If you’ve read Crazy Train or Recycling and Acid Trips, then you’ve had a glimpse of my friend Jim—just a glimpse. What those posts don’t tell you is how we met, how much he meant to me, or why those conversations still sit saved on my hard drive, opened up now and then like old letters from someone I still expect to hear from.
I first met Jim when he was working at San Manuel for BHP Billiton. He was being transferred to Pinto Valley for the restart. In the beginning, he just came up for a day or two, and I didn’t really get to know him. What I did notice was that he was loud, obnoxious, and constantly complaining about being married. I remember thinking, “This guy is an asshole.” And I couldn’t believe I had to share an office with him.
Then, one day, a couple of weeks in, I heard him on the phone with his wife.
OH. MY. GOD.
He was so sappy, I almost laughed out loud. That man absolutely loved his wife, and his daughter. That one moment flipped my whole perception of him. He wasn’t what I thought. Under the gruff, sarcastic surface was someone deeply loving and loyal. That realization opened the door to a friendship I still treasure.
Jim was one of the very few people I could talk to when I was upset about someone I love. Usually, I keep those feelings to myself. I know if I complain and someone agrees too much or says something harsh, I’ll get defensive. But with Jim, it was safe. He listened. He understood.
We shared an office for years. When we finally got moved to a new building and separate offices, I was distraught. But there were two rooms with a window between them, and we took those. That little window let the conversations continue.
Eventually, he left the company. Not long after, I did too. But we stayed connected. We had a consultant friend, Chuck, and the three of us would have these incredible discussions—part science, part philosophy, always a little sideways. Even after we scattered to different jobs, those conversations lived on in email threads. I saved them. I turned them into Word documents for the days I needed to revisit them.
In 2019 (I think), I found out from a mutual acquaintance that Jim was sick. I hadn’t heard it from him. I called, and he told me it was some strange leukemia, and he’d need a bone marrow transplant. But not long after, he said his heart wasn’t strong enough for the procedure.
I cried for days.
I drove from the northwest corner of Arizona to the Southeast corner to visit him and his wife Patty, to help them set up streaming devices on their TV. I expected to see someone frail and fading, but there he was, still Jim. Sharp, hilarious, full of life. We stayed in touch. I turned a couple of our old conversations into blog posts and sent them to him. His response brought me to tears. He was so moved. So appreciative.
With that image of him still strong in my mind I got comfortable. I let myself believe we had more time.
So when another friend (also named Jim) called to tell me he had passed, I was blindsided.
Jim was a truly great guy. He loved animals. His dog Rocky had his whole heart. He was the kind of person who surprised you, challenged you, and made you better just by being around.
I miss him. I miss our conversations. Two of them are still here:
Sometimes, when I want to hear his voice again, I open them up and read. And for a moment, it feels like he’s still just on the other side of that window.
We had summer jobs at a resort in one of the most spectacular places I’ve ever seen. Towering mountains, shimmering lakes, wildflower meadows that stretched forever. We lived right there, surrounded by all of it, and soaked in the kind of freedom and possibility that only exist when you’re young and your whole life is in front of you.
He was kind. Smart. Funny. And he made me believe in myself again. That summer, he made me feel like I mattered. Like I was worthy. I didn’t even realize how much I needed that until it happened. And I fell in love.
But I never told him.
I was terrified of rejection and I believed it was inevitable. I thought saying the words would ruin the connection we had. So I stayed silent. And when the season ended, I let him drive away—without me, without asking him to stay, without asking him to take me with him.
I thought I was protecting my heart. But by letting fear decide, I guaranteed that it would be broken.
That summer changed my life.
We grew up. Lived our lives. Built families.
As my children grew, I made sure to pass along something I wish I’d understood back then:
• Take the risk
• Say how you feel
• Love out loud
Because if you live in fear of rejection, you guarantee the regret.
I don’t know that if we met today it would be the same. We’re different people now. I don’t wish I could find him to see if something is still there.
