Most likely you followed the link from my first, fifth or fourteenth page of Random Thoughts stories. And, as always, your comments are appreciated.
Once I decided I was going to stay at my current house back in 2002, I felt I should get some real furniture. When I moved to Arizona, I brought a sofa and a cushioned chair of normal size, while the rest of my furniture were more temporary. My dresser consisted of a stack of wire baskets held in a metal frame; I had tear apart bookcases. I'd found an old table that wasn't too sturdy and a chair in the same condition at a flea market in North Carolina. I thought this would be where I lived for the rest of my life and felt it was time to make it my home. So after a few years, I went furniture shopping to complete my decor.
My first purchase was a new bed. I'd had a double bed before and while it was adequate, I wanted a new one and a larger one. I had no problem picking out the queen bed frame and mattress, and that was purchased within a few days of my moving in. I still think it's comfortable and stylish in all ways.
I bought a kitchen table and real bookcases at one store, and I thought that was a good start. They had candy all over the store which was a good incentive to get me looking around. I was only there because an organization I was part of was hoping they would sponsor an event we were putting on, and while I waited to talk to the manager, I wandered around the store. Buying anything was not on my agenda, yet I did and am happy with those purchases.
One day I had the brilliant idea of buying new furniture for the living room. I had planned on getting matching leather chairs like Joey and Chandler have on the television program Friends. I found some very nice ones, though not anything like what I had envisioned. They were the last two and I snapped them up. However, when I got home, I started realizing how depressing two chairs would be when I am just one. So I called the next day to tell them I'd changed my mind. I had found an end table I loved, and still wanted that, as well as something to sit on. I went back and looked around more, thinking just one piece of furniture would suffice.
I didn't want another sofa, rather a love seat or something like that. There were numerous displays of chairs and when there is too much of a choice, I get overwhelmed in making my decision. I sat in several of them trying to find out if that one might be a good fit or not. Not being very creative when it comes to picking out fabric, I bought the chair based on the floor sample. The design was floral, with pink flowers and green accents and it had a big ottoman. A few weeks later, it was delivered and it was a whole lot larger than it had seemed in the showroom.
I had rearranged my furniture for the new arrivals, and was satisfied with the new layout. The sofa was under the windows and if you lay down on it, one had a good view of the television. My cat took to the new chair immediately, as thought I'd purchased it solely for her pleasure. It could hold two people very snugly, but it was best for taking a nap. I took countless naps in that chair. I loved to curl up and get under a blanket and I'd just drift off to sleep. I had a lamp to the left side and it was perfect for reading too. Plus, it was directly in front of the TV, so I watched a lot sitting in it. It was my chair.
Then my son came to live with me. He is a big person, both in height and weight and he took control of the big chair. It seemed like he was always there, except for when he was working. It started to take the shape of his body. I was constantly turning over the cushions, but he was too much for the chair. It no longer fit me like it used to, and I stopped trying to fight him for possession of the chair. It's sagging and the pillow behind your back is torn. It is a lot worse for wear, and when I move from here, I won't be taking it. The memories of it will remain, but the chair will have to go.
©10 August, 2005 startedOne of the benefits of working in the Elderhostel office is they often need people to help out with driving. Sometimes it is just driving people to or from programs and occasionally it's getting a van to a needed location. This past Sunday and Monday I was fortunate to tag along as my boss, Nancy, had to drive people on the first part of a trip. There was room in the van for me and being I didn't have to work on Monday, I had the time free. We didn't really tell anyone of this plan till the last minute, so we couldn' be told no.
On Saturday night, we spoke and I told Nancy it looked like rain up where we were going, which was the north east corner of the state. She said she'd throw pants in her bag in case the weather was cool. We said we''d see each other bright and early tomorrow. I didn't sleep that well, as I was pretty excited about going to visit places I'd never been to before and most likely never would have otherwise.
I had been sent twice to Peach Springs, which is a town on the Hualapai reservation, but it's not that pretty up there. I always wonder if the people who go there thinking they're going to the Grand Canyon are disappointed because several of our programs have Grand Canyon in the title but are hosted in Peach. I loved going up to Page and Wahweap in Utah to pick up a group ending their houseboat trip. The scenery was incredible, from the pine forests in Flagstaff to the volcanic mounds and then to the east end of the Grand Canyon. I wish I knew more about geology and could describe some of what I saw, but I won't pretend to be an expert. The view almost the entire trip up was breathtaking, and to think I got paid to take that drive was an added bonus. It made me want to explore more, and I hoped the day would come when I'd get that opportunity.
It was sunny that Sunday morning, and I dressed in pants and layered two shirts. I'd packed more than I knew I would need, but you never know about the weather here. As I pulled on to the campus, I noticed some of my fellow travelers waiting by the flagpole for the vans to get there. I greeted them and waited to for my short adventure to begin. Soon Nancy and Stewart, the coordinator of the program drove up. As more people walked up with their belongings, I tossed my purse up in the front seat and waited for further instructions. Stewart showed us how he wanted the luggage stored and told us he wasn't a porter so he wouldn't be doing the luggage every day.
Before long, the van was loaded with luggage and people. All the preliminary instructions had been given, last minute stops in the bathroom taken care of and people got into the two vans. I didn't really get to talk to the people in the back seats during the drive, but I did learn a lot about the two ladies right behind us. Janet who had come all the way from Kentucky for this trip, and Carol, who was from San Jose.
We headed north on 89 to show everyone the Granite Dells, which I didn't really understand, but I was not there to question. It would have made sense had we stayed on 89 up to Interstate 40, but we didn't. We turned east on 89A and instead of going over Mingus Mountain and through Jerome and Sedona; we turned back to the main highway through town and headed towards the interstate. Soon we were in Flagstaff where we took a short break. One thing about driving a group of senior citizens is you need to plan in a lot of bathroom breaks, which is lucky for me.
We soon turned off the interstate onto back roads. The first town we passed was Leupp, which is on the Navajo reservation. All the towns on both reservations were pretty depressing. We were headed to the Second Mesa on the Hopi reservation. There wasn't too much interesting to see until we got closer to the three mesas the Hopi live on. It wasn't evident that there were three mesas, even when you were on top of one. We drove up the Third Mesa to view Oraivi, the oldest continuously inhabited village in North America. We had lunch at the Hopi Cultural Center, which also is home to their museum and a motel. The women at my table wished we had been able to try to local cuisine, but our menu had already been planned out and was a club sandwich. After we ate, we met E. J., who was our Hopi guide for the next few hours. I took a quick tour of the museum because I was more interested in the crafts being sold in the parking lot by the Hopi.
