my grandma used to talk about the day my grandpa left... the story always changed depending on who was listening. she wasn't your typical storyteller, either... things didn't become heightened when she drank... in fact, she never was much of a drinker... and when she did drink a bit, she simply became a little silly. i remember thinking this was so cute... and it didn't make sense that she could be so sweet and silly, when all the children she raised, after having drank, needed the police or a rising sun to put them to bed. in all these versions of how my grandpa left, there were some constants. like the fact that she was glad he left when he did. "he wore me out," she said, "after years and years of putting up with him, i just became so tired... tired of chasing him every time he left... i reached a point where i didn't love him any more and we just didn't get along." she said the end came on a saturday... she was sitting in front of the tv. he came out of the room after a night of heavy drinking, which always included a visit to see his girlfriend in a nearby town... a younger woman who he had been seeing for quite some time... in fact, everyone in the neighborhood knew about it, too. i think he bragged about it if he had drank enough. after he had finished eating in the kitchen, he went into the living room where she was. "what the hell is the matter with you?" he said to her after she gave him a less than flattering glance. she ignored his question and continued to change the channels on the tv, not stopping on any one program long enough to determine what it was. there were no remotes, she was doing all this while standing in front of the set. it drove him crazy. she knew it. "come on..." he told her in an irritated tone, "leave it on something for god sake. what the hell is the matter with you?" he asked her again. this time he sat up on the couch and punctuated his words with a threatening look. "it was the only time i stood up to him." she told me. "he sat up and gave me that look... oh, i hated that goddamn look... but i smiled this time... and i told him that if he didn't like it, he knew where he could go... and you should have saw the look on his face... after i said that to him, i got up and went to the kitchen. by the time i had cleaned the mess that he had left in there, his truck was going down the street. i walked to the screen door and watched it get smaller, the farther it got down the road. and he never came back after that. "where did he go?" i asked her... like i had never heard the story before. "to that damn girlfriend of his, where do you think?" i'd always nod my head in disgust when we got to that part. years later, not long before she passed away, i got a few wine coolers in her and to my surprise, she started to talk about when HE had left... which she never did... because like i said, she would just get a little silly when she drank, not sentimental or depressed. and when she got to the part where he left the house, i asked her like i always had when i was a kid... "where did he go?" she took a big sip from the little bottle before speaking. "to that goddamn girlfriend of his." she said. i smiled and watched her as she seemed to be thinking about something. i was worried she might be getting a little depressed about it. "you okay, mom?" i asked her. i never called her grandma or abuelita... i called her mom, she preferred it, and so did i. "you thinking about that woman, his girlfriend?" i asked her. "yeah, a little bit." she said. "wanna talk about it?" i asked her. "sure." she said. "well what were you thinking about?" she took another sip from the bottle. "i was thinking about how everyone always made a big deal out of him leaving me for a younger woman... even when i tell the story... i always include that part." "and that bothers you?" "yeah... because she might have been younger, but she was also ugly, really ugly... nowhere near as pretty as i was." we clinked our bottles together and smiled. "and anyone who argues with that," she said, "is as much an idiot as your grandfather was." i held my bottle up to her again, after almost choking on my sip. she shook her head though, and handed me her empty. "mine's finished," she said, "i think its bad luck to toast with an empty bottle... how many more do we have in the fridge?" she asked me in an anxious tone. "two more each." i told her. "well shit, help me to the bathroom so we can finish the rest of them when i get back." "okay." "and maybe you can tell me one of your stories, mijo... mine are all the same... your probably tired of hearing them." i shook my head and began to help her get up. "that'll never happen, mom.

Sunday, August 30, 1987 - Facing southeast. Late in the afternoon, Ivan Welfl (my dad), along with his ex-wife (and still close friend), Kathy S., and I went on a very slow, relaxing sightseeing tour on Sarpy Road east of Hardin, Montana. I wanted to have an excuse to take pictures of the countryside and thought it would be fun if we all went. Some wine coolers and a small picnic dinner, made it a perfect outing. The weather was absolutely perfect, too. About 12 miles distant in this photo is the Custer Battlefield. I will eventually update this photo and add the rest of the pictures I took that day.