Most likely you followed the link from my first page or the seventh or twentieth page of Random Thoughts stories. Here are some more, all about my middle son Greg, and I hope these are just as amusing and thought provoking. And, as always, your comments are appreciated.
I've always loved words and language and maybe if I'd stayed at Berkeley, I would have become linguistics major. I've formally and informally studied five languages and am not proficient in any of them. Crossword puzzles and word games are a challenge I enjoy on a daily basis. I'm usually reading one if not two books at a time. So to say words are an essential part of my life would not be an understatement. Neither is learning and I'd like to think I learn a new thing every day.
I'm not interested in going back to school for formal education any more. There are lots of reasons, but mostly it's laziness and the lack of the drive to do what it takes to complete a class much less to get another degree. I don't have the necessary passion to spend two or more years and thousands of dollars to get a master's degree, and then at my age, start at the bottom and know I'll never be able to work my way to the top or even near it in the number of years I have left on this planet.
When I first heard about the Learning Institute, I thought about joining, but I wasn't a senior citizen and I thought I'd be out of place with all those old folks. However, when I learned someone was teaching a class in Theory of Knowledge, I threw those concerns aside and joined. Why Theory of Knowledge? It's simple. My daughter Evelyn was an International Baccalaureate student in high school and that class was the cherry on the top of the sundae they all waited for their senior year. I'm proud to say Evelyn did achieve that diploma as well as her regular high school one. The day I found out that class was being offered, I called and signed up for it, as well as for another one, called Life 101, based on a self help book that had been on my bookshelf for years but never opened. Back then, nearly six years ago, enrollment was first come, first served, so I was one of the lucky ones who got in to TOK, as it is known in IB circles.
I was frankly scared to go to the first class. I knew no one and it had been years since I'd been in a class back in North Carolina. The desire to learn something of what Evelyn had studied was stronger than the fears, and entering the classroom, I picked a chair and got ready to learn. The man who taught the class, Ron, has become a friend of mine since that first day. He actually taught TOK back in California for the IB program and he was surprised to have someone whose child had been in the program in his class. I took notes and paid rapt attention, and participated a bit in the discussions. People were friendly to me, and when class was over, I couldn't wait to share with Evelyn what we'd discussed and ask her what thoughts she had. I went off to lunch with everyone else, then found my way to my afternoon class, which was taught by a woman I knew from somewhere else.
Then came the day of the second class. Classes are normally only six weeks long and just once a week. I couldn't make myself go. I'm not sure why, but I know it was a combination of depression, thinking I didn't belong and I guess just plain fear. Thanks to Ron's kindness and concern, which was a phone call to me after the class to see if I was okay, I went to the third and all the subsequent classes. If not for him, I would have dropped out of YLI and so much of my life would be different now. I've never thanked him and he doesn't know how he affected my life. Thank you, Ron.
What has this to do with paleography? Actually nothing. I had never heard of that word until starting a Learning Institute class this session. I had gone several years without taking any classes, and had even let my membership lapse briefly. I was still on the mailing list and would still look at the class offerings, but it wasn't until this past summer I found a class I really wanted to take. So I rejoined and signed up for a handyman class, hoping I would learn the basics about making home repairs. I'm sorry to say I didn't come away with any new skills. The class wasn't hands on and it just didn't work how I thought it would and doubt the facilitator was happy with the outcome either. My kitchen sink still leaks if the water isn't turned off.
My membership covered two sessions however, so I still had Fall I to take advantage of and my selections were much better this time. I had no problem deciding on a Thursday class, and so far I have enjoyed "Filmmaking in the Shadow of Thumb Butte". The first session was watched some old Tom Mix movies, the second a Tex Ritter and Bowery Boys movie and last week it was Randolph Scott in "Santa Fe". All of these movies were filmed around Prescott and it was interesting to see different parts of the town featured. Although, watching the horses herded through Watson Lake a half dozen times wasn't necessary, I did like seeing scenes of the area that are no longer there, like buildings in Drake or the old depot in Perkinsville. Also, refreshments are served for this class and the selection is varied and plentiful. The movies for the last few weeks are thankfully not westerns, and not the one everyone talks about being made in town, Junior Bonner, which in its own way is as corny as the westerns.
For a Friday class, it was a bit more difficult to choose. An afternoon class would fit in better with my work schedule, but there was nothing offered that interested me. In the morning, Ron was teaching a class on King Lear, and he is an excellent facilitator. He's very popular and there would definitely be a drawing for his class. It's no longer first come, first served. There was a class on the geology of outer space, which sounded okay and out of the ordinary, but would never have been my first choice. I picked Writing before Gutenberg without hesitation. The description in the catalog said the class would consist of a survey of western handwritings from Roman times to the dawn of printing. It specified it would be of interest to calligraphers, history buffs and literary types. My decision was made since all those topics were things I didn't know enough about.
Part of my job is to answer the OLLI phones when neither Barbara nor Deni are at their desks, so I registered a fair number of people for one or more of the thirty offerings, so I knew what the more popular classes were. Before the drawing, it is determined which classes are oversubscribed, and only the names of those wanting those classes are put into the drawing. One person reads off the name and whoever has the sheet for that class, adds it to the list, continuing till all names are called. I've participated in drawings before, and they're pretty amusing, because despite our so-called wisdom with advanced age, we still think certain names and things are funny. This time I felt compelled to comment on various people as their names were drawn, because there were only five of us in the room. I didn't have to worry about my class. Only eight people had signed up for it. After the drawing, Barbara and Deni have the unpleasant task of informing all those people who did not get into their classes. That's when many of ask what's still open and pick one of those instead, and because of that, the Gutenberg class started off with eighteen enrolled.
I had never seen nor heard of the facilitator until that morning, despite my years of involvement with OLLI. Bob came in the office before the first class to have some papers Xeroxed. There are always some people who register late, even after classes start and are shocked to find they can't get into the classes they want, so they will pick something just to have a class to take. I only knew three people in the class, and took a seat near them and was prepared to learn. Bob had everyone in the room introduce him or herself and say why they were taking the class. The first five people were all from Michigan, and Bob had taught there at one time. When it got to me, I said my best friend was from Michigan, to stake a claim to that fine state and that the class was my first choice and I thought the subject matter was something I would be very interested in and that I knew basically nothing about it
The first thing Bob wrote on the board was the word paleography. He described it as meaning book hand, but the dictionary says the study of ancient writing, including determination of date, decipherment, etc. So far I was right, I had never heard that word before and definitely had a lot to learn. In six weeks there was no way we could learn everything, and no one is expecting that. We'll just get a taste of the subject matter. He had passed out a packet of thirty some pages, all with different famous samples of ancient documents. We learned that our alphabet came from the Phoenicians and that it was around 3200 years old. Not the exact one we use today. It has evolved over the centuries from Greek and Latin and Spanish and other languages.
We would look at copies of ancients works and see how labor intensive it was and how difficult to read, even if we could read Greek or Latin. Bob could, and he'd read aloud to us as we followed along. We learned about the different kinds of writing materials, including papers and inks. We saw that over the years spaces were put between words and contractions and abbreviations were introduced into printing. There were words like uncials and Carolingan script as well as names for different national hands that none of us had ever heard before. At the end of the class, my head would be spinning with new facts and information.
Each scribe had his own style and there are people who have studied enough of a certain time period who can tell which scribe actually recorded the document. I have notes scribbled all over the papers he gave us as well as some paper I brought on my own. Now the works are mostly in Latin and we are up to the dark ages. At the end of each class, we are given a document to transcribe in our own hand. At first, we all copied Bob's, and then we were given someone else's to copy from, to show how difficult it was to keep it uniform. I can't even read my own handwriting, so I'm sure whoever got my copy made many mistakes from the original. I know in the one I copied, I could barely make out some of the words.
There are two more classes left because Bob has something planned one Friday. One week we will have a guest calligrapher and one week will be the final scripts before the advent of the printing press. We will look at how that original document of Bob's, copied four times over, has evolved. There will be an optional class after we are officially done, but I don't think it will be well attended, since there will be no reason for people to be on campus that day. One reason many people attend Friday classes are most people get together in the cafeteria for socializing. That's a major part of the Learning Institute experience, getting together with other people.
I am still glad I chose this class and wish there was more time to learn more about paleography. I wish I had the interest in learning either Latin or Greek, but I haven't been able to teach myself French in almost fifteen years, so those are far behind that in my quest for a different language. The new list of classes will be out soon and I'll have to decide if I want to sign up for anything. I've seen the offerings and nothing is jumping out like this one did when I first read the class description for this current session. Not all classes can be stimulating or offer topics never heard of before, so I'm glad I took this one when I had the chance. There is so much to learn and I want to learn all that interests me, but many classes are just for fun and that is important too. It might be time for a change of pace.
©24 September 2006Such a nice round number. In French, vingt-cinq. Five times five. It's the chemical number for manganese. Five squared. A quarter of a century. A quarter of a dollar. Halfway to fifty. If my marriage had lasted that long, it would have been the silver anniversary. 25 even looks symmetrical. It is the age my son Greg would be in a few days, if only he were still alive.
Think about how different the world was then, when he was born. It was 1981. If you look up the major events of that year, there will be no mention of Greg's birth. No internet or cell phones. Cable television was still fairly new. Gas prices well under a dollar a gallon. Ronald Reagan was inaugurated as president. The Minnesota North Stars went to the Stanley Cup finals for the first time in their history. Sandra Day O'Connor was named first female Supreme Court Justice. Princess Diana married Prince Charles. Chariots of Fire won the Oscar for Best Picture. I had my whole life ahead of me, full of promise. And pretty much all of the promises were broken.
When I was twenty-five, I was still basically a newlywed. I had just graduated college. It was 1976, the bicentennial year. Fred and I took our second cross-country trip. I went to Washington, D. C., New York City and Boston for the first time in my life. Upon returning to California, my ex went to work managing pizza restaurants and I decided he should go to graduate school. He did, got a great job in Minneapolis, Evelyn was born there and when she was around a year old it was time to start thinking about having our second child. Fred and I always knew we wanted two kids, as we were both from that size family.
We lived in a big old Victorian house in Uptown, and I used to walk Evelyn up and down Lake Street and Hennepin Avenue in her stroller. Before long, I was pregnant again. I just knew I was having another girl. It never occurred to me that it would be a boy. I picked a different obstetrician this time and shortly after 1 am on October 2, 1981, my baby was born. I was handed a beautiful baby boy. He was blond and had big blue eyes. While we had no trouble picking girls names, it was another story when it came to boy's names. Every name I liked, Fred didn't and vice versa. Finally we agreed on two names, Gregory and Kendall, and it was a toss up which would be his first name and which would be his middle name. There was no way he was going to be named after a family member, as tradition required. I was already fearful of his future on this earth. Evelyn was already named after my father. So Greg was his own person, with no ties to any dead relatives.
