The Waiting Games

You've heard of The Hunger Games. Now, welcome to The Waiting Games! The Weekend approacheth, and verily, we are stuck. At least no centurions are coming to kill us that we know of. But maybe I should get me a bow and arrows and start practicing.

We are still checking to see if the Town and Country 2005 van is the real deal. We're holding firm, asking for extras (such as tow hitch, switching over the brakes), and we got them down to our price after quoting blue book, etc. Still checking some details, but we may leave with a van.

But we're not betting on it. We now have the Greyhound bus schedule figured out if we can get to the bus station. We're on the wrong side of the tracks here (as usual for us), so Scott will have to hike it while Jeanie watches the pooch and works online. (Wonder what my students would think if they knew?)

We're planning to go to Salt Lake City and see my old friend Sandra Sanders from our Shiloh commune days in San Francisco. If we have a van, great, but if not, shopping there is lots easier!

The soonest we could probably leave is Wednesday.

Today, after I got some work done, we decided to take a stroll in the sunny gale winds. We couldn't figure any way out of the "campground" (I use this term with reservation--yes, very punny). Finally, we climbed a fence, which involved lifting a dog and other embarrassing moments.

 

Fences everywhere

We strolled around the crumbling sidewalks, HUD apartments, desperate attempts at tiny yards and shivering trees down to a park, a valiant attempt at grass and kiddie toys. There were even actual kiddies playing on it.

In the park was a monument to one Isidore Bolten, who was responsible for the park and died the year I was born. A Russian who came over here at 20, he ended up making a fortune in livestock. He wanted the park for the south side children.

A quote: It is remarkable that there is a place in this distressed world where a penniless alien, knowing not a word of the language can work out a place for himself....I would be grateful to America even if she had given me nothing, but she's been kind to me beyond my wildest dreams. I've been most fortunate.

Suddenly, there was gravitas for me, though I couldn't help thinking of just how bad things must have been in Russia. He might have come over around the time my grandfather's family booked out of the Ukraine.

Rawlins was all about the railroads, and we've seen some great trains. It also seems that the big industries are prisons and outlaws. There's an old prison, and a Halloween night tour. Drat--I think we'll miss it if we can.

In wild contrast to Isidore Bolten, there's was a "famous" outlaw was Big Nose George Parrot, and they hung him. Check this out from Wikipedia!





The death of Big Nose George faded into history over the years until May 11, 1950, when construction workers unearthed a whiskey barrel filled with bones while working on the Rawlins National Bank on Cedar Street in Rawlins. Inside the barrel was a skull with the top sawed off, a bottle of vegetable compound, and the shoes said to have been made from Parrott's thigh flesh. Dr. Lillian Heath, then in her eighties, was contacted and her skull cap was sent to the scene. It was found to fit the skull in the barrel perfectly, and DNA testing later confirmed the remains were those of Big Nose George. Today the shoes made from the skin of Big Nose George are on permanent display at the Carbon County Museum in Rawlins, together with the bottom part of the outlaw's skull and Big Nose George's earless death mask. The shackles used during the hanging of the outlaw, as well as the skull cap, are on show at the Union Pacific Museum in Omaha, Nebraska. The medicine bag made from his skin has never been found.





There's a death mask of him in the museum that maybe we can get to if we stop being sick and the wind gives us a break.

Scott sat outside and worked on carving his boat cleats. Right now, he's doing marlin spike work which is basically a kind of macrame but very fancy and cool. Me, I write blogs and grade students. We did sit on the porch of the main building (it's sheltered) and play some Cajun tunes together. Way fun, but we've gotten rusty!

This evening, the beautiful moon came out, and we saw a white-tailed, blond colored deer way off. We had binoculars and after looking at him, we scanned the town far down the hill, realizing that there actually is a better part of town with trees and stuff. Now I'm itching to get down there.

      Mmm, dinner!                        Huge moon should be up tomorrow night!

 
The cooler is finally getting low on food (a good thing since there's no ice), but we have lots of cans of stuff and candied ginger. Where's that bow and those arrows? Gotta channel Katniss and go kill us a deer or prairie dog or somethin'. Not going to be picking up any shoes, whiskey, or medicine bags here. But there's always Isidore--a chance to be grateful, and we are for all of you who have been in touch.

Night, night, T-Lou!