Travels with The Rayman

Dear friends and fandom readers,

It is a new year. And my computer is driving me nuts on many levels. Let me count the ways.

• Junk mail. I have spent hours and hours removing emails from my junk mail folder and my regular email account (supposedly not junk). This feels like shoveling shit against the tide if you will please pardon the expression. First, I reviewed 2400 emails in my junk folder and eliminated all but 39. This is outrageous. How did my file get so big? I was busy moving and living and breathing. It has been two days. So I went into my junk file today and discovered a total of 70. They multiply like rabbits. So this begged the question, what can I do about this issue?  I went to the google machine and asked the question and I got no satisfaction. 

• Regular email. It is a mess too largely because I shop on line. Order something from a place and it guarantees that you will forever and day receive emails from the business and I guesstimate that the email goes either to junk or to the regular email depending on god knows what. I subscribe to newspapers and magazines digitally. This saves trees. I like the notion of tree saving. What I don’t like is that there is not a sure-fire way of blocking emails I don’t want to see. I have figured out that if I search for, say, the NYTimes, all the NYTimes emails pop up and then I select them all and hit delete. But how to prevent them from invading my space in the first place is an unresolved issue in my mind. Does anyone have a solution for this problem?

• While authoring this epistle, Sue, my cousin, called. She wanted to stop by because she is having computer problems. 
• ESP?  
• Her issue was that she was trained on how to buy a Kindle book on Amazon. Now she can’t. I tried. I could’t find my own Kindle book, From Beloit to Clark Gable in Three Generations. Where the heck did it go? File this under changes that are made by the powers that be without sufficient information to users on how to navigate the new system. 

At this point in my life, I am sick of dealing with this IT problem. I am an woman of a certain age  living  in an apartment trying to live happily. This doesn’t work for me.  Am I the only one? Or are Sue and I the only two?

It appears to me that there is not a satisfactory answer to the email issue. Imagine that. Emails are forms of communication that cause angst and annoyance. Were they and are they now purposely trying to drive us crazy? One wonders. Perhaps the solution is to stop using email. Pick up the phone. Text a message. While ruminating over this prospect, it occurs to me that we need a new system. A new law. Oh, hell, that ship has sailed. Pretty sure that the billionaires are never going to allow competition in this regard. Anti-trust is deader than a doornail. Big business runs our lives by squelching competition and this is a result. With Trump and his acolytes in for four more years, there will be no solution to one of life’s vexing problems. 

And in case you think that all I need is a app to take care of all this…well, no. I stopped paying for apps that are rumored to do this and nothing changed. The amount neither increased or decreased. There is no discernible difference pre-apps v. Post apps.

In discussing this over pizza and caesar salads last evening, we discussed a class action suit. Well, the Republicans have been hot on the trail to rid themselves and their benefactors of the ability for common folks displeased with circumstances to file such a suit. As far as I know, and I haven’t researched it yet, class action lawsuits are either an endangered species or a quaint notion of days gone by. If you know differently, please clue me in.

I have an idea. I’m going to send this blog to my elected U.S. Senators here in Oregon. Perhaps they have the power to at least write a bill and then campaign on it because I think this is a winning campaign issue. Who amongst us is not completely fed up with “big data”?

So there.

As a pagan, I author my thoughts on the eve of an event celebrated today with food, drink, and importanty, cards…both on paper and mailed or on gadgets and screens to people that mean something to us. 

Sharing is an important human activity. It feels so good to reach out to friends and family this time of the year. Long nights and short days change us. More time for reflection, I think.

Today I received two cards from two of my many favorite friends and it made my day. As I pontificate on my computer, my dear heart, Rayman, is conversing with himself aloud about Matt Gaetz and he concludes paying for sex is less egregious than raping a woman…so it could have been worse. Oh, the silliness of the human . I howl.

When addressing those cards, I imagine lingering over each to reflect on the person at the receiving end. Do you do that? Or do you get purposeful and tear through the obligation like a wild pony in the high desert of Nevada? Incidentally, both are acceptable…no need to judge.

The above horses may not be in the desert…it is the closest picture I have!

An exception always stands out and so it is today. My friend, Mary Kay takes effort and caring to new heights. She crafts her own cards for the occasion. I love that. I imagine a sense of accomplishment follows for her. And they are beautiful cards. If you live near her, you receive fabulous homemade candies. What a gal.