I was convinced early on Greg would die young. Actually, I was sure he was going to die from crib death, or SIDS (sudden infant death syndrome). There was a doctor in Minneapolis who was testing babies and I changed pediatricians till I found one who understood my need to have him undergo these tests. My mother's sister had lost her second boy to crib death, and second babies and boys were more susceptible to SIDS. He had a low birth weight and was jaundiced. When he was three months old, he went into the hospital to be tested and it was determined he did not have the symptoms or signs they were looking for. I could breathe a little easier, especially after his first birthday.
Then a year later, at Christmas time, he was bitten in the face by our friend's dog. He had surgery on his eye and forehead. He lost a tear duct in his right eye so when he would get congested his eye would run same as his nose. A tube for drainage was put in his eye for a few months, and then he had another surgery to have it removed. Maybe this is why he never overreacted to his later surgeries. He was always such a brave boy. Even that April day in 1996 when he went to the emergency room because of his shoulder, and it was the beginning of the end of his short life. He faced all of his challenges with a positive outlook and optimism that went well beyond his years.
If Greg were around to celebrate his twenty fifth birthday, his car insurance rates would go down. He would be old enough to run for Congress. He would have graduated from college and might even be married. He would have voted in at least one presidential election, something he very much wanted to do. He would have his whole life ahead of him too, and it hurts to think of what he has missed out on already.
Lowell and I are going to have a birthday party for him. It will be the two of us and Spud. We're going to get chow fun from the Golden Gate Chinese restaurant and a chocolate cake. Maybe we'll watch the video of his band or listen to some of his favorite music. I might wear one of his old t-shirts that day. We'll talk about him and cry and try to find comfort in something that is beyond comprehension, the loss of our beloved Greg. It's not likely it will rain, at least not here, but it will somewhere, and to those people who are lucky enough to see a rainbow on October 2, please wish Greg a happy birthday from those of us who love him and miss him the most.
©25 September 2006My name is Sharon and I'm a chocoholic. I don't think there's a day that goes by that I don't have chocolate in some form or another. I'm probably addicted to the stuff, but I have no plans on quitting. There is always chocolate in the house, either in the form of cookies, ice cream or just chocolate. Unlike most addicts, I make no secret of my cravings. Even my wedding cake had chocolate filling between the layers. The baker gave me a strange look, but that's what I wanted so that's what we had. If there is a twelve step program for chocolate addicts, I'm not interested. I hope for my last meal, like the one I fed my mom, is a chocolate malt.
My love affair with chocolate has been going on since I was a child. Back then, I didn't have it every day like I do now because my mom wouldn't let me. For several years though, I would have chocolate milk with my grilled cheese sandwiches when I went home for lunch in elementary school. There is always a way to sneak it in. We would get chocolate at holidays and sometimes my grandma would bake a chocolate cake. At the age of five or six, I tried planting a Hershey's kisses tree in my front yard. I dug a hole and sacrificed some in hopes of getting more. Last time I was back in Chicago and drove past my old house, the silly thing still hadn't grown. Every Halloween, I would get as much candy as I could, and then just eat the chocolate ones. My other grandmother would fix me waffles with chocolate chips for breakfast when I'd sleep over at their house, and that was usually a good enough incentive for my doing that. I still make waffles with chocolate chips, using my grandma's recipe.
I'm famous for my fudge, and my obsession with that began at Mackinaw Island. I think we went there twice when I was still living in Chicago. My mother and I would go when my brother was in the hospital. It was be a rest and escape from reality for her and fun for me. The whole island smells of fudge and horse manure. They don't allow cars on it, or at least they didn't then. The small town had, at minimum, a dozen fudge shops and we'd always buy some to eat there and some to take home. Needless to say, it never made it home.
When I was a teenager, the rumor was it caused pimples, and I certainly didn't want those, so I avoided chocolate. At least, I tried to. There were many dates to ice cream parlors and I'd always have hot fudge if I had a sundae. Trips to 31 Flavors meant a jamocha almond fudge and pistachio almond fudge milk shake, but I used to walk to get those. I started baking for my boyfriends and it was either brownies or chocolate chip cookies. One of the reason's I loved Tommy's burgers so much was that they sold Dr. Brown's chocolate soda. It seemed to compliment a chili cheese burger better than cola. I know Dr. Brown's drinks still exist, but I haven't seen the chocolate soda since I left Los Angeles.
Back then, semi sweet chocolate was the most exotic kind of chocolate I knew about. One of my favorite treats was Drost chocolate in the shape of wooden shoes. Maybe they came in dark chocolate, but I don't recall. Usually though, it was Hershey bars. They used to cost a nickel when I was young. Eventually I branched out to Milky Ways and M&M's. Occasionally, I'd have a Nestle's crunch or a Three Muskateers, but what I craved was the chocolate.
As a married woman, I used to bake a lot. I was a food and nutrition major after all. And I was bored, since I didn't work for the first few years. Fred would come home and find all sorts of goodies, like homemade bread and a chocolate cake. A pan of brownies would disappear a small chunk at a time. I started my cookbook collection back then, often raiding the shelves of Holmes books in Oakland for old classics.
I'll never forget the first time I had a slice of Black Forest cake, which is now one of my favorites. When my ex and I lived in the Rogers Park section of Chicago while he was in graduate school, I would walk pretty much everywhere. Two blocks from our apartment, on Western Avenue, was a bakery. We couldn't really afford too many extras, but one day, I stopped in and bought a Black Forest cake. Maybe I'd gotten a raise or maybe he'd gotten an A on a paper. I cut a slice for each of us, and took a bite of rich chocolate cake with cherries in it. I was hooked. It reminded me of an ice cream parlor I used to go to in California for some reason. That's still one of my favorites. I firmly believe that there is no point in having a dessert unless it has chocolate in it. If there's a Cold Stone Creamery near you, try their black forest ice cream concoction, it's nearly as good.
French silk pie became one of my standards to bring to someone else's house. It's so simple to make. I'd prepare a graham cracker crust, because that was easiest. Then you make the pie filling by mixing the ingredients up in the mixer. Put some whipped cream on and you're done. Only I have a secret ingredient that I add to almost all my chocolate dishes. People would ask me for my recipe, and I'd give them the one in the cookbook, sans my secret. I bet there are still women in Memphis using my recipe and wondering why it never tasted as good as what I would bring.
One time I got very fancy, and fixed a strawberry pie with a chocolate crust. It was topped with some kind of glaze and the strawberries had to be perfect. It was from some elegant cookbook and I was trying to impress the people who were hosting the dinner. It was really good, looked professional and took a lot of time to prepare, but I didn't impress those people like I'd hoped. I've never made it since. Good thing we moved from Memphis.
I used to have the best brownie recipe, but it's vanished. I can't remember if it was in a cookbook, and even if it was, I had over a thousand of them. I think I cut it out of a magazine and kept it in a box with around 10,000 other recipes. Foolishly, I just threw them all away one day and even with the internet, I haven't been able to find a similar one. It made tall brownies, and used something like a dozen eggs. They were like the kind you'd buy in a bakery. I am a home ec major; maybe I'll try to recreate it or even make some that are better.
I also make my own fudge. The basic recipe is from a Junior League cookbook and it's also very simple to make. I don't possess the patience for creating masterpieces anymore. Here is the recipe from the Louisville cookbook.2 Cups of SugarPut the sugar, marshmallows and evaporated milk in a large bowl and microwave on high for 7 minutes. You'll have to stir occasionally, both to keep the mixture from overflowing and to help the sugar to dissolve. Take it out of the microwave and stir in the butter and chocolate chips, which will melt from the heat of the mixture. Stir till the sugar is all dissolved, then add the vanilla and the nuts. Place in a pan to cool.
14 regular marshmallows
A small can of evaporated milk
1 Cup of chocolate chips
1 stick of butter (one quarter pound), at room temperature
Nuts, if you like them
That's the basic recipe. Over the years, having made fudge dozens of times, I've found some shortcut, made a few changes and of course, I have my secret ingredient. Only my children know what they are. There are a few other people I've told, but I doubt they remember it since they didn't write it down or keep the email I sent to them. Usually, it gets cut up into smaller chunks and I give it away or bring it to pot lucks. I've never had any complaints about it, only compliments.
Now there are all kinds of chocolate available. Even chocolate chips no longer come in just semi-sweet. You can purchase a truffle at stores like Godiva for $5.00. Stores like Trader Joe's carry fancy candy bars from different countries in different flavors. Gourmet chocolate is in. Milk chocolate seems so ordinary and passé. I much prefer dark chocolate and it's rare I'll eat any other kind. Prescott recently got a patisserie and they have some of the best chocolate desserts I've ever eaten. As the clerk said when I purchased my first one to go, they're not to die for, they're to live for.
The one exception was M&Ms. Now they too come in dark chocolate. I bought a large bag from Costco several weeks ago and it sat unopened. Until last night. I heard them calling me, so I tore the bag open. I am still sad they got rid of the brown M&M, but I have learned to live with the blue one. I took a small handful and tried to eat them slowly. I couldn't and took another handful. The bag never left the living room; I had to go back to it from wherever I was. Each time, I'd take a few and tell myself that was it. Then I'd be back there, drawn by the power of chocolate. It's a big bag and I'm nowhere near finishing it, but I couldn't resist the temptation any longer. So far this morning, I have left it alone, but now that it's open, that the barrier keeping me from it is crossed, it won't be long before the bag is empty. I am not going to tell Lowell that I opened it, but I'm sure he'll find out. Darn those M&Ms, leading me down a path of chocolate addiction. After all, life isn't worth it if you sacrifice everything, is it?
©30 September 2006When I was a corporate executive's wife, I used to go shopping all the time. Volunteering and of course taking care of my children took up most of my time, but not all of it, and so I needed to buy things to prove we had achieved a certain economic status. My love of shopping started long before then. It was always such a grown up treat for a little girl to go downtown in Chicago and shop at the big Marshall Field store on State Street. Then I moved to the Valley and became a Valley girl before it became popular. I know intimately malls or the fashionable shopping areas in most major cities. Big deal.
Today, I had to drive down to Phoenix with three other people from work so we could bring three vans back up. I had asked for the compact car to drive back up in, which turned out to be a pickup truck, but it was still better than a twelve passenger van for driving around town. Before we left Prescott, Gloria said she might go with me for the first stop, the Galleria. When we got to the van rental place in Phoenix, after a delightful drive into the smog and congestion of a major city, she decided she would go with me. Once we figured out how to get on the 202 freeway from where we were, we were off and running. To be more specific, she was slowly following me over the various freeways.
I've been to Scottsdale a number of times, and usually go to the same stores. I like the shopping center at Bell Road and Scottsdale Boulevard, where there's an Old Navy and World Market. I used to always stop at those stores. On occasion, I'd go to the Galleria where Nordstrom and Neiman Marcus are. Now that we have both the former stores up here, I didn't even think about going there, but I did want to look at the latter two. I also have gone to the Arrowhead Mall in Glendale and the Fiesta Mall in Tempe, but they're nothing like the Galleria. They're just regular malls, like you'd find in any city all over the country.
