Traveling Through The Backroads Of My Mind

Bodie Diary - Sunday June 21, 2009

Sunday! My most interesting day in Bodie to date! Sunny day, warm for the most part. It wasn't too long in the museum before a man came in while Jenna was out and I was lone in the museum. He asked me if we had oxygen - his friend was lying down in the middle of Main Street, Bodie, with breathing difficulties. I radioed Chris, who radioed Mark L. The man managed to get up and come into the museum, but was disoriented and panting. He asked me where the bathroom was and I suggested the outhouse which is closer than the flush toilets in the parking lot. I told him to wait for his buddy to go with him. by the time I got his buddy, he had disappeared. Fortunately, he had just wandered off the boardwalk to the side of the building. He appeared delierious and disoriented. At my insistence, he finally laid down on the bench in front of the museum and I talked to him. His breathing was labored and he was very pail, but he could talk. He obviously felt better lying down exerting no energy. He described feeling knots in his stomach, tingling hands, lightheadedness, and thought maybe he had food poisoning from the previous night's dinner. I told him even the nausea was signs of altitude sickness.

As the man felt better he began laughing outloud. The humour of his situation hit him. He had been at altitude many times, hiked, and more, and never had any symptoms before. The more he talked to me, the more he relaxed and felt better. At last Mark L. came and gave him and his friend a ride to the parking lot with advise to get to lower altitude, even possibly moving to Bishop instead of Bridgeport.

This seemed to set the tone for the day. We had reports of boys jumping the fence and messing around in the stamp mill. The jar of representing finely crushed rock used on the interpretive tours,turned up missing later on - only remnants of it's contents spilt on the floor. More than likely the result of the mischievious kids. Later in the day Chris caught more young boys inside the mill area and her shouts scared them so much they hopped over the fence and ran down to Main Street like scared rabbits. Reports were going over our radios like crazy, and we all flew from different directions to head them off at the pass. Jenna and Randy caught them near the Boone Store...and gave them a lecture which scared them to death. I guess they were too ignorant to realize they weren't supposed to be in the mine area even though the fences and signs tell them to stay away.

Some time during this crazy day, Jenna and I found ourselves busy with hoards of people in the museum/ Miner's Union Hall, when word came over the radio that Mike had cut his finger on a lathe and needed first aid. Mark L. wound up taking him down to Mammoth hospital where he wound up most of the afternoon and evening.

At Jenna's lunch time, Jordan and I manned the museum. A man and his daughter appeared at the desk and announced that they were relatives of Pat Reddy, the famous one armed lawyer of Bodie, and Cerro Gordo fame. We exchanged information, and I sold him a silver Seekers book by Remi Nadeau so he could learn more about Pat Reddy and the ghost town of Cerro Gordo, which he was not aware of. The daughter, Lilly, about ten years old, was proud of her heritage and enjoyed talking history with me. We will be in touch again. Jenna came back from lunch and handed them a Bodie resident form to fill out for Terri's research program.

It was Save Our State Parks Day and people were requested to wear green and get pictures of themselves holding signs. Jenna and I worked througout the day on a panorama version with different people holding a sign with one of the words Save Our State Parks. We stood in front of our favorite place in Bodie holding the word, then Jenna posted it on the SOS site later in the evening. During our photo session, we also played around with ghost pictures in the Miller House. The ghosts we saw looked a lot like Cecile & Jenna ;-)

At the end of the day, Jenna, Jordan and I decided since Mike was still down in the hospital at Mammoth having his thumb tended to, we would have a girls night. Jenna's housemate, Debbie, would join us. Debbie and I headed in my van to pick up Jordan at the Moyle House where she lives. But before we could get there we had to head off vehicles parked at the kiosk after hours. No harm done - just tourists getting pictures from a distance since they got there too late for a real visit.

Jenna lives in the Garrity House and while it is different, the warmth and friendliness of Jenna and Mike's presence in their reminds me of the Belshaw House in Cerro Gordo. Jenna and Jordan cooked corn chowder and pumpkin waffles. The four of us girls took turns munching on the waffles as fast as they could come off of the electric waffle iron. They were delicious! Chowder done, we moved to the dining table and enjoyed it and more waffles. We must have been a sight in our jammies, pigging out on waffles and chowder in the old house, laughing and talking. Jenna loaded up the pictures she had taken of us during the day, and we laughed over them, while Debbie watched Jeremiah Johnson on a small tv in the living room.

We were all ready to make a real girls night of it, and go to sleep and wait for the ghosts...when Mike suddenly showed up with his thumb bandaged from his run - in with the lathe. We fed him corn chowder and made fun of his thumb. With Mike back, Jenna wanted to go back to Milk Ranch for the night with him, and Jordan was already half way out the door and on her way to the Moyle house on foot in the darkness of the Bodie night. Debbie watched Jeremiah Johnson, while I loaded Jenna and Mike in the van and we headed back to Milk Ranch to call it a night at our individual campsites.

Just another Sunday in Bodie, California!

Bodie Diary - Saturday June 20, 2009

The sky was clear, the wind was light and chilly. I couldn't quite make out the thermometer but it was below freezing for sure. It never did warm up as nice as yesterday, but it was a pretty day with clouds occasionally dotting the sky. As I sit here tonight before the sun dips down, the clouds threaten once again to build up and close in on the mining town of the Sierras that I have called my home for over a week now.

It was a work day in the museum. I dusted the cases with collections from an era gone by. I sold books, maps, brochures, post cards & more. I folded t-shirt after t-shirt and put out for sale. Jenna was with me and we worked well together. We made friends with two puppies and their owners and yearned for our own fur babies left behind. The town was full of dogs it seemed, who walked beside owners curious and peering in and out of century old buildings left in arrested decay.

At break, I consoled a disturbed co-worker and realized that some things probably haven't changed all that much in the modern century. Human nature has tendancies hard to grow rid of.

Jordan and I tried to learn how to run the video in the Red Barn Theater upon instruction by James, but proved electronically challenged, particularly me.

Back at the museum we sold more items, gave out more information, and calmed an unhappy man who felt he had not been given enough information on a stamp mill tour. We got him on Debbie's 4:00 extended tour and he was still upset over things, Debbie in particular. Seeing potential for more problems, I horned in on the tour, chatted with him before it started, and walked back to main Street with him afterwards. Whatever damage had been done at the kiosk when he entered Bodie, was forgotten by Debbie's excellent tour. She may not be completely catching on at the kiosk but she certainly has the stamp mill and history talk down.