Many Hopi were selling different items from silver to bowls and to Kachina dolls. Pretty much everything was too expensive for me but I still enjoyed looking at all the beautiful things. I am fascinated by Kachina dolls, but know very little about them. Each one depicts a different spirit or god and is carved out of cottonwood root, at least the authentic ones. I learned this from talking to different artisans. They can be very ornate or fairly plain, and of course the cost reflects the amount of time required to create one. I walked away empty handed knowing we'd most likely stop at other shops.
And I was right. The next stop was a little store owned by one of our instructors, Joe Day. He sold the t-shirt I'd been looking for, the one that read, Don't Worry, Be Hopi. But they also had many beautiful baskets and Kachinas. Several of the people from my van bought t-shirts because they'd heard me talking about them. Too bad I didn't get a commission. I too bought one but may send it to my daughter.
Next we went to the First Mesa village of Walpi. E.J. turned over the group to a man named Brian, who took us into a part you could only see with a Hopi guide. He gave us a lot of good information on the culture, society and lives of Hopis, past and present. The dwellings ranged from more than a hundred years old to more recently constructed ones in the old style. Hopi people come to Walpi for special occasions, and there are only five permanent residents there, all women, from the ages of 75-95. The houses were next to each other, built out of sandstone and held together by clay. The roofs were branches laid over bigger tree trunks and those in turn covered with smaller twigs. We found out that one of the women's societies was having a celebration that day, to bless the harvest and that we would be allowed to watch. On the way, Brian told us about the kivas where the men gathered, that Hopi society is matriarchal and that all Hopi were artistic in some form.
Finally we got to the plaza where the ceremony was being held. There were five women dancing and one little girl we'd seen earlier with them. They were all in costumes that represented different animals. It was interesting to watch the crowd, who were sitting on various perches along the plaza. A bigger group of women were chanting and playing instruments. The sky was a bright blue and just a few clouds lingered in it, creating a perfect backdrop for this ceremony. When you looked down, you could see how high the mesa was, and it was truly a wondrous sight to see. After the dance, other Hopi gave them gifts and we walked back towards our vans, still asking questions.
As we drove on to Chinle, our final destination for the day, rain clouds surrounded us like they had earlier in the day. We got a little rain, but finally we saw a rainbow, and I thanked Greg for coming to see me. No one but Nancy knew why I was so anxious to see a rainbow. The most exciting thing that happened on that drive was seeing a herd of goats on the highway, and before long we were at the motel.
The Navajo reservation completely surrounds the Hopi one, which I thought was interesting. Also, the Navajo reservation considers itself a separate nation, and was on Mountain daylight time, so even though we were still in Arizona, it was an hour later. We got our room assignments, and met in the dining room for dinner about fifteen minutes later. I got a chance to talk to some of the other participants, who rode in the van with Stewart, and despite the quantity of food, the meal was good and we even had pie for dessert. Nancy and I went to our room and got ready for bed, only we spent about an hour or so just talking. It wasn't long before I was about to fall asleep and Nancy was finally able to study.
Monday.
I'd set the alarm the night before, but I'd set it to 645 pm. Luckily, I woke up and realized it. I turned on the radio to wake Nancy up, being that I didn't know what was the best earlier than we were used to and it was rainy outside. Before long, we'd dressed and were back in the dining room and getting served too much food for breakfast. About half the people were there, including our replacement driver, Tony. We ate and went pack to the room to finish packing, then took our stuff out to the car. Instead of the big van, we had a nice little Grand Prix to cruise home in. We waited for the box lunches to be made, and to our surprise, there was one for each of us. After saying goodbye to everyone, we drove the short distance to Canyon de Chelly.
It was windy and misty but that didn't stop us from going to almost every outlook there was. I forget all the names, but there were seven of them on the South Rim. We'd heard the night before that the North Rim's road was under construction, so we went South. At the second overlook, called Junction overlook, I remembered to take my purse so I could leave a strand of Greg's hair there, so he'd be there for eternity. I started doing that when I was at the beach in San Diego a few years back, and I wanted to share my experiences with him. I've left a strand of his hair many other places, and it makes me feel good knowing he's experiencing things he didn't get to when he was alive. Even though I cry, it is a good cry. I picked up a rock to take home with to commemorate my being there and leaving Greg.
At one of the overlooks, we met these guys who let us look through their binoculars, so we could see the dwellings carved into the wall of the canyon. You have to know where to look, or you wouldn't spot them. They blend into the walls so they look like shadows. Maybe if you're on the canyon floor, it's easier to see them, but if some of them hadn't been pointed out to me, I'd have missed them. At another one, we found two abandoned kittens. Circling above, were crows, just waiting to get the kittens alone. We hated to leave them, but we didn't have a choice. I need to believe that the couple that pulled in as we left took them into town with them. The last two overlooks had a stand with pipes built into it so you could look directly at the dwellings which was very helpful, as we didn't run into anyone else with binoculars.
I'm not good at flowery descriptions, but I am so glad I got to see Canyon de Chelly. From the shapes and the colors and the formations in the stones to the whirls of curlicues embedded in the rocks, every view I saw was incredible. It's inspiring and breathtaking, as well as historical and significant. The way time has created this special place is varied and scenic and I doubt anyone would be disappointed in its beauty.
We left there feeling mixed emotions. We would have loved to spend more time there, but we had to drive back to Prescott and wanted to make two more stops first. Driving back down the road we'd taken up to Chinle and then a turn to the east where we passed a dead cow on the side of the road. It was sad, and I hope someone came along and moved the poor thing. The first was the Hubbell Trading Post, which is a restored Navajo trading post. I'd never heard of it before coming to Elderhostel, but it was a pleasant stop. In the information office we saw pictures of Mr. Hubbell and got to watch two women weave rugs. It was fascinating to watch them, but it sure seemed a slow process. Perhaps they worked slowly for the viewer's benefit.
One could visit the store's interior, which was half filled with modern day snacks and the other half with Native American crafts. I thought everything was way overpriced. A small rug, actually a wall hanging was over a thousand dollars. There were some nice Kachina dolls for only $10, but they weren't nearly as fancy as the several hundred dollar ones. Needless to say, we both left there empty handed. Walking outside, we went past the carriage shed, then back to where the house was and his garden. I liked the eight sided out building in the back. Nancy commented that the big slab table could be used as a Reiki table.
