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Elizabeth here, approaching LasVegas, Nevada.  Steve just called the place, “LostWages.” That’s a new one on me and made me chuckle. 

My Biological Father (BF) lives in LasVegas, (not to be confused with the man who adopted me, raised me and whom I call “Dad,” who can usually be found in Iowa.)

The above picture is of neither man, but is Jim Gibbons, Governor of the state of Nevada, at least at the time this map on my lap went to print.  I was struck by Gov. Gibbon’s ultra-thin lipped smile, tie bar, and hanky folded like shark’s teeth.

We are on our way from our house in SW Utah to pick up Steve’s cousin, Mike and his lovely wife, Sue at the LasVegas airport.

When I am in or enroute to/through Sin City, I naturally think of my BioFa, and by extension, my Dad.  (I also think of a friend who grew up here; her name is Christine. “Hi, Christine!”)

Two “fathers,” Bio and Adopted…

The former was born in Trinidad (of Trini/Tobago),
the latter in Abilene, Texas.
The former was the lighting director for the MGM Grand for 30(?)+ years in Las Vegas,
the latter was a district court judge.
The former is remembered by my mother in part by how he looked in his dancer’s clothes,
the latter, in his U.S. Naval Officer’s uniform.
My BF’s mother was an international ballet critic who taught at UC Irvine, was senior editor of Dance Magazine, and published several books. (One book is called, “Children, Music and Dance.”)
My Dad’s mother was a single parent, worked as a legal aid, and died tragically.
One story my dad tells about is when she had her car at the mechanic’s garage and she actually got in the front seat with the black man who drove her back home, radical for the time and place for a white woman to do, and potentially dangerous for the man. She died when her car went off a bridge, leaving her only child. (Sad, sad story.)
My BF’s father (my paternal grand-father) had a second wife with kids which means I have a slew of coysins in Trinidad. (Carnival!)
My Dad’s father was a self-taught musical genius and pianist, but his father was a preacher and thought poorly of that vocation. He pulled my Dad’s father out of school after he caught him playing for money in a “honkey tonk.” This great-grandfather married my folks and wrote a book,called, “The Deacon Wore Spats,” (stories of a traveling northern Bible belt preacher.) It is still taught in some seminary schools.