Sunday, August 25, 2019

Marking my calendar

I’ve been to the Neon Museum in Las Vegas. Very cool.

And I’ve been to Sparky’s in Hatch NM — a burger joint decorated with large advertising figures like the A&W Drive-In family. Also cool, with the added benefit of good food.

I stopped to visit with Miss Hubcap Capital of the World in Pearsonville CA.

I’ve even waved at Big Boy in a pasture near Wapiti WY.

Then today I learned about Bell Plastics, a company in Hayward CA devoted to making new advertising statues, often called Muffler Men, though not all the statues are men or even human. Once a year (like last week) they open their facility to visitors. I want to be there next August.

Saturday, August 24, 2019

Wait, am I in Canada?

English and French on the package, but no Spanish. Metric measurements given priority in the listings. This ain’t no US market package, yet I bought it in California. At least I think I’m still in the US. Maybe I’m not and it’s all a freaky side effect of radiation therapy.

UPDATE: Oh, wait, I just figured it out. Someone at Charmin got confused and shipped this TP to La Cañada, California, north of Pasadena.

Hemmed in again

In the winter I usually hunker down in the border desert. Toward March I get restless and want to hit the road again, but the weather reports show disgustingly cold or wet weather all around me.

Now the flip side of that. I’ve been hunkered down in Los Angeles most of the summer but I’ll be able to return to the road in a couple of weeks. I’ve been checking the forecasts again and I’m surrounded by hellishly hot weather in nearly every direction.

Sigh.

No news, good news

Nothing to blog about this past week. I’ve just been relaxing, recovering and watching a lot of model building videos. (It used to be my big hobby.) My weight has stabilized, I have more energy, and my throat hurts considerably less. I have an appointment for the 5th to have the trach tube removed. Then I’ll head out on the road until the first week of December when I return to LA for a PET scan.

Oh, about the weight thing. I lost about 40 pounds the past few months. I’m under 200 pounds for the first time since, oh, high school. I’ve had to do a little clothes shopping. Pants are down from a snug 38 to a roomy 34, almost 33. T-shirts are down from 2XL to L. We’ll have to see how long the smaller self lasts.

Sunday, August 18, 2019

Meanwhile

Lou has been making progress on kitchen cabinets and a closet. He teased me, saying the countertops will be something special. I guess I’ll have to go back in order to find out.

Continuing with the luck theme

It’s a rare and beautiful thing to work at a job you love with people you really like. I was lucky enough to have that for part of my career. It’s equally rare and beautiful that you still enjoy each other twenty to thirty years later.

When a friend/coworker learned I was in Southern California getting cancer treatment, she put together a combination celebration of my recovery and company reunion. I’m not much of a party goer, but there was no way I was going to miss this, even if it hadn’t been in my honor. It was an excellent gathering.

That’s the former CEO in the middle of the photo. Last night he said, “I wanted to make it the type of company I would enjoy working for.” He succeeded. I replied, “There were two things that meant a lot to me, and that I never got anywhere else. Acknowledgement of my value to the organization, and the reciprocation of loyalty.” We hugged.

Thursday, August 15, 2019

More vanlife reality

As I’ve said many times before, I’m lucky. I found a life I love and it’s working for me. It doesn’t always go so well for my fellow nomads. Their dreams become nightmares.

Chris Wright tells the story in Outside of the months he and his fiancée spent traveling the country in a van. As in the article I shared before, their intent was to live the van life in an anti-#vanlife way.
There was an important caveat. We decided to reject the cushiness of #vanlife and skip the saccharine Instagram posts. This was partly out of necessity—we didn’t have the budget for a $10,000 vintage van and a $10,000 overhaul. But we also feared the Instagramization of our lives, seeing the mountains through the lens of our camera phones. I rolled my eyes (though secretly a little jealous) at the shirtless #vanlife guys whose long captions detailed the importance of learning how to fix a timing belt with a shoelace. Rachel damn sure wasn’t going to sit naked on the roof of the van for a photo shoot every few sunrises. Social media of any kind was officially banned. 
We decided, instead, to take the path of the van bums: the transients, the weirdos, the indie bands with no money.
Though their intentions were pure, the reality was harder than they expected, harder than they were prepared for.