Many other send cards with pictures and letters. See below, our kid’s card. This, too, is sauce for the soul. Combing through pictures taken this year, designing the card must be fun and satisfying. And on the receiving end, we get a glimpse of the good times. No one features a dead moose in these photos. Just saying. They capture fashion, locations, activities. It also helps to ease the shock of change through age. If you don’t connect for years on end, you might not be recognizable. 

But I digress.

In the Pacific Northwest, it looks more like Xmas. Tall Douglas firs do their part to keep things green and snowberry bushes self-decorate themselves to our delight. It is colder. Rivers run through it all. A lighted boat parade of big expensive yachts and such are dressed up with lights and we squeal with delight at the sight. The boats pass by in a line and cruise the Willamette so landlubbers of various stripes can join in the fun. People come from all over to line the banks of the river. One imagines every river here is utilized in this way. Lots more boat stores up here. More canoes and kayaks. Water helps shape the lives of us all. 

While we develop and collect new friends in our new place, let it be known that old friends will never be forgotten. It is a hell of a ride and we are so grateful to have all you in our lives. That will not change if we have anything to say about it.

So there.

Dateline: December 5, 2024

Today we took our first “old folks” bus ride to the Portland Art Museum downtown Portland. Here we are crossing the bridge across the mighty Willamette.

The Portland Art Museum has free admission on the first Thursday of every month. Today was the day and what a day it was proving that it doesn’t always rain in Portland and that when the sun shines it can be 30 degrees. It was very clear and very cold and very dry.

When we reached the museum, we arrived as the doors opened at 10:00 a.m. which we were very happy about. Upon entering, we were allowed one hour to look at the exhibits and that was followed by a one hour conversation with the man that collected all the psychedelic posters, light show, and attire. The speaker told us some great stories about the backstories of some of the art!

As pictures are worth 1,000 words, Above, is the original lyrics of ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand’ which were written down (some might say haphazardly)As we were reminded, that song was the first Beatles’ song that topped the chart as number one in 1964.   As for the other pictures, I.will share these with you. However, you might be wondering about the Beatles. Along with the posters, there was an exhibit of Paul McCarthy photos as well as some other photos taken by George Harrison’s wife, Linda, as well as other famous photographers. It was a delightful exhibit. Much fun was had by all as many remembered the Beatlemania we all lived through starting in 1964.

The Fab Four in formal attire. Taken shortly after Ringo joined up.

This pic was the group having fun!

And here is Rayman having fun!

Bubbles, our group organizer did a great job of herding cats and what we learned is that these Willamette View friends of ours are punctual. Rayman and I kept being late to board the bus. We plan to clean up our act for the next adventure. The “newbie” excuse is only going to work for so long, after all.

You all know the type, right? They hold everyone else up while they are doing whatever it is. Every tour has one or two that add angst for the others who are anxiously awaiting “lift-off.”

After we spend an hour doing this exhibit, we went to see the psychedelic posters at the presentation in the auditorium.  Like this one.

An interesting one because it combines counter-culture, the Sierra Club, and Native American art. This had not been done before. It was groundbreaking.

The others that follow were part of the exhibit in another building.

A poster advertising The Byrds. These posters were often given away or sold for a few pence. They are now worth a lot of money are show up at auctions.

I liked this one above. I have many cat friends that will appreciate this poster!

In an attempt at full disclosure, I attended a couple of those shows at the Fillmore (West Fillmore)back in the day. Any walk down memory lane can be sad, exhilarating, embarrassing, happy. Today our adventure was a happy one. Fun look back at the counter-culture of the 60s. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that while I was rocking out in San Francisco, Rayman was wiring runways for the Air Force. Poor baby.

We look forward to the next adventure. Because we were delivered to the front door, we didn’t have to park. There was no way to get lost coming and going except for our slight tardiness. Everything else was without incident which robs me of telling funny stories for you. But never fear, we are planning a road trip to Colorado in 2025. There will be more faux pas, more getting lost, more unplanned silly stuff to report on coming down the pike. Get it? The reference was admittedly subtle. Pike’s Peak is in Colorado and we don’t plan to visit it…we might get too high!

Cheers to all!

The Traveling Princess,

Dianna

p.s. let me know if you liked this.

NewportThis is Pulp Fiction kind of blog. Starting at the end to wind around to the beginning

It is 5:25 p.m. and I am holed up in a hotel named The Row. A perfect name for a skinny hotel. Here I am with Beau alonein the joint. It is located on Stevens Creek Blvd, in San Jose a city I lived in for years but no longer recognize. Without my GPS I would not have found the place.