Scottsdale is not as exclusive as Edina, where we lived for so many years before the divorce, because it's much too big, but it's where most of the fancy and elite stores are. Edina's population is under 50,000 and Scottsdale's is over 200,000. It is full of just as rich and successful people as Edina with a sprinkling of poor people. It's only bigger because it had more room to expand. Edina had Bloomington and Eden Prairie on its boundaries for years. The first all indoor and enclosed shopping center was built in Edina in the 1960's, called Southdale. Across the street, decades later they built one called the Galleria. Both cities are equally well known for their exclusivity and frequented with upper middle class people with lots of discretionary money to spend.
We got to the Galleria around 11:30 and I was surprised that we got such great parking spots. It was because most of the stores didn't open till noon, but we could still get into the shopping center. We walked on the second level and stopped in a pet store where the average dog cost around $2,000. Yes, we were definitely where money was spent freely. Macy's was open, and Gloria was undecided whether to look there or go eat. She picked shopping, so we went our separate ways for a bit and looked at clothes. I made a quick phone call to Shirley so that I wouldn't have a panic attack. She always calms me down, and thankfully, she was home and I could breathe again. It's strange going clothes shopping with someone you're not very close to, but we worked it out without any problems. I only see Gloria when we go for a birthday lunch, since we work opposite days, but we always get along. Some things were already marked half off, and then another half off, but neither of us found anything we couldn't live without.
While waiting for her to meet me at the escalator, I realized I should have stopped at an ATM machine. I only had $6. in cash. Instead of going to the food court, I suggested we go to Nordstrom and eat in the Café, where I could use my credit card. It was a good choice, because we both got half salads that were quite delicious. She pleasantly surprised me with a brownie, so we had plenty to eat. I tried on two outfits there and bought none. I liked the rayon flowery dress a lot, but I couldn't figure out where I would wear it. The other outfit just wasn't me. We went down to the shoe department, but she didn't see anything that interested her. Shoes are just not my thing. I only care about comfort, not fashion.
Back in the mall, we stopped in Williams-Sonoma. I looked at Calphalon cookware, and all the gourmet food specialty items. I bought my first piece of Calphalon back in 1978 when my ex and I were living in Chicago, before it became popular. We both looked at all the gadgets, but somehow we managed to leave without either of us purchasing a scissors looking thing which is used to cut the top of one's hard boiled egg off. We passed the Vuitton store and several high-end ladies clothing stores. I remembered when I bought my first Vuitton purse in New York, when I was living in Memphis. That seemed like a hundred life times ago. In fact, being in the Galleria I felt out of place. It wasn't that I wasn't dressed well. Most people were in shorts because it was over 100 degrees outside. I had changed from someone who went shopping as a pastime to someone who only went when I needed to buy something.
I felt a little self-conscious going into Neiman Marcus, but that was the main reason I wanted to go to that shopping center. It wasn't my fault it's more upscale than Gloria is used to. I walked right up to the scarf counter and waited for the salesperson, since they are in a locked showcase. The saleslady was not very friendly or cooperative, nor did she seem familiar with the merchandise. I could sense Gloria getting bored, so I just looked at few, not all of them as I usually do. They didn't have the one I specifically wanted to see in stock, so we left. Had I been alone, I would have made her show me every single one. I wanted to go upstairs and looked at the lingerie, but I didn't even suggest it. That would be too awkward with someone who's not a close friend.
We left the Galleria through Dillards, only stopping so she could look at shoes on sale. Neither of us had bought anything other than lunch. We did get some good exercise and is the fastest way to the I-17. Once I got on the freeway, I left her on her own. I wanted to go to two more places. The first was Stein-Mart, which I used to frequent all the time in Memphis, and the second was Half Price Books, which I shopped at in Minneapolis.
I forgot which side of the highway Stein-Mart was, so I had to drive down the main street about a mile or more and turn around. Even if I couldn't have found it, that was the way I needed to go to get to the bookstore. I decided I'd stop at a gas station because I didn't know how much the tank held and how many miles I had left. I've always been very nervous about half full tanks, and I was already anxious enough. There aren't a whole lot of exits on the interstate, plus, I'm never sure where the college credit card is accepted. Just as I was finishing filling it up, a Ferrari pulled in and stopped right in front of the door to the convenience store and in front of me. I used that time to call Lowell and make sure he was awake. Finally the guy got out with his bottle of pop, but then just sat in the Ferrari. I'm not impressed with those, which I am sure he thinks everyone should be. It's not unusual to see cars like that in Scottsdale, but everyone knows a Ferrari should be red. After about a minute of waiting on him to move, I tapped the horn. He gave me a very dirty look and got out of my way. I hope he spilled the pop all over the interior.
At the shopping center on the west of the 101, I turned in, just in case it was Stein Mart was there, and it was. I parked the pick up truck and was grateful the parking lot wasn't that full, so I would be able to find it again. It's disconcerting to drive a vehicle you're not familiar with, and try to remember where you left it. Stein Mart is a lot like Marshall's or TJ Maxx, but they have nicer items. I guess I wasn't really in the mood, but I did look quickly at clothes and their gift items. I made a call to Nancy, to see how things were after the party we went to last night, and because again, I was having trouble breathing. She wasn't there. I walked out and started driving west and north.
Half Price books used to be down in Tempe, but that store is now closed. The one on Cactus is closer to where I go when I shop in the Valley, but the neighborhood was a little less pretentious being it was Phoenix proper and not Scottsdale. All their stores are arranged pretty much the same way, so I walked to the back where the fiction is, looking at the various sections along the way. I looked for any Tom Robbins books and there were none. There were no Shelby Hearon books I hadn't read. I couldn't remember the author's name of the book I've been looking for and the library doesn't have. I vacantly looked at the titles a little longer, and decided it was time to go home.
Before I left the parking lot, I got my music ready to listen to going up the hill. I still have trouble figuring out how it works, but I finally did and was ready to leave. Heading west on Cactus I thought I'd catch the 51, but in case I didn't, I could always just cruise the city streets to the 17. For some reason, I thought the 51 was around 51st Street, and I was already west of that. It wasn't, and I got on going north and turned west at the 101. Being it was Sunday, traffic wasn't bad. Soon I was on the 17 going north, past Carefree Highway and Anthem, and then past Black Canyon City. During most of that stretch of highway, I was on the phone with Shirley. I told her how much everything had grown since she left here three years ago.
There is always a huge sense of relief as I leave the Phoenix area and head up the mountain to what used to be the sleepy town of Prescott. Each mile and each foot up in elevation, the air gets clearer and the traffic gets lighter. Just driving out of Maricopa County into Yavapai County signals I'm almost home. So what if the saguaro cacti don't grow at that elevation? I love driving past Sunset Point because that means only ten more minutes before I head east on highway 69. Another half hour till I'm home. This time I had to drive into town and fill the pickup again, and drop it off on campus, so it would be another 20 minutes or so before I pulled up into my garage. I had survived the big city and the temptations offered in stores and escaped burdening my credit cards. I had survived Snotsdale once again.
©1 October 2006On Monday morning, my cell phone rang, but I wasn't able to answer it right then. When I looked to see who was calling, I recognized the phone number as Dave's, who is one of my co-workers. As soon as I could, I listened to his message. It was not a big surprise that he wanted me to do something for Elderhostel, as we are right in the middle of our busy fall season. I thought he might be calling for Nancy, because Jeff was out of the office and maybe she was too swamped and needed my help. The message was long and confusing and I decided to go home and listen to it again before I called the office.
I had heard it correctly the first time. What they needed was a driver to go to Sedona and up to the Grand Canyon with luggage, then come back to Prescott the same day, and the following day, drive back up to the South Rim and pick up the luggage, then go to Peach Springs and come back to Prescott. My initial thought was that was a stupid idea and a big waste of time and money. I love the Grand Canyon, and I never mind going there, but back and forth, two days in a row?? He had said I could call Nancy back and tell her my answer, which was going to be no. I couldn't understand why they wouldn't want the driver of the cargo van to stay up there. It had to be cheaper than four trips in a gas guzzling van.
Nancy's line was busy, so I left her a message. I kept thinking, who in their right mind would agree to this. Then I thought maybe I could drive up one day, and Gloria, who works the days I don't. could drive up the other. After about half an hour, Nancy hadn't called back, so I called her again. When she picked up the phone, I teased her about not returning her phone calls. I asked her if she and Gloria could use my help in the office, and she said she'd have to see if I could do my work from the extra, or student computer, since Gloria was using ours. She found out the answer was yes, so I said I'll come in and we can discuss this driving in person.
I fixed a lunch and went into work. It was nearly 11 a.m. by then, but I knew there would be a lot to do, especially answering phones. Monday's are always crazy. Since I couldn't listen to the music on my computer, I brought in a few cd's so I wouldn't be bored. I found out Gloria was going to be the other driver for those two days, and that's when I realized we could share a room up at the park. All I needed was for Gloria to say okay, which she did, so it was going to work out that I'd drive the luggage, and stay up there. I worked almost five hours that day, and of course the next day was my regular day to work.
Gloria stopped in on Tuesday so we could finalize plans. We would drive up in the cargo van to Sedona where she would get a passenger van to drive for the next two days. Unfortunately, we had to be there by 6:30 a.m., which meant leaving Prescott at 5 in the morning. Ah, the sacrifices we make for Elderhostel.
I tried to go to bed early, but I had a Prescott fly casters meeting that night, and came home later than I had planned and a little more wired too. I'd gotten out a change of clothes to pack, and what I was going to wear the next day, but there are always little things you remember at the last minute. The book I was reading had to go in my bag, as well as my toiletries kit and I grabbed a cd just in case. I took another $20 too. By ten I was in bed and by 11 I was asleep. The alarm clock was set for 3:40 a.m., and I was sound asleep when it went off. I dragged myself out of bed and got some orange juice and got ready. It was cool and dark but there was no traffic and I made all the lights, and got to the college a few minutes before 5. Gloria was already there and was trying to find the right key for the van. We did, and she offered to drive, and we were off. As soon as she pulled onto Highway 69 through town, I realized I should have driven. I like being the passenger, but she drove a little too slowly for me.
We chatted about the different trips we had driven for and people we work with and soon it was light and we were pulling into the motel in Sedona. Every time I drive in Sedona, I am always reminded of how beautiful a place it is. We pulled up to where our people and their luggage were waiting, and greeted the coordinator, Matt. It didn't take long to load all the suitcases, and get everyone in vans or their own cars. We would be driving up to Williams for breakfast and to put them on the train.
In a long caravan, with Matt's van in the lead, and my van second, followed by passenger cars then Gloria's van, we made our way up 89A to the interstate just west of Flagstaff. I have been on this road many times, once when Lowell was younger and we went to Slippery Rock Park to swim, and when Nancy and I came back from our Canyon de Chelly adventure, as well as some other times. I looked to the west of Oak Creek trying to see the fire damage from the big Brin fire this summer, but I didn't really notice anything. I asked Matt later about that and he said new growth was already starting to cover the damaged areas, which was good to hear. There was very little traffic on the road and we proceeded along at a nice pace. Soon we turned on to the freeway at Flagstaff and then west to Williams. I noticed a curious sign promoting Flag as the First International Dark Sky City, and knew I would have to look that up later. We followed each other into the railway's parking lot and gathered for instructions.
