Dear Kinikia,
Thanks for visiting my blog. I think you should scroll back to the very beginning of my adventures - July 2008 - and see just how wonderful this adventure has been. To answer your immediate questions: What with the price of gas, the low miles per gallon, the cost of overnight parking in campgrounds and such, living in a motor vehicle is still a cheaper way to go than owning a house, with its attendant taxes, upkeep and mortgage.
Of course if you buy a high end motor home, you may well have a mortgage as we do, and vehicles, as you are undoubtedly aware, decline in value far more quickly than homes.
That being said, there's nothing like the freedom you can have when you are portable. We made it our business to head for all the national parks, but we saw much more than that, too, because anywhere you go in this beautiful country there's something wonderful to see, learn about and experience.
We stayed mostly in campgrounds here and in Canada, mainly because they offer the hookups we needed for electricity, water and sewage. We did however get adventurous from time to time, and ventured off the beaten path, "dry camping" as we went. We had plenty of water in storage, and a generator running off the motor gave us lights and even television if we wanted. Our gas was propane, so cooking wasn't a problem, even in a snowstorm, which we ran into twice. We stayed warm and cozy and thoroughly enjoyed being stranded for a couple of days. Having packed no winter gear to speak of, we layered up, wore two of everything and faced the weather. And this was maybe 50 miles from San Diego!
After three years of turtle living, we decided we needed dirt -- and for me, a pool -- so we bought a home in Florida. We love it here, and are enjoying the equally pleasurable benefits of living in one place and getting to know our neighbors, putting in plants and swimming in our, of course, pool.
Our only conundrum now is the fact that we have this gorgeous coach sitting idle in a storage facility. We've decided to sell our baby, and rent when and if we get the wandering bug again. Two mortgages at our age is just plan silly.
Maybe you should come and take a look at it. Better yet, I've got a whole file of pictures I can email you. It's a real beauty and I'd love to have somebody nice to take it out of lockdown for a while. What do you say?
Best Regards,
Betty
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Coming Home
Holt Florida
Just outside of Pensacola
There is something about dirt and sticks and mortar and permanence that makes the heart beat faster. Even if you’ve never set foot in a place, if that place is your own, it can engender such tender feelings, such commitment, such incredible loyalty as to defy ordinary reason.
Such are the feelings I am dealing with, a mere five hours away from my new house in Palm Coast, Florida.
Never mind that I have spent the last four days on line, researching fire pits, chairs, curtains, bed frames and bookcases. Never mind that in my mind I have entirely rearranged four rooms in this house that I have lived in for all of one and a half weeks. It is mine, mine, mine, and I can’t wait to get there and make it my own.
Despite the face that some rooms remain empty, I will change two of the rooms I have already decorated. I will depend on Craig’s list to get rid of the old memories in favor of the new memories I hope to create. I’ll sell the hutch and buy a marble top for the buffet. It’s cooler, and more modern. I’ll move the guest room to another location, so that I can put in a lovely bureau, all the better to feel comfortable and welcome when you visit. I’ll even move the entire dining room, the one room that has a full complement of furniture, to the living room, sell the table and spend money on a glass-topped table that will be a showpiece for all who enter the front door.
Flexibility is the word, and change is the option I embrace with enthusiasm. My family room will be modern, oh joy, with one solidly antique chair to defy the convention that modern means cool, spare and mostly, uncomfortable.
I will spend whatever it takes to put in that punch of yellow, that statement of my individuality. A color I have never ever used, but it will probably end up looking like all the rooms I have ever decorated, I’m afraid. We are who we are, after all.
But meanwhile, this is so exciting. Sitting in a bus I will not live in for at least three months, the longest stretch in over three years. Anticipating that I have all the money in the world, and all the options in creation, to create the dream home of my future. Except that now is my future, and the reality is, it had better be functional and comfortable, or my husband will put the kibosh on my grand schemes, at the risk of his taking up residence in the bus in storage.
But nobody, yes nobody can rain on my parade. Hey Mr. Arnstein, I’m almost home.
Just outside of Pensacola
There is something about dirt and sticks and mortar and permanence that makes the heart beat faster. Even if you’ve never set foot in a place, if that place is your own, it can engender such tender feelings, such commitment, such incredible loyalty as to defy ordinary reason.
