Tis the Season!

What a wonderful Christmas with many highlights in no particular order:

1. The Super Boy capes - Stephanie and I spent several hours on Christmas Eve sewing Super Boy capes for Wesley and Finn. Well, Finn was with us so we were not able to give 100% attention to the capes - not when a smiling almost 11-month old demands your attention. I, for one, was most happy to put sewing aside to help him empty plastic things from my kitchen cupboards. They make such nice noises when banged together. And they scatter so well.

Finn getting ready for lunch in his great great grandmother's high chair.
Notice my scarf tying him in.

The capes have been worn continuously since Christmas morning.
On the reverse sides, Wesley's has a big W and Finn's a big F

2. I passed the cookie-making baton to Stephanie. I think this is the first year since the early 1970s that I have not created a floury mess in my kitchen as I rolled out dozens and dozens of cookies. It was a fun ride but also exhausting and I really can't do it anymore in my small kitchen. After 10 seconds of internal assessment about how I felt about passing the baton I realized it felt GREAT! And now I know it is much more fun to make a Christmasy mess in someone else's kitchen.

It was the more than willing 4-year old hands that made the process a bit more challenging. Wesley wanted to help at every step. When he jiggled the table for the tenth time while Stephanie was, oh so patiently, trying to outline shortbread cookies with thin royal icing I giggled as I heard her mutter under her breath through slightly gritted teeth, "Remember, I am creating memories." So funny.  And, actually, we all had a wonderful time. Memories WERE created.

Finished bags of cookies for Wesley's
 preschool staff.

3. The tree - My most unusual tree (some have had the nerve to compare it to Charlie Brown's) that I bought 6 years ago at the Day-After-Chrismas-Sale at Brinton's in Carmel has served me well in the small places in which I have tucked it. It's 6 feet tall but only about 2 feet wide - it's more of a redwood tree than a fir or pine. But it is perfect here at the OFH (Old Folks Home). It fits right into my wee space. 

Welsey added an ornament of his own creation. He gathered some of the felt from the stocking I made for Finn and voila, with a little glue and some pins, he felt it was a perfect representation of a reindeer's antlers. Who am I to object? It held the place of glory on the tree.

You will note that I followed the "If 3 ornaments can fit in a space certainly 20 can" philosophy.
The tree may be small but it was jammed full of memories.

Do you see the small Santa ornament to the immediate left of Wesley's "antlers" (mid antler)? It is the triangular-shaped Santa's face with a red plaid cap - eyes barely peeking above a white beard? This ornament has special memories. Years ago the family had an intervention with me about the decrepit shape of the flannel nightgown I chose to wear - season after season after season. Although I cherished that nightgown - its pulled-out-of-shapeness made it especially comfortable - they pointed out that it also illustrated my complete lack of personal pride. Couldn't I see how simply awful it was? Okay, it was wretched and threadbare but they didn't have to get personal about it. But I got back. On Christmas morning they each received identical santa ornaments made from the remains of that nightgown. I still laugh when I pull mine out each year (and secretly stroke its softness - such a great nightgown!).

4. Wesley's use of my Noah's Ark Advent calendar (an ark with 12 pairs of animals and Noah). Last Christmas 3-year old Wesley used the ark to illustrate how animals can pee overboard  by hanging off the side (like the way his Uncle Lee pees on his and Titi's boat). This year he had a more scientific bent. When he discovered that the wire tail of one of the little pigs had come off, he brought it to me to fix. I told him that the pig would have to have surgery. Wesley was intrigued. He decided that ALL the animals needed surgery. He would pile a group of them into my small African mokoro model boat then sail them to a nearby "hospital" - another basket - where I performed MANY surgeries (both the few that were needed and those that were completely superfluous) over the past weeks.

The mokoro is at the bottom of the ark ramp ready to pick up the animals.
"Surgery" is the basket to the left.
Busy busy hospital this Christmas season.

5. The Butt Biting Squid
The very best family gift was the HUGE Butt Biting Squid made by Michelle (Titi) for Wesley and Finn. After all the to-do over the imaginary butt biting squid that could supposedly leap up and bite Wesley's butt if he tried to pee overboard on Lee and Titi's new boat - well, one actually arrived via UPS. Michelle is incredible. It is 5 feet long, designed and executed by her. It even has a zippered mouth that can open up and attack the butts of unwary overboard pee-ers.

We have used it in all of our play. It has been slept on, hugged, dragged, and used to lunge at stuffed animals (and Grandma). Wesley is utterly enchanted. Thank you, Michelle. It is brilliant.

It was a wonderful season filled with blessings and I hope that all of you have had equally joyous times with family and friends.

Happy New Year!

It's an Old Lady with Books!

My first full-time teaching assignment was 6th grade social studies (Ancient History) at Ponus Ridge Middle School in Norwalk, Connecticut. I really enjoyed my 3 years with 6th graders. I don't think there is a better age for teaching ancient Egypt, Greece and Rome. They respond so well. What's not to love about pyramids and mummies and Greek gods? In September they are still kids but the pull of adolescence is just around the corner. By June the girls' curves are in evidence; the boys, however, are another story. Many are still short with higher pitched voices; their changes are a year or more away. Thankfully, most of my students still wanted to please and would raise their hands frantically when I asked questions -  even when they didn't know the answers. Call on me! Please! Please! Please!

Things haven't changed. I have a new volunteer job with the Portland library system. I used to work in the gift shop at the main branch in downtown Portland but now I visit two 6th grade classrooms in a low-acheiving school in NE Portland. I visit every other month and bring 2 copies of 9 books with me. I leave the 18 books so they can exchange them among themselves until my next visit. I spend about 30 minutes with each class, reviewing books I brought last time and enticing them into reading the new books I have with me.

The goal of the program is to get kids to read therefore all books are of high interest. As the head of the program told me, it is not the greatest literature but they are fun, exciting, adventurous, creative, filled with imagination - all designed to get them into their hands. My 9 books always include 2 graphic novels and 2 "chapter books."  The remaining 5 are a mixture of poetry, drawing, adventure, horror, biography, sports, history, etc - I have hundreds of titles to choose among. Thus my bookshelves are filling up with 6th grade-level books (well, with reading levels of probably grades 4 - 10 which represent the students I reach).

Last week was my second visit and I was on my own this time. I found myself nervous. "Come on," I said, "34 years of teaching under your belt - you can do this" and once I pulled out the first of the 9 books, nervousness fled and I loved drawing them in.