Nancy and kept on talking about how much we loved the Native American crafts, but how expensive they were. At least looking was free. We left the trading post and continued south towards the interstate. Our next destination was the Painted Desert and Petrified Forest, which I thought were two separate parks, but are not. Nancy paid the entrance fee saying she would turn it in as a trip expense. There were signs posted everywhere warning of the stiff penalties for taking a piece of petrified wood, and me and my big mouth asked the park ranger, what happened if a piece just flew into my hands. I felt like they were watching me as we took the drive, and I made a point to keep my hands in my pocket. I looked at the tshirts and small pieces of petrified wood in the gift shop, but talked myself out of buying anything. In the Visitor Center, we watched a 20 minute movie on how the forest and the wood was created by spending centuries under water.
There is a famous hotel there that unfortunately was closed for renovation. The Painted Desert Inn was a big tourist draw in the 1920s and '30s. It was on the main Santa Fe Railroad line as well as on Route 66. In the movie, we saw interior shots of the Inn as well as the beautiful Hopi murals on the walls. One day I'd like to go back and see the inside, when the restoration is completed. All along the 20 mile or so drive there are turnouts to see the desert and forest without getting too close to destroy them. This wasn't always the case, because people used to help themselves to samples to take home. I think we stopped at just about every turnout, and saw the petrified wood bridge, an archeological site of an ancient Indian village, petroglyphs and more. Near the end of the drive was where most of the really large pieces of petrified wood was, and they were fascinating. I didn't even think about picking anything up off the ground.
There was another visitor's center at the end, and we stopped there to use the restroom and give me one last chance to buy a souvenir. Again I resisted, though there were many things that caught my eye. I did buy ice cream for Nancy and myself, which was the only money I spent on the trip. When you drive back up towards the interstate, you go through the town of Holbrook, which had store after store selling petrified wood. I didn't even ask to stop. By then, I felt it was wrong to own a piece, that it should all be put back in the park. Nancy made one more stop at a Tastee Freeze, and even though we'd have ice cream bars less than a half hour earlier, we got cones for the drive back to Prescott.
That prevented us from stopping in Winslow at La Posada and having a snack, but we'd both been there previously. That's one of the original Harvey Hotels that has been restored. When I was there almost 5 years ago, it wasn't completed, but I was getting tired and looking forward to getting home. Instead of taking the interstate, we went down 89A and into Sedona. We looked in a few shops and both of us found a nice souvenir to take home. Nancy got a small woven basket and I got a framed miniature rug weaving and the natural items used to dye the wool. Much to our surprise, they were much cheaper in Sedona, of all places, than any of the other shops we looked at, so we were both pleased with our purchases. Since that wasn't part of the actual trip, I don't count that as a trip expense.
©17 October, 2005 startedIt's been over a year since I added any Random Thoughts to this page. I claim not to be a writer and perhaps this proves that, or maybe I'm such a brilliant writer that I suffered from a major block. I doubt either is true. I sat down to write many times, but never finished anything or wasn't happy enough with it to add it here. Now that is going to change and I'm going to try to finish what I started, like my story about my trip to the Hopi Reservation, or come up with new thoughts on the world around me.
I have done some writing of course, mostly in emails to my friends, where I have shared my thoughts and feelings to the people who are important to me. I've often told one particular friend I wish she had kept them all, because it was like I was keeping a journal through her emails since I told her pretty much everything that I did or felt. I always told her things I couldn't tell anyone else knowing she was a trusted friend who would be understanding. She didn't and neither did I, so they're gone.
There are probably a half dozen pieces I wrote this past year that I felt were too personal to put in such a public forum. Either they were encouraged by my therapist or by a strong feeling I had to wrestle with and I shared them with just a few people. It helps to put my feelings into words for me, it makes them easier to express and then act on them. Plus, I can be more honest with myself when I know no one but those I chose can read it.
Maybe my lack of creativity has to do with the way my life went this past year. I had two major changes occur, both happening in February. My son moved in with me and I got a job. I hadn't really spent much time with Lowell since I left Minnesota, so I welcomed to get the chance to reacquaint myself with my youngest. It took a while to adjust to having another person live with me, but we worked things out and it's been mostly a joy to have him here.
As for the job, well, that's another story. I'd been halfheartedly trying to find a job for a while debating on moving. I had sent an email to my adopted sister here telling her I was going to move to Hattiesburg, Mississippi, because housing was so cheap there. Two days later, I got a call from her husband offering me a part time job at the Elderhostel office at the college. For the most part, the job has been good for me, giving me some needed extra money as well as getting me out of the house. I like the people I work with too and the job isn't all that difficult, even though I had to learn how to use a Mac computer. Perhaps the job needs a story or two of it's own.
I like it when the ideas and words flow effortlessly from me, and that hasn't been the case this past year. They've been bottled up and stopping midstream. Or maybe I gave up too easily on them. I never truly believed I had nothing more to say. In less than two weeks, a new year will be here and with it, a chance to start all over again. I hope to write more as I move forward with my life. Let's hope the well of creativity starts flowing freely and I start adding more pages of my stories to share.
©20 December 2005It's the penultimate day of 2005, and quite frankly, I'll be glad to see it go. It hasn't been my worst year, but it's certainly not been my best. Usually, I don't make New Year's resolutions, but I need more direction for 2006, so I just might have to do that this weekend. Perhaps if I had done so a year ago, 2005 might have turned out better. Unfortunately, I don't believe that.
The year started off okay. January I was busy with lots of appointments to my therapist, various doctors and the lady who was supposed to be helping me get a job. Her idea of help was to hand me the Sunday paper and have me circle the employment ads for which I might be qualified. Talk about a waste of time. Thank goodness in February, a job fell into my lap so I could stop seeing her. On the 7th of February, my son arrived here to come live with me. It was quite an adjustment to have him here, as I had gotten very used to being alone. We both got jobs around the same time. I got mine through my sister and friend, Rita. I had emailed her that I was going to move to Hattiesburg, Mississippi, because you could get a great house for under $100,000. Moving away from here is almost always on my mind, and in hindsight, I should have done it when the market was on fire. Instead, the next day, Rita's husband Chris called me and offered me a part time job in the Elderhostel office, which he is the director. I had an interview with Nancy, who has become a very close friend and I started the next week. This was the first paying job I'd have since I was pregnant with Evelyn, and it was quite a change for me. They use Mac computers so I had to learn that, as well as getting up to an alarm clock and being there all day.
