Welcome to Dullsville

So Guess Who Has a Blog?

My wife!

She has started working on her Masters Degree in Educational Technology. As part of the curriculum, she had to create a blog and use it to write reports on the topics covered in class. The students are encouraged to read each others blogs and comment.

She hates it.

She has always felt that blogs were self-indulgent and pointless, and for the most part, I agree. But I do find the purpose for which she is using it, to be quite intriguing. Not to mention the fact that I find her writing to be incredibly articulate and brilliant!

I'm definitely not kidding. Just go take a look  for yourself.

Of course I've added her to my links.

So, you're thinking, why do I blog if I think it is self-indulgent and pointless? I've been trying to figure that out myself ever since I started. There are times when I enjoy putting my thoughts into words and trying out my writing skills. There was a time in my life when I thought that I would be a writer. But life is what happens to you while you are busy making other plans. (can't remember who that quote is from. Vonnegut?)

I also would like to record some of my adventures for my kids to read some day. But I've really made a poor show of that. I mean, I post a story about drinking tequila in Vermont, but neglect writing about riding my bicycle across the United States, or going to Alaska when I was 19 with $50.00 in my pocket, or being a subject in a medical study done by Harvard Medical School. I really need to apply myself.

The posts that I really enjoy, and actually go back and read, are the ones on my dad, my grandmother, and Francisco Cuevas. In fact, the one on Francisco has become the number one Google hit when you search for him. I've gotten lots of comments and personal e-mails on that one. That's kinda cool, don't you think?

Anyway, that's some of my thoughts for today. The next post i would like to do is on my current reading list. I've been reading some really exciting non-fiction lately, as well as some mind candy, all of which I'd like to comment on. Stay tuned!  (Yeah, right)

Burrel's World

Well, I'm on vacation for a month. Yep, a month. No pay, because that's the way my union contract works. But still, four blissful weeks away from the job.

This is the last week, I go back the day after Labor Day. So, I know that my hundreds of readers (HA!!) are asking, "So what have you done with all that time?"

As always, click on the pictures to see them full size.

Well, the first week my wife and I went up to Sonoma County north of San Francisco and stayed at a beautiful little inn right on the cliffs called The Timber Cove Inn.  We dropped our son George off in Berkeley to stay with a friend and look at schools. We spent 4 incredibly relaxing days driving around Sonoma County visiting little wineries and asking questions about growing grapes and, of course, tasting the wines. Brought home 3 cases of different wines.  I rarely sleep well when away from home and my own bed, but I had no problems in the quiet surroundings. At night we would drink a bottle of wine and look at and listen to the ocean and feed the raccoons that came to visit.

The little vineyard we planted in the back yard is really taking off. This year we will cut the new growth way back and next year put up a trellis system and start to train the plants. We are still about 3 years away from having enough grapes to start making wine. So we had lots of questions for the folks at the vineyards we saw. Once they understand it's just a back yard hobby, they are quite friendly and helpful.

The day after we got home, Emilie came home on leave. She is done with her advanced training and on her way to her first assigned base. Looks as if she will be there 2 to 3 years, but who knows. So I spent the last part of that week cooking some of her favorite foods, and catching up with the girl. It is wonderful to see her again, and see the change that a year away has made.

The next Monday, I went traveling to see some old friends in Washington, D. C. and Fort Worth, Texas. My buddy in D. C. took me bass fishing on the Potomac, we did some hiking on the C & O Canal, and I reminisced about how it was almost exactly 30 years ago that I left from there on my bicycle to ride across the US. In Fort Worth, my other old friend took me eating and drinking around the city. Had some fantastic barbecue, and the best tequila I have ever tasted (Don Julio 1942). Both these couples were extremely hospitable, and made my stays totally enjoyable.

But getting home is always wonderful, and I was reminded once again that we have the best weather in the world here in southern CA. Cool evenings, hot but very dry days, and , best of all, NO MOSQUITOES. How do all you folks stand those dang things? I was getting eaten alive. Those bugs must have a thing for California blood. Must be a delicacy or something. My legs looked like I had leprosy for days.

