracted team at TRW identified several very easy ways to hack into the then-emerging computerized voting systems. We warned the FEC about the possibility of election fraud and manipulation. Their response was interesting: (1) We don't regulate or certify voting systems; that's up to each state to manage; and (2) There are always errors in counting votes. We recognize there are inaccuracies but those inaccuracies are small compared to the total number of votes, and would therefore not impact the outcome.

Fast forward to the Gore/Bush runoff in Florida, where a few votes most definitely mattered. Fast forward again to today, and the sophistication of Russian hackers, as described in this Wall Street Journal article, "U.S. Intelligence Chief Suggests Russia Was Behind Election-Linked Hacks."

Our computerized voting systems are still an unregulated, unprotected hacker's dream. Their only saving grace is that they are, for the most part, only partially networked; thus the propagation of an attack is more difficult.

This is going to be a very interesting election.

Memory for Anna & Luke: October 2011 with Grandma Sanders

I took this picture five years ago to the day, between Dunton and Rico, Colorado.

Oct 6, 2011 was my first day moving back home, after leaving Durango in 1983 for the Air Force. Coming back home was an easy, yet scary decision, not knowing exactly how I was going to earn a living or what it meant to my career. But it turned out to be one of the best decisions of my life. God took over.

This day was the first time that my mom, Ruby Sanders, had been on that road in over thirty years, since my dad, Doyle Sanders, died in 1978. She had lived alone ever since, but was always busy, loving and outgoing. I moved back to spend time with her while she was still healthy. Two and a half years later, she died in her sleep, in her bed, in her home of over 60 years, where our family was raised.

I spent a lot of time growing up, with my dad, hunting and exploring in these mountains, meadows and flats in the west fork of the Dolores River. When Mom and I saw this scene on this drive, it felt like a sign from Dad, "I'm here with you, pardner. You're back home. You're supposed to be here."

One of My First Paying Jobs

This time of year, as a kid, I’d be getting ready to take my steers to the livestock auctioneer in Cortez, Colorado.

Dad would loan me the money to buy 3-4 steers in April, I would put them on pasture-- he would charge me a grazing fee-- then feed them grain the last two weeks of August and sell them in early September, hoping for about a 1.5 lb average gain/day over those months. I would usually make about $400-$500 profit on the whole deal. That was a lot of money at the time-- mid 1970s.

The stories along the way were priceless-- all the weird things that would happen while raising those steers and taking care of them-- like the one “crazy” steer—with horns-- that would charge you if you weren’t on a horse. We warned the auctioneer, but that steer charged the handler at the livestock pen, hooked the guy’s pants and threw him over the fence. As a teenage boy, nothing was funnier.

I practiced and practiced until I could do a pretty good version of the auctioneer. I can still do it…I uncork it in the morning when shaving…pretending to sell my razor.

40-Year Old Matches

My dad carried these matches in the glove box of his truck. He died in 1978 and I've toted them around the world, ever since. The top of the pill bottle was white at one time. It's a nice shade of yellow from age now. We spent a bunch of time in very remote places in the days before cell phones, when southwestern Colorado and the Four Corners weren't nearly as populated or visited as today, and cars and trucks weren't as reliable. You never knew when a campfire or signal fire might be necessary. I have no clue why they are sentimental, but they are... or how I've managed to hang onto them, given how many times I've moved.

These are "strike anywhere" matches, by the way. I don't think you can't buy them anymore. I don't see them at the grocers story, anyway. All you needed to light these was a good rock or, if you really wanted to flash your bad ass wild west colors, you could light them with a fast swipe on the backside of the leg on your Levi's. You can't do that anymore.

Life is fascinating.

:-)

Buck Meets Magpie

I caught this moment behind our house in Durango, July 2015. The magpie came swooping in and landed softly on the buck's butt and sat there. The buck kept eating, head down. The magpie just sat there. Then the buck twitched his tail. Magpie didn't move. Buck raised his head, turned around to look at the magpie, and they met nose-to-nose. The buck went back to eating, and the magpie sat there for a few more moments, then flew off, satisfied that he had accomplished his shenanigans. :)

Don't Worry, Just Think

For my daughter and son...

This thought came to me this morning: "Don't worry, just think" and the meaning that came with this thought was, "thinking" means you are learning and reflecting and actively involved in solving a problem, if you can solve it, or accepting it if you can't. Worrying means your are digging a hole.

Stop digging. Start thinking.

:-)