Thank you to Leo for adding the pictures of Betty. Roger loved his experience of swimming with the sharks off of South Africa, and especially swimming with Betty, the resident "pet" shark!

Even when you must let them go...

Take me as I come, 'cause I can't stay long...

                   Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

Today would have been Roger's 56th birthday. How he hated the thought of birthdays! But he'd let me do my thing with good grace and minimal grumbling...most of the time. So I know he'll forgive me if I say, "Happy Birthday, my Love. Miss you. Will love you Forever!"

“You – you alone will have the stars as no one else has them…In one of the stars I shall be living. In one of them I shall be laughing. And so it will be as if all the stars were laughing, when you look at the sky at night…You – only you – will have stars that can laugh.” ~ from The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Roger showed me a copy of a picture taken when he was a student at Millfield School in Somerset. He told me they referred to themselves as the "Millfield Mafia" and they certainly had attitude! I looked for the picture, but couldn't find it and was afraid it had been thrown out somehow. This weekend I was making a stab at his office when I found, stuck between the pages of a magazine, that same picture. It's just a copy on a piece of water-stained paper; and I don't know who the other boys are, but it is still fun to see Roger in his cocky youth. He would have been about 16 or 17. You can certainly tell it's the '70's!

The Yorkshireman

Roger was an indifferent Brit…but every inch the proud Yorkshireman! He didn’t particularly care for being called “English” or “British” but he wore his title of Tyke proudly. His bone and blood was of the moors that sat at the end of Baildon Bank, the gritstone he climbed as a child and the River Aire that ran to the south of town. He would laughingly sing, at the top of his lungs, “On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at” even though he couldn’t remember all the words! 

He despised Maggie for the destruction of the industrial North, the closings of the mills and collieries, and the crushing unemployment that was West Yorkshire of his teens. He fled to the United States after college graduation in search of opportunity, open spaces and new rock. Yorkshire’s loss was Colorado’s gain, when our Tall Tyke decided that Indian Hills was the closest thing to heaven on earth that could be found. But even though he loved the United States, the mountains of the West, and the slot canyons of the Southwest; he never lost his love of the places of his youth. He spoke about the Cow and Calf, Malham Cove, and the Peak District with a soft, warm tone in his voice, even while extolling the experiences of climbing in Yosemite and Joshua Tree, or exploring Chaco Canyon. 

I love poetry, and one of my favorite poems as a child was “The Soldier” by Rupert Brooke. Rereading the poem recently, I decided that it needed a bit of updating, to express those emotions from the viewpoint of a particular Yorkshireman. So, with all due respect to Rupert, here is my version, for my Tall Tyke. 

The Yorkshireman 

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a distant land
That is forever Yorkshire. There shall be
In that rich earth a gritstone concealed;
A dust whom Baildon bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her White Rose of York to love, her moors to roam,
A body of Yorkshire, breathing Yorkshire air,
Washed by the River Aire, blest by rains of home. 

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by Yorkshire given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under that Yorkshire heaven.

LOVE SONG

I shall see you again, if the world lasts,
even though you are gone from my sight.
My breath creates new life for you now that we are apart
and the universe lies here in the ashes of my memory.

I shall see you again if the world lasts
in the nighttime sky where even the separated stars move together
in the same direction
As moon follows sun, so shall I follow you across our star-lined path
The one we created together. Do you remember?

Come, my love, and find me crying on the mountaintop
where my tears make new flowers bloom.
Come run with me through dreaming fields
and catch rainbow colors for our eyes the way we used to.

Our holy place is holy still
Our love is not diminished by absence or by pain.
Death has but interrupted our loving and I know I shall see you again
if the world lasts.

~ Nancy Wood 

A friend from Roger's childhood, Louise Percival, sent this email to me this morning and thought I'd share with all. When I saw this picture, I thought it might have been taken on Baildon Bank, but didn't want to say so unless I was sure. Thank you Louise, and sending love back to you...and yes, I know it was part of his heart and soul.

