Back in July, the strap eyelet broke on my Fujifilm X-Pro1 camera I use for my carry camera. Since the only service center certified to work on the X-Pro1 is the factor service center in New Jersey, I did not want to send it in just to replace the eyelets (it would be expensive with insured shipping and minimum repair costs). I found a handmade genuine real leather half camera case for the FUJIFILM X-Pro1  (bottom opening version) by TP in China. After the case came in, I took it to Coronado Boot & Shoe Repair at 6th and Central in Downtown Albuquerque and had them sew a piece of leather with an eyelet in it on each side of the leather case for the neck strap to connect to. The leather half case fits perfectly, looks great and eyelet straps make the case just right so I can carry the camera again.

I was going to include the link to the case on Amazon, but when I clicked on the "Buy it Again" button under "Your Orders", the case came up as no longer available on Amazon. I clicked on the seller's name, storefront and "contact seller" button, but there were no results. The seller had vanished from Amazon. I looked up the seller on eBay and he had a note on his eBay Store that he had closed his stores for summer vacation.

Close up of one of the eyelet straps sewn on at Coronado Boot & Shoe Repair. The eyelet straps also cover the strap eyelets on the camera, which protects me from getting poked and scratched by the sharp point on the broken strap eyelet on the right side of the camera.

The case is made of quality leather, with fine sewing, and openings to access all the levers and buttons on the camera.

The bottom of the case with the maker's logo, that happens to include my initials

The bottom opens to access the battery and memory card compartment, which is very convenient. This was the only case that had easy access to the battery and memory card. The other cases had to be removed to get the the battery and memory card, which would be very annoying.

The case came in a nice pouch with a "thank you" note from Jason. He also included a hand strap as a gift, which was very thoughtful.

A ground view of the construction going on behind the office taken on 8/6/2015.

This was the beginning of the Circle Garden in the spring of 2001 after we cut down a 70 foot tall elm tree (stump on the right). We called the hexagonal frames in the foreground the "Strawberry Ziggurats" which I always thought would be a good name for a rock band.

We planted a vegetable garden in 2001 which grew well and produced a good variety of veggies. But the next year our plants were killed by a late frost. In 2003 we began planting rose bushes in the Circle Garden.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA The garden in June 2006 when it was on the Albuquerque Garden Tour. We had everything cleaned up, mulched and new pathways designated. We had lost almost half the roses we had planted in 2004 from a very late, and very hard freeze in 2005 that also seriously damaged the chitalpa tree we had planted in the center of the hexagonal bench; therefore, the Circle Garden looked a little sparse for the garden tour. By 2006, the Strawberry Ziggurats had been overrun with strawberries and whatever else we had planted in them, so they just looked like planted mounds.

The Circle Garden on August 9, 2015, 14 years after we created it. The trees have grown up, many of the surviving rose bushes are tall, we have arches at the north and south entrances of the garden with climbing roses growing over them. I re-mulched the pathways last week, but the tall sunflowers block the view of the pathways. The Strawberry Ziggurats are long gone — Laurie leveled out the remaining bumps a couple of months ago and planted wildflower seeds among the remaining strawberries.

A super wide angle view of the garden looking east toward the Sandias on August 9, 2015.

“You need to pull the radiator so we can find the leak and see if we can repair it.” Mr. Haagenson told me as I stood in front of the Mack’s grill, my 6’2” frame dwarfed by its chrome frame with the bulldog ornament proudly posed on the pinnacle of the hood above me. “Once I get it loose, how do I get it out of the truck?” I asked, realizing not only was the massive radiator about as tall as me, but weighed too much for me to lift. “The fork lift.” Mr. Haagenson replied. “And don’t run the blades through the radiator when you go to pick it up out of the truck.” 

Mr. Haagenson went back inside, and I went about the business of figuring out how to get the hood off the truck, disconnect the radiator and pull it out of the frame. About an hour later, I had the radiator out of the truck, we found a split in the seam on the bottom of the radiator, which Mr. Haagenson welded back together to seal the leak. I managed to get the radiator back in the truck, bolted down, reconnected and the hood back on. Filled the radiator with water and checked to see if the weld was holding and that the hoses were on tight and not leaking. 