Back at camp in my crib on wheels - I tried wireless for the first time - with as little luck as I had at the Red Barn. I took to my pen and paper to tuck away the days journal and gave up on the computer altogether. My friends back home surely are wondering what happened to me. Ah modern techonologies in an old town.

Bodie Diary - Thursday June 18, 2009 & Friday June 19th, 2009
Thursday June 18, 2009

Headed into town just as the kiosk announced the Red hat Ladies were arriving, so I hooked up with them and took Terri's wonderful tour. Highlights: the town jail, Lottie Johl's, the rangers residence being restored, and the cemetery. Absolutely wonderful tour! There will be some kids talking about the ghost of Lottie preventing them from opening an unlocked door - gee - I wonder who that was?

The red hat Ladies were delightful locals from Coleville and such who were full of their own tales of old buildings and antiques and history. Terri did a great job of tying in Bodie's history with the area these ladies live in: 12 mile stage and freight stops through their areas which supplied many of the needed goods that the old mining town couldn't grow in it's harsh high desert climate.

Following the tour with the Red Hat ladies - I had a little lunch in the office with no luck hooking up to the internet. Frustrated with that...I grabbed my Poag Town Guides and looked over closely the section of Main Street near the Miners Union. I was particular fond of the building that housed one of the newspaper offices. And I loved the covered outside staircase!

I noticed James hauling tables towards the red barn so offered a helping hand at setting up for the small community of Bodie's first Deadwood night. A little ghostly conversation afterwards with James, Terri, and Chris, then back to Milk Ranch just for a bit before going back in to town for the night's fun and food.

No rain today. This is the warmest we've had since I arrived. It did rain last night however and things are quite wet and buggy. No see-ums have come out with a vengance. Hopefully they haven't discovered me.

Tacos and Deadwood at 6:30 in the Red Barn. Great to have some real food instead of canned! Little bit of fun and meeting before watching Deadwood, of course. We picked Indian names for each other, talked about FOB day and Fourth of July. Watched half of Deadwood's first show. I think it was the only one I had ever seen, so when Chris left I asked her to walk out with me and make sure my van lights worked before taking off for Milk Ranch and my crib on wheels.

Friday June 19th, 2009

Woke up with the sunshine around 6:30 A.M. No clouds in sight, what a blessing!! Tended to breakfast and my morning chores around my little camp, then off to town. Checked in with Jenna to let her know I was not going to be working with her after all today. then off to the staff parking lot where I met Chris and we headed into Bridgeport.

We stepped into the archive vault at the Mono County Court House and back in time. Finding the right record books took some doing, but at last we did. Excitement at finding Rosa may, Ernst Marks, Eli Johl records for properties and taxes. No death records for Rosa. In the Mono County Museum, however, we found record of Rosa in their archives. Chris took pictures of everything and we took notes as well..

Lunch in Bridgeport - hamburger for me and fish taco for Chris. Stopped in the store but they only hadiceburg lettuce, so we passed on that and got drinks and cinamon rolls for breakfast.

Back in Bodie once again, Chris took me to her house where we chatted about our days find, then decided to look at the two cribs north of town that have been melded together into a larger cabin. We had the wrong keys with us, so had to make the trek twice, even then the chain to the door gave us a bit of trouble, but we finally got the door open just enough to squeeze through. It was dark, and yes, ghostly inside, but we made out the rose wall paper and layers of more designs on the walls. We looked for doors and windows to compare with Piatt's book (pictures). Not totally convinced they are the same buildings, but you never know.

I ended my day with Chris and trekked back to my van. At Milk Ranch Jenna and Mike were bbqing and I offered my salmon for the feast. Mike had made a mango teriyaki sauce for tofu. I asked him to brush the sauce on my salmon as well and it was quite good. Good food, new friends, fun and laughter in "The Bodie Projects"

Now the evening darkens the wind brings the temperatures down and I sit and record my day. Rosa, Ernst, and Eli are real and I am happy to have the opportunity to meet them at last!

Bodie Diary - Wednesday June 17, 2009 & Misc. Notes

The clouds burst off and on through the night making for a wet morning. The Bodie weatherman and weatherlady, Laird and Terri G. are way off the mark once again with their predictions. Following my 1/2 a cinnamon raisin bagel and cream cheese breakfast I head into town for a day off on my own - no particular schedule. Bodie time is 4 days work 3 days off...and I'm off....

As I head down muddy roads towards the Red Barn, I hear Chris calling for me on the radio. I meander down towards the kiosk to see what's up. Chris is quite excited - one of her first drive up visitors may be a missing link in one of our red light lady histories we are working on! What are the chances he would come in to visit Bodie when I am up there! We have his contact info! And when I met him on his way out of Bodie...I agreed...there definitely is a family resemblance! This could possibly change history as we know it!!!!

After the rush of people coming in to Bodie today, I walked with Chris back to town and then took off to Virgin Alley and Maiden Lane. Along the way I stopped at Lottie Johl's house and wondered over her somewhat tragic ending to her life. Lottie is one of the many red light ladies Terri, Chris, & I have a fondness for and are researching...but no it wasn't her relative that drove in to town today.

Wildlife Notes:
6/16/2009 A.M: Gull engulfs a belding ground squirrel behind the barn. I watched as the poor belding bulged down the gulls neck just like a snake eating a mouse. Nasty gull!

6/17/2009 Afternoon: A family of 8-10 belding ground squirrels poked their heads out of a burrow in the ground between Jenna's house (The Garrity) and the remnants of the Fouke House. A few brave ones run a foot away from the burrow then come back - very brave! But if I got too close they'd all pop their heads back in the hole until I froze in my tracks. Then suddenly as if one had called "All Clear! one by one the baby beldings would peer back out and wonder at the big bad world around them.

6/17/09 A deer romps on a path from the cemetery cautiously watching the visitors - then continues on it's journey over the hill - also saw two deer one night over the weekend when Roger was here. They were not far from Milk Ranchwhere I camp.

6/15/2009? Jenna notes a falcon flying over Main Street in front of the Miner's Union Hall aas she and I are talking during a quiet moment when no tourists were keeping us busy in the museum.

* Innumerable bunnies here and there all over town.

* Jenna said she stepped on a small (baby) unidentified snake on her way back from her house at lunch. Awfully cold for the little buggers!

* Innumerable birds all over town making nests in the overhang of some of the old buildings. Swallows! Particularly at the Wheaton Hollis! Woodpecker likes the wooden shower building that my crib on wheels is parked next to at Milk Ranch.