The following Thursday was our 21st wedding anniversary. Great day! I told my wife that we can now drink together legally. She laughed. Spent the rest of that week cooking more stuff for the daughter to take with her.

But the reason for this post is that I spent last Friday helping a friend set up his blog.  Burrel is in his mid 70's and is a retired newspaper man. He still writes for the local senior paper, a humor column. He's an interesting guy, originally from Oklahoma, a veteran of Korea, and very involved in the community. His blog is called Burrel's World , and will be mostly his homespun Okie humor. I've been encouraging him to use the blog to record some of the more serious experiences he has had. He has some great stories he tells the group that meets at the local coffee shop. If you get a chance, check it out. Good luck Burrel!

What Can I Say?

And I mean that literally.

I thought that once we got into the new place and got reconnected, there would be much to write about.

There is, actually, but all this other stuff is getting in the way.

I can't really write about family because of all that is going on with the daughter. It has been a roller coaster ride, up one day, down the next.

She is living back at home but nothing has changed. Lots of lip service, but no improvement. I really can't say much about this right now for numerous reasons. I don't know if she visits here, but I have no desire to hurt her, so I am trying to be very careful about what I say.

The problem is, it doesn't feel right talking about other things. I mean, there are a lot of good things going on right now, but writing about them would seem like denying the huge pain that is dominating my life.

I wanted to do a post on all the comments I got from the last one. I appreciated all of them , and wanted to respond to each one. But each time I sit down at the computer, I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

Recently, I awoke in the middle of the night remembering an incident that happened in the Grand Tetons during the summer of 1977. It would make a great post, but I just can't find the motivation.

Well I'm going to try to write  about what is going well in my life and see how that feels.

Maybe someday I'll be able to write about what has been happening with my daughter, but right now, it just all hurts too much.

Poetry

Well, we're back on line, with the broadband making things easier. I wrote a long post last weekend and just as I was about to add pictures, the computer locked up. I got so mad that I hadn't saved as I went that I stayed away until tonight.

Anyway, there is much to show and tell since moving in to the new place on January 3rd, finally. I have many pictures to show and joys and some serious heartaches to share.

But tonight, I'm wanting to talk about an incident that happened last night.

As I said above, some serious heartaches have transpired since the first of the year. The most serious has been the moving out of our 18 year old daughter. She graduates high school this June, but on her 18th birthday two weeks ago, she informed us that she was taking the car my Dad left to her, and her bank account and was bidding us adieu. I don't want to get into this in great detail this time, but some very bad decisions are being made, and our rules here at home were too restrictive for the lifestyle she wants to live.

Needless to say, there have been lots of tears around here. My wife has needed lots of consoling, and so have I. My emotions are so damn close to the surface, which is not typical for me. It also makes it difficult to do my job, where a thick skin is a tremendous asset. A week ago, I was getting a royal ass chewing by a rough project superintendent. Although I knew that I was just a convenient target for this man to vent his frustration on, I was just too sensitive after a night of anguish with my daughter. After about 40 minutes of criticism, I was looking at the ground, and realized that I was starting to tear up. I struggled to compose myself, and looked up at this guy. It was amazing, he shut up immediately and started to apologize. I almost felt bad for him.

So all of this is by way of explanation for the way I was feeling last night.

We had decided to go out for a Saturday night dinner of fish and chips. The place we go makes the best I've ever had, and George, our son, loves it. On the way, we got a call from the daughter, seems she was getting off work shortly, and wanted to join us. She arrived after we had finished eating, which was no problem, we hadn't seen or heard from her in 10 days. We sat and listened to her tell us about her doings as she ate her Irish Nachos. Needless to say, it was disturbing. Needed a single malt scotch with my pint just to keep my tongue in check. Outside, we hugged her before she went off on her merry way.

On the way back home, my wife was driving, I was talking to my son. The subject got on to school and various subjects, finally leading to his well-liked English teacher. We started talking about poetry, and specifically Robert Frost, at which point, this great, lovable, confusing, moody, exuberant, happy, morose, wonderful 16 year old starts to recite:

"Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors'.
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it
Where there are cows?
But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me~
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, "Good fences make good neighbors."

