Spring Snow Stops Efforts



Saturday, April 16 snow blanket

 Saturday AM we awoke to a blanket of white,   coated overnight, but by afternoon it melted.  Just a few days ago I was out clipping the roses and working in the rose garden,  removing the wintry mulch and watching the robins scurry to take the choicest earthworms inches from my rake.  Well, it was OK, I could take a few days off  from my  spring gardening and confine my activities to indoor domestic chores which abound.   This photo is the back deck into the backyard where the bird feeders hang.  The goldfinch feeder is usually covered with the golden guys and girls, but the snow confused them and they retreated shivering  to the shrubs until later in the day when the sun melted the white to the lush green  hidden below.  I remember a few years ago having a few snowflakes in April but though it was something strange to me it was not to the natives who expect some snow surprise in March or early April.    

Our HHR Grey Goose Saturday AM

Our Chevy HHR, aka, Grey Goose,  is the car we tow behind our motor home and what we drive around most of the late spring through fall but which resides in the motor home house all winter.  After we returned from Arizona and parts south Jerry left the Goose in the driveway and we began to use her; she is the most economical with the rising gas prices.   Although the Goose was unprepared for Saturday's surprise, she accepted it as a minor washing and was her sparkling self by afternoon.  Even our  Excursion Coach whose nose is seen here in the adjacent  side drive way, braved the white  event as a new experience  unlikely to be repeated.    



April 19 2:00PM Out our front window



This morning, April 19, the white stuff began to fall as I departed for my book club meeting, Jerry's words, "take the HHR, it won't stick and will be gone soon."  Famous last words.  90 minutes later the white was coming down like a wintry blizzard and there sat the Grey Goose totally covered in the parking lot after book club.  Well the  windshield  wipers did their job, but I had to scoot the wet white stuff from the side windows and there I was without gloves or a snow scraper!   The snow was still coming down so, blowing lofty white fluff sideways but it was not unpleasantly cold and the flakes were huge, prisms to the eyes and eyelashes, so I went on to the post office and then returned home.  All the while I'm thinking this surely will cease soon and the sun will come out, shades of Annie. 

Oh that's "The sun'll come out Tomorrow, Bet your bottom dollar  that tomorrow There'll be sun!  Just thinkin' about  Tomorrow  it's only a day away."    Meantime today I have committed to help Sue  box up books from the garage the Friends of the Library are losing as book sale site with the sale of the elderly partroness' home.  Well, she said 2:00PM and surely it will stop by then. 

Hah you can see from the photo taken from our front window, looking out onto what was a cleared rose garden (on Wednesday) that at 2:00 today the snow continued weaving a white sparkle all around the air and ground.  But uptown the Goose took me, only Sue had decided phooey too.  We will try again tomorrow when this spring nuisance subsides. 

We gained a white cover of  about 3 to 4 inches  all over the town on all our lawns, which discourages the robins who cannot retrieve the worms that retreat into the earth below the remains of the mulch, down into the warmth.  Our streets and roads are clear as the "nuisance snow" lives up to its name. To me, April should not have snow, but here we are in Minnesota where after all my friends who make the best of a bad situation say, "it could be worse it could be a tornado or a flood or a fire or an earthquake or some of the devastation that the rest of the country suffers.  Here along the Blufflands, it might be white for a day but glorious green is underneath." 

Spring, spring where fore art thou? 

Harumph,  Juliet, just wait it out!   

Blog Award

   Leave it to us bloggers to expand our blogosphers through sharing awards.  I received this award from Karen today albeit  "with strings" so to speak.  So this post will take a bit of time and I may not finish until later this evening. 

Meantime, thank you Karen, from the tips of my fingers on the keys! 

First String :  7 Things about me

1.  I am an idea maker and have more ideas than time to do them. 
2.  While I prefer to be organized, at times I have so many oars in the water at once that I spin my boat in circles.
3.  My all time favorite classical piece  is Pachelbell Canon
4.  I am rereading my favorite childhood book, "Heidi" having just found and purchased a copy in an antique store. 
5.  Here I sit at the keyboard when I need to get upstairs and get the oven ready for the roast.
6.  I'm going to a roast at Penn State in May
7.  I am looking for a photo to accompany a blog post and need St Anthony's help.

Now I am to pass this award on to other blogs I follow and that I will finish later and later still as tasks take me away from the keyboard.  (Karen already chose some of the blogs I follow and sent on her award, beating me to the puch, so others.....)

1.  http://bargainhuntingwithlaurie.blogspot.com/2011/04/clutterist-is-thriving.html
2.  http://readingadventures.blogspot.com/
3.  http://burgussepiesaturday.blogspot.com/
4.  http://serendipitybookclub.blogspot.com/2011/03/march-meeting-recap.html
5.  http://dayofthelily.blogspot.com/2011/04/doing-my-thing-day-oil-painting.html

Sepia Saturday Week 70 Camel (Click here to the Sepia Sat site)

Irwin camel Amphora, ceramic circa 1900

I have a camel to share and though the photos are not Sepia, the camel itself is dating back to the early 1990’s when the John R Irwin’s, grandparents to my Uncle John Irwin, traveled extensively. Somewhere in London they had contacts and possibly a stopping by home from where they traveled all over Europe.