* A few cows watch us in the distance on the other side of the road from Milk ranch

*So far the evenings are quiet - no coyotes, wolves, flamingoes or bear sounds just occasional rain or hail and when Roger was here over the weekend.....S N O R I N G!!!!!

Communications:
No internet thanks to intermittant cloud cover
No cell phone service in town or Milk Ranch
Use office phone after hours - buzzing sound in background but able to talk to Roger for first time on 6-17-2009 Also called Mom.

Misc:
Dinner the first night was with Jenna and Mike in their house and an excellent veggie lasagna!
Third night dinner was at Laird's Rv.
New friends - Jordan, Terri E., Randy & James!

Monday & Tuesday June 15th & 16th Milk Ranch - Bodie, California

Monday June 15th

The gentle rain has stopped as I at last sit by battery lantern curled in my white "motel" chair all comfy and cozy inside my crib on wheels. The temperature reads 48 degrees inside. The darkness of the evening has set in outside forbidding a view of the chill outside my windows. No mind - here between quilt and blanket, long underwear beneath my favorite pajamas, and knitted vest over thermal top, I keep the chill at bay.

My trip began on Thursday, following a Bon Voyage given the night before at Yellow Cottage. just tonight, I finally have time for cinnamon apple tea and pen to paper. It is my first night at Milk Ranch by myself and I revel in the solitude.

Tuesday June 16th

From my van window the clouds hover over the Bodie Hills once again. Thunder could be heard echoing across the bowl earlier this evening and obvious rain to the south of us, perhaps at mono Lake or Mono Mills where lumber was harvested for fuel for the mining town. Little water rained down on Bodie today, although it remained cold and cloudy most of the day once again, and a brief hail storm pelted the boardwalk of the Miners Union Hall during the afternoon.

The first day of official work at the museum today. Thanks to training by Jenna, I felt comfortable enough to let Laird take off once in awhile. A Grahm Car Club came in to tour the old town and filled the Miner's Union during the hail storm, keeping us crazy busy. The day was full of tourists - Canadian, British, French, German, Netherlands and more. One man from the car club came from Tujunga and we shared hometown histories as well as Bodie's.

Near closing time for the museum James Watson author of "Bodie High Sierra Town" stopped in and talked with Terri G. He was gracious enough to linger awhile so I could retrieve my copy of the book from my large collection inside my van parked in the employee parking lot. We chatted about Rosa May a bit, and I gave him info about my website.

Back at Milk Ranch after my days shift, I did a little house work, then dined on pita bread stuffed with cheese and lunch meat, then picked up Terri's book hot off the press, and marvelled at pictures I had never seen before.

As the clouds cover more of the twilight sky, my light fades and I struggle to see my handwritten word. The Standard Mill, prominent in the distance, is barely recognizable amongst the high desert sage and the tailings from the mines nearby. Soon a light or two will appear from the unrecognizable board structures that house modern day Bodie residents employed by the California State Parks.

There's not a lot of meter but there's a little bit of rhyme.....
sing this with a crusty voice in a tune that knows no time and it won't matter..;-) this is the first thing I've really had any gumption to write about in a month or so...better than nothin I guess.....


Can I Undo The Damage
by Cecile Page Vargo

[]


Can I undo the damage
Of a century or more in time
Snow, wind, and ravage
Ore no longer worth a dime

I wander down the dusty road
And hear the voices cry
I see the humble wood abode
Where a lonely miner die

The lady beside his bed
She held his weakened hand
She had no respect, they said
But she met the man’s demand

And in the end the town
Is all that's left to remain
Tattered and torn around
And rusting with the rain

The sun rises in the night
The moon sets in the day
A topsy turvy world of miner's blight
What else is left to say?

Bury my weary bone
Beneath the sagebrush land
Pick and shovel all alone
Leave me to the sand

As the coyotes howl
The winds will blow
Bury the silenced jowel
In a land refused to grow

It’s a lonely life in the mining town
With ghosts the only life
But the story that remains around
Is worth all the strife……

The children run around
Laughing on a warm summer day
Playing on the hallowed ground
Where the lonely miner and lady lay

Their voices haunt the very hill
Where the ore was pulled out of the hole
But none are quite aware of the will
Of the depths of the buried soul

The tourists come from countries
Far and wide around the earth's globe
Staring at leftover sundries
And a lady's abandoned robe

But few can really feel
What the miner and lady did
And they go home with a lost ideal
That time and history often hid

It's my job to preserve it
For some morbid sense of past
I've got to keep the candle lit
Before the last shadow is finally cast

Cecile

Well behaved women rarely make history....Laurel Thatcher Ulrich

Explore Historic California www.explorehistoricalif.com

Brandy Murtha Wondering why I am here, as in on this planet, in this body, living this life? What is the point of it all?

Cecile Vargo at 10:15pm April 4
You are here because it's better than living on mars and you can breathe the air here. You are here because you have two little boys that you created that love and need you. You are here because Your Dad, Roger & I love you! The point of it all doesn't make sense all the time...but the world is definitely a better place because you are here!!!!! I Love You!!!! Cecile Vargo at 10:23pm April 4
You are here because several years ago your Daddy brought you & your little brother to my house and I immediately fell in love with you...you made a big difference in my life at a time when I needed to know why I was here ;-)

Got Sunshine - a crazy song to chase the blues away


We've Got Sunshine
by Cecile Page Vargo


We’ve got sunshine
We’ve got moon shine
We’ve got all times
Bad and Good

Let the sun shine
Let the moon shine
Let the cloud times
Blow Away

Your mood will glisten
With the rain drops
Even when they
Come and go
Life will be good
You’ll be dancin’
And the flowers
Will bloom and grow!!!!

We’ve got sunshine
We’ve got moon shine
We’ve got all times
Bad and Good

Let the sun shine
Let the moon shine
Let the cloud times
Blow Away

Sing the blues now
And claps your hands
Tap your feet
And dance to tune
You’ll find the blues
Have turn to yellows
And the crying…
Will turn to smiles….

We’ve got sunshine
We’ve got moon shine
We’ve got all times
Bad and Good

Let the sun shine
Let the moon shine
Let the cloud times
Blow Away

There ain’t nothin’
That a little sunshine
And the bright moon
On that darkest day and night
Can’t bring your feet to
A Little Dancin’ And a song
To make your blues
Turn to sunlight

We’ve got sunshine
We’ve got moon shine
We’ve got all times
Bad and Good

Let the sun shine
Let the moon shine
Let the cloud times
Blow Away




Now tap your feet now
And sing it with me
One more time
And then again
I want to see those
Lonesome frown lines
Turn back into
A Big old Grin

We’ve got sunshine
We’ve got moon shine
We’ve got all times
Bad and Good

Let the sun shine
Let the moon shine
Let the cloud times
Blow Away

One more time now...

