Finally...

The photos are up. I've injured my writing hand. More later...

Last of the Travel Photos

It already seems so long ago that I was out there on the open road. My trip from Memphis, through Nashville (had to settle for photos: no time to find the museum where they sell the postcards), and on to Chattanooga was uneventful. I enjoyed the Tennessee Aquarium immensely and was there early in the day so I almost had the place to myself. Unfortunately, I only had a couple of hours to spend so that I could get to Asheville before dark.

The main reason for going through Chattanooga was to detour around a HUGE rock slide on I-40 in the Pigeon River Gorge. They say it's 150 feet tall and will take 3-6 months to remove. It's not the first time this has happened in the Gorge and it probably won't be the last. I decided to take a southerly detour rather than the northern one that most of the 18-wheelers are taking. In fact, I recall having to take the northern route on my first trip to Asheville from Minneapolis in 1996, and for exactly the same reason. We followed a line of big trucks down a two-lane mountain road (now widened and hooked into I-26), with the smell and smoke of overheated brakes in the air. The southern detour was MUCH nicer (see sidebar photos) and as I drove eastward towards the mountains, the tree-covered, rolling hills beckoned me onward.

I returned to Asheville just in time to attend a little soiree at the home of friends Jan and Paula. Jan (whose photo will appear in the right sidebar presently) had heart surgery about a month ago to correct a previously undiagnosed congenital heart defect that had progressively disabled her for the past 7 years. It's an amazing tale, too long to go into here, and she definitely belongs on that cable TV show about medical mysteries. Suffice to say, she has been brought back from death's door and we are all very glad to have her with us.

Last week I emptied and flushed Michelle's black and gray water tanks, then gave her a thorough washing with help from grandson Austin. It was an all-day project and I was pooped, so I didn't get the fresh water tank drained, which I must do before the temps get below freezing; I will also need to run a special RV antifreeze into the lines.

This week I've been helping daughter Liz do some major re-organizing in her tiny apartment, and have enjoyed visiting with her family and helping out with the cooking. She works several 12- to 14-hour day shifts a week as a hospital RN; Sean works several 12-hour night shifts a week for the Sheriff's Dept. as a detention officer, so there've been some poor eating habits established, understandably. Besides, I do like to cook, especially in a real kitchen with a regular oven.

I'll be moving in with my friend Cathy when her house closes the day before T'giving, at which time Michelle will cease to be my primary abode and become my sole means of transportation. I look forward to settling in for the winter and helping Cathy decorate her new space. We also will be planning a really BIG new business venture that I'll say more about later.

That's all for now. Time to fix Austin some breakfast: doing the Nanny thing again...nice.

Those Photos I Promised

Here's the Flagstaff to Arkansas leg of the trip, which should keep you busy for a while (in the right sidebar). I have Memphis to Asheville to work on next, which will keep me busy. Later...

Going Home

No excuses. I guess I just got out of the mood to write, for a really long time. Glad I'm not trying to be a real writer: too much pressure. The new retired me doesn't want to do anything that HAS to be done.

The month of October flew by: the vertigo subsided (although I still feel a slight lingering dizziness on occasion); I went to the RVing Women convention in San Antonio, where my sessions were well received and I met a lot of great traveling women; I visited my friends in Austin; I arrived in Memphis Friday evening; I'm leaving for Asheville in a couple of days. I've decided to spend the holidays, and on into spring, with loved ones. Fortunately, a friend will close on her house next week and has invited me to share her space for as long as I want. Everything has fallen into place to make my homecoming work out right. I'm looking forward to spending the winter in a place where it will snow a few times and melt in a couple days each time. It's beautiful but not bothersome. I'll drain Michelle's water and holding tanks and use her as my everyday vehicle. I'll cruise for chicks and invite them in for hot toddies and a look at my travel photos. Smile.

I might change the theme of this blog while I'm "in port." Look for something different after I get settled in my new digs.

Meanwhile, I'll take a look at my photos and pick out some that you might enjoy. Nice to be back.

The Texas Capitol Dome

Head 'Em Up, Move 'Em Out!

I certainly didn't get much blogging done in September, did I? Here it is October 5 already. Time to plan my route to San Antonio for the big RVing Women National Convention. Should I take the southern route or head due east to Albuquerque? I've planned it both ways but I think I'll go east so I can get that souvenir capitol building postcard in Santa Fe. And I'll stop off in Madrid, NM, to see if it is still as cute as it was when I first saw it in 1995. At that time my partner and I were looking around for a warmer place to live than Minneapolis, and we thought Santa Fe might be the place. Alas, not enough trees and water for either of us, so we ended up in Asheville, NC, still my home base.

Lots to do and little time before I go, so I'll just put up a few photos of brother Steve's and my overnight camping trip to the Canyon with his pals Jeff and Rhonda. I love tent camping, and was looking forward to being with "Mr. Stuff" out in the wilderness. But it was so windy that the camping was not very good: no breakfast for starters, which is my favorite campout meal. At least we made it into the Canyon this time, if not very far, so I can now claim to have hiked the Grand Canyon.

But we had a great breakfast; don't think we didn't, in the restaurant at Bright Angel Lodge, built in 1935. Steve says it hasn't changed since the first time he was there in 1981, including the front of the menu. Some things you can count on.

Jeff and Rhonda headed back to Flagstaff and Steve and I headed for the Bright Angel Trailhead, where we arrived just as a mule train returned, carrying passengers who had been all the way down to Phantom Ranch, on the Colorado River, and back, a ride of about three hours.

Being with Steve, who, as I said in a previous post, has hiked the Canyon 20 or 30 times, and rafted the Colorado twice, was a big treat for me. I only wish I had done it back when I might have been able to put on a pack and do it for real.





Mules have right-of-way.















One sign we saw told the story of a world class runner who tried to cross the Canyon rim to rim without enough water. She didn't make it.