When I pulled up, I had to speed drive into the garage that fed directly off Stevens Creek and Stevens Creeks is a freeway-type street with drivers tailgating so I really had to come in on two wheels to avoid getting rear ended. The garage was street level. Reception was located on the second floor which meant that I had to take Beau and one roll-on with me to check in. Well, “had to” may be overly dramatic. It is just what I did.

Arriving upstairs in an elevator that Beau did not want to ride was one thing. It was another thing when the man asked for my I.D. Oops. I left my purse in the car under the front seat. It occurred to me that there were other things to bring up so I asked if they had a trolley I could use for my luggage. Yes they did. So, I left my roll-on with him and took Beau and the trolley back down to fetch my purse. There were problems. The trolley wanted to go one way, Beau another.  It was herding cats times ten. Luckily a man came along and he opened the door (it was not an automatic door) and then he held Beau’s leash and watched me battle the abstinent trolley through the very narrow door. 

Then it was back up to the reception desk for check in. After taking my license to verify my I.d., the man at the desk asked for my email and he sent me an email that included the room number, the code to unlock the door and other pertinent info. OMG. This was a first. 

Down the hall we wandered veering from one side of the hall to the other to the NEXT TO THE LAST room on the floor. There on the door was a gizmo that I did not immediately figure out how to use. So I found my flashlight app and read that I needed to place the palm of my hand on the gizmo. Following those instructions, the numbers were back-lit and they turned on. Then I entered my code twice (failed the first attempt) and finally entered the kingdom of heaven. It had been a long day and I was at my wits end.

Where was Rayman, you ask. I left him off near the airport in San Jose where we met up with number one son that had flown down yesterday. Then we went to a sandwich shop which had closed but the people were still there and I begged them for food. They took pity and made us two sandwiches. Almost unbelievable. Then I drove them to Hampton Inn and dropped them off. They were going to a football game. A Monday night NFL football game. It was a Father’s  Day present from Ryan. So cool. 

Dogs were not allowed in the hotel Ryan booked so I booked this skinny hotel. And here I am.

As I was leaving the hotel to walk the Beau, the man at the desk was still there. I mentioned to him that a bell boy would be useful at this property. As I was delivering my complaint, another man walked up and butted in and there went any conversation I thought I was going to have.

Old women don’t register with many people. And this was an excellent example. I don’t mind being invisible, but I don’t like being ignored. It is unseemly.

Do I hear a “Hallelujah, Sister?

At Local Ocean restaurant in Newport, OR

We left Portland last Friday and drove as far as Yachats, OR stopping in Newport for lunch.

Located on the Pacific Ocean four hours south of PDX, it was a good spot for the night. While our room wasn’t ocean facing, we had a peek of it through our window. The hotel was off the highway about 200 yards and it sat right on the ocean. There were giant waves and lots of tide pools. The waves made it too dangerous to look at the tide pools. It was called Fireside Motel.

The next morning we found a spot to eat breakfast and then drove down the fog shrouded Highway 1 toward California. It was a beautiful ride because it was a high fog. We could see the ocean, the dunes, and trees. We had planned the trip to average four hours travels a day. It was working. We were feeling the stress in our shoulders fall away the further south we traveled. After nine months of moving, we were awash in gratitude for some time away.

Newport marina.

Vista stop of the Pacific Ocean! On our way to Crescent City, CA

At the end of the day, we checked into a Best Western in Crescent City where the price of gas went up to the clouds. Arriving about 4 p.m., we walked Beau and went to an early dinner at a cool brewery and had a great dinner…red snapper was split as was a walnut/cranberry salad with various rough-age!  The issue we had was that they assigned us a room that looked out onto a wall about feet from the door. No view. It was a property I would not recommend. Scant electrical outlets…and in this day and age, that is a sin. After all, we have our contraptions…phones, rechargeable hearing aids, toothbrush of the electric variety, computer, iPad. Quite an amazing array of “must haves” for modern life.

So, we left the next morning and continued our land voyage south. Fog laying on the road with early morning shafts of light defused the through the redwoods. Oh, the redwoods. Mighty and tall. Tall and mighty. They do take your breath away. Only 5% left. It is so sad. However, we totally enjoyed the ride through the forests.

We stopped to say hi to Paul Bunyan and Babe. Gives some perspective on how big those trees were.

The thing is when you want to transition from highway 101 to highway 1, you must go over mountains. And that is how we did it on a road so curvy, it strained our imaginations. Hairpin Curve Road should have been the name of the road. One after another. And if you overshot the curve, you were going to meet your maker. Straight down, no guardrails. More suitable for motorcycles than RVs and big trucks which were present now and then. 