We’ve got sunshine
We’ve got moon shine
We’ve got all times
Bad and Good

Let the sun shine
Let the moon shine
Let the cloud times
Blow Away

And one more time yet again...

We’ve got sunshine
We’ve got moon shine
We’ve got all times
Bad and Good

Let the sun shine
Let the moon shine
Let the cloud times
Blow Away

whooo.....hooooooo... y'all feel better now don't ya?

Cecile

You Are My Sunshine
By Cecile Page Vargo

Life got tough for a couple of hours and she couldn't explain it away. She grabbed her friend Eleanor, the beauty with the faint moustache that made her smile and teased the men at the gambling tables....and together they headed out of town on foot. Not too far out the muleskinner with his great freight wagon and his large team of mules offered them a ride. That evening they camped at his wagon.

It was a balmy night with a hint of summer in the early spring air. The sky was pitch black and moonless...but the logs on the campfire lit just enough. The desert wind subsided for the evening, but the strains of the mule skinner's sad and lonely fiddle playing permeated the air. The girls sat across from him holding each other and singing an off key:

“You Are my sunshine my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are grey
You never know dear how much I love you
Please don’t take my sunshine away……”

to go with his sad version of the song. The coyotes howled in the distant mountains in mournful unison.

When the sounds stopped the girls had a tear drop, one in each dark eye. They held each other tightly, staring into the campfire watching the flames through a blur. The muleskinner stood up and poked and prodded the fire just a bit then poured himself a cup of strong coffee from the old spackled pot. While he slowly sipped his coffee Eleanor remembered the cards she always kept in her pocket and brought them out for a game. The girls gambled for stones until the muleskinner picked up the violin again. The strains were lively this time, and soon two sets of female feet began moving in time to it. Before you know it, they were gathering their skirts and rising from the sandy ground. They took each others hands and began spinning each other around and laughing hysterically. As they spun, the muleskinner fiddled all the faster, occasionally bellowing a loud “Gee haw!”

The frenzy went on till the moonlight finally peaked. As the darkness disappeared the fiddle stopped and the girls plopped down on the ground their petticoats flying in the air for a brief moment as they did so. Eleanor reached in her pocket once again, and took a silver flask to lips for a long hard swig. She wiped the dribble from her chin, and passed it on, the friend and the muleskinner took turns and did exactly the same.

The muleskinner picked up the fiddle once again and began the sour notes of his original song once again in an even more somber tune than before. The girls listened, again with a tear in each dark eye, as his sorrowful voice accompanied his own fiddling:.

"The other nite, dear,
As I lay sleeping
I dreamed I held you in my arms.
When I awoke, dear,
I was mistaken
And I hung my head and cried.
You are my sunshine,
My only sunshine.
You make me happy
When skies are grey.
You'll never know, dear,
How much I love you.
Please don't take my sunshine away.
I'll always love you
And make you happy
If you will only say the same
But if you leave me
To love another
You'll regret it all some day;
You are my sunshine,
My only sunshine.
You make me happy
When skies are grey.
You'll never know, dear,
How much I love you.
Please don't take my sunshine away.
You told me once, dear
You really loved me
And no one else could come between
But now you've left me
And love another
You have shattered all my dreams;
You are my sunshine,
My only sunshine.
You make me happy
When skies are grey.
You'll never know, dear,
How much I love you.
Please don't take my sunshine away.
Louisiana my Louisiana
the place where I was borne.


As the last verse was completed, the flask went around one more time. The muleskinner wobbled to the wagon and tossed out a bedpack which he gave to the girls. He took a jacket for a pillow, and soon was passed out on the still warm sand. The girls shared the bedpack until just before sunrise…then slipped back in to town before the muleskinner opened his eyes. The song remained in the hearts of the girls and the sad off key version became the favorite with the men who’s eyes they caught the fancy of night after night. The muleskinner woke to a solitary campfire breakfast then hitched his mules and went off with his freight to the next destination with nary a tune in his head, and nary a memory of the dancing and sunshine in the dark of the desert night before the moonrise.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lruZz91_anQ

What a weird night I had. I dreamed Roger & Tim Gardner from Facebook & I drove up to Bodie. We were up in Terri's office sitting at her desk with a couple of folders of history we had found and wanted to share with her. But before we could give her the folders she had a huge pile of folders she threw on top of my folders with history she wanted us to go through. There was incredible stuff in those folders, we were all just drooling over it. Then suddenly Tim's wife and daughter came up and joined us out of nowhere...except these people didn't look like his real life wife and daughter which sort of confused me, because this dream was as real as if it was happening. The wife was silver headed with a page boy cut, and the daughter was 16 or 17 with red curly hair. We went downstairs and everything was decked out with red black and white and silver - balloons, cloth tablecloths, etc. Terri was getting ready for a black tie fundraiser. People were at the door lining to come in and they were all dressed up. It was strange seeing the streets of Bodie full of people dressed formally and all the women in high heels. We had to go back to our motel and change into our victorian costumes and come back. Next thing I remember I was in the back of the 4-runner waking up out of a dead sleep. Roger & Tim and his family were in the front and we were back at the red barn again. I thought about all of those files we were going through and I was really confused...it was so real..but now it appeared to be a dream. I asked everybody what was going on and they said I was really tired and had gone to sleep, but yes, it had all really happened, and I was just amazed and couldn't wait to get my hands on those files again. We went through the crowds of fancy dressed people and back upstairs to your office. This time Terri handed me a huge stack of thank you card size envelopes all addressed to her I can plainly see Terri's name in handwriting on each of those envelopes. I was starting to go through those and find out what they were and why in the heck Terri wanted me to go through her personal mail..when another couple came in. I was trying to tell them about all the folders of history and what I had seen, while going through those little envelopes, and how I had fallen asleep and thought it was all a dream, but wasn't. They were interested, but they were also too busy with each other ...they were eating oranges and making out... That was about the time I suddenly in real life woke up out of the deadest sleep and realized the whole damned thing was a dream. I dreamed I had a dream...which made sense but was really disappointed because up until that couple started making out and eating oranges this was as real as life to me. Sure wish I had those folders with all that history. I can still see them..just can't make out the words and the pictures...they are fuzzy, darn it!