If you look closely at the second level down from the top of this rock formation you'll see people, which helps to give perspective to our location inside the Canyon.



The Bright Angel Trail from where I was, near the beginning.









Bright Angel Trail from the south rim. The trees are growing in what is known as Indian Gardens. The trail forks right, down into the Canyon, to Phantom Ranch.












Back up from the warmth of the Canyon, carrying my jacket, which I needed again as soon as I reached the rim, where the wind that day was fierce and the temperature was much lower than inside the Canyon. Many hikers returned wearing shorts and a t-shirt.

Onward. Much to do and it's already 3:45. More later, from the road.

Feeling Puny

No, it's not the flu, not yet anyway. It's vertigo. I had an attack of dizziness last September and now it's returned but it feels different this time, more menacing, with nausea. The onset was different also: I woke up Thursday morning, sat up, and was immediately knocked back down onto the pillow by some unseen force--ka-whump! I thought I had sat up too suddenly and lost blood flow to my head, so I laid there for a minute and everything seemed okay. I went into the house and was puttering around in the kitchen when I became dizzy and had to sit down. But it didn't go away this time.

According to one web article I found, which I am unable to find again, the cause is likely some sort of flotsam floating around somewhere in my inner ear, a calcium flake from my mastoid bone or something, and it's got into my semi-circular canal, irritating the nerve endings. One treatment is to lie down with my head hanging over the edge of the bed and wait for the junk to float up into the vestibule, out of the canal. I haven't tried it yet but my sister says a friend of hers who suffers chronically with this condition uses the technique.

Anyway, long story short: Since symptoms were present upon rising and improved throughout the day, I decided to see what would happen if I slept sitting up on Steve's couch. It worked, so I did it for two nights. No symptoms yesterday or today. Tonight I will return to my bed and hope for the best. If it happens again I guess I'll find a doctor. Cross your fingers.

Yesterday Steve and I visited the local Arboretum, which was rather a disappointment except for the raptor show. Click to enlarge.

This is a Harris Hawk.










In flight. Beautiful










American Kestrel. So tiny that a house cat can bring it down.










Siberian Eagle Owl, largest of all the owls. Its predominant feature is it's beautiful orange eyes.












It can turn its head even farther around than this: about 270 degrees.












That's the nature lesson for today, boys and girls. There will be a test tomorrow.

Catching Up Again...Again

It certainly is easy to get busy with other things: sleeping, eating, sight-seeing, helping my brother organize his photos, making earrings with the beads I bought in Sedona, organizing my own photos and sending them to friends and family, etc. It's not that I don't think of you often, you know, I just keep putting you down a bit farther on the To-Do List. Please don't be mad; I couldn't bear it. (Is anybody out there?)

The photos are up, so I'll try to give a bit of commentary to go along with them. BTW, another tip about viewing the slide show: when you open the blog page the slideshow begins a couple seconds later, and since I try to put them in the order that they were taken (usually), you might want to view them in the correct order for them to make the most sense. I've explained how to do this before, but here's a refresher if you need it:

Single click on any photo. It will enlarge and show in the upper left corner which slide it is (e.g., 3 of 42). You can either use the arrows above the photo to move back or forward to the beginning, or you can choose 'View All' and the entire gallery will open up. Then click on the slideshow icon, the farthest left one above the photo gallery, and the first photo will enlarge and the slideshow will run. A menu bar will appear at the bottom of the slide so that at any time you may increase the viewing time of the slides (e.g., in order to read the captions more easily) by increasing the seconds (click on the + sign). The default is 3 seconds but you can change it to any number. Or you can view the slides individually for as long as you like by NOT choosing the slideshow icon and just clicking on the arrows.

Anyway, here's what happened after I left Seligman (pronounced with the accent on the middle syllable, by the way). I drove to Flagstaff on I-40 where I met up with my brother Steve at his house,

and with my brother Larry who had arrived by car from Memphis the previous day with Steve's son Austin. They had taken the scenic route through Utah and Monument Valley, a trip that is definitely on my agenda for next year.

Larry appeared to be suffering from some unknown malady that was causing a hacking cough (Austin had some kind of crud, too) so he was feeling rather puny. The next day I stayed at the house with him (I was feeling a bit under the weather myself) while Steve and Austin drove to Phoenix (some two hours south) to pick up the rest of the Wellses at the airport: my youngest brother Jay and sister Marcia.

Next day all except Larry did some sight-seeing in Flagstaff, shopped a bit (ugh) and Steve grilled big ol' steaks for dinner. That night Larry was up with fever and lots of coughing, which I diagnosed as the flu (swine or otherwise, I couldn't say) so everyone became hyper-alert to germs and the correct procedure for coughing, etc.

Sunday we went to Sedona by way of Jerome. Since we are all rather large people, ranging in height from 5'8" to 6'4", with girths to match, we decided to take two cars. Steve and Jay were in the lead in Steve's pickup and he led us on the "scenic route" through the back country, much of the way on an unpaved road. We talked to each other on walkie-talkies ("Checkmate King Two, this is White Rook, over") and felt just like explorers in a new land, kinda-sorta. It was an extremely bumpy, dusty road and I thought it would never end. I was driving Larry's Saturn and he and I decided that there was no way we were going to be able to keep up with Steve at the pace he had set in the pickup, so, of course, the trip was even longer. But it was mighty pretty, and so was Sedona, with the late afternoon sun on the red rocks.

Monday was Grand Canyon day but we didn't have to hurry because Steve wanted us to be there at sunset. So we stopped off at Sunset Crater Volcano (the whole area is jumping with currently-dormant volcanic activity), two native pueblo ruins, and a roadside native crafts stand on the way.