How about a book where 14-year old Peak (ah, new age parents!) is caught by NYPD finest at the top of a skyscraper he has just scaled and is only saved from significant time in Juvenile Hall by the appearance of his father, the most famous mountain climber in the world, who agrees to take Peak out of the country and supervise him himself? Nice for Dad to offer, but Peak hasn't seen him in 7 years. Dad has been too busy climbing mountains. And what will happen when his father  announces how he plans to have Peak spend his time - scaling Mt Everest?

Or, the novel about Isabel who has just moved from a house she loved, next door to her best friend, to a dumpy apartment above a laundromat - a space that her parents are going to convert into a cupcake business named, appropriately for its Oregon location, It's Raining Cupcakes? Will the move be worth it? Can Isabel establish a new life?

Or Finding Big Foot (by the folks at Animal Planet) - with facts galore about how to convince your parents to make their next vacation a Big Foot expedition, what gear to bring, what to look for, what to expect? Who knew that Oregon is number 5 in the nation for Big Foot sightings (and, just across the Columbia River, from Washington which is #1)?

Or Ghost Fever, a story in both English and Spanish about a haunted house in Dustin Arizona way back in the 1950s. The ghost is female and she goes after the 14-year old daughter of the man foolish enough to rent the house. The locals warned him but he just laughed. Who's laughing now?

And so on.

By the end of the session with the first 6th grade class I was feeling confident. When I asked if they were interested in reading any of the books, one girl in the back sighed contentedly, "All of them!" I gave myself a mental pat on the back.

Ah, pride goeth before a fall. I left the classroom and knocked on the door of the neighboring 6th grade room. The glass panel in the door was covered with paper and, I soon learned, the teacher was out of the room (everything I learned from my law class in the administrative master's degree program came flooding back - "Teacher, you better pray nothing happens while you are out of the room!"). A student came to the door, pushed back the paper covering the glass, looked me over, opened the door, turned back to the class and announced "Ah, it's an old lady with books." The rest of the class sucked in their breath and out came the collective "Ohhhhhhhhhhhh". They recognized his rudeness. I, in a manner totally not conducive to teaching him a lesson, burst out laughing and said to him: A) I am old, B) I do have books, and C) Your mother probably wouldn't want you to say that." He looked sheepish. I made the point.

With just the evidence of my first visit in October I already knew that this class performed below the level of the students I had just left and, sure enough, their responses to my questions about the books from my previous visit were less critical, less thoughtful. But, like the other class, they were enthusiastic about the books I described. I am no fool, I saved Big Foot for last and it worked its charm. They were all ready to go hunting - even Mr. Big Mouth who had opened the door.

As I bagged up the books they had returned from my October visit and walked out to my car I decided  it is very good to have a toe back in the classroom. Like my 3 months of teaching 5th and 6th graders in India, it's fun to be back part-time, to not have much responsibility, to just get to enjoy them. But I will watch out for Mr Big Mouth. I'm ready. He won't get me twice. 

Asleep in a Sail Boat

My grandson Wesley thinks California is pretty special. Granted my own children thought the same of their annual summer trips from Connecticut to visit their 4 grandparents in the San Francisco area - they were spoiled and feted by them and so understandably believed that California was the Land of Milk and Honey. The same happens when Wesley visits our extended family in the Bay Area but, on this trip, he was especially excited about our plan for Sunday, our last night in California. We were going to sleep in a most unusual place - on Dulcinea, Michelle and Lee's new 38-foot sail boat (well, used but new for them). How could all 7 of us fit? Their last boat was 15 feet shorter and could only sleep 2. Not Dulcinea. 15 feet makes a big difference.

The excitement began when all 7 of us met at Michelle and Lee's loft in Oakland in the late afternoon. Before we could think about moving over to the boat we had to answer another question - where would we eat dinner? We could sail in their smaller sailboat (Rigel) up to Jack London Square and find a restaurant there, then sail back to Dulcinea (Dulcinea is in the shop getting its mast shipshape but we could board it at the shop's slip). Or we could eat in one of Oakland's other restaurants. Or we could order food, pick it up and take it to Dulcinea. We opted for this last suggestion - we couldn't wait to get on board. Given that we didn't fit in one car Lee, Dan and Wesley sailed Rigel over to Dulcinea while the rest of us drove into Alameda to pick up the food and then on to the dock.

Rigel got there before us so Wesley welcomed us on board. He demonstrated how to get down the ladder to below deck and showed us the amazing sight - an interior big enough for all 9 of us (the 7 of us plus Michelle's two Moms). We laughed and chattered. We oohed and ahhed. We commented on every feature. A bathroom with a toilet! Such an improvement over the bucket in Rigel. Running water! All the storage! Clever shelves and cabinets tucked into every nook and cranny. A stove top, oven, and refrigerator! We have loved our trips on Rigel but this was luxury indeed.

We soon moved to the table where we sat and shared food while we talked and laughed. 6 of us sat on 3 sides of the table; the others sat across on a padded bench. After what seemed like only minutes but was probably close to 2 hours, Marlena and Leanne went back to their place in Oakland and we, who had slept in different beds each of our 3 other nights in California, who were catching an early flight back to Portland, were more than ready to turn in. Wesley could barely keep his eyes open but watched the miracle happen - the table disappear and a large bed appear in its place; the padded bench pulled out to become a twin bed. Adding these to the large spaces under the two ends of the boat - well we all had a place to sleep. Stephanie and wee Finn were tucked under the rear deck, Lee and Michelle under the front deck, I had the twin and Wesley and Dan shared the large bed. Although it was quite cold by the time we went to bed and Dulcinea has no heat, we were soon toasty warm under fleece sheets and blankets.

As I drifted off to sleep I wondered how different it would be if we were at sea instead of in a slip - I expect there would be a lot more rocking. Instead we fell asleep in gentle peace. My only memory during the night was hearing the occasional sound of Baloot's toe nails as she moved up and down the path between the beds. What a good dog, making sure all was well. No 5-foot butt-biting squid would board the ship under her command.

I look forward to more excursions on Dulcinea and what a lovely ending to our time in California. Thank you, Lee and Michelle. It was such a treat.

Onwards to Christmas.

