Travels with The Rayman

We made it back from our desert sojourn last Friday afternoon.  So glad to be out from behind that sound wall, I’ll tell ya.

 

And I’ve been on a merry-go-round ever since.  Does your life go like that every now and then?  I bet it does.  The idea that I”m not like everyone else, disturbs me at times.  Other times, I am happy to be unique.  Of course, if you consider it, we are all unique.  Perhaps the word I was looking for was “similar”.  Okay.  I’m sometimes happy to be similar.

Saturday and Sunday was comprised of things we all do.  Washing clothes.  Hanging the clothes on the line (this is not done by too many people, but in my defense, there are some).  Sorting through the mail that had accumulated and I don’t think I am exaggerating when I report that there was about 50 pounds of mail.  For two weeks, plus a day or two.  Really, people, we do need to stop wasting trees and go digital.  We don’t need hard copies of everything anymore because we have the cloud.  We have zip drives.  We have external hard drives (that does sound suggestive, doesn’t it?).  There all types of ways to preserve and recapture and I’m not talking about food here.  Data.  Datum.  Datuss (a new word not yet invented).

When one is busy, one depends on their calendar to keep them straight.  Up-to-date.  Organized.  And so it is for me and the Rayman.  ECal is more than a phrase.  It’s our tether to the world.  We have all things planned recorded on our electronic calendars, don’t we?  Really smart people keep a paper calendar.  We don’t qualify for that category.  So thoroughly modern are we.  It’s on the computer, the phone, the iPad.  No paper in our world.

But I digress.

The phone rang.  It was my cousin, Chris.  He wanted to come up to visit Uncle Ralph. Chris reported that UR sounded confused.  So, I invited Chris up to visit (he lives in Camarillo).  Great.  They would come on Monday.  Except that the Rayman and I were scheduled for our monthly or bi-monthly card game.  “No problem.” Chris retorted.  He and his wife, Nancy didn’t want to disrupt anything.   So, we agreed they would come here to stay on Monday.

Back up for a minute.  I baked a cake on Sunday for Easter dinner at our place.  A chocolate, banana swirl cake.  Yum.  And while I was at it, I made panna cotta for the dessert on Monday.  Our card group does a potluck and then we play cards.  I volunteered to bring dessert.  And I have never made panna cotta before so I gave it a whirl.  A sour cream panna cotta.  With a rhubard compote.  Double yum.

Chris and Nancy arrived on Monday about noon.  We visited.  Then we all went to UR’s house and visited.  And then we came home and visited.  Lots of visiting occurred.  This is principally because we don’t see each other that often and there is always lots to talk about when we do get together.  All of a sudden it was 5:45 p.m.  The card game was at 6.  Chris and Nancy were going to take UR to dinner and they were picking him up about 6.

I felt terrible.  Not cooking dinner for everyone was not setting well with me but what could I do?  What we did was grab the dessert and that is when I discovered that the dessert had not “set up”.  It was runny.  OMG.  Well, I grabbed the cake, grabbed the sour cream “soup”, the rhubarb compote and off we went to the card game.

Rayman drove really, really slow because he didn’t want the “soup” to spill.  And as luck would have it, the host’s home sits on a steep hill.  We were late.  When we arrived, there were no cars there.  OMG.  Where was everyone?  I called.  No answer.  This was not a good sign.  I called Laurie, one half of one of the other couples in our card group.  She said that the card game was scheduled for Thursday, not Monday.  OMG.  Really?  Really?  What to do?

Well, we drove home slowly, put the “sour cream soup” in the refrigerator, the cake in the microwave (doggy tactic), the rhubarb compote in the refrigerator.  And we drove to the Great American Fish Company where we met up with the UR and cousin Chris and his wife Nancy.  They were as surprised as we were!!  Had dinner.  Came home.  Visited some more and fell into bed.

Today, we got up and I made cornmeal pancakes, Rayman squeezed oranges for fresh orange juice.  We had a great breakfast.  As Rayman was starting to load the dishwasher, he said, “Is Bertha coming today?”  Bertha is our housekeeper.  OMG.  We had completely forgotten.  Bertha’s day was today.  How embarrassing this was becoming.  Our eCal struck again.  But in the calendar’s defense, it was us.  We had not entered Bertha’s visit.  We never do.  Because we were gone for over two weeks, we got confused about which Tuesday she was due.  So, at Rayman’s suggestion, I went out and asked Bertha if she could do another job before ours since we had company.  She said okay, threw the vacuum back into her SUV and drove away.   Another crisis averted.