Brother Steve traveled to Grand Canyon from Memphis with a group of friends (sometimes including brother Larry and son Austin) every year from about 1981 until he moved to Flagstaff permanently in 2001. He's probably traversed every known trail, and run the river twice, so he knew exactly where he wanted to take us for our first view. He had his spiel all worked out as well, about how Coronado and his men came to America in search of the Seven Cities of Gold, dispatching Garcia Lopez de Cardenas to find a large river they had heard about. De Cardenas led his men through the scrub pinion and juniper, right up to the edge of the biggest hole in the ground they had ever seen. They saw the river far below them, estimating from the rim of canyon that it was about 10-20 feet across (it is actually about 100 yards wide) but they couldn't find their way down to the river, possibly because their native guides were not anxious to show them the way, and so were forced to move on. It would be another 200 years before two Spanish priests explored the Canyon again, and another 100 years until Major John Wesley Powell led a Colorado River expedition through Grand Canyon, mapping and studying its geology as he went.

We ended the day at Mohave Point, next to last stop on the shuttle that runs westward along the south rim. Again, Steve led our little expedition through the scrub to the edge of the Canyon, this time far above what has become known in our family as Ryan's Peak. Ryan was Steve's younger son, who was killed in a car crash on Labor Day, 1999, at the age of 15. His ashes are mixed with the soil of Grand Canyon on top of the little peak. We stayed until the sun turned the rocks to gold and finally sank into the western sky. Rest in Peace, young Ryan.

Just Grand!

I got the photos organized and they're in the right sidebar. I promise I'll write something tomorrow.

Oh My, It's Hot

Greetings from beautiful downtown Seligman, Arizona, on Historic Route 66, home of the Roadkill Cafe and some really beautiful clouds. I wouldn't be surprised to have the first rain I've experienced since June in Wyoming (in fact, here it comes now).

It's 98 degrees in the shade but I don't care, 'cause I got air conditioning--woohoo--and all the electricity and water my little heart desires. I am a happy camper!

My Las Vegas contact didn't work out: no electricity and temps in triple digits so I had to leave early to find a place where I could run the A/C. Here's my favorite photo from Vegas (click to enlarge to full effect).

What you see here, among other things, is the base of a replica of the Eiffel Tower at the Paris Casino, and also an old-world fountain, packed cheek by jowl with other casinos shaped like Greek temples, the New York skyline, the Taj Mahal and other unbelievably tacky things. Check out the number of people on the streets; I think you can tell how hot it is. I drove down the strip and took photos from inside Michelle. Just the thought of trying to find parking and then being out in all that made me sweat (don't believe what you hear about "dry heat"). Been to Las Vegas, don't need to go again.

But I'm supposed to be filling you in on San Francisco, which wasn't hot (I just missed a one-day heat wave, fortunately), and has great public transit so it was easy to see the sights.

Before that, however, there were the Biting Ants of Oakland! OMG, I was so freaked I didn't even think to take photos; all I wanted to do was get the little buggers out of my space! The first day I found a couple inside: no big deal. The next morning one was in my bed and it bit me: still no biggie--one little ant. One day and several bites later I discovered they were coming from the garbage cans I was parked next to (duh) and I realized that squishing them one by one was not going to work; they were in my food boxes and I needed poison, which I hate to use, but I had no choice. The really freaky part was when I saw some crawling on my little Christmas Cactus. Upon closer inspection, the plant was teeming with them, and when I picked up the inner pot and look into the outer pot, it was like something out of science fiction: I've never seen so many ants; the pot was black with them, all running around as fast as their little ant legs would carry them, shouting, "Run for your lives!" They died a horrible death and I felt bad and triumphant at the same time: "Leiningen" writ small.

Here's my favorite shot from my neighborhood walk in Oakland.

This is the tallest corn I've ever seen, and growing in the city! I grew up in Iowa and this stuff made Iowa corn look stunted.

The next day it got really hot in Oakland and since I didn't have electricity, I headed to San Francisco. I was unable to find a contact who had a driveway, SF being what it is, but an RVing Women contact led me to free parking on the street, right on the ocean, on a busline that went downtown and transferred to wherever I wanted to go: all for $2 each way. It had a great time, and because I was living on the cheap I blew $50 on a second balcony ticket to see "Wicked."


Here's one of my favorite SF photos, taken in The Castro; those ladies are no ladies.

Here's another: a "Lila's-eye view" of a crowded Chinatown bus. And no, I was not holding the camera above my head (well maybe just a bit); I was hanging onto a strap, the only 5'10" Anglo on the bus.

From San Francisco I drove to Sacramento for my souvenir Capitol Building postcard (and a tour: The Governator was out); then to Lake Tahoe where I camped in a state park, again without electricity so I couldn't blog; then to Carson City, Nevada, for my souvenir postcard of the Capitol Building (it was Saturday: no tour); then to an overnight stop in Hawthorne, NV, in the parking lot of the El Capitan Resort and Casino (again, no electricity); and finally over Hoover Dam and into Arizona.

It will take the rest of the day, practically, to get a new slide show up and running, and you may not be able to see it until tomorrow, but it's coming. Thanks for sticking around.

Oh, I've also included the following tiny pile of self-absorbed drivel that I wrote longhand during my stay at Lake Tahoe Thursday and Friday of the Labor Day weekend. It's not pretty, but if you want to know what was going on with me then, you can read it when you have absolutely NOTHING ELSE to do. Rest assured, I am way over it, thanks to Eckhart on CD through most of my journey from Lake Tahoe to Seligman.

