Of Mosquito Festivals and Lt. Fremont

Traveled today from Blairsden to god knows where in eastern Oregon. Currently resting our bones at the Ana Reservoir. Which is near Summer Lake. Which is north of Paisley. As I write, I am currently looking West at a huge mountain and white puffy clouds. It is beautiful and quiet and peaceful. (later, it hailed).

Let's twist again, like we did last summer...twisters in Summer Lake, OR

Let’s twist again, like we did last summer…twisters in Summer Lake, OR

As noted previously, traveling the back roads is a real pleasure. All two lane roads today. When we left Blairsden, we headed east on 70 and connected up with 395 turning north. And that’s the road we traveled until we turned off to bend it toward Bend. Which is our destination tomorrow.

Rayman was not convinced of the route I wanted but he went along with me. He said there were no RV joints on the roads we were going to traverse. And he was right…until we saw a sign that said “RV campground One Mile. Down this road.” That’s how we found this place. We were both sick of driving. Too many hours in the saddle.

The eastern side of Oregon is lovely. It has some gigantic lakes. Goose Lake went on and on and on. It was not blue. Reminded us a lot of the Salton Sea. Must be shallow. I would tell you, dear reader, definitively but we don’t have a signal. No internet. Off the grid. Can’t look it up.



Sandy soil with low shrubs.


Near where we stayed.

Besides lakes there are plateaus. And mountains. And valleys. Even desert -like sand punctuated with low growing green shrubs. Quite unusual, really.



Besides all the nature, we saw many homesteads that looked in disrepair or abandoned. What happened? Where did they go? We also saw many head of cattle, horses here and there. One coyote and an elk crossing sign.

There was very little traffic. Almost perfect. The lanes were very narrow in many places and there were a few drop offs that caused us considerable anxiety, but hey, we made it!!

After so many hours on the road, I started hallucinating. In the middle of nowhere I proclaimed, 
“Look, I think I see a Hilton.” Rayman may have rolled his eyes. He was driving and not looking at me so I’m not certain of his reaction. When we finally arrived at the Hilton, it was a couple of newer barns.

Speaking of newer barns. The route was littered with old, weathered barns that had seen their better days. Unloved. Unused. And apparently, unwanted. If you need used wood for that new floor, come north. Perhaps you could make a deal. Plenty to choose from.

And how is Beau, you ask? Scalped. We took him to the groomer yesterday. He looks great except she took a bit too much off his legs. He has bird legs now.

After a month of no TV because we were parked amongst big towering trees, we had TV last night. Yes. That’s right. It’s the next day. Wednesday morning. News to report. Still no signals for our electronic devices. What to do? Usually, we read the paper on-line. Not today. And we don’t turn on the TV in the morning, the exception being…the British Open, perhaps. You get the picture. No TV in the a.m. So, with nothing to do for the first time in a long time, I picked up the written material the RV campground owner, Jay, gave us upon our arrival yesterday. That’s when I discovered that tomorrow and Friday the area will be celebrating their Mosquito Festival with a parade, perhaps some pie slinging, and a deep pit barbecue. A Mosquito Festival? These people have a sense of humor. Do you suppose they have a Miss Mosquito to reign orr the activities? Some young lass has probably been bit with the bug to be a Mosquito Princess. What do you suppose her crown will look like? A pointy affair? Perhaps it will be adorned with a can of Off!! One can speculate. Unfortunately, we won’t be around to attend. It sounds like it will be a fun day. Incidentally, Rayman slew a mosquito this morning in our bathroom. Thank goodness the wind is blowing here or I fear we’d be scratching ourselves silly.

This area is famous for their bird life, their fishing (trout and bass). The campground even has a cleaning shed, a place to go to gut your fish, pluck your ducks. Never seen one of those before. A testament to the fauna in the area.

There are many natural wonders here too. Caves. Hiking trails, big holes in the ground (calderas), more lakes. Plenty to do if one would like to stay a while and explore. But that’s not on our agenda this trip.

We find ourselves in the middle of the Fremont National Forest Preserve. It was established in 1908 by my favorite President, Teddy Roosevelt. And it was named for the famous explorer Lieutenant John Fremont in the winter of 1843. He started his exploration from The Dalles on Nov. 25th. What a guy. I’d be hunkering down for the winter. Not him. He mounted his horse and rode south along the eastern edge of the Cascades and Sierra mountains. What fortitude!! What courage. No GPS. No Rand McNally atlas. He was accompanied by Charles Preuss, a cartographer, mapmaker and scientist. Preuss was, according to the info at my disposal, an ill-humored man (perhaps he didn’t like mosquitos) and confided in his journals how ill-suited he was to be an explorer and to work with Fremont on the frontier expeditions. Well, frankly, I don’t blame the guy. Exploring is hard in the dead of winter. Okay back to the story.