So, a month after I met Roger he decided the 'burban was too much of a gas hog to commute to DU every day. His solution? Buy a 16 year-old, used car...a Dodge Colt hatchback to be exact. Old tires, iffy brakes, belts that screamed, high mileage...seemed to be a theme with Roger's vehicles! He called it the Red Beater and he loved his little red car. 

Today I sold the Beater to our friends who lived across the street in Indian Hills. Deb and Vinnie wanted a runabout car for their nephew, something inexpensive enough that he could afford to pay for himself. It had sat in the snow and cold since September, but Vinnie worked some "carma" that got it started and we agreed on a price that I know Roger would approve.

Look Sweetheart, someone to love the Beater!

May we walk upon this earth once again,
Once again beneath the same blue sky.
Then may our lives again intertwine,
And may we remember, you and I.

For My Sweetheart, from Your R 

Roger had sailed since he was just a youngster. Here he is on a lazy afternoon on Lew Hardy's sailboat in the Sound of Mull, looking into Tobermory. He took several pictures of the town because of its beauty. We spoke of going there, but never got the chance.

Roger took friends and clients into the wilds of the world. From looking for rhinos in South Africa, climbing in Yosemite, hiking in Colorado and exploring the slot canyons of the Colorado Plateau, he always showed his fellow travelers the beauty and grandeur of the natural world.

One such trip took Roger and two hiking partners, Gregor and Sabina, to Buckskin Gulch slot canyon in southern Utah. It’s a long slot, 20 miles long, with very few exits, so once you are in it, you are there for the long haul. Just prior to descending into the slot, Roger and his companions were told by the ranger about a rattlesnake that had fallen 450 feet into the slot, but when his body temperature dropped, he was unable to hunt, so would likely die. They encountered the hapless reptile about 5 miles into the slot and just as the ranger had predicted, he wasn’t in very good shape.

Roger’s feelings about rattlesnakes were that they are amongst “the most considerate of creatures” because they warn those they encounter, at least if they are too big to eat! He had avoided being bitten on several occasions when warned by that rat-a-tat-tat.

Now the rattlesnake had been by-passed and avoided by hikers for quite a while, but that was not part of Roger’s character. His compassionate heart wouldn’t allow him to abandon a living creature to certain death. So without hesitation, he and Gregor scooped the poor fellow into a hastily emptied bag. Agreeing that they couldn’t continue calling him “the rattler” they decided to name him. Since Roger would be carrying him tied to his backpack, he wanted a non-threatening, friendly sounding name and suggested Rupert. “Perfect,” commented Sabina, “I once had a boyfriend named Rupert and he was a real snake!"

So now he had a name…Rupert!

After climbing through the aptly named Cesspool, they were able to climb out of the slot and were ready to release Rupert. After tipping him out of the bag they discovered he had some loose threads wrapped around his rattle, so Roger held his head down with a tripod while Gregor untangled the rattle. After a few moments in the sun, Rupert was able to slither off on his own.

For Roger, seeing him safe gave him as much gratification as relief.

Roger was a wonderful writer and if you can get a copy of the April 2001 issue of TGO magazine, you can read the entire article about Rupert’s rescue and of the trip through the Buckskin Gulch. It is so Roger, it will make you smile.

Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela, the South African anti-apartheid revolutionary and politician who served as President of South Africa, died today, December 5, 2013, exactly three months since we lost Roger. Madiba, as he was known in South Africa, was a personal hero of Roger's for a number of reasons; his keen intellect, his moral strength, his ability to persevere, but mostly for his humanity. Roger loved him because, in spite of everything he had been through, he saw straight through to the very human heart of each person he met.

This was one of Roger's most admirable and lovely traits, looking into the heart of someone and seeing their basic humanity, not their skin color, nationality, gender, nor any other outward sign that would separate us as people. I have no doubt that he is standing in line right now, waiting to shake the hand of this great man. 

Today is Roger's 55th birthday. In his life, he lived every minute to the full. He wasn't particularly interested in celebrating his birthdays, but he always celebrated his life. Early in our relationship he said he had no regrets about his life and that he had done everything he had wanted to do. Few of us can say that.