It’s Labor Day weekend, Friday to be exact, and I’m here in the William Kent Campground for the second night. I’ve been practically alone all day and I guess I thought I would be until my stay is over tomorrow at noon. But lo and behold, the campers are here. Glory be, I think, for now I won’t be alone on Labor Day. Alone on Labor Day, I’m thinking now, how bad can that be? Well, I’ll tell you how bad: it’s the families and their campfires and kids shouting and parents running to and fro carrying the camping gear and the dinner fixin’s and so I go outside with my wine and cheese and crackers I bought from the little store up the road and I think I’ll just watch the action. But I can’t really see very well from this vantage point so I sip my wine and eat my crackers and cheese and read my book. I’m reading ‘Tis by Frank McCourt. It’s the sequel to his Pulitzer-Prize-winning Angela’s Ashes, and in this book he has come back to New York City from Limerick, Ireland, and it’s Christmas. I’ve been in New York City at Christmas so I know what it’s like: it’s fucking gorgeous is what it is. And there’s the hustle and bustle of shopping and visiting friends and family and eating and drinking and parties and presents and family. Only Frank doesn’t have any family and he’s telling about going to mass on Christmas Day and being kicked out of the pew of some rich family by a guy in striped pants and all of a sudden I can’t stand it another minute. I look around at the families enjoying their camping escapade and I want to cry because I remember those camping trips with my daughter and that time is gone. I would call my daughter and tell her how much I miss those camping trips but she’s too busy working (nurses work Labor Day weekend, you know) and she wouldn’t even pick up the fucking phone. So here I am in my little home on wheels pining for days gone by and getting all weepy. I don’t know how much longer I can do this alone. Maybe it’s time for that dog. For sure I should not have had that second glass of wine. And to top it all off I have no fucking electricity so I can’t even watch a movie. I should get the generator fixed but even if I did I’d feel like a fool running it with all these tent campers about. I should go for a walk…

So I walked a big loop to see if I could find someone to take me in and share their campfire. I walked by cars with tents and trucks with campers and people with the kids having dinner or finished, and one group that was obviously a middle-aged couple and someone’s mother, playing cards. I almost stopped but they were so engrossed in their game I didn’t want to interrupt. They were the most likely hosts and so I came home. I noticed that some people in campers were inside like I tend to be most of the time. I think we’ve lost that camping feeling. I know I have but for me I think it’s mostly because I live in here too. Most folks probably wouldn’t think of building a fire in their backyard so they could get that camping feeling, although I do know some people who have fire pits.

So I am going to eat chocolates and read Frank McCourt and hope I don’t get the woozies again. Maybe I should read a different book…

Las Vegas, Here I Come!

It's been many days since I had enough time/electricity to bring you up to date on my travels. Unfortunately, today is not good either. I'm sitting in a little cafe in Tahoe City, CA, juicing up the laptop and reading emails to see if someone answered my plea for a place to park Michelle when I get to Vegas. Got one! A Lesbian Connection CD (contact dyke) responded so I am much relieved. When I get there I'll put up my photos of San Francisco, etc. and tell you about being terrorized by biting ants in Oakland. It's a chilling tale.

Here's a teaser:

Don't ask because I don't know...

No Yesterdays

William Least Heat-Moon turned 70 years old yesterday. He wrote Blue Highways: A Journey into America in 1982, an account of his travels on the back roads of the USA.

Heat-Moon began his journey after he lost his job and his wife of 11 years left him. He decided to take to the open road and "live the real jeopardy of circumstance."

Over the course of three months, he traveled 13,000 miles around the United States. In comparison, I have been traveling since August 2008 and have put about 12,000 miles on Michelle.

Heat-Moon said, "When you're traveling, you are what you are, right there and then. People don't have your past to hold against you. No yesterdays on the road."

He's so right.

Catching Up...Again

I finally made it to Mendocino



on a clear day so here is the "money shot" of the little village of 824 souls, taken from across the bay or inlet or whatever. (I've discovered that you can only enlarge these photos if I put them into the post in the "medium" size rather than "large," so that's what I will do from now on. Click to enlarge.)

And then there's the Point Cabrillo Light Station that I also mentioned last time. I stopped by on my way out of town. It is a lovely little spot but the half-mile walk from the parking lot was a bit trying (I wasn't wearing the right shoes), especially on the uphill return trip.


There are so many more photos to share that I will put them into a slide show in the right sidebar for your leisurely perusal. Stop the slide show (click on any picture) to read the captions if you want to know what you're seeing.

Besides my overnight stop at Salt Point State Park, I also made a side trip to Point Reyes National Seashore. There's another lighthouse there but it was closed, so I took a one-mile hike to see the Tule Elk. It's mating season and the bucks are gathering their harems. I could hear them calling somewhere off in the fog. Yes, of course it was foggy way out on Point Tomales, but it lent an air of mystery to my sighting of a dozen does with their lord and master.

Today I am recuperating from the l-o-n-g (in hours) 186-mile journey from Fort Bragg and Point Cabrillo up in the redwood country, south on Hwy. 1 with its twists and turns, and on into Oakland, known far and wide as the Bay Area, arriving after dark last night (after missing my exit on the Nimitz Freeway--sheesh!).

I'm parked on the street, near the home of two wonderful women friends of my new Seattle friend, Fai. I'm not hooked up but they have really fast wireless internet, so I am currently ensconced on their sofa with two dogs and several cats for company. And they serve great desserts so I am happy as a new puppy in fresh-cut grass.

Plans are to head for Sacramento on Sept. 3 to get that souvenir capitol city postcard, then push on the same day to Lake Tahoe, where I have actually reserved a campsite! Can you believe it? Two days in the "wilderness." I spent one night in a state park on the way here and will include some bird photos in the slide show. The western equivalent of the eastern Bluejay, the Steller's Jay, is a lovely large bird. Bird fact: there are no Cardinals in this part of the country. I miss them!

It's already nearing 5 pm, so I'm going to post those photos, which it took most of the day to organize, and you may be able to see them tomorrow.

Here's a short traveling poem for you.

The Longest Mile

When next I travel the Shoreline Highway
I'm going to hire a chaffeur.
'Twas lovely to wander that beautiful byway
But I really needed a go-fer.

August 27, 2009
Oakland, California

TTFN...