In the darkest hours of the wee early morning I wake with grey clouds wafting through my brain...threatening their doom and gloom. I toss and turn with troubled as the storm begins to brew. How will we get through...what will we do? I sit up full awake and gather all the thoughts, then wander through the house checking on Madame who is safe and secure in her furry bed on the bench underneath the oak kitchen table. Another cat or two stirs, and follows me as I make these restless rounds. A peek outside the window and it's still as dark at night...and way too early for even the early birds to be singing their morning songs. With cumbersome feet I shuffle my way back to bed...squeezing in the tiny space that is left after 95 pounds of dog has suddenly taken over next to my husband. 20 pounds of white Darwin cat invariably jumps on me and cuddles half on me and half on the Ho dog.

I struggle with the denim comforter disturbing the animals, as I twist and turn some more to get settled. The Ho Dog finally gets the message and moves to the couch by the closet which is hers. Darwin fights with me a bit, then settles with a purr as I eventually settle myself. I close my eyes, and struggle some more with the dark grey clouds that threaten. Just before they burst into storm, I find myself magically transported to a remote mountain top underneath the Jefferson pine in the tiniest of dome tents. I'm there by myself, curled inside my heaviest sleeping bag.

The pine trees hum with the turbulent breeze in the atmosphere above...occassionally...a gust or two threatening to flatten the tent around me. The clouds begin to cry in tiny droplets that pitter patter on the rain fly, which protects me from their tears. I concentrate on the darkness and the rain now turned to hail. Nature's turmoil sheilds me from the storm within myself....and a I drift off to sleep for a few more hours until the sunshines through my bedroom window here at Yellow Cottage. I am refreshed at last, and ready to start a new day.

BODIE MINING CAMP GONE TO THE GHOSTS



MARCH WWW.EXPLOREHISTORICALIF.COM

CHECK IT OUT NOW!!!!!

The Coffin Blues

by Cecile Page Vargo

Take this coffin….
Examine real closely!
Look at what!
It has to say!
Who was meant to?
Lie in it?
What did they?
Say and Do????

It’s got history….
If you look for it!
Find what’s buried!
Underneath!
Crime and mystery!
Love and lust!
Or were they just?
So very.....
Straight and Sweet????

There’s a story….
In this old coffin!
Just a crawling!
To get outside!
Grab your shovel!
A pen and paper!
Let’s start digging!
Way down deep and…
Dirty inside!

There are ghosts that…
Know those stories!
That were meant to!
Lie in that box!
But they haunt me!
And they taunt me!
I can hear them!
As they make!
That mournful cry!

Grab a pick axe!
And that shovel!
And that old
Writing pen!
Let’s pry it open!
For histories mysteries!
And the story…..
Will begin!!!!!

I Know Why The Falcon Fly


On the day we buried my friend, Pam, a falcon flew just as the last words were said over her entire family. Her husband had killed them all, including himself, but the falcon told us she was free and safe at last. Since that day…a falcon or hawk appears regularly to me at crucial times in my life…and I know all is well.

On the day after a rainy spell, perhaps a year or so later, the air was still chilly, and damp. I grabbed a quilt and sat under a homemade rose arbor where I had a bench. I was engrossed in a fictional account of a woman who chose a new life and a new identity so she would not be a victim of spousal abuse at the hands of her policeman husband. I was in tears through most of it, thinking of my beloved friend and her two teenage boys. Suddenly, a disturbance in the sky above caught my eye. It was two crows circling a falcon and teasing it. Instantly, I was at peace….Pam was looking over me.

On many a day, I traveled the backcountry leading tours and I was often greeted with a falcon or hawk along the way….and I smiled. On one particular trip we were headed into Kernville for a river rafting jaunt. I spied the falcon and felt comforted, once again. Later when our raft was turned over in an almost class IV rapid, I realized that Pam was with me once again, trying to tell me that I would have a little adventure…and I was safe.

On the day my son was to go to trial for a car accident in which one person was killed, as we drove past Hansen Dam on the 210, a falcon flew over our vehicle and once again I knew Pam was guiding me and I laughed. Minutes before we had left the house, the phone rang, and they had released my son because there was new evidence that a third vehicle had been involved and had hit and ran. We still had a long road ahead of us…but ultimately my son was out of the woods….and the falcon’s timely appearance as we went to pick him up from the courthouse where he never stood trial…I was at peace.

On the day we went to Cerro Gordo with a tour, the first one after the owner of the old town had died, two falcons flew over before we hit the Yellow Grade Road….and then again at the cemetery where Jody was buried. Before my friend was so tragically killed, I had offered her a safe house at Cerro Gordo, not realizing that she really needed one. Had she done so she would have been alive and perhaps on this trip with me. Now the two falcons laughed at me and provided comfort and I realized that Jody and Pam had met up at last, and all was well and good.

On the day we went to Bodie, years later, at the start of the stamp mill tour, before Ranger Chris could don her Mrs. Hoover hat and take us back to the early 1900’s, a falcon landed on one of the tin buildings and watched us the whole time. Pam looked after me at my “other” ghosttown, as well, and I was comforted, and mildly amused at the same time.

On the day we took a group to the ghosttown of Masonic, I slipped down a dirt road to the side, by myself. The little clearing between the road and the meadow was the site where my 6 month old dog Jake had experienced his first camping trip and finally realized that he was supposed to lift his leg to pee instead of squat like his big doggie sister Jessie. The log he learned to lift his leg on was long gone, but the clearing was still there and evidence that many had camped in our private little spot over the years since. It was several years later, and a few months after we had put Jake down at the ripe old age of 15 ½. As I said a prayer for Jake, and shed a tear or two, two smaller birds, perhaps prairie falcons, swooped over me and around me then landed in the aspens. I knew in an instant, it wasn’t Pam, nor was it Jody…it was my beloved dogs, and they wanted me to know they were happy and free and I no longer worried.

On the day I walked the mouth of Big Tujunga Canyon with my friend Erin, I told her these stories and a few more…about the falcon or hawk that followed me when I needed them most in my life. Suddenly, Erin was shouting, “Look, Cecile, there’s one now!” and I smiled.

On this day, as I opened my kitchen door with trash in my hand to take to the bin, I heard the crows…and I heard another bird. At first I thought it was a water fowel on it’s way to the wash, since we had seen several on our walk a couple of days ago. Then I heard the cry more distinctly, and realized it was the sound of a bird of prey. I watched as the crows circled the neighbor's pine tree over and over and cackled and cawed. Then finally I saw it…the falcon sat on a branch way up high, waiting to tell me…"don’t worry….times are hard right now with the economy and Roger’s unemployment…but I am here as always…and all will be well" I called Roger to see...but the bird was on it's way, making his familiar sound.