Happy Birthday, My Sweetheart, Your R. 

A young man once wondered...what can I do to scare the day lights out of everyone? I know, I'll throw myself out of a plane and hope a small bit of silk will slow my decent enough that I don't smash into bits on the ground...yeah...that's the ticket!

Does this mean he is officially certifiable? 

Roger's passport photo...so young!

It's hard being a cowboy from Yorkshire.
Spurs don't fit right on climbing boots.
Yee-haa
It's hard being a cowboy from Yorkshire,
'Coz people laugh when he rides past on a Rocky Mountain moose.

(thanks to Mike Harding!)

An HONEST man here is at rest,
As e'er God with his image blest;
The friend of man, the friend of truth,
The friend of age, and guide of youth:
Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd,
Few heads with knowledge so informed;
If there is another world, he lives in bliss;
If there is none, he made the best of this.

                                            Robert Burns 

Roger loved to explore Utah's slot canyons. On one trip he took snorkeling equipment so he could swim through a slot known to be flooded for most of the year. He went through Bluejohn Canyon where Aron Ralston had to cut off his own arm. And he and two friends almost died in a flash flood while hiking through another. But the thought of dying never fazed him, he just continued on, trusting in his knowledge and skill. When the picture was taken in the Zebra slot, we had hiked in for three miles, crossing a dry tributary of the Paria River with Roger watching the skies in case of a sudden rain storm that might cause a flash flood. The slot itself was, for the most part, knee deep in water...dirty water...very dirty water... This big smile on his face just preceded his announcement to me to, "watch out for the dead rat floating in the water around the bend!" 

This is just for Roger, who loved his home in the Colorado foothills.

Look, Sweetheart, first snow of the season and guess who's come for breakfast? The yard is full of guests, they came running when I went out with corn. ESD (extra-sensory deer) at work. The trees are full of steller jays and my crows are waiting their turn as well. The picture was taken from my chair at the table.

I can picture his smile...from ear to ear...he loved his guests on a snowy day! 

One of Roger's favorite movies was "Brassed Off," about a colliery brass band. placed in a thinly disguised version of the real South Yorkshire village of Grimethorpe, during the destruction of the mining industry in the 1980's. He grew up with brass bands and really liked listening to them, usually with the volume jacked up to the max! In the movie, the brass band plays a song called "Rodrigo's Concierto de Aranjuez"...or "Orange Juice to you lot!" as proclaimed by Pete Postlethwaite's character.

Whenever he went to Utah, he would usually make a stop at the Black Dragon Canyon in the San Raphael Swell. The canyon dead ends in a spot with high walls that create beautiful acoustics, so he would play "Orange Juice" by the Grimethorpe Colliery Band. It really did create a beautiful sound, bouncing off the red rock. So I am sharing another of Roger's favorite pieces of music, any tykes out there will certainly recognize this song.

When Roger was younger he was just too busy for watching many movies, especially animated films. As adults, most of us watch animated films because we have ankle biters, but since Roger didn't have any children, he missed that intro to "children's entertainment." But one really cold Saturday, when there was absolutely crap on TV, I convinced him to watch "Finding Nemo" and he was really amazed that animation could be that good with a story line that entertaining. He subsequently came to love "Up"..."Despicable Me"...and his favorite, "Wall-e" He loved the humanity of Wall-e and his devotion to Eve, the message of saving the planet and how the action of one small "person" can effect the lives of others. We watched it more than once, and it always brought tears to his eyes. One more check mark in the "Why I love Roger" column.

"...the best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, hansome, what have you, the right person is still going to think the sun shines out your ass..." (Mac McGuff, from the movie Juno)

So lucky we found our right person in each other. I think he knew that as far as I was concerned, the sun always did "shine out his ass!!!"

