Living in an Aviary

When my family was young, we always had quite a menagerie. My daughter was usually the culprit when it came to adding on to our collection of critters. We prefer furry ones....dogs, cats and bunnies....or feathered ones, shying away from reptiles, especially snakes. At one point we considered having an aviary in our home, since we really didn't like the idea of keeping our birds cramped in cages. We fantasized about a room-sized aviary that we could walk into just off the dining room. It was only a dream and never came to be, and now that I think about it, it would be one huge place to keep up, it could be smelly...... and the birds would still actually be in a cage.

The last few years, since I love to watch birds in the wild so much, I've been feeding them in my yard wherever I'm living. There's never been much interest shown at my bird feeders, though, until this year. There's a huge, fat palm tree in our patio in Palm Springs, sometimes referred to as "the elephant in the room", and this year I took a notion to hang a cage that holds a brick of birdseed on it's stubby, toothy, chopped off frond. I added a sort of suet block as well, only it's made from peanuts and it doesn't melt all over the ground like the beef suet does in the desert heat. Soon after, I had quite an audience. Mostly the crowd consisted of red and orange house finches and white-crowned sparrows, with mourning doves foraging on the ground and hummingbirds sucking on their own feeder. 

On the colored brick wall, next to the Ficus hedge, I set a little ceramic bird feeder that I made years ago and a little flat dish which I keep loaded with already shelled sunflower seeds. It seemed logical that the birds would have an easier time without having to deal with shells, and there would be less mess for us to clean up. 

It's been delightful to watch the little finches work their way down through the bushes to the wall to poke their heads into the holes of the feeder to get the seeds. We must be on some sort of flyway, or at least the word has got out about our bird buffet. If I sit quietly and write, the birds ignore me and go about their business of feeding their families.

Sometimes as I'm writing out on the patio, I have to pause to witness an argument, or bird fight over exactly who's feeders these are. Mostly I just look up to appreciate how up close and personal I am to these beautiful creatures.

Most of them gather in our overgrown bougainvillea on our patio. There is always a cacophony of chirping and chortling and tweeting. There may even be a nest in there, but it's so dense that I can't tell. They joyfully whistle and chirp and call and then they suddenly stop as one. It's as if a grand maestro has raised his arms and said "Stop". There's a startling silence, it's quiet for awhile, until a soloist starts warbling once more.

Those warblers are so amazing! Their songs are so loud and carry such a long way, that I thought they must be pretty big birds. One day though, a bird the size of a hummingbird came down to check out a Lantana plant, and warbled while he was there. I looked him up on Merlin Bird ID on my phone, and found he was a Warbling Vireo. I played his powerful song from the phone and it matched the one that serenades me in the yard!                                       

Speaking of hummingbirds though, they are very curious little guys. I have my potter's wheel out on the patio, and sometimes I'll hear the thrum of their rapidly moving wings close by and look up to see one hovering in front of me and checking me out. One also darted under the awning when we were sitting out there having our first drink since arriving in Palm Springs. "Well Hello", I said, "Yes we are back, and I'll get right on filling your feeder!"

Just a little bit of trivia.... Did you know how hummingbirds hover? They move their wings in a figure 8 about 100 times a second!
Once this season I went to a nursery to buy plants, and one of the workers there asked if I had ever seen a baby hummingbird. She led me over to a lemon tree (that was for sale), and showed me the tiny nest that had four little brown things inside. I thought they looked like little brown capsules with a fuzzy mohawk all around the edge. Their tiny heads must have been tucked under and I just saw the body, since they have to eat somehow! I couldn't get close enough to see.

Anyway, here I am sitting in the most wonderful aviary one could ever want. Sometimes I'm reminded of Cinderella, and all her little bird friends. The Mourning Doves are coo-cooing, the Mockingbird is perched high on a treetop recounting everything that happened to him last night, with many choruses, the hummers are sipping at their nectar, and the finches are climbing through the bush. Even an occasional Verdin hops through with it's bright yellow head, scavenging some of the seeds others have dropped. It's a little bit of heaven for me.....and for them too. No cages are involved.

The 5-day Intensive Spanish Class

My husband has always wanted to have more command of the Spanish language. He goes on bouts of studying on his own, pouring over text books, dictionaries, and listening to CD's on headphones while he mutters his responses to himself.  He used to communicate with people working in his store, and now his main reason is to be able to speak fluently to our son-in-law, who is from Honduras. When he found out about Lake Tahoe Community College's Intensive Spanish Summer Institute, (ISSI), I knew he was going to sign up for it. What I didn't expect was that I would join him. I envisioned myself gardening or writing, or maybe even painting, which I never seem to get around to, keeping myself busy at home. He went in to chat in Spanish with the program's director, Susan O'Connor to help her decide what level he should sign up for. She boosted him right in to Intermediate level ll. I hadn't realized there were so many levels, and wasn't really planning on signing up, but the more she talked about it, it sounded like fun, although time-consuming, and besides, we usually do things together. I boasted to her about the Spanish I had learned in the "clinica de los ojos" at Kaiser. I knew all the letters on the eye chart in Spanish, and could communicate pretty well with the patients till the interpreter arrived for their appointment. The most beginning class was called "Low Beginning", and I thought that I could skip that with all my "knowledge" that I had acquired in the school of life. We both enrolled and became college students again! We walked out to our car making up a silly fight song for the school's team, the Coyotes.

Within a month till the class started, my decision of skipping the basic course started to worry me, since I realized that, having studied French in high school, there would no doubt be verbs and tenses to memorize. Doug was madly studying night and day, and I had an aversion to even trying. Finally, I realized that I must change my class to Low Beginning, which had sounded to me as if I had never ever communicated with a Spanish speaking person, which is pretty hard to get away with in California. After I changed my class, I felt better. No pressure. Yet another reason not to study before class.

We had signed up for an extra class, called, "The Difficult Trip", and were each sent a packet of fake documents: ID's, customs forms, play pesos, and traveler's checks. Poring over each piece of information, we filled everything out in advance for the 4th night of class, when the entire lobby of the school would be transformed into a Mexican airport, complete with customs, car rental and baggage check.

Yet another packet came telling us where our homeroom for language and grammar instruction would be, a map of the campus, and all the optional mini courses or breakout sessions that were offered each day. This award-winning course is in it's 23rd year, is always in the first week of August, and folks (especially Spanish speakers) from the community of South Lake Tahoe and beyond come to share their knowledge in classes in everything from Don Juan, to the Incas, and even Salsa dancing. We chose carefully to take a few of the extra classes together, so that we could see each other at some point during the day.

On the first day, we showed up for school at 7:30 like good little boys and girls, and were happy to see snacks and coffee provided and lots of folks with badges there to point us in the right direction. Much of the college itself is arranged in a sort of cloverleaf, with many of the buildings attached by hallways presumably to make it easier to navigate to class when it's snowing outside. They're working on heated pathways to the outer buildings for the winter too.

