A Little Vacation 5: Winter

It was another morning of being the early bird, but I filled it with blogging again. Not posting. Just composing another first draft, meaning mostly fighting with the auto-corrupt system that somehow got turned on days ago. I swear I didn’t do it! It’s really named autocorrect, but it doesn't actually do that, going left when I’m wanting to go right. So mostly I swear silently at it. Not always silently though. Just mostly. Since I not only didn’t turn it on in the first place, I have no clue how to send to back to the hell it rose burbling up out of.

It was too cold for me to entertain heading out with the camera again, but a grey squirrel (If that’s the exact variety, since it had a brown underside to its very long tail) appeared in one of the trees outside the wall of windows. I eased over to the pool table where my camera had ended up yesterday, took out the camera, sidled up to the window to take a shot. Success! It stayed there. I suddenly saw why. Its mate was just a couple feet away on another branch. We all had fun, them watching me and each other, me watching and shooting them. I culled the results down to three pictures which all showed both of them, the last with the first squirrel’s tail just a blur next to the other one’s face.

With wi-fi back we’d known that snow was expected last night. Worse, it was supposed to accumulate later in the day. Apparently, however, Cornville isn’t important enough to have its own correct forecast, as we found out as the day progressed. Snow hit the high ground above Cottonwood and above Sedona, accumulating there. The few flakes which flew around here just lasted almost long enough to get a couple shots of it for proof you hadn’t been dreaming. The closer we got back to the B&B, the more scattered the flakes were, stopping exactly as we passed through the gate to the property. Because of course. But that was at end of day.

I had hoped for an early shot of the sun hitting that mesa in the background with some rosy tones first thing, but all I got was clouds between the back of the orchard and the front of the mesa. Another no-go. At least the squirrels had made up for that. But what to do today?

Jerome had been discussed again, but the sweater my friend had offered me was not after all going to be returned to the store now that I’d turned her offer down. She’d decided she could make some adjustments - aka darts - here and there so she’d like the fit. So we sat. We told stories. Long showers were taken. No plans were made. More stories were told, childhoods were compared, food was prepared and eaten, more stories shared. The harp was played, song requests were honored.

If we were going out, it had to be soon. Tomorrow was leaving day. Steve and I would head home, they would head to Flagstaff, then a couple nights in Santa Fe, then Kansas, some town they couldn’t recall the name of, before their last leg home. It was decided that another trip to Cottonwood was in order. A few things were needed. My friend was hoping maybe a museum or more could be located and visited before the roads got bad. So we finally headed out after lunch. Steve stayed home again, giving his back some ease. He’d be bouncing enough in my car the next day.

This time I knew where we were going, though not where the museums were, but I was able to give major directions. She discovered as we entered town that it wasn’t how she recalled from her previous museum visits, even though we made several various turns looking for what her memory insisted was the correct part of town. Since we passed the WalMart and a gas station in that process, two needed stops were made along the way. We had just heard about Russia and expected gas price hikes, but they hadn’t happened yet. However, by the time the errands were concluded, she expected that any museums we  might eventually locate would be closed already. We still decided to take a drive through town just in case. We passed an antique store advertising a sale, and circled it to find a parking spot. We women went in. Just in case, you know.

Many little nooks had southwest pottery displayed. Most of those were simply cheap. I could finally show her the tempera paint colored pots made for the tourist trade by the Jemez potters before Mary Small came along and restarted their good pottery traditions. (Yes, I have several of hers.) She found one she liked, a larger pot marked both Casa Grande and Mata Ortiz on the bottom. It was clearly the former in style, so I wondered about the second attribution. Was the Mata Ortiz just a way of drawing attention, now more famous and creative in their pottery? Is it done by Mata Ortiz in the other style? She doesn’t care either way. After nearly an hour inside the very packed maze of a store, enough of a maze I had to go find and rescue her, she bought that pot plus a scarf she really liked.

On the other hand, I went in hoping that perhaps Chinese snuff bottles had made their way into this part of the world, but no. There was some exquisite carnival glass, enough to tempt me even after buying lots of it back when I was working “Doug Auctions” and could buy selectively when the occasional low price came along on something I liked because the regular buyers were all shopped out. I must have been really spoiled by those auction deals because the one piece I was drooling over was ten times what I would pay for it.

So instead I bought a piece of pottery totally unfamiliar to me. It is a large seed bowl, the center hole large enough to hook a finger securely through to hold it from slipping while I carried it through the rest of the store. It has an orange-brown base color, tiny swirls etched through that to the light clay beneath, and a pair of large blue butterflies covering the top. The surface is smooth, sensual to the touch, mildly shiny  without being actually glossy. I asked what they knew about it and found out it’s from Panama, circa 1980. No wonder I was completely unfamiliar with its patterns. Since my pottery cases in the living room are so full they successfully discourage me from buying any more, until this anyway, it is now sitting in one of the nooks covering the wall behind my bed. Besides, it doesn’t really fit in with the pueblo pots.

While most of this was happening the snow had started falling where we were. Initially we could watch it travel across the mountains in the background, while tiny white pellets struck the car and melted. No road issues at all. By the time we hit Cornville again it had actually turned to flakes. Just as we entered the orchard B&B property it turned back to pellets, because of course it did. No chance of shooting an actual flake or bazillion once we returned and I had a chance to grab the camera.  So of course I did anyway, scouting for some kind of shot with snow. I found pellets in the grass, but the pictures were blurry for unknown reasons. The shots of pellets in the ivy patch were clear, and there were accumulations on the car windows since it hadn’t moved all day, thus staying cold. I looked around with expectation of more shots, but it had already started melting everywhere.

Oh well, time to eat anyway. Tell more stories. And tomorrow, pack and leave.

A Little Vacation 4: Looking For Snow

It was chilly and blustery. Clouds were large but not constant, so some sun made it through large dark swaths of sky, occasionally highlighting just what I wanted to shoot. Yep, despite the unkind weather, I was out early with the camera for a while. I did wait until my friend returned from a walk and announced some snow had fallen. OK thanks bye.

I immediately saw she was correct. There were melted drops on the sidewalk leading to the parking area. Some had landed on ivy next to a small building, and it was the same kind as I’d seen yesterday by Oak Creek. Here it was thicker, but just as much purple running through the leaves, except the few new ones which were bright green. It demanded my camera.

I’d been seeing a beautiful gazebo on the property and headed that way. As described, it did look out over the creek below but no creek photos were possible due to intense brush in between. Hear it, can’t shoot it.

Fine. Be that way. Harrumph! I decided to shoot around the outside of the house and then down the road towards the entrance. The grape vines were gnarly, each one of the several dozen along the fence with several wonderful angles to shoot. As I progressed, a windmill appeared just past the curve over the treetops, just hidden from view from the house or while within a car, but subtly pointing out the small red barn now emerging into view beneath it. Or maybe the red barn drew the eye to the windmill.

It was finally time to scout out the creek access on the other side of our abode. A long series of stairs were the only access point through the electric fence. If only I could actually locate it. There was private property in the way, or so I assumed since I didn’t find access and that’s the only place I didn’t scout. But my restrictions in wandering led me instead to some very tall grass clumps with huge white plumes at their tops, waving in the wind.  Ten minutes or so with them offered me different angles, backdrops varying between red rocks, charcoal clouds and blue sky, and just once getting them actually front lit by a brief peek of sun.

But it was time to come in, warm up, and help plan the day. The forecast had foretold snow starting later (some signals were reaching the smart phones and GPS and bits of news were getting through) with 1/3 to 5” possible. After breakfast, lunch was packed and we decided to hit Jerome, overpriced tourist town extraordinaire. Even though Steve’s eyes lit up at the prospect, he elected to stay at the house, enjoy some alone time, and give his back a much needed rest from being on the road.

With GPS available again, it should be easy to get there, right? Well…. The beginning and end were fine. The middle, going through Cottonwood with lots of roundabouts and fewer signs became a challenge. But eventually our ears were popping with the climb up to Jerome’s perch. We rewarded ourselves for our arrival by parking at an overlook and eating lunch, enjoying the ever changing views of clouds making the light and colors dance over Sedona, across the wide valley. Red rocks emerged and then hid behind rain or snow in mesmerizing patterns. One particular cloud was dumping snow in a broadening pattern as it fell, making inverted “V” patterns within its load. Suddenly it ran out of its load and the entire separated  “V” slowly fell, intact till landing.

By then lunch was over, a few pictures had been shot, and we’d avoided being ticketed by the local cop solely because we stayed in the car - though we did get a dirty look. It was plainly marked as for-fee parking. Now, though, SHOPPING TIME!