So, Roger loved just about any type of music, Bach, Blue Nile, Native American Flute, and of course, The Who. He actually attended the concert at the University of Leeds when he was only a kid, said he was deaf for a month! But I'm not going to play any Who 'cuz I'd have to play them all! But here is another of his very favorite songs...so sit back and enjoy "Tubular Bells"...you might want to grab a cold one, it's 25 minutes long...and yes, it is the theme from The Exorcist...

As Louise mentioned perviously, Roger loved music and his taste was eclectic to say the least! One of his favorites from his youth was a song by Ralph McTell called "Streets of London." He especially loved hearing his best friend, Dave, play it on his guitar. What he didn't know was that Ralph was a talented blues guitarist as well, and when I downloaded "The Best Of..." he discovered all new reasons to love the music. But, "Streets" was still his favorite, I think it spoke directly to his compassionate heart. Someday I hope Dave will play it for me...perhaps at Muley Point...

The one tune that I always associate with Roger is 'Pearl's A Singer' by Elkie Brooks.  I don't think there is any deep & meaningful reason behind it, he just liked it, they share the same gravelly voice & he would happily croon along, word perfect at full volume in spite of considerable teasing about his voice and (eclectic) musical taste!  

It's not a song often played on the radio nowadays but when I do hear it there's definitely a duet in my ears! x

Roger had this habit of tightening his arms so that I would be pulled tight against him whenever I would stand behind him. There aren't too many pictures of the two of us together, I'm glad that India Salter took this one, with me pulled up close against him. I'll never let you go, Sweetheart!

Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or secret gate;
And though I oft have passed them by,
A day will come at last when I
Shall take the hidden paths that run
West of the Moon, East of the Sun…

                                  J.R.R. Tolkien
                                  Return of the King

I wake up next to you,
You’ve stolen the covers again!
I snuggle against you, nice excuse,
Listening to insects in the dark.

We go again to our beach, quiet
Except for the waves against the sand.
I watch as your snorkel rises against the rocks,
Waiting for your return to this spot under the palms.

I take pictures of birds eating corn flakes,
Cows with their ibis’, a friendly pup with its own eco-system
Lush greenery, rock slides, goats by the road,
Exploring new places together, laughing at the absurdities.

You laugh at my cows, I take more pictures
Just to make you laugh again.

by Annie Lennox, Howard Shore and Fran Walsh


For my Sweetheart, my Tall Tyke, my Good Doctor...Roger...
Until I am in your arms again, my Love. Your R 

 

And you'll be here in my arms
Just sleeping.

What can you see
On the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea
A pale moon rises
The ships have come to carry you home.

And all will turn
To silver glass,
A light on the water
Grey ships pass
Into the West.

First: know that Roger loved his 1992 Suburban. It is totally “beat to shit,” hasn’t seen a new tire in 15 years and turned over 300,000 miles while we were in the middle of southern Utah…in August! The air-conditioning doesn’t work, it has an old cassette deck rather than a CD player and one of the doors in the back doesn’t open. But, on the plus side, two adults (one of whom was 6’3”) can sleep comfortably in the back if it is raining, or if there are Grizzlies in the area (like along the Chief Joseph Scenic Highway in Wyoming.) But you are never going to sneak up on anyone in this vehicle, the muffler is the original and the rumble it makes can be heard for miles.

Now for the story…

I was home alone, dog sitting for my daughter and her boyfriend, who were camping at one of our favorite spots at Eleven Mile Reservoir. Roger was off on one of his “Lone Wolf” trips to the desert. I got home from work, changed into my grubbies and was settling in for a blissful, if mind-numbingly dull, weekend. I was surprised when I got a call from my camping daughter.

"MOOOMM! Some strange guy just pulled into our camp and won’t leave! What are we going to do?” Now I love my daughter, she’s bright, competent and usually in complete control of her environment. And her boyfriend is an ex-cop, so not exactly unable to control a situation. So I’m thinking, “WTF do you expect me to do, I’m three hours away?” But I put on my mom hat and say as calmly and sweetly as possible, “WTF do you expect me to do about it?”

“Well...talk to him and convince him to leave!”