20 Years Later

I really enjoyed teaching high school seniors. 18 is such a great age. Yes, they still do the eye-rolling they all mastered when they were 12 but it is now done with more humor. At 18 they have "been there-done that" as far as the high-school scene is concerned and can focus on those areas that interest them most - they are less scattered than the freshmen I also taught. Although, on the surface, they appear to know what they want to do in their near future, you only have to scratch a bit to find that many feel vulnerable as they worry about where they might fit best. There are a lot of decisions they have to make - both exciting and a bit scary. It is this mixture of attitude and angst that interested me. There is just so much to talk about with seniors.

Then add the course I taught - a one semester macro/micro economic overview. I loved teaching Econ. It is so easy to make it relevant to 18 years olds. When things got a bit slow all I had to do was pull out articles that described interesting jobs (leech farmer, fire jumper, person who cleans up scenes-of-crimes, etc) and you had them. Would they do it? Why or why not? The same with analyzing the potential future of new products. I remember bringing in a sample - it was little disks of pressed baking-soda that you toss into a toilet for boy toddlers to aim at when potty-training - and the ensuing discussion that ended with one senior grabbing the sample and marching off to the boys' bathroom to give it a try. He reported back that it was great fun. How could you not enjoy teaching classes like that?

And then there was the Corporation Project where each class formed a company, elected directors, made products (food) and sold them on campus over two days. It was creative (oh the clever ads and T-shirts they produced), analytic (as they figured out supply and demand and dealt with the realities of  their classmates as labor force), completely exhausting (for both me and them) and what a mess it made of my classroom. However, there was no question that it brought home key economic concepts, united them as no other project that I taught did and, what most surprised me, is how very very hard they worked for such low profita. Each $5 they invested usually only returned about $9 but that didn't matter when it came to bragging rights over who won.

The state of California requires one semester of Economics for graduation and, for many years, I was the only one who taught it. That meant I taught them all - every kid in the school crossed through my doors at one point or another in their time at Carmel High School. That included my own two children.

My daughter Stephanie graduated in 1993 and I was one of her class's Advisors. That meant that, 20 years later, I was also invited to her class reunion. It was held last week (the day after Thanksgiving) at Bernardus Lodge in Carmel Valley and what fun I had. One of my favorite moments was buying drinks for my daughter (hmmm, she didn't bring her money - do some things never change?). I mean buying liquor for a student at a high school event? Really? Okay, it wasn't school sponsored, it wasn't at Carmel High and she is over 21 but I still smiled when I went over to buy our drinks.

About half of her classmates attended which is darn good when they are scattered all over the country and globe. Some flew in and some were already here celebrating Thanksgiving with families. And they all looked so wonderful. Some were immediately recognizable - it seemed like they didn't change at all. Others I could figure out if I had a chance to look at them a bit before I went over to chat and then there were the handful where I really had to search to find the 18-year olds hidden in their 38-year old faces - but a glimmer was always there.

They were doctors and scientists and professors and artists and teachers and social workers and politicians and PR/HR/IT folks - and I have forgotten how many more. They were single and married, gay and straight, parents or not. Many had photos and I loved seeing them all. They seemed so very adult one minute and then I would spot a giggling group and it was as if they were right back in my class, trying to pass notes across the room. Certainly 20 years could not have passed.

What surprised me is how many were still in their first marriage. I know they are members of Generation X and I greatly admire this generation - the generation that brought balance back into the workplace. The generation that is not willing to put up with all the demands we Baby Boomers accepted as we fought for recognition among our HUGE class of workplace peers. This generation insists that time with family and friends is just as important (if not more so) as time at work. At this point their divorce rate is lower than that of their Boomer parents and this class seems to represent it well.

Bernardus Lodge was lovely. The dinner was delicious. I was in the exact same room maybe 15 years ago for the wedding of one of Stephanie's classmates. Both her classmate and her husband were at the reunion - and both seemed as happy as they were on their wedding day.

And so 20 years have passed. I loved watching them interact, hearing their stories, catching-up. I wish I had talked with all of them but there just wasn't time. And I really hope that I (and Jeff Wright, my co-Advisor) get invited to their future reunions!

Congratulations Kimbley (future mayor of Salinas, I am sure) and Tessa and all the others who worked so hard. It was a great party.

My Dirty Little Secret

Yes, I suspect we all have dirty little secrets; mine is about what I watch on TV. I'd love to say that I only watch PBS - all their wonderful series and their thoughtful news programs but, alas, it is not true. Although I do watch them occasionally, the shows I never miss NO MATTER WHAT are (here goes) Survivor, Project Runway and So You Think You Can Dance. The last is the newest on my list. My cousin Pattie got me interested. I had told her I watched Dancing With The Stars. She suggested I try SYTYCD. One viewing and I was hooked. I recognize that in many areas of modern culture I am completely out of it and this is certainly the case when it comes to modern dance - but no more. I am now completely in it, right there, on top of what is happening and am thrilled when these amazing young people throw themselves all over the dance floor in the most incredible moves.

This past season, here at the OFH (Old Folks Home), I was having lunch with a new friend, Jackie, when she asked about my favorite TV fare. When I sheepishly admitted to my trilogy, she sighed with contentment, "Isn't So You Think You Can Dance wonderful?" And thus a friendship was solidified. We now watch it together.

Each week I happily agreed with or vehemently denounced the voting public who had decided which dancer was eliminated and I quickly chose favorites. Last season it was Melanie, this time Jasmine. I groaned when Jasmine didn't win but at least she came in second. As the season drew to a close, each episode would include ads for the upcoming tour of the 10 finalists (the tour commenced right after the season ended and the winners had been announced). I am not sure which one of us first said, "Why don't we go?" I went home and did the research - the closest show was in Seattle, a mere 3 hours away. Within hours we had tickets, a hotel (thank you, Groupon) and train tickets.

The show was last Tuesday and what stunned me is that, right before God and the public, I turned into a groupie. No one was more surprised than I was. Me? At age 65? But when Jasmine and Aaron and Amy and Fikshun and the others ran down the aisles I was up on my feet waving and, yes, I admit, screaming a bit. Thankfully our seats were not next to each other (we went online way too late) so I couldn't embarrass Jackie with my antics. Strangers surrounded me at the Paramount Theater so I let my enthusiasm rip. I whooped and hollered when they preformed favorite dances from the past season, groaned when intermission arrived, shot up to applaud at the end hoping for an encore (no, drat!). I was in heaven the entire show. It could not have been more fun or more satisfying.