The other thing is that  Rayman had signed up for golf today but cancelled because of the 1.  the wind  2.  I had to go with UR to his Dr. appointment at 9:00 a.m. today.  Rayman reasoned that he should stay home with the company.  I agreed. About this time as Bertha is in retreat, UR and Claudia show up to pick me up for the Doc appointment.  We visited a few minutes.  Then UR, Claudia and I jumped into the car and headed for San Luis.  Rayman stayed with Chris and Nancy.

Confused yet?  Well, if you aren’t you should be.  We certainly were.
So, tonight, all is quiet on the Western front.  I I’m finishing this blog, Rayman is walking the dog.  The fire is blazing in the fireplace (it’s cold outside tonight).  And I’m getting ready to head to bed to read and relax.  Tomorrow I’m to be at the golf course at 7:45 to play golf.  Then at 4 p.m., Claudia and UR are picking us up to drive south to Casmalia for dinner at the Hitching Post.  It’s about 2 1/2 hours total windshield time.  However, the ribs are fabulous.  So there you have it.

 

 

 

Some times a picture is worth a thousand words, I’ll give you that.  In this case, perhaps my way to describing events will be more interesting than a picture.  I’ll give it a try.

This a.m.  (Mar. 22) we packed up and left the desert oasis of BS.  And we headed up Montezuma Grade.  From the desert floor, the old Dog House lumbered turn after turn up the switchback mountain road.  Rayman was at the helm.  Moi was following in the toad since towing seemed a bit extravagant for the occasion.  Since we do not possess an altimeter, we are clueless how high the grade is at it’s peak.  Suffice it to say that it was about 12 miles from bottom to top.  And I’m not sure I could have walked it let alone sit on a pointy little bicycle seat and peddle all the way up.  Which is what our friends do.

The ride up is a study of California geology and flora.  Did not see a borrego, a snake, or a skunk, hence no fauna.  The huge rocks on either side of the road look like someone had tossed them willy nilly across the landscape.  The cacti soon gave way to trees.  First mesquite and then gradually to pine as we traversed country roads that were at an elevation of 3000 feet more or less.  Then as we dropped down from the summit, the trees most prevalent were the mighty oaks.  California is an amazing place and easy on the eyes.

These wandering roads we took lead us all the way to the 15.  In California-ese, we took the 15, to the 215, to the 118, to DeSoto Road.  Sounds innocuous enough, doesn’t it?  However, what that entails is more or less taking one’s RV life in one’s hands.  OMG.  The trucks.  The cars.  The buses.  And us.  Oh, and don’t let me forget to inform the casual reader that it was extremely windy.  When on the two lane roads, it was hard to keep the monster on the road.  I know.  I was driving part of it.  For all you non-drivers of RVs, you owe a debt of deep gratitude to the driver.  It isn’t always easy.  If the lanes are generous, the traffic light, and the wind isn’t blowing, that’s one thing.  If, on the other hand, the wind is howling, the lanes are narrow (think LA freeways), and the freeways packed with cars, trucks, buses…it is hell on wheels to borrow that handy expression.

Life is full of trade offs.  So is driving an RV.  My preference is two lane roads.  Yes, we trap traffic behind us but it is just easier to navigate because of light traffic.  And it is always prettier.  The freeways of LA are a scourge.  LA.  The land of the strip malls.  What have we become?  This is what all that stolen water from Owens Valley and places north have wrought us?  A wall to wall group of strip malls.  All the names are the same.  Corporations have driven out the small business owners.  When politicians talk about creating jobs for the small business owner, I think that is pretty much a myth.  Restaurants and nail parlors and gyms and tire stores.  Perhaps those qualify.  However, most malls have McDonalds, Toys R Us, PetsMart, Best Buys, For all the traffic, where are the gas stations?  They aren’t easy to find.  OH, we long for France where each town is unique, with a core center where the boulangerie, the patisserie, the wine merchant that has a collection of wine bottles with dust on them.  The highway interchanges in France have cafes were a weary traveler can get a good meal for a reasonable price that has been cooked by people that make a living wage.

