I've turned into Mrs. Majiewski. I don't know when it happened. One day, I was a nice, tolerant person, and the next I had my head pressed up against an upstairs window screen yelling, "get out of the garden"!
Mrs. Majiewski lived two doors down from my childhood home. She was a nice enough woman most of the time, but if you made the mistake of stepping one foot on her front lawn or, heaven forbid, accidentally tossing a ball on her grass, she went ballistic. Her front door would fly open, and she'd lean out, screaming (and I do mean screaming), "Get off the grass." Joey Kiehlmeier called her Old Lady Majiewski, and every time he walked down the street, he'd slide one foot of the sidewalk and onto her lawn, just to torment her. He was a good little trouble maker.
About a year and a half ago, a big family moved in next door to me. There are five little kids, and their cousins are frequently there, too. They love sports, and they play a lot of backyard baseball. The yards are small and their arms are powerful, so the ball sometimes flies over the cedar fence into my yard. My yard is a big garden--my pride and joy. I've asked them to let me know if the ball lands in the garden bed. I'm happy to go out to look for it. The kids don't know the difference between a pricey hosta and grass, so they step on everything when they go hunting. I've lost whole plants to their little feet, and that bugs me.
Yesterday morning, on my way to the shower, I glanced out the back window and saw two little kids tromping through the garden. That's when I channeled my inner Mrs. Majiewski. I thrust my face to the screen and told them not to walk in the beds. I didn't scream, but I was firm. As soon as they left, looking pained to leave the lost ball, I had a pang of guilt. I went out and searched for fifteen minutes, but my garden is the black hole for lost balls. So after I got ready for work, I drove up to the store, bought some rubber baseballs, and took them back to the kids. That's where I differ from Mrs. M. She'd snatch any ball that landed on her lawn and take it into her house to teach us a lesson.
The memory that makes me remember to smile at the kids and remember that they really are just kids, not garden terrorists, is something I did in an act of revenge against Old Lady Majiewski. After years of screams and stolen balls, we neighborhood kids had had it with her. So one night, we stole into her backyard vegetable garden from the back side, and pulled baby carrot after baby carrot and ate them, tossing the leafy tops back onto the soil. I'm not proud of the moment, but it is my own cautionary tale. Sometimes I think of the kids next door sneaking over with gallons of herbicide to kill my garden as I sleep. It would probably be wise to simply let them walk on the plants.
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Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Joy
Last week, I went on retreat. My destination? The Cedars of Peace cabins on the grounds of the Loretto Motherhouse in Nerinx, Kentcky. I had an idea about a month or two ago that right around now, I'd need a break from my new job as department chair. I also knew that if I took a vacation, I'd feel guilty. If I called it a writers retreat, it could be relaxing and job-related. I set about looking for a spot to retreat to, and eventually, I asked my poet-colleague, Rhonda if she knew of a place. She told me about Cedars of Peace. For a remarkable $40/night, you can rent a nice little cabin on their gorgeous grounds. The community doesn't seem to mind if your retreat is not literally a spiritual one. They do expect you to be silent--or, at least, quiet. Nobody ever said a retreat should be easy, right? Honestly, maintaining a speed of 8mph was harder than being quiet.
My original intention was to go to the cabin alone and just write my brains out, but I've been feeling kind of lonely lately (too much working alone in my office), so I decided to invite someone to join me. My friend and writing partner, Robin, said yes, so on Wednesday afternoon, we loaded up the car and set off for the oddly named town of Nerinx.
We were incredibly lucky when it came to the weather. Low humidity and temperatures in the 70s and 80s meant we could leave the windows open and the air off. The night sounds in the woods at Cedars of Peace are astounding. It's been a very long time since I've slept in the woods, so maybe I've just forgotten the intensity of this nighttime symphony, but it was loud--so much for a silent retreat! Actually, I loved it, even though I'm a noise sensitive person. The clicking of the ceiling fan in my bedroom makes me nuts, but these night sounds were wonderful. I woke up at about three one morning to the sound of two owls hooting at each other, one of them close to my cabin, and the other off in the distance. Just lovely.
Each of the cabins is named, and ours was called Joy. Here it is.
As you can see, the cabin has two stories. Downstairs is a small kitchen, bathroom, and living room. We were both a little put off by the fact that the bathroom had no door: just a curtain. Sacrifices must be made in retreat, I guess.