Such are the feelings I am dealing with, a mere five hours away from my new house in Palm Coast, Florida.
Never mind that I have spent the last four days on line, researching fire pits, chairs, curtains, bed frames and bookcases. Never mind that in my mind I have entirely rearranged four rooms in this house that I have lived in for all of one and a half weeks. It is mine, mine, mine, and I can’t wait to get there and make it my own.
Despite the face that some rooms remain empty, I will change two of the rooms I have already decorated. I will depend on Craig’s list to get rid of the old memories in favor of the new memories I hope to create. I’ll sell the hutch and buy a marble top for the buffet. It’s cooler, and more modern. I’ll move the guest room to another location, so that I can put in a lovely bureau, all the better to feel comfortable and welcome when you visit. I’ll even move the entire dining room, the one room that has a full complement of furniture, to the living room, sell the table and spend money on a glass-topped table that will be a showpiece for all who enter the front door.
Flexibility is the word, and change is the option I embrace with enthusiasm. My family room will be modern, oh joy, with one solidly antique chair to defy the convention that modern means cool, spare and mostly, uncomfortable.
I will spend whatever it takes to put in that punch of yellow, that statement of my individuality. A color I have never ever used, but it will probably end up looking like all the rooms I have ever decorated, I’m afraid. We are who we are, after all.
But meanwhile, this is so exciting. Sitting in a bus I will not live in for at least three months, the longest stretch in over three years. Anticipating that I have all the money in the world, and all the options in creation, to create the dream home of my future. Except that now is my future, and the reality is, it had better be functional and comfortable, or my husband will put the kibosh on my grand schemes, at the risk of his taking up residence in the bus in storage.
But nobody, yes nobody can rain on my parade. Hey Mr. Arnstein, I’m almost home.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Zoned in the Zones
Route 10 from Phoenix
To Benson AZ
Although we have both said that we are in a real hurry to get home to our new little home—one we have lived in for a week and a half of the four months we’ve owned it—we are only going two and a half hours down the road today.
We’ll be stopping in Benson, AZ, on the border of New Mexico, at a strange little resort whose main attraction is its homemade planetarium. We stopped there a couple of years ago, and while staring at the stars is something I do regularly, the night of the star gazing was one of the most painfully boring I have ever experienced.
It had mainly to do with people’s politeness. Instead of lining up for a quick peek into the telescope, as we impatient New Yorkers would undoubtedly have done, these gentle folk remained seated, each in turn toddling up to the step stool, gingerly mounting it, putting an eye to the scope and observing the faraway constellations, all the while murmuring their awe and admiration in appropriately hushed tones. The little building wasn’t heated, and after the warm daytime sun, it was darned chilly. Each constellation took the group of 13—note the number—at least half an hour to view. And there were five to see that night.
And that doesn’t catalog the guy with the night blindness, who had to be escorted up and back from his seat, by his equally doddering wife. Oh the pain.
So hearing that Benson was our intended stopover, I sweetly asked why my dear husband was choosing to map such a short trip for the day—bearing in mind that, you know, we wanted to get home. Here’s what he said, knowing full well what a wonderful time I’d had the last time we were there.
“We need to take short trips when we change time zones, so our bodies will get used to the shift in time.”
Now that’s creative. That’s also ridiculous, given that each time change involves only an hour, but I have to give the guy credit. He’s nuts for astronomy and has been talking about going back to Benson since we were there, but he never would want to appear so selfish as to deny my need for speed and stop at a place I so volubly disliked.
Oh wait. Maybe he’s right. I’m feeling confused right now. Is it eleven o’clock? Ten? Twelve? Is it really Wednesday? Maybe It’s Thursday! If so, it’s my birthday. OMG, I wonder if this time zone thing can work for years too. Maybe I just got younger. Oh Calloo Callay, oh frabjous day, maybe I’ll be four years younger by the time we hit Florida. If that’s true, then Hello Benson! I’ll be staying here a few days longer.
I just love them stars.
To Benson AZ
Although we have both said that we are in a real hurry to get home to our new little home—one we have lived in for a week and a half of the four months we’ve owned it—we are only going two and a half hours down the road today.