March was when I started having breakfasts with Sue and Barb from the hospital. They are the two ladies who work in the gift shop and had the shift before mine, when I was still volunteering there. It was in March too, that I decided to once again run for the Learning Institute's secretary, for my fifth term. I wasn't going to, but Rita begged me and I gave in. I hadn't completely learned my lesson about setting boundaries yet. In April, I underwent my first surgery ever. I was terrified I would die during it like Greg did, and I actually hoped I would. Even though I'd faithfully taken my blood pressure medicine for weeks before it, I set off the bells on the device that monitored blood pressure because it was so high. I was far from thrilled that the anesthesiologist couldn't find my vein and had to poke me four times till he found one. The bruises from all the jabbing lasted more than a week. But when it was over, being boiled, electrocuted and scraped I no longer had a period. I wouldn't learn till later my pap smears were still abnormal. I had been at my job now for two months!
I turned 54 in May, and for the first time in years, I hadn't spent my birthday alone. Lowell brought me a cake and took me out to dinner. For Mother's Day, I celebrated twice. Once with Barb and Sue and again at Rita's house. I finally got the radiator on my car fixed. Rita turned in her resignation as administrator of the Learning Institute and that made me very sad. I liked seeing her almost every day, but I understood why she needed a change. In June, I was reelected secretary and went to the annual meeting with Louise. A party was planned for Rita's retirement and the office staff took her out to lunch too. I was happy that Barbara had been hired to replace Rita. She had been the assistant and I knew she would do a good job. Maybe this was when the year took a turn for the worse.
July brought the heat of summer, but we were allowed to wear shorts to work. I chose not to apply for Barbara's old position or the full time assistant in Elderhostel, both decisions I regret. I didn't go for the elderhostel job because the pay was so low, and then in September, Jeff got a big raise. And I felt I would be betraying Nancy if I applied for the OLLI job, even though that too paid more than my job. I never realized that my hours would have been greatly cut back during the summer if the other part time lady had not been gone for all summer. I managed to get through the sixth anniversary of Greg's death without too much pain. August was more work, more appointments and just trying to get through the heat without collapsing. Evelyn told me she was planning on moving back to Minnesota from New Orleans, a plan which got completely messed up due to Hurricane Katrina. Luckily, she didn't lose much and didn't have to face her boss to tell her she was quitting. I was so worried about her till she was finally safe and out of the city for good. It was in August when I found a new friend via an email she sent me regarding Greg's web site. I can't believe how important Meggie has become to me since then.
Somewhere in that time frame, I'd been to Peach Springs and to Wahweap for work. Drivers are needed sometimes, and I got drafted on several occasions. I was disappointed in Peach Springs on the Hualapai Reservation, as it is very depressing. I didn't get to go to Diamond Creek, but I did go to the Grand Canyon Caverns. I loved the drive up to Wahweap; it was incredible scenery. I drove a group of houseboaters back to town and even got tipped $10! It was on the way up to Lake Powell I started to believe I could travel on my own, until I started crying and could barely stop. I hate that fear has kept me trapped in a life that is making me so unhappy.
September was when I started to not like my job, started to hate being there. For three weeks I worked full time while the other lady was gone. I didn't even have that many appointments to keep me busy. October is a month of sadness. I had to deal with Greg's birthday and my wedding anniversary date. Evelyn turned 26 and I hadn't seen her in over two and a half years. The highlight of October was my trip to the Hopi villages, Canyon de Chelly and the Petrified forest. That trip didn't outweigh my dislike of the job, however.
The holiday season started in November and while it wasn't as lonely as past years, I still couldn't wait for it to be over. Lowell and I went to the Thanksgiving pot luck in the neighborhood and enjoyed it, as well as to Rita's for the actual holiday. Because it was the slow season at work, I was only working nine hours a week. It was barely worth my time, but those in the know reminded me how it was better for me to be kept busy. Lowell turned 20 in December and I took him out for dinner. Lowell was on his dozenth or so job, having stayed no where for more than three months at a time. I had the suspicion he'd been stealing money from me for a while, and when I confronted him, he denied it and I couldn't swear that I'd had what I knew was missing, so I let is slide. Until I noticed an ATM withdrawl and knew I hadn't done it. I woke him up and after denying it, he admitted that he had taken the money and I had no choice but to tell him to get out. It bothers me still, but he can't seem to learn his lessons. I forced myself to go to our office holiday party and to Rita's for Christmas dinner even though my heart wasn't in it.
Here it is the end of December and I can start with a clean slate in two days. As in the beginning of the year, I'm still alone, still contemplating moving and still paralyzed with fear about making any life changing decisions. Tomorrow, I'll change all the calendars and fall asleep before the New Year arrives in Arizona. I hope that next year will be better, I'll be in a better place both mentally and physically.
©30 December 2005Elsewhere on this web site, I have compiled a list of books I've read over time. Since I only started it a few years ago, it's far from a complete list. That's one of the reasons I started it, not being able to remember books or remember if I've already read one. When you read as much as I do, story lines tend to blur and details are forgotten. As I come across the name of a book I read, I add it.
Yesterday, I decided to add some of my favorite children's books -the ones that I loved and reread as a child and own now because they are that important to me. I used to love to find a book and immerse myself in the story and the characters. That's a result of being left alone a lot as a child and having a brother who had polio. I didn't have too many real friends when I was young. Looking online for links to the books I loved brought back so many memories and reacquainted me with lost friends.
Like my adult reads, I don't remember every child's book that crossed my path. I used to get the Weekly Reader books from school, and was a frequent visitor to the library. I had favorite authors and would read all the books they'd write. Once I found out about used book stores, the ones I loved best I would buy. For many years, I tried to get all the Highland teenage novels I could find. I'll never forget how excited I was when I found Now That I'm Sixteen by Margaret Maze Craig at Half Price Books in St. Louis Park, Minnesota. I rushed home and read it and it took me back to my youth. I read so many of those teenage books to help guide me through those difficult years, but they were all from the 1050's and I was a teenager in the late '60s. By then, so much had changed.
I always identified with one of the characters and wished I were her. I wanted to be Betsy from the Betsy Tacy series by Maud Hart Lovelace. That is, until Carney was introduced in the high school books. Or Caddie Woodlawn. I wanted to be a part of and surrounded by a loving family. I dreamed I was one of the Malone's, from the Beany Malone series. There was Just Plain Maggie who got to go to an overnight camp and why my children went for so many years, because I never could. I identified more with Kate from The Good Master. She got sent off to live with relatives in the country because her father thought it would be healthier for her and perhaps make her a lady. Or Pippi Longstocking, who had wild adventures with her best friends and was without adult supervision most of the time. Who wouldn't want to be Nancy Drew, solving mysteries and facing danger? My life with my literary friends was a lot more satisfactory than my real life.