The trip was worth it. We checked into the Beachcomber Inn and scored the best room of the trip. As we had done the whole trip, we went in search for an early dinner and ended up sitting outside under a bridge, on a wharf in foggy circumstances where we split a salmon burger cooked on an outdoor grill from a skimpy menu because their kitchen next door had suffered a fire on Wednesday. (They were serving from their fish market). So we counted ourselves lucky. We let Beau feast with us and had a grand time while helping a women-owned business stay afloat on the wharf!!

Early morning view from our room!

Under the bridge for dinner.

After dinner we went back to the motel and took a walk on the beach (finally) and let Beau have his way with the sand and the sea. Fabulous, just fabulous.

Today, we left Ft. Bragg and traversed another road with curves before hooking up with highway 101 to beat feet down to meet Ryan for the game tonight. And that is how I wound up in The Row Hotel located a breath away from busy Stevens Creek Blvd in San Jose. And the worst thing of all is that it doesn’t have a bar. I can’t even drown my sorrows! Although I must say, the trip was great and I look forward to continuing the trip on my road of life as an old woman.

Good day my dear readers,

When last we met, we were in the throws of moving. Well, guess what! We are still in the throws of moving but there is light the end of our tunnel. Hot off the press…I made toast today in our apartment. 

In other news, we left our Willamette View (WV) habitat and drove to Pendleton, Oregon which is famous for the Pendleton woolen factory. It also boasts an Native American casino where we attended a convention of fellow rut seekers. This is a group known as Oregon-California Trail Association (OCTA) and every year they get together in a different place so we rut-seekers can go find those ruts. This was our virgin voyage. Around rut roaming was framed speeches, discussions, auctions, food and drink. However, this missile addresses the rut-roaming part of the equation…because where the Jacksons go, trouble can follow as I will now explain.

Ruts were made by the pioneers that traipsed across our continent in their covered wagons in the 1840s onward until train travel came along. The emigrants followed each other in huge wagon caravans…sort of an RV sort of experience except with a covered wagon and a total lack of conveniences, maps, GPS etc. 

At this juncture of the tale, it was Thursday morning and we were told to board bus number 2. The day before we were on bus number 1 and it was a good experience. When we climbed on board on bus number 2, we were the last on so we got the window you couldn’t see out of.  Here is a picture.

Imagine a bus company bringing a sightseeing bus with cloudy windows. We were not pleased.

Buses stop at railroad crossings. When we stopped, the driver opened and closed the door. But then the bus would not allow the driver to shift it in to forward or reverse. We were stuck. Everyone was ordered out of the bus and so we got out and mingled in the dusty road until we were told there was a building about 1/4 mile away where we could wait in the shade. So the bus group hiked up the road to the building which was like a big tool shed full of rusty parts, machinery, and two chairs. There were about 40 of us.

The trip organizers told us that two casino shuttles were on the way. So we waited about an hour and they arrived. They were glamorous and comfortable. We were feeling better. They whisked us off to a shady park and there we had our lunch under the shade of the maple trees. 

At this point, the organizers said that a new bus was coming so the casino shuttles were going to leave and if anyone wanted to skip the rut-roaming, they could return to the casino on a shuttle. We reasoned that another bus was being dispatched so we would wait and continue the rut-roaming.

The shuttles left and the same old bus showed up thereby sealing our fate of driving around without being able to see out the window. And because of the delay they took us to the same mission we had visited on bus number 1 the previous day. Ain’t that great?

From that point on, it was pure misery. The air conditioning stopped working, you could NOT open a window and so we boiled like crabs in a crab pot., and it was 98 degrees outside. It was hotter in the bus.

We did stop and see some ruts. Here is a picture of that adventure.

Then we hopped back on the bus to return to the casino. However, there was a fire and the 84 freeway had been shut down and our off-ramp was the final exit for ALL traffic eastbound. This ensured we could see the casino out of the front window of the bus but it took about and extra 30 minutes to exit the freeway so we could get off the dang bus. 

By this time I was ire-rich. When I openly complained one passenger quipped, “Well, I guess you would have not been a good pioneer.” I had to agree…to a point. It was an apple to oranges comparison. But I did get her meaning. I was being annoying.

So, I tried to keep quiet and grin and bear it.