We’ll be stopping in Benson, AZ, on the border of New Mexico, at a strange little resort whose main attraction is its homemade planetarium. We stopped there a couple of years ago, and while staring at the stars is something I do regularly, the night of the star gazing was one of the most painfully boring I have ever experienced.
It had mainly to do with people’s politeness. Instead of lining up for a quick peek into the telescope, as we impatient New Yorkers would undoubtedly have done, these gentle folk remained seated, each in turn toddling up to the step stool, gingerly mounting it, putting an eye to the scope and observing the faraway constellations, all the while murmuring their awe and admiration in appropriately hushed tones. The little building wasn’t heated, and after the warm daytime sun, it was darned chilly. Each constellation took the group of 13—note the number—at least half an hour to view. And there were five to see that night.
And that doesn’t catalog the guy with the night blindness, who had to be escorted up and back from his seat, by his equally doddering wife. Oh the pain.
So hearing that Benson was our intended stopover, I sweetly asked why my dear husband was choosing to map such a short trip for the day—bearing in mind that, you know, we wanted to get home. Here’s what he said, knowing full well what a wonderful time I’d had the last time we were there.
“We need to take short trips when we change time zones, so our bodies will get used to the shift in time.”
Now that’s creative. That’s also ridiculous, given that each time change involves only an hour, but I have to give the guy credit. He’s nuts for astronomy and has been talking about going back to Benson since we were there, but he never would want to appear so selfish as to deny my need for speed and stop at a place I so volubly disliked.
Oh wait. Maybe he’s right. I’m feeling confused right now. Is it eleven o’clock? Ten? Twelve? Is it really Wednesday? Maybe It’s Thursday! If so, it’s my birthday. OMG, I wonder if this time zone thing can work for years too. Maybe I just got younger. Oh Calloo Callay, oh frabjous day, maybe I’ll be four years younger by the time we hit Florida. If that’s true, then Hello Benson! I’ll be staying here a few days longer.
I just love them stars.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
She’s baaaaaaack!
Route 10
From Desert Hot Springs CA
to Phoenix AZ
After a long spell of nothing, I finally have regained my muse and will be writing again of our travels. First, however, let’s catch up.
After almost three year of hitting the road, we bought a house in Florida. Why? Because the price was right, the pool was there, and although we are still in love with this exploration that has become our life, we also began to feel the need for seed … and dirt and walls and rooms to go hide in. We were in our new little castle for exactly one and a half weeks, and then we got in the bus again and headed for San Francisco and Christmas with Jeff.
It was a lovely holiday with our beloved son, and from there we headed South to the desert, where we spent a wonderful couple of weeks with our friends Irwin and Randy, playing cards, eating too much and generally having fun. We did a little exploring too, including a tram to the top of the highest mountain in Palm Springs, and a drive to the tippity top of another peak, from which we could see the entire Coachella Valley which comprises Palm Springs, Palm Desert, Indian Wells, Rancho Mirage and more, undoubtedly the priciest desert in the world. And breathtaking as long as it isn’t raining and making foot-wide ruts in the roads. Which it does from time to time.
We took off from LA to Cabo San Lucas in the Baja of Mexico, that little finger of heaven that sits between the Sea of Cortez and the Pacific Ocean. There in Paradise, we spent four weeks of complete hedonism, soaking the sun into our old bones, regrouping with Joyce and Marty, Robin and Rodney, and yes, eating and drinking too much. It was colder than we’d experienced before, but when cold is 65 degrees, you put up with it and try not to complain too much. The highlight of the trip was a whale watching tour, something we do every year. We didn’t see a lot of whales--actually saw more from our patio overlooking the ocean—but we did get to watch a family of humpbacks, including the father, very unusual, and the new baby born the previous day. Amazing.
We landed back on US soil on Saturday, took a couple of days to hang with Irwin and Randy, do copious amounts of laundry, pick up Zeus at the dog sitter and check out the bus. Right now, we’re driving on the mostly boring Route 10, and expect to land in phoenix by nightfall, where John has promised to help me replace the entire selection of needlepoint threads I accidentally left by the pool the day I decided to indulge in Happy Hour, where the Margaritas were two-for-one. If drinking and driving are a no-no, then drinking and sewing should be too. Ach! All that beautiful silk thread, purchased with such care, and more beautiful colors you’ve never seen. Not to mention what they cost. I don’t want to think about that.
