Opinion

Last week, lured by abnormally-early spring weather, I started repairing the stone walls that enclose my raised garden beds. This spring task was memorialized by Robert Frost in “Mending Wall,” a poem that talks about two neighbors rebuilding the wall between their farms.

Spring training is here and I can finally get into my favorite sport. That’s right, you pigskinheads. This is one Coloradan who loves baseball and doesn’t care much for football.
What’s more, I’m a life-long, die-hard, true-blue Cub fan, 2016 was the best year of my life, and I’m so looking forward to 2017.

At the Thunder River Theatre Company (TRTC), “The Tempest” begins with a roar and a crash. While Prospero, played by Jeff Carlson, magically conjures up a storm, Prospero’s ocean-tossed enemies are disgorged from the bowels of the theatre itself, appearing through a trap door. As they writhe and struggle to hang onto their sinking ship, cries ring down from dark catwalks encompassing the ceiling. Thunder crashes from all sides, the darkened theatre rumbling and shaking the audience.

All right, since no one’s gonna come right out and say it, I will; Trump has a bromance with Putin. I believe Rosneft (Russia’s state oil company) sold 20% to the Trump Organization on the condition that sanctions would be taken care of. Soon. And then Flynn took the fall for the whole deal. What a Moe. Is it pretty much understood that Moe is the dumbest stooge?

Right now, I’m pursuing two long-deferred callings: writing a personal column and becoming a fine-art painter. Those two activities feel like yin and yang, emotionally balancing the scales: painting is a right-brain activity, writing is left-brain. When I’m writing, my mind is full of words. I never miss a publication deadline. While I’m painting, mind chatter disappears. I lose track of time. I sometimes even miss meals.