Keep powder off Durango streets

Dear Durango coffee purveyors, be they old and local, new and corporate, or drive-through convenient:

As a noncoffee drinker in Durango who often enjoys a cup of chai tea, either hot or iced, here’s a heads up for you. Serving instant powdered chai is the taste equivalent of serving instant powdered coffee with nondairy creamer. It’s a giant quality step below the liquid concentrates, and even farther below the (gasp, I can dream, can’t I?) an actual locally brewed tea made with real spices, where the amount of sweetener added is left up to the consumer. It’s kind of like going into a fine Italian restaurant and ordering garlic bread, expecting a beautiful rustic artisan loaf, lightly toasted, with roasted garlic, real melted butter and a sprinkling of fresh parmesan, only to be served stale limp white hamburger buns brushed with an unidentifiable yellow oil and sprinkled with some garlic salt. Yuck. If you wouldn’t serve your customers instant coffee, please, oh please, don’t make instant chai the only option for your tea-drinking customers.

– Sincerely, Jennifer Kleffner, noncoffee drinker and frequent coffee shop customer

Legend of the River of Lost Souls, Part 4

Dear Editors,

“We will not stop before the Monster Called Wal-Mart, as most do,” said Boat Man. “When the River is strong, as it is now, it will carry us far, into the land called New Mexico, where we will end our journey at the Place Where Big Truck Waits.”

The cottonwoods and willows began to reclaim the banks as they floated along peacefully in the warm sunshine. But then a deep pounding reached their ears, and grew louder and louder, until it nearly shook their glasses out of their Croakies.

“Do Giants dwell here?” asked the Valley People, in fear. “Will we be squashed as they walk through?”

“No,” said Learned Man of the Law. “This noise does not move on, nor does it abate. It continues right here, night and day. It is a Gas Plant. We are fortunate, for we can move past it and the people living here cannot.”

“Try to put it from your mind, for it is a thing Too Awful to Contemplate.”

The Valley People were only too happy to glide on

down the River, but soon they became hungry. “Let us stop here and eat our lunch on this beautiful river bank,” they said.

“We can’t stop here,” said Boat Man. “For this is Private Property. These banks belong not to the River, as they should, but to the McMansions you see.”

“Is there no place for travelers like us to pull their boats from the river?” asked the Valley People.

“No,” said Boat Man, “but up ahead is a spot4 

where  we can’t be seen, or shot at, and we will stop there.”

They stood on a few square feet of solid ground in the blazing sun and ate their lunch, then climbed back in their craft to continue their journey. The River changed as they traveled. “We are in New Mexico now,” said Boat Man. As they rounded a curve in the River, they saw, emblazoned on rock that towered above them, the words “Sacrifice Area.”

“What does this mean?” asked the Valley People, in trembling voices. “Have we come all this way, only to be sacrificed in this place?”

“Not us,” said Cataraft Man. “But the land and the lives of our neighbors – that is what is being sacrificed.”

“Since Before Our Knowing, creatures and plants have lived on this Earth, and died, and the Earth has digested them all,” Cataraft Man explained. “But this caused the Earth to have gas.”

Learned Man of the Law took up the story. “The Crude Ones discovered they could make the gas come out forcefully, in many places. And so this Basin became like the campfire scene in ‘Blazing Saddles’ – a huge circle of escaping gas.

“The Crude Ones clap their hands with delight at each new Earth Fart they force,” continued Learned Man of the Law. “But those who live on the land where the Earth Farts are made are sad, for the places where the gas comes out are ugly and noisy, and they poison the water around them.

“But that matters not to the Crude Ones, for they don’t have to live with the Earth Farts. They celebrate the creation of each new one by setting it on fire. They collect the gas and the money that comes from it and demand to create more and more. It is for this the land is sacrificed.”

“This beautiful land is being poisoned for a bunch of Flaming Assholes?!” the Valley People asked in dismay.

“Sadly, it is true in our land, too,” said the County People. “Many of our neighbors have been forced to share their homes with these horrors. Our county is full of these Flaming Assholes.”

So great was the sorrow of the people that they failed to be alert for the signs of their stopping place, Where Big Truck Waits. Boat Man pulled toward the river bank. The river was big, and the eddy was small. A huge willow hung from the bank, and Trailer Woman grabbed its branches. The willow held the raft for a moment, but the Cataraft, coming right behind, pushed into the raft. The collision pushed the raft free from the willow, and Boat Man, Wise Woman of the City, the Valley People, and the Learned Men were swept on down the River. But Trailer Woman remained in its grasp, half in the River, and half in the willow.

The Young Giant of the County leaped from the Cataraft just before the collision, and stopped that craft and held it. While he stood like a rock in the freezing, heaving waters, Cataraft Man and Cataraft Woman worked their craft free from the clutches of the willow, and together they brought their craft back to the Place Where Big Truck Waits.

“Come, leave that willow, for we are safe now,” Cataraft Man said to Trailer Woman. But she did not move, and she did not reply. Instead, a voice came to them from the River.

“You may have her body,” said the voice, “but I am keeping her soul.”

The County People were frightened. “Who are you?”

“I am the River of Lost Souls. I am that upon whom you ride, from whose waters you sustain life.”

“But you cannot keep her soul!” they cried.

“I can, and I will,” said the River. “How do you think I got the name? I gather the souls of those who do not honor me – those who think that they can use me for their own purposes and their own gain.”

“But why Trailer Woman? Surely she has done nothing to offend the River.”

“Well, she did fall out of the boat twice in one trip, which is very uncool,” said the River. “OK, I’ll let her keep her physical form.”

“But her soul will remain here, and live on as Willow Woman, as long as Willow Woman continues to tell the people of the City and the County the stories of their follies and their trespasses against the River and the Earth.”

“I will allow her soul to live as long as she and Boat Man continue to bring the people my message – that their souls, too, like those of the Water Buffalo and the Crude Ones, will be lost, if they do not cease their unnatural ways.”

The River of Lost Souls sighed. “Now go get Boat Man. He’s not far, but you’re all going to have to carry that boat up one hell of a hill.”

– Willow Woman,

Remembering the elderly

Dear Editors,

I just got around to reading the June 16 edition of theTelegraph. I read the story written by Curt Melliger, “The little girl who loved lilacs.” What a wonderful story about compassion. I have read several of Curt’s stories, and I never fail to find an important lesson in each. Curt has a unique way of viewing life and putting it down on paper in such a poetic and almost surreal manner. Please continue to public his stories. This particular story really hit me personally.

I have a business, Durango Scrapbook Design, wherein I make scrapbooks for folks who do not have time, etc. Two years ago, a lady hired me to make about six books for her. She is in her 70s, but has medical problems and physically could not make the books herself. I, like Beck in Curt’s story, have a mission to take care of my new friend. Sometimes I take her her favorite lunch – a chocolate milkshake and French fries – sit and visit with her, and on some of her better days, we go to a movie. She is smart, witty and has a twinkle in her eye. I enjoy her company very much, and I know she loves me and appreciates it very much when I visit or call. This makes me feel good, too.

I wish more people would remember the elderly and do something to make their lonely days a little brighter. Perhaps Curt’s story here will make people more aware.

– Sincerely,

Debbie Koster