The chair Robin is sitting on here is a futon that opened up into her bed.
Here's the less-than-private bathroom.
Upstairs was my bedroom and a nice little screened in porch.
Just a few steps from our cabin was the Cedars labyrinth and a chapel--really more of a meditation room.
We spent our mornings writing (and an evening, as well), and then for the rest of the day we'd take walks on the motherhouse property or go swimming. Yes, the sisters have a pool that we had all to ourselves.
The grounds are beautiful. There's a working farm on the property, lots of woods, several lakes, and plenty of buildings that comprise the motherhouse and retirement home for the sisters. This diorama is at the front drive
We think this is Joseph (his hair is too short to be Jesus, and his robes too flowing to be St. Francis):
Mary is standing in this lake:
We walked all over the property.
The evening sky was spectacular.
I never did count the Mary statues on the property, but they were plentiful.
The retreat was a good getaway, and I actually got some work done, too. The "cost" went up sharply when I lost a pricey ring on one long walk, so that was a sad thing, but my visit there was still good. We had virtually no wifi there, no TV, and no phone service, and in the short term that was good for me. I don't know if I could stay there long term, though. The grocery store closest to the cabin was a nightmare of moldy vegetables and questionable meat, and the property seems vacant of humans much of the time. but for a few days in the midst of an otherwise stressful summer, the cabin called Joy was perfect.
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My original intention was to go to the cabin alone and just write my brains out, but I've been feeling kind of lonely lately (too much working alone in my office), so I decided to invite someone to join me. My friend and writing partner, Robin, said yes, so on Wednesday afternoon, we loaded up the car and set off for the oddly named town of Nerinx.
We were incredibly lucky when it came to the weather. Low humidity and temperatures in the 70s and 80s meant we could leave the windows open and the air off. The night sounds in the woods at Cedars of Peace are astounding. It's been a very long time since I've slept in the woods, so maybe I've just forgotten the intensity of this nighttime symphony, but it was loud--so much for a silent retreat! Actually, I loved it, even though I'm a noise sensitive person. The clicking of the ceiling fan in my bedroom makes me nuts, but these night sounds were wonderful. I woke up at about three one morning to the sound of two owls hooting at each other, one of them close to my cabin, and the other off in the distance. Just lovely.
Each of the cabins is named, and ours was called Joy. Here it is.
As you can see, the cabin has two stories. Downstairs is a small kitchen, bathroom, and living room. We were both a little put off by the fact that the bathroom had no door: just a curtain. Sacrifices must be made in retreat, I guess.
The chair Robin is sitting on here is a futon that opened up into her bed.
Here's the less-than-private bathroom.
Upstairs was my bedroom and a nice little screened in porch.
Just a few steps from our cabin was the Cedars labyrinth and a chapel--really more of a meditation room.
We spent our mornings writing (and an evening, as well), and then for the rest of the day we'd take walks on the motherhouse property or go swimming. Yes, the sisters have a pool that we had all to ourselves.
The grounds are beautiful. There's a working farm on the property, lots of woods, several lakes, and plenty of buildings that comprise the motherhouse and retirement home for the sisters. This diorama is at the front drive
We think this is Joseph (his hair is too short to be Jesus, and his robes too flowing to be St. Francis):
Mary is standing in this lake:
We walked all over the property.
The evening sky was spectacular.
I never did count the Mary statues on the property, but they were plentiful.
The retreat was a good getaway, and I actually got some work done, too. The "cost" went up sharply when I lost a pricey ring on one long walk, so that was a sad thing, but my visit there was still good. We had virtually no wifi there, no TV, and no phone service, and in the short term that was good for me. I don't know if I could stay there long term, though. The grocery store closest to the cabin was a nightmare of moldy vegetables and questionable meat, and the property seems vacant of humans much of the time. but for a few days in the midst of an otherwise stressful summer, the cabin called Joy was perfect.
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Saturday, July 20, 2013
Making a Splash
One of my new things this month was joining a deep water excercise class at a local pool. I've been wanting to get to a pool for a long while now, but I keep hesitating for a variety of reasons. First, it seems like so many of the pools around here are in clubs or gyms that are pricier than I want to pay. I don't want the weight machines, ellipticals, exercise bikes, or handball courts. And I don't want a fancy pool club with cabanas and bar service. Second, I can't swim laps, so I don't want a pool with open pool hours that are so limited that I can't use it. Finally, I'm getting crotchety in my middle age, and I don't want a pool full of noisy, splashy kids, even if they are only screaming in delight.