Their first mistake was buying an unreliable van. Their freedom machine became an anxiety generator. What would fail next? Would they become stranded? And, because their second mistake was underestimating their expenses, could they afford repairs?
If I was obsessing about a breakdown, I was also fixated on money and the way it seemed to flow through our wallets like water through a sieve. Living out of a van can be surprisingly expensive, especially if you’re burning through gas on long drives every couple of days. I had underestimated our costs. Working would mean stopping, extending the trip, spending even more money. I kept thinking about the saying “so poor you can’t keep mosquitoes in underpants.” I only had three pairs. We didn’t need much to survive. But the list of things we could afford was shrinking fast. I was sinking into despair: over van noises, over dollar signs, over anything and everything.
I’m not posting this to discourage aspiring nomads. I mean it only as a reality check and to stress two important points. 1) Get the most reliable vehicle you can find and afford. 2) Have a continuing source of income.

Like many people who go on a journey to discover the country, Mr. Wright also discovered some things about himself.
Here’s what living out of a van was: a massive stretch of raw adventure and also an earthquake, destabilizing my life, showing me I didn’t really know all that much about risk, privilege, happiness, failure, and my own mental state.
Keep your dreams, nomads-to-be, but also keep your head on straight. And hope for luck (although luck is not an emergency plan).

Tuesday, August 13, 2019

In a video making mood again

That wasn't horrible

I must’ve been feeling strong this morning. I called Social Security to change my address. Right up front the recorded voice said it would be about a twenty-minute wait. I could do that.

Twelve minutes later I was talking to someone. And in a couple of minutes it was all done.

Yes, I could’ve done it online, but I couldn’t remember my password, or whether I’d ever set up an online account in the first place. At least I didn’t need to go to a Social Security office in person.

Saturday, August 10, 2019

Real #vanlife

Some days you click on one of your favorite sites expecting to read about cars and instead discover an article about your own life.

Young writer Anna Merlan and photographer Tod Seelie set out on a road trip to discover the gap between the Instagram #vanlife image of nomadic living and its more common reality. The story starts with them sweating to death in a Phoenix parking lot. Not glamorous.
You won’t find these realities on Instagram, of course. In the past few years “vanlife” has become a bona fide social media phenomenon, a way for beautiful, mostly white, mostly heterosexual couples in Sprinters and Volkswagens to #partner with #brands to make a living selling a pristine, minimalist, aspirational lifestyle of sunrise beach yoga, morning acai bowls and romantic nights with two pairs of feet on the mattress facing towards some beautiful sunset mountain view or a lightly photoshopped sky full of stars. (Vanlife is now so popular that whole accounts exist to re-post vanlife photos from other vanlife accounts, usually hashtagged with robotic enthusiasms like “#couplegoals” and “Looks so cozy!”) 
...This is, of course, leaving aside that the beautiful heterosexual whites in their expensively-converted Sprinters did not invent “vanlife” or, more broadly, life in a van. Traveling by RV or van is a fact of life for a lot of people who earn their living through seasonal, migrant labor, as Jess Bruder’s exquisite book Nomadland chronicles. Living in a car is a reality for many, many homeless adults and children throughout the U.S., a reality often complicated by laws that deliberately make it hard for them to park anywhere for too long. And even that leaves aside that self-expressed Vanlifers who aren’t white face a particular host of challenges, hostility and harassment on the road.
I nodded in recognition as I read. It’s very accurate. You can learn a lot from only two weeks on the road—if you’re looking for the truth rather than trying to live the myth.

Tuesday, August 6, 2019

New and improved

I got years of excellent service from my GSI Glacier Stainless Toaster. But the wire screen on the bottom eventually succumbed to the propane and butane flames.

I had purchased old faithful at a camping/backpacking store near Ceebs’ home in Los Angeles, but when I returned for a new one they no longer sold them. So I resorted to Amazon. And ordered two. Gotta plan for the future, even in the middle of cancer treatment.

Wow, the current version is more substantial than the old one. Heavier gauge metal, thicker screen, and there are now solid metal strips on the ends of the mesh. Yet the price is the same. Thank you, GSI. Even if it turns out the improvements don’t extend product life or make better toast, at least they’re trying.

Monday, August 5, 2019

Short reports

Yay, I’m slightly better than average

I had checkups with my two oncologists today. I was certain I was going to get lectures about my condition, but they were pleased with my progress. They said I looked surprisingly good (internally and externally), considering where I am in the whole recovery cycle, and that it would be at least another week before I started feeling an upswing.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Taste test

Some of my sense of taste is returning. Ceebs made a banana and mango shake for me and, surprise, I could actually taste the banana.