And here we come round to the reason I haven’t written in so long. Needlepoint! Blame it on that blast from the past, when we were young, and all the pillows on our couches were made by hand and whole shops opened in honor of the fad, with canvases that sold as high as hundreds of dollars. And let’s not even discuss Bargello, which came and went like the maxi, midi and minis that were popular at that time.
I got into needlepoint shortly after I convinced John that a needlepoint canvas was as much fun as, if not more than, hooking rugs. I was up to my ears in the damn rugs, as he was turning them out faster than I could find surfaces to lay them on. The man is certainly goal-oriented, that’s for sure.
So I got him into needlepoint, and he took it up with a fever, and then I went to a shop in South Hampton, as much to keep a worried eye on his expenditures for his craft as anything else, and ended up buying a small, exquisite painting of a seashell canvas for myself. And that’s when I stopped writing. I’d found a new, old, way to waste time creatively.
And I guess I’m a lot like Erma Bombeck, who confessed that she’d do anything to avoid writing, including polishing her paper clips. If you’ve ever cleaned the lint between the keys on your keyboard rather than, oh say, start a term paper, then you know the feeling.
But I have no thread anymore! I think God is reminding me of my true calling and letting me know that it’s only eight months until the next Writer’s Convention, where I promised myself I’d have my book finished and reading for the agents, editors and publishers I’ll hook up with to make me famous and rich.
Not that I have any pretensions or aspirations at this point in my life. Right. And where would Grandma Moses have been if she’d believed that.
Maybe I should tell John to skip that store in Phoenix.
B
Jeff & Keith's Tree
Dad & Son
The Christmas Dog is exhausted
John, Irwin & Randy
Shannon's Birthday at Irwin & Randy's House
Me & Shannon
Joyce in relaxed mode, setting up the evening Scrabble game
The Arch at Cabo
Whale Watching
Out on the Ocean
Me, John & Marty
From Desert Hot Springs CA
to Phoenix AZ
After a long spell of nothing, I finally have regained my muse and will be writing again of our travels. First, however, let’s catch up.
After almost three year of hitting the road, we bought a house in Florida. Why? Because the price was right, the pool was there, and although we are still in love with this exploration that has become our life, we also began to feel the need for seed … and dirt and walls and rooms to go hide in. We were in our new little castle for exactly one and a half weeks, and then we got in the bus again and headed for San Francisco and Christmas with Jeff.
It was a lovely holiday with our beloved son, and from there we headed South to the desert, where we spent a wonderful couple of weeks with our friends Irwin and Randy, playing cards, eating too much and generally having fun. We did a little exploring too, including a tram to the top of the highest mountain in Palm Springs, and a drive to the tippity top of another peak, from which we could see the entire Coachella Valley which comprises Palm Springs, Palm Desert, Indian Wells, Rancho Mirage and more, undoubtedly the priciest desert in the world. And breathtaking as long as it isn’t raining and making foot-wide ruts in the roads. Which it does from time to time.
We took off from LA to Cabo San Lucas in the Baja of Mexico, that little finger of heaven that sits between the Sea of Cortez and the Pacific Ocean. There in Paradise, we spent four weeks of complete hedonism, soaking the sun into our old bones, regrouping with Joyce and Marty, Robin and Rodney, and yes, eating and drinking too much. It was colder than we’d experienced before, but when cold is 65 degrees, you put up with it and try not to complain too much. The highlight of the trip was a whale watching tour, something we do every year. We didn’t see a lot of whales--actually saw more from our patio overlooking the ocean—but we did get to watch a family of humpbacks, including the father, very unusual, and the new baby born the previous day. Amazing.