But I digress.

So, where did these roads lead?  To the Elks Lodge in Canoga Park which is right in the middle of the San Fernando Valley.  This place is beyond dense.  DeSoto, the main drag was three lanes wide in both directions.  Speed bumps are in every strip mall, or so it seems.  A far cry from the beginning.  See link below about Canoga Park.  The history is so much more interesting than the place now.

History of Canoga Park

The Elks Lodge has 8 spaces.  Us and one other couple with a mighty RV diesel pusher are sharing the area.  And we had the good fortune, to park directly under the street light that illuminates the parking lot here.  They have a huge parking lot.  They also have a grassy area with barbecue pits, tables and benches and misters hanging from the ceilings of the arbors that cover the patios.  It’s far from lovely but it is only $18/day and we didn’t want to drive all the way to wherever.  So, here we are.

Oh, and laws.  Southern California did not get the memo about the drought.  The average house here has a fine looking, green lawn.  There are lawns everywhere.  It is disgusting.  The way I see it, there would be an armed insurrection if the state split in two.  And it would be about the water.  These people live in a desert and they have made it green with water from the north.  For those so inclined, read Cadillac Desert.  One of the best books I’ve ever read about the water of California.

Anyway, back to the subject again.

This morning, we woke up  to  the sounds of trains, planes and garbage trucks.  Wednesday is garbage day in Canoga Park.  And the rule is, get the garbage picked up as early as possible, apparently.  Ah, the vagaries of RV living.  So, we will lift the levelers and move on.  We are hoping we can get a spot in Goleta for tonight.  If that doesn’t work out, it’s up to Lake Cachuma for two nights.

You’re probably wondering about the Rayman.  He was on his way to beating again last night (at Scrabble, you silly person) so we shook hands and called it a tie because we had fenced ourselves in so thoroughly that there was no where to go and about 50 tiles remained.  He also barbecued some lamb loin chops last night that were to die for.  For my part, I had defrosted some wonderful beans, or so I thought.  When I placed them in the pan to heat them up, I was completely taken back.  They were pearl onions with corn and cream and, apparently jalapeños.  Left over from Thanksgiving of this year or last!!  We looked askance at them and ate them anyway.  Not bad but not beans either.  Rayman was gracious.  He didn’t even mutter the obvious, “Why don’t you label things?”.  He just sat there and ate them like a man!!!

 

 

It’s been two weeks in Borrego Springs and tomorrow we head north.  It has been rather warm.  Warm enough for the chocolate that we spent a small fortune on to melt.  Melted chocolate means ruined chocolate.  Forget eating it.  Forget cooking with it.  Just throw it away.  It is ruined.  Good grief.  New rule.  When camped in the desert, leave the chocolate at home.

Consider jelly beans.  Or try lollipops.  We were at the ice cream store day before yesterday and they were playing that song.  Lollipop, lollipop. Oh, lolli, lolli, lollipop.  I know you can hear it in your brain.  Go ahead.  Sing it.  We all the know the words.  It’s as if no time has elapsed between high school and now.  I know every single word.  Still.  The mind is an amazing tool.

Unless you are working a crossword puzzle.  On Sunday, I print out the puzzles from the NYTimes and the LATimes.  And then I drive myself crazy trying to remember synonyms for clues like “sole food” or “angry”  or “maliciously snide”.  Really, people, in what universe does a crossword editor live?  They get paid to drive me mad.  So, I work until something like my leg starts twitching and then I put down the puzzle and let the clues work in my subconscious.  Sometime I actually solve some of them in the middle of the night.  Mostly, I still don’t have a clue what the answer to the clue is.  Oh, well.

Tonight we have a very pink sky in the east.  Wind blew some clouds in and the results are spectacular.  Set against the swaying palm trees, it looks beautiful…almost like Hawaii without the ocean.  Although, the Salton Sea isn’t that far away….

But I digress.