Believe it or not, my first stop was the neighborhood nursing home. There's a wellness center there that only accepts members who are 50 plus, and I heard you could buy a punchcard pass for the pool only. It's a nice facility with a friendly staff, but their hours are definitely set for the early to bed/late to rise crowd. Not a good fit for this working gal. The idea of being at a pool with a middle-aged to geriatric crowd was pretty appealing, though. If there's any crowd where I can look better than average. I want to be in it, and when it comes to sags and wrinkles, I could be on the right side of the curve at a nursing home. Maybe. Still, it wasn't a good fit.
Then one day, I was driving down Galbraith Road in Cincy, and I passed Drake Hospital. Drake is a rehab hospital, so they have an amazing pool. They also open it up to the community. That day, as I passed, their flashing sign told me that I could sign up for aquatics classes there. A few days later, I stopped by for a tour and signed up on the spot for a deep water exercise class. I have to say, I fully expected to be the youngest person in the class (aquatics classes are recommended for the old and arthritic), but I was surprised to find that I was on the older side of the range.
The class is great, and the facility is perfect. The instructor mixes things up enough each class to keep it interesting, and it's a good workout. I love being in the water, and the all female class is filled with friendly women who seem to enjoy the water as much as I do. The facility? Well, the end of the pool bumps up against a floor to very high ceiling wall of windows, the water is clean and warm enough to allow you to walk right I without a shock, and the shower/changing room? I can't say enough sbout this feature! Because their patients are recovering from a variety of rehab issues, many of which force them to use wheel chairs and walkers, the locker room is filled with big, roomy shower stalls and dressing rooms. When I used to belong to the Y, I hated showering there. The tiny showers and tinier changing rooms were awkward, and I'd always emerge feeling like I'd worked myself up into a sweat just trying to shower and dress. Not at Drake, though.
I like almost everything about my new thing for July. I don't know how it will feel some cold December day, but for now, it's just right.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Believe it or not, my first stop was the neighborhood nursing home. There's a wellness center there that only accepts members who are 50 plus, and I heard you could buy a punchcard pass for the pool only. It's a nice facility with a friendly staff, but their hours are definitely set for the early to bed/late to rise crowd. Not a good fit for this working gal. The idea of being at a pool with a middle-aged to geriatric crowd was pretty appealing, though. If there's any crowd where I can look better than average. I want to be in it, and when it comes to sags and wrinkles, I could be on the right side of the curve at a nursing home. Maybe. Still, it wasn't a good fit.
Then one day, I was driving down Galbraith Road in Cincy, and I passed Drake Hospital. Drake is a rehab hospital, so they have an amazing pool. They also open it up to the community. That day, as I passed, their flashing sign told me that I could sign up for aquatics classes there. A few days later, I stopped by for a tour and signed up on the spot for a deep water exercise class. I have to say, I fully expected to be the youngest person in the class (aquatics classes are recommended for the old and arthritic), but I was surprised to find that I was on the older side of the range.
The class is great, and the facility is perfect. The instructor mixes things up enough each class to keep it interesting, and it's a good workout. I love being in the water, and the all female class is filled with friendly women who seem to enjoy the water as much as I do. The facility? Well, the end of the pool bumps up against a floor to very high ceiling wall of windows, the water is clean and warm enough to allow you to walk right I without a shock, and the shower/changing room? I can't say enough sbout this feature! Because their patients are recovering from a variety of rehab issues, many of which force them to use wheel chairs and walkers, the locker room is filled with big, roomy shower stalls and dressing rooms. When I used to belong to the Y, I hated showering there. The tiny showers and tinier changing rooms were awkward, and I'd always emerge feeling like I'd worked myself up into a sweat just trying to shower and dress. Not at Drake, though.
I like almost everything about my new thing for July. I don't know how it will feel some cold December day, but for now, it's just right.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
House Guests
My niece and nephew are visiting me this weekend, so I've had a nice break from work. Andy and Maria are my sister's two oldest kids--both of them are in college now. Here we are on a trip to London back in 2011.