The camel is from the Amphora factory in Vienna Austria circa 1900, so identified for me by an appraiser and markings on the bottom. It is 20 inches tall and 15 inches wide measuring from the tip of the nose of the camel to the farthest part of the tail, mounted on a base that is 7 1/2 inches in depth.  The grandfather JR Irwin made his wealth building railroads and hauling iron ore on the Great Lakes. They acquired many unique items on their travels, some of which adorn our home today.



Our Irwin Camel, a museum quality piece is prominently displayed on our mantel, inherited from my Uncle John Irwin whom I’ve written about before on this blog and on Sepia. http://patonlinenewtime.blogspot.com/2010/03/our-red-dragon.html   John married Mom’s sister, my Aunt Virginia, Jinx, in about 1954 and life was never the same again in the family. Actually my aunt divorced him and remarried him later. I thought he was one of the funniest people I’d ever met, and I spent my childhood and adolescence laughing at him; most of his in-laws and other adults took issue with him because he was ever so fond of his whiskey shots and kept himself satisfactorily tuned. His imbibing put him at odds with everyone from my grandmother to his own mother, Jessie Ayers Irwin. I never knew him to be drunk, just enjoying life and living it his way. While I do not condone his habits, he was always someone I could talk to and despite his  human flaws I loved him dearly.

Irwin camel about 1955

This is the oldest photo I have of the camel and it is not very clear. Uncle John loved this camel which had long been in the Irwin family, but his mother determined in her utter disgust with John's fondness for alcohol that he would not inherit any of the family artifacts. Well, Life the Muse has been ever known to turn and tilt from best laid plans. John was quite unhappy about this because he had grown up coveting that camel.  He told his mother in strait terms that it was the one thing he really wanted, but Jessie would not budge. She vowed that if he would relinquish alcohol he could have his pick, but John was insulted and uninterested in the bargain.


Jessie died suddenly in 1963 while visiting her daughter, Margaret, John’s sister in Ohio. Margaret ended up with Alzheimer’s’ and this left Uncle John, surviving and thriving and still tipping the bottle regularly. Posey, Margaret’s daughter found Uncle John as funny as I did, I learned a couple years ago talking with her. We laughed that it was good we were not together as young girls in our fits of laughter at Uncle John’s antics while the rest of the family shuddered and tsked, tsked. Posey also was faced with the disposal or sale of many of her mother’s acquisitions to help subsidize care. She knew the family history, that her mother had acquired most of the Irwin estate.

About 1960 Margaret, Jessie, and Uncle John
Notice the camel behind them

Posey believed John should have some things so she contacted him and he and Virginia drove to Ohio to take their picks. The first thing John took was the Irwin camel, and as he told me later, he laughed all the way back home to Pennsylvania! I can still hear him chortling, “Hah, I’ve got it now! The Irwin Camel! Mother, you said I could not have it,  I showed you! And it will not be in the Irwin family again! “ I was awestruck by this camel the moment I saw it and listened raptly as John told about it and how he had fixed his will to ensure that when he died the Camel would not return to the Irwins. He laughed each time he said, “I only wish I could live to see the Irwin’s fussing or rolling in their graves when I kick the bucket and camel is not with an Irwin! Patty, that camel is to go to you!” I never thought too much about it until later years after Uncle John passed and I would see it in the house when I went to visit my aunt. I often wondered what I would do with it when it came to me as she reminded me it would.


In 2004 Aunt Jinx determined that I should take the camel home on one of our visits. She said that John was vehement that I have it and she wanted to ensure that happened lest he haunt her for the rest of eternity. So the camel came to the Morrison’s home in Minnesota where it is admired and its story is fondly told.  When Posey and I talked she asked me if I had the camel and when I said I did, she said she was glad that it had been John's wish it come to me.  I asked her if I could return it to her or her children but she assured me she had more than enough and I should keep it and enjoy it. 


The camel story is not yet done; there is another twist.  About a year ago, I received a mysterious email about Uncle John. I knew he had been previously married and had a son who was taken and raised by  the wife’s family when the wife/mother of the boy died quite young. John was drinking then and likely never stopped. I repeatedly asked my aunt if she had any contact with John’s son who had come to John’s funeral but few words were exchanged. She had no idea where he was nor if he was alive. In 2009, when my aunt died I tried to find John’s son again, no luck, there had been no contact for too long. But that mysterious email turned out to be from John’s grandson. We have met and he is a nice young man. I’ve been thrilled to give him many items from his grandfather that I had. There had been a vicious estrangement between his father and John; he never knew his grandfather. He holds no ill will but we have talked about imagine how it could have been.  The twists that life takes are so many.  So I have designated that the camel go to John’s grandson in our will, returning to the Irwin family. I think Uncle John would approve that it reside with an Irwin once again, I think he would have liked to have known his grandson.