 

Rayman and I played golf today.  So, on the first hole, I noticed that the cart had an ice chest.  When I peered in, it was full of tepid water.  “Where’s the ice?”  At that question, Rayman became uncool.  He got snippy.  This was not a good idea on his part, may I suggest.  It got me upset (read mad).  So, the next couple of holes, I screwed up some shots.  And, as I think back on it, I was completely justified in blaming him for my less than desirable shots.  That kept on until I realized what I was doing wrong (it involved the wrists).  My swing improved and so did my forgiveness of his transgressions.  Lesson learned.  If you snip at your spouse, all swings will be blamed on the snipper until the snippee works out all swing problems.  Just a snippet for all you golfers.

We had leftovers tonight.  Rack of lamb, green salad adorned with tomatoes (I buy those cherry tomatoes and keep them at room temp until they start shriveling), avocado and homemade shallot dressing, and a few spears of barbecued asparagus.  Opened up some Graveyard Cab and a fine meal it was.  We ate in for the first time (inside the dog house).  It has cooled considerable this p.m.  Wind has brought forth some cool temps so inside seemed appropriate.

Beau was not on his best behavior today.  I walked him to the dog run which is comprised of a chain-linked fence that surrounded a dirt lot that is home to three little spindly trees.  Inside the fence were numerous “used” tennis balls.  He preferred them to his rubber ball.  So he refused to fetch his ball.  He kept trying to bury the old slobbered up ball (the lot is sandy).  And then he just sat in the shade of the 4 foot high tree and panted.  No fetching today.  Guess he didn’t like being left alone while we frolicking on the golf course.

Borrego Springs is very unique.  A desert town in the middle of the desert.  Serpents and dinosaurs grace the desert floor.  A local artist makes the sculptures.  There are few lawns but  several golf courses.  The pro at the private country club where we played today has worked at the course for 17 years.  He is used to the heat, he reports.  While I looked at all the golf clothes he explained to me that the course is open almost all year.  He seemed a bit fuzzy about the water although.  He told me not to drink it unless it came out of a fountain.  Once, the town lost power for a whole week when it was 120.  Everyone had to leave town.  In the summer, I’m guessing that might be about 100 people.  Just saying.

Well, it’s time for a rousing game of scrabble.  We play with great vigor and usually tie or almost tie every game.  It’s a hoot under the influence.  And I’ll leave it at that.

Okay, I take that back.  The Rayman and I just concluded a game of scrabble and he is a son-of-a-biscuit ball player.  That man drew all the s’s and one of the blanks.  I did not stand a chance.  He whopped meand I am beside myself alone on the dining room bench.  Listening to the most fabulous music.  Carolina Samba.  Quite lively.  It sounds so good because we had some port and the maryjane and a gin martini.  What could go wrong?

You know he also got the X so of course, sex was one of his words on a triple letter score.  Of course, he is a male.  Anyway, now Cielo sin Nubes  is now playing.  I think that translates to either sky without clouds or possibly rain without hail.  What’s your take?

 

Buenos noches, mi amigos.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As some of you may have noticed (or not), my blogging has slowed.  And I’m not sure why except that I’ve gotten lazy.  This my be true.  It may also be true that I attended a Writer’s Workshop last fall and discovered,  to my utter amazement, that in order to write a book, you have to actually write it.  And I’m stuck in the middle with 13 chapters done and 13 to go.  A faint depression has set in.  Who knew it would be so much work?

And last night we went to Al and Charlie’s for dinner and I was amazed to find out that our friends are missing my blog.  Either that, or they are extremely thoughtful.  Or just being nice.  But they brought me to my senses.  I have returned!!

 

 

As I compose this epistle, I as sitting in The Dog House (TDH) which is currently parked in space 38 of the Holiday Homes RV Park in Borrego Springs (BS), California.  This is our third March here.  Our bicycle friends live here and a bunch of other bicycle friends come here every March to ride their bikes up and down the huge mountains that surround this oasis.

The Rayman and I played golf today but we did not post our scores because a few holes made us cheat.  That is largely because I was on the phone trying to cancel an order for Starbucks Kenyan Espresso pods.  And the reason I was doing that was because when I ordered them on line this a.m., I messed up the order and had them going to our house instead of BS.  So between shots, Rayman and I were trying to get the coffee order cancelled.  This caused a certain amount of angst which is why I am sure that the shot that resulted in my ball lodged under a bush…occurred. Golf takes a great deal of concentration and I am now in awe of our friends that get calls while golfing and still manage to whip my derriere!!