The Elderhostel group had become a cohesive entity by now, yet they welcomed Gloria and me into it with open arms. We walked a half block over to the Pine Cone Restaurant and found tables. I ended up sitting with Mary and Barbara, who were long time friends from Washington State. They filled me in on the gossip and I got my first, but not last, mention of Edwina. This was the third morning of their program, and they'd lost one member last night. It seems Edwina had been ill before the start of the program, but that wasn't about to stop her from coming. Despite the program being too strenuous for her, she had an upchuck problem. Each of the preceding nights, during dinner, she calmly vomited her food back onto her plate after finishing. Matt and Randy, who is the Verde coordinator, decided it was time to take her out of the game and get her to a doctor. So over breakfast, I got to hear all about that. At least with less one person, my being added to the program would not cause any additional financial costs. It was there I met Myrna, who I found out, grew up six blocks from where I did on the south side of Chicago. Small world, but I wouldn't have known her back then because of the differences in our ages.
After breakfast, we walked back to the train station. One thing Elderhostelers like to do is shop. There was time to do that or watch the shoot out at the far end of the station. We had seen three men in costumes and on horses earlier, and one man who looked like Kit Carson in the restaurant. I looked, but didn't buy anything. Every one was given a ticket, and told we'd meet them at the depot in the Grand Canyon. Matt told us where to meet him, and I said, I'd just follow Gloria, and off we went. He suggested we fill our gas tanks before leaving Williams, so we drove to the Circle K and there we saw another coordinator, Stewart and his driver, Drifter. I called over to Stewart and suggested he wash my windows like he was doing his, but for some reason, that didn't interest him. They too were heading up to the Grand Canyon, on a different program. They left, and we did too, heading up Highway 64 north of Williams.
The train runs parallel to the highway, but we didn't see it as we drove north. I'd taken the train ride a few years back and didn't feel badly about not getting to do it again. The land is fairly flat and mostly scrub brush, until you get closer to the rim, where it's more pine trees. I saw a lot of cows, but didn't really keep count. I followed Gloria and based on Matt's instructions to enter the park through different lanes, I managed to pick the slowest one. I saw Gloria drive on, and what seemed like ages but was only around five minutes or so later, I paid the entrance fee and drove in. I didn't see Gloria, and wasn't sure exactly where the mule pens near the train station were that Matt had suggested we meet at, but I didn't panic. I drove towards the village area, and kept looking to see her pulled along the side of the road. When I saw a sign that pointed me to Maswik Lodge, I told myself, okay, park there. I knew that's where we were staying and I figured any parking space was good. I walked into the lodge and asked the lady at the information desk how to get to the train depot. From my trip up there before, I knew you left the train and then walked up to the area near El Tovar, and I figured Matt and Gloria would be there waiting for me. After some confusion on why I wanted to get to the depot, the lady suggested I take the free shuttle that was conveniently outside and go three stops. I hopped on the bus and told the driver I was going three stops and to the train depot. He smiled at me, and we were off. I said that out loud so I wouldn't forget.
Soon I was getting off the bus and walked the short distance to the depot. I looked around for Matt or Gloria, but didn't see either of them. I walked into the depot and made sure I was at the right place, then I crossed the tracks. I couldn't get back to the other side before the train pulled in, but I did see some of my Elderhostelers on the train waving to me. I walked down and in front of the train, then I saw Matt. We waited for our group to disembark and he told me Gloria was looking for me. I felt badly, but I didn't know what else I should have done, since I never saw her van as I drove into the park. We slowly walked up the hill to the main village area, and walked over the rim.
It's still as breathtaking and indescribable to me today as it was the first time I saw it. Some of the ladies had to go to the bathroom (another thing Elderhostelers need to do a lot) so I watched their bags for them while we waited for the entire group to assemble. It was decided that we'd walk west, towards the Bright Angel hiking trail and have our lunches there. Matt pointed out some things on the walk, and I stayed near the back of the group to make sure no one was left behind. It was there I became acquainted with Laurie, who was there with her daughter. She was close to ninety I think, so she needed a little extra help now and then. I waited with her at the Kolb Studio till Matt decided where he wanted to picnic. While we waited, we got to know each other a little. A woman came by and asked me to take a picture of her near the trail sign, which I gladly did. The first time, I didn't click it long enough, so I didn't take any pictures. The second time, I got it right and she was pleased with them. She said she was in training for hiking down to the bottom of the Canyon and up the North Rim two days later. We wished her good luck.
Finally, we slowly walked up some stairs to picnic benches. Everyone was handed a sack lunch, and I joked I was taking the vomit lady's lunch. I sat next to Bobbie, who in the next few hours became very special to me. She told me she was old enough to be my mom, so I told her she was, and after that, we called each other mom and daughter. As we ate our sandwiches, Matt said we could do whatever we wanted for the next two hours and that he was going to take anyone who wanted to go on a short hike down the Bright Angel path for about half a mile or so.
Had I been alone, I would have walked back to the El Tovar and to the stores on the east side of the hotel. I might have even gone on the hike with Matt. Instead, I stayed with Bobbie, and we shared several secrets and life stories. We talked about our families as we viewed the photography exhibit on the Kolb Studio. There were a few pictures by Gary Ladd, who does some programs for Elderhostel. I was especially affected by a river view from the Hilltop Ruins with a large double rainbow over it. Upon leaving, I asked about getting a print, but the least expensive one was still over $250, and I knew I wouldn't be getting it. At least, not an official print.
Bobbie and I left the studio and walked to the Bright Angel gift shop. I love looking at t-shirts, and I love seeing people wearing them from other places, but I talked myself out of buying one. She looked at things for her grandchildren but didn't find anything either. They had two different t-shirts that were shrink wrapped that were cute. One was a hiking shirt that looked like a boot and the other just shirt shaped. We passed Bucky O'Neill's cabin so I explained to her who he was. It was very disconcerting to be walking along the pathway and hear people call my name, because I didn't think the group knew me well enough yet, but I was wrong. I could tell she was getting tired and we had been told to meet back at the picnic tables by 4 p.m., so we walked back to that area. We stood along the rail and looked over the Canyon. She had never been there before. It was fun watching her experience it for the first time.
Slowly, the group started coming back together and I finally saw Gloria. She had missed lunch, and I felt badly about that, but by then it was almost dinnertime. The vans were loaded up and we drove the short distance to the lodge. I rode with Gloria. We waited till Matt got the room assignments, then we drove to the building. I had told the women I'd sat with at lunch that at night we'd have a pajama party, since there was no program planned. Gloria and I got our keys and meal tickets and went up to the room to get settled in. I immediately put on the television to Without a Trace, and watched that as we unpacked. She had never seen it but I could tell she was as hooked by the show as I am. When it was over, we went to the dining room. Being it was Wednesday, I knew there were two more episodes to follow, and if she didn't get me out of there, I wouldn't leave for a while.
The ticket said we were entitled to an entrée, salad, dessert and beverage. There were four different stations we could pick from. I ended up with catfish, a baked potato and corn, while Gloria picked pasta. We both had small green salads and she had cheesecake and I selected chocolate cream pie. We didn't see anyone from our group, so we picked a table to one side and sat down. Before long, we saw Stewart and his group. Matt came and sat with us and we ended up talking to him and another instructor from Stewart's program for quite a while. I couldn't finish even half the food and brought the pie back to the room. I did see Bobbie come in, but she didn't see me and I figured she would rather eat with the girls from the group than us.
Finally, we all got up from the table and Gloria and I went to the gift shop. We saw a lot of people from our group and talked to them as we looked over the merchandise. I saw a really cute pair of socks with lizards and other southwestern designs on them, and thought they were more useful in the long run than another t-shirt, and decided to buy them. As I was waiting to pay, I noticed this pair of earrings and they just screamed take me home. I asked the clerk how much they were, and said what the hell and bought them. Gloria got a pair of socks for Nancy's birthday, which we're going to give her together, since I already got the card. She also got some spiced tea and postcards.
Walking back, I remembered the pajama party, so we stopped by Bobbie's room. She and her roommate Leone were glad to have us visit. I don't think I'd noticed Leone before that, but they have been friends for a very long time. We talked and laughed about a lot of things. We joked about going to Tusayan and trying to pick up guys among other things. I mentioned my dream about my perfect town, and when I described it, Leone said I was describing the town she lives in, Renton, Washington. She told me she'd have their Chamber of Commerce send me some brochures, and Bobbie thought I should go check it out and of course, stay with her up there.
Finally, we left and went to our room. I shared my pie with Gloria, but we didn't even eat half of it. After getting undressed, we turned off the lights and talked for maybe fifteen minutes before falling asleep. It wasn't even 10 p.m., but we'd been up since 4 and it had been a long day. Matt had offered to take anyone interested to the rim at 6 something in the morning to watch the sunrise, but we decided against it. We set the alarm for 6, since we had to be ready to leave at 8:15.
It seemed like morning came in no time at all. Taking turns in the bathroom, we managed to get dressed and packed up and to the dining area by 7, which was when we said we'd meet Bobbie and Leone. I had bacon and eggs and a fruit cup and hot chocolate. I was going to sit down when I saw a hand waving wildly at me. It was Nelda and her husband Gerald and their friends Nancy and Karl, all of them from Baton Rogue. I couldn't be rude, so we went over and sat with them. They are really nice and have been friends since they were both delivering sons many years ago. I was envious of that kind of long term friendship. Nelda told me that yesterday was her birthday and seeing the Grand Canyon was one of the things she wanted to do after retiring, so I was glad that I was able to be there when she achieved that personal goal. Matt came and sat with us and we talked about fires and geological formations and some of what we would be doing the rest of the day. Before leaving, I went over to my "mom" and gave her a hug.
When we got back to the room, some people already had their luggage outside the cargo van. Gloria had showed me in Sedona that it's easier to put the suitcases in with the wheels facing out, so you can just slide them out so with Myrna's husband Bob's help, we started loading the van. I put my bag up in the front, between the seats, so I could have Spud near me. Of course I brought him; we never travel apart. Gerald told me to put his bag in a special space since he had scotch in it, and I asked if my lap would do. He wasn't too sure about that, till I told him I don't drink. Matt and I drove back to the dining room to get our lunches, which would be in my van since I was not driving directly to Peach Springs, but spending the day at the Grand Canyon with the group.
As we were loading the people in, one woman begged to stop for just one minute to get something at the gift shop. Matt tried to tell her that she would be able to find that item somewhere else, but in the end, we did stop. As Matt came up to my window and explained why we weren't leaving the parking lot, I told him wryly that commerce never stops and he thought that was clever. I've never really talked to him and it was nice having this opportunity to get to know him better. He's a relatively new coordinator and I thought he was handling the group with great skill.