When we went to the introductory assembly, outside, we were surprised to see how many grey heads there were in the audience. Many of these "life-time learners" had come each of the 23 years and were already speaking Spanish with each other. There was no shortage of younger people too, some wanting to get a jump on their Spanish in their first year of college, and lots of educators, wanting to be able to communicate better with their ESL students. Yes, we were in a group of folks who were excited about life, and wanted to keep on learning new things....and at least for the older ones, they say that learning something new is good for the brain.

So there we were, students on our first day of school, and yes with a little bit of anxiety of the unknown. We each went our separate ways, to our grammar and vocabulary classes. My teacher, Profesora Carol, had a nice smile and was happy to be there. The other students were friendly as we introduced ourselves to each other, already using our new language. "Como se llama usted?" "Me llamo Patricia", I answered, rolling my R.

Mi Profesora, Carol, threw us in to the deep end (gently), in the afternoon, to have us conjugate present tense verbs ending in er, ar, and ir. To our surprise, we were  catching on, working from our workbook in pairs. Doug had a little bit of review in his class, but I'm sure he was way ahead of us newbies. When it came to choosing the "breakout sessions, Doug and I had different tastes. He preferred to push himself with lots of conversation classes, and I chose to learn about the art of Frida Kahlo,

Frida Kahlo class 

The perfect chile, stuffed and ready to cook.

...or how to make chiles rellenos, using the proper type of chiles, dark green poblanos and Mexican cheese, (and of course, she let us eat them).

Look at that Huge Paella pan!

I especially loved the class on how to make Spanish Paella, made outdoors as is the tradition. Our energetic chef gave us an animated demonstration, telling us as she cooked, that "you can make a paella from whatever you have on hand. If you only have chicken then that's okay. If you're on the coast, you would most likely add el pescadore (fish), or camarones (shrimp), also, many times chorizo is included." She showed us the special huge, flat paella pan she used, passed around the saffron for us to smell, and tantalized all of us with the wonderful aromas. The cooking classes were so well organized with young people from the college helping out with the prep work and serving us.

We did agree on the Sing the Songs of Cuba and Latin America class, where Marco Pereda sang and played his guitar while we sang along. "Cielito Lindo" was one of our favorites. Some day, I'll be able to insert a video of him singing.

I hope you will all want to find out more about this award winning course. Go to www.ltcc.edu/issi. You'll find out how to know about everything from Spanish Swear Words and Street Slang to an Environmental Series about Baja California.

Pero (but) you still have to hear about the evening that most students look forward to in this course. It's the Difficult Trip.
I must tell you, that I was nervous, being in the "lower beginning" class. We were offered to be guided to our first destination and I ran for that line. We were lead personally by Henry Wilds, who invented this crazy "trip". He first took us to El Banco, where we stood in line to change our fake Travelers Checks in to play Pesos. I learned from the people in front of me that I should say: "Puedo tener pesos para mis cheques de viajero, por favor?"
Then I was sent off to fend for myself. We all had to go to a list of places in the lobby/aeropuerto and have things checked off. I chose to go to customs first. The first thing I'm asked is my name. I can handle that. "Why are you traveling?" ....... How much money do you have? I'm nervous, can't find the papers he asks for and can't figure out how many pesos I've cashed my travelers checks in for.... after all I've just learned the word for a hundred, "cien" that morning. I start to perspire. My face is flushed.

There's a commotion behind me. I turn to find my husband, Doug, arguing with a (fake) policeman. He's saying something about not needing a passport, and would the cop take some dinero?
I'm thinking that perhaps he's having too much fun and I'm too worked up and serious.

Doug has moved on to my spot at customs and also tries to bribe the officer into letting him in without a passport. I'm moved over to baggage. As I'm finishing up my encounter, I see my husband telling the "baggage" person that she "should lift his bag very carefully because it has grenades and rifles in it. But don't worry. It's for my work."  The woman looks over at me and says, "Su esposo?" I say, "No, I've never seen him." She looks at a note that has been passed to her from customs about this man. She flips a coin to make a decision. He's a lucky guy. He doesn't have to go to (fake) jail.

I went to the Pharmacia to get pretend pills (Skittles) for a headache (Tengo un dolor de la cabeza). Doug told the pharmacist that his headache was from too much Tequila, and he needs opiates for it. He asked to have it without a prescription, and finally, the amused pharmacist gives it to him literally, "under the table". (More Skittles, of course.)

We met again at the makeshift restaurante, where we could gather our thoughts and buy a yummy tostada for $2.00 with real money. Then we were approached by a waiter and handed a menu that had everything on it as if it were a real Mexican restaurante. This was one of the places to be checked off our list. It turns out that you can order anything you want, but all you'll really get is a dish of chocolate or vanilla ice cream. Doug spoke to the waiter in his best Spanish and ordered half the menu. I just ordered chiles rellenos.  "Chocolate, por favor."

The evening was coming to an end, but we hadn't gone to the mercados upstairs. We each went our separate ways and I learned to negotiate and barter with the merchants. I'd say "cuanto cuesta?" when I was interested in say, a scarf. "Cincuenta pesos,", she'd say. We were all encouraged to bargain, so I said, "Puedo darle veinte." (I can give you 20) She came back with "treinte" (30), and we smiled and agreed. I gave her 30 of my play pesos, but I didn't actually get the scarf. She signed my card to say I had gone through this exercise.
After a couple of more transactions, my card was all signed, and I met Doug in the lobby. Proud of our accomplishment, finishing the Difficult Trip, we walked out to the parking lot. "I bought you a gift!", he said, as he dashingly pulled a fancy fan from his pocket and opened it.  Aww, I thought...but.... "How did you do that? Nothing was really for sale."
"I paid for it with the play money." he said.
"But nothing was really for sale! We were just learning to barter and then they would sign us off. You have to return it. It belongs to one of the real vendors."
Doug looked sad, but said he would do it in the morning.

We both must have thought our car was in a different spot, since I was going right and I saw Doug veering left. Then I saw something move behind him. "Bear!!", I called in a whisper. It was dusk, and a bear had gotten in to a dumpster. Doug moved quickly toward me and the car.
It was the first bear we had seen this season.

"We're in a Prius", he said, "It doesn't make much noise. Keep the lights off and go past him and we can see him up close!" I had second thoughts, but did it anyway. Thank God, the bear, rather large, darted away from his foraging long enough for us to pass, and then went back to his business.

The next day, the last day of classes, I had to tell my conversation teacher about Doug and his antics. She paid me a nice favor in reaching in to her briefcase and bringing out a lovely black fan to replace the one I had made him return. Thinking it was all funny, she had me repeat my story to my class.

Later that day, Doug and I met for lunch, and on our way we met "mi professora." I winked at her and presented "mi esposa". She said, "You! He causes me problems all the time!" It turns out that Professora Maria was Doug's "homeroom" teacher.

Well, the good ending to all this, is that we decided that we should make plans to go to Spain to try to really be immersed in the Spanish language. Our hope is to include part of the Camino Santiago de Compostela, the 500 mile pilgrimage that folks make that ends in North Western Spain, with the cathedral that houses the tomb of St. James, a disciple of Jesus. Our plan is to hop on and hop off, (no, not on a Red Bus, but from our rental car), taking in a few miles at a time, and ending, God willing, with a grand finale of a few miles at the end.