I shouldn’t have been surprised by how many of the shops were closed. One restaurant had boxes of merchandise stacked on the booth tops and in the seats as well as lining the floor. The store with the big “Pottery” sign turned out to be a pottery workshop, presumably for local artists, but a sign notified us they had relocated. Somewhere. Interesting pots lined window shelves abandoned by their makers, and were the only pots really worth shelling out for, in my opinion. A few scattered ones in other shops here and there came close. Almost. Nothing worth either the price or finding shelf space at home for.

There were other temptations. One store had highly colorful Zuni wire baskets. While they drew the eye and customers inside, their lack of any hint of pueblo identity in patterns or coloring, combined with their price tags, stayed my hand. I did manage to fall in love with some small clay statues made not by painting the outside of a form but by building them with colored bits of clay in elaborate patterns. The clerk explained that if I broke one - warning: don’t do that! - I would see the the colors went straight through the pieces. An elaborately decorated rattlesnake coiled with head raised ready to strike was very tempting. It’s colors all matched my bedroom decor, including its purple face. I’m sure if I had a spare $15 hundred to toss away I would have found the exact right space for it.

Sigh.

My granddaughter isn’t getting even one of the clay elephants made like that, either. One that would fit in my palm carried a price tag of $200. Even if I felt like spending that much, she hasn't thanked me yet for the last present I sent her, even to acknowledge it had arrived.

There was one purchase, a tee shirt. It’s now carefully folded away in my carry-on. While in the fudge shop I picked up a tiny bag of chocolate covered toffee pieces, and had a taste in the car while Mr. Fishing Buddy slowly sipped a chocolate malt. My friend was down the street checking a couple other stores out, arriving back at the car in time to save her husband from having to finish the last half of the malt. (He’s diabetic. It was a true rescue, though his insulin pump was his backup plan if she took too long down the street.)

Once back at the Air B&B, and after going out shooting a plum tree that was suddenly in full bloom, my friend showed me where to access the stairs leading to Oak Creek. I’d thought when she described it that the electric fence stopped and started again on either side. Nope. It droops enough that an agile adult can (theoretically) step over the low spot. But not to the same level on the other side, because that’s down a step. I decided not to risk it, particularly since it would be even more of a challenge with a very high step over it again after the climb back up with a very low likelihood of my missing the wire.

I finally managed to get my laptop connected to the now-working house wi-fi. I could have started posting these, but I decided to wait till returning home again and dump them on everybody a day at a time. No need to let anybody think the house is totally empty that whole time, even though it (theoretically) isn’t, with Rich staying there and taking care of the dog. Still, with the driveway empty, people will draw their own conclusions.

Steve and I try not to imagine how that could go wrong, with Adam back in the picture passing the house with threatening looks and doing some night prowling in the yard after Rich actually spoke to Amanda (Gasp!) once for two minutes, and his latest “guest” ripping him off of his last $50, after yet another one stole his phone and denies doing it to this day. She had the gall to come back that evening and demand access to the house to get the charging cord. She must have found one elsewhere. Yet another friend of his - this time seemingly a real one - asked him to describe the stolen phone. The thief brings it over to his garage periodically to charge it, and this guy has seen it. It’s a weird brand so both guys are sure it’s the right one. He promised Rich that next time she came over to charge it, the phone would be in Rich’s hands when she came back to claim it, along with its charger. Meanwhile there’s supposed to be a few minor repairs getting done inside the house, some pooper scooping in the yard, the recycling going out on schedule, a small plumbing leak which is keeping the second toilet from being used needing to be fixed, etc., etc.

So instead of posting these accounts now that I could, I checked the weather. We’re are supposed to get maybe 1/4” of wet. Sedona, however, likely actually will get/has gotten some actual snow. It might be nice to head there for our last full day up here and do some shooting, but my friend needs to return to Jerome to return a sweater than is, as it turns out, several sizes too large for her slender frame. It would likely easily fit me but a certain set of canine claws would have it ruined in her first lap sit.

We discussed  hitting Prescott. Steve is interested in going and seeing the huge old tree near Yarnell that the Granite Mountain Hotshots saved from fire a couple years before they themselves were killed in a forest fire. What makes the tree interesting is they took a photo of the group after saving it, under, around, and up in the tree. The photo is a part of their memorial, and features prominently in the movie made about them which we’ve seen twice. If you can handle tears, watch “Only The Brave” sometime. Anyway, I looked up how to get there and discussion ended abruptly when directions got to the part about parking 4 miles from the tree for a fairly rugged hike.

Once everybody’s up and thinking, we’ll figure out what’s on the agenda. Since we go through Cottonwood to get to Jerome, my friend was thinking about some museums there.

I wonder if they welcome cameras.

A Little Vacation 3: A Rooster, A Hike, Shopping, Scrabble, & A Theory

It was a lovely wake-up call after a night of interrupted sleep. Such an improvement! This place is not just a huge orchard with scattered houses, a gazebo, and a river running by, it’s got roosters! It was a quick kick back to my childhood. While breakfast was being prepared, one lone one gave a few last cock-a-doodles before giving up apparently for the day. At least one time he crowed yesterday my friend was outside and also heard it. I must be the only one to hear it/them from inside the house. This morning there was no crowing, at least not until after 7:15. Now they are making up for lost time. But it’s very cloudy today, so maybe that’s it. While I’m waiting for everybody else to wake up, it’s time to document yesterday.

We gals decided to head over to Sedona for the day. The end errand was to be shopping for supper and other meals, avoiding restaurants as much as possible. We needed taco fixings, along with a few other staples and the ingredients for Steve’s BATs. This stands for a sandwich, Bacon, Avocado, and Tomato. Tell people you’re eating bats and you get really strange looks, and that’s from the polite ones. Explain, and they start looking hungry. But the tomatoes and avocados have to be nicely ripe, so shopping almost always needs to be done a day or two ahead.

It was the trip along the way that was to be interesting. Camera Time! Red Rock State Park was our first destination, and a hike down to and along the river was planned. By the way, the river in question is the same one that passes here in Cornville, Oak Creek. In Sedona and northward it’s surrounded by lots of the most amazing and beautiful red rock cliffs. Hence the park name.

First lesson: Az state parks charge per person, not per car like national parks. We left the guys at “home” so it was cheaper. {They were just going to do guy things, which mostly, we thought, meant sitting around chatting about life and fishing and stuff. They wouldn’t actually go fishing. Steve’s gear was in the back of the car I was driving. (Oops?) We figured no problem because no licenses, no bait, and no location known where a flat and short walk to the creek was available. Here it’s lots of steps down. Lots. The owner doesn't know of an alternative site for them. So no go.}

Since our last visit to the park, 2016 as an earlier perusing of my photos attested to, much has changed. The roads are all on high ground, so any hike to Oak Creek has lots of vertical in it. No real biggie, thankfully. The roads are different, the old water wheel is nowhere to be found, and the lovely spot with all the tree roots where I took several shots of those and the creek was… we’re not sure. Somewhere else. Not within driving distance. Likely not within our walking distance. Once we parked, a newly constructed visitor center surrounded by lovely AZ style xeriscaping and feeders for myriads of birds was our first sight on our path to the creek. As we strolled past that into open land, we had a distant view of Cathedral Rock, though at this angle it’s very apparent it's at least three different jutting rock clumps.

Further along a side path presented itself. Looking carefully at the sign next to it, dogs were not allowed, bicycles were not allowed, nor something-something-else already forgotten, but hikers were welcomed. Down we went, zigging and zagging, the path made to keep our descent as smooth and gradual as possible. Sycamores lined this part of it, their bark and branches creating both foregrounds and backgrounds, particularly for orange lichen-covered branches of shorter dark-barked trees in the foreground. The orange was amazingly bright, the contrast incredible.

The hike along the creek was paved with flat red rocks for the most part, but footing could still be tricky for the unwary as the stray one poked up. We were warned away by signs from both the creek and the cliffs rising on our other side. Construction has been going on down there, mostly across the creek from where we were. Large areas displayed felled trees, opening up new habitat, and a narrow bridge across to it had only stubby pylons left to give evidence of former crossing. The creek was rushing steadily along, soothing us with its splashing, in places smoothing out enough for watery photo opportunities of tree reflections. One section had lots of boulders just under the water, making a rainbow of green moss (algae?), red/orange rocks, and bright blue reflections of sky for a bit now that clouds had started breaking up. The photos turned out to show the colors better than I thought the camera caught at the time.

The one disappointment was a sign “pointing to” petroglyphs. The information was great: how, when, and why they were carved along here. Unfortunately, despite an illustration of rock shapes and what the figures looked like, neither of us could locate them. I explored some more while she kept studying the sign, the rocks, the sign, the rocks, hoping for revelation. Alas.  Somebody must have vandalized them long since, and the sign sits there as a memento of what was, a cautionary tale of vandalism. Otherwise, the sign is just a random cruel tease.