As usual click on the title to this post to go to the Sepia Saturday site and enjoy others' contributions.

5 Books Read Catch Up February to Now

I've been reading but just not posting the books, so here's the catch up for those interested.  Friday  is our Friends of the Library book sale where I will be donating and likely filling a sack with other hard to pass up finds for my awaiting reading shelf.  After I read and our book club chose to read "Unbroken" (see my January 12 blog post review) I wanted to tackle another book from my patriotic stack , about WWII, "The Wild Blue" by noted historical writer Stephen Ambrose.  This book over 263 pages is an excellent informative read about the ordinary young men of their day, the citizen soldiers of WWII who fought the enemy and formed a band of brothers who endured together.  This book is a memoir about George McGovern's WWI service as a highly successful, skilled, respected, bomber pilot  in Europe, a man whose politics differ from mine but for whom I have the deepest respect and gratitude after reading this.  Author Ambrose tells the extraordinary heroism, skill, daring and comradeship  with detail and affection about  the young men, the combat crews in our Army Air Corps who  flew the B-24's  over Germany.  As ever, I was intrigued reading about the Army Air Corps the pilot's  training, and the early days of navigation.  I learned that Ambrose's uncle, a 21 year old copilot of a B26 in the 8th Air Force, was killed in a crash in September 1944 returning from a mission over Europe. His uncle's body was never recovered.   In preparation for writing the book he  is treated to flying the B24 an B 17 in the co pilot seat, learning how extremely difficult the planes were to control.  "It was an experience with machines that could be compared only to being at the controls of a locomotive going up the Sierra Nevada."  In the prologue, Ambrose writes, "The B24 was built like a 1930's Mack Truck except that it had an aluminum skin that could be cut with a knife.  It could carry a heavy load far and fast but it had no refinements.  Steering the four engine airplane was difficult and exhausting as there was no power except the pilot's muscles."  You know this tells me more about the kind of young man my father had to be.  "..no windshield wipers so the pilot had to stick his head out the side window to see during a rain....Breathing only by wearing an oxygen mask."  Primitive conditions for brave men.   Pg. 24, "The Army Air Forces needed thousands of pilots and tens of thousands of crew members, to fly the B24's.  It needed to gather them and train them and supply them and service the planes from a country in which only a  relatively small number of men knew anything at all about how to fly even a single engine airplane, or fix it.  From whence came such men?"  We know today those men, pilots and crews of the B24s came from every state in the union, they were young,  fit and eager. They were all volunteers.  The Army Air Forces did not force anyone to fly, the men made the choice.  McGovern and his crew part of the 741st Bomb Group, 15th Air Force were  based at San Giovanni Filed, near Cerignola Italy, meaning land of cereals. Evidently the Cerignola region   grew hard wheat the best in Italy and  possibly the best in the world for making pasta.  The word "Cheerios" comes from Cerignola. I relished the information, history,  dialogues and the data.  I learned more than I had ever known about flak and deepened my perspective about the dedication and sense of responsibility the pilots held.  The writing is superb and because of the subject matter it is a keeper book, published in 2001, I am fortunate to have acquired a first edition. 

After the indepth reads I took a break with "Crime Brulee"  by Nancy Fairbanks, a paperback mystery that I acquired at the library sale for  50 cents, thinking it might resemble the Diane Mott series of culinary mysteries.  Well, it is set in New Orleans and I did relate to most of the places mentioned but the book is merely a quick non engrossing read, 274 pages in paperback.  It is billed as first in the series and I will not read others.  It is as though the author tried to put  any  twist she could to an insipid mystery.  Really the Nancy Drew mysteries of my youth were better.  The plot involves Carolyn, spouse to an academic, and obviously a woman who needs to get a life.  She is a typical pathetic empty nester with what to do now that the children are gone, woman with nothing to do, etc...Boring but I endured to see if  she solves the  her friend,  Julienne  disappears leaving everyone in the lurch in New Orleans at this academic conference.  This is likely a woman's book for those who may be amused.  I thought it might be a quaint mystery, and that would be a stretch, but I prefer good writing and decent plots. Something to engage me, even when I take a break from heavier reading.  This  returns to the Library sale rack.