They arrived late Thursday, so they've only really been in town for one full day, but we've managed to pack in quite a lot already. Yesterday, we decided to spend part of the day river tubing. We'd done it once before on a family trip to the Smokies, and it was a lot of fun. After a quick trip to the store to buy some water shoes, we drove out to Brookville, Indiana to the banks of the Whitewater River. The name makes it sound like a pretty exciting site for some wild tubing, right? There might be some whitewater somewhere on this river, but if there is, I suspect it's from Cottonwood fuzz balls settling on the still surface of the river--not from fast water. Still, it was fun. We chose the two-hour float, which seemed just about right, and we settled in for a gentle, quiet ride down the river. It was really pretty and peaceful, except for the fact that every dragonfly on the river seemed to want to sunbathe on Maria's legs. She was a little freaked out by that, but she got over it. We all got a good dose of vitamin D and kept nice and cool on a hot, humid July day.
We came back home and cleaned up, and Andy took off to meet a friend at a Reds-Pirates game. Andy is a huge Pirates fan, and his friend is a Reds fan with season's tickets. This was the whole reason for the trip (he'll go to another game today). Maria and I had dinner at Wild Ginger, a local Asian restaurant, where we ordered a literal boatload of sushi.
After dinner, we decided to go to a movie, so we drove to our third state of the day: Kentucky. We saw the movie "Heat," laughed ourselves silly, then went in search of ice cream. The kids love the local favorite, Graeter's, but by the time we were out of the theater garage, it was after 11, so we bought some pints at UDF and met Andy at home for some late-night snacking.
I don't know what's on tap for today, but we talked about hitting the bike trail or going kayaking. Andy will head back down to Great American, and Maria has a college friend who lives here who she'll hang out with later. Tomorrow, they'll pile back in the car and head home to Erie. I'm glad they could come, especially given how often I'm a guest at their house. Their visit makes me realize how nice it would be to have family in town. Of course, since we do so many fun things when they visit, I think I've managed to convince them that Cincinnati is the fun capital of the Midwest. Maybe they'll decide to settle here with me one day--and find out the truth about this city. Cincinnati may not be the best place to live, but it has a lot to offer, especially when you have people to share it with.
Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
They arrived late Thursday, so they've only really been in town for one full day, but we've managed to pack in quite a lot already. Yesterday, we decided to spend part of the day river tubing. We'd done it once before on a family trip to the Smokies, and it was a lot of fun. After a quick trip to the store to buy some water shoes, we drove out to Brookville, Indiana to the banks of the Whitewater River. The name makes it sound like a pretty exciting site for some wild tubing, right? There might be some whitewater somewhere on this river, but if there is, I suspect it's from Cottonwood fuzz balls settling on the still surface of the river--not from fast water. Still, it was fun. We chose the two-hour float, which seemed just about right, and we settled in for a gentle, quiet ride down the river. It was really pretty and peaceful, except for the fact that every dragonfly on the river seemed to want to sunbathe on Maria's legs. She was a little freaked out by that, but she got over it. We all got a good dose of vitamin D and kept nice and cool on a hot, humid July day.
We came back home and cleaned up, and Andy took off to meet a friend at a Reds-Pirates game. Andy is a huge Pirates fan, and his friend is a Reds fan with season's tickets. This was the whole reason for the trip (he'll go to another game today). Maria and I had dinner at Wild Ginger, a local Asian restaurant, where we ordered a literal boatload of sushi.
After dinner, we decided to go to a movie, so we drove to our third state of the day: Kentucky. We saw the movie "Heat," laughed ourselves silly, then went in search of ice cream. The kids love the local favorite, Graeter's, but by the time we were out of the theater garage, it was after 11, so we bought some pints at UDF and met Andy at home for some late-night snacking.
I don't know what's on tap for today, but we talked about hitting the bike trail or going kayaking. Andy will head back down to Great American, and Maria has a college friend who lives here who she'll hang out with later. Tomorrow, they'll pile back in the car and head home to Erie. I'm glad they could come, especially given how often I'm a guest at their house. Their visit makes me realize how nice it would be to have family in town. Of course, since we do so many fun things when they visit, I think I've managed to convince them that Cincinnati is the fun capital of the Midwest. Maybe they'll decide to settle here with me one day--and find out the truth about this city. Cincinnati may not be the best place to live, but it has a lot to offer, especially when you have people to share it with.
Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Monday, July 15, 2013
Dragon's Tail
Dear Readers,
If you enjoyed reading my blog during my 2011 travels in China, you'll want to read my friend's blog. John is a history professor at my college, and he's currently teaching in a study abroad program in Chengdu, Sichuan. I think you'll enjoy his blog! His knowledge of history and his great writing will dazzle you!
http://www.dragonbythetail.blogspot.com/
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
If you enjoyed reading my blog during my 2011 travels in China, you'll want to read my friend's blog. John is a history professor at my college, and he's currently teaching in a study abroad program in Chengdu, Sichuan. I think you'll enjoy his blog! His knowledge of history and his great writing will dazzle you!
http://www.dragonbythetail.blogspot.com/
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Saturday, July 6, 2013
Yosemite Sam and John Muir
I spent a fair number of days in my childhood parked on a couch in the family room of my parents' house watching Bugs Bunny cartoons. On vacation, every time somebody mentioned our final national park, I had this nagging half memory of Bugs and the gang. But why? What was the connection? And then I remembered him:
To quote the man himself, “That’s right, Yosemite Sam … The roughest, toughest, hombre that ever locked horns with a rabbit." I didn't run into Yosemite Sam at Yosemite National Park, and I didn't see any varmint rabbits either, but I did see Mule Deer and Elk and more than a few people with big, goofy hats. I have to include myself in that final group. Give me a couple of pistols and a big red mustache, and I could do a good imitation of Sam.
We only had a day at Yosemite, the place John Muir once called "the great temple," and its High Sierras the "range of light." This is a place I'll have to return to one day. It's granite peaks are iconic: Half Dome has been painted by more artists than I can name, and it and El Capitan were two of Ansel Adams favorite subjects. Here's his El Capitan:
Here's Adam's Half Dome:
Here's mine:
Nearly identical, right? This shot was taken at a part of the park called Glacier Point, a lookout and hiking trail that promised and delivered "jaw-dropping views" of the mountains. It was our first stop in the park. Here's one of those views: hang onto your jaw.
There were a lot of people at Yosemite, and most of them seemed to be at Glacier Point when we were.
Still, we had plenty of space to ooh and ahh at the mountains and to shoot some photos. Here's my sister Jane and me.
Here's Frank and the kids, with Mike missing.
Here I am, looking like I'm ready to sing, "The hills are alive with the sound of music."
With a view like this, you'd sing, too.
Our next stop was Yosemite Valley where we had lunch, viewed the Sierras from a different elevation, and hiked to Lower Yosemite Falls.
John Muir once wrote, “Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is necessity; that mountain parks and reservations are useful not only as fountains of timber and irrigating rivers, but as fountains of life.”
He was no Yosemite Sam, but he was a pretty smart guy.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
To quote the man himself, “That’s right, Yosemite Sam … The roughest, toughest, hombre that ever locked horns with a rabbit." I didn't run into Yosemite Sam at Yosemite National Park, and I didn't see any varmint rabbits either, but I did see Mule Deer and Elk and more than a few people with big, goofy hats. I have to include myself in that final group. Give me a couple of pistols and a big red mustache, and I could do a good imitation of Sam.
We only had a day at Yosemite, the place John Muir once called "the great temple," and its High Sierras the "range of light." This is a place I'll have to return to one day. It's granite peaks are iconic: Half Dome has been painted by more artists than I can name, and it and El Capitan were two of Ansel Adams favorite subjects. Here's his El Capitan:
Here's Adam's Half Dome:
Here's mine:
Nearly identical, right? This shot was taken at a part of the park called Glacier Point, a lookout and hiking trail that promised and delivered "jaw-dropping views" of the mountains. It was our first stop in the park. Here's one of those views: hang onto your jaw.
There were a lot of people at Yosemite, and most of them seemed to be at Glacier Point when we were.
Still, we had plenty of space to ooh and ahh at the mountains and to shoot some photos. Here's my sister Jane and me.
Here's Frank and the kids, with Mike missing.
Here I am, looking like I'm ready to sing, "The hills are alive with the sound of music."
With a view like this, you'd sing, too.
Our next stop was Yosemite Valley where we had lunch, viewed the Sierras from a different elevation, and hiked to Lower Yosemite Falls.
John Muir once wrote, “Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is necessity; that mountain parks and reservations are useful not only as fountains of timber and irrigating rivers, but as fountains of life.”