I’d reached my limit of desired exploration by that point, so we agreed to head back. We stopped near restrooms, and had lunch in the parked car, discussing the rest of our plans and enjoying the scenery. The road the park is on is a loop off 89A, so we decided to continue on it and reconnect. Hopefully we’d have better views of Cathedral Rock on the way.

First we found a small pullout for long views of rock formations across the valley, and enjoyed some photo ops. Rounding a curve, suddenly a very garish building appeared, perched on the top wall face of a red cliff. Both of us were shocked by that. Most everything blends in to the scenery here, done artfully in the colors of the surrounding rocks. This was offensively tasteless, bright blood red and flashy chrome! It looked likely to fall off and crash onto several buildings immediately below. Was it even safe? Who would build way up there? More to the point, how did they get away with something so ghastly and ugly? Sedona is known for zoning that keeps buildings blending into natural scenery. This perched pecadillo is a blight upon the landscape, dare I say a blasphemy to the rocks themselves, whether one has spiritual beliefs in the weird vortexes there or not. As the road passed under it, we saw the buildings below which had been previously concealed by rocks and trees. Apparently there was some construction company making its mark there. Some features of these buildings shared common characteristics with the monstrosity above. That explains who has the money to get away with this ugliness.

Further around the curve, we finally found a tiny pullout where we could get a decent shot of Cathedral Rock, though not the best, classic one. Turning back to the car I had a view of the back of the monstrosity and took a shot. It was so bad I just had to.

It was time for town. First there was a bead store, where I found the yellow-green seed beads I needed to make the “stems” of the flowers in my current jewelry, and a couple strings of interesting blue agates I thought I could find a use for. During checkout I expressed disappointment on not finding  turquoise beads any more, just nuggets, so she pointed to a back corner of the store.”They’re from China but they’re real turquoise.” Umm, yeah, I’ve bought Chinese ”turquoise” and it’s actually been dyed howlite. China sells "purple turquoise" that way too. I decide to check them out, lifted a group of strands in my hands, and decided they didn’t have the heft to be “really real.” I passed on buying these, but then she offered to direct me to a local store selling AZ turquoise,  cautioning me that those would be expensive.  Of course they would. I declined, needing to sit in my seat in the car while my friend finished shopping, much more than I needed to buy turquoise.

Since we were in town, I called - finally! - a friend back in Minnesota who’s been in the hospital for a while and will be there longer. Explaining the phone situation, we agreed that I’d call her again on the weekend when we returned to a real cell signal- and hopefully wi-fi again. My laptop still gets no signal, and the owners of the property were in yesterday trying to fix their router but no go. It sits here in this centrally located house but serves a few other buildings as well on the property.

Next port of call was a Crystals store. It holds various shapes of everything crystal you can imagine, as well as lots of other non-crystaline rocks. I fell in love with some slices of ammonites, even dinner plate sized. I’d bought a whole one here back in 2016, opalized to show large swaths of red in proper light. These slices tempting me now were apparently from beds where thousands or more had piled on top of each other, small through huge randomly, and the cuts showed the pileups. I looked at one of the price tags on a smaller one and again decided to spend my funds elsewhere. Suddenly a couple containers of polished malachite rocks appeared and after much sorting I left with the four best small samples in the store. I’d informed my friend earlier that they were formed in caves as either stalactites or stalagmites, thus explaining the circles and stripes of various greens. Mine were spectacular, the features fine enough to demonstrate their origins.

Last stop was the grocery store. By then I was more than ready for using a scooter cart, something I resort to seldom these days, so the process was fairly pleasant. We found a hundred bucks worth of necessities for the next two days, three nights. Much cheaper than restaurants, and my friend is a great cook and enjoys doing it. We let her. Dinner was tacos, hard or soft shelled choices, with about 9 toppings. As soon as we were all stuffed, with just one lone shell remaining, she brought out a bowl of mixed fruit for dessert. Looks great. We hope it still does today, since she was the only one with any room left last night.

We found out that our guys had gone out on their own excursion during the day while we were gone. They now had fishing licenses. And since wires had apparently crossed, they brought a bag of groceries back as well. Apparently Cottonwood has a WalMart, serving both needs. Of course Steve’s shopping scooter cart broke down so he had a long hike through the store and back to the car, arriving back here in misery. His buddy wasn’t in a much better state, but in his case, it was a bad mood due to getting lost on their drive back. (It was too early for them to realize that there would be no fishing after all, due to lack of a place with easy creek access for dropping a line. The licenses are good for a full year, though, so maybe if they come back in less than 12 months...?)

Now here’s where I take my turn to point out that having a mental map of the area, along with a good sense of direction, is the most reliable. It turned out that his GPS wasn't working. Nobody’s was anywhere. No cell service. No internet service. After attempting to head back here - via the wrong direction - they finally pulled into a Ford dealership ask directions. That’s when they found there was no internet everywhere. This time the human-given directions worked, and they arrived about an hour after we returned. I’d been busy using the time going through my pictures, culling and adjusting and cropping. Other than word processing off-line, which is how I’m “blogging” without being able to post, it’s about all I can do on my laptop. No email, no news, no weather, not even my handy Google as a shortcut for spell checking, where by the time I type what I think I'm looking for Google offers me the correct version. Either that or I'm so far off that it has no clue what I'm looking for and have to try a synonym or something.

Now, hearing about the lack of internet in a wide area, I recalled something I’d read on the internet before we left for this trip. I love a site called spaceweather.com. I started reading it years ago for their photos from around the world of auroras. They do so much more however. I never heard of sprites before, for example. Or noctilucent clouds which I’d finally seen last summer. The previous week’s featured event was a huge sunspot explosion of the far side of the sun, but so enormous that astronomers were catching shots of what was being hurled into space. For three days I followed it. While it couldn’t affect us - yet - it was on the part of the sun which was turning our way. My last look before unplugging didn’t show it stopping yet. So, my theory. I can’t check it due to lack of communication, but I figure it’s possible we’ve had (are having) the results of a CME. Better known as a coronal mass ejection. They are known for disrupting satellites and all sorts of communications. Alternately, it’s just a hell of a place down in a hole in the Verde Valley to try to get ahold of anybody for anything.

(Spoiler alert: A CME wasn’t it. Back in communication land, I checked that out. Could the Sedona vortexes be on the move? LOL)

Good thing we brought the Super Scrabble board and scrabble dictionary along. We played until bed. Steve dropped out first, needing sleep and something other than the chair he was in for his back. We three kept on going, until no more tiles were in the bag. I finished mine, but we were playing by “fun” rules rather than keeping score so the game went on. My friend was next and she used her last three tiles. Steve’s buddy was too tired to think, had a full 7 in his tray, and gave up. I asked if he minded if I took the tray to see if I could play any. I could. One letter here, one there, either making two-letter words or filling between two rows for a three letter one. Then bed for all of us.

A Little Vacation 2: !st Morning & Tale Of Getting Here

I must have gotten some sleep last night, since I’m not totally exhausted. I woke the final time around 5:30 and finally resigned myself to not getting any more sleep around 6. Time for that thyroid pill anyway, so I can eat and take more meds, including ibuprofen again, in the not-too- distant morning. The skies now, at 6:45 are slightly lightening. Not that I’ve opened the blinds to look out or anything, but that’s the time they lighten up 2 hours south this time of year. The reason I even bothered to note the time is because there’s a very diligent rooster encouraging the sun to rise with all his masculine charms. He’s been a very busy boy for about a quarter hour now. It might be time to get dressed for a very chilly  morning and take the camera out to shoot those cliffs as the sun hits them. Unless it’s cloudy, of course. Then I’ll just stay here.

Getting here was such a challenge, and I made the mistake of relying on my skills, thoroughly checking a map and redrawing it for myself to show the meaningful parts, and logic to locate it. The other couple had cell phone navigation. They also had the code for getting through the gate to this place. Nobody mentioned that would be necessary. My skills got us to the exact spot it should have been, but the street ended at a cross street just before the numbers got to this address. I tried a couple things, since the signs for streets mostly only show one name and not both for the intersection, and some turns are more guesswork than signage, but this name didn’t pop up again. 

It was a fairly interesting drive... the first time through. It was a mix of medium homes, ranches with horses, showpieces homes on hills hogging the view for themselves, and a large section of a community where hundreds of worn out mobile homes came to die - while still holding families. Recliners lined the roadway, not to be taken away but for neighbors to congregate. The yards looked like junkyards, but considering the likely income levels of the residents, the contents of the yards were probably still very much in use. Our destination was supposed to be on the other side of that... but where?