Folks might look at us strangely with our light packs, and going the opposite direction back to the car.....but from what I hear, this is called, "the Harbo way."

Company in the Pool

Today I was a "golf widow", I suppose, since my husband went off to play a round and get some exercise. I decided that my exercise would be in the pool outside our condo in Tahoe. Not a soul was around, and I set myself up on a lounge chair with my supplies, a big hat, sunglasses, and my library book that I had 20 pages left to read. It was windy, about 61 degrees, but sunny, so I still felt warm enough. The idea was to lay in the sun for awhile before getting in the pool because the wind probably wouldn't let me afterward.

The book finished, I prolonged my lounge time by finishing a crossword puzzle I found in my pool bag. My mind tried to talk me out of even getting wet, but I pictured Doug coming home after walking the course and I'd feel bad if I hadn't done.... something. I spotted some flotsam floating around on the surface of the pool, so that gave me a sense of purpose. I could pump iron with my foam dumbbells AND clean the pool to make it nice for others.

As I climbed down the steps into the water, I spotted a pretty cream-colored maple leaf floating at the other end of the pool. As I made my toward it, I captured quite a few pine needles that had blown in, carefully rescued a bee that seemed grateful, since after I flicked him out he flew off in a second. I went backwards toward the maple leaf, kicking my way there, but when I reached the opposite end it was no where to be seen. Hmm. Oh well. It was time to move around a little, I used my Aquabells to do push-ups in the water, and then some shoot-throughs and some jumping jacks. I began to twirl around in the water, (my favorite), when I spotted the maple leaf floating right near my shoulder.

Rather than toss it out of the pool, I decided to look at it more closely. It was totally dry on top and it didn't have a stem. It also had a passenger.....a tiny reddish brown spider was holding completely still on the leaf. I was looking so closely that my breath hit it, and it moved a few steps in shock. "Don't go! Be my company", I pleaded, realizing that I was talking to a spider. He stayed, and happily rode along on his leaf, which  was collecting yellow pollen on its edges. I should take a picture of this, I thought, and planned to get out soon and dry myself off enough to handle my iPhone. I did a sort of bicycle move heading toward the other end, and I think because of the pumping up and down I did behind my back with the aquabells, I moved faster, and the leaf was propelled along side me. It actually passed me, so I tried to do the same movement in the opposite direction to make it follow me again. It didn't. It reached the wall, and turned left, the spider getting the ride of his life as it twirled along the edge. Finally it turned toward me, as I kept up my plunging movement. I thought I had better get out and get that picture while it was so close to the edge, since I was composing a story in my head, and what good is a story without a photo?  As I headed for the stairs to climb out, the creamy colored leaf kept moving in my direction, along the edge of the pool.

And then, to my surprise, SWOOSH! leaf and passenger were sucked in to the pool's drain on the side. It hadn't dawned on me. So no picture....but still a story.

Mrs Magoo, post-op

It was time for cataract surgery....I had been mistaking things for other objects, or my vision was so fuzzy I couldn't make them out. My husband accused me of being like Mr. Magoo, only a feminine version, we called "Mrs. Magoo", who saw life through such cloudy vision, it caused me to endanger my and others' situations.

Fireworks, as seen through a cataract

I had one more Magoo-ish incident before the surgery. When Doug was driving us down from Tahoe so I could have surgery the next day in Oakland Kaiser, my vision was worse than ever. I confessed to him that I couldn't see the big green highway signs until they came up in my passenger side window. "Another reason that I'm driving and you're having the surgery, right?", he said. So true.

When I had the measurements done on my eyes, it was said that I would benefit from going with a "Toric" lens in my eye, one that could be turned on an axis and cancel out the "steepness" of my cornea, which caused an astigmatism. I had to pay extra for this lens, but it still wasn't the most costly one. It was the one I needed, letting me see more crisply at distance and maybe for the computer. My rapidly progressing cataract was so bothersome to me because it had only been 8 or so months since I had seen clearly, so I went for it. The nurses in the OR praised me for paying extra for the "Gucci" lens.

Before the surgery, I was reading a book...."All the Things We Cannot See", by Anthony Doerr, which seems appropriate, right? I loved it so much that I read it with a magnifying glass, with good light, while tilting my head to see if I could go around my cloudy lens. Sometimes it seemed to work. The book was due before I finished it, so I returned it to the South Lake Tahoe library before we traveled to the Bay Area for the surgery. When I got back, my vision was so bright, that I could read the print without glasses or contacts....and I thought this surgery was mostly for distance vision! The Toric lens, (which isn't for everyone's eye), has me seeing the computer and not so fine print (as long as I hold it pretty far), without glasses!

The only downside, that is downright depressing, is that I can see more wrinkles. It seems as if I have aged 10 years over night....of course that's only my opinion, since everyone else has been looking at me like this all along! No wonder I had been receiving more comments, like "Well, if you were my mother, I would suggest that you make this decision....after all...at YOUR age...." Gosh. It's time to start testing wrinkle creams. My doctor laughed and told me that most people just discover that their homes aren't as tidy. They see dust bunnies that they didn't realize were there. Well there's that too.....

I've been testing my vision All The Time. In the shower, I can now tell the difference between the shampoo and conditioner bottles, which most folks have a hard time with after they turn about 42, which is normal, but annoying. Have you ever applied lotion to your hair in an hotel? Not easy to get out.

"Now I can read that sign over there!" "Look over there at the robin flying with it's straw for it's nest in it's mouth!"
But, when covering my "new eye", the cloudiness of the right eye is more pronounced; I was told that that might be the case.

As if on cue, I received a notice from the DMV to renew my driver's license. I worried and stewed about the vision test I'd have to perform. Testing my vision on each eye on street signs didn't give me much confidence. I decided to go for it and walked into the Department of Motor Vehicles for my test. I figured that if I failed, I could get an extension till I had surgery on the other eye.
I sat in the waiting area, which faced the eye charts, trying not to look like I was attempting to memorize the lines.
In an abnormally short amount of time, my number was called, and I smiled and purposefully didn't offer any information about my level of confidence of my vision.
First, the man pointed and said, "Now, with both eyes read the 3rd line on chart C". I aced that of course.  "Now cover your left eye and tell me the 2nd line on chart A". I took a breath and murmured, "Hmm, not quite as clear", ....as I tried to focus. I said, "CFDBE". "Good!", he said, to my surprise!
I breezed through the left eye, of course, and was delighted to be granted my driver's license renewal.
It turns out that I may have been testing my vision on smaller letters at the DMV by sitting farther away from the chart and I'm embarrassed to say that I wasted the minutes I tried to memorize the chart.

A few weeks later, I'm still testing the parameters of my vision. I can see the newspaper crossword as long as it's a little far away from my usual reading distance, and I'm so glad to see the swallows flying in the distance...and that's with my right eye still seeing a little cloudy. One day....another day, I'll sign up for a new adventure with cataract surgery on my right eye. No worries.