The plan was to drive to the Desert Watchtower and then hit a few of the viewing spots on the way back. It took about half an hour to get there, and I was looking forward to seeing that again. From there, you get a different perspective of the Canyon, as you do from almost all the various overlooks. As a driver, you are expected to help the people in and out of the van, and I am always glad to do that. I helped both Matt and Gloria since I didn't have any people riding with me. When we got to the parking lot, Matt said we had forty five minutes to wander and not to miss the bookstore.
I listened to him talk about the rocks and the river for a bit, then went up the tower. There are four levels and each one has different styles of Native American art work on it. The second level was the most primitive, the third had more details and the last one had the most color. According to the brochure, the building is designed like a kiva, and the stairway circles around and there are windows to look out at the canyon on each level. At one time, people could have climbed to the very top, but they had that roped off and padlocked, so there was no way to do that. There was an elaborate picture painted on the ceiling and I noticed how there were spoke-like lines in the ceiling. I spent some time on the outside deck coming off the second level with different people, admiring the view. Bobbie was there and I tried to get her to climb up to the top, but she didn't feel up to it, not even when I told her there were benches on each level she could rest on. Again I looked in the gift shop and this time commerce overtook me and I bought two t-shirts, one long and one short sleeved. It was just about time to get back to the vans, so I started walking up the hill. I didn't have enough time to do the bookstore, but there will always be another time.
We have to do a head count each time, and finally everyone was accounted for. The next stop was Ligan lookout. When we got there, a young woman was lecturing on the birds leaving the canyon. It was her job to count them as they migrated south. We saw red tailed hawks and an eagle and a lot of crows and ravens. Matt then told us about the rapids in the river and the way they were formed by side canyons. I got to look through some binoculars and could see the rapids a mile below. He also talked about how the Anasazi people used to farm along the river, and how we could see some remnants of that if we looked carefully. Lastly, he pointed out some unique vegetation. The first was a spiny looking plant, which he told us was called Mormon Tea plant or ephedrine, which is a kind of drug. Next we saw the silver leaf buffalo berry plant, and that was different than anything I'd ever seen. Those two only grow at certain elevations and in certain climates, like the Joshua Trees near Quartermaster. There is so much that I don't know and probably never will, but I am always willing to learn new things.
Matt had suggested we have lunch at Grandview Point, but then he turned off at Buggein picnic area. There was no one there, and he thought Grandview would be too crowded. It was nearly one and we were hungry after all. Gerald had me open the van one more time so he could get out some wine. Everyone took a lunch and I sat with Bobbie and across from Myrna. We shared and saved some for later. Our lunches were nice and cool because the juice container had been frozen and still was. Just as we were finishing up, one of the lady's fell and bumped her head. She had a goose egg and it was bleeding. Matt got an ice pack and put it on her head, but we decided to be err on the side of caution and just get her down to Williams where there would be a clinic to take care of her. I was disappointed about not getting to stop at Grandview, but I was already planning on using my pass to come back in a couple of days.
The caravan drove out of the park and back down the road towards civilization. I watched for cows and other interesting things and soon we were in Williams. My cell service was re-established about twenty miles out of the park so I quickly called Evelyn to wish her a happy birthday. I had tried from the watchtower, but while my phone showed service, there was none. I saw the snow that the news stations had told us was on the San Francisco peaks. It was only on the northwest side, which is why I didn't see it driving up. Snow. In Arizona and in October. We had forty five minutes to wander in Williams while Matt and Barbara and her husband went to a doctor. Luckily, they had their own car, so as soon as they were taken there and the situation was under control, Matt came back and it was back on the road.
He had promised us at breakfast that we would stop at the Snow Cone in Seligman, where upon I promptly told him I loved him. I didn't need to follow anyone there, and I left first. I had to wait maybe ten minutes before the first people showed up, because those with their own vehicles drove themselves there. I love to watch people's reactions to the Snow Cone, and this group was just as amused as the other ones I've taken there. They laughed at Juan's corny jokes and enjoyed the snack. When we were done, I headed out first again. I had just been to Hualapai Lodge that Sunday, when Paula and I had driven up there with Reid. I still think back to the first time I went there wondering if I'd ever go again.
I took my time unloading the van. Myrna and Bob followed me in, and he helped me take out all the bags and put them near the door, which I appreciated. Next to arrive was our invalid Barbara and her husband. She had a bandage on the bridge of her nose and a stitch or two, but she was fine and in good spirits. I was glad to see her. Eventually, everyone got there and was checked into their rooms. Matt asked us if we wanted to stay for dinner, and I said it was up to Gloria. Neither of us really wanted to say goodbye to our new friends, so we decided to stay. I got to know Betty who grew up in Chicago but has lived much of her life in Italy. The food left a lot to be desired as usual, but the company made up for it. Reid's group showed up and it was nice meeting them too.
Finally, we could put off leaving for Prescott no longer. There was a program at 7 and we had a good two hour drive ahead of us. It had only been two days and I felt I knew many of these people for years. Hugs were shared and many people thanked me for my kindness and understanding. I got special hugs from Nelda and Nancy and they insisted I come visit them in Baton Rogue, and I believe they meant it. I told Bobbie she'd have email from me when she got home.
Gloria offered to drive and we talked about life and men and work in the darkness. We pulled into Prescott, filled the tank and drove over to the college to get our cars. I told Gloria how much I'd enjoyed spending time with her and that I'd see her soon. I got in my car and headed home. Finally, I had driven for hours and hours for Elderhostel and spent that night somewhere other than in my own bed after all that time behind the wheel of a van. I had gotten to spend it at the Grand Canyon, even though I didn't see the canyon at night. I knew it was there and I could have walked or driven to the rim. Perhaps I should have and watched the stars in the sky and see how they lit up the canyon. I'm sure there will be another chance to do that before long. It was nice too, to come home.
©13 October 2006When Chris asked me on Friday if I’d like to drive up to Page on Sunday, I didn’t hesitate. Yes! I love that drive. It’s so beautiful and varied in its scenery. First through the granite mountains here in Prescott, then the pine forest of Flagstaff, and the volcanic rock mixed with spectacular sedimentary formations to the north of there on highway 89. Then there’s the panoramic view of the whole area about twenty miles south of Page. Marble Canyon, the Navajo reservation, Glen Canyon are all visible from the scenic outlook. My favorite part is right around there. You’ll have to drive there yourself; I won’t spoil it for you.
I have made this trip four times already, taking people to or from Wahweap Marina, so there isn’t much new to say about that. There were only two couples that needed transportation, they arrived on time and the drive up was pretty peaceful. They didn’t want to talk all the time, which left me time to appreciate the scenery. I see something new each time I have gone there, or anywhere. About the most interesting thing we did talk about was one couple’s trip about ten years prior to a remote area called Crack in the Rock in Wupatki National Monument. Apparently, one has to apply for a spot for this seven mile round trip overnight hike, deep into the mountains and they only do it twice a year. Bob, one of my passengers said he heard about it in Arizona Highways magazine. After several years, they were awarded one, and made plans to go. They had to be around 50 then, and they were totally unprepared for the experience. According to Bob, it’s about a hundred mile hike up and down canyons till you reach the ruins, which are guarded by sensors to prevent anyone from deciding to help themselves to a treasure. They had to carry everything in including water. Barbara in the office took this hike twice and told me you need 2 gallons of water which weighs eighteen pounds. She also said there was no waiting list and that anyone who applied was allowed to take the hike. Most of the other fourteen participants were young and in great shape. As Bob told us as with all his subsequent retellings, each year they became more superhuman as the trip itself became more hazardous. His wife, Sandy, had an especially difficult time and her pack was distributed among the other hikers. I couldn’t believe they would have to bring in that much gear for only overnight, but he swore the packs were very heavy. I suggested that they should have brought dehydrated water. He did say it was an experience of a lifetime and they were glad they did it, but he did claim to have flashbacks as we drove past that exit. Otherwise, the drive was uneventful.
Once at Wahweap, I told my passengers that in the past I had trouble finding the boat dock. Last time I was there, I was driving around the marina for a good half hour totally disoriented. This time I was sure I wouldn’t have that same problem, because I knew to ask for the T dock. Well, I drove past where I was sure it was, and Bob told me I had to go past the hotel in the other direction. I knew that was wrong, but who was I to argue with someone with his wilderness experience. I even stopped at the Ranger station to ask where it was, and they were closed. I tried not to get too frustrated, when Sandy said she had the driving directions that had been mailed to them. The directions were if you had turned in at the south entrance which I did not, but when she read them it was clear to me how to get there. NOW I know to turn at the boat rental building. As soon as I did that, I knew I was in the right place because it all was familiar.
I parked the van and got them a container very much like a wheel barrow to help carry all the luggage they had brought with them. Suitcase after suitcase, for basically four days. Oh well. They’d learn as soon as they got on the houseboat they had over packed. The space they would share was enough for them and very little else. I walked down to the boats to make sure they were still there. We weren’t that late, but with Wiles, you never know what he’ll do. I didn’t see anyone I knew at first, until I spotted Noela, then I knew we were okay. I walked back to the van to see that they had found another container in which to move their luggage. I probably should have helped them more than I did.
Finally I found Jeff Wiles and told them they were here. He asked me if I wanted lunch, and told me which boat the sandwich fixings were on. I made a half sandwich while chatting with Gary Ladd, the photographer everyone goes on those programs to work with and learn from. Grabbing a banana and a cookie for later, I sat with Noela and ate, then made sure the two couples I’d driven were checked in and getting settled, then it was off to my real adventure.
At first, I decided to go to the North Rim (NR henceforth) from there. Having spent two days on the South Rim, I still had the entrance pass and I’d never been to the NR. Then I looked at the map and realized it was a long way from Page. Still, I thought that’s what I would do. At Nancy’s party on Saturday, I even asked Chris if it would be okay for me to go there. He said it was and my plans were firming up. Until I spoke to Dave. He is always asking me if I’ve been fishing lately, and that made me think about going to Lee’s Ferry instead. It wasn’t nearly as far, and it’s supposed to the best place for trout fishing in Arizona. When I came home from the party, I got my fishing gear all ready and did some research on the net about the area. I’d already been near it, the time I drove to Marble Canyon. Now I had two options for my Sunday afternoon.
I had asked Lowell to go with me, but I could tell he wasn’t that interested. He’s not fond of the Grand Canyon, but he’s only seen it from Hualapai Hilltop. I told him he’d just love the NR and that it was so much better than the South. I woke him up in time to go, but he was pretty out of it. I would have loved his company, but it was not meant to be.
In Page, I filled up on gas and called him, It was nearly one and he had just gotten up. I told him how I’d gotten lost at Wahweap and that I was off to go fishing. He tried to convince me he had really wanted to go with me, but it didn’t work. I know my son.
Heading south, I took several deep breaths. I didn’t want to talk myself out of doing something I had never done before. There was a big semi in front of me as I headed down the twisty road towards 89A forcing me to go slower than I normally would have, and I could see the road I’d soon be on below. My rod was waiting to be rigged up and a fly tied on to the end of the leader and my feet were itching to get into the water. I crossed over the Navajo Bridge and interpretive center, thinking, one day I’d stop in, just like with the Glen Canyon dam. Not this time, but soon. Right after that, was a sign saying Lee’s Ferry Recreational area. Only not half a mile earlier, I’d seen a sign for the Lee’s Ferry Fly shop and that it was nine miles further. Since I’d read something about possibly needing a special stamp to fish the Colorado River, I decided to head on to the shop.