The teenage novels I loved and always thought would guide me. There was no pressure for sex, and none of them had drugs in them. In around 150 pages or so, they'd find love or a career, get a date to the big dance and they'd be wiser for all the foolish mistakes they made. And they'd fall in love with the boy next door. Only in books. When I was around eight, I asked my mother if I had to marry Larry Scher. He was the only boy on my block around my age. My mother laughed at me and by the time I was even close to thinking about marriage, I was miles away from Chicago and barely even remembered him. I wonder how some of those characters from my teenage novels would have fared in adult life. I managed to collect dozens of them, and pretty much all of them have been stolen by my daughter. Last time I was in Minnesota, I almost took I'll Find my Love, but I left it for Evelyn and I do regret that.
Even now, I identify with the characters. Bess Steed, the main character in one of my favorite books, A Woman of Independent Means, by Elizabeth Forsythe Hailey. I don't know how many times I've read that, but each time, it means more to me than the last because of the changes in my life. I probably first read it when I was a new mother, just starting out with my family and I believed everything would turn out for the best. In Life Estates, by Shelby Hearon, I was Sara Cooper. I'm still hoping I can turn out more like her, as she was strong and decisive and a survivor. Another favorite, Three Women by the Water's Edge is one that as I age, I change who I identify with. At first it was the older daughter, Daisy, but now it would be the mother, Margaret. There's a role model for me. She took control of her life and found peace and happiness in her later years. I reread that book every few years, trying to pattern my life after hers but I'm a real person, not a fictional character. I'd love to have the unshakeable faith of Maggie Now, who accepted what life offered her with no complaints, even though she had a difficult time.
If only I was a character in a book, I'd always know the right thing to say or do. Someone far more intelligent and who cared about me would edit me and make me the way I should be. I'd find myself in perilous situations and I'd come out a stronger woman and a winner in the end. I'd stare adversity and tragedy in the face and come out victorious and rewarded for my experiences. I'd get to travel all over the world, and become wiser and wittier. Life is kind of like a book, each day is a blank page that can be written how I want it to be. I have the role models that have guided me for many years and I can become the author of my future.
©2 January, 2006On the map, Prescott is almost in the middle of the state. It's a little to the northwest of the center, depending on what the center is determined to be. It's about thirty miles off the interstate, and a town you wouldn't drive through, unless it, or one of the surrounding towns, was your destination. We're a mile high so the air is clean and we're called Everybody's Hometown, which means it's a friendly place to live. In the past two days, I've gone south and north from here and basically gotten no place.
Yesterday, before I went into work, I got a call from Nancy, who is my boss. She was wondering why I wasn't at work yet, and I reminded her it was Friday and I only can work 3 or so hours, so I come in later to cover the lunch hour. She asked me if I wanted to drive down to Phoenix, and I asked why. Now that it is our busy season, we use a lot of vans, and we've gotten all the ones from the local rental agency, so we needed ones from Phoenix. I'd drive down with two other women in one van, we'd all drive vans back up. Ok, I agreed, thinking that's 2 hours each way, and not too bad. I liked the other women too, Paula and Noel, so I thought it would be fun.
I got into the office and she said, by the way, the vans need to go to Sedona. That's about an hour from here, so now we're talking five hours. I couldn't back out as there was no one else to drive at that point. Fine, I said, knowing today I was also driving for work. I was trying to concentrate on the extra money in my paycheck, not on all the time on the road.
Since I've moved here, I've driven down to Phoenix maybe 25 times, probably more. It takes thirty minutes to get to the interstate, as I've mentioned, then another thirty to get to Carefree Highway, and thirty or more to get wherever in Phoenix. It was only 9:30 when we left, so traffic down wasn't that bad. The van rental place was near the airport, and I didn't have to drive. Paula did and on the drive down I learned she used to drive school buses in Michigan. I was surprised that with three women, there wasn't that much conversation, but I didn't feel like being the one who kept it going. We stopped at Sunset Point to use the rest area, and after that, I dozed off, or at least tried to. When I opened my eyes, we were at Thunderbird Avenue in north Phoenix. Paula effortlessly maneuvered our van through traffic and soon we were signing out two more vans and getting ready to go back north.
I've driven a big van for Elderhostel several times now, but never in city traffic. Noel went on ahead and Paula and I grabbed some fast food. I attempted to eat and drive and I suppose I succeeded, as I finished my hamburger without spilling it all over myself and didn't crash the van. Traffic was starting to get heavy, and I followed her up the highway, past the familiar exits. In a few hours, traffic would be bumper to bumper as people went home or escaped the city for the country. Carefree Highway is the end of Phoenix and when I first moved here, it was the end or beginning, depending on which way you were going, of civilization. It was a psychological end of Phoenix to me, starting the climb back up out of the smog and chaos and into peace and tranquility. Now you have to get past Anthem to lose the traffic. Already, the traffic going into Phoenix was bumper to bumper and it was only noon.
We breezed up the mountain in fairly good time and light traffic. Sometimes, just north of Black Canyon City, where the road is windy and very steep, the trucks cause traffic snarls, but not today. I think yesterday was the first time I'd ever driven I-17 past Cordes Junction, which is the exit for Prescott and up to the Cherry exit. It wasn't anything spectacular, and soon we were exiting at the Cottonwood off ramp and driving through that small town. Everywhere in Arizona is growing, so much of the towns look the same, with a walmart and fast food places. It was 230 when we got into Sedona, and Noel was nowhere to be seen. She took the more scenic way into Sedona, and obviously the longer way, since she'd left before us. But she got to see more of the natural beauty of Sedona than we did. I guess living in Arizona I don't get as excited about the red rocks anymore. Noel drove back to Prescott the same way we came and we strolled into the office just as it was closing time. I need to remember to put two additional hours on my time sheet for next week.
Noel and I firmed up our plans for today before we both went home. We would meet at 430 a.m. to start our drive up to Marble Canyon. Now that's about center too, but north, almost to Utah, and on the south rim of the Grand Canyon. Most people don't realize that the Grand Canyon is almost 300 miles long, traversing and twisting through Arizona. They think it's just the park. I used to, too, until I started working at Elderhostel. I've had to explain to many people that yes, Peach Springs is along the Grand Canyon, but not in the park. Last year, I drove up that way, past Page to Wahweap in Utah, and was awed by the beauty of the Canyon at that point, so I was looking forward to seeing that again.
