Chea Lamb and Ryan Brizscssissxxsz (how do you spell it?) are true inpsirations to me. I have decided to take up amateur photography. I used to be a fisherman -- see photo-- (expanation to come), but now I'm a capturer of images, especially with spectacular light. The photos below I call "bright guitars burning in a fireplace because they wouldn't fit in a trash can". Please note the unusual hue and the composition of the subject matter. I worked very hard to capture just the right essence of firelight along with moonlight to entwine the majesty of guitars burning at their pinnacle. I might submit this to the Church News or to Guitar Player Magazine or to the Palo Verde Valley Times and hope that it provides inspiration to those that need a fire lit under them.Speaking of the Palo Verde Valley Times, as you know, I read it regularly on line. In a past issue the photo of the gentleman holding the catfish was shown. It seems this fellow (who looks a lot like me, at least his stomach does) caught this catfish recently in the Colorado River not far from our old stomping grounds. It's a whopping 75lbs.
What does this have to do with anything you ask? During the middle of May (around the time Cameron receives the Priesthood), we will be on a day excursion to Cibola to discuss our memories and make new ones. Chea of Chea Lamb photography has agreed to "photolize" the event. All are invited to attend. In fact, there is a good chance I will be putting up the bronze plaque (how do you spell it?) dedicated to Howard Arnett overlooking the Arnett Canal. Why is this so important you ask? Because, it is that's why. Cliff just got some never seen photos from Cousin Rex of the building of the ranch and canal and shed, etc.
While I know you hope I would do the honors of being the photog for the day, I have given the assignment to Chea and I hope the offerings of my burning guitars may light a fire in her to accept the honor.
In other news, Chad got transferred to the Kiel Institute Outreach Center on the Baltic Sea. He now teaches English and Institute. (it seems that Elder Perry started these Institute Outreach Centers when he was in Germany on assignment for a year). As Chad says, woot, woot! I would post his letter, but it seems you have all read it anyway because Pam forwards them to you.
7 comments:
this is so a doctored photo. i didnt know you know photoshop
what are the dates of this Cibola trip?
Around the 18th or so. I hear there are great running spots in
Cibola. I'm training for the Arnett Canal 500 meter walk.
The burning guitars certainly do inspire. I long for a Cibola trip. We'll have to see what can be worked out
where would we (meaning me and ld) stay in Cibola? And what would we eat? And what would be the entertainment and are you in charge of the program? You should post the schedule of events and a menu as that might matter to some people. Not that it does to me, but for some it might be important. And what about t-shirts, etc.
p.s. is Cibola safe? I heard they had been infiltrated with gangs.
Kody and I are in! Just let us know when as soon as possible, please! :)
I've been to Cibola. At last count it was around 1100 times. I arrived at that calculation by multiplying 11-12 times the 90 or so days of summer. Everything I needed to know about life I learned in Cibola. More accurately, I learned it in the cab of a pickup riding with Howard en route to Cibola. I wish I had taken notes. I became a renaissance man in Cibola. I became an accomplished hay man. I could drive a swather, rake, baler and stacker. I was the original lonesome dove cowboy. I had my own spurs, horse and hat. I took driver training in Cibola and it served me well later in life as I became a school bus driver. I starred in track and finished second to Potter in the infamous 100-yard dash. I had no trouble adapting to different cultures on my mission because I had already been exposed to the diversity of Cibola. I still remember the time Howard and I were dining at the table of Bob and Zeta Bishop. We were eating some delicious fried chicken when a rat scurried across the open beams of the dining room. I noticed it immediately. Evidently, so did Bob Bishop. He simply pulled out his 22 pistol from the holster on his hip and shot the rat dead. We went on eating like nothing had happened. That made me wonder if we really were eating fried chicken. There are many more memories, so count me in on the Cibola pilgrimage.
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