Things have been okay of recent.  We left home last Tuesday after canceling a Monday departure because of rain and high winds at home.  So, we drove all the way from home to here in one day.  10 hours total.  I’m too old for that.  Several funny things happened along the way but the heck if I can remember any of them.  We were tired when we got here and set up TDH in the fading light of day.  So, we walked the dog, locked him in, and went down to Carmelita’s for long wait at the bar.  The bartender was very busy making mammoth margaritas for the clientele.  While waiting, I talked with the three guys to my left.  I talked their ears off.  Don’t know what got into me.  Yak, yak, yak.  The good news is that they didn’t like Trump either so we all got along just fine.  Yes, politics were discussed.  Anyway, I’m sure they were glad to leave because I was making a pest of myself and I couldn’t stop it.  Must have been all those hours of captivity in TDH.

Since that day, it took until yesterday to fully recover.  Bouncing back is not as easy as it once was.

We did a nature walk with some of our friends.  Flowers are plentiful this year because of the rain but the locals explain that they aren’t as tall as usual.  We also observed Swainsons hawks  who show up when the caterpillars appear.  They love those caterpillars which are black and show up quite nicely for those hawks.  Their underbellies are yellow and if you flip them over, they immediately right themselves.

Bird brains

Our friend, Elizabeth, biker extraordinaire, brought with her to the nature walk, a chart with pictures of flowers normally found in the Borrego-Anza State Park.  Only we only saw about 2 of them.  So, where were all the other flowers?  And why weren’t the flowers that we were viewing not on the very colorful, slick papered brochure?  A total mystery now surrounds our adventure.   Guess we will have to do it again next year to see if things change.

Since we have arrived, I made a batch of yogurt, some sourdough pancakes (yes, I brought my started from home) and a pork tenderloin with trimmings.  While doing all this I managed to burn my hand and drop the stove top cover on my big toe which made me drop straight to the floor.  The good news is that I have not yet cut myself and the food has been tasty except for the burnt yams.  It was raining and windy that night and I had to do the whole meal in that tiny oven and so I burnt some of it.  Barbecuing is a much better way to cook when one is RVing.  We plan to grill scallops tonight and have them with salad and some pasta that I will dress with olive oil, garlic and some parmaigiano reggianno.  (spelling is butchered, I sure).  That is unless the scallops don’t thaw enough, in which case, we’ll just go back to Carmelita’s and have another chicken enchilada and a small bowl of black beans with fresh pico de gallo.   Ole.

Oh, I just remembered when I forgot.  When leaving the RV parking lot where TDH leaves in San Luis, I wanted to look at Rayman’s ipad.  But it wasn’t on board.  We left it at home.  OMG.  What to do?  The car was hitched up to TDH.  Drive home and get it?  or have Claudia send it to us.  We took door number 2.  That error cost $61  because Rayman had to have it ASAP.  And it arrived the next day about noon.  Amazing but expensive.  Glad we didn’t leave the vacuum cleaner!!  That would have cost a fortune.

The weather here has been really interesting.  Wind blowing so hard we thought the RV was going to topple over.  Rain.  Who knew it rained here in the desert.  More wind.  And the wind starts suddenly and then it stops suddenly.  It’s been in the low 80s.  But that’s about to stop.  The temp is heading into the 90s and will remain there for the rest of the stay.  Think we will head up the mountain to Julian.  It’s in the low 50s there.  Just 30 miles away straight up the hill.  California is so varied and interesting.  Glad we get to experience it like we do.

And as a final note for today, we have made some of our reservations for our trip to the Badlands this May.  More fun and games to come.  Our friend, Diane Wyatt, found an RV place to stay in Gillette, Wyoming called Green Trees Crazy Woman RV Park.  Sounds perfect to me!!