I woke up a bit before my alarm clock and soon I was dressed and had breakfast, and was driving to the college. There was no traffic, and I made all the lights, so I was there about ten minutes early. Noel was already there, and soon we were off. I followed her up 89 to I-40 in the dark, but listening to my music and singing, trying to stay awake. I kept seeing this bright star in the sky and after I was convinced it wasn't some light on a tower somewhere, I realized it was Venus. Turning east on 40, the moon appeared as about a sixteenth or less of a crescent, and Venus seemed to be directly overhead. We'd passed the Arizona divide, at an elevation of 7335 feet on the east side of Williams. As we continued driving, the sky lightened and soon we were in Flagstaff. We pulled off the freeway, and as we filled up with gas, the sun poked over the mountains. Noel told me she'd seen a shooting star and I felt cheated.
Going north on 89, with the sun slowly rising and absolutely no traffic was relaxing. The scenery was meadows and strange rock outcroppings. We stopped at Cameron to go to the trading post, as we'd found out yesterday from Paula, as "tour bus" drivers, we were entitled to free stuff or discounts on purchases. I had over 200 cows on the way up. It seemed silly to count but old habits die hard. Along the road were empty stands where the Native Americans sell their goods, but it was either too early in the day or the season to find anyone actually selling. To the east of the highway were the Echo Cliffs, rugged red mountains carved by time. All the land was around the highway the Navajo reservation, so there was an occasional town, which shouted poverty to my middle class eyes. We turned off the highway before Page, and I was disappointed, but anxious to get our passengers and head home.
The road we took to Marble Canyon ran along side the Vermillion Cliffs and they were picturesque, but not as much as Glen Canyon, which is breathtaking. Maybe another day. Two of our people were waiting for us, so we had time to kill as we waited for the rest to gather. A quick look at the gift shop and a bathroom break, and soon just about everyone was there. Over the week's time, they had become one big happy group and I got all the women in my van. Noel had the two married couples. I think I got the better deal, but I'm not certain. Soon all their luggage was loaded, they'd said goodbye's to the trip coordinator, making promises to stay in touch, and we were off again.
Traffic was still very light and soon we were back at the Cameron Trading Post. I needed the break because the women were driving me nuts. There was just too much giggling for so early in the morning. They talked about the pictures they'd taken, the hikes, the birds they'd seen. Maybe it bothered me because I didn't feel a part of them, not having gone on the trip. I couldn't listen to music, so I sang in my head, trying to stay awake and focused as the miles slipped by. We gave them 20 minutes to shop and use the bathroom. One nice thing about driving for Elderhostel is that bathroom breaks are very important and frequently scheduled. I got some postcards and a magnet and with my discount, the cost was under $2.00. I was happy. Noel and I decided we'd stop once more for gas in Williams, so it was back on the road south. There was much excitement about a flock of sheep was passed, and I stopped counting cows.
From my house, I can see the San Francisco Peaks in Flagstaff, and from here, there is no snow on the mountain. This is the first winter I can remember that there hasn't been snow almost all winter, but it has been a dry one. I was pleased to see there was some snow on the east side, but nowhere near enough to provide needed runoff water. The ladies kept chattering as we headed into Williams. My head was starting to hurt and my eyes were getting tired. Only about 75 more minutes.
Soon we were in Chino Valley, just north of Prescott. That town is growing like crazy and traffic coming and going reflected it. What used to be a pleasant drive was now as bad as any major commuting route. Soon we turned onto Gurley Street and then on Sheldon and into the college. This time they didn't wait for me to open the doors, they just piled out of the van. I unloaded the luggage, made sure they hadn't left anything behind, because when people do that, it vanishes. I felt relief I'd gotten them back safely because it's one thing to drive yourself, another to take passengers. Last thing we needed to do was fill up the vans with gas, so Noel and I did that as they were still saying goodbyes to each other, making plans to see each other soon. Being they all live in Prescott save one lady, it seemed a bit much to my cynical eye.
A few short minutes later, we'd parked the vans with full tanks for the next drivers and Noel and I said goodbye. She thanked me for being a good companion, which was nice. I had driven some 750 miles and for some thirteen hours and I ended up where I began. It hardly seemed fair. I could have been in San Francisco or Houston or who knows where instead of here. Perhaps this was practice for me, for I am ready to move on.
©25 February 2006It's snowing. Not like it snowed last weekend, where we got around ten inches on the ground over two days of near continuous snow. It's more like fake television snow, coming from off camera and that just floats in the air. The snow is starting to stick on the bushes and the trees and my neighbor's car, so we might have some on the ground after all. The weather program I have on the computer says it's currently 42 degrees outside, so for now it will just get the ground wet. It's foggy too and I can't see Prescott Valley or much past my neighbor's houses across the street. It's like the rest of the world has disappeared. Sometimes I think I'm back in the Midwest and not in Arizona.
With the drought we're in, Arizona can certainly use the moisture so I'm not complaining. One thing about snowfalls here is they don't last long. Last weekend's snow was pretty much all gone in two days. Usually they melt by noon between the sun and warmer temperatures. I have a snow shovel but it's only been used a handful of times. I did shovel the top of the driveway and my stairs last weekend, but let the sun take care of the sloping part.
I love to watch the snow falling. It's silent and if you look closely enough you can see the individual flakes. I have so many memories involving snow. I like watching the flakes build up on branches and weight them down. I like having everything turn white. I love to walk in snow, having the flakes melt in my hair or eyelashes. I wish I had someone to take a walk with right now, but I don't, so I'll just watch it fall from inside. Maybe make a cup of cocoa when I'm done writing to warm me up.
As a child I used to catch them on my tongue, and I still do that sometimes. I remember having to bundle up in snow pants and boots and gloves and a scarf to go outside. I've also made countless snow angles and snow people. I've thrown snowballs and built snow forts. I've sledded on the stuff, and skied on it. I even walked to and from school in it, but not uphill nor ten miles. And boy have I shoveled it. Fourteen years in Minnesota and I saw a lot of snowfalls. I helped my mom shovel in Chicago too, but it wasn't my responsibility like it was in Minnesota. Snow is a lot more fun and work than rain is.