Lily Lake after surgery

Mrs. Magoo

When coming through the gate of the community pool at our mobile park in Palm Springs, I leaned my head to my husband and whispered, "Who are those people on the other side? Anyone we know? "
He looked incredulously at me and said, "Oh my gosh! You're becoming like Mrs Magoo!"
He was right, but I said, "Well I don't want to offend someone by not speaking to them, and I can't quite make them out."

Many younger readers may not recognize the reference to a bald, myopic cartoon character called Mr Magoo, played with the voice of Jim Backus (who may or may not be remembered more as Thurston Howell III, the millionaire on Gilligan's Island). Mr Magoo mistakes everything for something else, and often puts himself in dangerous situations.

Another day, when we proceeded to the far side of the pool, I said to a friend lounging there, "Hi Lisa, Where's Cathy today?" As soon as I had those words out of my mouth, I saw Cathy's belongings on the lounge next to Lisa's. With the sun shining in my eyes, I followed a voice that was about 10 feet away in the pool. Cathy was bobbing around on a noodle, calling out "Here I am Patty! Not going blind, are you?"  I mumbled something about the glare of the sun....

One of the worst things that has happened is when I picked up my son at the airport, I almost ran through a stop sign. I really didn't see it, but I accredited it to being excited to see him. I decided to let him drive me around. I notoriously find it hard to be a passenger, but he drove very nicely.

While driving recently on the freeway toward Yuma, Arizona, Doug was driving, since I banned myself from being behind the wheel. He steered valiantly, I might say, through a sand storm, white knuckles and all.

I said, "This is amazing! I'm going to take a picture of this so I can show the doctor how I really see." So, I took the photo with my iPhone, and when done, I saw Doug look toward me to see what I was doing. When he turned his head away from the road, I instantly worried that I had distracted him from driving. I whipped around to look at the road, and saw us rapidly gaining on a black car that seemed to have stopped ahead of us! I braced myself, pointed, and said "Car!!", as my life did the proverbial passing before my eyes.  .....We came upon the said stopped car, and to my amazement, ran over it, as I realized that all it was was a rectangular patch of tar in the road! Doug said, "You're really going to have to trust my vision over yours!" Still my heart was racing and my arms were tingling as I realized we were still alive.

Only yesterday, my husband was driving us around town, and I saw a young child's electric wheelchair strapped to the back of a truck. I thought, "Oh, that poor child. We should pray for the family. It must be really hard for them." When we pulled up alongside, I saw that it was a gardening truck with a fancy lawnmower strapped to the back of it! Once again the subject of Mrs. Magoo was brought up.

Having worked in an eye clinic for 17 years, I heard many complaints from patients about not being able to drive at night because of the glare of car lights with halos around them. Then there is the story of the sun causing another type of glare, or haze, that I can also attest to.....not to mention not being able to read the crossword puzzle clues without squinting, or with extra light. That is a real pain to me.....since I always look forward to doing a crossword after breakfast. Right now it's not so relaxing. So all of this adds up to cataracts. I'm scheduled to have the worst eye operated on this month, and I have confidence that I'll have my good distance vision back afterward.

All of this is normal, you know, "At your age", I've been told too many times recently. Cataracts happen to almost everyone if they live long enough. That's what I used to tell the patients, and now, here I am, one myself.

In The Kitchen

We've lived in this old house for 33 years, and have been emptying it out, getting it ready to rent. The kitchen is one of the last rooms to evacuate, since we've still been cooking in it, but today is the day to empty the cupboards of food and pans, but for me, the memories are still there.
There are three of us working in the kitchen. My husband is changing the funky old knobs to cute chrome ones shaped like a cup and saucer and a teapot.

A friend is emptying out the cupboards so he can clean them, and putting the contents around the kitchen for me to sort through. I call my job "search and destroy", but it's not true. For each item, I have to decide if I want to keep it, (does it give me joy?)...... does someone else want or need it?..... Should I put it out in the changing pile of "leavings" that we've left by the curb for passers by to take?..... Can it be recycled?..... or, is it truly garbage?

The hardest part of this sorting for me, is to also consider if the item suits our mobile home in Palm Springs, or the condo at Lake Tahoe, or could we use it in the little "in-law" we're making for ourselves downstairs. Our kitchen there, will consist of a microwave, a crockpot, a coffee maker, a George Foreman Grill and an electric pot to heat tea water......no place for pots or pans. Storage is at a premium, so I have to be brutal, but if I have fond memories of an antique cookie sheet or muffin tin, I'll bring them to Palm Springs to replace things that were already in the kitchen when we bought the place. Things for entertaining go there too, since there are always a lot of pot lucks.

It must look as if I'm moving in slow motion, to my co-workers in the kitchen. I see the clutter on the counter of bowls and utensils and half used cleaning products growing, it's upsetting to me that I can't seem to keep up with the flow. My brain, in the meantime, keeps playing movies of times past. As I get out the muffin tins from a corner of the cupboards, I fondly remember the "apartment" that Tigger, our orange tabby had made in there. We found that he opened the cupboard door with his paw, crawled in and didn't come out. Turns out, he could see the side of the drawer that had dishtowels in it, and he reached into the drawer, and pulled out a few towels with his claw to make himself a nice little nest in the cupboard. I discovered his lair one time when I was suspiciously low on dishtowels. He watched as I cleaned it out, and in a few days, he had refurnished it.
Another time, I caught Tigger rubbing up against Tessa, our dog, and ending up with his head in Tessa's gentle open mouth!

The soon-to-be-replaced kitchen sink brings back a vision of a favorite photo of my kids, Jennie, 5, and Lucas 1-1/2, way back when, standing on chairs, "doing dishes". Lucas especially concentrated on the Tupperware cups that were unbreakable. Both of them had vintage child's aprons on, and Jennie's hair cascaded down to her waist. This has always been one of my favorite photos, and it has been the problem with getting this story done. It has gotten temporarily lost in this huge shuffle we're in the midst of, but when I find it I'll add it in. I promise.
The kitchen sink was also captured when someone got a picture of Polly, our cherry headed conure (one of our menagerie) perched on my back as I washed my hair.

This reminds me of more animal activity in the kitchen, which, when I think about it, was pretty common.

A few cocktail glasses appeared on the counter. Some were Christmas glasses with poinsettias on them, that would probably be sent to Goodwill.....but others were etched glass, ones that had been brought over from Hawaii, when Helen "Tutu" and Wally, "Grandpa" came over on the Lurlene, a cruise ship that brought my kid's Dad, Walt, at 3 years old, laiden with leis, to the mainland.

 I remember in 1998.. ., Wally was gone, Helen lived with me, and when I came home from a days work at Kaiser, I'd find her sitting in the old rocking chair in my kitchen, decked out in a nice Muu-Muu with matching nail polish, and sometimes a silk lei. While I jumped right in to cooking dinner, still in my scrubs, I told her what happened at work that day. She told me what happened at the house, and we had cocktails. We made up our own, one time calling a tequila and apple juice drink a "Juanie Appleseed". Good times.