On December 16 after several days of traveling in snow storms (what, he couldn’t hunker down and wait?) they found themselves “on the verge of a vertical and rocky wall of the mountain. At our feet—-more than a 1000 feet below—-we looked into a green prairie country , in which a beautiful lake, some 20 miles in length, was spread along the foot of the mountains, it’s shores bordered with green grass. Just then the sun broke out among the clouds, and illuminated the country below, while around us the storm raged fiercely. Shivering in snow three feet deep, stiffening in a cold north wind, we exclaimed at once the names Summer Lake and Winter Ridge should be applied to these two proximate of such sudden and violent contrast.”

At this point I must interject that the lives we live now are pretty mundane. Imagine that experience. I am totally drawn to the historic accounts of explorers like this. And I wonder what has become of us? I won’t leave the house without gortex if the wind if blowing. Heck, we don’t even drive the RV if it’s too windy. Dinner last night was homemade pesto and tossed green salad. What do you imagine they ate? Perhaps a plucked duck?

An interesting cat, this Fremont. He eloped with a Senator’s daughter against the Senator’s wishes. (he was 28, she was 17) She helped him write his reports of exploration. According to this phamplet, she “was an early example of how women were capable of equal rights of citizenship and full participation with men and was an inspiration to generations of women.” Now, that, I consider hyperbole. As I recall women weren’t allowed to vote. And until now I have never heard of her. Jessie Fremont. Guess I need to bone up on my history some more. However, it is nice that they gave her a shout-out in the article. Sounds a bit like Amy Adams.

Some more info. Fremont ran for President. Against an upstart named Abe Lincoln. This must have been the Republican primary. And get this. Lincoln made Fremont a General during the Civil War. And then Fremont lost his command for issuing an Emancipation Proclamation and freeing all slaves in Missouri. Good grief. Really? Oh, how the irony drips. He later served as gov for Arizona.

And below is where we are staying for the next week.  Sisters, OR with the fabulous mountains as a backdrop.   Again, please note the traffic.


Sisters in the distance.

It’s Not All Fun

I’m always telling you our comings and goings.  And I attempt to keep it upbeat and funny.  So, here’s my latest story that ain’t so funny.  I’m going to send it to my U.S. Congressman with a few modifications, perhaps.  Thought you’d like to know that sometimes we have trouble just like you!!



Dear USPS:

We decided to go on an extended vacation this summer.  What to do with our mail?  After some on-line research I discovered a Premium Forwarding Service that USPS offered.  For an amount of money, we could have our mail forwarded to us at the post office in Graeagle, CA.  So, I made the arrangements on line.

The post office promised to gather our mail for a week at a time and forward it using their priority service.  Great.  That should be perfect.

Only it wasn’t.  The P.O. in Morro Bay (93442) was to send the mail every Wednesday.  So we traipsed to the post office in Graeagle and set up general delivery privileges.   On Friday, we figured out mail would be there.  No mail.  So we waited until Monday.  No mail.  So we waited until Tuesday.  No mail.  That’s when we started talking to our post office about the situation.  They confirmed that they had sent it.  I asked for a tracking number.  Well, that didn’t go well.  It took them a day or so to get me the tracking number.  And guess what?  The package had been delivered to Graeagle on Friday.  So, we drove down to the Graeagle post office and told them that the package had been delivered.  Well.  After an exhaustive search, they found it in the file for “R”.  Not “J”.  R is for Ray.  J is for Jackson.  Really.  That is what happened.

So, now I am trying to change the address to Portland, as that is where we are heading tomorrow.  Because I had ordered it on-line, I went on line and tried to change the order.  The website indicated that I could cancel or edit the order.  When I double-clicked on the link to do that, it was discovered that there was no way to do it.   So, I called the Morro Bay post office.   They told me they could not take a verbal order from me.  They told me I would need to call 1 800 275-8777.  They explained that was the same number they used to call if they had questions.   So, I dialed and waited for 40 minutes only to explain my issue to a person that had no earthly idea how to help me.  Her solution was to transfer me to on-line support at 800 344-7779.  She said she would transfer me… before I was immediately disconnected.  So, I dialed that number and am now currently waiting.  It has been 22 minutes and counting.

