Des Moines to Rapid City

Mitchell, South Dakota. Ten minutes later we were in the middle of a whiteout which last to Wall, SD. Did I mention the 50 mph winds?

Newton, Iowa. Little has changed in eighteen years except for the traffic.

Dumb and Dumber 1994: Harry and Lloyd Travel Across the Country…so are we?

Harry:  I can’t believe we drove around all day, and there’s not a single job in this town. There is nothing, nada, zip! 
L loyd: Yeah! Unless you wanna work forty hours a week.

Chris Crocco: ALL THAT JAZZ

If you have to ask what jazz is, you’ll never know.

-Louis Armstrong-

What does a young boy with a tin ear growing up in Klamath Falls, Oregon know about jazz?  I can assure you absolutely nothing.

But for some reason I loved the music of Louis Armstrong and did a pretty good impersonation of Satchmo, handkerchief and all that kept my grandmother pretty happy…Ohhh Yeah.

Keep an eye out for this rising star, Chris Crocco will keep us all happy!


Not a Goodbye, but Thanksgiving:

Don’t be dismayed at goodbyes.  A farewell is necessary before you can meet again.  And meeting again, after moments or lifetime, is certain for those who are friends.

 -Richard Bach-

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For over a year the mountain has been my sanctuary.

A place to decompress and reflect on a life half filled with double-digit hour days, deadlines and a lifetime of storytelling.

It has been a place to think about past friends.  To think of those who were not so friendly and to relish in the meeting of new friends.

If the Hudson River Valley is the jewel for those who live here…my mountain is the sparkle. 

The true reflection of both nature and friendship is during the first and final handshake.


Winter Bounty:

“Walked for half an hour in the garden.  A fine rain was falling, and the landscape was that of autumn.  The sky was hung with various shades of gray, and mists hovered about the distant mountains – a melancholy nature.  The leaves were falling on all sides like the last illusions of youth under the tears of irremediable grief.  A brood of chattering birds were chasing each other through the shrubberies, and playing games among the branches, like a knot of hiding schoolboys.  Every landscape is, as it were, a state of the soul, and whoever penetrates into both is astonished to find how much likeness there is in each detail.”

-Henri Frederic Amiel-