In fact, I think that might ruin the memories I’ve carried all these years, the dreams of what might have been.
I’ll never know. And maybe that’s the most bittersweet part of all.
I was at Route 91. I lived through a mass shooting. I saw what happens when firearms end up in the hands of someone who should never have had them. But it wasn’t just that he had firearms—it was the amount and the type. Modified, high-powered, and designed for maximum harm. There should have been red flags. There were warning signs. And yet, nothing stopped it.
Still, I understand and respect the Second Amendment. I’m not arguing to change it. I believe in responsible gun ownership, and I know that the right to bear arms is part of our nation’s foundation.
What I don’t understand is how so many people who scream about defending the Second Amendment are so quick to ignore or trample the First.
The First Amendment was first for a reason. It protects our freedom to speak, to write, to gather, to report, to question power, to worship—or not—to dissent without fear. It is the bedrock of every free society. Without it, there is no democracy—only obedience.
So why are the loudest “constitutionalists” silent—or worse, complicit—when this administration targets the press, censors opposition, punishes protest, or demands loyalty over liberty?
If you only care about the Constitution when it suits your ideology, then you don’t really care about the Constitution.
And here’s what I hope everyone remembers: the pendulum swings. If you accept violations of the First Amendment now because it benefits your side, you are setting the precedent for when the other side is in power. If you allow it now, you must be willing to accept it later. That is not freedom. That is short-sighted loyalty.
I’m not asking you to give up your rights. I’m asking you to honor all of them. Because loving the Constitution means defending every amendment—not just the one that makes you feel powerful.
I grew up in Eagle Mountain, California, a town carved into the desert by Kaiser Steel. It wasn’t just a place on a map — it was a purpose-built world. Kaiser owned the mine, Kaiser owned the houses and the market and the parks. When you lived in Eagle Mountain, your life was tied to the mine, just like everyone else’s.
Our high school opened its doors in 1962, and the first class graduated in 1963. My mom was just a year behind them, graduating in 1964. I graduated in 1982, walking across the quad under the open desert sky, surrounded by the familiar faces that had been part of my world since childhood.
EMHS Band
We were isolated out there, tucked against the barren hills of Southern California. There were no nearby cities to escape to, no outside world to drift into after school. We had each other — and only each other. Our dads all worked for the same company. Our moms ran the same errands and attended the same community events. Our lives overlapped in every way imaginable. It created a bond that you can’t replicate by living in the suburbs or even a small town today. Eagle Mountain was ours, and we were Eagle Mountain.
Little League Baseball was a big part of our lives
In 1983, it ended. When Kaiser closed the mine, the entire town had to leave. Overnight, Eagle Mountain went from a living community to a memory. Homes were boarded up. The ball fields fell silent. The desert began its slow, inevitable reclaiming of the place we once called home.
But we, the people who grew up there, have kept something alive. Every year, we gather in for a reunion. Sometimes there are other reunions scattered in different places, but Laughlin is the usual gathering place. We come to laugh about the old days, to remember the things only we remember, to see in each other the faces we knew as kids, even if the years have softened them.
Even the Pandemic couldn’t stop us.
Today I heard that someone a couple of years ahead of me passed away. News like this is not new, it’s part of life now, but it still hits hard. Every time it happens, I find myself thinking about the future. Someday, there will only be one of us left. One last Eagle Mountain kid, holding all the memories by themselves without even realizing it.
And then, one day, even they will be gone. And the town, the friendships, the sun-drenched afternoons, the smell of the desert after rain, all of it will exist only in the stories told and forgotten. The desert will continue its quiet work, covering the empty streets and faded playgrounds, as if none of us had ever been there.
This is Zeke, he came to live with us on Halloween, 2009. We adopted him from a rescue group in Mesa AZ, and I was told the woman who fostered him couldn’t keep him anymore and that he would be killed if he ended up back in the shelter, so he came home with us. He was two years old.