Now I’m starting to think that my first-born has stripped a sprocket, but I reply, a bit tightly…”OK, put him on…” Expecting some belligerent dimwit, I prepare to do battle for the welfare of my 34-year old child.

“Hiya, Hon!” My sweet Yorkshireman laughes into the phone!

The way Christie told it, they had been setting up camp when they heard the rumble, rumble of an ancient muffler, and observed a “beat to shit” Suburban pulling into the campsite. The driver immediately tried to drive out when he saw it was occupied, but by then Christie was running up to the ‘burban calling for Roger to stay. They then decided to call the mom and tease her a bit. Not wanting to be left out of the fun, bright and early the next morning I grabbed the dog, jumped into the car and drove up to the reservoir to spend the weekend with my loved ones. Christie said it was the sound of Roger’s truck that convinced them who was coming into their camp long before they saw him. And the red gas can in the picture? Roger loved to start his fires with a great, big "woomph!"

The 'burban sits in front of the house, now, waiting for another adventure…if trucks can cry…

All my life I had this feeling that Roger would leave this earthly plane before me. I think I assumed it would be the result of his adventuring, an accident in the desert, a fall from a rock face, diving under the ground or washed away in a slot canyon. A long time ago I heard the song that I know would be for Roger's passing.   The song has been in my head for so long and now the time to play it is sadly here.

I fell in love with Roger early in our relationship, but didn’t tell him right away. I didn’t want him to feel like I was trying to “corner” him with a declaration, so I was surprised when he used the “L word….llllove” first. He said it so simply, and called me his Sweetheart and made it feel like the most natural thing in the world. My heart was singing, OK, I was in love! (Cue appropriate music.)

Shortly thereafter, he made plans to visit his mother in Baildon. Joking around about two nights before he left, I suggested that he get “Taken” tattooed across his forehead so all the ladies would know he had a Honey at home. After laughing about that idea for a moment, he told me that wouldn’t be necessary and disappeared into the back of the house. Returning, he showed me a silver band on his left-hand ring finger; “There, now everyone will know I’m committed to my red-headed Honey!” I think I might have gotten a bit teary that he would do such a thing. I mean, like many women, I can be a bit insecure, and this being in love with Roger was such a new thing, so that he would consider our relationship to mean that much to him, blew me away. I told him it wasn’t necessary and that I would hold the ring until he returned, which I did. When he returned after three weeks, he slipped the ring back on his finger with that big, loopy, Roger, grin. I got a ring and slipped it on my left-hand ring finger and that was that…we were in a committed relationship. He especially got a charge out of the fact that my ring completely fit into his, one nestled into the other. The rings didn’t match, his is a Southwestern motif and mine is Celtic, other than both being silver, but that didn’t matter to either of us. It was a statement about how we felt about each other. We didn’t need to be married by the state, we were a couple in our hearts.

When I told my mother about them, she called them our “friendship rings” and in the end, that was what we truly were, best friends…how lucky were we?

From our very early days as pre-teens scrabling on the formations at Brimham Rocks near Pately Bridge I always new Roger was my brother and my leader.  He was always wanting to push the limits a bit further and, when I dared, I grew by following his lead.  From Baildon Bank to Ilkley's Cow and Calf rocks and on to the sandstone towers of Southern Utah I grew up with my "big" brother leading me into new adventures.  I mourne the loss of the possibility of new adventures with him in our old age.  There are stories to be told.........

Roger and his friend, Mark, went bridge jumping in Annecy, France, in the early 1980’s. Bridge jumping is similar to bungee jumping, but using climbing rope, which doesn’t stretch as much. It also goes horizontal besides vertical. The jump was made between two parallel bridges, spanning a deep gorge, with the rope tied to the center of one bridge and the other end to a harness worn by the jumper, who was standing in the middle of the other bridge, leaving a large loop of rope descending into the gorge separating the bridges. This is Roger’s own account of his jump, quoted from the research study cited below.

 Somehow Pink Floyd seemed appropriate...this is all so Roger!