The whole trip was lovely - I do like train rides, especially through scenic areas. Our hotel was in a great location, central to where we wanted to go (we could walk to the theater, just around the corner) and we enjoyed the sights of Seattle. We wandered for 90 minutes in my favorite map store, Metzker's, strolled through Pike Place Market, had a wonderful fish lunch and found some Christmas gifts for friends and my grandsons. What more could one ask?

It was a quick trip - up Monday morning, home Wednesday afternoon, but so much fun. Now we are wondering if we should escalate our groupie-ness and try for the actual show next season? LA isn't that far - we could do it. But, ssshhhh, I am trying to keep this addiction on the QT. I have a reputation to maintain. Yeah, right.

Exploring Oregon FINALLY

I have not done well touring my new home state. Although I now know Portland fairly well I can't say the same for the rest of the state. In fact it is rather pathetic how little I have seen. Well, to give me some credit, I visited bits and pieces prior to moving here but not so much since my permanent arrival.

One of my earliest visits was in 1988, I think. We took an overnight train from Salinas. I know it was St Patrick's Day because I dyed the mayonnaise green for the sandwiches I packed for the overnight train trip. What I remember most of that one-week trip is not the beautiful Oregon coast we toured once we arrived but that train ride north. Let's see, Gary was using a walker for his MS, Steph had a brace on her leg from slipping in the kitchen, Lee had a cast on his arm from a skateboard incident - so I was the only one without some medical device attached to my body and predicted that anyone watching us awkwardly board the train thought, "Probably a car accident. I bet she was driving. She was probably drunk - they are always the ones who don't get hurt."

At one point Lee fell and thought he re-broke his arm inside the cast. I called the conductor who got to make the classic call over the P.A. , "Is there a doctor on the train?" About 10 minutes later a scruffy, taciturn man appeared and mumbled, "Has anyone shown up?" When I asked if he was a doctor, he didn't answer, just looked unblinkingly at me. I decided not to push it, grateful that anyone stopped by. He examined Lee's arm, cut back the cast a bit around his wrist, told him to quit running on the train (clever man to figure out the probable cause of the incident) and then quietly melted away. I still have no idea who or what he was.

On later trips I saw the Columbia River Gorge, the area surrounding Hood River, Crater Lake and Mt Hood.  I have also been up and down Highway 5 between California and Seattle countless times so know the rest stops and Mc Donald's restrooms on that corridor. And in September my sister-in-law Lynne and her husband took me to see Mt. St Helens, 33 years after its volcanic eruption. It filled me with awe to see the extent of the damage still visible and the areas of regrowth - but that is in Washington, not Oregon. My knowledge of Oregon is so bad that I have not even made it 6 miles south of where I currently live to visit the museum in Oregon City that marks the end of the Oregon Trail. Really? A former U.S. history teacher? All of 6 miles?

I made my first actual planned foray when my friend Emily visited last September. We drove out to Astoria and visited the area where Lewis and Clark spent their first winter on the coast - but that is it. Well, that is until my friend Mary Lou and I spent a weekend in mid-October exploring a portion of central Oregon new to me - and I could not have had a better guide. Mary Lou's father owned and operated the store on the Warm Springs Indian Reservation, maybe 100 miles east of Portland, over the Cascades. She lived and went to school there until she was in third grade. We spent the weekend leisurely exploring her past with no fixed plans, no agenda and credit cards to cover any costs that arose - the perfect way to travel.

Our first stop was Camp Namanu, the Camp Fire Girls camp where Mary Lou was director in her twenties. On this day most buildings were closed for the winter.

I love this view of a cabin over the bridge at the end of the lane.

Canoes put away for the winter

Another classic camp structure

Next we stopped to look at the steepest crossing on the Oregon Trail. I took a photo but, remember, it was me with my phone camera and even I have some pride and won't include it because you cannot tell that this portion of trail went straight up the side of a mountain. To look up at the drop from below and imagine those brave/crazy pioneers lashing conestoga wagons then lowering them, one by one, down this incredibly steep grade - well it makes me wonder how many wives were still speaking to their husbands once they got through the Great Plains, over the Rockies and then down this last drop into Oregon Territory? I could still hear them muttering "What were you THINKING taking us on this God-forsaken-trip?"

Then over the mountain and down into the Warm Spring Indian Reservation and I was shocked by the geography. I expected dry, desolate high desert but no, we plunged into a verdant northwest forest. We spied a dirt road going off to the right and decided to take it. Mary Lou thought it might end at the area where she grew up.

Maybe not our smartest idea. As we drove deeper into the forest, the path grew more rugged. After several miles we came to a stop before a hand-lettered sign "Bridge Down" and a gate that blocked further access. There was no choice other than to ease the car around - not a 3-point but maybe a 7-point turn -  and then try to find our way back out. We had not thought to made notes of "first a right, then a left, then another left" as we drove into the forest. At some point I thought, "Hmmmm, we don't have extra water or food, our cell phones don't work and there is no traffic on these dirt roads. What if the car breaks down?" We eventually made it out, a paved highway never looked so good, and then I saw the notice on my map, "Entry prohibited to non residents of the Reservation." Oops. Would it count that Mary Lou, white as can be, grew up on the reservation many moons ago? She was a former resident, yes?

But then, once again, the geography suddenly changed and I found it hard to believe I was still in Oregon. Gone was the rain-drenched Willamette Valley that I know. Here was the dry side of the mountain and it was gorgeous. So gorgeous that even my photography skills couldn't screw up.

Look at the colors - amazing. This is in Oregon. Who knew???

An abandoned church

An abandoned house near the abandoned church.

The Oregon equivalent of sage brush - Rabbit Weed

By this time we were hungry and stopped, where else on a reservation, but at the casino. It was the original casino that has been replaced by a newer one down the road a bit. This building is now a conference center and hotel - with a restaurant.  I had never had a bison burger or fried Indian bread - both delicious.

Then we drove to the area of the reservation where Mary Lou had grown up. Her house is no longer there but the Indian school and her father's store were still standing although the school was boarded up and it looks like her father's store is soon to be torn down.

The old Indian school.

Her father's store.  She remembers Indians riding up on horseback
 then tossing their reins over a post in front.

We toured the local small Indian museum (excellent) then drove to the neighborhood where she moved in the third grade, not that many miles but a world away from the reservation, right on the Deschutes River.

By this time we were tired and found a motel in Madras to spend the night. The next morning I was to learn more about the diversity of Oregon. We drove about 40 miles south of Madras (to those who know Oregon we were a bit north of Bend) to Smith Rock. I was speechless - and it takes a lot to do that to me.