New Sights

Friday again already. How can the time pass so quickly when I do practically nothing all day? Why aren't I bored? It's already afternoon and I haven't accomplished a thing. And what is it that I want to accomplish anyway? That is the question I keep coming back to. No matter how many times I tell myself that BEING is a worthy accomplishment, I continue to feel...useless. Maybe I retired too soon.

Maybe I really should write that book. There I've said it "out loud." I keep thinking about writing a book about my life, for my descendants, not for publication, but it seems so much like drudgery that I don't even want to start. Drudgery: a good enough reason not to do it. Perhaps if I characterize the process in a slightly less pejorative manner I'll be more inspired to begin. All I know is that I would have been thrilled to have such a history of my own mother's life, or my grandmother's.

Meanwhile, I went to MacKerricher State Park yesterday, where I saw my first wild seals. Unfortunately, they were "sunning" (there was no sun) too far away for a good photo but I got a good look through the binoculars. If you click on this picture you will get an enlarged shot of the white, sausage-looking things stretched out on the rocks.

I also saw lots of ground squirrels, a species native to northern California with a dark patch on their backs that other species don't have. According to a website article they are terrible pests and I can see why. There were lots of them, all eating, and begging (obviously some people had not heeded the signs about feeding them).

I drove to Mendocino a couple days ago but it was too foggy for photos so I will try again, perhaps today as the sun is out here right now. Unfortunately, that doesn't mean it will be shining 10 miles up the road. There is a lighthouse to visit between here and there so it won't be a wasted trip.

We're having company for dinner tonight and will attend a play afterward. A reason to take a shower and do something with my hair, which has grown past my shoulders. Gonna have that ol' lady bun goin' on pretty soon. I used to see my mother's face in the mirror, now I see my grandmother's. Oh well. I feel good physically and psychologically and that's all that matters.

My Special Day

Well, I didn't make it to Mendocino. I had all the hatches battened down, so to speak, and was ready to drive off when I remembered that Marilou had said she was leaving for San Francisco around 5 p.m. Since it was already 3 p.m. and we still hadn't gone over the pet feeding instructions, I hung around. When she left I turned on the TV and hunkered down for the rest of the evening.

Fortunately, there are only 65 stations to choose from (how did we ever survive with just NBC, CBS, ABC and sometimes PBS?), and TCM is not one of them, so it was pretty easy to run through the channels and decide that there wasn't anything worth watching. I can take just so much MSNBC or CNN before the ills of the nation and the world become too much to bear. In the past, I would have soldiered through (no pun intended) so that I could say I was up to date on current events. Now I don't care. The thing that I do to make the world a better place is to be conscious as much as possible, and I don't need Rachel Maddow for that (although I can think of a couple things she could help me with).

Yesterday I made the Pillsbury Bake-Off chicken recipe but I have to say I was underwhelmed. It needed something: salt for starters, and maybe red wine. I think I'll try it with breasts instead of thighs, and more almonds--more of everything, in fact.

Today is my birthday, did I tell you? It's Mae West's, too. My favorite MW quote: "Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before." My brother Steve video-called me a while ago from Flagstaff with his impersonation of Elvis singing Happy Birthday (always a hit), right after my State Farm Insurance agent's assistant called to wish me happy birthday and remind me that I might need to renew my driver's license (I don't). I got an e-card from the woman I've been emailing through Compatible Partners (e-Harmony's LGBT off-shoot) and with whom I will have a first phone conversation at 1 pm today (some anxiety about that).

Here's a naughty birthday limerick for you (you need to be a TV-watcher of a certain age in order to "get it").

Lila’s Birthday

The day Lila turned sixty-two
She said, “What the heck should I do?
Like that Timex, I'm tickin’
But where is the lickin’?
I’ll find a new lover! But who?”

August 17, 2009
Fort Bragg, California

What do you think of that, Carolita?

Seeing the Sights in Fort Bragg

I gave up on new poetry myself thirty years ago, when most of it began to read like coded messages passing between lonely aliens in a hostile world.
-Russell Baker

The above quote is for my fellow blogger at Wander to the Wayside. Linda, Russell Baker has won the Pulitzer Prize for Literature so you are in good company.

The Mendocino County coast can be a very foggy place, but recently it appears that perhaps the sunny times are here to stay for a while, which has prompted me to spend more time seeing the local sights, and also meeting some local women.

Yesterday I went into town and walked around investigating little shops (Christmas will be here before you know it), having lunch at a small eatery (ooh, the pastries), and checking out the details of a possible train excursion (too expensive).

I took a lot of photos, which you will see in a slideshow in the right sidebar. I've included the flower photos from my time at the botanical gardens a few days ago, and they take a while to load so you may have to check back later to see them. Today I think I'll investigate the town of Mendocino and the Point Cabrillo Lighthouse.

This weekend my host Marilou will travel to San Francisco for a family gathering and I will stay here and feed the animals (and sleep in a bed, and watch too much TV, and cook that Pillsbury Bake-Off-winning recipe I got from my friend Diane in Seattle).

[Oh, my Skype line is ringing.] That was my oldest brother, Steve, and then our youngest brother, Jay, came online so we added him to the conversation. Do you have Skype? It enables you to video call others who have the service (free download) and a computer camera. Pretty cool. I'll be seeing them in person in mid-September in Flagstaff. Grand Canyon--woohoo!

Yikes, it's already 2 pm! Where does the time go? I'll wrap this up for now. Poem later. Also photos.

Go Pick Some Berries

Did I mention that my host, Marilou, lives in a redwood forest? I might have shown you a photo or two. I took more today. And I learned a bit from Marilou about these gigantic Sequoias. The specimens in her yard are not as big as the ones in the national forest, but they impress the heck out of little ol' me.



And it's berry-picking time! We've picked blackberries and thimbleberries and blueberries until I am about picked out. I'm ready for the cobbler.