As a casual observer, I would say that this a new service and maybe 2 people in the entire postal service know about it.  The other thing I would suggest is that no one who works in the tech support group for the post has tried to use the service.

I exhaustively searched FAQs on the USPS website.  Not one word could I find that addressed this issue.  Okay, one other explanation.   I’m the first and only person that has ever tried to use the service so, of course, there would not be any FAQs as the name implies…FREQUENTLY.

Didn’t they beta test this?  Didn’t they anticipate that people might want to cancel it or change it?  They must have because that link is there.  The link that does not offer what it offers.

I’m still on hold.  It’s been 30 minutes.  I’m not hanging up.

So, I got picked up by Raylene.  She knew about the service but could not help me so she forwarded me to the internet group.  Carol.  She understood the service but wasn’t sure what to do so she put me on hold for 10 minutes.  When she returned she still could not help me.  I even tried another browser.  There was no way to help me.  So, I told her I was forwarding all this info to my elected representative.  She provided me with a case number and it was 170626-001907.  And we amicably parted company.

In the meantime, Rayman went to the Graeagle post office to see if he could get the new service going for us.  Anxiously awaiting his return.  Because I need a drink.


The Dragon in our Midst

Dear Robin Nelson. Golf Course designer,

Today Rayman and I played your course at Clio, CA.  It has been known as the Dragon.  May we tell you that we think the name of the course is inappropriate.  If you ever get a phone call asking you for ideas for renaming the course, we have a few choice names to offer up.  Devil in the Mountains at Nakoma would be an appropriate name.  Another deft choice might be You’ve Got to be Kidding Me at Nakoma.  Those would give prospective golfers an idea of what they are in for when they play this course.

This course should only allow pro golfers on it as the average golfer spends much too much time searching for their balls.  This slows play.  We are quite sure you know that and yet, what did you do?  Narrowed the fairways?  Planted more weeds interspersed with various long wispy grasses?  That’s not helpful.

The other thing is that there is not one single level lie on this layout.  If the ball is above your feet, it makes the shot harder.  If the ball is below your feet, it makes the shot almost impossible.   Really, we think you should come back and figure out a way to offer some level lies for us, the duffers that we are.

Not only did you interject dog legs, you did so with barrancas in the mix.  Now what is that about?   One or the other would have sufficed.  But, oh, no.  You did this more than once so we know it is not a mistake.  You actually designed it that way.  What were you thinking?*

And the sand.  Good grief.  There was sand everywhere.  Bunkers to the right.  Bunkers to the left.  AND bunkers straight ahead.  And these were not small bunkers.  The went on for miles.  With great big lips.  And the sand was wet in many of them and that drove the Rayman crazy.  He swore he could not hit out of the wet sand.  Now, I did counsel him that if he could not hit out of the sand, perhaps he shouldn’t go in to the sand in the first place.  That did not go well.

And then, the Rayman found someone’s else’s clubs on the side of one of the 8th green.  So on the tee box he screamed at the people in front of us, “DID ANYONE OF YOU LEAVE SOME CLUBS ON THE TEE?”.  They didn’t hear him so he had to re-shout his question.  I said, “Ray, they were on the green.”  Not the tee.  Well, one of the guys came back and said they weren’t his but he took them because he thought they might belong to the people of front of them.  Fine.  We teed off and Rayman drove his ball into the sand.  He used his sand wedge to get out of the sand.  Quite impressive.  Then on the next green when he needed his sand wedge again (I won’t rub it in), he was sans wedge.  Apparently he left it on the same 8th green.  Upset he was.  And all this happened because you designed this course with way too many sand traps.  Just saying.

Now, there are barrancas and arroyos but your barrancas and arroyos are over the top.  Good grief.  Couldn’t you have just filled some of those in and planted grass?  It would have improved our chances of not losing our balls.  On one hole, I had a hell of a drive and never did find the ball.  It went into one of those annoying arroyos.  No fault of mine, really.  And, no, I never found my ball.  In case you don’t know it, Robin, there are snakes in all that rough you so cleverly put into that arroyo.  Not helpful.

I may be a bit negative so let me compliment you.  The views on the course are fabulous.  That may be because each hole has huge elevation changes culminating on the gigantic greens.  We’re pretty sure that every single green was elevated, meaning that it made it much more difficult to get on the greens.  Which is the point.  Right?  But after a while, it is just monotonous, always missing the green.  Lowering a few greens would be a very good idea.   It might result in less clubs being thrown.