I know why the falcon fly….. and they are my bird of P R A Y……

Cecile
Well behaved women rarely make history - Laurel Thatcher Ulrich


http://explorehistoricalif.com/cerro_memories.html

http://explorehistoricalif.com/august2007.html

A Tale Of Two Prostitutes Parts 1-4

Chapter One
Perhaps We’ll Call This One Westward Ho

In the early hours of the evening as the sun set and the shadows faded until another day, she retired early to her private quarters, secure in the knowledge that her girls would take care of the house for her in the most active hours of the night. Slowly she pulled off her dressing layers examining herself in the mirror as she did so. Yes, she was thicker around the middle, and sagging in places, particularly her breasts, yet she still retained some semblance of a figure to be proud of considering her advancing years. She gazed into her own tired brown eyes staring back at her in the mirror, content to see a bit of a lively twinkle still left in them. The ever deepening crowsfeet that framed the corners of her eyes served as badges of the humor that had seen her through all that life had brought her, and she was as proud of them as she was of her somewhat lowly stature in life as an aging madame.

There she stood, stripped to her pantaloons and chemise, free and comfortable with who she was. One by one she carelessly pulled out the pins that bound her hair, then shook her head to reveal shoulder length masses of frizz in various shades of salt and pepper. Her timeworn hands ran through the tangled mess, then she took a brush to it. After a few long moments, she sat the brush on the antiquated oak dresser and considered it done.

A small quilt hung on the foot board of the rather simple brass and iron bed that had stood the time and test of her lifetime trade. She grabbed the quilt and a book that sat on top of the black leather traveling trunk in front of the scrolled foot board. In a corner, a white painted Wakefield rocker awaited her tired body. She wrapped the quilt around her shoulders, and sat down, placing her book unopened on her lap. For just a brief moment she assured herself, she would lay her head back to rest on the rocker and close her eyes.

In spite of what had been whispered about restrained border-lined abusive years, Rosa had actually grown up as the spoiled only child of a working class Pennsylvania parents. She was pampered and well loved by not only her mother and father, but a plethora of aunts, uncles, and two sets of healthy grandparents. There was really nothing wrong with her life to speak of, and she had no reason to complain, but somehow she yearned for more than her large extended family could give her. The day she turned sixteen, following a perfectly nice birthday celebration, she thankfully hugged and kissed her parents for all they had done, then retired to her bedroom for the night. When she was sure that the family had retired as well, she tiptoed about her room gathering what she deemed life’s meager necessities then slipped out the window, and on to her destiny.

With a little money in her pocket book, Rosa somehow landed in New York City, and perhaps because of her fair looks and rather spontaneous personality, she found herself in the company of other young free spirited souls who earned their money sleeping with men. She was well educated and could have chosen something less savory, but the lifestyle appealed to her. Fortunately, for her, the choices she made took her to the better class bordellos and she was well kept and relatively safe during the New York years.

Late one morning, Rosa woke to the sounds of her female co hearts engaged in unusually spirited chatter downstairs. She grabbed her morning robe and hurried to find them gathered around the breakfast table with coffee, tea, and an array of barely touched breakfast pastries.. At the head of the conversation and giggles, was one slightly disheveled but nonetheless delightful, 25 year old demimonde fresh in from the mining camps of California. Rosa grabbed a demure china cup, and poured tea from a matching pot into it, and stood, alternately sipping, and munching a lemon scone slathered in butter. The tales she heard that day of the fresh air, mountain and desert sceneries, and money to be had from gold and silver miners, convinced her and a few others that it was time to move on. Within a few weeks, Rosa and several of the girls found themselves leaving the comforts of their New York City brothel for the Far West. The year was 1871.



A Tale Of Two Prostitutes

Chapter One
Westward Ho (part2)
Fandango Floozies

She charged in to town on a white horse…her black silk stocking legs and laced heels kicking in the air followed by an occasional yelping wild “Geeeee Haw!!!”. Her deep vibratory voice overcame the sound of the freight wagons led by mules and their jingles, as she strutted up from the toll gate to the entrance to the boomtown. There, the Waterfall, gave cause for a brief turn around and a quick circular dance of her horse as she hollered out to bystanders, “Free drinks, with every girl!” The thirsty men, hurrahed, in unison and a few shouted back, “We’ll be there!” The dancehall’s proprietress, Maggie, stuck her head out the swinging doors and cried, “God be damned ya! Lola!”, then swigged from a foaming mug of local brew. One of the men let out a responsive burp. Someone else spit against the board sidewalk.

Her hefty laugh bounced off the 9,000+ foot level of the cragged peaks, as she waved her multi-feathered hat, and zigzagged her way through the heavy traffic. The dust kicked up nearly as thick as the black billows of smoke from Victor Beaudry’s smelter. The mogul himself stood in front of his store up the way, tipping his hat to her. At the framework for what would become John Simpson’s American hotel, the hammers and saws stopped while workmen stared. The old Chinese cook at Mortimer Belshaw’s residence, squawked with his chickens, nearly a mishap as the lively harlot passed thru. Loose dogs bellowed, and a lone child rubbed his eyes and cried. Lola took one look at the child, and came to a halt. She bent down and offered her hand to him. His cries turned to giggles as she pulled him on to the front of the horse with her. He turned and grabbed her hat and pulled over his thick black curls, whining “mmmmmommmmaaammmmmmmommma!” as they trotted up the road.

Lola’s Fandango Hall and Palace of Pleasure stood against the ever growing tailing pile from the Union Mine. The miners would be getting off work soon, and hers would be the first stop before their lonely descend to their boarding house cots. Already, vagrants from Maggie’s were headed in her direction on foot, breathing heavy and anxiously from altitude and anticipation. A younger version of Lola, clad in a simple skirt, apron, and high neck buttoned blouse, waited at the porch and helped the boy down. “Pablita!” Lola gruffled, and shook her head, as she dismounted and tethered the horse. “Take your brother and feed him, now!” The whip, still in her hand, threatened as she raised it, but let it limply fall to the ground. The boy yelped, and giggled some more as Pablita swept him away before the darkness would come and the maddness of the mining town night would begin.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The scene that greeted sixteen year old Rosa as she stepped off the stage in the middle of some barely named Colorado mining camp, was similar to the one at Lola’s and Maggie’s over a thousand miles away in Cerro Gordo, California. It was quite a change from the hoighty toity brothel she had left behind so many days ago in the city of New York. She grabbed the valise from the driver, as her petite feet hit the ground. The male traveling companions, fought to offer her a hand, which she politely refused. Her heart beat fast, and her breathe struggled at the thin air. Wagons and horses plodded down muddy streets in a hurry to nowhere that she could make sense of. The plankety plank sounds of tinny pianos came from nearby saloons, and a constant buzz of men’s voices accompanied the tunes they played. A few dark clouds from a summer storm lingered long enough to hide the setting sun and force an early evening. Stomping feet against dance hall floors rumbled where thunder had only hours before. Rosa pulled her cape around her neck, and headed towards the sounds. This would be her new home for the next few months.