This morning, on the way to my appointments, Ceebs got an Altoid for herself. She offered me one. Okay. It tasted like… absolutely nothing. But then there was a hint of minty vapor in my sinuses.

“This is a good test,” I said. “It’s something with a very strong, very familiar flavor. Each Altoid is identical, so the thing being tested is consistent. I can judge where I am on the Altoids Scale. I'm certain it will become an official standard soon.”

- - - - - - - - - - -

Getting blood from a stone

Weekly blood samples and chemotherapy infusions had left both my arms well punctured. The backs of both hands as well. Then daily antibiotic drips and twice daily blood sampling while in the hospital really taxed my available blood vessels. Today they wanted blood for weekly analysis. A couple of hours later a different group wanted blood for the clinical trial I’m involved in. It took four attempts among three nurses to finally hit blood.

Sunday, August 4, 2019

Fever dreams (without the fever)

Whenever I’m ill I have short, obsessive, repetitive dreams that continue on when I’m partially awake. When I’m fully awake between dreams I sometimes have a hard time judging whether the dreams were about something real or just 100% crap my brain concocted to torment me. When I go back to sleep the dreams return and the cycle restarts.

Last night the dream had me believing there was only one correct, medically approved sleeping position I had to maintain in order to heal properly, to heal at all. And I couldn’t find that position. Or I’d find the position but it would be uncomfortable and I couldn’t maintain it. Between dreams I couldn’t tell whether the one-position thing was fact or not.

After being awake enough to make a bathroom trip, I finally realized my head was just messing with me. But I didn’t sleep much better.

Wednesday, July 31, 2019

Control

The physical aspects of cancer treatment and recovery are one thing, but then there’s the psychological part. For me, that means relinquishing freedom and control. Cancer had taken control, and those who would cure me were wrestling control from the Big C. All I could do was go along, follow instructions, submit.

It all came to a head yesterday. I’d been in the hospital a week and the seemingly constant parade of medical people drawing blood, taking vital signs, asking questions, changing IVs, giving instructions, dispensing meds, drawing more blood, and on and on had used up my supply of tolerance and patience. I lost my cool and snapped at a nurse, demanding to be left alone for a few uninterrupted hours. And it worked. They even posted a sign on my door to not disturb until a certain hour.

Then, on the way home from the hospital, finally with a little autonomy to look forward to, I got a call from the chemotherapy place telling me I had a new hydration appointment for later this week. AAAAaaaargh! Give me a fucking break!

The single greatest thing about my nomad life is the ability to run my own life. No one’s agenda to serve, no one I need to please, no one’s schedule to keep or permission to ask. I had retired from all that, escaped it, and lived very happily to tell the story. But the past ten weeks…? All of that had to be surrendered. And it has been exhausting, demoralizing.

Today Ceebs helped talk me down, reminding me the things they want from me were only to heal me as quickly and completely as possible. Yes, of course.

I had imagined hitting the road again in a couple of weeks, after the last meetings with the doctors, and not returning until after Thanksgiving when they’ll do a PET scan and other followup work. But that’s probably not going to happen so soon. I’m adjusting to that reality, accepting it.

I’m alive. I’m feeling better. That’s enough for now.

Tuesday, July 30, 2019

Monday, July 29, 2019

The news

Just got a call from my radiation oncologist. Tomorrow is my last radiation treatment. I asked, "Okay, then what is the status of the tumor? He replied, "It's gone." I check in with him in a week to see how recovery from the side effects is going and to make sure I have self-care humming along. Then I return after Thanksgiving for a PET scan to see if there are any developments. Then again every three months for a while. If it weren't for the side effects, treatment was pretty much a walk in the park. A tedious, repetitive walk in the park. In my case. So it wasn't one of those classic movie/TV scenes with everyone gathered in the doctor’s office with him (it’s almost always a him) delivering a nail-biting preamble before pronouncing the good news, but it's the good news nonetheless. (Fists in the air!)

Meawhile

Lou has insulated the walls and put up the panels, which will be stained and varnished. The bathroom is in the corner, with the toilet in the far corner, the shower next to it and the sink in the righthand corner. The kitchen will be to the right of the bathroom. Hot water will be supplied by an on-demand heater. And the place will be heated/cooled by a mini-split unit. Lou believes his casita is so well insulated that his heating and cooling power use will be minimal.