This is Marilou, sister of my good friend Kali, in Asheville.

Picking Berries

What’s a thimbleberry, I ask?
There, she says, the bright red one.
I reach
Grab too hard
It disintegrates into a bloody pulp
Brighter
Sweeter than blood
But just as pleasing.
Tastes like Lik-M-Aid, she says,
That we used to eat as a kid?
Oh yeah…
But I don’t tell her how
My friend Betty and I
Used to steal it from the corner grocery,
Slip the little flat packets
Down the front of our shorts
And walk out.
Later up in my bedroom,
We took off our training bras
And took turns
Pretending to be the man,
Our bright pink Lik-M-Aid
Lips and tongues
Encircling each other’s
Thimbles.

August 9, 2009
Fort Bragg, California

This is view from my window. So lush. So green. So cool. So peaceful.

123456789

Today I got a Facebook message from my friend Corina in the UK who is proclaiming today as 12:34:56 7/8/9 Day. That's the way they see it across the pond. Unfortunately, for us Yanks it was last month, so I missed it. Shouldn't there have been a party or something? Oh well, we'll have another one next millenium. I hope I get a heads up next time. How about a poem to celebrate.

12:34:56 7/8/9 Day

Well
What can
You expect from
People who drive on
The wrong side of the
Road, and call the trunk the
Boot, and call the hood the bonnet?
Sour grapes really. I have always wanted a
Queen. Love the hats, love the name: Her Majesty

August 7, 2009
Fort Bragg, California

Happy 123456789 Day, Your Majesty!

Facebook: Finally Good for Something

Are you on Facebook? I've been very ambivalent about it since I joined. There's a lot of junk (to put it mildly) but sometimes you get a gem. It depends on who your "friends" are, I've discovered.

Ever since adding Corey Mesler, owner of Burke's Books in Memphis and a high school friend of my brother's, it seems there are fewer goofy quizzes online; I guess because Corey seems to fill the space with "book stuff." Then I decided to add Patti Digh (a no-brainer, right? You know I love me some Patti) with all her friends' comments, and I'm feeling better about being part of yet another communication medium that I was putting off . (No offense meant to all my other FB friends, really.) OMG, what next, Twitter? Not.

Today I got the best message I've had in a long time, from a friend of Patti's. Here's the link. You MUST read this if you have ever been in a serious, committed relationship that didn't last, or you're in a great relationship now, or you hope to be in one. The woman who wrote this is brilliant.

So Peaceful...

Today I explored the woods around my host's home, along a path that led to an old logging road. The sun was out, for a change, and some blue sky showed through the cloud cover. When I returned I finally remembered to ask about the tree with the red, peeling bark and was told that it is Manzanita. There's nothing like it in the east. (Click on the photo to see it larger.)












Then I spent about an hour and a half watching videos of Eckhart Tolle and his partner Kim Eng. Because I am a "member" of Eckhart Tolle TV and perhaps you are not, you may not be able to open this link. But if you can, you will discover what I have been trying to convey about how living in the NOW can change your life. This video is the best explanation I have seen yet, and it's only an hour long. There are other, smaller, segments available on this link that are useful as well (in the right sidebar), especially the one at the bottom of the list, where Kim Eng talks about relationship, and specifically her relationship with Eckhart.

If you have already read The Power of Now, and especially A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose, the video will be helpful in "bringing it home" to you, perhaps in a more meaningful way than through just reading the books. I have watched many Eckhart videos and this one is the best. I hope you can see it and that it will have meaning for you.

If you can't open it, and you are interested in what it contains, please let me know and I will see if it can be accessed without paying the fee. I can certainly point you to other videos that are shorter and don't require membership.

Namaste.

Another Lazy Day

Oh dear, it's been two whole days without a word from me. However did you survive? This is what happens when I get off the road and settle in one place for a few days. It's not as if I were so busy that I didn't have time to write. I just get lazy.

Here are some items I saved for just such an occasion. Then perhaps I'll try a little poem. No more sonnets for a while. The last one gave me a headache.

July 24 was the birthday of Zelda Fitzgerald, wife of F. Scott and a darn good writer herself. She ended up in a mental hospital in Asheville and was killed in a fire there at the age of 47. She said:

I just lump everything in a great heap which I have labeled "the past," and, having thus emptied this deep reservoir that was once myself, I am ready to continue.

(How very wise of her to empty her "past" reservoir.)

She also said:
We grew up founding our dreams on the infinite promise of American advertising. I still believe that one can learn to play the piano by mail and that mud will give you a perfect complexion.

(It's advertising that's got us into the mess we're in. They're very clever at getting us to buy things we don't really need, so that we have to make more and more money in order to have more and more things. Someone said on public radio yesterday that the two main causes of the economic crisis were fear--because the people who saw what was happening feared for their security if they blew the whistle--and greed, obviously.)

July 29 was the birthday of the French aristocrat Alexis de Tocqueville, an astute observer of America and Americans, who had a lot to say about us back in 1835 in a book entitled Democracy in America. He said:
An American will build a house in which to pass his old age and sell it before the roof is on; he will plant a garden and rent it just as the trees are coming into bearing … he will take up a profession and leave it, settle in one place and soon go off elsewhere.

(He got it right, don't you think? Funny, I thought everyone, everywhere did that. Maybe we're more special than I realized, at least we were in 1835.)

I'm going to take the dog for a walk and perhaps I'll get inspired to continue this drivel in a more interesting vein. TTFN...



The most inspiring thing I saw on my walk today was this statue of Quan Yin in a neighbor's yard. I had seen a Buddha of similar size in that yard on another day; this one was in such a lovely, shady spot I had to take her picture. Quan Yin is a female bodhisattva, one who is on the way to becoming a buddha.