And while you are at it, chopping down a few trees would be helpful to our games.  There are so many trees it is hard to miss them.   They are also in the way when we drive the ball into the trees and then have to hit our next shot amongst the trees.  Because there was never a clear shot because there were so many trees.  So, culling the forest would be helpful.

I would also suggest that you consult with the real estate office for the resort.  Selling lots too close to the course is not a good idea.  Too many swear words are uttered and this is very bad if small children are living or visiting said houses.   Every effort should be made to protect the young children in our society.  It’s only right.

So, there you have it.  A few suggestions on making the Dragon a better course for the duffers in our mist.  Please consider our ideas carefully.  In the meantime, we are sending a cc: of this memo to the groundskeeper.  He may have some further suggestions for course improvement.  Not only would it make all the golfers happier, but he might find some friends.  We understand he is currently a social isolate.   He/she does not have an enviable job.

Sincerely, The JacksonsIMG_1823

Took pictures of the course, but couldn’t put them in because the file was too big.  Drats.

P.S.  This is Bob and his drinking bear.  We met them at dinner the other night.  I don’t have much of a story only to say that Bob had great fun with his bear.  When he first brought it in, I thought it was a Labradoodle.

Collision Course

Yesterday, Father’s Day, Rayman and I played a golf course named Grizzly Ranch.  OMG.  what a course.  It is so difficult but at the same time so beautiful.  We were lucky enough to be able to play alone and as usual, engaged in our match play tourney with each other.


Everything was just dandy until we made the turn (that means going from the front 9 to the back 9).

Four guys slipped in between us and the twosome in front of us.  Generally speaking, four is slower than two while play golf.  So, I drove up to them and they talked with us.  Finally, the leader of the group, a tall drink of water, asked if we would like to go ahead.  We eagerly said, yes.  And that’s when I really screwed up.

The path was very narrow and I tried to slip by their cart on the right.  That did not work out well.  But before I get to the punchline, I must confess that while playing the front nine, my friend Glam Girl Nancy, texted me to report that our mutual friend, MaryKay and her husband Jay, hit a deer between Susanville and Mt. Shasta.  She also texted me to tell me that the headlights were okay but the grill was toast.  That’s when I texted her back and said, “Yum, grilled venison”.  Not quite gallows humor but humor nonetheless.  Then I texted MaryKay and said, “I herd you hit Bambi”.  So many ways to play off the subject matter.  I could not contain myself.

So, fast forward to the narrow cart path and me at the wheel.  In an effort to squeeze by, I somehow got our carts locked together.  The thing is, everyone had an opinion about how I could get out of the mess I created.  So, after some consideration, I tried to move forward.  That did not work.  So then I tried to move back.  That did not work as evidenced by the twisted fiberglass I saw.  Finally, the guys decided that they needed to lift their cart up while I backed up.  That worked.  Sort of.  The two entangled carts were separated but so was part of the cart’s parts.  A rail running along the cart floorboard came disengaged and stuck out.

I was getting more than a bit flustered at this point while, all the while, trying to act nonchalant.    In doing so, I neglected to see what kind of damage I delivered to their buggy.  “Well, I promise we will play fast”, I said after offering profuse apologies.  And off we went.

Rayman was extremely upset.  He imagined all types of varying scenarios of how it was going to end.  Thousands of dollars?  Blot on the driving record?  What about their cart?  His mood turned to snark.  I was completely guilt-ridden and mortified.  So, I parred the next hole.  That just made matters worse as Rayman got a double bogey.

When our game concluded on the 18th green, we immediately went to the pro shop and I fell on my somewhat overused sword.  I confessed to everything.  The great big Irish looking redhead behind the counter was sympathetic and appreciated my honesty.  However, he would have to call people re: same.  And he came out and took a picture.  This is one of the few times on my trip that I did not take a picture.  I didn’t want the reminder.   I left my name and number and he said, “We’ll be in touch.”.  Ouch.

So, karma is real.  That was a definite case of karma.  Making fun puns out of my friend’s predicament only to create my own misery.   Geez.

When we arrived back at The Dog House, I made Rayman a delicious dinner using our fresh salmon to help create ceviche.  Boy was it good.  Here’s the recipe.


I did not do the tostadas.  Here’s my rendition:



Salmon at $39.95 a Pound…

Well, we did it. We went fishing for salmon. Never mind that I thought we were going fishing for trout. Lost in translation, I guess.