We thought we’d try our friends to see if they were here yet, since Steve got a text a bit before that they came north early and hit Sedona for some shopping. Groceries mostly. Unfortunately, this part of the world seems to have no cell coverage whatever. We punch the right  keys, and get “call failed.” Steve tried his cell’s navigation system which sent us off where we’d already tried with no results. We asked three different sets of locals, and nobody seemed to know where the road went after it hit the cross street, but one said it “divided” without clarifying how or where. Another pulled up a map on his phone and sent us down a different rabbit hole. We finally headed back into the center part of “town” looking for an open business (Sunday, doncha know), or somebody else to ask.

Meanwhile I was completely frustrated by having no communication with our friends. The rental was in their name, they had the local phone number of the owner in case of… well, anything. How do we tell them we’re hopelessly lost, we’ve exhausted every avenue, and please come find us at… hopefully somewhere. By this point I was almost in tears. How on earth would we connect?

Just before getting back to the highway Steve recalled seeing a cop car parked at a house we passed on our way in, so we started looking for that, figuring we’d stop in and see if they could be of help. I  spied it just as I was driving past and couldn’t stop quickly because of a tailgater. We continued to the highway, found a (closed) place to turn around in, and headed back. I had my turn signal on for the turn into the home with the cop car this time, and just as I was stopping to turn an oncoming car honked at me. Loudly and repeatedly.

WTF?  Did they think I didn't see them and was going to turn right into them?

Steve announced delightedly it was their car! They’d come to find us! Lead the way! This was especially wonderful since the cop car was for the next town over, so who know how much they'd know about the town they lived in. Where they worked, you bet they'd know all the roads, but once home?

Later conversations at the house informed us our friends had set out just as soon as they realized they also had no cell service in the area, and figured we’d have problems. Not only that, we’d need the code for the gate to get in to the area! He just had to slip in the comment that it would’ve been so much easier if we’d caravanned up and stayed together. Of course it would have! The previous afternoon before they left for  our house for the night, suggestions were rolling around as to how and where we’d meet up. Our house? Their B&B? I had a scenic but efficient route in mind. It was his choice to head up separately, and their combined choice the next morning to leave a couple hours before they’d told us we should go up.  Everybody knew I was relying on maps, that Steve’s cell had navigation, however inefficient that was. But the kicker was nobody knew yet that cell service was nonexistent. (As it turns out, we have the wi-fi code for this place. Just no wi-fi is detectible by my laptop. None. Zero bars anywhere. So none of this will be getting posted until we return late in the week - unless the landlady has a fix for that.)

Recall that the street ended before the numbers got to where we were going. Turns out that’s not precisely the truth. The paved part ended, but a little gravel driveway continued downhill on the other side of the cross street but after just a little jog. It doesn’t look like a road but a large gravel parking area with a commercial-looking building on each side. Not being homes, they were obviously private and we had no business being there. Except we did, since at the other end was the gate we needed to go through. The gate we didn’t have the code to. But we were here at last!

Oh, Steve’s phone navigation system? We used it right next to that gravel parking area, and it told us we were 4 minutes away, pointing us back north. Exactly opposite of where we should have headed. Naturally, like everything else about locating this spot.

    *     *     *

A couple hours have passed while I've been writing this, waiting for the rest to wake up. Seems I'm an early bird. While waiting for the thermostat to decide to kick in some heat again, I got chilly and went back under the covers to warm up again. After a while I decided to actually get dressed in my winter gear for indoors. I had moved around a bit, raising the living room blinds to see the sun hit the cliffs across the way. Nope, not cliffs after all. Yesterday afternoon it was just a backlit blue wall. The rising sun now  hitting it revealed a typical low mountain,  dotted with small trees with few spots so vertical nothing showed but bands of rock.  So, large mesa then. I still haven’t been out with the camera, having finally just warmed up enough under the covers to brave getting dressed. There are enough clouds that’s it’s still not an inviting prospect. I’ll just wait a bit longer for everyday else to start moving before making my coffee.

Meanwhile I’ll try to recall just where my camera landed last night in all the chaos. There is a tree just outside the big window wall that has a growth on it that from this angle looks exactly like a lion’s head. There’s an eye, long snout with a dark nose, mouth that curves up in a grin to the cheekbones, bearded chin, and a nice 3-d mane around the sides. I pointed it out to Steve and he agreed it’s a lion. It will likely change completely from any other angle, so I’ll shoot through the window. Once I find that camera.

    *     *     *

Later shots with different angles revealed the lion head from the front is a lamb, and from the other side is an elephant. Later I’ll have to see how they show once I’ve cropped and edited the photos. I’ll know what I’m looking for anyway.

A Little Vacation 1: Day Before and Night One There

I both want to sleep and don’t. Want to because it’s been a long day and I’m tired. I woke at 4:30, and by the time I got back from letting the dog out I was fully awake. I turned on the TV and got last night’s (recorded on the DVR) 7-day weather, concentrating on the area we’re now in. The forecast is for cooling, with rain likely Tuesday and as much as maybe 5” snow on Wednesday. It  was helpful knowing how to pack since we were leaving after a day of near 80 back home and a forecast by the time we left in early afternoon of fairly close to that for our two hour drive north. We had to wait that long because the Air B&B they rented was only available at/after 3.

Our Minnesota friends - Steve’s MN fishing buddy and his wife - arrived in the Phoenix area two nights ago after four days of driving. Not being used to it they spent their evening recuperating. We went out to lunch together yesterday at a restaurant everybody liked. The guys stayed at our house for several hours that afternoon to do their thing and I showed her the Gilbert Water Ranch. We hiked over a mile. Silly me, thinking it was a good idea to go on a Saturday afternoon, but it was that or nothing. Three tours of the regular parking lot convinced me I needed to head over to the library parking lot on the other side of the lake, adding significantly to the walk. Both ways.

We both loved the area, and it has benches placed regularly along the paths where one can sit, often long enough for the wildlife to become active again while we watched, at least so long as no more people pass in the meantime. Yep, watching the wildlife, that’s my excuse for sitting. I had my camera along of course, and she settled for her cell phone camera while bemoaning being unable to zoom in on the birds.

 Many of the birds were new to her, others were also down from “back home” to  winter in milder climes. Literal snowbirds. She couldn’t get over how everything smelled of nature.  They left the frozen northland of ice and snow, where nothing smells except the city, and that not very nicely. So leaves, flowers, and open water, even with floating algae patches, are a treat. Our friends have visited several times here, and are funny in that when they come down here to the Phoenix area they bring us north to join them in the winter part of AZ. I keep telling them if they really want to get away, come in March, stick around, and see the desert in bloom. Last trip up to the the Verde Valley area was the day after a nice snowfall in Sedona, which turned out the have the makings for our picture X-Mas card that year.

They are great company. He and Steve have known each other at least a couple years longer than I’ve known Steve. I’ve only fairly recently come to know her and we find so much in common each time. We both have some artistic streaks. I do photography, she sketches. I love to make earrings, she loves to wear earrings. We both love music. I k kinda sing and she plays harp. Both of us appreciate the local cultures, especially the original ones in either locale, love the scenery, take in the world with much the same sensibilities.  Where we differ is I’m more practical and organized, she’s more spiritual.

There have been times while driving alone that I will start humming a tune circling my brain and start throwing in variations until it’s something completely different and yet somehow the same, so I can comprehend how she might be doing that with her harps. Yes, plural. Just the little one travels. That is the reason I don’t quite want to go to sleep yet. She is out in the living room of this little Air B&B  house playing it. The sounds are so soothing, I don’t want to miss a note. None of it is familiar to me and I need to remember in the morning to ask her if she makes it up as she goes or has everything memorized.

I’m sure I’ll get some sleep soon. Just as soon as my shoulders quit aching. I’ve taken ibuprofin, but the bed and the pillows are just wrong. I can’t refluff the pillows to support my head to ease the shoulders because of - you guessed it - the shoulders. My body has adapted to what’s at home, which includes a very firm pillow that is in one piece and doesn’t ease away from me while I sleep, unlike both of mine on this bed, so even on my worst nights at home I can manage sleep without too much pain. When that’s not possible, I head out to my living room recliner and spread out there. This place is wonderful but has no recliners. I assure you the ping pong/pool table in the living room with the panorama wall of windows behind it looking out over the field and orchard to the as-yet-unidentified mountain/cliff/wall the sun recently set behind do not quite make up for the lack of a good recliner to sleep in when the shoulders are acting up. I blame tonight’s pains on carrying in all the luggage we brought along, since Steve’s now added hip problems to his other aches and did well to get himself over the stairs and into the house.