Mr. Haagenson came out, inspected my work and told me to start it up, top off the radiator, and then take it out for a test drive. “Are you serious?” I asked about taking it out for a  test drive. “I have never driven a big truck like this, and I’m not licensed to drive a ‘big rig’ anyway” I protested. “You fix it, you test it” was Mr. Haagenson’s reply. “They are easy to drive without a trailer, and you don’t need no stinking license to test drive a truck you just fixed. You are only going to drive it around the block.” That’s when the fun began.

I crawled up into the cab to start the engine, and then I just sat there looking at all the shift levers coming up out of the floorboard — it was the only time in my life I wished for an automatic transmission. “It’s already in ‘neutral’" Mr. Haagenson said when he saw me sitting there intimidated by the cockpit of the truck. I turned the key, the engine turned over a few times and then it started up with the rhythmic idle and pinging sounds typical of a diesel engine. “You need to let it warm up for a good 10 minutes before you take it out.” Mr. Haagenson told me, so I got out of the truck and asked a few more questions about how to drive it while it was warming up.

I crawled back in the cab, pulled the seatbelt across my lap and made sure it locked in securely. Mr. Haagenson told me that without a trailer, I would be able to start driving from almost any of the 18 forward gears. I pushed in the clutch, pulled the first stick shift to the left and pushed it forward, grinding it into one of the gears, and then did the same with the second shift lever. I pressed my foot down on the accelerator and slowly let the clutch out. I could feel the clutch engaging and the truck trying to move forward, then the engine stopped — I’d killed it. 

“You have to release the emergency brake!” I heard coming from below the open window. “Of course!” I replied as I started the engine and searched for the brake release. The brakes released with a swoosh of air, and the truck started to roll forward.  I revved the engine while I slowly let out the clutch again, but the clutch engaged all of a sudden and the truck lunged forward — the force pushed me back against the seat, then the front end came down with such a jolt, I would have bounced off the seat to the roof of the cab had I not buckled in. 

I hadn’t imaged anyone could pop a wheelie in a Mack Truck, but I seem to have as I now found myself out of the driveway into the middle of the alley heading for the fence, chugging along like a “Buckaroo Banzai” on a bull fresh out of the chute. I recovered from the jolt, turned the wheel to the right, gave it gas and got the “10 tired tempest” straitened out and aimed in the direction of 2nd Street. I slowly chugged down the alley, turned right onto 2nd Street, and headed north towards I-40. I was going to turn right on Aspen, drive to 1st Street, and then back to the shop, but then I noticed the engine was revving up but I wasn’t going very fast, so I made an attempt to shift to another gear, which, after much gnashing and grinding of gears, was only marginally successful as the new gear seemed to make little difference in the speed or the RPMs. 

While messing with the gears, I passed Aspen, as I was now approaching the railroad crossing, so I would have to go up to Haines and make it a two block test drive. I managed another gear change, which increased my speed as I bounced over the railroad tracks. Coming up rapidly on Haines, I pressed the brakes preparing to turn right onto Haines, but I pressed the pedal a little too hard, and the brakes locked-up which made the truck skid sideways as smoke swirled off the brakes and 8 tires on the back of the truck — I had just discovered the Mack did not have front brakes — the last time I crossed up like that I was flat track racing on a motorcycle, and now I was feeling like one of those freaky looking, crazed drivers in a giant “Hot Wheels” truck popping wheelies and crossing up as I skidded into corners.

Fortunately, I hadn’t killed the engine, there were no cops, and no other drivers on 2nd Street or Haines to witness what was turning out to be stunt driving in a semi truck. I fumbled around to find a lower gear, slowly turned onto Haines (without popping a wheelie), made a rolling stop while turning right onto 1st Street, and slowly drove south down 1st Street the two long blocks back to the shop. I pulled the Mack into the alley, parked it, and made Mr. Haagenson back it into the spot behind the shop where the adventure had begun. I probably would have been there to this day trying to figure out how to get that beast into reverse.

I was feeling like this dude trying to drive that Mack

Najar and Sasha watching something in the garden

There was lots of activity in and around the catio on Caturday.

Hummingbirds are enjoying the butterfly bushes

Sasha putting on the cutes

Najar chewing on grass

Sasha: "déjà cute" all over again

Zipper spider lunching in the catio

Lola lollygagging in the catio

A toadstool, tiny wildflowers, nice clouds at sunset, garlic chives and more wildflowers.

The turkey family was sunning themselves on one of our mulch pile. The mama turkey still has 8 little ones, but they were not all visible in the hills of mulch.