It all started about a week ago when I rang up Ed Fisk and made arrangements for our fishing excursion for today. I explained that we were older than dirt, completely inexperienced (fish out of water?). He was game anyway. So I booked the trip. He told us to meet him at Stampede Reservoir near Truckee at 6:30. I blanched at that idea but said okay.

This a.m. the alarm clock chirped at 5:00 a.m. Oh, my, that’s so early. And cold. And what to wear? Ed said to layer. So, I wore about 5 layers. And a hat. I was ready. So, off we went to rendezvous with Ed, our guide and owner of Fish Tales.

When we arrived, he was standing in his boat afloat at the launch ramp…waiting. We grabbed all our goodies and headed down to the water. Thing is, the only way to get on the floating ramp was to jump on a rock and catapult oneself to the ramp. That didn’t work out so well. Into the water my left foot went. Soaked before even getting in the boat. My shoe and sock. Soaked. Then Rayman had a go of it. Same thing. One foot soaked. Without making a fuss, we boarded the fishing boat (19 ft. long) and headed out to the middle of the lake. It was beautiful and peaceful.


But here’s the catch, pardon the pun, please. Those fish in that lake don’t stand a chance. The boat was outfitted with sonar for locating the fish. His magic sonar also showed the depth and temperature of the water.  There were 4 poles, 4 riggers (hope I have this right). The riggers were released by motor. Ed had about a zillion different flies. The boat had two motors. One for going slow to troll. The other one for going fast. He was armed and ready and by extension, so were we.

His bait of choice was canned corn that he put in a Tupperware container, adding red dye and garlic. Yum, apparently, for the fish.

Fishing this way is almost a guarantee for a successful outing. We certainly had a successful outing. We caught 10 fishies. We lost about as many that got away before we could get them in the boat. Those were the lucky ones. I apologized to each fish we caught. I suffered from pangs of guilt. Nevertheless, we pressed on.

Rayman reeling one in.

Rayman reeling one in. Ed, our guide, being patient with him!!

We were on the lake for about 5 hours. Never got cold. My sock and shoe even dried out.

It turns out that fishing is a lot of waiting interrupted by a flurry of activity when the fish strike. Calm, calm, calm. Bite. Pandemonium. Calm, calm, calm. Bite. Pandemonium.



Because, the lines are dropped and then you are left in a world of wait.  And watch… averting your eyes from the pole on the left to the poles in the center, to the pole on the right.  Over and over because the poles were inserted into to “pole holders”.  Since you couldn’t feel the bite, you had to watch for it.   This gave me the bright idea that someone should invent a “tension feeler” that you could clip on the pole and line.  When you got a bite, the gizmo would sing out, “You got Fish!”.  I don’t think Ed thought much of that idea.

Ed told us about the osprey and bald eagles that live at the lake. Never saw them. Ed told us about the bear at lake’s edge. Never saw one. Ed told us about his fishing friends. We saw some of them. In other boats. They traded information about lures, fishing spots, how many were caught. How many got away.

When we decided to call it quits, Ed cleaned the fish (I watched attentively) as we headed back to the boat ramp. Did I mention that he has a Garmin that he uses to steer the boat via wifi?  The only time he was at the helm, was on the way in. The rest of the time, he just pushed a button from the back of the boat to change course. Before disembarking, I donned my dry sock and shoe. And, of course, got them completely soaked jumping from the ramp into the water and then onto dry land.


And so it went with our fishing expedition. A whale of a good time.

As a post script, we cooked two of the salmon on the grill for dinner tonight. Yum, yum, yum. Now I must close to go eat my blackberry pie.

Meeting Beatrix

What does one do when the weather turns cold? We traveled here to enjoy the “summer weather” this year without taking into account the extraordinary weather California has experienced this year. Record snowpack. Lots of rain. But weather being weather, it is unpredictable and that makes it an almost constant topic of conversation. I suppose since the beginning of man, neanderthal even, weather has been front and center in the mind. Weather is nothing that can be controlled. We are merely observers of whatever is thrown our way. Active observers, nevertheless. And I suppose that lack of control causes us as a species great stress and anxiety. After all, don’t we attempt to control everything? This is the same reason I think that people turn to “god”. What we don’t understand and can’t control and can’t be definitely known, drives many into the arms of a faith or organized religion.

There I go again.

So, here we were in the Sierras with wonderful weather for a few days and then, POW. Right in the kisser. The worm turned. The sun retreated behind menacing clouds and the cold followed the rain and there we were. Freezing. For days.