It was definitely a surprise. Most fly shops I’ve been to are in more populated areas, and this one was in the middle of nowhere. It was attached to a two pump gas station and in front of a run down looking motel and restaurant. I went in and told the man at the counter I wanted to go fishing. Always the smart aleck, I think he thought I was just joking. Then I added that I didn’t want a guide, just to know where to fish at Lee’s Ferry. He told me that because of the rain the night before, the fishing wasn’t too good, and the water was muddier than usual. I told him then I’d have to go to plan B, which was a visit to the North Rim. He said that was a good choice, too. I asked him where I would go, if I ended up going after visiting the NR. He gave me a map and drew all over it, then said it’s usually just for people to show them where to meet their guides. Thanking him, I started to leave, then remembered to ask him what the fish were biting on, should I come back if there was enough time. I couldn’t not buy anything after all that. He told me the names of a few flies, a couple I knew I had already, like a wooly bugger and caddis. Then he suggested I get some brightly colored flies, and showed me some worm looking ones and ones with brightly colored bodies and wings. I took an orange worm and a pink winged one. I told him how when I first got interested in fly fishing, my daughter and I went to a fly shop and only bought the prettiest flies. Ten years later, and I still pick them for the same reasons.
I got in the van and headed west. Highway 89A isn’t a heavily traveled highway and the one into the Grand Canyon National Park, Highway 67, was even less busy. To the north of Marble Canyon are the Vermillion Cliffs and they are looming some thousand or so feet above the road. At various points along the road, huge boulders have fallen to the ground and you can walk around them, in the red dirt. Soon you enter the Kaibab Forest and the elevation is slowly rising. This part of Arizona, north of the Colorado River and south of Utah is known as the Arizona Strip. It was exciting to be someplace most people, even native Arizonans have ever been to or heard of before. The road becomes windier and it feels cooler with the trees blocking the sun. Just as I was beginning to think I’d missed the turnoff and was thinking of turning around, I reached Jacob’s Lake.
I didn’t go past the turn to see what if anything was in that town, other than the combination restaurant, gas station, motel and general store on the corner. I still had some 45 miles to get to the NR. I was surprised to see other cars heading into the park, since I’d read it closed this weekend and it was late in the day. There weren’t even that many cars leaving the park. The NR is less visited than the South Rim because of its remoteness. There were wide open alpine meadows that had signs saying Do Not Drive Across because in some of them, cows were sitting or standing there, enjoying the day.
I couldn’t help but notice all the fire damage. It wasn’t until I was leaving that I remembered the big fire there earlier this year, when the road I was driving on was closed and those visitors in the park were forced to stay there. Fires in the west are named and this one was no different. The Warm fire certainly left its mark on the scenery. Trees everywhere were burnt and the damage was painful to view. Pine and birch trees were scorched and there was evidence of the forest service’s efforts to clear the debris away. I saw a few small patches of snow here and there, reminding me of what would soon be coming.
Finally the ranger station was in sight. I had my pass from the other day ready and gave it to the man. Handing it back to me, he gave me a copy of the Canyon newsletter. I assumed it was the same one I’d gotten a few days earlier, and didn’t even look at it. Later I realized it was specific to the NR and have since read it completely. He looked like a typical ranger should. He was young and rugged looking, with a beard. I asked him how far from the village was Inspiration Point. His quizzical look told me I hadn’t remembered the name correctly, so I said, the one that starts with I. He said, oh, Point Imperial. It was about nine miles off the main road. I thanked him and entered the park. As I drove in, I yelled I’m at the North Rim several times, so it would sink in that I’d actually followed through on something I’d wanted to do for a while.
Tall trees rose on either side of the road, and I was glad I had taken a fleece vest, though I didn’t really need it. I found a close in parking space and went to see the NR. The first thing I noticed was all the cabins and wondered what it would be like to spend a day or a week there. Something to put on my “to do” list. I followed a path that ran between the cabins to the rim and was definitely not disappointed. I can’t describe the beauty, the colors, the rock formations I experienced. Unlike the South Rim, the NR does not drop almost vertically to the river. There were major outcroppings of geological formations below it. On the South Rim, I could see all the different layers of rocks from the Vishnu at the bottom to the Redwall Limestone in the middle and the most recent Kaibab formation on the top.
Walking along the rim, I passed the Grand Canyon Lodge where there is a big outdoor sun porch where one can sit and pass a few minutes or hours staring out over the canyon. Everywhere I looked I saw something different. My cell phone wouldn’t work so I got out the trusty calling card and at a pay phone called some of the most important people in my life to tell them where I was. I wished they had been with me, sharing this experience. I walked into the Lodge building itself, with its big glass windows and the restaurant but I didn’t want to be inside. I wandered back outdoors and stared at the canyon.
Before I left, I had to visit the gift shop. Unlike the South Rim which has many gift and book shops, the NR has only one of each. I found a t-shirt that said North Rim on it with a beautiful picture and bought that as a reminder. I used the bathroom and filled my water bottle before heading on to Point Imperial.
There are a few lookouts to drive to on the NR, unlike the South. Point Imperial was the closest, and as I found out, the highest elevation in the park at 8803 feet above sea level. I started the day out at 5300 feet in Prescott, climbed up to a little over 7000 feet in and around Flagstaff. Page is around 4000 feet. So I was having a definite high moment. Most of that road too was in between trees, except at one point, I noticed a clearing where the canyon was visible, but I didn’t stop. There were at most a dozen people at the Point, a far cry from any spot on the South Rim. Everyone but me was taking pictures. It doesn’t matter what kind of camera you have, an amateur photographer cannot capture the canyon’s beauty, so why bother, unless you have people you want included in a picture.
The information sign at the Point, as at all lookouts, indicated what you should be able to see from that vantage point. I could see where I had driven, the Vermillion Cliffs, Glen Canyon, as well as the Painted Desert to the south. To the north were tall rugged outcroppings hugging the walls of this side of the canyon. There isn’t a breathtaking or remarkable view from anyplace I’ve been in the canyon and this was no exception. It was well after 4 by now and there was a chill in the air. I walked down a flight or so of stairs to the lookout and stood there in awe. Nature certainly put her best foot forward everywhere in the Grand Canyon.
Before I left, I noticed a hiking trail and decided to follow it a little ways. I heard a woman’s voice in the distance and wondered what it was. I had never seen a speaker system anywhere in the canyon before, but that’s kind of what it sounded like. Until I got closer, and realized it was someone checking their voice mails on their cell phone. I fought the urge to nudge them off the edge for spoiling the moment. Driving to the main road, I did stop and look at the canyon from the opening in the trees. I said a silent goodbye for the moment to the canyon. Maybe half a mile past that, a cow was standing along the road just grazing on some of the high grass growing there. I looked, she or he looked back at me, and we went back to what we were doing. At the junction with the highway, I briefly debated going back to the Lodge. I really didn’t want to have a nice dinner alone, and I was thinking too about the long drive back in the dark, as well as maybe I could get back to Lee’s Ferry while it was still daylight. The van turned to the north and in a reverse way, towards home.
As on all return trips, the drive seemed shorter. Soon I was at Jacob’s Lake heading east. I passed the hiking trail and lookout and the funny house at the Bureau of Land Management office. The sun was setting quickly, because in Arizona, there is no daylight savings time. It was around 5:30 and getting dark. At a spot where rain had covered the road with red mud, a car was stuck halfway in it and some guys were trying to direct traffic around it. How the lady did it, yes, I saw her looking at her car, was beyond me. She had to have driven off the road to mire her car like that. Knowing there was nothing I could do, I drove on. I neared the fly shop and noticed the fancy homes built behind it. They were backed up to the Vermillion Cliffs and I thought what a glorious place to live. Where the big boulders were, people were out walking around them.
Then I came to the Lee’s Ferry turnoff. For the last half hour or so, my eyes had been bothering me. I still had a good four hours till I reached Prescott. There was enough light to drive to the spot I’d been told was good for walking in to the river, but not enough to tie a fly on or feel secure in walking out safely. I thought about how it would add at least forty minutes to my return home, and decided Lee’s Ferry and the new flies would have to wait for another day.
Traffic on 89 wasn’t too bad, and the road is designed that every few miles there is a passing lane, so before long, I was passing Cameron and only about forty miles outside of Flag. I had thought about stopping in Cameron for gas, but decided it would be cheaper in Flag and I’d get something to eat there too, where there were more choices. Coming into Flagstaff from this direction, there was nothing on the welcome sign about it being an intentionally dark city, and it certainly wasn’t along the interstate. Before long, I was exiting the interstate onto highway 169, and only about half an hour from Prescott. I still had to fill the tank up for the next driver, and get my car from the college. It was fifteen hours after I’d left Prescott that morning, with most of the day spent behind the wheel. Was it worth it? Oh yes, most definitely. I came home with visions of sights I would never forget in my head, having seen things with my own eyes that I can’t begin to describe. No matter how tired I was or how sore my shoulders, I had conquered a fear of mine and gone to the North Rim. I also found out I can travel alone and do things by myself, opening up a world of possibilities. The North Rim will be waiting for me and I fully expect to visit it again and again, and I know I will definitely fish at Lee’s Ferry sooner than later. That’s just the tip of the iceberg of what I can accomplish when I set my mind to it and don’t let anything get in my way. I feel a road trip coming on in the near future with my fly fishing gear and my hang-ups left behind.
©16 October 2006I don't know how many times I have typed those words on an Elderhostel schedule, usually preceded by 1:00 - 5:00. You have to put the dash with a space on both sides in between the hour. It took me a while to realize they really meant it. Using a Mac and the InDesign program, I make a little circle with the shift, option and 8 key. Under that goes someone's name. Today it was Randy. And today I got to go on one, though they are not always the same. It depends on the activity level of the group, the weather, and assorted other factors.
Randy called me last week and asked me if I could drive on some of his programs, as the man who usually would have, just found a full time job, therefore making him unavailable during the day. I jumped at the chance, anything to get out of the office. We said we'd work out the logistics later on. He also asked me to drive that Thursday as well as one day the following week. I love Sedona for its sheer awesome beauty. Wouldn't want to live there, but love to visit. I considered moving there when I came out to Arizona, but didn't really pursue it, especially after I fell in love with Prescott and bought my house before I went there.
Every week there are multiple programs, Chris generates this excruciatingly complex document called the vehicle schedule. It tells who or where each van is supposed to be or going each day for the next two weeks. It is subject to change, and usually by the second day, it's totally messed up and a driver is lucky just to find a van available. When I looked at it on Sunday, I couldn't figure it out. I was supposed to talk to Randy during the week to finalize details, but we never connected, so I called him at home. I told him it was easier to read James Joyce's Ulysses than the vehicle schedule. Since he didn't have one in front of him, he didn't know if the vans he needed would be in Prescott or Sedona, and he said he'd call me and let me know that night, no matter what.
