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February 27, 2012

Still February.. With A Splash

Rick Santorum is a jerk. No surprise. But I still couldn’t believe my ears on the radio this afternoon about his bashing Obama for encouraging a college education. — that the more they go to college the less they go to church. Declining as a world power is one thing, but Santorum jumping up and down demanding a quick decline is just creepy.

Anyway, I wanted to tell you about what happened when I got home to read more about this insanity.

I spoke too soon about this month. February took my kind words as a sign of weakness and handed me a hearty blow, or two, since my last post.

I ended up in my Doctor’s office, with a Z-pack, in bed for two days; shivering, aching, wheezing and coughing up enough phlegm for 5 Februaries. It was painful and super gross.

After no sunlight and not having showered for 4 days, wearing the same t-shirt, same grim mindset, I looked in the mirror on Sunday, while the glamour of the world walked down the red carpet for the Oscars, I realized that I should change my attitude.

After a rest from seeing such a frightening sight in the mirror, I vacuumed, dusted, washed the floors, put away the dishes, smiled, and took a shower. I applied the usual toenail polish that I’ve been wearing for many years. Yoga has always been more fun with painted toenails.

But this time, in honor of my vows to move into the next chapter of this life, I did something that I hadn’t done since high school, in hopes of becoming attractive to the opposite sex – I applied finger-nail polish.

Monday morning came and I had good meetings (yes, coughing, but so is everybody else in Aspen).  A beautiful 3rd grader named Jenny, came over  to Owl Farm with her mom and little sister. Jenny is doing a report on peacocks. Her mom saw Jesse in the grocery store and we exchanged phone numbers.  I’m a sucker for 3rd grade research projects.

Afternoon appointments went very well down-valley. There was no study Hall today so I was looking forward to the Woody Creek Planning commission meeting regarding the new owners of the Gravel Mine, and new machinery that we’ll be living next to…

Came home with enough time to run Athena in the field. As usual, Jesse trotted under the shooting table to dig in the dirt. The way peacocks stay clean and perhaps stay amused, is to lie in dirt and kick with their mighty clawed feet, dirt into their wings. It’s a funny-looking ritual, but it keeps them health and happy, and, ahem, attractive to the opposite sex.

The weather has been exceedingly warm, and even the adult males are growing their trains at a disturbing rate. The ski slopes are lacking, and the warm weather melts what little snow we do have into puddles.

After Athena tired out, as usual, we walked back into the house with the cats following and Jesse to dig a few minutes longer.

While I was logging on to see this nonsense for myself about Rick Santorum, the corner of my eye registered Jesse strutting in as he does every day. But with the sunlight shining off the floor behind him, only an odd silhouette of what looked like penguin, wings and tail dragging on the floor with a proud look on his face.

Well, it turns out the February melt ended up as puddles under the shooting table. It wasn’t dirt he was kicking, but serious, hearty, red-earth-of-Owl Farm mud packs into his feathers.

Not computing fast enough what Jesse was bringing in, I way-too-slowly turned around as waddled to the counter. He was too weighed down to hop up onto his assigned corner perch, so he tried to make a jump onto Hunter’s chair. But instead he splat a huge maroon mud pie onto the chair, drawers, wall etc. and landed back on the floor with more sloshing.

“Oh My God! Jesse!” I grabbed him in my arms, yes, sacrificing my sweatshirt, and put him in the sink for a rinse (something I’ve done a million times as he has comes in with dirt in his claws). he weighed a ton, and I realized this was a bathtub job.

Like a fool in February, I picked him up again, out of warn sink, as if I were the only creature in the room capable of being pissed off.

What I remember is a feeling of claws on my sweatshirt, the warm muddy water draining through as he clamored to get to my shoulder. Then, suddenly, what used to be cute baby wings 4 months ago, were now flapping pterodactyl projectiles that seemed to stretch the entire length of the kitchen.

