The Life in My Years

An anthology of life

You passed them by as they left and you looked the other way, awkward, nothing to say.  They were already gone, ghosts who’s memories haunted the productions lines.

There’s something heretical about buying a few cans of Spam, a frozen pizza, toilet paper and a sixer of Coors Light and then asking the checker, “Oh and can you ring me up a six foot noble fir please?” Some things just have to remain sacred. 

“I have been looking on, this evening, at a merry company of children assembled round that pretty German toy, a Christmas Tree. The tree was planted in the middle of a great round table, and towered high above their heads. It was brilliantly lighted by a multitude of little tapers; and everywhere sparkled and glittered …

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In April of 1869 a fire broke out at the 800 foot level of the Yellow Jacket Mine killing at least 35 miners

The American West had a mind to be heartless; a place, a time and a life that didn’t discriminate when it came to the taking of life.

In life they lived hard and in death they repose in the hard land.

A lucky miner won what was apparently the sum of a saloon keeper’s worldly possessions. As a result the saloon keeper reportedly opted for the next world.

Once you step through the gates of the cemetery you enter a different world. It’s a stark place populated with monuments colored in doleful shades of gray, many cracked, broken and in varying stages of disrepair.

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