There were so many other memorable things that happened in this old kitchen. Lucas shot magnetic darts past my back onto a target on the refrigerator as I did the dishes when he was 5, and Jennie practiced her shuffle-ball-change on the linoleum when she was seven. I truly hope that the new family that moves into this home has as many wonderful, wholesome memories in this kitchen and in all the other rooms. God bless them.

A Stroke of Bad Luck, From Dependence to Independence : A story I wrote in 1998

I saw something tonight that made me cry while I was waiting at a stop light. A man started across the wide street, slowly, with a cane in his right hand, his left hand curled up in front of him. He did the slow step-together walk of the wedding march, that I've become used to.  It's not that I've been in so many weddings, but because Walt walks that way, since his stroke in 1987.

Walt in 1988

I wondered about the man who was slowly crossing the street.  "What kind of life did you have before? ...before life as you knew it was changed in the twinkling of an eye? Your blood flowed through your brain and got stuck there for awhile, long enough to damage crucial parts. What was your life like back then? Did you have big plans? Was it your birthday? Do your children recall what you used to be like? Maybe not. Some of them may have been too small to remember the warm hugs and the rides on your shoulders."

As I sat there in my car, I prayed that the man would make it all the way across the street before the light changed. I imagined the tension of the people in the other cars as they thought about the places they had to be 5 minutes ago. I thought that the folks in this man's family and those who know Walt, should acknowledge the people that these men were before, but should also appreciate how courageous any disabled person has to be to go out into the world on their own. We all must remember how they used to be and then appreciate how difficult it is for people with strokes and for other disabled and even blind folks to go out, and on with a new life....a completely changed life with fewer skills to draw upon.

This is not something you would wish on anyone, and you hope doesn't happen to you or anyone you care about. Just imagine someone you love suddenly not being able to sit up, or walk or speak with you in a simple conversation. It's not a dream. It's really happening and it won't go away. "What will I do?",  you think. But what will THEY do?......these people that are struck down? They're given a lot of support through physical, occupational, and speech therapy, but they have to have a strong spirit to pull themselves out of an hospital bed and into their new lives.

The attention they're given is like water on a plant. Sometimes Walt would brighten up all through his physical therapy sessions, and swear enthusiastically to the therapists that he would do all the exercises, only to come back the next time to charm her once again with his crooked smile, without having practiced one exercise.
As these people are given the skills they need to get on with their new lives: how to sign their name, cook without  being burned,

Making his own lunch.

and how to make a phone call, they bravely go out into the world using their canes, wheelchairs or electric Lark carts, to try to take care of themselves. Walt, for one, hasn't let the stroke keep him at home. Even when family members tried to protect him, and keep him there, he found ways to escape from his home in Richmond, CA, take BART to San Francisco riding his Lark cart, and visit some of his old haunts. He used to work at the Hilton as a banquet manager, and fight for the union rights of Local 2. He'd have lunch, and then come home a little too late to keep the family from worrying.

Soon it was realized that he still had his sense of direction, and even though he had trouble communicating with speech (aphasia), and was paralyzed on his right side, he could still have adventures and have his longed-for freedom. His daughter made him a little card that he hung around his neck with his ID, explaining about the stroke and his difficulty with speech. In order for his family to know where he had been that day, he collected souvenirs, like matches from restaurants, business cards, notes from people he met or sometimes he took a photo.

Perhaps since he has had more "time on his hands" (not really, if you count the extra time it takes just to get dressed), Walt notices things that are wrong about the world of the disabled. He likes to feel he can do something about them. Conditions that effect disabled people are at the top of his list. People in wheelchairs (including Walt), have gotten off at BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) station where it's necessary to go to a different level to transfer to another train, only to find out that the elevator has been out of order. Very frustrating! "ADA!", he shouts, pointing his left index finger to the sky. (FYI: ADA is the Americans with Disabilities Act, which was passed in 1990).

On the night that I write this, he tells me through a series of charades, words, and faces, that handicapped people who have had trouble with the elevators on BART have a class action suit going on. "Class Action!", he shouts. He and some of his friends documented all the times they were left stranded without an elevator, leading to the suit being won. The result of the suit was that everyone who sent in a form stating that they had had a problem with this, could get a free BART pass. Also, if you are standing in a BART station you'll most likely hear an announcement about which elevators are working, or which ones are out of service. There is also a number you can dial to make sure the elevator is running at a station you are about to go to.

Walt is always proud to think he had something to do with that. He likes to think he's a helper. Sometimes he's hard to understand, and he can be very exasperating, but he really would like to make a difference. This new person he has become is one of those people riding around on a Lark cart with a red flag sticking up for safety. He could also be the person walking slowly in front of your car as your stop light turns green. Give him the time he needs and smile at him. Give him a little wave. He could be YOUR husband or father. He could be YOU. Think about it. He's on a mission ....to live his brave new life.

Walter Romer is living now (in 2015), at the California Veteran's Home, in Yountville, CA.  He still makes regular trips in his electric wheelchair by bus, BART and even the train. The folks at the Veteran's Home have gotten used to his comings and goings. He still has a good sense of direction.

Giovanni's Mama

Back in 1974, I worked as a hostess at Giovanni's Restaurant, in Berkeley. I was hired, as most employees were, because I was related to someone. My husband had worked there as a waiter in times past, and as was the tradition, I became part of the restaurant family seemingly by osmosis.

The family atmosphere of this Italian restaurant was heightened by the frequent visits of Mama, Giovanni's mother, to share cakes and cookies she had baked herself  with the customers. Her portrait hung over the mantle piece of the fireplace. There she sat, a proud Italian mama in her black dress with a white lace collar and her hands folded on her lap, looking out over the customers as they ate some of the recipes that she had invented. (Our favorite is Chicken Marsala).

Last Saturday, Doug and I decided to have a "date night", including dinner and drinks at our beloved Giovanni's. As we approached the building, we saw yellow caution tape over the windows, and the bar gate was closed over the front door. As we strained to look inside, we could smell charred wood and saw that the fireplace had been torn apart. There was a note on the door that a fire had occurred on April 22 at 6 AM, and that no one had been hurt. I was heartsick, as I stood at the door with an old story in my hand that I had written for a newspaper about the owner John's "Mama" way back in 1980, right after she had passed away. I had wanted to give it to Giovanni, his wife Anna, and daughters Anastasia and Sarah, since it is close to Mother's Day. I couldn't, so I'll copy it out here instead.
                ________________________________________________________________

From the Archives.     Written in 1980, by Reilly Romer (AKA Me, Pat Reilly Harbo)

                                                                 MAMA

Mothers are wonderful people. They nurse us and care for us and cherish us, spoil us and discipline us, protect us and love us. Many young people think that once they've left the nest and are flying on their own, all that nurturing and worrying ceases.

But they've never been mothers before. I haven't been a mom for very long myself, but I know it's a very special thing to be one. It's even more special to be called "Mama" not only by your children, but by everyone who comes in contact with you.