We lived outside Phoenix and had the typical AZ backyard. One day I bought some sod and created a little strip of grass and Zeke was ecstatic. He rolled on it and played on it and didn’t want to leave it. I felt so bad for not giving him grass earlier. He was a good dog, he wasn’t a barker, until the first monsoon rolled in the next summer. What followed was years of sleepless nights each time a monsoon blew in. I dreaded them.
The Triplets
Pippin joined the family a year after Gary. As you can see, our cats are terrified of Zeke.
We moved from Arizona to Reno, into a house with a big beautiful backyard that had lots of shade and Zeke loved it. He also decided my daughter’s room was his room too and he became her dog.
We moved again in 2014, when Zeke was 6, and I got him a puppy. Gus was a tiny puppy, half Dachshund and half Border Collie and he LOVED Zeke. Having a puppy transformed Zeke. He went from acting like an old dog to being a puppy again. It was one of the best decisions I ever made.
Zeke is twelve this year and has slowed down a lot. His joints hurt now and he can’t jump up on my bed anymore.
In the last month he got sick really fast. He had been slowing down a bit and I started giving him supplements for joint pain, but one day his front leg hurt so much it made him cry. I had never heard him do that, and I took him back to the vet. They gave him prescriptions for pain, but he very quickly got to the point where he couldn’t stand up on his own.
The vet had been preparing me for this, she said it would probably have to happen soon, but I did not believe it was something I couldn’t fix. On his last night, he was in so much pain, he cried every time he moved.
Yesterday I took him to the vet and held him as he took his last breath.
He was lying there, shaking and panting because he was in so much pain. The vet put the needle in the catheter and pressed the plunger slightly. He relaxed and stopped shaking and his breathing slowed, and for a few seconds he was there, looking at me, free of pain, and he was back to the old Zeke, and I wanted to tell her to stop, that he was ok, that we could find something that would help him, but I knew it wasn’t true, then she pressed the plunger more and he closed his eyes and was gone. I knew the moment it happened, I watched his chest rise and fall as he was breathing, and then it fell and never rose again.
How is it possible to consider the decision to end the life of something you love to be a good thing?
He was a good dog and we loved him, I hope he knew that.
Editor’s Note (2025): This post started as part of a conversation I was having with my friend Jim—the same Jim I talk about here. We often veered from geology into philosophy, climate science, and the absurdity of trying to argue facts with people who think science has a political party. I ended up writing this one as a standalone post, but I can still hear his voice in the back-and-forth that inspired it.
Original Post
If you are a Creationist and believe the Earth is only 6,000 years old, give or take, this is not meant for you. Your beliefs are founded in faith and I won’t argue with you. If you fall into this category and continue to read, keep your comments to yourself.
To everyone else, read on, if you wish.
The Earth was formed 4.6 Billion years ago, plus or minus a few million years. 4.6 Billion years is pretty freaking old.
Until around 2,050,000,000 years (2.05 Billion Years, I just wrote it out like that to impress you with the number of zeros) ago, the Earth had an Oxygen deficient atmosphere. That means for much of the planet’s history, Oxygen dependent organisms couldn’t have existed. Over time, as life evolved and turned Carbon Dioxide into Oxygen, the atmosphere became oxygenic.
Are you still with me? I think this stuff is interesting, it’s probably why I became a geologist.
Another 1.5 Billion years goes by (give or take a few million) and voila! Dinosaurs. Cool huh? Did you like Jurassic Park? I did. Anyway, during the history of life on our planet, there have been several large extinction events where huge percentages of life on the entire planet died. Dinosaurs first came into existence during the Triassic Period. Prior to that there was an extinction event that killed approximately 90% of all life on Earth. The recovery from that was pretty slow (from a Human’s perspective) and took a few million years. Then there was an explosion of diversity and voila! Dinosaurs! (I got a little ahead of myself earlier). Anyway, dinosaurs evolved and then disappeared. Then about 63 million years later (give or take a million or so) voila! Humans.
