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.

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.

No less than the President of the United States proclaimed, “Shaken, not stirred, will get you cold water with a dash of gin and dry vermouth. The reason you stir it with a special spoon is so not to chip the ice. James is ordering a weak martini and being snooty about it.”

Many of us likely have a place where their life’s history is stored, oftentimes without knowing that the historical treasure even exists – until it’s uncovered. It might be an old trunk, boxes in the attic or a pile of shoeboxes. Mine was a roll top desk. This is part one of the story that was …

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