Unfortunately harp strings have been replaced by the sounds of running water while they settle in for the night, so it’s time for me to stop writing and try to also.

In An Awful Day, A Glimmer Of Good News

The awful? Russia in Ukraine. Can't do anything about that. And personally the day has been - divorced from news - pretty relaxed. See future posts, delayed because... well, read them. They'll be getting posted.

The glimmer of good news comes from Interior Secretary Deb Haaland. The Interior Department is working towards replacing all the place names using the offensive term "squaw", hereafter by their request to be referred to as "sq---" in future communications, with non offensive language. Witness that it has already been done in the Phoenix area in 2003 by renaming Sq--- Peak to Piestewa Peak, after Lori Piestewa, a Hopi US soldier serving in Iraq was killed. They noted several states have already banned sq--- in place names, just like the n-word has been removed, though embarrassingly recently. The necessary 60 day comment period is beginning, and they want to offer 5 alternative names in each of - can you believe it? - 660 places on the US maps. 

They are looking for suggestions. One idea is to to change the offensive names of geographical features to that of a nearby feature. So "Sq--" River might become White River since it flows by White Mountain. (Those names are pulled completely out of a sleep-deprived hat. I have no knowledge of any such features with those names in likely combinations.) Another idea would be to put the actual name of an indigenous woman of note from that area on the feature. Or perhaps a name acknowledging an event which happened there. And on and on.

There is already a minor backlash from people who believe that sq--- is simply an Indian word for woman. In this confused state they imagine how forward thinking we already by honoring all these native women this way. It is in fact easily replaceable with what we delicately call "the c word", denigrating native women by reducing them to the single part of their anatomy that the men naming then found useful. Imagine, for example, if any landmark, road, bridge, county or state named after a famous white man had instead been named by an enemy who wanted the world to know that person was nothing, a disgrace, a vulgarity. Can you see the George Washington Bridge going by the moniker "Limp Dick Bridge"? Or saying, "I live in Drippy Dong County," and, "Our nation's capitol is Teeny Penie D.C.?"

Perhaps, if this goes through well, we can point to ourselves and justifiably claim we're starting to grow up as a culture. Just a bit.

Thank you, Secretary Haaland.

Scamalot

They're at it again, and it's been so long on some of these that old ones are resurfacing in hopes of new suckers. 

Some are boring, the kind of robocalls that ring twice and drop the call, or hang up in 3 seconds after you answer. I figure most of those are just checking to see if the random set of numbers their software generated are legit phone numbers. But if that is the case, at least one has a flat-line learning curve. I recognize the number now, since it's my own area code and the same set of four end numbers. The middle? Who cares?

Some are simply irritating, like the ones who claim to be raising funds for some police something-or-other. The first time that one came through, I chatted politely for about a minute, then idly asked where he was calling from. He gave me a location that I was supposed to recognize as local - except I know the area code there and his wasn't it. I looked it up later and he was calling from Las Vegas. Nice try. The next time that one came through, again asking me to support the local police, I replied simply that I already do and hung up. It's true, I do support our local "posse" which is a volunteer organization that does things like check on empty homes while the owners are gone, and put their own lockboxes near a door with the homeowner's key inside if they need to get in, say, for a fire, a trapped dog, somebody too hurt or ill to come to the door, or whatever. They don't get much from me each year, but I don't have a lot to donate.  We get along just fine. But those "police" guys persist in calling, as often as 4 times a week. I just flip my phone open and closed and cut it off.

Steve got a goodie early this week, an email alleging to be from Amazon. Somebody had supposedly been tapping his account there, and he needed to verify he was the real Steve by giving all kinds of information including his mother's maiden name, etc., etc., etc. As soon as he informed me, I called Rich in to assist, since I can't do anything on his computer and Rich can. We all agreed this was "phishing", and Steve was ready to dump the email. But I've gotten these before, and any legitimate company wants to get a copy forwarded to their special department dealing with that crap so they can halt it. Maybe even prosecute the phishers. It took half an hour in all, but they didn't get any info from Steve that they shouldn't have.

An oldie came in my email earlier this week. This one came in the guise of a Japanese elderly woman who had a lot of money to invest in a good business. "She" addressed me as "Dear." I typed back something to the effect I couldn't believe that old scam was still around and people were still falling for it. I didn't dignify it with a name since my email address doesn't actually give mine. Why give them any extra ammunition?

Even the club isn't immune. There are all the usual junk mail solicitations from people looking to place employees or offer services. If we were an actual business and looking for employees or insurance or CPA services or whatever, these might not go straight into the recycle pile. As it is, the main organization covering the rec centers in Sun City might actually hire people or secure insurance policies. We don't. We're strictly a club, all volunteers as well as participants, and any funds go straight into supporting the club with repairs, new equipment, etc. Any truly professional help we need starts with a call to the head organization to see if they have staff which either does that or can recommend somebody. End of that story.

Today I popped my head in for a minute, and checked the emails on the club computer. There was a dilly sitting there. I've seen it before in different guises. They claim to be  (wheel out the pity party balloons, folks) disabled and working on behalf of somebody else who's also disabled. That person needs a wedding ring at a discount. No budget, doncha know. Would we get back to them with what's available in gold and diamonds and list our prices? And "lest they forget" the reason they are contacting us is they've heard about us from a good business review.  Oh, and any "homemade" items would be "worthy" of their consideration.

Uhh, sure, a business review. Where, I wonder? I figure they're searching for information on who they might scam or even rob. I'm not biting. I just sent a brief note back that we are a hobby club, we teach our members from scratch, and nobody here is skilled enough to work in either gold or any gemstones. Again, I don't even bother to give a name with my reply.

I'm betting with myself (fits my budget, win or lose) that we'll hear from these folks again. Or some other cons who want to see if they can get better results from it.

Whirlwind

Live can change so quickly. For a while there is no particular news, then good news, then great news, then... tears. 

A few weeks ago we learned that a new great grandchild was expected. It's the second from that couple, and we're still looking forward to meeting the first. We've just never been in the same state at the same time. The newest child was expected to arrive before we went to their state for the fancy wedding of another family couple, giving us even more joy to celebrate this fall.

Unknown to me, given how busy everything has been lately, yesterday the news came through to Steve that the pregnancy was twins! I would have loved to celebrate that. But this afternoon, after Steve had left the room for a few hours of sleep, I answered a call asking for our prayers. The mom-to-be had just been dropped off at the hospital with symptoms that screamed to me, "miscarriage." I still hadn't heard about the twins yet, but Steve filled me in later this afternoon when I filled him in on the call. A little while ago we got the unhappy confirmation.

We're sad, of course. Although, those two new family members hadn't gotten real for us yet. No hearing about morning sickness, no watching a tummy bulge, no feeling a foot kick, no shopping for the new little one(s). We imagine the grief and pain the parents are going through, each putting ourselves in their place. For them it was very real, every minute of it. I really can't compare my miscarriage to this, as I hadn't even known I was pregnant yet when mine happened, and never needed medical intervention. I loved and wanted the babies I did have, and would have been devastated to have known I was pregnant but I'd lost one. Not to mention two, even if only living with that possibility for a day.

They are young, just starting as a family, and have - depending on the reasons behind the miscarriage- likely many more chances to grow their family. Two babies at once along with a toddler would have been a lot of stress, not just during pregnancy with the possibility of required bed rest and premature births, but the extra sleep loss, childcare required, and financial burdens. Luckily the couple are near one set of grandparents for help with any children, but those are both still working and unable to be a constant help. So it's tempting to think it might have been a "blessing in disguise."

I'm sure right now all any of them see is the tragedy.

ADOT DMV

 It was time. Not by the numbers on our licenses. Not by the expiration date on Steve's handicap placard. Our driver's licenses don't expire till April, and the placard not until August, when we expect to be out of state and unable to renew it. But Steve wants to drive, and he can't on his old license.

Both his eyes had cataract surgery last year. That means he doesn't need glasses any more to see in the distance clearly. His license says otherwise, so if he's ever pulled over for anything, he'd be in violation of his license. He can't wear glasses because they would "correct" what no longer needs fixing, i.e.,  they would blur the world for him. So if he obeys the law he's no longer fit to drive safely. The solution is simple, of course: get a new license now and have his new vision checked. (He's got his reading glasses since that's the only correction he needs any more and wouldn't let anything get in the way of his reading.)

There have been roadblocks. Covid effectively closed the DMV buildings a long while ago. Every thing possible was done online. No eye checks that way. A couple buildings were left open but required both a long drive and (a pair of) appointments. With covid spreading all around like this is Arizona or something - which it is, second worst county in the whole country both for cases and deaths - we put off a public visit. I'm still available to drive anywhere needed after all. 