My blog friend, Vicki Lane hits it big with her mysteries, suspense tales, by good writing, exquisite character development, and enticing tales.  "In a Dark Season" a paperback of 428 pages starts out  with Chapter 1, "The Palimpsest"  whatever does that mean?  The book's opening sentence hooks the reader is as it did me and kept me reading and wondering when the characters would get together and tie it all up.  Page 1..."The madwoman whispered into the blue shadows of a wintry afternoon.  Icy wind caught at her hair, loosing it to whip her cheeks and sting her half closed eyes."  Eventually it does happen, but the book has it all and if women want to read something fulfilling yet mysterious they will not be disappointed with Vicki"s works.    The southern dialect is intriguing, "howsomever" a word that spoke to me and  yet is so  deep in the hills.  Page 81 has a splendid line, "hard as an ex-wife's heart."  How about that?  This sequential tale features Vicki's  great character, Elizabeth Goodweather of Full Circle Farm, still a newbie to the North Carolina  area despite  a more than 20 year residency. Those of us brave enough to relocate to other ares know the difficulties of assimilation and bare acceptance amongst long timers.   Elizabeth who has been the key in other books is  a widow,  in a relationship with Philip, a semi retired detective, and friend to the local sheriff.  Phillip would eagerly marry her if she would agree, but she is her own person.  In this tale a frail old lady, Nola Barrett attempts suicide and ends up in a local nursing home with a diagnosis of dementia while her niece  appears to get things in order and sell off.  Development looms in the area as can happen in the better areas to live today.  Over Christmas holidays, Elizabeth comes to grips with having to move on in life despite maintaining grief over loss of her husband.  Pg. 144  where Elizabeth explains why she and her daughters who return for the holiday maintain their Christmas traditions in spite of the loss of her husband, their father....Christmas will not, cannot be taken away with grief...it is a light in a dark season...Death took Sam but not the holiday.  This especially  hit home with me having lost our son so close to Christmas.  Vicki weaves back and forth between the history of the area,  a local hermit of sorts,. and the contemporary mystery of Nola Barrett.  It is a great read and one I recommend for good entertainment, a good tale and a good mystery that all weaves back together at the end..and I did not  guess exactly what would happen.

Our book club chose the novel, "A Soft Place to Land"  by Susan Rebecca White as one member had picked it up in a northern bookstore.  Sigh, sigh, the idea of reading a tale of "complicated love between two sisters.." was not enticing to me, but then sometimes others choose a book that I might not have and it turns out to be of interest.  This was not.  It is a tale of adolescent angst that lasts until the sisters are in their late twenties.  The sisters are raised  in luxury in Atlanta with their mother and her  second husband who is the step father of one and the father of the other.  The tragedy of losing their parents who die on vacation and then being separated to different coasts plagues Ruthie and Julia.  One is headed for disaster early in life evidence by the crowd she hangs with, poor habits, smoking, drinking, etc. generally  all activities that one would not want for a teen, her  lack of interest in school despite her  intelligence  and generally being a wilder one.  The other who is sent to the Bay Area to be raised by her mother's sister blossoms in San Francisco and Berkeley.  I know all the places mentioned in the book and still found it tedious reading at best, not because I have no sister to relate to but because it focuses on adolescent trials, behaviors and the realm of angst. Finally by the last 30 pages there is something worth reading; this book could have been a good short story, but as a novel it bombs.  I will be interested to hear what others thought when we meet on April 19th but for me, this book goes to the donate pile and I would not read others by this author.   I plodded through for sake of the book club discussion.

Finally a book I have been awaiting paper back release hit the shelves before we left on our trip and when I saw it at Sam's into my basket it went.  "The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks" by Rebecca Skloot has rightfully earned its place on the New York Times and other Best Seller lists for some time. I cautiously thought I might not  enjoy this book not being a scientific person, but  my curiosity would not allow me to  pass it up.  I recall vaguely hearing about HeLa cells in biology and chemistry courses.  I hesitated because this book, the true tale of Henrietta who dies of ovarian cancer and whose cells doctors take at John Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore Maryland, without the consent or any discussion of the family,  is  a wealth of scientific information.  Moreover it is the tale of the woman and her family and  her legacy, how her cells become known world wide in research as HeLa cells and yet her family lived and still lives in poverty. Henrietta is a poor black tobacco farmer who marries her cousin and  whose cells are taken without her knowledge in 1951 and live on to become one of the most important tools in  medicine still today, vital for developing the polio vaccine, cloning, gene mapping and more.  Henrietta's cells have been bought and sold by the billions yet only through this book do we know about her as a person.   The book raises realistic pondering about medical ethics and where and when science and research may cross a line.  Although this is a technical book at times it is packed full of human interest and humor as the daughter acknowledges that her mother is still calling shots from the great beyond through her cells.   It is a book that questions issues of race and class and medical care and research.  When does one own one's body and  at what point is the body or  parts, malignant though they may be available without recourse?  Is knowing all the good that results from medical research adequate compensation for survivors?  Is there any real need to compensate survivors?    And how can a family from the depths of poverty ever begin to seek recourse, or do they want that, are they satisfied with their lives and do they merely appreciate the telling of Henrietta's tale?  Everyone I talk with who has read this book including my dentist have been as engrossed as I was; I could not put this book down and relished all 328 pages and additional notes and bibliography.  Skloot is an award winning scientific writer but this is her first book.  Oprah Winfrey and Alan Ball are adapting it into an HBO film.  Read the book to learn and imagine.  Be aware it is history we see backwards through the prism of today's issues.

