13 April 2004
James Dale Aikens was born 13 April 1934 and if you do the math you will see that he is today, 70 years old. (That is really old).
Are you thinking to yourself, “oh that poor old man celebrating his 70th birthday all alone in the wilds of Utah?” think again.
Isn’t this the place old Unk Jim loves so very much? A place with only happy memories and a lot of them. I have an ample supply of my favorite beverage (hic) ad food and a foodie book Ruskin has loaned me, a novel “Antelope Woman” by the fabulous Louise Erdrich, and a spiral notebook. I have already finished writing my column (It is supposed to be in by Friday, but I’m not going home till then but the editor has been nice about lateness before). It is a little coolish (sweats rather than shorts and tee shirts). But beautiful beyond belief. I awoke this morning to the sweet sound of birds. Gobble. Gobble. I sprung out of bed and rushed outside but I couldn’t see anybody. The naughty squirrel has showed up. A might supply of fine wood has appeared. The huge ponderosa that was poisoned by Uncle Roland’s toxic pee was hit by huge winds and branches knocked off. Some of whom landed on the outhouse roof. Not to worry, grandpa built things to last. Not a mark. However the wood was broken into stone sized pieces so I was not forced to go forage for wood. This is a good thing, because I recently (Friday) had surgery to remove another exhausted and useless body part and was admonished by the M.D. not to work too much.
The same mighty wind (I am guessing) knocked the door off the other outhouse, ripped it right off the hinges.
There are deep tire ruts in the driveway. I suspect that Jon did not heed my warning about deep snow and came to see for himself. I have a hideous tale to tell of sliding off the road in deep snow hiking many miles for help and suffering great expense to pay the front loader from the resort to pull me out. A pitiful tale best forgotten.
Uncle Jim