I frequently drive past the closest DMV and noted a couple months back that their parking lot was again full. They were open! Still, we put it off. Steve looked for locations on the internet and their info still says everything is closed unless we want a very long drive. So there was more discussion but no action. Till today. Steve finally decided it was time. As a bonus, while I was checking into locations to make extra sure (including a phone call) I discovered AZ has a new policy that the permanent handicap placards are now printed with no expiration dates.  Permanent now actually means no more doctor visits just to renew one after 4 or 5 years or whatever a particular state requires. While I qualified for one for enough years to renew mine once, I no longer need one. Steve has had the medical procedures that have shown to everybody's satisfaction that he will continue to need his. It was finally time. And luckily today was a day I wasn't needed in the club. However, I did have a visit with my doctor this morning first. This has the advantage - or not, depending on your point of view- of providing an accurate weight for things like deciding how truthful to be on your newest license.

There was a handicap spot open in their parking lot when we drove in. We couldn't use it. The placard to keep us from being ticketed while there had to be taken in as Steve's proof that he qualified for the truly permanent replacement. Luckily there was a regular parking spot close to it. 

Once inside the lines were long. We were directed to stop inside the door and take a ticket, pushing one of three different buttons. The first was us: no appointment. The second was if we had an appointment. Turns out that line was actually short, but obscured from sight by all in the drop-in line. The third? I can't remember but it wasn't us either. I grabbed a ticket, found three of the four chairs open for people needing them to sit on, and since nobody else was waiting, Steve and I sat together. I asked Steve his number, to verify his was the one after mine, but he thought I'd gotten two tickets. So I walked back to get him one, now about 8 numbers away from mine. 

Turned out it didn't matter. An employee walked by, noticed we were together in the chairs, Steve holding his placard, and went to the machine and got us - as a unit -a completely different number. We would be called in the order that came up in relation to the other people at the time she pulled it, but we could keep sitting and not have to shuffle through 45 minutes of moving line. She assured us their system kept track. And they did.

We watched about 15 people go through a door to our side. Their badges indicated they were employees and the brown bags or lunch boxes, in addition the the time, indicated it was their lunch break. The line didn't seem to slow. In fact, it kept getting shorter while we sat. I would have thought that lunchtime was a time when more people would file in. Hmmm. 

One person of note was an Air Force captain. Steve managed to get up long enough to go over and chat with him briefly, including his usual "Thanks for your service." His uniform gave extra meaning to "cargo pants", pockets running the full length of his trousers. The thing that really stood out in the line wasn't the size, the speed of movement, or the attire, uniform or not. (Except for one woman with verrrrry interesting leggings with fishnet cutouts. I checked, and yes, Steve definitely noticed those too!) What stood out was what they weren't wearing, other than maybe 10%of them. Masks.

I was wearing one, Steve was wearing one, about a fifth of the employees were wearing one. A casual glance would seem to indicate the pandemic was over.  That, or as previously noted, this was AZ. We had to take our masks off twice. Once was to demonstrate our vision by reading a card of random letters. The noise level was high, and the employee was working with reading our lips as much as hearing what we were saying. The second time was for our horrible pictures.

I do mean horrible! Steve's eyes were wide open with large black irises. Note: his eyes are hazel. We joked afterwards that he looked like a serial killer or maybe was on something. I thought mine would be better than the last time since my face was thinner. Some of the 30 pounds lost since the last lie for my weight had to come from the face, and I'd even checked in the mirror before heading out the door to verify it looked better. When they gave me the photocopy with my mug shot on it, I didn't recognize myself! My face was shorter and wider that it's ever been in my life! That didn't stop it from showing all kids of wrinkles, with the end result making me look line a 75-yer-old man!  Yes, a man! Even Steve agreed. On the drive home we speculated that distortion would prevent any facial recognition software from picking me out. Much of that - at least as far as I can follow how it works on TV - is features in relation to other features, and if I'm stretched sideways, who knows? Maybe I better hang on to the old license, just in case?

But we got everything done that needed to be, our old placard and licenses haven't expired yet so we can wait patiently for the new ones in the mail, and have the photocopies for any possible questions. Well other than is that really me? And is Steve a serial killer? (I've seen him kill off a bowl of cereal in short order, particularly Cheerios. Does that count?)

Speaking of waiting for things patiently to arrive in the mail, remember that concealed carry permit I was supposed to receive around Christmas time? Maybe New Years since they're kinda slow these days. It's still not here. A couple weeks ago I even called Shooter's World to find out what I needed to do to check on it or perhaps re-file the paperwork or whatever. The fairly brusk answer was just wait. Still. I must have been bothering them with my single question. The class is taught, the money paid, so Yawn. Bye. Click.

I'll definitely hang onto the paperwork from today.

My Grandmother's Hands

I have very few actual memories of my paternal grandmother. For most of the time we both walked this planet, we lived 200 miles apart. We'd meet briefly when our family came to the city for a visit with relatives, but neither had anything in common with the other, besides my father. I was, after all, the younger child of one of her youngest sons in a very big family. 

When Mom was too sick to care for me, the year I attended kindergarten in Minneapolis, I wasn't "allowed" to bother Grandma. I was officially staying with my aunt, uncle, and my two much older adopted cousins in a huge house. The upper floor was rental apartments for proper young ladies attending school or working at very proper jobs before marriage. That's how it was back then. All I saw was the outside stairs I was never allowed to climb. The basement apartment where Grandma lived had its own street entrance,  the front room of which was all I was allowed in to see, and then only on rare instances when I visited Grandma with my aunt. In all that time, my memories are of the other people, the house, the very small yard, and a young neighbor boy I played outside with who soon died from leukemia. I hadn't known kids could die.

I was barely aware of the babies my aunt fostered briefly, one after another, until they died of spina bifida. Looking back I suppose she rather enjoyed an older child for a while who wasn't in the process of dying. She taught me to write my name, tie my shoes, set the table, and cross the street safely by minding the stoplights to walk to kindergarten. Smells made impressions, like the bars of Ivory soap throughout the house. Mom didn't buy that brand. My uncle, home on disability retirement from the police force with severe arthritis in his hands, smelled of the bowl of pennies which he let me play with, an aid to learning to count and add or just make patterns on the floor with, and of the cigars he smoked. My cousin Marilyn "let" me make her bed for her each morning so she had time to get ready to leave for high school. I was really proud of having learned how to do it well and loved the praise. I think we had a pact that in return for letting me do that for her, it was OK for me not to tell her mom that I was, since "I might get in trouble" if I did. Or something like that. We got along that way.

There is one exception to the dearth of memories. I was outside, playing with a doll and her buggy, when Grandma came out and soon noticed I hadn't put my doll's panties on under her dress in my hurry to get outside. Scandalized, she scolded me soundly, sending me back inside to correct the  situation immediately. I tried to argue that it didn't matter since she was only a doll and had nothing to really cover, which only made everybody angry with me. How dare I argue with Grandma! The unfairness of that has rankled through the decades, though I do understand where they all were coming from. In a conversation with that aunt when she was in a nursing home but still very lucid, she shared with me the tale of her being molested when she was very, very young by a neighbor and his son who were supposed to be babysitting her in an emergency. Instead they created an emergency and left my aunt unable to bear her own children. Of course as a 5 year old, nothing of that was allowed to filter into my awareness. Even my father never heard the real reason his sister needed to adopt her family. Those things just weren't discussed.

When I was older, somewhere between third and maybe 8th grade, this same grandmother came to our small house in a small town to stay with our family. It was "our turn" to take care of her. I believe she stayed about a year. My biggest awareness was of my brother having to give up his main floor bedroom and move into my enormous bedroom that covered most of the second floor. She couldn't handle the stairs to come join me.  It was an uncomfortable arrangement, but we were not allowed protest of course.

I cannot accurately place when the discussion about her hands took place. At some point I noticed that her hands had lots of brown spots on them, the skin was wrinkled all over, and blue veins stood up from the level of the rest of her hands. Being very young, I'd never noticed an old person's hands before this. Being clueless, as I was about so many things in my early years since nobody found the time to explain the world to me unless I was misbehaving in it, I asked her about why her hands looked like that.  Everybody laughed at me, and one of them - who knows which one? - informed me that mine were going to look just like that when I grew old. I looked at my hands, then back at hers. In my youthful arrogance and with a complete failure of imagination, I insisted I'd never have hands that looked like that! Of course this only garnered more ridicule.

