Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas everyone.

The Upland Christmas Star. A symbolic message of hope,

dedication and perseverance. A message much needed amid

the insanity that we have allowed Christmas to become.

I hope that somehow, each of you have been able to get past the chaos and have been able to spend Christmas with people you care about, reflecting on the season's true meaning - one of hope, grace and joy.

I chose the above photo because of it's symbolism and of the story of it's subject, the Upland Christmas Star. The Saint I Am Married To made the drive over to San Antonio Heights to photograph the star. 

I had seen several T.V. stories on the star and I vaguely remembered seeing it long ago. I knew the back story, one where the original star was destroyed in a firestorm back in 2003, when the Grand Prix Fire ravaged the community and took out over 250 structures. 

I had heard the story of the property owner, who lost his home in that fire, as well as the star and all of his belongings.

More importantly, I knew the story of how that star was rebuilt, through the efforts of the owner and of the community - despite the theft of the wiring and of other hurdles. 

The star remains to this day, providing a symbol of hope to wretches like me. The house where the star stands still has not been rebuilt, but the star shines on. It serves as a reminder that through the birth of Christ, there is hope for all of us.

Merry Christmas.

Thanks for Reading,

Schmoe

Black Friday In The Land Of The Dirt People

I was up early, but did not get any shopping done. 

Do us both a favor and click to enlarge!
 

 The sun peeks out from below the horizon.

As soon as I stuck my head outside of our RV, I new it was going to be spectacular. I was able to drive out a little ways from camp and set up my camera before the sunrise began in earnest. By far the best sunrise that I have witnessed in a long time. 

This is not the most beautiful area that we visit, but if I take my time and look around, I can usually capture some beautiful moments. It was a great way to spend the week, exploring the desert and being with our friends.

 100 degrees to the right of the top photo, 13 minutes later. A

small rainbow is visible, a result of the sunrise and virga.

I hope your Thanksgiving was as joyous as ours was.

Thanks for reading,

Schmoe

Great and Greatly Missed

 

I have told many people this before, both in the blogosphere and in person: In a perfect world, we would die, our pets would peacefully follow a few minutes later.

Sadly, it is not so and we as humans must endure the loss of our furred friends many times during our lives.

After 15 1/2 years, Molly, our faithful wiener dog became decrepit enough that she no longer could lead a misery free life and we had to put her down. She died as peaceful death as I have ever seen, in the arms of The Saint That I Am Married To. 

The Saint and I were both sniveling like bitches.  The vet was kind enough to leave us alone for a few minutes to get our act together before sneaking out of the front door.

We knew this was coming, Molly had been getting worse for quite some time. Her sight, her hearing, her situational awareness and her ability to be a dog were just not there any more. Two nights of illness closed the deal, it was time.

My original plan was to bury her in the back yard. Our smallish yard and the possibility of a future owner digging up a wiener dog skeleton while working on a landscaping project precluded that option. That and the illegality of the act.

The thought of her laying in a plastic garbage bag and being disposed of in a landfill, rendering plant or some other mass disposal facility was unacceptable as well. Thus, we opted to have her individually cremated.

A few days later, the vet called and said that Molly's remains were ready to be picked up. I had no idea that her ashes would be in a little cedar box and that we would receive a plaster cast of her little paw print. I had no desire for either, nut now that we have them, I am most grateful.

As I write this, I miss her. No so much the old decrepit Molly, or the destructive part of young Molly. Those times were what they were.

I miss the loyal, playful Molly, the faithful companion who kept my wife company while I was away at work or deployed to places far away. I miss the camping Molly and the good Jeepdog who was fun to have hanging around.

I don't know where dogs go after they die. It seems kind of presumptuous to think that we humans can be worthy of a heavenesque afterlife and that dogs cannot. I just hope that she is in a better place - she is most certainly worthy of it.

I miss you Molly