The mighty, sloshing and pounding of wet beating in my face and shoulders, hearing somebody’s voice yelling “noooooooo!” (surely mine), happened in earthquake time — seemed like 20 minutes, but truly about 20 seconds.  

We made it to the bathroom shower spritzer. This bird had not soaked himself in a mud-pie, but more like a gritty chocolate multi-layered wedding cake.

Peacocks are not water birds, and they don’t have the gland by their tails to drag oil across their feather to waterproof them, like many other bird species. And peacocks are emotional.

So, after pissing him off by removing this wonderful clay that he had worked so hard to pack in, and never having tested his stress threshold, I didn’t want to freak him out any more. So after a quick power-wash, I put him by the heater to run back into the kitchen to get a role of paper towels that he loves – he is intimidated by towel in the hand. Not to mention that I didn’t want to burst out laughing in front of him.

Then, creaping back into the kitchen, I saw what looked like a horror scene. That famous red earth of Owl Farm splattered not just across the sink. The shrapnel reached from Hunter’s typewriter (thank god I put a cover on it years ago) to the refrigerator, both windows, ceiling and floor. Nothing was spared. Not even the cats.

The kitchen is difficult to DUST: Hundreds of little pieces of paper, photographs, plaques, pins, gadgets, etc. everywhere… Me? My skin and hair will surely shine after this involuntary mud treatment.

Good thing I painted my fingernails for this event. Right?

Jesse began his splattering at Hunter’s chair,  so do I assume this is a kick from February or a kiss from Hunter?

Anyway, Jesse is now dry and sleeping, the cats are clean, I’m clean, and the kitchen is drying and I might not get out of bed until march 1.

Goodnight from your oh-so-attractive, earthy, painted friend, who, to Rick Santorum’s chagrin, finally finished college,

Anita Thompson



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February 23, 2012

Jesse’s first Outdoor Flight: Few-Weeks-old. Brave First Flaps. And look at his little feet tucked in like a pro.


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February 21, 2012

Something Blue, or Something New?

Remember baby steps?

You do?

Good memory.

I don’t remember mine. But obviously they happened because I can walk. In fact I usually walk really well. I even started jogging in high-school, which happened to be a boarding school in the Swiss Alps — a stunningly beautiful place to jog. So, I’m really glad that I as a baby, I wasn’t too inhibited to take the first step.

I bet a lot of us started and succeeded at more things as children than as adults. I don’t know how to quantify this, but it’s worth looking into. 

My old beloved, go-to-for-good-wisdom, Deepak Chopra, says in Sectrets:

Imagine a baby who wants to walk, doesn’t because she thinks to herself:

1. I don’t want to look bad.

2. I don’t want to fall down.

3. I don’t want to live with the burden of failure. 

4. I don’t want to expend all my energy.

5. I don’t want any pain.

Yep. Have you ever seen a baby learn to walk? Human or otherwise? it is so exciting. Falling down? no problem. 

It’s obvious where I’m going with this. 

If I’m trying something new, making new friends, trying new approaches, learning to paint again. Remember the kids. 

And remember the biggest kid of all, Hunter once wrote to me that "we have no fear, only moments of confusion."

Yes! true.

With love, 

Anita Thompson

p.s. Last night I didn’t host the annual bon-fire here at home. I left Owl Farm to have a nice dinner with a good friend, Hal. Hunter also loved Hal, for good reason. Hal gets nostalgic about the days when you could put a fake mouse into the bread basket at Poppy’s restaurant in Aspen without homeland security or Department of Justice being called. And he loves art. And birds. And a grey goose martini with a bit of vermouth.

And holy smokes Jim, thank you so much for the sweet blog post! thank you…

And speaking of martinis and DOJ, here’s a link to our friend Richard Beckler’s WSJ letter: Love it.

And speaking of people who love the truth, here is a link our Jerri Merritt of talk left, who has been following (like a hawk) the Dominique-strauss-Kahn case. 

And speaking of friends and truth, here’s a link to our Doug Brinkley’s review in the NYTimes  which is still catching heat all over the internet for using the term "chick non-fiction" to dismiss "The Obamas." Tee hee he. 