Yes, I took these photos with my phone.  Even I was amazed at how they turned out.
Nothing can mess up the glory of this land,  filled with rock climbers and hikers. 

We shopped in Bend, drove up the mountain to have lunch in Sisters (and yes, friend Barbara deep in Kazakhstan, I thought of you), meandered through the mountains taking interesting roads and lanes as we found them and then, finally, it was time to head home. But even then Oregon surprised me.

Yes it snowed!

What a two-day trip - lush Willamette Valley, verdant forest, dry high desert, snow in the mountains  - all in Oregon. I have so much more to see. Now I am committed!

Autumn is Here

I am an official HAM!!! Yes, I know, many would suggest that, regardless of my new FCC status, I have always been a ham but this is KG7GNS reporting. Or, in ham speak, "Kilo Golf 7 Golf November Sierra." I did it! 92% on the test and quite proud.

I took the test on Sunday, the day after participating in the 3 hour SET (Simulated Emergency Test) conducted in Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Nevada and Northern California and was quite impressed by the emergency procedure. After my initial cavalier attitude about the importance of ham radio in this age of computers, I saw its worth in action. Hams worked with county governments and emergency agencies in all 5 states. We were asked, here at the OFH (Old Folks Home), to monitor 3 frequencies. The nickname of the SET? Hack Attack. The scenario? A major terrorist attack on the internet has shut it down with resulting difficulties (is that a nice word to describe the possible chaos?). For the exercise we could not use domestic power but only batteries, etc. Who could we hear? Who could we contact? Could we pass messages on?

In our little room up on the 6th floor of the building 12 of us gathered (3 observers from amateur emergency groups plus 9 residents). My role was to copy any messages received on one of the frequencies. I couldn't fully participate because I was not yet FCC-qualified but I did play my very minor role to the hilt. My frequency received stations within maybe 50 miles; the folks across the room were listening in on lower frequencies that could monitor stations in all 5 states. The most amusing moment was when the door flew open for a person from the kitchen staff who rolled in a cart filled with hot coffee and warm cookies. One of the observers mentioned it on the air, how delicious they were, when a Ham up on Mt Hood, begged him to say no more. He said he was cold, standing in snow with no warm coffee and groaned dramatically, "Please, please don't talk about it!" We laughed with him and commiserated (in our nice warm room). By the end of the exercise I had a much better understanding, and respect, of the role amateur radio can play in an emergency. In reality, if an emergency happened, I suspect folks from local governments or agencies might take over our station because we have the highest antenna in the county.

Autumn has been lovely. Halloween here at the OFH? I went as an Egyptian, wearing the gallibaya I bought in Aswan. Of course I couldn't remember how to tie the Arab head dress so went online (You Tube) and watched a demonstration 6 times at a site called Just Muslim before I had it figured out. At dinner that night someone pointed out that the NSA has probably put me on the No Fly list given the combination of 6 visits to Just Muslim AND a new radio license. Will find out when I try to fly to California for Thanksgiving!

Front View of my head dress

Look in the mirror - I did a good job!

The leaves are spectacular!  We had a dry summer and a fairly dry September so the leaves weren't in soggy piles on the ground but stayed on trees and turned brilliant colors. Now, remember this is me photographing with my phone so they are not good but you get the idea:

This is at the OFH, with the river beyond.

On the way to Stephanie's house

My rose garden? Tomorrow I cut off the last blooms. I have been madly weeding to get the beds ready for winter. At this point I have two patches, next to each other, with a total of 19 rose bushes. I look forward to following my plants for the next year's cycle. I think not many are heavily scented - and I want a few of those - so I may have some pulled up and pick replacements. Luckily my cousin Pattie is an expert and can help me find the right ones.

These are some of the blooms from my plants - but from September, not this month.

The grandsons? Perfection, of course. Finn is a bit late in crawling which pleases me no end. He is now starting to either scoot backwards or lean way forward so that he goes onto his hands and knees. Crawling is imminent. Wesley did the same and then was one of the first of his group to walk so suspect the same might be happening here. Therefore I am overindulging in rocking Finn, putting him on my lap to play Patty Cake, or put a blanket over his face for Peek-a-Boo. I suspect he will be crawling next week and then it is ALL OVER. He will start demanding to be put down so that he can explore his new world. DRAT!!! Baby days are fleeting and, quite frankly, I can't stand that this phase is ending. Luckily I know that future days are delightful as well but oh those baby days!

I have been working, working, working on a project that is 2 years late in completion but PHEW it is done and in the mail this afternoon. That means I can get back to writing and have much more to share - so get ready.

More Energy Please!

I have been sick for almost 8 weeks and am tired of coughing. Really tired. And think about the people around me. It is disgusting when I cough - it sounds like I am coughing up my lungs. The reason I held off going to the doctor's was all the articles I have read about overprescribing drugs for bronchitis - you just have to work through it. But 8 weeks? When the symptoms exploded last week I finally went - and guess what? I don't have bronchitis. Nope, not at all. I have a sinus infection that needs antibiotics and now, 4 days later, I see light at the end of the tunnel.

Note to Donna:  Remember this next time.  Remember this. Remember this. DUH.

Okay, so is there anything good about this experience? Well, even though I have had no energy for doing much and have been coughing, coughing, coughing, things have been happening:

#1 If I had read Chapter 9 in the Ham Radio Exam Prep Guide when I first started my ham radio endeavor, I would have immediately stopped the process. Chapter 9 describes the many creative ways I can electrocute myself. Granted I never intend to climb a tower to attach an antenna or go up on the roof of my building to adjust current antennas (well, actually I might have done this but not now). And from now on I will let someone else open up any radio equipment that needs adjustments. In fact I would prefer to be out of the room. However, I read the chapters in order and am way too far into the process to back out now. My license exam is Nov 3 - at a local pizza parlor.  Can you believe it? Test-taking in the booths? Easy, though, for my fellow ham club members who will accompany me. Assuming I pass, I pay for their beer and pizza. Wish me well.

#2  I had a wonderful week-long visit from one of my friends from the Monterey Peninsula, right at the beginning of this illness. Emily was the absolute perfect guest. Remember my place is 421 square feet. She didn't blink about the "dorm" conditions. We swiveled the love seat 90 degrees (I bought a new red leather loveseat that is more comfortable than the original futon that was in the unit when I moved here) and moved the twin bed sent up from housekeeping into its place. The coffee table served as her bedside table. We could still sit on the loveseat and use the table. It was amazing how well it worked. So, friends, if you are willing, a bed is waiting. Come visit.