I knew I couldn’t stand on the edge of the bridge. Straight over and off – that’s what I told myself. All my senses seemed so finely tuned. I could feel my heart racing. Details on small objects were as clear as could be. Concentrate now; just hold the rope in front of you, keep it from tangling on your legs. Go off straight, don’t twist or you’ll risk falling out of your harness. Don’t wait on the other side of the railings. Over and off, over and off.

My heart upped the tempo another notch as I climbed over the railings. Go. Go. Go!! Do it now! The pressure in my chest was overwhelming. Jump! One last big breath. The pressure increased again. It was released with a scream. I grabbed the rope in front of me, held it away from my legs, and let go. Dropping, dropping, still accelerating… I could see the ropes snaking down in front of me. Still building speed, the trees were closing in, coming up so fast. No way I should be falling this far. The ropes must have come loose. Oh, God, this is it… At last I felt the forward tug and the swing began. Sweet relief. Still accelerating, but not straight down.

The transition to horizontal motion was sheer bliss. The wind was deafening through the bottom of the swing, skimming the trees at nearly terminal velocity, but the real danger was over. Coming up the other side, the wind eased, quieter and still quieter. Zero gravity at the end of the swing, perfectly quiet. From an impossible position, way out to the side of the bridge, I could see my friends on the bridge in front of me, not above. Just a touch of slack in the ropes and then back down again – stretch out straight, loving the speed now and pushing for more. This was more like it!

Mark followed my technique of not hanging around on the edge. Over a couple of glasses of glorious cool beer, we relived every wonderful moment. Grinning like maniacs and feeling like gods. No matter how many would come after us we were it! We did a quick encore by tightrope-walking the cables of the suspension bridge – it was easy. We’d already learnt to fly.

Reading Hesse on the drive back to Paris, Mark shoved a passage in front of me: “And already I was falling, I plunged, I leaped, I flew; wrapped in a cold vortex, I shot, blissful and palpitating with ecstatic pain, down through infinity…” He leaned back in his seat with a smug grin. “Hesse must have done it too!”

 
Schliebner, S., & Whitehead, R. 1998. Arousal: conscious experience and brain mechanisms. In P. G. Grossenbacher (Ed.), Finding Consciousness in the Brain: A Neurocognitive Approach, (pp.187-220). Philadelphia, PA: John Benjamins Publishing; North America.

Flight of Earls was one of Roger's favorite songs. He made his own flight from Yorkshire during Maggie's destruction of Northern England in the 1980's. At the time he left, unemployment in the north was at almost 60 percent, not much opportunity for a young man in his 20's. So he came to Colorado...and stayed for 30 years. Below are the lyrics to this lovely song as sung by the Wolfe Tones. When they speak of the flight of earls from Ireland, they could just as easily be singing about Yorkshire. I guess I should thank The Iron Lady for chasing our favorite Earl, Roger, to Colorado where he enriched all our lives with his "brains, vision and education." 

FLIGHT OF EARLS

I can hear the bells of Dublin in this lonely waiting room
And the paperboys are singin' in the rain
Not too long before they take us to the airport and the noise
To get on board a transatlantic plane
We've got nothin' left to stay for, we have no more left to say
And there isn't any work for us to do.
So farewell ye boys and girls;
Another bloody Flight of Earls
Our best asset is our best export, too....

It's not murder, fear or famine that makes us leave this time.
We're not going to join McAlpine's Fusileers
We've got brains, and we've got vision; we've got education, too!
But we just can't throw away these precious years
So we walk the streets of London, And the streets of Baltimore
And we meet at night in several Boston bars
We're the leaders of the future,
But we're far away from home
And we dream of you
Beneath the Irish stars

As we look on Ellis Island, and the Lady in the bay
And Manhattan turns to face another Sunday
We just wonder what you're doing to bring us all back home
As we look forward to another Monday.
Because it's not the work that scares us, we don't mind an honest job
And we know things will get better once again
So a thousand times adieu,
We've got Bono and U2
All we're missin' is the Guinness, and the rain

So switch off your new computers cause the writing's on the wall.
We're leaving as our fathers did before
Take a look at Dublin airport, or the boat that leaves North Wall
There'll be no Youth Unemployment any more.
Because we're over here in Queensland,
And in parts of New South Wales
We're on the seas and airways and the trains
But if we see better days, those big airplanes go both ways
And we'll all be comin' home to you again!