Early on in my marriage, my ex and I took two cross country trips. The first one we went north to Seattle and Vancouver then east and got as far as Ohio. The second time we headed due east to Virginia, where my best friend from high school and her husband were living, then north up through New York and Boston. It was in the middle of winter, so we expected to see snow. But not in Arizona. Our first stopover was to be Winslow, but just west of Flagstaff it was snowing and we got behind a snowplow. Back then, my only impression of Arizona was the two weeks I'd spent in Phoenix when I was twelve and my mom was moving my brother and me out to California. I was shocked to see snow but we proceeded down the interstate at some ridiculously slow speed until we reach Winslow. I imagine Fred was terrified driving in snow for the first time in his life, but he never let on.
I remember walking in a snow like this when my ex was in grad school. We had gone to another couple's apartment for dinner and talking and when it was time to leave, instead of taking the El two stops down, we decided to walk. It had to be less than two miles. I don't recall what we talked about just how beautiful it was and how happy we were back then, with our whole lives ahead of us. We were probably soaked to the skin when we got to our apartment, but it didn't bother us. Oh, to be that young again. I think of my ex, who was born and raised in Northern California and has spent almost twenty four years in Minnesota.
When we lived in Memphis, we had fifteen inches of snow one time. Living in the South, snow is a bad four letter word. Even a snow fall of half an inch paralyzes the South. If it is dared to be mentioned on the news, panic hits and the stores are cleaned out of the staples in hours. Usually it was a false alarm, but that storm did shut down Memphis for several days. I had just dropped Lowell off at the babysitter's and was off to a meeting, when the snow started. I didn't like the look of it so I turned around, got him and went to pick up Evelyn and Greg from school. I drove slowly on the quickly whitening streets and was starting to feel safe as I turned off Perkins and onto Shady Grove, knowing I was two blocks from home. Then I skidded into the curb. For some reason, I couldn't get the van to move and was wondering if I'd have to leave it there and walk home, when a car honked at me, and suggested I turn my wheels. That did the trick and I got us home safely, which was all I cared about. I don't think the kids realized how panicked I was. They were too excited by the snow. They were little and it was probably the first snowfall they could remember, so they were excited about it and to be out of school for two weeks. I got really sick of snow during that time.
I always hated driving in the snow despite the number of years I had to do it. I didn't trust the other driver's abilities. I always felt relief when we were all home. I didn't mind the shoveling for the most part, as it was a quiet time and I never felt rushed. Sometimes the kids would help but most often I would have to get the job done while they were in school. I learned the hard way it's easier to shovel every two inches or so, rather than to wait till the snow is done falling. Of course, after I moved away, my ex got a snow blower.
One year here in Prescott, I had an early Saturday morning meeting and it was snowing when I left the house. As I drove east I saw a snow bow. I knew it was Greg coming to check on me and I walked into the building with teary eyes. That was the day Shirley and I became friends after knowing each other for a year or so. She asked me why I was crying and I told her. We quickly became good friends after and even though she's moved away and it would be so easy to let our friendship drop, we've maintained a special relationship that was caused by my son.
In the hour or so it's taken me to write this, the snow has continued, maybe even intensified. The streets are just wet, but the bushes and the trees and my neighbor's car are almost completely covered with snow. It's 2:11 in the afternoon and it's expected to snow into the evening. The temperature has dropped to 33 degrees. I'll go back to my book and continue to monitor the snow till it's dark outside. I fully expect to wake up to a white world in the morning but hopefully no more than an inch or so. Any more than that, and Prescott could shut down for the day. If it does, that will change my plans. At least I know this snowfall won't be around too long, as the weatherman says near 70's by the end of the week. So I need to enjoy this last winter treat. Spring arrives tomorrow.
©19 March 2006
Today my son and I drove up to Hilltop, on the Havasupai reservation. Never heard of it? Neither had I, until coming to work for Elderhostel. It's a remote location on the edge of the south rim of the Grand Canyon, not inside the National Park, because of course, most of the Grand Canyon isn't inside the park. It's about 30 miles west of Seligman and then north 60 miles on an Indian road till you get to the parking lot. There's an eight mile trail that leads you down to the river's edge where there is a lodge and camping. I've heard it's gorgeous down there with incredible views and falls. Maybe one day I'll get to go down to the Supai village, but it wasn't today. I have discovered so much of this state because of my job, seen sights and gone places I'd never have on my own. So let me tell you about this day trip.
It was on Tuesday that Chris asked me if I'd take the cargo van up to Hilltop. I tried to get a little more information out of him, but he must think that because he's been everywhere Elderhostel goes, that by osmosis that information has leaked into the staff. I knew where it was on the map, but that was all. I asked him what I'd have to do and he said pick up the belongings of the people on the program. I said sure, I'd go. Then I started having questions about it, which never got answered. I'd written down what little information had been given to me, and then lost the paper.
Since Lowell had not yet been to the Grand Canyon, I told him he was coming with me, He wasn't thrilled, but he agreed. I didn't tell him anything about having to move plastic tubs filled with stuff here and there. When he stopped by the office the next day to see me, I gave everyone looks warning them they'd better not say anything to him about it to give him the chance to tell me he wasn't going.
I woke Lowell up around 7 and by 7:40 we were at the college to pick up the van. I had to go into the office to get a gas credit card from Nancy, who was just getting off the phone with her mother. I could tell something was terribly wrong and knew immediately it had to do with her 20 year old daughter. When I began working there a year ago, Leah was in remission from Hodgkin's disease. In recent months, she knew it had come back with a vengeance, now being in her hips and spine. Nancy said the doctors gave her 6 to 10 months to live without treatment. I hugged Nancy tightly as she sobbed and it all flashbacked to my nightmare with Greg. We sat and talked to her for a few minutes, while I tried to keep my tears at bay. Even Lowell hugged her because he could feel her pain. I asked her if she wanted to go with us, to get out of the office, but she couldn't. I even tried to bribe her with ice cream at the Snow Cone in Seligman. I was extremely sad when we left.
Lowell got into the first seat behind me because it gave him more leg room and proceeded to fall asleep as we drove north on Highway 89. I was lost in my thoughts about cancer and death and loss of loved ones for the first dozen or so miles. They are widening the highway out of Prescott, so it was slow going and that suited me fine. It forced me to concentrate on the traffic so eventually those thoughts left my head for the moment.
It was starting out to be a beautiful day, with light clouds and you could see snow covering the San Francisco peaks and other mountains in my sight. The temperature was supposed to warm up to the upper 60's. I thought about all the times I'd driven up that highway, from the very first time two weeks after I'd moved to Arizona to take my friend, Randy, who'd helped me move out here to catch a ride back to Virginia to other times with other people. I just had to turn my mind off before I became too maudlin. I put a cd in the player and concentrated on the music. Before long, we were on the interstate going west and then getting off at Seligman, to catch old Route 66 towards Peach Springs. Even though the gas tank was more than three quarters full, I'd been warned enough how there was nothing between there and Hilltop, so we stopped and topped off the tank. I knew from looking at the map that the road was 4 miles past the Grand Canyon Caverns Inn, but the map was wrong. It was six.