Then four days later I popped off a letter to the organization to alert them that we came home with Covid and it was probably a result of the bus affair. And I thought they should know so they could alert the other bus passengers. Before I wrote the letter, I got the name of the bus company and called them to express my dismay. The lady was defending the indefensible so I asked her boss’s name. Called him and he said, “Well, this the first I have heard of this.” He promised to look into and thanked me for my call. I never heard from him again. 

The OCTA was very sympathetic and said they were taking steps so that it didn’t happen at next years annual convention in Colorado. Further, they were attempting to get refunds for the passengers.

Satisfied that I had been heard, I poured a stiff martini and enjoyed it with great gusto!

After pondering this at bit, I decided that my expectations were out of whack. We are the Jacksons. I am the author of travelswiththerayman.com  Of course this happened.

Our TV stand from Ikea,

Our door to the balcony

A few of our pictures, a new Tulip lampshade, and the Rayman are on display.

Who am I? What am I doing here?” A famous speech opener for the man who became Perot’s VP pick  Well, that quote has been bouncing around in my head all month as we settle in to our 807 fq foot apartment in Willamette View.To be perfectly honest, I never saw this coming. A least not until I did. And that, dear readers of a certain age, is something I would like to inform you about as you, too, may consider such a move.

It is brutal but you are in control. You of sound mind can make decisions about what to take, what to leave, what to donate, what to burn. Just kidding. We didn’t burn anything including our friendships. I found it exhausting and extremely difficult. Some of our friends that have faced the same life-change recently did it their way. We did our way. There is no right way. There is no wrong way. There is just a way.

Today’s kids don’t like our stuff…except ours did. Some people don’t have children…the cat lady thing and so they had to figure out how to handle it.

In the end, it is just stuff. 12 sets of dishes, That was a no-brainer for me. I had five sets and now we have 6 plates, 6 salad plates, 8 bowls and I’m not looking back.  One set of silverware, and the list goes on. All those fancy wine glasses are history, Ikea glasses inhabit the space and they go in the tiny dishwasher we now have.

In looking back, I wish I could have seen how  much of our stuff was superfluous. See it. Like it? Buy it. For shame.  Now all that I need to do is give up cooking.

I

Today I’m announcing that I’m giving up cooking. It was a great hobby. It resulted in many, many fun times and marvelous meals. But that was then and this is now. My apartment doesn’t even have an oven and my toaster oven sticks out like a sore thumb because it looks so huge is its environment. My Kitchen Aid stand mixer is not long for my kitchen. The Cuisinart is on its way out. It is sad but it’s not. We have 4 restaurants on property with a wide variety of food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We don’t need to go to the grocery store. I don’t have to plan the food of the day. I can eat mushrooms. Rayman can eat what he wants. It is simplification at its best. The food is not as good as mine but I’m okay with that. When I want a great meal, we can go out.

Currently I’m trapped inside with Covid. Dinner was delivered to our front door last night. And as I look at the calendar, food delivery is a huge plus as the clock keeps ticking. Pros and cons. 

What will I do with my spare time if I recover from Covid, along with Rayman? Swimming, art classes, seminars, field trips, concerts, golf, writer’s group, aqua aerobics in the indoor pool with hot tub. A counselor that is available whenever we want to talk. Movies in the auditorium. Mixology classes. The kitchen isn’t that small. A cocktail can be concocted. Exercise equipment to keep the body moving. Walking groups, hiking groups. The list goes on.

To improve my life, we need to get rid of more stuff but I’m use to it and it will be fine. Hell, I can’t even find what I have yet. 

This is actually a great opportunity to  be happy. To visit with a great group of people that live here, 500, in all I’m told. Life is a series of choices and having made ours, I’m all in. No one likes a whiner. Only winers!

Please do come and visit sometime (if we know you). We can show you around.And we can have fun. And you can see what we have done for yourselves. 

This is not for everyone. Nor should it be. We all have our stories, our families, our friends, and our own situations.

And Beau likes it! The kids approve. They will not have to do what we had to do when our parents died. Probate, a difficult trust, unloading all the loot. It will be done and they can relax. I wouldn’t wish my experience on any of them. I consider it cruel and unusual punishment. But that is just me.

If we survive, we will be heading down the highway to the Central Coast the first week in Sept. I’m so excited. My book is 99% done. May get published next week. I’m looking for a good joke to tell to warm up the crowd when I do my launch and book signings. I’ll take suggestions!! It is actual history beginning in 1847 in Beloit, WI and ending in Paso Robles. As I am a fifth generation Californian, I think I know a thing or two and yet, I learned even more! And you will too. I promise.