Looking east, July 26, 2015 at 8:19 pm

Looking west, July 26, 2015 at 8:20 pm

El Sanctuario De San Lorenzo Circa 1857, Bernalillo, NM

Ulysses rode his horse into the Sandoval County Court House. “I want to file my candidacy to run for governor” he told the clerk. “You have to register with the Secretary of State in Santa Fe” the clerk informed Ulysses. He rode his horse out of the courthouse, and headed to Santa Fe where he made a paper airplane of his application form and delivered it via airmail to the Secretary of State. His application was rejected, so he ran as an independent. His platform was “God’s law and perfect order” — he rode around the state on his horse campaigning, but as a “write-in” candidate he did not win the 1970 gubernatorial election. 

My friend, Brian, who had lived not far from me in Corrales, moved to Placitas, NM in 1970 after his stepfather, Bill, built a house and barn on the edge of the sparsely populated village on the northern edge of the Sandias. I was 11 years old then, and either my mom would drive me to visit Brian on weekends or I would ride my motorcycle the 20 miles to their new house. 

Not long after Brian moved to Placitas, he met Ulysses S. Grant, who lived in a hippie commune in the valley about 1/2 mile south of Bill’s property. Ulysses said he was the reincarnation of Ulysses S. Grant and never told us his real name. He was a long-haired, bearded hippie who lived off the land, rode a horse for transportation, and liked to hang out with us boys. 

Ulysses was a little crazy, what the British would call a “nutter”, but as far as a group of 11 and 12 year old boys were concerned, he was the coolest guy around. He was a naturalist and loved to teach us about how to live with nature and survive on only what nature had to offer. But the best thing he did for a bunch of young boys was show us how to make torches using dead cactus canes, bark, leaves and pitch from the juniper trees so we could explore the old mines in the valley. 

 We would make our torches, and then climb down into the old mines on 100 year old rickety ladders or a rope that Ulysses would bring.  After everyone was on the first level, which had light from the opening above, we would light our torches and then walk into the dark tunnels to explore the mine. Ulysses would explain the geologic layers, and tell us the history and folklore he had learned about the mines. In one of the mines we could get down three levels, but Ulysses told us there were at least 8 levels. He said the other levels had been sealed off because they contained the skeletons of indians who had been worked to death in the mine and left to rot. We believed him, of course, and wanted to search for a way to get to the lower levels with the skeletons, but we never found a way to the lower levels.

On December 1, 1970, Brian called me with the latest news. “Ulysses borrowed Bill’s rifle and shot and killed two men” he explained over the phone. Bill told Brian that he had heard the two man had raped Ulysses' wife and were threatening to kill Ulysses, so Ulysses borrowed Bill’s rifle to protect himself. Bill had been at the scene of the killings and said that Ulysses had shot them in the legs, castrated the men and then shot them in the face, killing them. After Ulysses killed the men, he left Bill’s rifle leaning against a door of Bill’s place. At the end of our conversation, Brian and I agreed that the authorities would never find Ulysses — he was never apprehended to face murder charges. 

I was shocked to learn about the murders, and it took me awhile to believe that Ulysses could do such a thing. When the story came out in the newspaper the next day, it was nothing like the accout Bill had given to Brian about the killings. The “official” story was that Ulysses had argued with two men who wanted him kicked out of the commune, so he killed and “mutilated” them. Ulysses had been arrested in September for attacking another man living at the commune with a scythe. He apparently had a violent temper — a side of Ulysses we kids never saw during the time we spent with him.

Ulysses’ real name was Donald R. Waskey, born in Baltimore, Maryland in 1938. Before becoming the hippie reincarnation of Ulysses S. Grant living in a commune in Placitas, NM, Waskey had been in the Airforce, at college in the mid-1960’s, protested the Vietnam War, and publishing papers about the violent peace movement and China’s atomic capability. 

He and his wife’s charred remains were found in a burned-out cabin on a marijuana farm in rural Idaho in 1989. They were identified by dental records. Waskey had been shot in the back of the head before the cabin was set on fire.

Sandoval County Courthouse with addition and new façade

The brick portion of the courthouse is what Ulysses rode his horse into in 1970

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I took this photo at Carlsbad Caverns, NM, but the ladders left in the mines often looked like this one

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Another photo from Carlsbad Caverns, NM but not too different looking from the mines

This is the south end of the valley where Ulysses killed the two men. The view is looking north toward Bill's house (blue roof in center). 

This is the barn that Bill built. The house is on the left side of the photo covered by trees.