This photo exudes cold, doesn’t it?

Given the circumstances then, what to do? I don’t know what other people did but we hunkered down for hours at a time in The Dog House. With doggie. We braved the elements to walk the dog, go the store, visit the bakery (yes, sir), and shop. The golf courses around here have pro shops and since we were saving money not playing golf, the least we could do was shop at the course(s). And so we did. A vest here, a shirt there, a hat for the head, a sweater for the thorax. We did our part. We also drove to Reno and that’s where things got interesting. At the Apple store.

In doing a blog, invariably, the author becomes mystified at the problems that crop up. Posting my video was a case in point (see previous blog). So, I reasoned that if they had an Apple store, I could just pop in and get them to help me. Silly me. That is not how it went. The greeter said I needed the Genius Bar (I didn’t protest lest I be wrong). So, an appointment was made and my phone number collected. We had 45 minutes to wait. Out the door we wandered and I found a Soma and bought two nighties (buy two and get a big discount!!). Looked at shoes at Dilliards. Nixed the one I tried on and then I got the text from Apple. So we ambled over to the Genius Bar only to be told that I did not need a genius. Any old person would do. Except that any old person was a young whippersnapper who was sitting at an elevated table helping a woman older than me. He interrupted her lesson long enough for me to plead my case and said I should sign up for a lesson. Geez. “I don’t live here.” That’s when the woman he was helping barged in and said, “Where do you live?”. “Morro Bay.” She understood my problem. And was willing to give up some time. However, the young whippersnapper was having none of it. “When I’m done here”, he explained, “I will show you how to sign up for a class.” What?  So the older woman, let’s call here Beatrix, asked where we were staying. “We’re camping up in Blairsden”, Rayman volunteered. “Oh! Beatrix replied. When she discovered by our own admission that we were in an RV, she said, “That’s not camping. You are going in luxury. And here I thought you were in a tent, laying on the ground.” We then explained that we had an RV with all the creature comforts. “How much did you spend for that?, she quizzed. “$100 grand?” Rayman admitted to more than a $100 grand. And she said, “That’s not going to worth anything pretty soon.” We had to agree. So, still curious, she exclaimed, “That’s not a good investment. I know a good investment. I just sold my Facebook stock and bought _ fill in the blank_ stock. You know I made all my money after 65 years of age. Went back to work as a nurse. But I have a broker and I’ve made a lot of money in the market. I missed a few. I wanted to buy XYZ stock and my broker talked me out of it. If I had bought it, I’d have made $5 mil.” By now, we were enthralled. So I asked her, “Well, how old are you?” She sat straight up in the chair and announced that she was 88 years old. And then she told us where her children all lived in northern CA and how she took three separate trips down last year and drove by herself. “Yep. I keep moving!!”

You’re probably wondering at this point what the young whippersnapper was doing. Not much. He was just as bowled over as we were. He did, however, show me how to sign up a class I had no intention of taking and we parted company with that tone deaf maneuver. Did tell Beatrix how delightful it was to meet her. When we left she was scheduling her next class with the whippersnapper. He was going to walk around with her and show her how to use her phone to take good videos.

The other thing we did while the weather has been cold was to schedule that fishing expedition, get some starting times for golf next week, read, do crosswords, sudoku, and laundry. Went on a picnic to Davis Lake just before the rain and froze with our friends, Diane and Hal, as we wolfed down my leftover Cold Buttermilk with Shrimp soup while seated at a picnic table in a deserted campground at water’s edge.    They ate sandwiches.  We have also cooked some good meals, tried out the pizza oven (just okay though everyone liked my dough, made from water, flour, yeast kind of dough). As trustee, I had a lot of business to transact and that kept me busy too. Oh, and we spent time trying to get our mail.

We signed up for Premium Forwarding Service. That’s where you pay the post office to gather your mail and send it priority once a week. Somehow out mail went missing. After a series of calls and numerous trips to the Graeagle post office, the mail was located. The Graeagle post office mail sorter (a person), filed it under R for Rayman instead of J for Jackson. Geez.  And double geez.  The  post office sent the junk mail along with the important stuff…you know, fliers from the local market, etc.

As I finish up this rendering, I look to the north out of my RV and see dark clouds, blue sky, and sunlight shining on the conifers. Beautiful sight. We’re dying for sun. It is coming tomorrow according to the forecast/radar. By Saturday, it’s to be near 90. Just like Beatrix!!