Humans have been around for about 2.5 million years. That is pretty impressive considering the first power plant was built in the United States in 1882. Humans survived some incredibly harsh environments without the benefit of electricity. I can’t imagine living in Phoenix without air conditioning.
The last ice age started around 2.6 million years ago and lasted for, well, 2.6 million years so far, because we are still in an ice age. The last glacial period (when glaciers covered most of Alaska, Canada and the northern portion of the “Lower 48”) began about 85,000 years ago and ended about 11,000 years ago. During “non ice age” times (not sure what to call them), the Earth is relatively ice free, even at high altitudes.
Pretty cool huh?
If you are sitting there, nodding your head and yet you argue that Climate Change isn’t real simply because someone said it on Fox News, you are an idiot. If you believe that the northern part of the US was once covered with glaciers and now it isn’t, clearly the CLIMATE CHANGED.
Science is not political, it is science.
Get your news and your politics from Fox News and get your science education from someone who knows what the hell they are talking about. You can debate (with someone else) all you want about how much of it is human caused, I don’t care about your opinion on that, but it is real and it has existed for 4.6 Billion years, long before humans existed and it will exist long after we are gone.
Sorry about the language folks, I get a little pissed when people think scientific facts change based on which political party you belong to.
Last year on October 2nd, I left Las Vegas in a daze. Our hotel was just around the corner from the concert venue and the Mandalay. I made a conscious effort to not look in that direction, I did not want to see that building and the broken windows of the shooter’s room.
I was tired, there had been no sleeping that night. Every time I started to drift off, I heard gunshots, loud, like they were in the room and they jerked me awake.
I took my time on the drive home. I love the drive between Kingman and Vegas, I think it is beautiful and the geology is cool. I stopped at the dam and walked up the road, so I could take a photo of Black Canyon and the bridge (something I often thought of doing, but never actually took the time to do.) It is the first photo.
This visit to Vegas changed everything. I stood outside the concert venue at 10:00pm with thousands of other survivors. We hugged, we drank, and we had a good time. I made new friends. I remembered that Vegas is fun.
The Mandalay is my favorite of all of the resorts in Vegas and for one year I avoided it. I hated seeing it every time I flew in and out of the city. But this year, on the morning of October 2nd, I walked down to the Mandalay and went inside. I took a lot of photos and ate in a cafe that has the best coffee I have ever had and I remembered that it is just a building, it is not the Overlook Hotel. An evil man did an evil thing, but he is gone and the hotel is just the hotel again.
When I left Las Vegas on October 2nd this year (two days ago) it was very different. I took my time again, and I stopped at several places and took more photos and thought about what a great time I had the night before and about all of the wonderful people I met.
In the last 12 months I have let fear have more power over me than I normally do and I am done with that. It is time to plan my next big adventure…
On the drive from the Salt Lake City airport to my aunt’s house in Soda Springs Idaho, I spent a lot of time reflecting on all of the times I have used her house as a stopover when I was on a journey. When I was going to college in Billings Montana and my family lived in Arizona and Nevada, my brother Darren and I would drive my little Mazda pickup with Apollo and Lobo (my cat and dog). We made the trip every summer and Christmas break and would stop there on the way to where we were going, and on the way back.
I got married and my husband Jack started joining me on my trips, then my daughter Jordan came along and we moved to Nevada and our trips became less frequent. Then Jack got sick and we didn’t make the trip for a few years and when they started again, it was just me and my girls on our way to our summer vacation. In 2017 I made the trip for the last time with Jack on my way to Montana with his ashes.
I have stood on the edge of my aunt’s lawn and taken so many photos of this valley over the years; in the spring when everything is green and fresh and the sun is warm but the breeze is chilly, the air is sweet with the smell of alfalfa and you know summer is just around the corner; in the summer when the fields are amber and the combines are at work (as they are now); in the fall when the leaves are falling, the grass is brown and the smell of wood smoke is in the air; and in the winter when the valley is blanketed in snow and everything is still.