We landed back on US soil on Saturday, took a couple of days to hang with Irwin and Randy, do copious amounts of laundry, pick up Zeus at the dog sitter and check out the bus. Right now, we’re driving on the mostly boring Route 10, and expect to land in phoenix by nightfall, where John has promised to help me replace the entire selection of needlepoint threads I accidentally left by the pool the day I decided to indulge in Happy Hour, where the Margaritas were two-for-one. If drinking and driving are a no-no, then drinking and sewing should be too. Ach! All that beautiful silk thread, purchased with such care, and more beautiful colors you’ve never seen. Not to mention what they cost. I don’t want to think about that.
And here we come round to the reason I haven’t written in so long. Needlepoint! Blame it on that blast from the past, when we were young, and all the pillows on our couches were made by hand and whole shops opened in honor of the fad, with canvases that sold as high as hundreds of dollars. And let’s not even discuss Bargello, which came and went like the maxi, midi and minis that were popular at that time.
I got into needlepoint shortly after I convinced John that a needlepoint canvas was as much fun as, if not more than, hooking rugs. I was up to my ears in the damn rugs, as he was turning them out faster than I could find surfaces to lay them on. The man is certainly goal-oriented, that’s for sure.
So I got him into needlepoint, and he took it up with a fever, and then I went to a shop in South Hampton, as much to keep a worried eye on his expenditures for his craft as anything else, and ended up buying a small, exquisite painting of a seashell canvas for myself. And that’s when I stopped writing. I’d found a new, old, way to waste time creatively.
And I guess I’m a lot like Erma Bombeck, who confessed that she’d do anything to avoid writing, including polishing her paper clips. If you’ve ever cleaned the lint between the keys on your keyboard rather than, oh say, start a term paper, then you know the feeling.
But I have no thread anymore! I think God is reminding me of my true calling and letting me know that it’s only eight months until the next Writer’s Convention, where I promised myself I’d have my book finished and reading for the agents, editors and publishers I’ll hook up with to make me famous and rich.
Not that I have any pretensions or aspirations at this point in my life. Right. And where would Grandma Moses have been if she’d believed that.
Maybe I should tell John to skip that store in Phoenix.
B
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Dear Kevin,
Glad you have made the jump and are now looking forward to launch.
Many RV resorts have Internet. I'd even say, most do. Some don't, but that number is shrinking. However, you may want to use your computer while your significant other is at the wheel. If your whole life is your connection to the outside world, then you will want an Internet key. Otherwise, you can just wait and see if the place you're stopping at has Internet. And if it does, what does it cost? And if it is free, does it really work? These are all things we addressed during our first six months on the road.
I have a Verizon cellphone, and my husband has Sprint. I was able to contract for an Internet key with Verizon, and it gives me Internet connectivity wherever my phone works -- which is just about everywhere. it took me 3 keys before I truly bought that you had to take care of your plastic thingys or they will break and it will cause you grief. Now I am careful to handle my USB thingy carefully and I am happy to report that all is good, with very very few exceptions. It adds about $60 a month to my phone bill, but I am glad to pay it, as my writing, research and communicating with the rest of the world is of premium importance to me.
John just got a Droid with wifi capability included and adds only $20 a month to his bill. (He has Sprint.) But that involved buying a new phone, and I am not, seriously not, an early adopter, so I will have to see if that works for him before I upgrade to a real phone, my current flip phone being quite ancient in today's hi-tech universe. But hey, it works for me, and while I can't text with ease, I still like it. For another month, anyway. My birthday may signal a move up the ladder. (And I won't have to pay. There's a method to my old-fashionedness.)
So do you want to add $60 to your current phone bill and live with that? Or do you want a new phone that costs $Bazillion and has that capability at $20 a month. Either way, if you're living full time in a bus, this is one expense you may want to bear. It really depends on just how connected you want to be. But if you asked, I think I already know the answer to that one.
Happy travels. Stay in touch. I wish you many many days of wonderful experiences.
And no calls from anybody wanting money. Hey, we're retired, y'know?
Best wishes,
Betty
Glad you have made the jump and are now looking forward to launch.
Many RV resorts have Internet. I'd even say, most do. Some don't, but that number is shrinking. However, you may want to use your computer while your significant other is at the wheel. If your whole life is your connection to the outside world, then you will want an Internet key. Otherwise, you can just wait and see if the place you're stopping at has Internet. And if it does, what does it cost? And if it is free, does it really work? These are all things we addressed during our first six months on the road.