Springtime Outside Chores

Another great balmy spring day when I've  spent another  three hours clearing the rose beds of overwintering mulch and clipping the dark wintry branches  already spouting buds from the winter weary  roses. I did all this and filled three big cart loads which I run up and down the hill to dump,  increasing my caloric burning. This was the third day of my activity in the roses and I have nearly completed the project.  The front hosta beds are cleared and the front flower box cleaned awaiting its spring plants, will it be geraniums, pansies or some other  spring combination this year? 

Most of my  roses are now ready for the final  a more careful close up trim,  and removing all vestiges of the mulch we pile on them for winter protection;  here in Minnesota many people do not grow roses because they do not  know how to prepare them for winter.  Many, include me in this group, do not want to be bothered with the  preparatory Minnesota "winter dip" which involves digging a trench, tying, bending and binding down the rose bushes for the winter, burying them to protect from the snows.  Remember I was a California Rosarian and when we moved and when I heard that technique, I  knew there had to be a better way.  So I have dealt with this in two ways, first by foregoing the fussy  hybrid teas for hearty floribundas and grandifloras and over all changing the type of roses that I grow preferring those that have been hybridized right here across the river in Wisconsin by Bill Adler, father of the Knock Outs and the hearty old time rugosas which are naturalized on the wintry bluffs, old garden roses in general and those by Canadian hybridizers, as well as the Buck Roses being resurrected right down the border in Iowa. My winterization technique involves heavy  mulch which Jerry makes from all the fallen leaves that he shreds. This works well for us. 

 Now with spring  the mulch has already started to decompose and the earth worms are  very plentiful working their way up from the ground  into the damp decaying mess.  However, I scrape most of this off and work some into the ground as a ready made compost.  This is my  California approach to winterizing roses.  Any bush that does not survive does not get to keep its place in the rose garden and can be replaced by something else later in spring or summer.  After the careful barbering,  I apply a hearty dose of Epsom Salts and sit back and wait for  another couple weeks  until I apply a systemic fertilizer in anticipation of  blooms. 

I love my outside exercise and used to work longer hours at one time but now have to respect the arthritis in my hands, that demands pacing my activity despite early enthusiasm.  I still have shrubs and  perennials along the side of the house to prune and trim and then down the backyard.  Little by little progress is apparent.  I found I needed a sweatshirt today because the wind was just a touch chilly for a t shirt; it was a good thing because those thorns on the wintered  branches are quite dried and quite sharp so the long sleeves protected my arms from  massacre.  

This will be my first blog in a long time sans photos.  When I started this blog I did not routinely add photos but I do believe they add a lot.   I did not know the computer would call me this evening or I might have taken a couple photos of my massively laden cart, a big plastic thing that holds more than a wheel barrow is is one of my favorite sidekicks, today I commented that I wished it had a trailer then I could haul twice as much down the hill in a trip.  Jerry  reminded me that it was just the size for me to maneuver and besides, that gave my fingers a break from the tedium and kept the knuckles appeased. Maybe tomorrow I can add photos.

Sepia Saturday 69 Western fantasies and horses (Click here for Sepia Site)

It  has been ages, it seems since I posted here while we were on expedition to Arizona and New Mexico to acquire the new RV, the Excursion and to visit and  see things in a warmer climate.  Now home,  I have a lot of different ideas thrashing loose in my head but  today I'll feature my own sepia of sorts stirred up  after our visit to La Mesilla, New Mexico, near Las Cruces.  The Mesilla Valley was a natural trade route of the Native Indians  long before the Spaniards came to  northern New Mexico in 1598.  This area teems with history, right up my alley.  Ahh the old wild west before it was.   

1950 myself 5 years old on the roving Pony

As a  child I loved going to the movies with my Grandmother (Baba as I called her all my life) Rose; it was our special treat just for her and me to do so on a Sunday.  I   strongly preferred technicolor movies and cowboys and Indians, while Baba would prefer a musical or drama.  This meant that some Sundays we went to two movies, so that  we each could choose.  Growing up in the city in Pennsylvania,  ranches,  horses, and all western things were  pipe dreams to me and the movies of the cowboys intrigued me.  One day  a roving photographer happened by our house and while Mom was at work, her husband, my stepfather was home.  This is one of the nicer things he did,  paying the photographer to take photos of me with this pony.   I learned in  adulthood that many of my friends who lived all over the country had similar photos taken; what's comical is how proud we all were on our mounts. 