Now my girls are grown and this summer I won’t have a vacation with them. Carsyn is working and living at my favorite vacation destination and Jordan’s work schedule didn’t allow her to join us when we went to the Tetons a few weeks ago. But they have begun their own journeys, using my aunt’s house as their stopover on their way to new adventures. I am so happy they are travelers and always on the lookout for something adventurous to do. I am also a little sad many of those adventures don’t include me, but I have my own to plan.
In 2017 I went to the Route 91 Harvest Festival with my friends Patty and Letty. This was our third year at the Festival and we looked forward to it for months. We found a great place to stay, a condo within walking distance of the venue and this was our second year staying there. We all arrived on Friday and that night we saw Brothers Osborne, Lee Brice and Eric Church. During Eric Church’s performance there was a guy in his early 20s next to me. He was singing and dancing and he tapped me with his elbow me a few times and said “This is awesome!! I love Eric Church.” Later during the performance, he asked if I thought it was his last song and I said “no he hasn’t sung Springsteen yet, he won’t end it without singing Springsteen” and he elbowed me again and said “that’s right! I love F’n Springsteen” and he started yelling “Springsteen” over and over at the stage.
I wish I had taken a photo of the Springsteen guy, I hope he made it out ok.
Saturday was lazy, we did a little shopping, spent some time at the pool then we met a couple of the performers, LANCO and Bailey Bryan and then watched Maren Morris perform then hung out in the hot tub listening to the concert from our resort.
On Sunday morning we hung out by the pool for a few hours, had free Bloody Marys from the bar, and just relaxed and got some sun. We went to the concert in time to see Big & Rich. Jake Owen performed after them and Jason Aldean was the headliner. Since we got there early, we were pretty close, about 30 feet away from the stage. We had a little group around us that we were celebrating the night with. At one point Patty looked back and asked this couple if she could take their picture for them. They gave her their phone and smooched and got their picture taken. There were a few girls behind us who commented on how cute Jake Owen was and helped us harass people who were trying to squeeze their way past us to the front.
I hope these people all made it out of there.
When Jason Aldean came on, people started pushing to get closer and it got packed up there and I had to get out. I had been in that same spot, with that same crowd all weekend and for some reason, that day… I couldn’t handle it. I told Patty “I’m going to the back to get some space” and left. There were some bleachers behind the crowd and I sat in the top row (about 10 rows up), the Vegas Strip was to my right. I sat down, chatted with the ladies next to me for a minute and before I had been up there two minutes I heard “pop” coming from my right and it echoed down the street and I thought “that was a shot, someone shot a gun on the Strip” then three single shots “pop…pop…pop” and I thought “someone is having a gunfight on the Strip” and I got a text from my friend Wanda who was also at the concert that said “Gun shots.” At that time, I thought this was happening at ground level, on the strip. I thought people were fighting with each other and I was ANGRY with them because I knew they were going to shut down the concert. That was 10:07.
I was looking towards the Strip and the Mandalay when he opened up. I could see muzzle flashes coming from a window. I didn’t realize what they were right away it just looked like a light flashing in the window, but it was clearly associated with the sound I was hearing. Because I could see the flashing light in the window at the Mandalay I thought for a second that it might not be gunshots, I mean, it’s the MANDALAY. The first burst of automatic fire was short, and most people were confused about what was happening. The crowd on the ground started running and screaming and then the music stopped, the lights came on and the singer was gone. There was a long pause and then he fired a longer round and we hit the floor of the bleachers. At least we had the bleacher seats for cover, the people on the ground had nothing.
