It's Raining, It's Raining, Tra La Tra La

After four months of no moisture, dry eyes, dust, grit, sand, warm temperatures and blue sky -- the bago, the dogs and I have arrived in Boise, where it's raining. On to Montana in April. Selling the bago. Bob Edwards does: This I Believe, now I'm doing: This I Know:

I could hike until I found the end of the earth. I will always pick up an interesting shell, rock, or piece of wood. I gather trash and am amazed when an artist doesn't throw it away. I will never live in a small space again. I have eliminated a lot of fantasies. That means I no longer want to cross the great waters in a small sailboat, sleep on the side of a cliff in a hanging sleeping bag, reside in cave, a crate, a basket, a tree house, an old train caboose, a smart car or anything in which my dogs and I cannot comfortably do yoga -- Lucy does the best downward dog. If I'm ever shot down behind enemy lines I only want to sleep in a French doghouse for one night. (Pat McCarthy's great story)

I now know I do not want to be a host of anything, including a campground, nor a historical docent, tour leader or general volunteer for anything extendning beyond a short time. I like to jump behind the driver's wheel and go!

I have discovered a greater capacity for meeting strangers and listening to their stories. Conversations with married couples are the most fun. They are a little tired of one another and have so much to offer. I allow myself to watch movies anytime of the day or night. I despise dune buggies and shooting ranges, which are everywhere "down there."

I love sunshine and don't miss snow. I will drive great distances for live music; music creates contentment, excitement and a feeling of being alive.

The RV taught me that shopping is suddenly very low on my list of things to do, that dogs are more important. The RV is a great turtle shell of a home, but RV parks are basically old folks' homes. And hey, good for them, boring for me. I went to ground in one for the holidays because of the swimming pool. I swam and swam. After a few days a man set up his lawn chair facing my lane of swimming, flipped open his newspaper, popped his beer and enjoyed my backstroke. The next day 3 more old farts showed up and sat with him -- I really wished I could have done some great water ballet for them. My 15 minutes of fame.

I drove home via Highway 93 out of Las Vegas --after visiting Death Valley -- Nevada really surprised me. It's undeveloped except for strange mining operations, and full of wildlife refuges. I would go back there anytime for hiking in the spring or the fall, or maybe never. It doesn't matter. I'll be passing through again somewhere.

They Call the Wind Mariah

The wind picked up, so to speak, knocking me around the highway while I nosed the bago north out of Kingman. I was disturbed in that funny way that means I don’t know why I’m disturbed. Usually wind means cleaner air, but here it means heavy dust and sand – sometimes it makes me feel slightly nauseous or drunk or sick. Today, the sun is shining, the dust is still dusty and there is a cool little restaurant at the campground next door where the dogs and I can sit on the balcony overlooking Lake Havasu.
Getting here involved driving through the Arizona State Joshua Tree Forest – neat-o – we loved it. This photo was taken in a canyon off the highway – I would have walked all the way in, but the dogs gave out on me. I think they are getting foot sore – at least thorn sore. This was one of the prettiest hikes I’ve taken all winter just because it was so remote and this outstanding fortress of rock was in front of me – I brought many rocks back with me.
We left Bob’s front yard and the parrot Herm and the 2 doggies. I saw some of the prettiest antique glass on the planet. What a fantastic person Bob is and interesting. He was born in Phoenix as was his father. None of them saw the northern Scottsdale development coming or they would have bought that land for a few dollars an acre!
I finally finished the new Elizabeth George – not up to her standards – a good read but way way way too many unnecessary details of set. I started speed reading just to get through it. I’ve started a new author, for me: Julian Barnes – more philosophical and less plot driven than George.
Now it’s on to Nevada.

If a cactus falls do the thorns stay on?

I am listening to Santa Lucia on the Italian station, it’s 80 outside, I’ve had a shower, the dogs are dead out; I’m waiting for Godot here. Actually, we’re going to dinner at a cowboy bar later (oh be still my heart), and I may have to take the dogs for another walk and really lift the rock I want and drag it back to the bago.
We’re camped in Cave Creek, on top of Phoenix. The hiking is more marginal here as off trail is a mine field of stickers and thorns. I took Lucy’s off with a pair of pliers. Anna is foot sore and lays down a lot if I’m climbing uphill; she has remarkable recovery skills if a bunny bops by – she is less eager by the day – they are fast – coyotes all over the place. I go to sleep at night to their yips and calls. I would gush over the sunrises and sunsets, but hey, this is Arizona after all. What else is there to gush over?
I’ve also landed in cactus wren heaven – I watched a male display today – hey, I said to myself – ya need to brush up on the ballroom moves. I saw my first black-throated sparrow today – now there is a handsome dude. He knew how to play hard to get.
The new Elizabeth George is getting me through this week – what a fabulous series she created. I always feel like I’m standing in front of her characters.

Next week we visit Bob and the parrot Herman again – always a good thing – then off to Tucson for a few days. Barb and Ron are hosting their daughter and her new sweetheart in Sedona after that and if I could make up my mind I would know where I’m going.
Love and hugs from clueless in Arizona

If Rock Moves, Don't Touch It

I have finally given myself over to a higher power – Barb Swartwoudt is now in charge – We are still in Arizona – in the Cottonwood, Jerome, Sedona area – touring the ruins left behind by the old ones – circa 1400. This started for me while hiking around Chaco last spring, in the state next door. It’s difficult for me to even imagine driving back and forth between states – these ruins prove that the ancients moved in straight lines between places – no side trips to get a burger and shop at really bad thrift stores – The bago was massaged and had all its little filters changed by real diesel mechanics – now all I need to do is use the turtle wax on the huge scratch that covers one whole side – poor bago.
One of my favorite times of day is dawn; the next is the walking all over creation. It’s that time of life when dreaming is allowed, exercise is tops and life depends on kindness of strangers and I’ve met many. They have aroused in me the range of emotions from pity to awe. An 88 year old woman told me when I was 25 that the search is never over – the feelings never change.

I have discovered that combing the desert for rocks is as much fun as beachcombing. As Auntie Anna once said, “I never met a rock I didn’t like.” I’ve seen baby desert turtles with faces that look like their ancestors. I hear coyotes all day long. Everywhere there are hundreds of white-crowned sparrows. Yesterday a prairie falcon flew by. A camp raven cooed at me so I left her an orange. Tall-eared jack rabbits out run Anna; Lucy digs for rats. The only river here is the Verte and it is tough shape. A man told me that they’ve measured one 67 year drought. We know the old ones traveled away from drought and war. Some things never change.

I’ve met a parrot who sings The Hills are Alive with the Sound of Music. He is owned by an antique dealer. Remember….
The road we travel on
The eagle flies with the dove
If you can’t be with the one you love
Love the one you’re with
De de de de de de de de