1945 Here I am on my Rockin' Horsey 




Actually my fantasy of horses goes even farther back to my very first horse that I still  remember today,  a rocking horse that my Grandfather  built for me. No small feat because though Teofil was many things, he was not a carpenter, still it was quite a ride for me.    I called it "Horsey" one of the first words I blathered clearly and I spent some time riding away. I guess I really got to making it go distressing my Grandma who was just sure I would fall off and injure myself.  I never did, but she felt she had to watch me carefully and she scolded Granpap for doing this, but there was no more to be discussed  as I was happy with feet in the stirrups.  I wonder whatever happened to Horsey?

 


1984 Me with our Charley Horse

 I never did become much of a horse rider, even later years living in California when we owned horses.  Jerry and Steve rode, but my fascination was gone, not caring for the height. It seemed a long way up there to me.  And it did not help that on one ride, Winnie, our Appaloosa  startled and  raised up on her  hind legs.  To this day I don't know how I hung onto her.  The above photo in 1984 shows Charlie,  our only problem horse; Jerry fancied taking him on hunting trips in the mountains but Charley was a horse with a mind of his own and a bad habit of laying down when he did not want to go into the trailer.  Any rider knows that the horse laying down can be a dangerous animal and that is something which is not to be tolerated.  Otherwise, Charley was a gentle guy, who loved Oreo cookies and carrots and  would pick them from my rear pocket.  One day I came home from work astonished to see Charley in his corral with the horse trailer.  The men had planned a mountain trip for the weekend but when Jerry went to trailer Charley, Charley had other ideas.  So Charley got to stay home but I found a big note inside from Jerry,  "Do not feed Charley any hay or oats, his feed is in the trailer.  He can go in there to eat!"  Jerry was not amused with Charley's antics.  Despite working with different trainers Charley never did get over this bad habit and so we sold him.  Don't know what happened in the early life of that horse, that might have caused that reaction.

Me at  Billy the Kid Building in La Mesilla

This Sepia post idea comes from  a day we  spent the day in La Mesilla, New Mexico, and another at the old Tucson Studios where many western films were made.   http://www.oldtucson.com/    Above I am with the Billy the Kid  building in La Mesilla just a week ago; immersed in the area, I began to think about all those old western movies and those  outlaw legends. If walls could talk, the history they could tell about the glory and gory  times in Western US history when Billy the Kid roamed the lands, and when disputes were settled with the six gun rather than waiting for years on court decisions.  This building still stands  in La Mesilla today, it  was  built in the 1840's by  the legendary Sam and Roy Bean, two brothers who intended it for a freight and passenger service.  After the Civil War it was became an important stop on the fabled Butterfield Stagecoach Line.  Mesilla was founded in 1848 and is Spanish for the “little table land” due to the nearby mesa that borders the Rio Grande River that runs by the village.  Since its founding the village has had a colorful history that is easy to imagine when walking around the streets of La Mesilla, seen in the photo below,  from another blogger. 

 Next week I will share more about  this historic place with some old photos that I have researched. As always click on the title of this post to go to the Sepia site where others share their Sepias. 

Homeward bound

We are in Oklahoma City, awaiting tonite's dinner at a route 66 diner for some reportedly excellent and highly recommended chicken fried steak with friends Carla Sue and Tom. Well they and Jerry will enjoy that, which I do not eat, so I hope there will be chicken or perhaps just a good old burger on the menu. I do not anticipate any salad type offering, but I loaded up on my greens for lunch. Four years ago when we were here they tried to take us to that diner, raving to Jerry about the chicken fried steak, but when we arrived, we found it closed that night, a Monday. So we try again this evening.


Memorial to the bombing

We took  a quick tour of the Oklahoma Memorial Museum  in honor of those killed in that dastardly bombing on April 19, 1995. Much as I enjoy museums,. this one is haunting, providing an evocative  experience for all visitors as it takes them through the days in 1995.  Visitors leave with a bitter but full understanding of the impact of violence, and a sense of hope and resilience for the future. This tour highlights the Memorial Museum’s Gallery of Honor, which pays tribute to the 168 who were killed. From the photos I surmise it is most beautiful at night, but it is cold here and not being familiar with the area, we avoid night tours and events.  Sometimes it is all we can do to navigate in unknown cities in the daytime, so why borow difficulty at night?

Jerry dismantling the radios in the RV

Jerry has been busily content tinkering, repairing, tightening bolts, installing his CB radio, and generally puttering and entertaining himself with this new RV parked at Rockwell RV while I made a Wal Mart run alone. He is absolutely in his element tinkering. Packing lightly this trip did not prepare me with warmer clothing and as we are now in cooler weather my summer type attire except for one pair of jeans is not enough. Aha I knew it would not work to merely think warm summer clothing could suffice. Well that gives me an excuse to acquire. I found great bargains at Wally World, a long sleeve corduroy shirt for $3, a pair of very crinkly casual slacks for $5 and the ultimate for another $3, a 3/4 sleeve jersey type button up sweater jacket in tangerine that matches the yoga pants I bought at another Wal-Mart last year and which I use for pj bottoms not wanting to parade about looking like a pumpkin in tangerine. But then as now, wow at $2.50 I could not pass them up. Now I have a matching top for lounging about. At these prices I can toss the clothing easily when tired of it, but will I. Likely not, I'll keep them on hand just in case.