The new love seat - but the light is wrong 
(hey - remember my limited abilities as a photographer)
 It is actually ox blood red

And we had so much fun. While I did my volunteer work and babysat, Emily, on her own, saw much of Portland. I added the bus app to her iPhone and she was off exploring the city. I gave her my bus tickets and would drop her off at a coffee shop (this is Portland, mind you) at 8:00 a.m. and would pick her up at 4:30 wherever she found herself at that time. When we finally had days to share she helped me deal with the fact that I have seen little of Oregon in my two years here. We made a dent in my education. We drove east to Mt Hood to visit Timberline Lodge (one of the "great lodges" of the national park system) and stopped en route to tour the Columbia River Gorge and participate in the pear festival in the Hood River area (part of the "Fruit Loop" of the Gorge).

The next day we drove west to Astoria. The history teacher in me was ecstatic when we visited Fort Clatsop where Lewis and Clark spent that incredibly wet winter after finally reaching the coast. I was thrilled to walk in their steps.

The woods at Fort Clatsop. Imagine the area in perpetual rain.

More amusing was crossing the Columbia to Washington state to take a photo of the site where Lewis and Clark first landed - the spot THEY named Dismal Nitch. Isn't that a great name AND an indication of their feelings about the area?

#3  Time for a hair change - I chopped it all off (well, Jane, my lovely hair stylist, did) and am having so much fun.  I haven't had short hair in maybe 4 years and, oh my goodness, all those products out there make it so much more fun.

Before

After
Fun with an app on my phone.

#4  The grandchildren - they remain perfect in all ways. Finn, at almost 9 months, is the happiest baby I have ever met. All he does is smile and google and laugh. His face breaks into a grin when he makes eye contact with us. He adores Wesley, in fact his eyes follow Wesley when he is in the room.  He is happy, happy, happy so the fact that he may be dealing with a cold (which I probably gave him) kills me. This lovely child who only radiates happiness to everyone does not deserve this (of course, does anyone?).

I adore playing with 4-year old Wesley. Such creative, unselfconscious play comes out of 4-year olds. I love that he isn't embarrassed by talking aloud to imaginary friends who are playing with us, his 4-year old explanations of motivations for the next steps in whatever we are doing, his belief that the world is good and fair.

Today he was home sick (yes, I may be responsible) and I was babysitting. When he woke up from his nap he decided that the couch we were on was a boat on the ocean. He warned me that we had to keep our feet up out of the water. All was fine until he remembered "Uncle Lee's five foot butt squids".  I looked at him questioningly and then remembered - ah yes, the discussion with Uncle Lee and Michelle ("Titi" to Wesley) about their new sailboat. This new boat is bigger than their first sailboat and actually has a toilet. However the toilet is a bit small and problematic so Lee said that Wesley might prefer to poop in a bucket or, as always, can use the standard method of hanging his butt over the edge. Wesley is utterly fascinated by this possibility and suggested that, because this boat was bigger, his butt wouldn't get as close to the water. Lee responded that, "yes, but what about the 5-foot leaping butt-biting giant squid that searched the oceans for soft butts?" Wesley blinked. We assured him Lee was joking but it stuck in his mind and today came back as the "five foot butt biting squid".

So, I was the squid that made the butt attacks as Wesley screamed in delight. Then he decided the squid had slithered down to the basement where Dan works. Poor Daddy. Thankfully, Dan came up with a solution - Wesley should catch it, fry it, et voila - calamari.  We now added this twist - Wesley went fishing by throwing out a measuring tape, dragged the squid in, cut it up with his play hand saw, fried it and ate it - over and over and over again.

So I cough, cough, cough but am having lots of fun.

LIfe at the OFH

A few days after I moved in last February my sister-in-law Lynne sent me a quick text: "How's life in the old folks home?" I, of course, chortled. Old folks home? Old folks home! Here? With all these vibrant people involved in so many things? It made me laugh - as she knew it would - and I now refer to it as the OFH.

So, how is life in the OFH? It's good. I have settled in, learned lots of names and am getting used to its systems and protocols.

There is one problem however, a growing problem and it is sucking up my free time, time I used to spend writing my blog. What is it, you ask? Well, it is quite outside my comfort zone, keeps me chanting strange litanies while I drive, scatter little sticky notes of incomprehensible formulas and abbreviations around my apartment and has absolutely no association with my past life. No, I have not joined a coven or Scientology but perhaps something as earth shaking. . .

Get ready . . .

I am studying to become a ham radio operator. Yep, I who begged a dean at Berkeley to excuse me from the 6th science course I was supposed to take, who told the nun who taught me Algebra II that I had no idea what sine and cosine actually were, who quietly planned high school social activities during physics class - yep, that person hopes that, in a few weeks, I will be an official, FCC-licensed ham operator.

Bet you  didn't expect that. Just think, if all goes well, I will soon be leaning into a microphone to whisper the dramatic words: This is  Whiskey 7 November Tango Zulu (or whatever call signal the FCC assigns me).

Ah, the joy! The power! The anachronism!

Yes I know, it seems a bit irrelevant. Ham radio in this day and age? Well, actually, it was this seeming irrelevance that piqued my interest. Last April I attended a meeting of our ham radio club at the pleading of my neighbor Jack (probably close to 90 and a ham for the past 4 years). At the meeting an audience member asked the question I had been dying to ask - "Why do you do this in the age of computer technology?" What amused me, at the time, was the quivering among the club members (in their seats, walkers and wheel chairs) - all wanting to answer. They assured us that when true emergencies happen, when communication systems break down, it is the hams who come to the rescue. They quoted chapter and verse. "And," they added, "You can speak with people all over the world!"  I started to say, "What about Skype?" and thought better of it. But their enthusiasm and joy in ham radio intrigued me and I decided I had to give it a try. I am somewhat proud of my use of my iPhone,  iPad, computer and Kindle - why not go back in time to ham radio? Complete the picture, so to speak.

Oh how stupidly arrogant I was. I had no idea of the difficulty of the darn license exam to become a ham operator. Thankfully proficiency in morse code is no longer required but everything else physics-related is. I know for certain that Sister Mary Regina, my senior-year physics teacher, is laughing herself silly up in heaven. "If you had JUST PAID ATTENTION back then, young lady, you wouldn't be in the pickle you now find yourself."