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February 19, 2012

Feb 20, Hunter S. Thompson, We Love You

I can’t thank you enough for the letters cards, and emails. It is indeed a touchstone to reach a 7 year anniversary of Hunter’s death. Those of us who were close to him, I think, have all figured out what exactly his absence means and that the fallout reached some kind of equilibrium this year — as though he has settled into our hearts.

I thought this would be the worst February ever. But no, maybe because I braced myself so fiercely, it has been filled with love and friendship and really great memories. We all miss Hunter more than a blog post can describe. And I can’t thank you enough, my old friends, and the new friends in my life, as Christopher Hitchens would say, for your continued existence. 

There is no substitute for friends and family (four-legged, winged and human). We love you. And the pre-dawn yoga and time with kids have sure been a bonus. I just love you. 

I think that Love is as big and inclusive as we want it to be. Why not.

Here’s to a beautiful new chapter, with Hunter in our hearts, with a future bright and right ahead of us. 

Feb 19, evening, 2011, Owl Farm…

Anita Thompson



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February 18, 2012

If You Love Being Spied On, Raise Your Hand.

Actually, you don’t even need to raise your hand. Just nod, and the cameras will see.

A new federal law, signed by the president on Tuesday, compels the Federal Aviation Administration to allow drones to be used for all sorts of commercial endeavors — from selling real estate and dusting crops, to monitoring oil spills and wildlife, even shooting Hollywood films. Local police and emergency services will also be freer to send up their own drones.

That sucks. Read more here: http://topics.nytimes.com/top/reference/timestopics/organizations/f/federal_aviation_administration/index.html?inline=nyt-org

Your friend in Woody Creek,

Anita Thompson

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February 14, 2012

Happy Valentine’s Day from The Babes of Owl Farm


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February 12, 2012

NYTimes Map of Govt Benefits. Hint: More than You Think

The share of Americans’ income that comes from government benefit programs, like Medicare, Medicaid and Social Security, more than doubled over the last four decades, rising from 8 percent in 1969 to 18 percent in 2009.

check it out:



Anita Thompson

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February 11, 2012

I Will Always Love You

AHhhh. Just walked in the door and I’m so sad to see that the woman who carried a National Treasure in her voicebox has left us. There are few things as beautiful as female vocals — and she was the queen. We’ll miss you Whitney Houston. Long live WH.


With Love, Anita T.

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Jesse, this Summer, on Owl Farm Shooting Table.


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Zack in Big Sur this Summer


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Saturday morning Photo

Good morning. I’m off to early morning yoga again. I recommend this to anyone having a bitch of a February. So, this morning I checked facebook again to see what my nephew is up to. I was simply shocked, SHOCKED, by the language that he posted last night. But there was a great photo, which I don’t know how to upload. So here’s one from my album 

cheers and good morning:

(hmm. Forgot how to upload it in the same post. so, one photo is in next entry)

Anita Thompson

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February 10, 2012


This is the sweetest little post from my nephew Zack from Facebook: I need to check Facebook out more often just to see his noble musings!

The Alphabet starts with A-B-C. The Numeric System starts with 1-2-3. Music starts with Do-Re-Mi. And love starts with You-And-Me.

— The wonderful Zack Ross…

Love you kiddo!

Xo ‘Tita 


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Good Ideas Come in Small Emails

Thanks Tucker:

I will certainly stay in touch, thanks for the letter, also I have a suggestion to reintroduce Hunter’s writings again, maybe create a box set or anthology of all things he wrote (Maybe with a nice Steadman box to keep it all in) if that came into existence I would buy two copies one for myself and one for my school to further the reading of one of the greatest authors in all of American history.
Thanks, Tucker

On Thu, Feb 9, 2012 at 5:10 PM, Tucker Farris (XXXXX@XXXXXX) wrote:
Thank you for the prompt reply.