I am still pouting at Jerry driving by the store I spotted in North Ft. Worth, L'Patricia; well were on the interstate and I saw it over there, not conducive to exiting. Still a store of my own namesake, one I've never heard of, and one I'll have to Google to see what I missed. I shop almost exclusively at Wal Marts on our journeys, because they usually are one stop shopping. However not so here in Oklahoma, in the Bible belt, I learn that Wal-Mart sells only beer which is Jerry's beverage of choice, but no wine nor anything stronger which I prefer. To quench my evening thirst I must find a liquor store. This reminds me of PA with its antiquated colonial commonwealth blue laws, there are no liquor sales in the super markets. In PA there are private beer distributors, licensed by the state where one must purchase a case minimum and state liquor stores are the only source for wine and vodka. I do not understand why that is acceptable to the natives but I suppose they are used to it. On the other hand the employees at the liquor stores are state government employees so that is a good living for them and the beer distributors have an exclusive as there are not too many in one area, curtailing competition.

In the Wal Mart check out line, I asked the cashier (I avoid those self check out lines) where I could buy wine; she told me a liquor store and explained, "We are not allowed to sell anything but beer in Oklahoma." She was from Texas and said she didn't like that either. 

I told her we had a peculiar dinner experience in Texas where the waitress took both of our drivers' licenses to scan when Jerry ordered a beer and I a glass of Chardonnay. At first I thought the waitress was joking, surely we look old enough to drink! But no, the cousins explained that we were in a dry county and to drink, even though there is a bar in the restaurant, one must become "a member of the club" achieved by scanning in the driver's license, and signing a membership slip like a sales charge, however there is no charge. Then one can purchase adult beverages. So in my experience, Texas was not any easier. Despite all the obstacles these places put in the way of imbibing I do not believe they have any fewer problems with alcoholism or drunk drivers. In fact, about 3:00AM on Monday, there was a horrendous accident caused by a drunk driver in Ft. Worth. The drunk sped 5 miles the wrong way on the freeway until he had a head on collision with a semi tanker, loaded with gasoline, resulting in a terrible explosion and fire, untimely death of the truck driver while the drunk survived. The bridge and freeway section were still closed for the Monday morning commute inconveniencing many with the news reports that it would take six months to repair the damage further inconveniencing many for months to come.

I mentioned to the cashier that I’d lived over 40 years in CA where we could buy whatever we wanted in one store, that all the stores carried a full array of wines, beers, and liquors. Well the woman behind me in line overheard and chimed in, "Oh where did you live in CA?" And so started another conversation where I learned she and her husband were from Freemont, CA. He was a professor at Berkeley and on retirement, he was offered another professorship here at Oklahoma University. I laughed out loud, "From Berkeley to Oklahoma! And I thought MN was a tough transition!" She agreed but said that the red state of Oklahoma seems to have received him well and he is quite content. But then she went on to tell me their son is a professor at Sacramento State, after she learned that I'd worked in Sacramento and we lived in the foothills. She said her son and family want to leave CA and are desperately looking to relocate. She did admit to not wanting to remain in Oklahoma when her husband's contract was up. I agreed that it would not be my choice of where to live either. She mentioned that they were considering New Mexico and so we had another conversation about the Las Cruces area which we had left and which we both enjoy. (I likely will not blog about Las Cruces until we are home) In fact, her husband has been in touch with the University of New Mexico there. Serendipity in action from a casual friendly conversation in Wal Mart. I can say that would not have happened in CA where one would have been flailed by people lined up behind you waiting to get to check out!

I had another conversation in the same Wal Mart today leaving me feeling that I was stalked. Amidst my search for bargains on the sale racks of women's, another woman asked if I had been to a store, from which she had just returned. I said that I had not and was not familiar with anything here as I was a traveler. Ahh, my mistake, giving out too much information. This lady, Deliah, was another traveler but who lived in Oklahoma and who went to Bluegrass festivals all over, etc. In fact she followed me around the ladies section and even onto the men's clothing area chattering away, until her husband attired in Bib overalls and long sleeve long john looking shirt appeared, a sight right out of Beverly hillbillies. At which point she introduced me as her new friend from MN. No fewer than three times I tried to get away from her, "Well it was nice talking to you, but I must be going,.." "Well I really need to leave.." and words like that. Finally I fled saying, I had to find a rest room; really I feared that she would follow me there. But I did escape. I wonder what it is about me that I attract these folks. Is there a sign across my forehead, "conversation needed" or is it true as Jerry says, "You have a knack for getting into predicaments..."