The name Kuan Shih Yin, as she is often called, means literally the one who regards, looks on, or hears the sounds of the world. According to legend, Quan Yin was about to enter heaven when she paused on the threshold as the cries of the world reached her ears. Sacrificing her own ascension for the sake of her "children," Quan Yin stayed on earth, thereby exhibiting the same behavior of mothers everywhere who would sacrifice their very lives for their children.

Quan Yin's Statue

Crying all around
Suffering humanity
Little world at peace

August 3, 2009
Fort Bragg, California

PS: I keep forgetting to mention that I have removed the "register" requirement on the Comments box for those of you who have said you would leave a comment but don't want to register. It's always nice to find that someone is out there reading this stuff, even if you do it anonymously.

This and That

That is a banana slug.





This is a sonnet.


Sonnet for a Blog About Being Lila

Fourteen lines to rhapsodize about love,
Ten syllables in each line to move you,
Make you whimper, look to the stars above
For answers, and then sigh as lovers do.
Fiddle-dee-dee to all of that, and yet
Some find that love can be the sweetest thing
That humankind may know (and then forget),
If love’s object is right and true feeling
Takes away all doubt. I only know it’s
Hard to find my way through love’s bright meadow
Without stumbling and sometimes throwing fits.
I count to ten but still I stomp and bellow,
I am a happy single lesbian!
Oh dear, an ending rhyme now: thespian?


July 31, 2009
Fort Bragg, CA


This is better than that, don't you think?

Spying

A week or two ago one of my Facebook friends, my 20-something ex-stepnephew, wrote this post:

When you see a homeless person begging at say, a road intersection corner, with a scratty cardboard sign, do you give them a dollar, perhaps more; if not, how do you react to those who do hand it out?

The answers he received ranged from this one:

F--- 'em. I work for my money. Most panhandlers, according to MULTIPLE studies, make about eleven dollars an hour. I feel no pity. Also, half of those guys are on wellfare and NOT HOMELESS.

to this one:

I feel guilty if I don't and gullible if I do - can't win

and everything in between. It's a question I've wrestled with and have come to this conclusion, which is what I posted back to my Friend: I don't care how much they make an hour; it's a terrible way to live. I give out of gratitude for what I have.

I didn't bother to expound on some other reasons I give, without feeling gullible:

• Many people who ask for money on the street are homeless through no fault of their own, including military veterans, the mentally ill (we closed their facilities and kicked them out), and others;
• Even if they choose the life they live, they are much more likely to be sick or wounded than others;
• They are easy prey and are often attacked;
• There aren't enough shelters even if they wanted to go to them, and if they have a cart full of "stuff" they can't take it in with them;
• Sure they drink and drug. If you lived on the street you'd probably want something to help ease that pain too.
• No, they can't just "get a job" because they don't have an address or a place to get presentable enough to appear for an interview.

I could go on. Have you ever really seen the people who ask you for money? Some of them are obviously not as old as they look; they're just beat up by life on the street.

Here's what happened in Grants Pass, Oregon, on Monday. I was parked at Walmart * (Have you noticed, they've changed the way they spell their name? It used to be WAL-MART; now it's lower case with a little flower at the end: supposed to give us a friendlier, more hometown feeling instead of a giant blood-sucking corporate behemoth feeling. At least, that's what some guy on the radio said, but I digress.)

To digress a bit more, you need to know that Michelle has privacy windows. I can see out but you have to put your hands to the glass and peer in to see me. Thus I am accorded a view of people who are unaware of being watched, which can be very entertaining and enlightening.

This past Monday I was getting ready to leave Oregon around 11 a.m. when a small brown pickup truck pulled into the space next to me. It was already hot and their windows and mine were open, so when their engine stopped I heard a woman say "I don't lie to you, you know. I will answer any question you have." I didn't hear what her companion replied. As usual when someone parks that close to me, I lowered the window curtain so they couldn't see me even if they tried, which means I didn't see what happened next, but I heard the truck doors slam and figured they had both gone into Walmart.

About three minutes later I heard the truck door again, so I raised the curtain enough to see that the woman had returned with a piece of cardboard that read "Taco Bell Quick Prep Chunky Beans," which she had apparently retrieved from the restaurant dumpster a few yards away. I watched her use a dull pocket knife to cut about a 12 x 18-inch piece. Then she took a big black marker and made a sign that read, "OUT OF GAS," in very neat, precise lettering.

Of course, I immediately thought, How can you be out of gas when you just drove the truck into that parking space?

But then I thought, Okay, maybe they are really low on gas and need to panhandle for more before they really do run out.

About that time a man with long graying beard and hair road up to the truck on a bicycle. He could have been 40 years old or 60. He handed the woman a piece of paper. "Forty cents," he said, as she folded the paper and put it with some others in a little compartment under the dashboard.

The woman finished her sign, got out of the truck and walked to the nearest cart return corral, where she chose a cart and then looked into a nearby trash receptacle. She was wearing a full-length "granny dress" and her hair was pulled neatly back from her face and tied with an elastic. Her face was tanned and worn. I wondered if she intended to fill up the cart with trash in broad daylight, so I decided to follow her.

By the time I got my shoes on she was nowhere in sight, but before I returned home I glanced into the pickup (the windows were still down) and saw the sign on the seat. I also saw the piece of folded paper in the little compartment under the dash, so I boldly reached in, picked it up, and saw that it was a receipt for cash on bottles returned to Walmart. Aha! Apparently Oregon has a bottle return law, I thought. (5 cents each, as it turns out.)

When I was once again ensconced in my window seat the woman returned with her cart, from which she unloaded into the back of the pickup two large white plastic bags stuffed with plastic bottles she had obviously scrounged from the trash cans at Walmart and the other stores in the complex. Then she left again on foot, without her sign.

As I was preparing to leave, the man came back on his bike, looked around for his partner and, not finding her, took off again. I left a five-dollar bill on the front seat of the truck, under the sign, hoping she would get to it before he did, and then wondering if she would tell him she had it.

