My Page: Chris La Tray
Stumbling the Walk
Fair Days Revisited
Despite how much I hated the last day/night of the fair, and the realization of where our animals, pets by now, were headed, I have nothing but fond memories of my years as a 4-H kid and a participant in what made the fair so awesome. One of my regrets is the moving around we’ve done did not allow me to get my son into 4-H, though who knows if he would have been interested in it. Times are different now. [more]
Stumbling the Walk
Our Neighbors Probably Hate Us
We have a long side yard that runs the length of our house to the east. Half of it gets a fair amount of shade in the afternoon so the grass does okay. The rest is scorched, and right now it is a bloody battleground where war is being waged against knapweed. In this space I have already built two 4’ x 8’ frames that will be filled with soil to serve as raised beds. There is room for more, and we will probably add at least 3, if not 4, more frames between now and the first snows. There is also a metal container that contains four tomato plants, just planted a couple weeks ago. Our neighbor across the street saw the beds, asked if we were making a garden, and gave us some plants. Ah, the community of gardeners! I know she won’t need it, but I intend to gift her with the first fruit of these beauties. [more]
Stumbling the Walk
A Lifetime in a Couple Months with Ace Frehley
The stage was set, the wall of black, logoless amplifiers had glowing lights. A roadie would wander out periodically to adjust a mic stand or open a couple bottles of water on the drum riser, then stroll off again. A huge smoke machine was belching fog over the stage and theater; ZZ Top was playing over the PA. The crowd was chanting, “Ace, Ace, Ace!” and it seemed to take forever. Finally the lights dimmed, and it was on. [more]
album review
Bob Wire’s Sentimental Breakdown
The eternal struggle for bands who thrive when stumbling around on stage is to capture the energy and vibe of the live show on tape, package it up and deliver it. I don’t know whether or not Bob Wire made an effort to do that, but intentionally or not he pulled it off. Sentimental Breakdown, Wire’s second release since going solo, is everything a kick-up-your-heels-and-yee-haw country roadhouse show is all about, minus the bad breath and beer stains. [more]
Stumbling the Walk
My Climate Scientist is Smarter Than Your Climate Scientist
I happen to believe global warming is real, not just as something that naturally occurs as our planet hurtles through space over the course of billions of years (yes, I said billions), but also as a process being expedited by our own hell-bent-on-consumption lifestyle. It doesn’t take a scientist, or a Google search, to figure out that as “the global economy” brings more eager mouths to suck at the swollen teat of consumption, stuff is going to get burned through that much quicker. Just look out your window. If you happen to live in a place that more and more people think looks like a great place to be – as we do here in Montana – you can watch, like one of those time lapse movies, the views and resources and access rights get gobbled up faster than we can say, “the last best place!” [more]
Stumbling the Walk
Where Pedestrians Fear to Tread
Missoula City Code
#12.16.030 Snow and ice to be removed from sidewalks.
A. Every person owning, in charge or control of, or occupying as tenant any building or lot of land within the city which fronts on, abuts, or contains within a public use easement a sidewalk, shall remove and clear away, or cause to be removed and cleared away, snow, ice, slush, mud, or other impediment to safe and convenient foot travel from so much of said sidewalk as is in front of, abuts on, or is contained within said building or lot of land. It is further such person’s duty to prevent accumulation of the same upon such sidewalks.
[more]
Stumbling the Walk
Bookworms Unite!
I love to read, and writers intrigue me far more than rock stars. Of all the passions I have embraced in my life, reading has always been the one I never surrendered. I was hooked from the moment I learned how it all worked. Some years I’ve read more than others, and my tastes have evolved, but I’ve never had stretches where I stopped reading altogether. I’m guessing it comes from my mom, because she reads all the time too. My dad isn’t a book reader; I don’t think I’ve ever seen him read anything that wasn’t a newspaper, the crossword puzzle dictionary, the J.C. Whitney catalog or a Chilton auto repair manual. That’s fine. I can quote Thoreau, he can rebuild trucks and tractors and hot water heaters. You tell me who has the more valuable skill set. [more]
Stumbling the Walk
Night Driving with Dick Dorworth
How do you kill time on an airplane planted on the tarmac, snow blowing and swirling outside, in the wee hours of the morning? The most amusing event was when some older fellow walked up into first class, looked around with his hands on his hips for a couple moments, and then turned to return to the back of the plane without saying a word. He did not pass quietly: clearing the third row, which is where I just happened to be seated, he unleashed a fuselage-rattling fart that did not go unnoticed by any of us in the vicinity. "I think he just fired a shot across our bow," I remarked, and the giddiness of the hour made it a lot funnier than it may have otherwise been. [more]
Stumbling the Walk
Work Can Cloud the Buddha Mind
I’ve decided a great tragedy of our hell bent lifestyle is that it is turning us into a culture of total assholes. Many of us lean that way anyway, and the evolution of the world around us is merely exacerbating the problem. Money, hell: I think work is the root of, if not all evil, then certainly most bad behavior! Take someone who is miserable with the job they are performing and have them interact with other folks and you have surefire potential for obnoxious interactions and bad vibes. [more]
Stumbling the Walk
Raw Power in the Fun House
I think one of the expectations bequeathed on every parent is that, when posed the question, “What is your fondest memory?”, you are supposed to wax poetic on the beatific moment you first laid eyes on your newborn child. Of course I remember the first time I saw my son, all red-faced and wrinkly, but there was no golden halo around him and I did not hear harps, trumpets or the soft whooshing of angel wings. Mainly Sid grimaced distastefully up at me as I scowled down at him, and I read in his expression the same thought that was going through my head: “So this is what I have to work with?” I’m pretty sure he farted too. [more]