I turned right and much to my shock there were two cars in front of us. There had been almost no traffic on Route 66, and I couldn't imagine why anyone was going the sixty miles up to Hilltop. Then out of nowhere, another car passed me. I slowed down the van so they would be far enough ahead to be out of our sight. There really wasn't much to see on Indian Road 18. Lots of dried up fields and scrub grass, a road leading to a campground, then a pine forest, then open flat grazing land. Two more cars passed us even though we were going 70 miles an hour. Lowell and I passed the time talking and playing the cow game and listening to music. He kept teasing me about my making him go see this big hole in the ground and I kept telling him it wasn't a hole. A hole is round and the Canyon is long and deep.
We were supposed to get there by 11 am and we made it about ten minutes early. Again, much to my surprise, there were lots and lots of cars and people there. All I'd been told was to go to the parking lot, park at the end, but I had no idea where the end was. I circled once and then created my own parking space at the end of a row. We got out and asked a Supai man where the end of the trail was, and they begrudgingly told me over there. Once again I'd been sent out somewhere with inadequate instructions. I had been told to look for a man with a black cowboy hat but I didn't see him. I was starting to get frustrated.
Finally, I saw what looked like the containers Elderhostel used, but no one could confirm it for me. I didn't see Carol Sue, who was the coordinator, so Lowell and I went to look out at the Canyon. I've seen the Grand Canyon from the park and from up near Page and I didn't think this section was as spectacular or breathtaking as those views. And it did kind of look like a hole, because the water had carved a large area out above and beyond the Canyon. Lowell spent about a minute looking and was ready to go. Only we couldn't, because I had no idea what I was doing. I had to take two passengers as well as the cargo and I had neither.
I was so glad he was with me, because he kept me calm. As I was wandering around, trying to avoid donkey droppings, I saw one of the other drivers in the parking lot. K. T. has been doing this a lot longer than me, and she said she hadn't seen Carol Sue either and that we just had to wait. I'm not any good at waiting, especially when I'm unsure of what's expected of me, so I kept pacing around the parking lot, especially near the trail's end, expecting to see Elderhostelers hiking out any minute. Two different groups of people asked me to take pictures for them, which I did. I watched the Supai pack up the mules and lead them down the trail. I talked to one young Supai woman with two babies watching her boyfriend at work. I did notice how blue the sky was, how deep the canyon was and how inspiring the canyon was. Then I saw K. T. parked and I walked over to her.
She said she'd found six of the group who'd taken the helicopter up and were now sitting on a ledge overlooking the canyon. I asked her about what I was supposed to do, telling her I'd not gotten much instruction before I'd left, and she mentioned finding Billy and getting the gear loaded. She offered to go find him and I said Lowell and I wanted to go look at the Canyon from the overlook. I greeted the ladies who were sitting there, and then went to meditate on nature's beauty. I could see the trail as it wound down to the water and then off to the east and the village, which was seven miles further. I looked at the rock layers in the Canyon, the colors of the rocks and the way the wall was so steep on the north side and wider and less defined on the south side.
The ladies told us a little about their experiences in the village and how pretty and green it was, and I was envious that I wasn't able to see it myself. When K. T. came back, she said she had two volunteers to go back with us, so I could load up the van and be on my way. I spent another few minutes appreciating the view, wondering if I'd ever be back and then it was time to go. There were eight large plastic tubs filled with stuff to load, so I was very grateful Lowell was there to help me. My passengers, two of the ladies, got in the second seat and we were off.
I've learned from experience that Elderhostelers are a friendly sort, and these women were no different. They asked us lots of questions and told us about their experiences on the program. Thank heavens we only had to drive them to the Caverns motel, which was sixty some miles. One lady was originally from England and the other from upstate New York. They chatted on the entire time and Lowell fell asleep out of boredom. When we saw the divided highway around the Caverns, they said, home sweet home. I asked them which building was the office and pulled in. They were wondering if I had to carry all the tubs myself and I said yes, and kind souls that they were, they offered to help me. I couldn't let them do that and gratefully declined their offer. We walked into the office and they again thanked me for the ride, and I found out where to put the tubs. I think Elderhostel is the main customer of this particular motel, straight out of the 50's. One of the women I speak to on the phone frequently came out and offered me a dolly to use. I took her up on it, but decided sleeping beauty should wake up and help me. So in two trips, we brought everything in. I used the bathroom and off we went.
Our next stop was the Snow Cone in Seligman. It's an old time ice cream stand that was established in 1953. I had been told about it years earlier and try to stop by every time I am on interstate 40. The first time I went was also with Lowell, about five years ago. Back then, the father was still behind the window and the jokes he played on us were all new. Now it's just his son, and the jokes are just as corny as the first time. I won't spoil it by telling any of them, but when I went there with Jeff from the office, he jumped higher than Lowell did at one of them. This was the first time I'd noticed the two door knobs and tried to open it with the wrong one. We had a quick lunch, looked at the old cars and it was back on the road.
We got off the interstate on the west end of Ash Fork, the flagstone capital of the United States and drove right through town. South on 89 again and back into Prescott. One more stop to fill the tank up for the next driver and trip the van would go on and we were back on campus. I had hoped to get there after 4, when no one would be around, but it was not to be. As Lowell and I were getting out of the van, Jeff drove by on his way home and asked if we'd had a good time and if Lowell had helped me. I said yes, and waved goodbye to him. I walked up to put the key in the lockbox and Lowell said he'd drive up to get me, and then we were on our way home. I said it was so ridiculous that we'd driven all day and gotten nowhere, which is how I feel each time I go on one of these drives. In the eight hours we'd been gone, we could have been to Los Angeles or Albuquerque or even Mexico. I thanked Lowell for coming with me, because he was good company and very helpful, but because we came with me out of love. Even with too much sadness and sorrow in my life, I had spent a beautiful day in beautiful country seeing incredible sights with one of my most favorite people in the world. It was good to be home.
©24 March 2006There are more stories I have written to read. Please remember these are my original stories and thoughts, and to copy or otherwise use them without my permission is a copyright violation. I would love to hear your random thoughts on any of these stories.