I felt badly because I had an OLLI class I would miss, but I had let Barbara know I wouldn't be there. That morning, when I hadn't heard anything from anyone about the vans, I called the office. Nancy said the vans were all in Sedona, so I got to drive there in my car. That meant I could go through Jerome, which is much more fun than taking the interstate. I filled up the tank and headed out. The day was a little warmer than average, but the sky was clear and bright. I dressed in layers, knowing my top shirt would be tied around my waist before too long, I wore my fishing pants, for some reason, though it would have been nice to have been in shorts.
The traffic was blessedly light this morning as I climbed Mingus Mountain. I took the tight turns fast and stayed relaxed without any cars in front of me to annoy me. Highway 89A is one of the more scenic roads in the state, rising some two thousand feet in a short time and twisting around the edge of the mountains. It always reminds me of the canyons I used to drive when I was growing up in Los Angeles. The summit is 7003 feet high, and from there you descend into the Verde Valley driving through the town of Jerome. I've written about Jerome before, so I won't say much other than there were just a handful of tourists walking through town. I wasn't as lucky driving down to Clarkdale as there was one car that just wouldn't go the speed limit. I refused to let that bother me, choosing instead to concentrate on the view. I am always surprised by how lovely the Verde Valley is and how Sedona just sneaks up on you.
I didn't take the new shortcut avoiding Cottonwood, and stayed on 89A. Since I had plenty of time before meeting Randy and his group, I decided to turn off at Page Springs Road and see exactly where the fish hatchery was so I would know how to get there to fish. I was on a scouting trip for places to go to at a later date. I decided I'd go no more than three miles on the side road. I'd heard the bridge near the hatchery was a good place to go and try to land some of those rogue escapee trout. I passed the town of Page Springs, with its two resorts and a restaurant. Checking the odometer, I was close to my three mile limit when I came to the bridge. There really wasn't a good place to stop and I went past about a quarter mile to the hatchery. They offered do it yourself tours, but there wasn't time today. There was also a bird watching area and another fish hatchery half a mile further north that I drove by but didn't see. I turned around, looked over the Verde River and was pleased with the water level. When my new fishing partner gets back into town, maybe I can drag Marge out there. I've told her about the spot for a while but we haven't made time to actually go.
As I pulled into the parking lot of the motel, I saw Randy and Dena, his wife and a frequent program coordinator herself. I walked over to them and greeted them. Randy said lunch would be available soon, that he had some things to do before then, and I said that's fine, I had some notes to jot down. I walked into the room where classes and meals are held and sat down and put my thoughts on paper before they vanished into thin air. There are two programs staying there and one group was in there picking up their sack lunches before going on a field trip. After a while, a lady came up and introduced herself to me. She was from Minneapolis, and we chatted about that for a bit, before the caterer announced that lunch was ready.
This was a fairly small group, only fifteen people. The program I drove for two weeks ago had twenty two. From that group, I'd heard the food was pretty awful. I passed that on to Randy who spoke with the caterer, and he said the service and food had improved. There wasn't much to say about what she offered: fruit salad and cottage cheese or three bean salad, turkey and cheddar cheese on a choice of two breads, beef barley soup and tapioca for dessert. It was edible, filling but certainly nothing to write home about. I was surprised there wasn't fruit available for people to take along with on the afternoon's adventures, but there wasn't.
At lunch, I sat with Randy, the lady from Minneapolis, Helen, and a lady from Roanoke, named Patricia. This was the first time I ever got a chance to visit with Randy and I learned a lot about him. He gave me a general run down of the afternoon, naming all these places he planned to take us to, expecting me to know Sedona as well as he does, and told the group to be out by the vans by 1:00 p.m. I used the time to call my aunt, since I'd been thinking about them for a while. Right on time, everyone gathered and went into one of the two vans.
With fifteen people, neither van is too crowded, which is nice, even on short drives. I had seven and we set off. I told Randy I'd follow him, because I didn't want to get lost and have my group miss out on what he was planning. I thought we were heading towards the bridge just north of town, but he turned off on the road that goes by the airport. I love listening to people oohing and ahhing over the red rocks. This group was no different. The rock formations are amazing and beautiful and unique to this area. Randy pulled into a parking lot and I followed, and then I pulled into a spot and stopped the car. Much to my amazement, he kept driving, so I told my group to buckle back up and we drove down to a smaller parking area. I squeezed the van in between a tree and a car. I dreaded having to pull out.
Where we stopped was called the Courthouse Butte Vista. Randy had us walk up to the top where we could see a whole lot more. The climb was almost like walking up red rock stairs. No one was too out of breath when we reached the top. I don't think anyone would have complained once they got up there and saw the view. The group had heard a talk by Dena on the area's geology in the morning and here they were seeing everything she mentioned in one location. Randy pointed out the Mogollon Rim, below that the tan color of the Coconino sandstone, then the Schnebly layer of shale and finally down to the valley landscape below, which used to be under water. Randy offered to take anyone up a red rock formation, but only one soul was brave enough to volunteer, so he didn't do it. It was pretty steep and there was no way I would have climbed it knowing I never would have been able to climb down.
It was back to the vans and our next stop. We drove through town and all the construction to the bridge that crosses Oak Creek just to the north. I never realized the bridge had a name, but it is called the Midgley Bridge, or as the sign was altered, Midgley Bridgely. The parking area was small, but we got lucky and found two spaces. We were all to gather at the Huckaby Vista sign to find out what was next. Randy pointed out where this past summer's fire had been. It was on the top of the ridge, which is why I didn't really see any evidence of it two weeks earlier. He told us how without the trees up there, when it rains heavily, more debris is washed down from there and into the creek. We learned that before the bridge was built by the WPA in the 1930's, that cars driving through that area had to go along the creek to a narrow part and that there used to be a wooden bridge there for them to cross Oak Creek. We also learned a bit about the plant life in the area, from the sycamores to the oak trees to the various cacti. I was fascinated because I am so ignorant on things in nature.
He told us we would be walking down a ways, and only one lady decided to stay behind. Each time we stopped, people tried to stand in the shade. It had to be close to 80 degrees. He told us about the soccer ball cypress, and showed up the tiny pods that were full of its seeds and looked a lot like a soccer ball. Then he pointed out the broom snake weed plant with its tiny yellow flowers, and that no one should smell them, as they are highly allergic. Of course, one woman had to do it. The name comes from the two main uses Native Americans had for that plant. Up near the top, some of the group saw a white tailed deer walking around in between the trees.
Down near where the creek crossing used to be, we saw pools of standing water formed in the bedrock. They are called tinajas, or earthen vessels, and are very valuable water resources for animals in the area. He again quizzed the group on the rock layers, which were Schnebly then hermit shale, followed by basalt and then the bedrock. I hope I got my rock facts right. Maybe if we hear these terms enough, they will sink into our brains. As I usually do, I found a rock that I liked and stuck it in my pocket. One woman asked how she could get some red rock to take home, and I thought that would be fun to try to get that on a plane these days. The wooden bridge that had been there nearly seventy years ago was only about fifteen feet above the creek, where the bridge is some 300 feet above.
Some people opted to stay there or head back up to the parking area, but the more fearless of the group kept on hiking down. At the bottom of the arroyo, we saw evidence of what happens when it rains. A big cypress had been washed down and was stopped by a lowly cottonwood tree. Randy showed us how Native Americans made paint brushes out of banana yucca. We walked another quarter mile or so at the base of the arroyo, over sandstone and basalt rocks, as well as others. We finally stopped and turned around but most of us would have loved to keep going.
Back at the top, we took one more long look at this section of Oak Creek. Next stop was Indian Gardens Store, mainly as a bathroom break. The drive was about five minutes and there was easy parking. As usual, there was a line for the ladies room and none for the men's. I knocked on the door of the men's room, and got no answer, so I pushed it open just a bit and called in. To everyone's surprise, a male voice answered, so that was the end of that. I waited in line.
Some of the people used the brief stop to shop in the gift shop or the more expensive art gallery next door. Randy told me not to miss the gardens, but I never saw them. I walked out past the art gallery, but behind it was nothing but some parked RV's. He had told me that across the street was a good place to go fishing, so I gave up on the gardens. There was a truck from the fish hatchery and they were stocking Oak Creek with trout. My first connection of the day, having been there earlier in the morning. They put the trout in nets and basically threw them some eight feet into the creek. It didn't seem right to treat the fish like that. I tried to call Evelyn to tell her, but there was no reception. I made a mental note to come back there too one day really soon, if for no other reason than to find the Gardens.
After a few minutes, I crossed back to the vans and asked Randy what was next on the itinerary. He had said earlier that we would head out on 179, but based on the group's definition of moderate walking, he decided against that and chose a less strenuous plan. Staying on 89A, we headed south to the Red Rock loop and Crescent Moon/Chavez Ranch in the national forest. That too was not very crowded. Off in one parking area, a wedding had just been performed and the people were getting ready to leave. Randy said those who wanted to could walk down to the creek. Those who didn't could still enjoy the view of the Cathedral rocks. We'd all meet up the vans at 5, giving us an hour to spend there. I wished so badly that I had brought along a fly rod, because where we ended up was ideal for some good casting, only I had no idea what to expect. It was starting to cloud up a little and we talked about how it was due to the hurricane over Mexico and that there was a chance for rain the next day. It was nice though, as it cooled the temperature a bit.
Along the path, I was amazed to see bamboo growing. Randy said it was planted a long time ago as a windbreak. It looked more out of place there than it had in my backyard in Memphis. Finally we reached the Red Rock crossing, which I had heard so much about in my recent OLLI class, Filmmaking in the shadow of Thumb Butte. I hadn't quite understood what the facilitator of the class meant, but now it all became clear to me actually standing on the crossing. I muttered to myself, it's all connecting, since this was my second connection of the day. Many movies had been filmed there as well as some television commercials. Back in the 1960's, a car commercial was filmed there, with the car helicoptered up to the top of the rocks. From the base of Red Rock crossing, it was a mere seven tenths of a mile up the Cathedral Rocks, which Randy said his hiking programs always hike up. At the base, the steeple rocks tower overhead 300 feet.
I wanted to put my feet in the water, but it was too cold. It was enough to just sit there and feel the breeze and imagine myself casting into the riffles. That was until Randy came over to say he was going to show anyone interested a place only locals visit and make rock totem sculptures. It reminded me of being in Canada, and how the natives there build small ones along the highway. It was another short and easy walk and well worth it. On the walk, Randy took a willow branch and showed us how easy it was to make a split twig fetish. He took the branch and split it down the center, then bent and twisted the two halves to make a deer. I thought it was a horse, but he said they weren't brought to the Americas until the Spanish came, and these were first created almost 4000 years ago. All sorts of towers were built, some small, some taller than me, some in signs on the ground and there were even some in the water as a makeshift dam.