And what a fix it is.  I have charts taped up around my apartment listing band widths, abbreviations and common frequencies. I now understand differences among resonators, capacitors, inductors, receivers, mixers and product detectors. I find myself muttering things like "bipolar junction and field-effect are the two most common transistors" or "thank goodness for integrated circuits, we can do so much with them" or "I think that specific circuit uses a single  pole, single throw switch." I now understand how AM is different from FM and why single side bands (SSB) are so helpful. WHAT?????  None of this ever came out of my mouth before - not recently or when I was a high school. Hmmmm - for that matter were integrated circuits even invented back then?

I must admit I am quite proud of myself as I slowly work through each chapter of the handbook (about 150 dense pages of diagrams, charts and figures) but occasionally I question my sanity. Why am I doing this? I have nothing to prove. Sister Mary Regina has long since gone to her just reward. I think the answer is that it is so completely out of my field that I am just going to darn well do it. And, oh, I do love the other hams who live here. They are helpful, supportive and warm. They are delighted to have a "young one" in their midst and really hope I pass my test. Why, you ask? There is a very good reason. Tradition here states that I then pay for beer and pizza for the whole club because, get this, they all come with me to the exam. Yep, I take the exam, it is immediately scored and then (hopefully) we are all off to beer and pizza on my tab.

Oh, and there is a bit more pressure. The last club member to take the exam was Louise. She had let her license expire (I now know that a license lasts 10 years with 2 additional years to renew). Alas, Louise let more than 12 years pass so she had to retake the exam. She got 100%  Here's the kicker. When she went to fill out the FCC paperwork, the space for age gave only 2 boxes - one for each digit - and she was 102. The FCC asked her to please list her age as 99 as they couldn't change the form at this time. Do you love it? Today Louise, at 104 and sharp as a tack, is the oldest licensed ham operator in the country.

If she can do it, so can I.

Wish me well.

I will keep you informed.

This is potential Whiskey 7 November Tango Zulu (or whatever) signing out.

Week #3 The Attic in Pacific Grove

Ah the attic. I have dreamed about what was crammed inside it. Two years ago, when I made the very impetuous decision to move to Oregon, I had 4 weeks to go through every single thing I owned.

I sorted it into 5 piles:

1) Stuff for Oregon (I knew the size of the small duplex I had rented)

2) Stuff to pass on to my children (just about anything they wanted) 

3) Things I wanted to keep but didn't make the cut to go to Oregon (this was the stuff in my attic)
4) Things to store in my cousin Pattie's garage - stuff for the annual Yosemite camping trip and other odds and ends that didn't fit in the attic.
 5) Goodwill - lots went to Goodwill. Why do we save stuff we never use?

One goal of this trip was to deal with what remained in California - items #3 and #4. When I arrived in early July I went though the 10 bins stored at Pattie's. I decided to keep about 2 boxes worth of stuff and will take these back to Portland at the end of the month. The rest I gave to Goodwill or to family members. All that is now left at Pattie's is my Yosemite camping stuff. Thank you, Pattie!

Now I had to face the attic. It is a small attic - maybe 15 feet long by 5 feet wide but with a sharply slanting roof. It is more of a crawl space than a true attic. In my memory it was stuffed with cartons, bags and 35 boxes of books. The reality was much better than I remembered. There were only 19 boxes of books and I could actually see space around things - it wasn't stuffed to capacity. It only took 20 minutes to unload it all into the small bedroom where the attic entrance is located. It took another 40 minutes, using the bucket brigade method, to pass all the boxes and bags down the narrow stairs to the living room, from the living room to the side deck, and from the side deck to my neighbor's driveway across the street (I didn't want to use my own driveway given that it technically belongs to my tenants)

My house

I thank Lee and Michelle who drove down from Oakland to help, Francia's friend René (who laughed when I asked him to please arrive at 4:00 American time, not Honduran time), and my tenant Albert. I couldn't have done it without them. René happily took all the bedding that I had saved - no need for it now - and some small pieces of furniture. What he could not use, he told me, he would pass on to people at his church. 

René and his daughter Frances

René's wife and Francia

Lee and Michelle took Lee's great grandfather's desk and chair and my old dog Bayley's very comfortable bed for Buloot.

What was left was piled on my neighbor's driveway. Several years ago my wonderful neighbor Greg had filled his driveway with the contents of his business from which he had just retired and odds and ends from his life's work. His equally wonderful wife, Robin, despaired that "Camp Greg," as she called it, would never disappear. It took 4 years but, eventually, all was stored away. I now asked if Camp Greg could reappear for about 10 days as a place for me to sort the attic contents. Robin is a good friend and not only did she agree, Greg had a table and dolly ready for me to use. These are great neighbors.

Views of portions of the New Camp Greg

Then the sorting began. It was actually much easier than I thought it would be. I tackled the boxes of stuff-other-than-books first. I opened a box, took out what I thought I would want then texted photos of the rest of the stuff to family members in California and Oregon. I described each item, gave approximate sizes and history and then asked the key question - do you want it? Here are a few samples:

My dolls and clothes - Candy took them.

Garden tool hooks - Mary took them.

Aborigine bark painting from a 1968 trip to Australia and my brother's clock -
Pattie took the painting, Mary took the clock.

China from my Aunt Ethel. Candy will repair the broken creamer then pass them on.

An odd combination - a crucifix from a church in Rome and
a boomerang and spear head from that trip to Australia.
Steph took the boomerang, Pattie took the spear, Candy took the crucifix.

Celtic angel from Ireland - Loretta took it.

All went smoothly until this image appeared on text messages in California and Oregon:

This is an oil painting done many years ago by my sister-in-law Melinda. She gave it to my parents. When my Mom moved to Canterbury Woods after Dad died, she took it with her and hung it in her living room. When she died there was much jockeying among the 5 offspring to get it. Of course Melinda had the most right - she was the artist after all, but all 3 sisters wanted it as well. While we tried to come up with reasons why it best belonged to each of us, I took it off the wall to look at it more closely and there, on the back, written in my mother's handwriting, was the sweetest message of all: "For Donna." Of course, if I had been gracious, I would have quietly acknowledged it and then, just as quietly, put it in my pile but of course nothing like that happened. I whooped and hollered and bounced up and down as I pointed out the message, made sure each one of them read it, reveled in it as I walked around the room, parading as if I had just won the gold. I ignored my brother, Melinda's husband, who pointed out that I had, on many occasions, forged my mother's name when signing papers that couldn't wait until I was actually with her. Of course this was her writing! Ridiculous.