 

 

 

 

“Dianna, just leave me alone.”   This is a direct quote.  A favorite plea from my husband, the erstwhile, Rayman.  He engages a slightly higher octave when spitting this out and he slows down his twangy drawl in order to, I suspect, deliver the message with great frustration.  It rarely works.  That’s because I know, in my heart of hearts, that I am not going to ever leave him alone.  It’s not what I do.  He is my husband, for heaven’s sakes.  He is conveniently present most of the time.  We live in close proximity.  There is no one else around most of the time.  So…he gets my full attention.

This morning I had much to do in the kitchen.  Company was coming for dinner so I needed a good running start for the event.  The menu included achiote-based marinate for the chicken parts.  The other item on the menu was home made ice cream.  You see, this is what an on-top-of-it cook does.  Meringue has no use of yolks, and it requires a copious amount of whites.  See chapter on E is for Eggs.  So, what to do?  Flan, creme brûlée, ice cream?  Three great uses for egg yolks.  I settled on ice cream.  From the same cookbook, Two Hot Tamales, I found an ice cream recipe with kuala and chocolate.  Yummy.

The ice cream required 3/4 cup of double-strength espresso.  After searching the cupboards for instant espresso, all that I found was old Folger’s coffee crystals dating back to what looked to the be the age of the dinosaur.  That’s when I asked Rayman if he would make me some espresso.  That was at 9:10 a.m.  “Sure”, he said.  After a few minutes Rayman pleaded, “What the heck is wrong?  I can’t get this to work.”  Backing up for a just a minute, he had unearthed an espresso maker that has been gracing the counter for years.  That’s all it has been doing.  Gracing the counter.  Rayman has not used it in years.  It’s one of those appliances that are the rage so you buy one.  Then after a year or so, it just graces the counter.  Novelty gone.  Espresso not required.

But I digress.

So, I went over to him and surveyed the situation.  After jiggling the plug, the machine came to life.  Oh, my.  Was there male pride involved?  Perhaps.   At this point, he cheerily started brewing the espresso.  And I returned to making my marinate for the chicken.  But them, calamity broke loose.  Rayman had placed a measuring cup underneath the “spiket” where the brew comes out.   And most of the espresso was missing its intended target.  That’s because it was leaking out of the sides of the filter holder”.   “Good grief”, he muttered.  And that was about the time I contributed the idea of reading the directions.  “I don’t need the directions.  I know what I’m doing.”  Right.  Espresso was everywhere.  On the granite, on the espresso maker itself.  On the Rayman.  “I may have loaded it too tight.”  That was followed up by, “I’ll do it again”.  This was followed up with him doing it again with the same exact results.  Only this time, he was inflicting damage on himself.  Coffee stains on his sweater.  “Should I find the directions for you?”, I inquired.  It was about this time that he said, “Dianna, just leave me alone.”  And that’s about the same time that the espresso maker did it thing and erupted, more or less.  Coffee was everywhere.

And we both just howled.

I rushed to the computer to get it all down and he went about cleaning up the mess and then cleaning the espresso maker and then brewing a perfectly nice cup of espresso.  It was 10:20.

Oh, what a year.  It’s the year of cancelled plans.  Never before have we had so many plans that did not pan out.  Biorhythms on the fritz?  Stars not aligned?  What gives?

And then there is the question of why women love shoes?  I adore shoes.  Sandals, boots, low heels, flats, moccasins, slides, golf shoes, deck shoes, loafers, tennis shoes, water shoes, slippers, flip flops.  Admittedly I do  not like high heels or toe shoes.  Seems like torture to me.  That’s probably an age thing but it reminds me of bound feet like the Chinese used to do.  As I said, at the risk of repeating myself…torture.  But why?  Why do I like and many of my female friends love shoes so much?  I think it is because of Cinderella.  That was a shoe story.  And Wizard of Oz.  That was a shoe story.   These movies preprogrammed us as youngsters to be programmed us into loving shoes.  And so we do.  If the dear reader has another idea, I’m all ears.  Speaking of ears, you could argue that Walt Disney also preprogrammed us to like mouse ears (Mickey and Minnie).  But, really, people, that’s not the same.  Or maybe he preprogrammed us to like elephant ears. (Dumbo).  But this theory loses umpf because those ears didn’t sparkle and shine.  And ears interfere with our crowning glory, such as is it.  Our hair.  So, I dismiss that theory.

But I digress.

