I had the honor of being the official photographer of President Bill Clinton’s visit to Reno last Friday evening at the Boys and Girls Club of Truckee Meadows. Rain and threatening snow, nor the relatively late-in-the-evening start time, did not keep people away. It was a full house, with a packed overflow room as well.
These guys have a tough job to do, and they do it with grace.
It’s what I’ve been up to. We’ve got a caucus to win on February 20th.
As I will be doing every weekend until the Nevada caucus on February 20th, I was out knocking on doors today. I love meeting people face-to-face! 
In northern Nevada, one of our own in the photography community has suffered the unspeakable and unfathomable loss of her two small boys and our hearts are broken for her. We are joining together to help her in whatever way we can. If you wish to contribute, here is the fundraising page that has been set up: Fundraiser for Ashley Deane.
Such a loss. I broke down in the car when I heard.
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
Maya Angelou, 1928-2014
A few of you have been asking about the smoke. It’s still here and it’s still awful. We’re hoping to get some respite by the weekend.
The irony? Today marks the kickoff of the annual Best In The West Rib Cook-off.
The jokes write themselves.
A friend of a friend cracked on Facebook, “Right about now all you need to do is wave your rack of ribs out the car to Gardnerville and back. Voila, smoked ribs!”
A friend quipped: “Enjoying a beer and margarita on the patio, eating appetizers. Smells like we’re at camp. That’s on fire.”
The view this morning at the stoplight in my town. Those hills are just on the other side of the signal.
Edited to add: It just dawned on me that the tracks on the highway is ash. It’s getting on everything.
Carissa Snedeker Photography 