I've been looking at my hands more these days. Brown spots are appearing. Wrinkles too, especially as there is now the same amount of skin covering a little less hand than recently before, and almost no elastin left to correct for that. I've been using them a fair amount these last couple years, working with metals in various forms along with tools and machines needed to make jewelry, so most recently I've noted some of the vessels popping up over the otherwise mostly flat geography of the back of my hands. They are quite blue, and don't even match, one of my hands to the other.

My hands? What am I saying? These are my grandmother's hands!

The Many Miracles Of Florida

If you've been following this blog since early covid days, you are aware I've been following the numbers. Mainly these are from Worldometer, but also from state health departments, Johns Hopkins, and general national news outlets and political commentaries.

A whole bunch of things stand out. Nearly everybody agrees on the shapes and timing of the numbers curves, increases, dips, new and higher increases in cases, the effects of immunizations, and the frustrations of EVERYBODY that the pandemic is ongoing for this long. 

One particular graphic making the rounds made that point very clearly, stating self congratulations that the writer survived January because January was a very long year. Time has become so distorted, subjectively, that I hear people talk about this lasting three years when it's been just over two. I get confused myself some times, falling back on looking at my own vaccination record to verify it took a year to get them out, another part year of feeling freedom, marred at the end by the Omicron variant which makes us all susceptible to covid again. Just, this time, hopefully, less likely to get really sick and/or die if we're fully vaccinated. Vaxxed for short. And now, Omicron itself has a newly emerging variant, effects yet to be known. We want it to be OVER! We grow increasingly frustrated with the willfully unvaccinated who keep dragging this out, and all the political nonsense swirling around, muddying the mix of what should be a straightforward public health issue, and fearful of the newly revealed deep racial and political divisions in this country and their ties to Russian propaganda.

Oh yes, if you've missed that last part, you haven't been paying attention. For a while!

But back to numbers. While the graph patterns are agreed to, the numbers underlying them aren't. Each source of numbers has their own set of sources, some going or not going the extra mile to fact check who reports and how. The numbers themselves have become political. The motivations to change those numbers often become more important than the actual numbers. More on that later, but a new opportunity to lose track of the numbers recently presented itself: at home testing.

I'm sitting right this minute next to our set of four test kits which arrived yesterday in the mail. Should any of us start to feel "like it's a cold", we can whip one of these out and test ourselves for covid. These were free, part of the governmental project to send four kits to every address in the country which requested their set. The kits have also been made widely available through pharmacies & insurance companies, a way of allowing folks to test without waiting in long lines which may actually backfire by exposing those in the lines to the highly contagious Omicron. The issue with home testing is the unreliable reporting of the results. This is above and beyond the known variability in accuracy of the results of various kits and how those even vary depending on which day into symptoms- or before/after symptoms - the tests are taken. Positive results from several people I've spoken to, since they mostly do not get dangerously ill, simply mean they stay home for a while until they feel better, thus are likely less contagious. But report the results? Only if necessary. (Oops.)

But Florida really stands out as an anomaly. One could easily be led to thinking that Ponce De Leon's fabled Fountain of Youth is located there, for real. Now we know Governor DeSantis (DeSatan, DeathSantis, pick your nickname) is way out there on the right wingnut end of the spectrum. He's been trying to out-Trump Trump in craziness, manipulations, obstruction of covid protocols and safety, outright denial of its existence as much as possible. He's obviously running already for the 2024 Presidency.

Early in the pandemic he fired the woman who had been reporting accurate counts of covid case and death numbers. She still had contacts within the system and for at least a while more accurate numbers were being "leaked". The federal government has had to crack down and demand better reporting, and for a bit you could see it improve, aka case numbers reported were increasing. That's not to be mistaken for real improvement in covid handling or anything, of course. But word also went out that death certificates were to obstruct knowledge of covid death counts by any means possible. All those blood clots that severe covid produces that do so much damage to various organs, killing people, meant a rewrite on the death certificate to cause of death being the organ that failed without mention of its connection to covid. Clots in the lungs became pneumonia, in the brain became strokes, in the heart became heart failure, in the kidneys became kidney failure. If a clot in a limb killed off tissue then death was caused by gangrene. And on and on. Real opportunities for creative writing here. Covid isn't killing people there, nuh uh. All this other crap is. Covid becomes the comorbidity rather than the proximate cause.

If you can't tell any other way, just go into the charts of state reports and note two things. First, see how many new covid cases are reported each day. They are a little harder to fudge. Follow those for a few weeks, since we know deaths lag behind cases. You don't die the day you get sick, like you might the same day, say, you had a car accident or got shot. Then check other states with similar case-per-day rates, and see what their death counts are. Florida has been very high in cases, and tends to run about 3rd highest in the nation. But deaths? Similar states report deaths in the hundreds most days lately. Florida reports none or single digits most days.

It must be a miracle! Right? 

Yep, the miracle of what the abuse of power can let you think you're getting away with.

About That Canada Thing

Unless you went back to sleep with the groundhog, who is still grumpy, by the way, from being so rudely awakened on the 2nd, you are aware of the truckers swarming Ottowa, grinding everything to a halt in what the call a "protest" of covid vaccination requirements for truckers crossing the international border. Many of these are US truckers, because of course they are. 

Everywhere they drive in the good ol' US of A  has some right wingnut radio station they can listen to all day and all night. There's no fairness doctrine where both actual sides of whatever must be presented fairly. There are no truth checks on what gets broadcast. The most virulent poison gets spewed nonstop on many stations, even with Rush gone to his reward - which I have an opinion about but that's another post. The rabble is being roused, and the issue of the year is whatever conspiracy is even crazier than the last one with no regard to science, logic, or reason. Because why would it be?

"Vaccine is just a way to get us all microchipped so (insert name here) can follow us wherever we go." Nevermind the needles are too small, microchips need a close detector to identify the 16 digit number that offers an identity, and have no power source to broadcast anything. Got a cell phone you take everywhere? There's your microchip, buddy. Got a vehicle with computerized features? There's  your microchips. Both have power sources and broadcast your  locations. And NOBODY CARES! (Well except maybe - shhhhh- insert-name-here.)

"The government can't tell us what to do." Really? Did you need to get a driver's license, a nice special one that certifies you are qualified to drive that big rig? Wear a seatbelt? Follow a speed limit? Drive on certain roads in certain lanes, take a number of hours off from driving, supposedly for sleep so you can be alert for the next leg? If you're an American in Canada, didn't you have to cross an international border?  American laws stopped applying to you, but Canadian laws certainly now do. You don't have your bill of rights any longer. Canada can do whatever it says it can do. Period.

And a lot of us wish they would.

There are a bazillion other stupid conspiracy theories and bits of misinformation out there, but that could take a book. So let's just accept that your protest is out of line. You don't have 18 wheels to stand on. You are violating their laws by deliberately blocking their traffic and causing havoc in their capitol. Some of you are shoving people to the ground simply for sensibly wearing a mask while they are in the presence of others. Who knows what else you've been up to - besides no good.

So here's a suggestion, heartfelt from an American who's totally embarrassed and fed up with their misbehavior, to any Canadian in charge who wants to put a firm end to this chaos and criminality. Throw the book at them all. Heck, not just the book, throw the whole damn encyclopedia, the dictionary, the thesaurus, and the whole rest of the library at them. Be sure what you're throwing is the hardcover version. It lands much more resoundingly.

Start by arresting them all. No room in jails? Open air cages are good enough for the people they don't like in this country, particularly illegal immigrants, and go ahead and crowd them together with just a sheet of mylar to protect them from the elements. Give them a teensy taste of reality, eh? Charge them with assault and everything adjacent you can pile on. Pile on al lthe fines you can: illegal parking, obstruction of traffic, impediments to businesses, commerce, government business, even obstruction of anybody needing to get to a hospital and all the damages caused by the delays, including expected payments from lawsuits. Still have anti-profanity in public laws on the books, maybe from a hundred years ago that nobody's looked at? Did they spit on the sidewalk? Toss out pee bottles? Drop a used tissue? Littering carries fines.

Then physically remove those trucks. It's reported that the towing companies refuse to get involved for fears of retaliation. Fine, how about military vehicles? And armed accompaniment. Get out those tanks and force the rigs off the road and into some parking area where fees for parking are mandated, and charge for the costs of getting the vehicles there. Any assault on your military personnel becomes their crime by extension of causing and promoting the problem, aka aiding and abetting,  so charge that too.

For all those drivers you've incarcerated, charge them for the privilege like we do with some jails where they must pay (by work) for their meals, bed, guards. (Didn't know we did that? Be poor and get arrested for non payment of fines and watch it add up.) With all the charges and fines, the truckers will likely be your "guests" for a while, and the pile of fines only increases at time goes on. Many will likely lose their jobs for non delivery of their loads, even lose their trucks for non payment of their truck loans. Tsk tsk. Can't pay their mortgage? Awwwww, crocodile tears. Actions have consequences.