He was no Yosemite Sam, but he was a pretty smart guy.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Thursday, July 4, 2013
Vanfest at Kings Canyon
I worked at a pizza shop from the time I was 14 until I was in my early 20s. One of the girls I worked with would come to work after a periodic weekend off and tell us that she and her boyfriend had been to Vanfest. She would regale us with stories about wet tee-shirt contests and girls in slippery pools of jello. Vanfest seemed to be an event where teenage van owners would come to have sex with their girlfriends (presumably in their vans) and then watch those same girlfriends publicly degrade themselves for their entrainment. Charming.
We had a whole different kind of Vanfest on our recent family trip out west. My sister and her husband rented a huge white van in Vegas to take the eight of us on what ended up being nearly 3,000 miles of travel through Nevada, Arizona, and California. My nephew Mike named the van Bruce (nicknamed The Boss when I mentioned Bruce Springsteen). Bruce was a comfortable ride, and he carried us through some scary desert miles safely, as well as through some stunning national parks.
First, let me show you Bruce.
Here's my brother-in-law, Frank. He drove every single mile of the trip!
My sister, Jane, liked to make sure everything was nice and peaceful in the back of the van without ever having to turn around.
This was her usual view. Two kids are missing, but that's just because they're slumped down in their seats, fast asleep.
The van was so high off the ground, that I knew I'd screw my bad back up if I spent a week hauling myself in and out of the thing. Our first stop in Vegas? Walmart, where we bought poor Aunt Sue a footstool.
We joked around a lot about how frequently white vans figure into crime stories. Doesn't this Death Valley shot make Bruce look downright sinister? I promise that we weren't dragging a body into the desert just off camera.
Here's Bruce at Kings Canyon National Park.
We only stopped twice at Kings Canyon. We'd spent the morning hiking around Sequoia, its nearest national park neighbor, so we were pretty tired by the time we were ready to do Kings Canyon. Frank seems to be an indefatigable driver, though, so we set off in search of some good van window views. We were not disappointed. On one of our stops, a lonely park ranger, alone in a visitors center, told us that KCNP was nicknamed "Little Yosemite." One look at its granite peaks and canyons, and you understand why. I wish we had had more time and energy to do this magnificent and under-visited park justice. In lieu of stories, here are some shots from Bruce's window.
Everybody needed to stretch after a couple of hours of driving.
It was a little windy.
All in all, our Vanfest was a whole lot more wholesome than my 1970s teenaged co-worker's. The wildest we got was on the long ride back to the hotel when I entertained my nephew, Mike, by turning my leg into a face.
We might not have had jello pools, but we had fun.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
We had a whole different kind of Vanfest on our recent family trip out west. My sister and her husband rented a huge white van in Vegas to take the eight of us on what ended up being nearly 3,000 miles of travel through Nevada, Arizona, and California. My nephew Mike named the van Bruce (nicknamed The Boss when I mentioned Bruce Springsteen). Bruce was a comfortable ride, and he carried us through some scary desert miles safely, as well as through some stunning national parks.
First, let me show you Bruce.
Here's my brother-in-law, Frank. He drove every single mile of the trip!
My sister, Jane, liked to make sure everything was nice and peaceful in the back of the van without ever having to turn around.
This was her usual view. Two kids are missing, but that's just because they're slumped down in their seats, fast asleep.
The van was so high off the ground, that I knew I'd screw my bad back up if I spent a week hauling myself in and out of the thing. Our first stop in Vegas? Walmart, where we bought poor Aunt Sue a footstool.
We joked around a lot about how frequently white vans figure into crime stories. Doesn't this Death Valley shot make Bruce look downright sinister? I promise that we weren't dragging a body into the desert just off camera.
Here's Bruce at Kings Canyon National Park.
We only stopped twice at Kings Canyon. We'd spent the morning hiking around Sequoia, its nearest national park neighbor, so we were pretty tired by the time we were ready to do Kings Canyon. Frank seems to be an indefatigable driver, though, so we set off in search of some good van window views. We were not disappointed. On one of our stops, a lonely park ranger, alone in a visitors center, told us that KCNP was nicknamed "Little Yosemite." One look at its granite peaks and canyons, and you understand why. I wish we had had more time and energy to do this magnificent and under-visited park justice. In lieu of stories, here are some shots from Bruce's window.
Everybody needed to stretch after a couple of hours of driving.
It was a little windy.
All in all, our Vanfest was a whole lot more wholesome than my 1970s teenaged co-worker's. The wildest we got was on the long ride back to the hotel when I entertained my nephew, Mike, by turning my leg into a face.
We might not have had jello pools, but we had fun.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
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