When there was another lull in the shooting we took off, down the bleachers, through a gap between two sets of bleachers then into the gap between the backs of the vendor stalls at the festival and a fence. People were crying and screaming and pushing to try to get out faster. I tried to calm down a couple of hysterical girls and get them moving and was pretty amazed that I was able to stay as calm as I was. At one point we came to a place in the fence where a crowd of people were pushing from the other side, trying to get through and the people against the fence were being crushed. People on my side were pulling, trying to get something to move and yelling at the people in the back to stop because they were going to kill someone. They were finally able to get the gap between the fence and the wall wide enough for people to crawl through. We were lucky enough to come out into the open near a gate and festival employees who showed us where to go. We made it out the gate, across a side street, behind the Tropicana and I felt safer there because there were semi trailers between the shooter and us. Every time there was a lull in the shooting people started walking, then he started shooting again and we took off. He shot for a long time like 15 minutes (it felt like hours).
I live 100 miles from Las Vegas and my mom lives near me. She is a bit of a night owl and I thought “mom is going to see this on the news, I need to let her know I am ok so she doesn’t worry” so I called her while I was walking. I was thinking pretty rationally so I thought I would just call, let her know what happened and that I was safe. When my mom answered I lost my mind. She had no idea what I was talking about, she couldn’t understand most of what I said, which made me so frustrated and angry that I stopped being hysterical and was able to tell her what happened. I was so worried about Patty and Letty, they were down where everyone was getting shot. Letty called and told me they were ok but still inside and couldn’t get out then my phone died. Our resort was right around the corner from the venue, but off the strip so the cops didn’t lock it down. People were running inside to get off the street and find a place to hide.
I had no idea where I was when I entered the resort, I just saw a sign and went in the first door I came to. It was the right resort but the wrong building and it took me forever to find my room. I kept walking around in circles in the building I was in, thinking “they’re going to die.” I was trying to figure out how long I needed to give them to make it back. Where could I go to find them? whose number do I have to call if it comes to that? It was horrible. I finally calmed down enough to walk outside and look for my building. I went inside and when I got to the elevator there were two young women just standing there looking LOST. I asked them if they needed a place to go and they just nodded. They were stranded because their car was parked at the MGM and they couldn’t get to it. I am so grateful they were there. Nothing makes a mother calm down and get her shit together faster than having someone to take care of. I told them to come with me. We went upstairs to our room and when I opened the door, Patty was there in the living room. I just said “Thank God” and hugged her. I have never had such a feeling of relief.
We are all ok.
“This can’t be real. It can’t be gunshots, things like that don’t happen to me. Where are my friends? This can’t be real. Where is the shooter? Is there more than one? Is he moving? This can’t be real…”
Those are the thoughts you have over and over when someone is shooting at you.
We watched the news all night. Every time I started to drift off to sleep I heard gunshots. They weren’t real, they were in my head, but they were loud and they made me jump and they kept me awake. It didn’t help that the news played those videos over and over. I never heard the sound of automatic weapons before, never in my wildest dreams did I think one would be shooting in my direction.
Every year, an old guy, who always wears overalls, attends the festival. Our first year there we were next to him when Tim McGraw was playing and he was dancing and Patty’s daughter Samantha got up and danced with him. I have seen comments from people who saw him there on Sunday, I hope he is ok, I hope he had someone to help him get to safety.
Last year we stayed at the same resort and met a bunch of people at the pool and had a great time. We all planned to come back to the same place this year and most of us were there. There was a couple there from Canada who did not go to the festival and a group of people from Orange County who did. I hope my Vegas friends from OC made it out OK.
The hotels on the strip near the shooting were locked down. People couldn’t get in or out of them so a lot of people were stranded, not just the concert attendees. We had four people who were displaced by the shooting stay in our condo Sunday night. The lobby of the resort was filled with them. 22,000 terrified people ran from the festival looking for cover. They broke windows in order to get into the resort I was staying in because the external doors required a key card. They ran around pounding on guest room doors begging people to let them in. I am grateful for the way the staff of the Desert Rose Resort handled the situation. They brought us extra linens, they made room for everyone in the lobby, game room, and conference rooms.
We are all OK. We will be jumping a lot from loud noises for a while and there will probably be some bad dreams, but last night parents lost children and children lost parents.
Postcards From Dirt 