Saturday, July 27, 2019

Comfy

I’ve discovered the second-most comfortable mattress in the world. (The one in the Rolling Steel Tent is first.) It’s also probably the most shockingly high priced bed. It’s my hospital bed: the Stryker IsoAir. It’s a heavy duty, high tech air mattress.


Deep Cell Design 
IsoAir support surface is comprised of a series of air-tight bladders that run laterally across the mattress to provide patient immersion and envelopment. 
Therapy Modes
Designed with both pressure redistribution and alternating low pressure therapies to assist in protecting patient skin. 
Active Sensor Technology
Automatically adjusts pressure within the air cells to help control immersion for the patient to a specific depth.
Too bad I had to get sick to discover it.


Wednesday, July 24, 2019

A different kind of #vanlife

Radiation treatment is in a different building, so they packed me into an ambulance and drove me over there. Along the way I kept thinking how easy it would be to convert the ambo into a nomad home. Lots of headroom, nice cabinets, and horns that would really get drivers out of your way.


Too late for me

My friend Forrest sent me the link to a Denver Craigslist ad. If it were 2013 and I hadn’t already bought the Rolling Steel Tent, this is what I would’ve purchased. The seller is even asking less than what I paid.

Chevy box truck, aerodynamic nosepiece, barn doors in the rear. I looked at similar ones at a U-Haul lot, but they didn’t have the nosepiece and the rear doors were all roll-ups, which cut into headroom and are hard to make weathertight. And slightly longer ones had dually rear axels, which I didn’t want.

So if you’re vanless somewhere in the Denver region, you should check this one out. It could make a sweet home.

The latest

About 3:00 Tuesday morning I woke to strong shivers that carried on for about an hour. 

When I finally dragged myself out of bed at 9:30 I was exceptionally weak and unsteady on my feet. I figured this was all from by dangerously low caloric intake the past few weeks.

Ceebs drove me to my radiation appointment and I had her procure a wheel chair. I was fairly certain I wasn’t going to be able to make the walk.

I saw the doctor (two doctors, actually) after treatment. My temperature was 106°.  They were certain I had some type of infection. The quickest way to get a battery of tests run was via the ER. So they and my chemo doctor called ahead to UCLA’s ER in Santa Monica (of which they had a higher opinion than the one in Westwood).

In the ER waiting room. Woo! Fun!

They drew about nine vials of blood, some urine, and a couple of mouth swabs, moved me to a private room to lessen exposure to infection.

They loaded me up with painkillers and antibiotics. Also Tylenol to lower my fever. I didn’t know it was good for that. My temperature was down to normal within a half hour. 

I slept well.

Good morning

This morning I feel better—sort of pre-fever & chills cancer patient me. I await test results. I hope I get a passing grade.

Monday, July 22, 2019

Meanwhile

Lou says most of the exterior is done. He just needs to do the porch and steps.

The roof required some neighborly help. And the neighborly help required the neighbor to actually show up.

Saturday, July 20, 2019

Brunch with O

Friend, former workmate, and beautiful soul Ophelia was in town from Boise. She met with Ceebs and I for brunch and conversation at Mama Lu’s Dumpling House. Well, she and Ceebs brunched while I wrestled with my digestive tract. The food looked good, anyway.

Thursday, July 18, 2019

Making the call

My friend Sherita has been battling health problems since winter and it has severely impacted her ability to live independently, to live like a nomad, to live like the strong woman she is. It’s the type of thing that makes me sad, especially when I’m in no position to be there and help, to wave a magic wand, or to at least give a hug.

Technology can bridge the gap, though. We talked this evening via Facebook Messenger. Voices can convey so much more than text. It was comforting, soothing for both of us.

Monday, July 15, 2019

At least I kept the eyebrows

It was haircut time and I figured, eh, might as well take the whiskers too.

Saturday, July 13, 2019

Want a dog?

Every nomad needs a dog, right? Every dog needs a home. And travel. And open spaces.

Well, a friend of Ceebs has been fostering a sweet dog and wants to find a permanent owner for it soon. Here’s a flyer she did.


Contact the South Los Angeles Shelter at (888) 452-7381 or (213) 485-0303.
1850 W 60th St
Los Angeles, CA 90047

Go to this link to learn about fees and adoption policies.

Field trip

In all the years I lived in Southern California I had never visited the Watts Towers. So I was up early and on my way before there was too much freeway traffic.