I had to make a rock sculpture, and picked some flat and rounded rocks, and built it near the creek, with a weed behind it. Of course, I dedicated it to Greg, and left a strand of his hair there, so he would always be in the shadow of the Cathedral rocks. I've left strands of his hair at all sorts of places in the past seven years. I found another rock or two that wanted to come home with me, and I have put them in a mini totem on my desk at work. By the time I was finished, everyone but one man had left, so he and I walked back together. He was from Rolla, Missouri, so I asked him all about that area. He said he loved it, but it seemed a little too small for me. I was reminded to talk more with Patricia from Roanoke on Thursday.
Randy was making another fetish for the people, and the woman he gave it to also thought it was a horse. I'm not the only one. I noticed a mallard duck sitting in the water. There was one man who had taken several of Randy's programs and he was busy taking pictures from the same place he picked in the beginning. He was in my van and was fairly annoying, because he thought he knew everything. He was always pointing out things and giving his opinion when no one was interested.
Soon it was time to walk back to the vans. Randy and I talked a bit about various things. I asked him about the water wheel building and he explained it had once generated electricity when this was a working ranch. No one wanted to leave, especially the man who was taking pictures and had at every stop we'd made thus far. People were more tired and hungry than they thought they would be, so there were few complaints as we left. Driving out, the sky and sunlight hit the mountains in such a picturesque way, I was sure the camera buffs in my van were going to force me to stop. It was really breathtaking at that time the way the sunlight hit them.
In a few short minutes, we were back at the motel. I didn't even wait to see if Randy would invite me to join them for dinner. I was ready to head home and sort everything out that happened on my field trip in my head and here on the computer. I didn't even really say goodbye to anyone, which was unusual. My van knew they'd see me again on Thursday, when we do the Verde Canyon Railroad and go to Tuzigoot National Monument and maybe Jerome. Pretty soon there won't be anything in Arizona I haven't seen and I won't have any reason not to move anymore.
©23 October 2006For more information on Sedona, check out these links.
Red Rock Country
Experience Sedona
Oh joy, here comes another holiday season. And it's only late October. Perhaps Halloween is the nonofficial beginning of it, but I am dreading it more than usual. I would make Ebenezer Scrooge look like Santa himself. It wasn't always this way, but since I became so disgruntled with holiday season, a few years back, it has grown exponentially. I hate the crowds in the stores, the songs, the Santa's on the street or even worse, those in the malls. I hate the commercialism and knowing everyone else is overextending their credit cards for no real reason. I hate that almost no one remembers what it supposed to be about and only focuses on the superficial. I miss having my family together. I used to love the holidays. It was always so much fun preparing for them with the kids. Until that one year when I decided enough was enough and things in my house. Now I can't wait for January 2, and it all to be over for another year. There are days I wonder if I will survive another holiday season. Here are some of the reasons why I think the holidays need to be curtailed.
BirthdaysTwo of my children were born in October. When I was out shopping for their birthday gifts, I would start buying for Christmas too. With three children, the number of gifts has to be the same, not the dollar amount. For some reason, it was always easier to buy for Evelyn than the boys. It seemed like from the beginning of October to right before Christmas, I was shopping. I'd even show them various items, and tell them they'd be
getting them for Christmas. They always got pajamas, and looking back, it was absurd to save them for two months when they could have been wearing them in Minnesota.
Lowell's birthday is two weeks before Christmas. By that time, I would have dozens of packages stashed all over the house, and never know what to give him for his birthday. I was usually pretty stressed by then, and I doubt he had any great birthdays. Everything was too focused on the 25th, not the 11th.
I loved Halloween as a child. I would go out right after school or as soon as my mom would let me and go to as many houses as I could before it would get too dark. Sometimes, I would even have to stop at home and empty my bag. I used to share my treats with my brother, who didn't usually do much more than our block. No one had to check my bag for razors or walk with me to make sure I was safe. With my kids, there was no way they could go out on their own, even if all three went together. My ex usually took them and I stayed home to pass out the candy. I couldn't get into making costumes for them, because it was usually cold and they'd have to wear a coat over them. When they were done, I'd let them pick three pieces of candy right away, and then later that night, I'd go through and check all the candy and throw away the ones I didn't want them to have. They'd figure out I threw half the candy away the next morning. They still had enough to last them the next few weeks.
ThanksgivingI've written enough stories about this holiday. All that rushing around frantically for hours and even days to fix this picture perfect dinner which is gone in fifteen minutes so as not to miss too much of the football game on television. Maybe if I'd had family around, I might have felt differently, but I doubt it. I started the tradition of going out on Thanksgiving when Evelyn was just a baby, in 1979. One of the best decisions I ever made. The most important part of the day was watching football and checking out all the ads for the sales the next day. Once the Mall of America opened, I was there bright and early each fourth Friday of November. Now I can't even think about going to a mall that day. And I never liked pumpkin pie.
Christmas, the Big BuildupWe started the tradition of cutting down a live tree the day after Thanksgiving when we lived in Memphis. There was a tree farm about forty-five minutes away and we'd dress warmly, traipse around the field for what seemed like hours trying to find the perfect tree. It was never found, but we finally picked one and then we'd celebrate by having a ten-cent cup of hot chocolate. It was always a chore tying the tree to the car and then bringing it inside, because the tree was always bigger than it looked once it was cut.
My ex would spend hours trying to untangle the lights he so carefully would pack away and somehow refused to stay that way. It would take a full day to decorate the tree, which is why I wanted it up as long as possible. It would be the second week of January before he could convince me to take it down, but I had to do it before the trash collectors wouldn't take them anymore.
In the Memphis house, the tree was put in the living room, which faced the back yard. This bothered me because then no one could see what we'd created, but there was no way to have it face the street. It was the way the house was built on the lot, the only the kitchen and one bedroom was on the street side. The house we bought in Edina had the exact same problem. We got around that by taking out the kitchen table, which we
couldn't do in the Memphis house because of the counters. After the battle of getting the tree situated in the tree stand, my ex was in charge of putting the lights on the tree. He'd fuss and cuss but eventually he'd be happy enough with the way they looked, and then it was my turn.
It was in Memphis that decorating the tree became important, and in turn, having ornaments became something I would search for just about everywhere. I don't like doing crafts but those are the kind of ornaments that I wanted for our tree. In Memphis, almost every church had a bazaar, so I would go to all of them and try to find unique ones. I especially liked ones I could have personalized, and would get three of them, one for each kid. I tried to find one to put the year one, too. Or ones that showed three kids doing something. I especially loved Santa ones and had dozens of different Santa ones. There were a few breakable ones and those were always extra carefully wrapped before putting them away. Eventually, I found the perfect angel to top the tree. I never got tired of looking at the ornaments and being pleasantly reminded with memories, as I would see them again for the first time in a year. The ornaments are still packed away in a red plastic tub, and who knows when they will again see the light of day.
Christmas EveI wish we had done something special like reading aloud The Night before Christmas or a part of Dickens' Christmas Carol, but we never did. When the kids were little, they didn't care and when they were older, they weren't always home that night. There was no traditional supper for all of us to gather around. We did have a special plate and glass for Santa's milk and cookies, that we'd set out by the fireplace. Everyone had their own special stocking and that was put next to the fireplace because there was no place to hang them. Once they finally went to bed, it was time for the last minute things, like wrapping the last of the presents and getting them under the tree and filling the stockings. .
This was always fun, because the presents would be under the tree as soon as they were wrapped, so the kids would pick them up, shake them and try to guess what they contained. Most years they got the same things, like pajamas and a book, a Steiif stuffed animal and the clothes that they had seen and already tried on. There were always some surprises, but it was more exciting to keep count of the number of presents with their names on it. The stockings however, were filled Christmas Eve. At the bottom was
always an orange. There was chocolate in there as well as fun little trinkets. We always had to do the stockings before the presents.
I was always the first one awake, and would wait patiently for the first child to get up. That would be enough to get everyone else awake and rushing to the fireplace where the stockings hung. Everyone but my ex, he was never a morning person. We'd watch each other pull out the various gifts in the stockings, waiting our turns patiently. Well, as patient as kids can be, though they got better as they got older.
Then came breakfast, which was homemade waffles with chocolate chips or a baked pancake. We would sit at the dining room table and eat, while their unopened presents lay in wait. My ex would take his time with his coffee, until the anticipation became more than the kids could handle, and we'd go to the tree and one of the kids would be the one to distribute the gifts. There were always three times as many gifts for the kids as for Fred or me, and we didn't mind waiting and watching them open their gifts. The best ones were from their Grandma Dorothy. When the box bringing her gifts to us arrived, I usually let the kids open one. My mother in law was notorious for her horribly bad taste in gifts and they'd groan at what she sent us. The all time favorite was the year she sent me a glitter pen as my main Christmas present. No one could believe that she considered that special enough for a gift, but by then, we knew better to expect anything worthwhile or of value.
Finally, the last present was unwrapped. If we were lucky, it was around 10 a.m. Now what to do? Sure there were toys to play with, but after ten minutes, they were bored. Nothing was open but Walgreen's, so that became a part of our Christmas day ritual, going there and watching people panicking to buy last minute gifts. Then it was back home and the let down started to set in. Christmas was over for another year. But wait, we still had one more thing to celebrate.
Even as a kid, I couldn't understand why people fussed so over this. I probably have only celebrated New Year's Eve maybe a half dozen times in my life. Once, when I was about 16, I actually stayed up till midnight. I know we went to a party when we lived in Chicago and Fred was in grad school because we ended up walking two miles home from the host's apartment in the snow at 2 a.m. There had to be one with the kids, who wanted to be so adult and stay up late. A few years in Memphis, we spent it our friends Steve and Mary Lou and their children, either at our home or theirs. Since then, I celebrate New Year's Eve in Paris. Okay, on Paris time, which is like six hours or so earlier than here. I also celebrate on London, New York and Chicago time. Otherwise, I was in bed by 10 just like any other night.
The DenouementFor so many years, I was running ragged trying to find something for one of the boys so the gift total would be even. One year, I was out of ideas on what to get them and definitely out of patience with the whole insanity of the season. I had asked both boys what they needed, and they said nothing. Then I said, well, what do you want? They couldn't think of anything. At that time, I was trying to teach the kids the benefits and rewards of volunteering,
so it just hit me. They need nor want of anything, yet so many do. I decided then and there that I was done. We'd do stockings and they'd each get a gift or two, but the money we would normally
have spent on things, we would give to charity. I let them pick which one, and it was always either Boys and Girl's Club or Children's Cancer Research because they had a vested interest in
those because of my volunteering. They still got a few gifts under the tree, but elsewhere, there were lots of happy children who had a Christmas because of my kid's generosity.
That was all when I was still living in Minnesota and before Greg's death. The first Christmas after he died, everyone came out here, including my ex. I didn't feel it was right for him to be alone in the house back there. I probably went back for the next Christmas, but I haven't been back in a few years. The last few I spent with my adopted sister Rita and her family. Last year and this year, I'll have Lowell with me. I might buy him something, but there won't be a tree and I send out less than a dozen Christmas cards. I can't wait for the holidays to be over, even now before they've begun and for all the fuss and warm fuzzy feeling that the world tries to force on people. Bah Humbug was right!
There 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.