Mama Savaria (Sarah) Schipani was that type of person. She died in San Pablo, CA, on December 30th at the age of 75. When she was a child in Calabria, Southern Italy, little did she know that she and her cooking would be the wellspring of at least five fine restaurants.

Cooking was to become Savaria's life. While growing up, pasta and bread making were everyday events and she became adept at the recipes that were indigenous to that region of Italy. Eventually, the couple left Italy for West Virginia, where Bill worked in the coal mines. They lived with Bill's cousins, so Savaria helped with the household chores and the cooking, picking up additional recipes from her new-found family. The region that these immigrants came from was richer than Savaria's, so they had more meat in their concoctions and they used slightly different spices. With these recipes added to her repertoire, she was becoming quite creative in the kitchen.

While living in West Virginia, Savaria earned the title of "Mama" by giving birth to four children: John, Frank, Rosie, and Katherine.

Next, the promise of big money in the steel mills brought on a move to Indiana. Like most immigrants, Bill worked hard and saved his earnings. He subsequently opened a bar in Gary, IN, called Bill's place. It was only supposed to be a bar, but there was a kitchen, so Mama was naturally in it, cooking. Customers got a whiff of the delicious aromas and asked if they could buy some of whatever she was making. Mama loved to see people enjoying her good cooking, so it didn't take long for Bill's Place to develop into both a bar and a restaurant.

During the years in Gary, tragedy struck, and daughter Rosie drowned at the age of eleven, but Mama's family continued to grow. Bill and Savaria had three more children, Fran, Bill Jr., and Jim.

In 1962, California lured eldest son John away from home to open his own restaurant in Berkeley, called "Mr. Pizza". Gradually, his brothers and sister Fran followed and also fell in love with California. Mama and Papa wanted to be close to most of their family, so they too, relocated in the Bay Area.




Forever the cook, Mama enlarged John's pizza and salad only menu, by cooking her spaghetti and meatballs. The customers loved the addition, and that encouraged Mama to come in a couple of days a week to concoct her recipe for lasagne.

The restaurant's name was changed to Giovanni's, (John's), and in 1967 business was so good, a move was made to a couple of blocks down Shattuck Avenue to a larger building. Caffe Giovanni continues to be a popular place to dine mainly because its fare is based on Mama's recipes, like her Veal Scallopini and her stuffed Eggplant Parmesean.

Mama's special touches always made dining out a pure delight. She made the customers feel at home by passing among them with a tray of cookies. Many regulars began calling her Mama and asking for her when they came in to eat. Mama never spoke much English, but she managed to communicate her appreciation to the people who enjoyed seeing her.



Employees grew to expect a huge cake baked expecially for them each week. Daughter Fran read the recipes to her in Italian, but Mama couldn't let a chance go by to change a recipe and make it her own. She added an extra egg or two this time, maybe four next time, or perhaps some pudding (before it was even thought of by Betty Crocker). Mama would especially delight in watching the thinner employees devour her creations , commenting in her dear broken English and sign language something like, "You gotta eat! You too skinny! Mangia!"




At Mama's house one day, Franny told me, that the milkman finally confessed to her that every day after making his delivery and smelling the aroma of Mama's cooking, he had to run out to his truck and eat his sandwich because he became so hungry. Fran laughed and relayed this loudly into Mama's ear, for her hearing was impaired. Immediately a chair was pulled out for him, and he was told to "Come! Eat!" So began a weekly routine for that milkman....every Tuesday for over two years, Mama had a luncheon waiting for him.

At one point, he said his wife wasn't sure she believed his innocent story of eating at a nice Italian lady's house every week. When Mama heard this, she had him take his wife a picture of herself and said, "Tell her I old! No worry!" She also sent a jar of her special spaghetti sauce home with him. When that milkman left the company, his replacement was hoping he would get the same fringe benefits. In Mama's eyes he never qualified for a free lunch.....maybe a piece of cake.

Mama Savaria is what the restaurant business is all about. She loved to cook and she loved to watch people eat what she had cooked. She treated employees with respect and warmth. An example of her big-heartedness to everyone, she was instrumental in training her offspring to be generous. The sense of "family" seems to permeate anything Mama has had anything to do with. The Schipani's have acquired a reputation for hiring people who, if they aren't related to them or their present employees, they are old friends, or friends of friends. This provides the atmosphere of caring of which Mama was very proud.



Savaria was full of pride when it came to her family. She has a right to be. Sons Billy and Jimmy helped Johnny operate Caffe Giovanni's for years until they each decided to branch out on their own. Bill and his wife, Karen opened the popular Shattuck Avenue Spat's Restaurant. Fran Bisbiglia, Bill's sister, also helps to run the Berkeley restaurant, and Mama regularly came in to prepare several of her specialties and to ply the employees with cake.

John decided to enlarge upon what he did best, and opened Baci's, a seafood restaurant on Pier 39 in San Francisco, while brother Jim moved to Reno to open the elegant Washoe Zephyr Restaurant. Even daughter Katie, still in Hobart, Indiana, owns a restaurant called the Mortor Joynt.

There's only one son that isn't in the restaurant business. Actually, he used to have a restaurant, but he's found something more lucrative. Frank is a professional blackjack player.

It seems to me that Mama has left quite an inheritance. There's not only her legacy of love, but of recipes, aromas, and happy taste buds....of memories, values, and old ways......of family ties that are strong. What more could a Mama want?
                                                                         The End
             __________________________________________________________________
Post Script: This story was written 35 years ago. (hard for me to believe too!) The lives of the people in this great family have had many twists and turns, as all of ours have. I was just going to hand my typed copy to the family when we went to eat at Giovanni's, but since we saw that there had been a fire, decided to post these memories for all to see. Our prayers are with Johnny and Anna, Anastasia and Sarah, and all the crew at Giovanni's.



We hope that the damage wasn't so much that many folks' favorite restaurant won't reopen. There are still many taste buds waiting to be tantalized!       Pat Reilly Harbo

An Old Cat and Dog Story from 2001

In the last few years, my family's pet population has dwindled from two cats, one dove, one cockatiel, one cherry-headed conure, two parakeets, 19 bunnies (it's true that they are prolific), and 12 goldfish in the pond. The menagerie has declined, due to old age, bunny sales, birds flying the coop or being buried in the side yard, racoons, and no replacements. We are now down to two pets.

Alas, our cat, Tigger, a 14 year old orange striped tabby, has cancer. All of six months ago, he had a surgery which supposedly removed the whole tumor from his abdomen. Because of his age and our fondness of him, I figured the $180. for the surgery was affordable, but I knew I didn't want to invest in chemo. When the tumor returned, the vet said, "Just let him have anything he wants. If he starts to feel bad, let me know and you can 'bring him by'." On the way home, I stopped at the store and bought Tigger some special kitty treats.