For an unexplainable reason the spell check is not working on blog spot; and though I have proofed this post you will have to overlook any typos and misspells as I am out of time now. 







Adios Tucson y Voyager

This trip reactivated the Spanish in which I was once very fluent, but as most skills and abilities, use it or lose it; fortunately I retain sufficient fluency to get by but find I can read and comprehend it easier than speaking, attributable to the quick pace of most conversations.  Good to know it is resilient, returning with practice.

Our week at Voyager RV Resort in Tucson is over and we are in Las Cruces.  As usually happens when we fail to plan, we pay the price.  So sure that we would leave the Voyager on Monday, we did not book for the week. We did spend a week here getting all the kinks and trinks fixed on the new motor home.

Entrance to Voyager RV Resort



Our new Discovery motor home with our HHR, tow car
Notice our shade tree, the palm in front!

The Voyager is an adult resort, no kids running about loose nor splashing in the pools, it caters to snowbirds and all adult rigs.  It really is a nice place offering everything one needs, of course at a price. Our spacein the premium shady area, the photo of our Excursion and HHR show the solitary palm tree which evidently is the shade.  Is this false advertising?  It is funny.

In addition to motor homes, coaches and permanent  mobile homes, the resort has built ever so many small cottages that people can  purchase for their winter homes.  These cottages are smaller than our motor home, and yet serve the purpose for those who choose to spend the winter there and  fly  or drive to Tucson.  I talked with a woman from Manitoba, Canada who bought one as a vacation get away.  She said they spend at least a month there every winter and that she  prefersit to a condo, feeling it is a bit more private. This photo shows three of the cottages across from our spot.

Cottages at Voyager with carports

 I have yet to do the Voyager evaluation online, but although they advised that if we extended our stay they would not prorate the days paid for to the cheaper weekly rate, we took our chances; they did not and we did stay a week not leaving until Thursday and thereby paying  $150 more than we would have.  Some might find this comical that I worry about spending extra when it could have been prevented; I can see it in faces when I say something is expensive.  They look at me with almost a smirk, as if to say, :sure lady you just spent $150,000 and you are concerned about $50 but they don't know about my bag lady phantom, who haunts.  (I shared her before we left on this trip to procure the new motor home...)  I have learned other of my retired friends share her mystique too.  

Saguaro is the tall single cactus on right

We spent a day at the Saguaro desert Museum, driving and walking and looking at the magnificent saguaros that grow only in this Sonoran desert area.  It was disappointing that my little Nikon camera battery died then, limiting my photo taking abilitities.  There is something about seeing cacti now especially in bloom that fascinates me, likely a result of  living in the north where none exist.  Our neighbor in Newcastle, Bill McGrath grew many cacti and shared a spiny leaf or arm with us to plant out along our back fence where they thrived until we had an unusual frost.  Cacti in bloom as the one above are alluringly beautiful.

Jerry along Octillo cactus at Saguaro Museum Lot

In addition to reactivating my Spanish, Arizona reactivated my allergies.  At first I thought I had a cold but after a couple days and a hint from a friend, I realized the runny nose, sneezes, and watery eyes were allergies, the likes of which I have not had in  many years.   The pollen from the trees, the dust and the breezy winds were not friendly to me.  A trip to one of the many Walgreens to purchase Claritin gave a lot of relief.  The winds spread the pollen and dust readily and do nothing for hairdos.  This did not bother me, I settled for styling my hair in the morning and thereafter  just let it blow, fortunately I have that kind of hairdo that takes little fuss and will settle back to where it needs to be. It was a balmy warm wind, a relief from the MN wintry wind chills.   

The bartender at La Posta in La Mesilla, New Mexico advised that late March through April are allergy season in the area, when the olive trees and fruitless mulberries stir amidst the air.  Bartenders are an amazing source of information.

Another tree that fascinated me in Arizona is the Ironwood, which is also native to the sonoran desert.  As the name implies it is a very hardwood tree but thrives in the heat.  I took many photos of this tree in various stages of bloom or not, in their intermediate leafing stage they are feathery in appearance. The bark on the younger trees is pale greenish but in maturity it is similar to old darkened iron.  I  learned that the cold spell that Tucson area experienced over this winter was fatal to some of the older trees, desert natives.

Ironwood tree not leafed, may not have
survived the winter

This has been a wonderful trip but one which has offered little time for blogging.  I started this post on March 25 and just am finishing it in Texas, more than a week later, and in the third state.  I have yet to share wonderful experiences from New Mexico.....well it is all good.  Better to be so busily entertained that there is no time to write, I suppose, but the irony is that now I have the set up, the right computer laptop and no time. Ahh well, later the memories will flow.