A Tale of Two Prostitutes

Chapter One
Westward Ho (Part 3)

Dona Lola watched with hard eyes as her daughter swept her little brother up with loving arms and took him to their private cabin across Main Street from the Dance Hall and cribs that were the family’s primary source of income. For a brief moment no one was there to notice either them or her. Even if there had been someone around, the sigh Lola gave was a private one from deep within her gut and would not have been detected by even those who claimed to know her.

Twenty one years had passed since a somewhat frightened but determined thirteen year old, dark skinned, black haired girl named Delores had arrived in Sonora, California from Chihuahua, Mexico holding tightly to the hands of her toddler brothers, Florentino and Martin. Destitution and poverty had brought the family to the mining camps of California in hope for a better life. The chances for a female of any age were slim in this world of rough and tumble miners. Uneducated and illiterate, Delores chances were even worse. But the need to keep her little family fed and clothed, drove her. She befriended a young mother at a boarding house who offered to take care of her the boys while she sought work.

Lola watched as the few wives of the miners wore their hands raw washing the rough clothes of the husbands in the streams day in and day out. For months she joined them, earning what she could doing the same for the unattached men of Sonora. As night would fall, she would hurry back to the boarding house and tend to Florentino and Martin. On her way home, she would notice the large groups of women and men alike hovering at the monte banks and fandango halls enjoying the familiar strains of music, and dance, and some gambling just as they had back in Mexico. Though the colorful sights and sounds called to her, she never tarried, for her little brother’s needed her more than she needed the entertainment.

One evening the strains of fandango music could no longer be ignored by Delores. She followed her heart and found herself tapping her toes to the music of her people. She was thirteen after, all, and a bit of her girlhood still remained deep inside her. Before she knew it a handsome Mexican miner was swinging and swaying her in his arms amongst a crowd of other young couples. When the lively strains momentarily stopped between sets, Delores offered a polite gracias, then started to leave. The miner was not rough with her, but held on to her just long enough to place a kiss on her cheek, and beg her come back tomorrow.

It was a week before Delores could bring herself back to the fandango evenings. This time, she let her friend know that she would be late, so she could spent more time. When she got there, her stomach filled with butterflies, as her eyes skirted the area for her dance partner. For a moment, jealous set in when she thought she eyed him with another. No…it wasn’t him….but where was he? At one of the gambling tables in the distance she saw his familiar face at last, and she tried not to appear to anxious as she went towards him. His eyes caught hers before he threw the dice, and he winked at her. She approached him just as the dealer passed him his lucky winnings. He grabbed her first, kissed her on the mouth this time, then filled his pockets with the coins.

They did not dance this second evening. They grabbed some food and found an oak tree to picnic under in the moonlight. He was twice her age, and of a similar background, which bonded them in conversation through the wee hours of the next day. This time, when reality called her home, she offered her lips to him. He touched her face and whispered, “My lovely Lola…” and the name became hers forever, as would the fandango life. The men and the places would change over the years…but the security and business sense it gave her would not.

[]

The Continuing Tale Of Two Prostitutes - At Last!!!!

Today at 3:34pm |
It's been weeks since I visited Rosa and Lola, two historically fictional prostitutes from two completely different backgrounds, several years and several miles apart from each other. I have chosen not to force the story, just let the tale come out as it chooses to reveal itself to me. I looked outside at the grey and wet of our current winter storm and finally opened the window to the next chapter..... Let us begin with the last paragraph of where we left our dear Rosa and continue from there:

A Tale Of Two Prostutes
Westward Ho Part 4
The Crib

The scene that greeted sixteen year old Rosa as she stepped off the stage in the middle of some barely named Colorado mining camp, was similar to the one at Lola's and Maggie's over a thousand miles away in Cerro Gordo, California. It was quite a change from the hoighty toity brothel she had left behind so many days ago in the city of New York. She grabbed the valise from the driver, as her petite feet hit the round. The male traveling companions, fought to offer her a hand, which she politely refused. Her heart beat fast, and her breathe struggled at the thin air. wagons and horses plodded down muddy streets in a hurry to nowhere that she could make sense of. The plankety plank sounds of tinny pianos came from nearby saloons, and a constant buzz of men's voices accompanied the tunes they played. A few dark clouds from a summer storm lingered long enough to hide the setting sun and force an early evening. Stomping feet against dance hall floors rumbled where thunder had only hours before. Rosa pulled her cape around her neck, and headed towards the sounds. This would be her new home for the next months.
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It wasn’t the light of day that woke Rosa from her dead sleep in the single cast iron bed that took up half the space of her “back saloon” crib where she had lived for longer weeks than she had cared to think about. A foreboding sense of claustrophobia and suffocation combined with a sudden chill had shaken her from the demons of her not so sweet dreamland. The faded patchwork quilt that had topped her pile of blankets had slipped away like the memories of the mother who had lovingly presented it to her in a life she had rejected long weeks before.

Rosa’s body remained frozen in place for a brief while, allowing only her eyes to flirt about taking stock of her dismal whereabouts. A small remnant from her comfortable past endlessly ticked away the seconds….minutes…hours…. on the well weathered dry wash basin along the wall only a few feet away from the bed. The pot bellied stove in a dark corner struggled in desperate plea for more fuel, which was now buried on the front porch. In the heated scurry to earn her meager keep with a lonely and sex craved customer, the heavy curtains had not been pulled, and the white of snow blocked the clouds that now covered the noon day sun. Rosa ran her fingers through her frizzy lot of unpinned hair, rubbed her eyes, and slowly stretched herself to seated position. She folded her hands clamoring for more warmth than her flimsy gown provided, then reached down to the floor for the quilt to pull around her.