That's how my morning ritual started. Tigger directs the scene as it opens from his post outside the kitchen window over the sink. It's 6:30 A.M., and my dog Tessa, and I come down stairs to the kitchen. The rather heavy pit bull/lab scrambles down ahead of me and anxiously waits for me to fill my whistling tea kettle with water for my cup of coffee. She finally makes eye contact with me, and then pushes her way past me down the laundry room stairs, wiggling her whole body impatiently till I get the back door open. She runs in place on the cement like a cartoon dog, before bounding out to pee under the plum tree. She is noisily greeted by the dog next door, but doesn't take time to respond. I close the door just enough that Tessa can push her way back in.

Tigger stands on his hind legs outside the window doing his morning stretch, reaching almost to the top of the second pane, showing me how bad his sore is on his belly. He scrapes his nails luxuriously down the upper window pane. I raise the window and he jumps to the counter and then the floor, where he stops to rub against my leg. Next, he saunters over and sits in front of the little bowl I've placed on the floor in the corner for his morning treat, instructing me to open the cupboard and get out his first course.....salmon-flavored kitty treats. He munches on them and makes a strange guttural sound, as if he's devouring a bird he has just killed.

In the meantime, Tessa has made her entrance through the back door and looks toward the cupboard for her "usual". I toss her one small bone-shaped biscuit, which she handily catches in her mouth and takes to chew on the living room rug. She comes back wagging, happy to find that I've hidden another bone on top of the recycling basket. I'm touched that she remembered from yesterday and the day before.

Tigger's not finished. He meows when I get my milk out of the fridge for my coffee, and sits by his bowl again. I act like I don't notice, and he rubs against my leg and meows a pitiful cry. I say, "Of course I'll give you some."..... but I think to myself that I never used to give him milk very often. The vet did say though, to "give him anything he wants". Now, for the first time in these last few months, this athletic, lanky cat is finally getting some meat on his bones, cancer and all. I wonder if he's noticing the pampering... that I'm honoring him and showing him my love in this little ritual of ours. Whatever he notices, he's got me trained pretty well.

Lucas with Tigger 2001

Koi in the Library

As I sat in a comfy chair in the Palm Springs Library, browsing through the book choices I had made, I spotted a little 4 year old girl running toward the Koi pond that is in the center of the building. She was calling out "The fish, Grandpa, the fish!" He told her to stay right there while he was close by. She installed herself, standing on tiptoes. I noticed her blue overalls, as she held on to the circular railing, to gaze at the fish.

She stared, delightedly as the fish gathered near her, and then she let go one hand from the rail to give them a shy wave and said "Hi", softly.
Grandpa came to say that it was time to go, and she reluctantly followed him. A couple of minutes later she galloped back to the railing to peak at the fish one more time, and standing once again on her toes, waved and said "Bye". Before leaving, she looked at all the Koi, who seemed entranced with her, jumped off to the floor and called out for all to hear,"I wanna be a fish too!"

A Different Kind of Christmas: 2014

Some of you may have read the story I wrote last year called, Getting Ready for Christmas: The Tree. The zeal and Christmas spirit shown in that tale have been harder to come by this year. After stating how much I've loved Christmas in the big old house we've lived in for 33 years, it looks as though this will be the last one here.

Wonderful things have happened to us in the last 12 months though. Happy decisions were made..... lifestyle changing ones. There was no plan to make the changes we did. One thing just led to another, each opportunity seemed right, if not daring, in some folks eyes.

Last January we fell in love with and bought a retro 1955 trailer in Palm Springs, that had been added on to each side with a long room with vaulted ceilings. We decided it looked more like a beach cottage in the desert, and have pushed that idea, adding on to the seashells that were already abundant in the yard. There is also a patio facing the big mountain, where I've installed my potter's wheel. All this for less than the price of a new car!

Many of the residents in this over 55 park are artistic, as evidenced by the decor and the different types of gardens, some lush and tropical, but mostly desert plants. We/ve even planted an orange tree and a lime tree. Tlie lime tree is the happiest, sporting some cute little blossoms. Every year there's an influx of Canadians, Washingtonians and New Yorkers.... the "snowbirds" are happy to thaw out in the warm pool. This park has also been discovered by gays, and they, along with the youngish seniors have fun together at the wine tastings, ice cream socials, and pool parties. We've decided that we'd like to spend our winters in Palm Springs, but not the summers, since the temps could rise to as high as 115 degrees! As I write this, though, in early January, the night temps have been about 34 degrees and 50 or 60 during the day. Next week, is predicted to be more to our liking, at a civilized 79.

Before we left there in April, I noticed that the dizzy spells that I had had since February were happening more often. I ended up in the ER, where it was discovered that my heart was "pausing", or as I say, "stopping" for 5-6 seconds every time I had one of those spells. When we got home to Richmond, a cryo (freezing) surgery was planned, but not right away.

Our 2004 Prius had a few dents in it, and the air conditioner died, so Doug said "Hey, let's just go check out the new Plug-in Priuses."  I was dumbfounded, but agreeable, and we ended up getting a Plug-in, and sold the 2004 to his daughter.

The new Prius, of course, had it's maiden journey two weeks later to camp at Donner Lake, where we slept in it like a tent, just as we did in our lovely 2004 Prius all over the country. It was near Lake Tahoe, my old stomping grounds. It was beautiful, and brought back a lot of memories for me. Next thing I know, we were driving on to South Lake Tahoe, where I had been a blackjack and roulette dealer in the early 70's. We contacted a real estate agent, and ended up buying a condo there, which is rent-able during the winter months when we'd rather be in Palm Springs, and helping to pay for itself.

After all that, I had my surgery in September. The cardiologist said she was "delighted" with the outcome, since, she said that she doesn't always have the instant gratification of seeing the heart beat regularly while doing the surgery. We were too. I kept feeling my pulse afterward, and my heart was beating like a champ. Thank you Lord!

About now, folks are thinking we should give retirement lessons! The final piece of the puzzle is that we realized that we should rent out our house in the East Bay Area that I have lived in for 33 years, and save the bottom two rooms and bath for us to stay in when we're home to visit with family. At first it was hard for me to take.... to MOVE...and clean out all the places I had stored and stuffed so much memorabilia! Then I had an "aha!" experience! Most people move more often than 33 years. Well, at first it seemed daunting, and I was kind of frozen when it came to letting go of Anything. From then on it became a "freeing" experience. (I just realized that I used the words "Frozen" and "Let It Go" in the same sentence.)

Back to Christmas.... I usually go shopping for the tree with someone, but Doug was in Home Depot, and I ventured out to see their trees in the parking lot. All the 7-8' Christmas trees were gone, and I had to resort to a 6-7' size. only a few were opened up, and it was cold out. I found one possibility, and then walked over to another section. When I spotted another family headed for my first tree. I was certainly at a disadvantage being by myself! I ran over and held on to my tree and looked at all sides, sort of claiming my territory. It was taller than me, (one of the criteria), and looked pretty good. Not perfect, but it would do. I could feel myself letting go of the perfection that I had always demanded.