While you've got them there, just vaccinate them all. Charge them for it of course, despite your wonderful medical system. Figure out how to do the same for any medical expenses they incur, particularly if they contract covid. More so for everybody to whom they've spread it. I hear a typical covid hospitalization down south of your border costs an average of $50k a day. Of course if they have recently clogged your hospital system by spreading covid all over, well, I guess you can triage by citizens first, eh? I mean, prisons have their own medical facilities, right even if they don't necessarily include ventilators and those revolving beds to facilitate easier breathing and avoid bedsores, right?

I suppose you eventually you have to send these yahoos back to us. Sigh. But hey, no hurry. Drive them to the border and let them walk. By this time those trucks will have been sold to cover their costs, eh? And the exercise will do them some good. And hey, it may even have stopped snowing by then.

Success! (Almost) OK, Good Enough.

I finally figured it out. Not just exactly how I first imagined it looking, nor even how I imagined the second or even third times. But it's workable, And simple. Easily reproducible. And ready for the store.

There's no bow. I figured out how to configure that, but the weight was already just over the limit without adding that, so after cutting back on wire lengths so I could keep the beads I wanted in the grouping to indicate "bouquet" and not just a bunch of beads hanging, there was less space to put one, besides the obvious addition of disqualifying weight added. And since sterling, to be sold as sterling, must have all metals be sterling, a pretty red wire bow tying up the bouquet would have just defeated the purpose.

But let's go back to the beginning. It started with discovering Etsy. Yes, I know, they've been around for ages. I just never shopped there before, except the one time I needed just the right buttons for my silk tunic for our 2012 Valentine's Day commitment ceremony. A Czech glass set of rose-designed buttons in iridescent fuschia matching the silk were just the thing. I'm reminded of that every time I go through my purchases history (to give feedback) because 10 years latter it still sits there. It's finally got company now.

I don't remember quite why I went back to Etsy. Had I been looking for flower beads? Or stumbled on them looking for millifiori beads that came anywhere close to the quality of the ones I'd gotten in a garage sale bulk sort-it-all-out-later purchase at a former club member's home? Somewhere in there, however, the idea popped into my head of making a hanging bouquet themed set (sets) of earrings with wire and flower shaped beads. Valentine's day was coming around again, and a non-wilting bouquet might catch on. Particularly if I could do it in reds and pinks.

There's been a learning curve - with everything - but especially with buying beads. Sizes are not always given, sometimes you have to hunt only to find out those beads you liked aren't glass after all, what looks 3 dimensional is flat, and colors depend on the photographer and not the actual bead. As they started coming in through the mail, I ordered more and more, either to get better color blends, size and shape blends, and finally to get exquisite beads that really looked like flowers with layers of different glass colors per bead. Those are the ones which are priced, not by string, but by individual bead. Yikes! And yet.... Those are the ones that a new design was made for, with a single bead per earring, and will be selling - only on sterling! - for $45 a pair. I believe they will be the most expensive ones in the store. I also know they will be unique and customers will walk in and fall in love and absolutely have to buy them!  

 Did I mention those are only made to order and have to be shipped from Russia? I followed their progress, sweating that they'd be here in time to go in the store for Valentine's day. They took two weeks to make, got shipped to London, then to Los Angeles, and finally brought a week ago by the mailman. Selection day is this Wednesday, so they'll be for sale around noon, giving them 3 1/2 open store days to attract attention. Only two pairs are going in of those this time, not only to avoid flooding the market so people think they can dither about buying them, but because I have other Valentine's themed items to submit and the club limit per selection per member is 10 items. Twice a month. Possibly 240 per year, and a few of our members come close to that many.

But I have 2 sets of bouquet earrings going in, some copper hearts that have been colored (torched - aka annealed), textured, punched in shapes, rough edges buffed, polished, etc. Much more work, and maybe $10 a pair. But... copper. Finally there's an inexpensive set of necklaces reconfigured from previous failed sales.

Now that we've detoured all around, back to those bouquets. Collecting the wires in a bunch that wouldn't fall apart due to glue didn't work. Binding the ends and looping wire ends over the restraining wire in addition to the glue didn't work either. Soldering pairs of wires together worked but failed as soon as two became four, nevermind the 6 I wanted for the concept of "bouquet" to come across. I noticed another club member who'd designed earrings with multiple loops handing from a single other one, each the same shape but a larger size than the last, and thought I could try that. I have a preliminary "proof of concept" set staring at me with a totally different bead, accidentally ordered without noting they were drilled sideways rather than longitudinally, and more work will refine those. Just not for a bouquet. 

I started getting closer when I though I could loop two jump rings to another, the one hanging from the ear wire, the other two holding a few of the flower wires so they have a front and a back layer, looking more three dimensional. They just tangled. So I simply cut all the wires a bit shorter, gave each a simple loop tiny enough to just slide over the single jump ring and line up close together, because where else would they go?

The idea worked, but needed a few more adjustments. First, it needed to look like a flower arrangement and not a curtain of beads. I'd already done the first part by mixing kinds and subtle differences in colors of beads. Some were flowers, others more teardrop to suggest buds about to open. Most live bouquets have some blossoms fully open and some buds about to pop so they last longer. Then I made some wires shorter so different lengths gave a better grouping of flowers and buds. Then I worked on which order they went on the jump ring until I was satisfied they spread out in a way that I found pleasing. No wire bending needed. Some moved forward, some back, and the curve of the ring itself kept the stems together so the beads splayed out. Everything swung loosely. A little shake was occasionally needed to set them back in position, but that's all. It became organic.

The bouquets are not, after all, in reds and pinks. Seems more beads have to be ordered before I can put together a pleasing combination. So there's a set in blue/purple mix, and one in aqua/teal/green mix. Steve proclaimed he liked them with enough enthusiasm in his voice that I trust it goes beyond simple spousal support.  

But... no bow. Sigh.

A Chicken-And-Egg question

A few months back, Dish, our current TV satellite company, informed us that due to some contract dispute, we would no longer receive the local NBC channel from them. It didn't matter that we pay for, and our contract states that we get, all the local broadcast TV channels. No more NBC.

Boo hoo hoo? Naw. We record only one show on NBC, "Chicago Fire." CBS is our main go-to and has been for a lot of years. We've been discovering a lot of interesting options on the upper channels: cooking shows, fishing tournaments,  game warden shows like Northwoods Law, zoo shows, old episodes of M*A*S*H, and on and on.  Chicago Fire is widely available on at least two other channels as reruns, so Steve set the DVR to record both of them ansd we've been going through the first 9 seasons... over and over and over...

Occasionally we like to follow the large ice skating competitions on NBC, but it turns out that in season, those too are available on the upper channels. So we've been watching them there.

The other night we discovered a channel that was showing the Olympics. We'd thought we might miss those, but we watched an hour of curling before bed and set a bunch of timers on that channel. The next morning, we discovered that NBC was back on good old local channel 12 again! Somehow they had settled their contract dispute. Which was kinda funny since we'd just gone through a whole bunch of channel outtages when AT&T, the parent company, tried cutting Dish off from nearly everything we watched for a couple days. We heard - again on upper channels - that Dish/AT&T lost a lot of customers that first day. We were even looking at our options of cancelling our contract since they weren't delivering and seeing if COX network could offer a decent price. COX is our Wi-Fi provider. Rich though we should get a box like Hulu or one of the others, but we put a hard pause on the discussion before bed because there were just too damn many choices out there and we didn't really want to spend a month getting ourselves acquainted with them all in order to make the "right" decision.

Just over a day later we had our regular programming back anyway. Except for NBC. Of course.

But the Olympics were just barely a day into being broadcast when suddenly NBC was back on our TV. We've got our timers in place, have watched some skiing and some figure skating... and NBC On Demand is letting us binge watch the last season to date of Chicago Fire. We have to put up with commercials, but there is a mute button after all. Besides, it's almost nice to have time set aside for raiding the fridge or taking the dog out or a quick walk down the hall, or.... Not that nice, really, since we always could just hit "pause" and "FF".

But here's my question. Who caved? Did NBC knuckle under because a huge chunk of it's customer base would not be watching the Olympics and Super Bowl,  thus helping pay the exorbitant price they shell out for the exclusive rights to them? Or did AT&T knuckle under because they were loosing too many customers after both their dismally successful attempts to piss off its customer base? Which came first?

I wonder if we'll ever know. For that matter, if we'll ever actually care. Just a question for those quiet moments when seven other things aren't grabbing your attention.