Roger loved taking photographs, not just snaps, but really good photos. He always said that the best light was first thing in the morning, so more than once we got up at dawn to catch the best light. This morning at Chaco, we were the only people in the ruins...for Roger, heaven on earth!

One of Roger's favorite movies was "A River Runs Through It," so when we started fly-fishing he wanted to fish some of the rivers of Montana. Some of the movie was filmed along the Madison, so we spent a couple of weeks in western Montana, fishing the beautiful rivers in the Big Sky Country. Oh, the shotgun? Well, there had been several grizzlie attacks that summer, and my mother was in a panic that we would be attacked in the wilds (you can see how wild that part of the Madison is...houses on the bank and all) so we took his shotgun, and to make her feel better, we took pictures with the shotgun. A lot of people carry bear spray, which smells like pepper, in their pockets, as well as wearing bells so you don't catch either the black bears or the grizzlies unawares. Now you might ask, why didn't we wear bells and carry bear spray? Well, in Montana they say you can tell black bear scat (poop) by the size, about the size of your fist, and you can see bits of grass and berries in it. Grizzlie scat on the other hand, is twice that size and has bells in it and smells of pepper...

When we started dating, Roger was quite clear...he was ok with dogs, but really didn't care for cats. He wouldn't punt one, but he just didn't care for them. OMG, such a guy thing! Then he got to know my silly torty cat and she absolutely loved him...and he was charmed by her. So ok, maybe my cat was was one of the "good" cats. Then one of the cats from across the street from his house started hanging about...well ok, but it couldn't come into the house...well, ok, but we weren't going to feed it...well, ok... Yeah the big, tough Yorkshireman was hooked! If the doors were open the cats could count on a pet on the head, a gentle tail-pull (they like that a lot) and some treats! When we went to Istanbul, which is a city full of cats, the manager of the Hotel Turkuaz where we were staying had several cats. Maniac was a crazy (he was very well named) year old boy that immediately fell in love with Roger. During our entire stay, whenever we came or went, Maniac would be there to say hi and get some lovin', but only from Roger. As you can see, Roger hated the cat...the big Softie! This is one of the many I took of them, with our Tall Tyke making kissy faces at "his" cat!

Three bull elk visited on a overcast Saturday. We'd been feeding the budgies and the deer earlier in the day and apparently the word was out...free eats at Roger's! After initial shyness, the promise of corn was just too much! There was one big bull we called Ullysses because he was so big and stately. Taggert had numerous ear tags and a tracking collar. Buster (so named for the "busted" antler) was the most brazen and after eyeing the Tall Tyke for a moment, was overcome with greed, and proceeded to gobble down lunch. After Roger saw my pictures, he commented, "I didn't realize how close I was to the pointy bits!"

For the first years Roger lived in the US, his Yorkshire accent was still very apparent. Not everyone was able to easily understand him, especially over the phone. While living in Los Angeles, Roger wanted a pizza, as you do, and called the local pizzaria to order his favorite pie. After struggling to understand what he wanted on his pizza, the cashier finally got it...pepperoni, mushrooms, onions, etc. Roger gave the guy his name and, after a short wait, headed to the pizzaria to pick up dinner. When he arrived, no pizza...no phone order...nothing. The cashier went to the kitchen...no pizza. Looked in the heating oven...no pizza. Finally, after some time of frustration, the cashier began reading the orders to Roger to see if they had written the name incorrectly...John, no...Ben, no...Betty, no...Finally, the last order...pepperoni, check...mushrooms, check...onions, check...Oh, but that's an order for someone named "Grolger!"  

So "Grolger" Whitehead took his pizza home!