My two kids couldn't make it from New York, a disappointment..... but all of Doug's kids and our 8 grandchildren helped bring the excitement of the season back to me. A couple of the grandkids helped put the ornaments on the tree, after I had painstakingly put on the lights. They were very good at hanging each one in it's appropriate place, the angels on top, the wise men and Jesus nearby, a section for birds, and for Santas, but as I looked for my first ornament, the little nutcracker, all we found was his head! So sad! It wasn't till the next day, that I found his body and carefully glued him back together.

We spent our Christmas Eve together, only on Dec. 20th, so everyone could come. We did the Danish dancing around the Christmas tree, opened stockings, exchanged gifts, and ate too much. It was beautiful! The next night, Doug and I invited some old friends (only 8 of us), to fondly remember past Christmases and to appreciate this last one here.

Having Christmas early was a boon for me, since I could take time to go through some things....setting some aside for a garage sale in the spring, making many trips to the recycling center and thrift shops to make donations, and giving things to friends. Thank God I have 3 places to furnish, so I can keep Some of the things that have memories, but are also useful.

One of the traditions has been to spend Christmas morning with one of my sisters and her family, so that brought back nice memories, and we got to see all of her growing family. Doug and I stayed later and sang songs with my sister on her ukelele, Doug on the piano and I on my guitar. There were lofty ideas of us starting a band....

What happens next Christmas, I can only estimate. Looking back at this last year I never would have believed all the unexpected changes in our lives. We'll just have to play it by ear. Celebrating Christmas in Palm Springs is a thought...... but that's a decision for another day.

Zion National Park: More of the Travels With Our Prius, the 13th day of our 2 week trip

For those of you who have been following my stories about my husband and I camping around the U.S. and sleeping in our 2004 Prius, I have a few more to tell you.....

We drove to Zion National Park, in Utah in early May, and stayed for 2 nights, once again sleeping in our car as a camper. The only place that was left to stay was in the group camp, called Watchman, below the peak of the same name, so we shared our campfire with others.

We are surprised that there are so many Europeans camping everywhere. That night, we had a UCSB chemical engineering graduate from Israel, doing a road trip across the US before going to work in Germany, and also another little family from Israel who have been grad students at Stanford. The woman said "It is so Israel", that they would meet someone else from Israel.

The only problem with this campground is the caterpillars. They must drop down from the cottonwood trees, since there are a lot of nest-like things in the trees. As I was reading in a camp chair in the sunshine, a furry creature came into my peripheral vision as it crawled over the top of my book on to the page. I scared Doug when I jumped up, dropping my book in the sandy soil. Then I found one on my pants leg  and then a couple on his shirt! They're so sneaky!!... and quiet! We saw four little cocoons lined up along the wood frame of the restroom with another caterpillar making plans to spin his own little "sleeping bag".

After dinner one night, our cell phone rang, with it's characteristic "Quack quack quack", startling us from our idyllic reverie in the woods back into reality. Tenants from a house we were renting out with utilities included had their power turned off! They were sitting in the dark with their new baby and found out the bill hadn't been paid. We could barely hear them over the bad connection, but the frustration was heard loud and clear. I was ashamed to think that I had organized so many other things for this trip, but this had slipped through the cracks. What else had I missed?
We told them we'd call them back and called PG&E, and promptly got put on hold, all the while watching the battery on our phone dwindling away. We turned on the car, and plugged the phone cord into the charger, (formerly known as the cigarette lighter). Someone answered finally, and said it would be restored within an hour. We relayed the message to the tenants and apologized. Hanging up, we cracked up laughing that we were conducting business while camping in the woods! What a difference a cell phone makes!

Doug proceeded to make up our bed in the Prius while I finished washing the dishes by our solar lamplight. The water I heat on the camp stove is always so welcome to my chilly fingers after the sun goes down.
We walk together up to the restrooms to get cleaned up for bed. On the way back to camp, our sweet Prius is seen through the trees, waiting for us, with the light on inside. I commented on how cozy it looked, since Doug had arranged the pillows so nicely and the covers were turned back, beckoning us to get in. After that stressful call, I was ready to relax. I went to open my passenger side door, but it wouldn't! Doug tried his, and no go....and then another and then another. Frantic, we went over what could be wrong. Both sets of keys were locked inside, but that shouldn't happen. You're not supposed to be able to lock your keys in the car. It shouldn't let you....in fact it beeps at you till you figure out to remove your purse or whatever they are in. We circled the car as if it was prey, trying each door over and over, and of course praying. It was getting cold, and we were so close to our nice warm bed. A man walked by and asked us what was up. We told him and as soon as I went to show him, all of a sudden, the door opened! The only thing we can figure is that since both of our keys were in the car , it thought it was protecting us from robbers who were trying all the doors to get at us. Thank you Prius, I guess.
After all that, nice and cozy in our bed, no caterpillars, no more phone calls, no more civilization. We just rolled down the windows a crack, listened to the sounds of the forest and folks around a nearby campfire, someone softly strumming a guitar, and slept.

The next two days we took the free shuttle around the park. We walked along the River Walk. It was about 3 miles round trip, not so difficult......but even so,we were proud of ourselves for doing it.

 Other more athletic folks were all geared up with their paraphernalia to walk into ""the Narrows" at the end of the River Walk. They walk in to the 47 degree water through the canyon walls that are closing in overhead, with walking sticks to help them keep their balance. Doug went so far as to take off his shoes and walk into the water to cool his feet. I sat on a rock and talked to a nice lady from England.

Our very favorite area was at the Weeping Wall. You have to walk pretty much up hill, about a quarter mile in, so for us, we were puffing pretty hard. Just as you break into a sweat in the 91 degree temp, the big rock wall shows itself in a sort of cave/grotto shape, seeping water. A knowledgeable sounding person said that the water coming from the stones was thousands of years old. It drips cool water on your head and shoulders welcoming you. Tiny purple Columbine flowers grow out of the damp rock. When you finally turn around, you see the valley from which you've climbed, but only the tops of the tall deciduous trees framed by the reddish mountains on either side.

We broke up camp that day, sorting through all our old camping supplies and replenishing expired things. When checking if we left any last minute things, I found our friend's Yamaka, from when he said his prayers at the spot where we read in the morning. It's my favorite souvenir.

To get out of the park, we drove toward the east gate. In 1931, they blasted a long dark tunnel, that has a few arched windows to let you peek out to the scenery. There is a different look to the sandstone on that side.... almost a melting effect. It's so astounding, that you have to stop about every few feet to get a better look and take photos. Zion was a gift to our senses.

Next we drove to Kanab, Utah, a little town known as the "Hollywood of Utah", since many old westerns were filmed here. The beautiful red and tan sandstone mountains that surround Kanab drew producers of westerns to use it as their backdrop. The Hollywood Museum in town is free, and they have well preserved buildings from movie sets. We're thinking we will rent "Outlaw Josie Wales" some time to spot the house that we were in today.

It was about then that Doug proposed that our two week retirement trip wasn't set in stone. We didn't have to go back right away, since everything was basically being taken care of at home for a while. The great beginning of our extended retirement trip began with Doug saying, "I wonder if my friend from high school is home in Colorado. Maybe we could go there and visit him!" Well, he was.....and we did.