On Feb 9, 2012 4:10 PM, "Owl Farm Blog Email" <email@owlfarmblog.com> wrote:
> Dear Tucker,
> I’m sorry that we don’t currently have any college scholarships in Hunter’s name — at least not through the Gonzo Foundation. But if I come up with any ideas I’ll certainly let you know. It’s great to hear from someone who loves Hunter’s work so much. Please keep me posted on your work in High School.
> All the best, Anita T.

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Education Gap Between Rich And Poor widens. Gee! What a surprise

The widening achievement gap between affluent and low-income students has received less attention than the divide between white and black students, which has narrowed significantly. says the NYTs.

Although no surprise, what a crappy headline to wake up to. 

The sun is coming up, it’s 23.5 degrees outside, all the animals except for Jesse are asleep (he’s pecking at the pencil erasers in the brass pen case (after dipping his beak into my earl grey leaving bits of his breakfast floating on top– ewwwieu — stop it Jesse)), and I’m off to Bikram. Talk soon. 

Good morning from Owl Farm,

Anita Thompson

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February 09, 2012

You’re Right, The Song was “I Got You” Not, “I Want You.”

Thanks Brent! Yes, you’re right. It wasn’t the Dylan "I want you." but Sonny and Cher’s "I Got you, Babe"

Why not post the Lyrics:


 HER: They say we’re young and we don’t know
We won’t find out until we grow
HIM: Well I don’t know if all that’s true
‘Cause you got me, and baby I got you

HIM: Babe
BOTH: I got you babe
I got you babe

HER: They say our love won’t pay the rent
Before it’s earned, our money’s all been spent
HIM: I guess that’s so, we don’t have a pot
But at least I’m sure of all the things we got

HIM: Babe
BOTH: I got you babe
I got you babe

HIM: I got flowers in the spring
I got you to wear my ring
HER: And when I’m sad, you’re a clown
And if I get scared, you’re always around

HER: Don’t let them say your hair’s too long
‘Cause I don’t care, with you I can’t go wrong
HIM: Then put your little hand in mine
There ain’t no hill or mountain we can’t climb

HIM: Babe
BOTH: I got you babe
I got you babe

HIM: I got you to hold my hand
HER: I got you to understand
HIM: I got you to walk with me
HER: I got you to talk with me
I got you to kiss goodnight
I got you to hold me tight
I got you, I won’t let go
I got you to love me so

BOTH: I got you babe
I got you babe
I got you babe
I got you babe
I got you babe


Anyway, here are Dylan’s lyrics, even if they’re not the ones from Groundhog Day (oh, why not just post Dylan’s lyric?):

I Want You

The guilty undertaker sighs
The lonesome organ grinder cries
The silver saxophones say I should refuse you
The cracked bells and washed-out horns
Blow into my face with scorn
But it’s not that way
I wasn’t born to lose you

I want you, I want you
I want you so bad
Honey, I want you

The drunken politician leaps
Upon the street where mothers weep
And the saviors who are fast asleep, they wait for you
And I wait for them to interrupt
Me drinkin’ from my broken cup
And ask me to
Open up the gate for you

I want you, I want you
I want you so bad
Honey, I want you

How all my fathers, they’ve gone down
True love they’ve been without it
But all their daughters put me down
’Cause I don’t think about it

Well, I return to the Queen of Spades
And talk with my chambermaid
She knows that I’m not afraid to look at her
She is good to me
And there’s nothing she doesn’t see
She knows where I’d like to be
But it doesn’t matter

I want you, I want you
I want you so bad
Honey, I want you

Now your dancing child with his Chinese suit
He spoke to me, I took his flute
No, I wasn’t very cute to him, was I?
But I did it, though, because he lied
Because he took you for a ride
And because time was on his side
And because I . . .

I want you, I want you
I want you so bad
Honey, I want you

Copyright © 1966 by Dwarf Music; renewed 1994 by Dwarf Music


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Question From Reader: Owl Farm into Museum

from Valeria: (I’ll answer other emails over time — this one caught my attention just now)

Why turn Owl Farm into a "museum"? What about privacy and respect? It’s
just business?