It would be no use to open the door and go for the wood. The snow was thick…and though she had a shovel next to the stove that would help to dig her way out…she wasn’t up for it. As she tried to ignore the dull pain in her forehead, she spotted a few pieces of wood underneath a stool, and carefully arranged it in the stove, poking and prodding the remaining coals for a spark. From a small painted cabinet secured to the rough hewn wall, she found tins of coffee and oatmeal, and briefly managed a smile as she remembered water she had drawn in a bucket close to the stove. The thought of lingering in her tiny crib until someone from the saloon missed her, suddenly didn’t seem so bad after all. A tiny crock of brown sugar brought her to giggles louder than her customers could ever produce from her.

Orange Cranberry Shortbread Bites

Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees.

1/2 cups flour
2/3 cup sugar
3/4 cup cold cubed butter
1/4 cup cornstarch
1 tablespoon shreded orange zest
2/3 cups dried cranberries

Throw all ingredients, except for cranberries, into a food processor and pulse into fine crumbs. I don't have a food processor so used two knives to cut the ingredients together into the finest crumbs possible. Add dried cranberries. Press 2 tablespoons of mixture into mini muffin tins. Bake until golden 20 minutes. My pan stuck a little so I buttered the pan a little but be careful not to butter too much. Cool before removing. I used a toothpick to unstick the sides of the bites from the pan and carefully lifted out. You can also use regular size muffin tins and press 1/4 cup of mixture into each muffin cup.




All Likkered Up Espresso Dessert Muffins
With Mocha Kahlua Buttercream Frosting

Muffin Recipe:

1 ½ cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup of butter
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
2 tablespoon instant espresso granules
2 tablespoon Whiskey
2 tablespoons Kahlua

Heat oven to 400 degrees. Grease regular or giant size muffin pans
Mix flour and baking soda in small bowl.
In a large bowl beat butter with sugar until fluffy, about 1 minute. Add egg and beat well.
Dissolve coffee granules in whiskey and Kahlua mixture and dto butter mixture. Beat well. Gently mix in dry ingredients until just incorporated. Do not overmix.
spoon butter into muffin tins and bake for 18 – 20 minutes or until a cake tester interted into the center of one of the muffins comes out clean. When muffins are cool remove from pan, and frost.

Frosting:

1 cup of confectioner’s sugar
½ cup cocoa
½ stick butter
2 tablespoons instant espresso granules dissolved in
2 tablespoons kahlua
Combine all ingredients in a bowl and beat with electric mixer on high until thick and creamy

*******This is an approximation – I just threw this together from another recipe & ingredeints I had on hand – you can adapt to your tastes. Miniature chocolate chips are good in the muffins, also. It’s a rather dense muffin – but with plenty of frosting on top it makes up for that. Definitely a dessert muffin! The center of the muffin tends to fall in, but with enough frosting the dent is filled in and makes it even yummier. I made jumbo size muffins************

Just on the spur of the moment we packed up the Ho dog & took off for the local mountains. We wound up driving up Little Tujunga and I enjoyed the rugged canyons and steep cliffs, and the power of nature. So close to home without having to drive for hours and hours to get somewhere. The Ho dog was excited for the ride, it had been a long time. No place for her to get out - too muddy at the spot we stopped at. And I didn't want to fiddle with all 95 pounds of her pulling on the leash in excitement. Besides last time she was out she abused her privileges and ran off...so I couldn't stand the thought of her doing that. Poor Ho Dog....had to be content to just ride in the 4-runner and not get out. At one point, maybe about 3,000 feet, we hit the snow line...only a tiny sprinkling that remained in a shady spot. Must be quite icy up there tonight...and by Sunday or Monday when the next storm hits...it will be covered for sure.

Much to my delight just as we drove off from our canyon overlook where hang gliders played, a hawk flew over! It must be my friend Pam looking after me. I so need the comfort of knowing that now in these troubled times when I try not to worry about what will happen to us in the coming months. If the hawk still flies over there is hope and all is good....

I didn't realize I had such cabin fever from the long winter and our unemployment. My little time back to nature healed my soul. I don't think I have been anywhere since my last visit to Bodie in late September. I shouldn't be so shut in...I need to soar with the eagle more often on the backcountry roads.....Roger at the helm...Ho dog in tow.....

Photo-journalist - Educator - Researcher - more than 30 years as a news photographer and editor. Proficient in print publication and design, MS Office and IT systems. Experienced researcher and historian. Detail oriented and accustomed to meeting deadlines. FEMA IS-100, 200, 700, 800b certified. Resume and references available.

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Experience in guiding 4wd backcountry tours to ghost towns and old mining camps, with emphasis on history, legend and lore and a little geology, too. Available for historic lectures on California backcountry history and a legendary Los Angeles cat named Room 8. Volunteer and paid experience for non-profit organizations and fundraising for church, YMCA, & ghosttowns

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Experienced bunny rabbit chasing 95 pound 4 wheel drive tour guide dog - great with adults, teenagers, children, and those of the feline persuasion..... but doesn't like other dogs.... background in food tasting

Photo-journalist - Educator - Researcher - more than 30 years as a news photographer and editor. Proficient in print publication and design, MS Office and IT systems. Experienced researcher and historian. Detail oriented and accustomed to meeting deadlines. FEMA IS-100, 200, 700, 800b certfied. Resume and references available.

Experience in guiding 4wd backcountry tours to ghost towns and old mining camps, with emphasis on history, legend and lore and a little geology, too. Available for historic lectures on California backcountry history and a legendary Los Angeles cat named Room 8. Volunteer and paid experience for non-profit organizations and fundraising for church, YMCA, & ghosttowns

In our new state of underemployment we're trying to keep our gas bill down and the temperature 65 degrees during the day and in the 60's at night. The original portion of our little 1939 house is heated with a floor gas heater. The huge family room addition had no heat in it when we moved in back in 1981 and we put a wall heater in. I have the two little electric cast iron stoves, one in the family room and one in the living room more for ambience of the fake flame and the old timey cabin/ 1870's ghosttown look I enjoy. It would cost a fortune to run them for the electric heater so I never used it. I guess in the event our gas was shut off and we still had electricity I'd have back up heat.

Those little stoves also serve as a safe place for me to light candles - I cradle cinnamon, cranberry, or vanilla scented candles in the fake logs. With 4 cats & 1 big dog ..I can now have candles in the house without fear of a fire or a charred animal tail. Caution...never ever turn on the electric heat when candles are inside.... Never done it...but just offering it as tip for anyone who wants to try my idea.

Oh another tip - when keeping your house in the 60's be sure and keep plenty of sweatshirts, sweaters, quilts and woven hats around (for hubbies bald head). Also helps if you ocassionally go outside where it's really cold then the 60's seems hot when you get back inside.