12 Oakdale

The kitties were happy to see us when we dragged in last night about 10:00. Both wanted lots of kitty pets and lots of room on the bed, which involved our shoving them around and their fighting over space. Annie especially wanted to sleep on my pillow, a bad habit our apartment sitter Kelsi encouraged when we went to Okinawa. It’s a toss up whether her chewing on my hair or my using my sore shoulders to drag her fat butt off is more annoying. Deciding that I didn’t want that habit restarted, I pushed her off one more time than she tried to get back. I’m sure tonight we will battle again. After Acadia and one night in a hotel, we stayed with Jamey and April for three nights since we didn’t get to see them on the way up. Jamey was over Covid, and April didn’t catch it, the reverse of when she was sick in the spring. So odd. Originally, I had thought about trying to go to New York City for museums and perhaps a show, but we preferred having a relaxing visit with family instead. Besides, t...

Buffalo, Wyoming has a charming downtown with lots of chichi shops mixed in with the usual tourist fudge and ice cream stands. Since I don’t want to add Western art to my tiny house nor extra pounds to my non-so tiny waistline, we passed on doing the sidewalk stroll.  We’d hoped to get Clara into a children’s art class at the museum, but it was full. On towards Yellowstone. On the way out of town, we stopped by the Mountain Meadow wool factory where they start with local sheep fleece which they spin and dye into beautiful yarns. We watched the process from a second floor balcony which had good placards explaining the process. They also machine knit knit small quantities of high end woolen products.  University of New Mexico and other colleges that raise wool sheep send their fleece here to be made into custom blankets.  Beautiful yarn, but my shoulders hurt too much to consider knitting, especially after a rough ride into the parking lot with a couple of unexpected deep p...

Driving out to Devil’s Tower National Monument pulls up my awe at the people who made these trips before superhighways and big cars. Shank’s mare or even riding on horse back would make the trip more than I’d probably want to do.  On our drive through Custer State Park, we met two beautifully restored Ford Model T’s (or their equivalents, not knowing anything about old cars). That evening, they were parked at the motel next door in Keystone, so I could see their California licenses plates. Did they drive those open top roadsters all the way? Without AC? I assume via blue highways because I doubt they can drive the required minimum 40 miles per hour for the interstates. How long would that take? It’s 1200 miles one way to Sacramento, farther to other places. Perhaps a whole summer to come and go. Lots of bugs along the way, if our windshield is any indication. We were lucky to get the last parking place at Devil’s Tower, only because Grant went in the out to double back and grab it ...

The Badlands were amazing, even after seeing them over 60 years when my family did a cross-country trip. Not quite as hot, just because we are here in June rather than late July. I complained then that I was hot, to which my unsympathetic mother replied, “It’s not hot!”. Yes it was, 104° on the ranger’s station thermometer. At least our long hair dried quickly in the hot air. This was all without air conditioning in the car. Now I refuse to drive 15 minutes to the grocery store without AC. Outside of the park, I saw a pronghorn and deer (whitetail?). Inside, we saw bison, prairie dogs, more pronghorn and deer, and after stopping where another car was pulled over, a mountain goat. Clara then spotted 2 more goats and a baby one. No piles of rocks could compete with that, even Mount Rushmore. The more I think about it, the more I am flummoxed that someone was inspired to sculpt huge heads out of a mountain in the middle of nowhere, before there were really even roads to get there. The hum...

 The first “bridge may freeze before roadway” sign, and I knew we were on our way. We’re not in Florida anymore. (My old marker for a trip was the Thomas B Manuel bridge over the Caloosahatchee. Going over that meant we were heading out of state.) I was sure we weren’t in Florida when the sign said “Left lane closed in 1 mile.”, and everyone immediately moved over to the right lane. Except me. I was thrilled traffic was easy, and I sped on down the highway. At “Left lane closed in 1/2 mile”, I realized I was the only one taking advantage of the open lane. Everyone else had dutifully moved over, and I was passing them by, butting in line. With my memorable red truck, I didn’t have the nerve to go right up to the end of the merger area, so tucked into an open space between two semis. These people would not survive South Florida I-95 traffic.  Three long days of driving up Florida and Georgia, across Tennessee and Kentucky, touching Illinois, across and up Missouri, kissing Iowa,...