I have a Verizon cellphone, and my husband has Sprint. I was able to contract for an Internet key with Verizon, and it gives me Internet connectivity wherever my phone works -- which is just about everywhere. it took me 3 keys before I truly bought that you had to take care of your plastic thingys or they will break and it will cause you grief. Now I am careful to handle my USB thingy carefully and I am happy to report that all is good, with very very few exceptions. It adds about $60 a month to my phone bill, but I am glad to pay it, as my writing, research and communicating with the rest of the world is of premium importance to me.
John just got a Droid with wifi capability included and adds only $20 a month to his bill. (He has Sprint.) But that involved buying a new phone, and I am not, seriously not, an early adopter, so I will have to see if that works for him before I upgrade to a real phone, my current flip phone being quite ancient in today's hi-tech universe. But hey, it works for me, and while I can't text with ease, I still like it. For another month, anyway. My birthday may signal a move up the ladder. (And I won't have to pay. There's a method to my old-fashionedness.)
So do you want to add $60 to your current phone bill and live with that? Or do you want a new phone that costs $Bazillion and has that capability at $20 a month. Either way, if you're living full time in a bus, this is one expense you may want to bear. It really depends on just how connected you want to be. But if you asked, I think I already know the answer to that one.
Happy travels. Stay in touch. I wish you many many days of wonderful experiences.
And no calls from anybody wanting money. Hey, we're retired, y'know?
Best wishes,
Betty
Don't Miss Places I've Been To
Dear Anonymous,
Thanks for reading my blog. I sure wish you'd told me your name. You know mine. And this blog doesn't allow for private replies, so here are my suggestions for must-do's in the Colorado and nearby areas.
The most wonderful place in the US to visit could well be the Grand Canyon, unless of course you're in Wyoming and in sight of the Grand Tetons. Then of course there's always Yellowstone with its thousands of geysers, wildlife roaming at will, and spectacular views from virtually every point in the park.
Of course, that ignores South Dakota's unbelievable and immense and breathtaking Mt. Rushmore, probably the world's best-kept national treasure, and situated in the world's most interesting forest, a place where getting lost is a gift you must give yourself.
Denver didn't rock my world, by the way. I preferred Colorado's ski towns, and Pike's Peak where for some reason only a sugar donut and coffee could help me cope with the rarified atmosphere.
All in all, most of what I have enjoyed are gifts of Mother Nature, not the accomplishments of man, but then again, that would ignore all the fabulous museums like Atlanta's, all the gorgeous buildings and amazing bridges I've seen. And Canada. I loved Eastern Canada, and have Western Canada on my bucket list.
Today I took a tram up to the top of a mountain in, of all places, Palm Springs, California. I marveled at both the mountain and the tram that took us up there, a feat of engineering only the Swiss could have performed. The inside floor rotated so that everybody could have a 360 degree view twice during the ride. And that was just one little activity of many that have had a lasting impact. I came back to the coach and watched Judge Judy. Talk about culture shock.
Go. Experience. Have some destinations, and national parks are great places to head for, but along the way, open your eyes and your door to things you haven't anticipated. Otherwise, I wouldn't have seen that Indian village completely built into a cliff, where they pulled the ladders up each night to keep marauders out, and I would have missed the Petrified Forest, where every dead tree is a gem of inestimable value. I'd heard of it, but didn't even know where it was until we stumbled across it. Sometimes the accidents are as much fun or more than the events you've planned.
Have a great time, and please do let me know how your trip was. And please don't sign your letter Anonymous. I have more Anonymous friends than I can deal with at this point, and I'd love to know which one you are.
Love
Betty
Thanks for reading my blog. I sure wish you'd told me your name. You know mine. And this blog doesn't allow for private replies, so here are my suggestions for must-do's in the Colorado and nearby areas.
The most wonderful place in the US to visit could well be the Grand Canyon, unless of course you're in Wyoming and in sight of the Grand Tetons. Then of course there's always Yellowstone with its thousands of geysers, wildlife roaming at will, and spectacular views from virtually every point in the park.
Of course, that ignores South Dakota's unbelievable and immense and breathtaking Mt. Rushmore, probably the world's best-kept national treasure, and situated in the world's most interesting forest, a place where getting lost is a gift you must give yourself.