On the way out of the parking lot I encountered a truly pitiful looking woman trying in vain to keep cool in the shade of a young tree. I don't know what her sign said, I just reached for some quarters and rolled down the passenger side window. When she came to take the money, I saw that she was in pretty bad shape. She could have been 20 or 50. She took the money and croaked something that I assume was a thank you. I rolled up the automatic window on my air conditioned home on wheels and left her there.

Praise the Universe from Whence All Blessings Flow...if you happen to be in the right place, at the right time, with enough dough.

PS: Yesterday I saw a woman on the street with a sign that said, no kidding, "Will Take Verbal Abuse for Spare Change."

PPS: Still working on that sonnet for you.

California Dreamin'

(Yes, the sign says "Entering Tsunami Hazard Zone.")

After an arduous drive up and down many mountains, I finally arrived yesterday at my destination: Fort Bragg (not the Army post), California, on the coast again. And again, it is foggy here. My hostess tells me that it will be like this as long as the temperatures inland are so high: the heat draws the fog in from the ocean. Turns out, the best time to be here is Fall, when the breeze blows the other way. Oh well. It's lush and green, and the temperature this morning is about 59 degrees. SO much better than the 100 degrees folks are experiencing just across the mountain from here. I'm all cozy in my sweatshirt and slippers.

I'm going to try to upload some photos but the reception is really poor here and it might not work. Last night I couldn't download even an old B&W movie: broadband modem too slow. Oh dear.

Sorry Minnesota, you don't have a corner on Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox. In fact, Bemidjians, the cojones on the Klamath, California bull are very impressive indeed.




This is my first view of the Pacific when I came down the last mountain. It's a bit more what I expected the coast to look like (those birds are pelicans, a flying squadron that reminded me of my stay in Florida last winter).

Boy, was I glad to get out of that vehicle. Coming down the mountain is more stressful than going up because I have to try not to ride the brake, which means playing with the gear ratio and trying to keep out of the way of folks in sports cars and motorcycles who want the thrill of going fast: not my thing in a vehicle where the sway causes everything I own in the world to slide around, audibly.

This is a pretty lousy photo but I just had to show you the cows. Why don't they fall in?

Here's the home and barn that I couldn't fit in the cattle shot. Who knew you could raise cattle so close to the ocean?






I tried like crazy to get a decent shot of these immense redwoods and this is the best I could do, through the windshield as I passed through the really old, big ones in the protected area. The ones around here are tiny in comparison, at only a yard in diameter and 50-60 feet tall. The biggest one I found in these parts (right here in the yard) gave up the ghost a while back and now serves as a great playhouse.




Well, that's enough for now. Let's see how this formats with the photos. More later.

Eureka!

When I left Grants Pass, Oregon, yesterday around 12:30 pm, the temp was heading toward 100 degrees. As I traveled southeast on Route 199, Redwood Highway, toward the coast, I hoped it might be cooler near the water. It was so hot Sunday night (parked at Walmart with no A/C) that I had to see a movie I wasn't really interested in just to be able to spend a couple hours in an air conditioned building before trying to sleep. ("G Force," an animated feature starring guinea pigs and a star-nosed mole voiced by Nicholas Cage would have been a good choice for my grandson and me but not solo.)

When I climbed down from the motorhome at Crescent City, California (elevation 29 feet: quite a change), I had to go back and add another layer of clothing, the foggy breeze being a good 30-35 degrees cooler than my starting point. What a relief!

My first view of the Pacific Ocean was rather anticlimactic because of the fog, but I was pretty psyched nonetheless. I stopped at the visitor center, got directions to a good restaurant that had a place to recharge the laptop, and enjoyed my first "California cuisine," turkey pannini with feta, pesto and spinach. You will note that they put garbanzo beans in the salad and tied the setup with a piece of green rattan, neither of which I've ever seen in any restaurant I've frequented: yes, I am in another world now.

I decided to head south to Eureka to spend the night at Walmart. One problem: there ain't no stinkin' Walmart in Eureka, or anywhere close by. Yikes! It was about 8 pm and I didn't have a place to park! I got out my trusty Lesbian Connection directory and found several listings in Eureka. My third phone call was a charm and a lovely couple with their 19-month-old daughter and three dogs welcomed me for the night. Whew! That was a close call. I've never been in a town of 40,000+ that didn't have a Walmart. What's that about? These Californians are a strange breed, indeed.

California, Here I Come

I leave Bend, Oregon, today and head south to Grant's Pass before pushing on to Highway 101, the Coast Highway, and a lovely drive down to Fort Bragg (not the North Carolina army post; about halfway between Eureka and San Francisco, on the coast) to visit the sister of an Asheville friend.

I'm trying to get going before noon for a change, so this will be a short message (forgive the funky formating; I can't fix it). I just want to share a couple of photos I forgot about, from Walmart in Olympia, WA. Yes, I know, sometimes you wonder if I have all my marbles, but this was a special Walmart and I have to share.

This is how you design a Walmart in the Pacific Northwest.

Note the timber-framing.

And where does this lovely shaded stairway lead?

Why, to the walking track, of course.

I'll leave you with a poem from my brother, who writes under the name Buxton Wells, and is actually a published poet.

March First
I’m snowblind in Tennessee,

wearing sunglasses indoors

like a half-dead celebrity,

and the noonday world

lies stunned in white light.

I have Whitney’s Star Finder for a visor,

a night of breaking glass for a cowl.

I wait for dusk when the snow will turn blue,

when the sun going down is a shriveled orange.

A bluish night on white ground

should be seen in God’s good time,

midnight and after.

Hildegard and her hundred cats may howl about eternity,

for there will be fire in the heavens,

like Christmas in Stalingrad

—heiliger nacht—time for all trekkers

in the snow to end their winter campaigns,

their woes just begun.