Dear "Valeria,"

Thanks so much for the email.  Business? if you mean money, then, no, unfortunately money is not the driving force. It costs a lot of money to run a museum, and I’m not very good at business in the first place — so a museum is not a way to make money. In fact, I’ll be emailing you for a contribution when I open Owl Farm as one.

Privacy? the reason I’ve waited 7 years to even start talking about it is that It won’t be a museum while It’s still my primary residence. 

A friend asked me yesterday "what’s holding you back?" [from moving on], and — well, as cheezy as it sounds, the answer is love. 

But I love Hunter’s work, and want his life to be shared with his readers who love his work as well. 

Unfortunately, Hunter’s archive was sold very quickly and for half the appraised value and not to a public University — it’s in private hands. So this is the only plan at the moment for people to visit Hunter’s history.

 But again, I have not yet opened Owl Farm to the public. SO PLEASE DO NOT VISIT YET. I’ve always had a problem with trespassers. This is no exception…

So, I will see you at Owl Farm when I have open house — one hopes after Hunter’s birthday in the summer. I will keep you posted as always.

Your friend in Woody Creek,

Anita Thompson

there is more to this answer TK


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February 07, 2012

Dyslexia, Irlen, Where’s Eddie Izzard When we Need Him?

Hi. There’s a weird opinion piece about Dyslexia by Annie Murphy Paul in New York Times today. I don’t know why these studies fail to mention Irlen Syndrome. One interesting line in the piece :Glib talk about appreciating dyslexia as a “gift” is unhelpful at best and patronizing at worst.


And I also like the theory that Dyslexia or Irlene are a symptoms of being from another planet, or those of us hard wired for ancient Greek — explaining why modern letters are hard-as-hell to see.


Shucks, gotta run to study hall. But I’ll finish this post in a few to explain why I’m longing for Eddie Izzard.

Yes, apparently I suffer from more than Irlene, I also suffer from my own ADHD and rudeness to my readers. sorry. See you in a bit.

love, Anita Thompson

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February 06, 2012

Yay Giants

Good morning. and Good Work New York. God, I miss NYC.

Super Bowl 2012: Giants beat Patriots 21-17 in a heartstopping repeat of 2008 title game… the only article I can find at the moment is here, but it’s in every paper i’m sure:

Here at Owl Farm, the sun is about to go up, and I’m off to yoga. The super Bowl has inspired me to do the morning Bikram instead of late afternoons. So far in this short month, I’ve been able to do it without passing out.

 Again, go Giants. love, Anita



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February 02, 2012

Bill Murray Reports: Punxsutawney Phil says Go Giants

And it looks like we’ll be watching the Super Bowl in the midst of  6 more weeks of winter. Ah well. It’s better than waking up over and over and over to the same day. Um… Yikes. I need to call Bill Murray — maybe it has been the same day over and over for 7 years. 

How did he resolve it? Can’t remember. Although, at least it was a Dylan song that came on every morning and not Vanilla Ice. 

Off to the Kid’s After-school Study Hall,

love, Anita Thompson


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February 01, 2012

Okay. It’s Happening. It’s February.

Good morning. I woke up to my blackberry confirming, shouting, that it is indeed February. Not my favorite month, but we’ve mitigated it with… children! Thanks kids!

Gonzo Foundation and Woody Creek Community Center are happy to host After-School, Supervised Study Hall, from 3 – 5 pm, weekdays, during the month of February. And guess what. There’ll be free food.

All ages welcome. Need to finish your math homework? Working on a Novel? See you at the Woody Creek Cafe, weekdays, starting Feb 1.

You can just show up for the Study Hall. But if you have questions, call Anita Thompson or Hilary Stunda 970-922-2342. Want to volunteer? Donate snacks? We’d love it.


Gonzo and WC3

I’ll be checking emails then, I guess. 

love, Anita Thompson

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