Denver didn't rock my world, by the way. I preferred Colorado's ski towns, and Pike's Peak where for some reason only a sugar donut and coffee could help me cope with the rarified atmosphere.
All in all, most of what I have enjoyed are gifts of Mother Nature, not the accomplishments of man, but then again, that would ignore all the fabulous museums like Atlanta's, all the gorgeous buildings and amazing bridges I've seen. And Canada. I loved Eastern Canada, and have Western Canada on my bucket list.
Today I took a tram up to the top of a mountain in, of all places, Palm Springs, California. I marveled at both the mountain and the tram that took us up there, a feat of engineering only the Swiss could have performed. The inside floor rotated so that everybody could have a 360 degree view twice during the ride. And that was just one little activity of many that have had a lasting impact. I came back to the coach and watched Judge Judy. Talk about culture shock.
Go. Experience. Have some destinations, and national parks are great places to head for, but along the way, open your eyes and your door to things you haven't anticipated. Otherwise, I wouldn't have seen that Indian village completely built into a cliff, where they pulled the ladders up each night to keep marauders out, and I would have missed the Petrified Forest, where every dead tree is a gem of inestimable value. I'd heard of it, but didn't even know where it was until we stumbled across it. Sometimes the accidents are as much fun or more than the events you've planned.
Have a great time, and please do let me know how your trip was. And please don't sign your letter Anonymous. I have more Anonymous friends than I can deal with at this point, and I'd love to know which one you are.
Love
Betty
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Danger, Will Robinson!
Pacifica, CA
Outside of San Francisco
We are sitting on a cliff by the sea, and the inevitability of its collapse is weighing on my mind. The water is rough, pounding our cliff, and the winds are so high as to rock us from side to side, alternately terrifying and lulling us to sleep. It’s been like this for almost 48 hours. Last night the sign on the fence that said, “Danger. Do not go beyond this sign. Cliff is unstable,” blew off and fell into the sea.
I have already formulated a plan in my mind for escaping the bus and running behind it to move the car so John can back up in a hurry, should the inevitable happen while we are parked here, in the best and most treacherous spot in the park. We have a 180 degree view of the Pacific with no impediments, but that also means there’s nothing between us and the water.
A few years ago, the Pacific claimed an entire row of houses on the street next to our cliff. Now there’s a whole row of apartments a block down that’s been condemned, despite the fact that three times this year the town dumped mega-tons of boulders at the water’s edge. Obviously the sea will not be denied. Obviously there will be a year when our preferred spot at the water’s edge will be unavailable simply because it’s just not there anymore.
I just hope it doesn’t happen today.
The real culprit is the rain, which has been pouring down for not just days, but weeks. The sun is shining now, but the sky is otherwise grey and the fog is rolling in, as it has at least twice a day since we’ve been here. It’s just so San Francisco.
And now it’s raining. That’s all it took. One paragraph, and it's pouring again.
I think I’ll back up now. Why wait for me to prove me right. I don’t need to say, “See? I told you so” to myself, now do I.
Outside of San Francisco
I have already formulated a plan in my mind for escaping the bus and running behind it to move the car so John can back up in a hurry, should the inevitable happen while we are parked here, in the best and most treacherous spot in the park. We have a 180 degree view of the Pacific with no impediments, but that also means there’s nothing between us and the water.
A few years ago, the Pacific claimed an entire row of houses on the street next to our cliff. Now there’s a whole row of apartments a block down that’s been condemned, despite the fact that three times this year the town dumped mega-tons of boulders at the water’s edge. Obviously the sea will not be denied. Obviously there will be a year when our preferred spot at the water’s edge will be unavailable simply because it’s just not there anymore.
I just hope it doesn’t happen today.
The real culprit is the rain, which has been pouring down for not just days, but weeks. The sun is shining now, but the sky is otherwise grey and the fog is rolling in, as it has at least twice a day since we’ve been here. It’s just so San Francisco.
And now it’s raining. That’s all it took. One paragraph, and it's pouring again.
I think I’ll back up now. Why wait for me to prove me right. I don’t need to say, “See? I told you so” to myself, now do I.
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