Summer has twisted our plans.  It’s too hot in the mountains.  It’s too hot in the desert.  It’s too hot inland.  The only place it isn’t hot is here at home.  And this is where we will stay most of the time.  And then Uncle Ralph had us plan a trip for him and then he decided he didn’t want to take the trip.  Cancelled.  And then our trip to Canada got cancelled because the home exchange couple in Quebec ran into a back problem.  He hurt his back.  So, no Canada.  What is Rayman going to do with that maple leaf sweater?  Don’t know.  Just kidding.

However, as is always true of life, just as soon as something got cancelled something else presented itself.  A golf invitational for me.  At the newly redone Salinas Country Club.  It’s now known as Crazy Horse CC.  I really like that name.  It makes me conjure up a “rearing” horse that would be suitable for a logo.  Horseshoes anyone?  Ah, ah.  The shoes again.  I can honestly say that I like horseshoes.  Not sure that horses like their shoes since they are nailed on (ouch).  So there is that.

 

I’m hopeful I’ll do as good as I did at Dairy Creeks’ Invitation.  Came in low gross in our flight (63) and missed low net overall by one stroke!!  For non-golfers, forgive me for bragging.  Golfers, to be sure, will understand my delight.  I will not trouble you with my bad game stories except to say that a week later I played Dairy Creek…I shot a net 83 with two 5 putts and at least 3 sand shots the following week.  What happens?  Where does it go?  It’s a crazy, crazy exercise in futility, frustration, elation and all points in between.  You never arrive.  It’s just that simple.  Perhaps the powers that be should rename some of these courses.  How about Hell’s Golf Course?  or Putt Me if You Can Country Club?  Or how about Sand City Links?  Drown Your Sorrows Lake Course?  Slicing and Hooking Golf Ball Hills?  Just an idea for matching the reality with the game.   Again, what shoes will I wear?

My friend, Donna, in her shoes.

And then there is Jury Duty.  Darned if I don’t get summoned every year.  It’s annoying.  I plainly don’t want to serve on a jury.  Last time I was summoned, they were trying a man who as accused of shooting a horse in the foot.  Really?  Really.   The prosecutors have too much money.  But I pride myself in getting dismissed will the help of my active imagination.  Or maybe we should call it unique and thoughtful thinking.  Your pick.  So, July 20th I must burnish my excuses and head to the court house.   What shoes should I wear?

The other thing I refilled my time with, as it were, is a Writer’s Conference.  Yep.  That’s right.  I’m going to a conference to learn a few new things.  About writing.  Publishing.  Blogging, of all things.  I’m not sure why I signed up for the blogging session since I just noticed that this is my 167 blog on this website.  And, in case you, the reader, thinks that’s not much, consider that I started all this blogging on my website, adventureswiththerayman.com.  Then Apple came along and stopped iWeb, their proprietary software and I had to come up with a new website provider.  Here’s my very first post.  http://adventureswiththerayman.com/adventureswiththerayman.com/Adventures_in_Travel_with_R_and_D/Entries/2007/12/20_Adventures_in_the_Kitchen_Around_the_Holidays.html

Yes, I started all this on Dec. 20, 2007.  That is hard to believe.  You may have to copy and paste the URL into your browser to read it.  If you dare!!

Finally, what is the Rayman doing?  Well, he’s been running away from home a lot.  He flew to Portland to help Ryan move, only Ryan didn’t move.  So they had fun.  Then he came back and ran away again to Truckee to play golf and poker and bocce ball with his Indian Guide buddies.  Now he is back.  With funny stories and plenty of memories.   Mostly unshared.   And you understand why.  With my ability to wax on about silly things, he guards his friends’ privacy like a guard at the gates of Buckingham Palace.  This leaves me with the opportunity to imagine what goes on.  Things like eating all the wrong kind of food, belching, scratching, laughing at dirty jokes, telling lies, giving each other the raspberries.  General foolery.  That’s my theory and I’m sticking to it.  And these guys are good at what they do since they have been doing it the best part of 30 years.  The Choctaws.  Yep.  That’s them.  And they are awesome in every way.  I love when they include us women.  The repartee is delicious.  Can’t wait to see them all again.  Alas, what shoes will I wear?