For the past 9 years I have been the proud owner of this painting and it hung in my living room in my sweet house in Pacific Grove. Now I do not have enough wall space. However, I am not stupid. I announced, in the text, that it would still be mine but if anyone wanted to "store" it on a wall in their home I would gratefully consider it - but it must be understood it remained MINE. Pattie answered first, "Are you kidding??? Of course I could find room!!"  Mary was next, "There is ALWAYS room for another Melinda painting." But then Melinda came in with "I will take that one!" The artist won out. She assures me that she knows it is mine and I can visit it whenever I am at her house which is good because I love it. Thank goodness I have 5 of her other paintings hanging in my wee unit. I couldn't go Melinda Miller Collins free. No way. If you don't know her work, go online at melindamillercollins.com. It is spectacular.

Then it was time to tackle the books. At the end of the day I had 7 boxes set aside to donate to the Carmel library, 9 to send to Oregon, 2 to give to Candy for the Mercy Retreat Center and 1 to give to Pattie. However, during the night, when I couldn't sleep, I reviewed what was in the boxes for Oregon. I didn't need 9 boxes of books. In the morning I went through all 9 and removed enough to add 2 more boxes to the pile for the library. It was with great relief that I schlepped all 9 boxes to the library and took 7 to the post office to mail to Oregon. Phew. Greg's dolly came in quite handy at both the library and the P.O.

So now I have about 7 plastic bins of things to take back to Oregon plus the dollhouse that Gary built for Stephanie. It is fragile, parts have become unglued, but I think Stephanie and I can restore it. I filled the rooms of the dollhouse with plastic air bags and packed the whole thing in bubble wrap. Oh I hope it survives the ride to Oregon.

It is done. I can't quite believe it. My goodness. Stuff-free.

Week #2 Yosemite

I do love Yosemite. It was hot this year - in the high 80s, low 90s, but Loretta brought a fan and what a difference that made. The Housekeeping campground is about the lowest form of camping you can do at Yosemite (well, setting up your own tent would be lower) - the tents are old, the ground around the cement apron in front of each tent is pitted, the attached table is a bit wobbly, the counter can be precariously attached to the outer stockade wall, the mattresses on the beds can be a bit lumpy, ground squirrels annoy you no end but there are a few things that makes it all quite wonderful - it is right on the Merced River, it has views of Half Dome and Yosemite Falls, the lovely scent of forest trees fill the air  and, get ready, each camp site has 2 electric outlets. This makes all the difference. We brought a water heater and a French press - et voila, coffee! We could charge our iPhones and laptops, plug in the fan. Yea electricity.

This year our group's ten sites were in the inner zone of the campground (we are assigned sites right on the river every other year) but I really liked our particular site. We were close to the river, had areas with open sky views (for nighttime stargazing), were not far from the little store, were able to park right next to our tent site so unpacking was a breeze - all in all, a good site.

This year my cousin Pattie and I decided to continue with the tradition of minimalist camping we had established last year but this is not quite possible for Pattie's sister, Loretta, who joined us for the first time. She is at the other end of the spectrum - she tends to pack a lot. For example, I was a bit surprised when she brought 2 pairs of scissors on our trip to Egypt. I didn't think to bring any (but all concerns about her overpacking disappeared when my luggage was lost for the first 4 days of that trip and her amply filled bag helped supply things I was most grateful to use). So Loretta brought lots of baked goodies, 2 fans, a large cooler, kitchen supplies, tablecloths, wine and champagne and appropriate glasses  - well, what's not to love about what she brought?!?!? I became a fan.

The kitchen area of our housekeeping unit - the new floats are behind our table. 

Pattie and I learned from last year - we bought inflatable tubes on Amazon and used them to float down the river. The cost of all 3 was less than the rental price of one ride down the Merced River on a Yosemite inflatable boat. But what we most enjoyed was tying all 3 together, latching them to a tree on the shore and then reading, talking and laughing while we looked up at Half Dome and Yosemite Falls. Quite a view.

I know, not a close up, but what can you do? Our floats attached to the shore. 

The little specks on the left side of the photo are other folks floating down the river. What waited ahead of them made us (and all the people playing on the nearby beach) laugh a lot. A group of young kids, maybe 3, 4, 6 and 8 year olds, gathered on the beach. Half hid across on the opposite bank in some tall grasses, while the others stood in plain view on the shore. As a person on a raft approached, the kids appeared indifferent but, as soon as the raft hit the deepest channel (where all the floaters had to go - it was too shallow on the rest of the river bed), the kids, stationed on either side, pulled out their water guns and blasted the poor folks floating by. They were so young you just  didn't expect such mischief. Everyone laughed, including most of the surprised rafters.

Three of the mischief makers - the rest hid across the water in the grasses.

Then the most wonderful thing happened. A man, alone, spread out on his back, sunglasses perched on his nose, almost asleep, floated by - right towards the imps. We all held our breaths - what a sitting duck he made! Just as he got to the kids he surprised us all by suddenly sitting up and drenching them with his hidden water cannon. It was priceless. The kids were completely unprepared and the beach crowds applauded madly. We joined in. He got 'em. 

What a wonderful way to spend a hot sunny day on a river. 

The days slid lazily by. Pattie and Loretta climbed up to Vernal Falls - I wished them well. I had said goodby to Vernal Falls several years ago. Those of you who have been to Yosemite know what it is like to climb the steep uneven stone stairs of the Mist Trail as you get sprayed from the Falls nearby. We toured museums, rode the shuttle around the park and I read lots of sixth grade books for my new library volunteer job (I am going to be a "Book Lady" who, every other month, shares synopses of 8 books with sixth grade classes and leaves them copies of these books), visited others in our group, stared up at the evening sky - so incredibly clear - and enjoyed every single second.

Candy, Pattie, Me, Loretta

And, of course, I had an "Ahwahnee Day" when I pretend I am staying at that grand old lodge instead of in the Housekeeping Campground at the opposite end of the luxury scale. We had lunch in the restaurant, drinks at the outside bar, lounged in chairs scattered throughout the public rooms and shopped in the elegant gift shop. And then I went happily back to Housekeeping.

Oh it was all lovely as were the beautiful drives to and back. I am now on my way to Pacific Grove for week #3 of my time in California - I will be emptying the attic in my house that is now rented. What awaits me?