I knew beforehand the grounds were closed because of preservation and repair work. I didn’t now that much of it would be covered in scaffolding. But of course. Still, it was cool.

The most unexpected thing was the security guard—a Latino Jew, wearing a yarmulka and blowing a shofar to welcome the Sabbath morning. I love LA.

Friday, July 12, 2019

Bye-bye 5-gallon bucket

I’ve become so accustomed to having a proper toilet that squatting on a bucket now seems disgustingly primitive (again). So now I have this to tow along on my eventual return to the nomadic life. I’m going to try and rig a shower in it, too.

Okay, for those who might think I’m serious, I just happened to park next to it. It’s for the paving crew.

If you can’t save it, shave it

Thursday, July 11, 2019

Aw man, I wanna get back out there

Craig Childs wrote a wonderful article about solitude, floating the Green River, and Aron Ralston cutting off his trapped arm. I really miss that part of the country. I also really miss solitude. Soon, baby, soon.

Patchy

Cancer treatment hair loss has begun. Not that I ever had a thick beard to begin with. Ceebs noticed it first. She said it happened almost overnight.

Sunday, July 7, 2019

Heave ho

I finally have an answer to the question, “What will happen if I vomit while I have a tracheostomy tube?” In this particular instance, it was the same as if it wasn’t there. It was no fun, but nothing was inhaled except air. The epiglottis did its job.

Losing on purpose

When I shop on eBay I usually avoid auctions and go for the buy-it-now choices. One reason is I don’t want to invest time tracking the auction and making bids. Another reason is an article I read a few years ago that said auction winners pay too much. That claim is based on the idea that things are worth only what someone is willing to pay. If you win the auction it means all the other bidders thought the price is too high. Sure, you might still get the item at less than market price, but that just means the market price is also too high. And, yes, the buy-it-now price might also be too high, but at least I didn’t need to fiddle with the auction process.

So, the other day I went looking for a replacement for my nearly obsolete phone. I had read a lot of reviews and watched several user videos. I made a choice and found a handful of used ones on eBay. But they were all at auction. Okay, okay, I’ll bid on one, despite my aversion. Then I was out-bid. So I raised my bid, and it stuck for the rest of the day, with four days until the end of the auction.

Later eBay sent me an email pointing out other offerings of the same phone. One had a buy-it-now price lower than my bid on the other phone. Rats. Was there a way out of the auction? I couldn’t find it. I could only wait to be outbid, to “lose” the auction.

So I waited. And waited.

Finally someone bumped up the bid. Thank you, whomever you are, for allowing me to lose.

UPDATE: The winning bid was way over what I was willing to pay.

Saturday, July 6, 2019

Data hog

Out on the road I had to be mindful of my data usage. I have an unlimited plan, but speed is throttled after I use 22GB. So I had to be as certain as possible I really wanted to stream a video. I often stopped watching so-so videos after a minute or less to keep from wasting those gigabytes (any further).

But the wifi at Ceebs’ place has no limits. That makes me more willing to take viewing risks. Yet I still feel guilty watching things that are only slightly interesting, or for sitting through the blah parts between the good stuff. I should be clicking off and saving data for more worthy things.

I wonder what will happen when I’m back on the road with my limited unlimited plan. How long will it take me to become my old data-conscious self?

Friday, July 5, 2019

Shake up

Even with earthquakes, I still love California.

Capped

The past week it seemed I was breathing almost exclusively through my nose, not the tracheostomy tube. So I’m experimenting with capping it off. So far, so good. Maybe I can convince the doctors it’s time to remove the tube and sew me back up.


There’s no app for that

This post is inspired, in part, by someone on a nomad forum musing about extremely portable sources of electricity for way-off-grid living. He wondered what it would require to charge the batteries for his cordless tools. My reaction was that if he really wanted extreme portability he should eliminate the electrical tools and go with good old human-powered ones.

Back in the 50’s my father finished our unfinished tract house basement—new stairs, two bedrooms with built-in cabinetry, a bathroom, a laundry room, a laundry chute, a food and supplies storage room, and a recreation room with a table that folded out of the wall—all without power tools. Not even a circular saw or drill. Here I am, sixty years later, whining to myself when I have to use an ordinary screwdriver instead of an electric one. Waaaaa! So much wrist turning! Woe is me!

We live in a time when we expect everything—including thinking—to be as labor-free and painless as possible. But being a nomad means living as lightly and as uncomplicated as we can. Those two goals are often at cross purposes.

I’m not sinless in this regard. I have a refrigerator and the solar equipment to run it. I could’ve changed my diet to only things that don’t need refrigeration, but I likes my cold beverages. A lot. And I like my computer, and my phone, and my camera. And my fan. And my cordless drill. I’m not a Luddite. I just consider the costs—monetary and otherwise—of my conveniences. Does saving labor here require more labor elsewhere? Ain’t no free lunch. Especially if you want a cold drink with it.

Besides, you can’t make sweet, spooky music with a power saw.

Thursday, July 4, 2019

Now it’s the tastebuds

All sorts of favorite flavors are starting to taste awful. Some taste caustic. Savory foods, especially. (When did black bean soup turn to acid?) Some foods just taste incredibly bland. The chocolate protein shake is still drinkable, though.

But at least that feeling of having a piece of glass stuck in my uvula is gone. At the moment.

Wednesday, July 3, 2019

Shortcut

With chemotherapy each Thursday and hydration each Monday, I have IV’s taped to my arm—and arm hair—often enough that it made sense to get out the clippers and mow my forearms. I predict it will become the next big male grooming trend. Or not.

Tuesday, July 2, 2019

Wait, this is not a hospital


Santa Monica State Beach

And one step back

They had said the effects of radiation therapy would start to make themselves known after about two weeks. Sure enough.

During Friday’s session I noticed warmth for the first time. I asked if they had changed the dosage. They hadn’t. Later my mouth and throat felt scalded. It didn’t ease up Saturday. Eating solid foods was painful. Sunday was only slightly better. Monday about the same. This morning it feels like I have a splinter of glass where my uvula should be.

I’ve also noticed my teeth are loosening. My gums have shrunken. Will they eventually return to normal? Will I start losing teeth?

It’s disheartening. But I’ll push on.

Monday, July 1, 2019

More or less?

I was rummaging around YouTube and kept running into videos by young adventure-seeking nomads. Mountain biking, kayaking, rock climbing, hang gliding, pushing the limits. The GoPro people.

A little later I got an email from my friend Vanholio!
It’s funny. When I set out 4 years ago, thought I’d be criss-crossing the USA—maybe Canada and Mexico, too—seein’ everything… 
All I want is comfy weather, quiet, good internet, no neighbors, a pretty view, a nice walk, few bugs, and maybe a top-grade breakfast burrito or Chinese buffet once in a while. And my coffee. And Ms. Barkley curled up beside me. The simple life. 
Imagined a life of adventure back then and found a life of easy contentment instead.
Yup, those are the two poles of the nomadic life. Living hard versus living easy. It’s probably an age thing. But it’s a personality thing, too. I’m one of those who finds happiness in a decluttered existence. Aaaaah, look at all the things I didn’t need to do today.

Saturday, June 29, 2019

Dwell on this

I was web searching various offbeat Los Angeles museums. One museum has an exhibit dedicated to the development of trailer parks. The writeup of the exhibit includes the following:
As noted by J.B. Jackson in his The Movable Dwelling and How it Came to America
The verb to dwell has a distinct meaning. At one time it meant to hesitate, to linger to delay, as when we say, “He is dwelling too long on this insignificant matter.” To dwell, like the verb to abide (from which we derive abode) simply means to pause, to stay put for a length of time; it implies that we will eventually move on.
I’m a van dweller. Jackson’s definition fits me quite fine. I’m here, I’m pausing a while, then I’ll dwell somewhere else. Which is just a shorter version of the cycle of life.

Another month of this

Today is the month-iversary of my stay in Los Angeles. I spent most of the morning reviewing old posts, refreshing memories, vicariously reliving my years as a nomad. Sigh.




Meanwhile, my friends have been sharing their summer travels. Utah, Colorado, Montana, Oregon, Yukon, Alaska… Sigh.








- - - - -

We interrupt this post for a little excitement and chaos. A squirrel got into the house somehow and couldn’t find its way out. It was unfamiliar with the concept of glass and kept trying to get out through a closed window. I opened the front door, propped the screen open and stepped to a neutral corner to wait. After another lap of the living room and dining room, knocking over a thing or two, it finally discovered the door. Peace and the natural order of things has been restored.

- - - - -

So, I’m feeling a little down today. I miss traveling in beautiful places. I miss being healthy and independent. I feel the travel season ticking away. Four more week of treatment. Sigh.