And I'm sitting in the front seat, with  tears in my eyes at the beauty of it  all,  fighting them back, while reciting the parts with him that I remember from so long ago. That this boy should recite a poem that so moved me when I  was young seemed amazing to me.

We proceeded to tear the poem apart discussing the meaning. How the phrase "good fences make good neighbors" has more than one meaning in this insightful poem. We got into Frost's economy of phrase, how much he says with so few words. What an incredible talent. We even talked about how other artists use this technique, with me reciting one of my favorite sets of rock lyrics by , of all people, Lynyrd Skynyrd:

"Whiskey bottles and brand new car;
Oak tree you're in my way."

A story in two lines.

Which of course just brought me back to thoughts of my daughter.

Ah well. it's all too much for me to fathom.

But I'll leave you tonight with a copy of my favorite Frost poem which I find extremely moving. (but then, everything seems to move me way too much these days, have to get control of these feelings)

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

            

Whose woods these are I think I know.
              His house is in the village though;
              He will not see me stopping here
              To watch his woods fill up with snow.      

My little horse must think it queer
              To stop without a farmhouse near
              Between the woods and frozen lake
              The darkest evening of the year.            

He gives his harness bells a shake
              To ask if there is some mistake.
              The only other sound's the sweep
              Of easy wind and downy flake.            

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
              But I have promises to keep,
              And miles to go before I sleep,
              And miles to go before I sleep.

Memorial Day

I was going to write about the 40 mile ride I did with my wife and son on Sunday, but it ended up being so weird and depressing that I may never ride a road bike again. Nothing to do with my companions, they were great, let's just say that right now I think other bike riders are worse than motorists.

So instead, here's a memorial for my Dad

His name was William, but everyone called him Bill,  and he died two years ago at 84.  This is a picture of him as a young man with his Aunt Em and me as  baby. The reason I would choose Memorial Day for this tribute is that he was in the Normandy invasion. He landed early on that day, not in the very first boats but in one of the waves that came in right behind. He was a Master Sargent infantryman attached to the armored division. Besides fighting, it was his job to repair tanks when they were damaged. He drove a Jeep, and carried a Thompson machine gun. He not only survived the day on the beach but fought, through the Battle of the Bulge, all the way to the end of the war.

As a boy, growing through childhood in the 50's and 60's I was fascinated by the war. My little friends and I would pretend to be soldiers as we ran through the fields and woods of upstate New York. But I learned when I was very young that my Dad would not talk to me about his experiences in the war. I remember meeting his good friend from the army, Peter. Peter was missing a leg from being machine gunned by a German tank while driving his Jeep. And that was the extent of what I knew. I never pressed him to talk about it, he was a very private and reserved man. In the years that I lived with him, I never saw the man drunk, never saw him "go out with the boys", never heard him speak harshly to my mother. He always held a good job (he was an engineer), provided for his family and took good care of the home we lived in. I also have to say that I cannot remember the man ever telling me that he loved me, or hugging me. But I knew that he showed his love by living his life right, and taking care of us all.

When I started seeing the woman who is now my wife, I brought her back east to meet my mom and dad. They had moved to Connecticut in 1968 and lived there until their deaths. My dad, to my surprise, took an immediate liking to my wife. Over the years that followed, our marriage, the birth of the kids, buying a house, they made a couple of trips out here, and we took every vacation back there. The relationship between my dad and my wife became a real friendship. Now, I attribute this to my wife's personality. She is very pretty and happy and was exceptionally kind to my dad as he got older. It was very obvious to me how much he grew to love her as the years went by. I spoke to my folks every weekend on the phone, and he never failed to ask about her and say how wonderful she was. And, of course, she would often get on to speak to him also.

The result of this friendship was that he opened up to her in conversations about things that he never spoke about before. As he got into his 70's, he would drink brandy in the afternoons. When we'd be there for a visit, he'd sit and talk with my wife, and soon started talking about the war. He told about arriving at the concentration camps, about coming into the bombed out German cities and seeing the starving, naked people and the death everywhere. He talked about the blood and death on the beach in Normandy. And as he'd talk he'd start to weep. It was incredibly moving to see how powerful these 50 year old memories were to him. It was a side of my dad I'd never seen before. I started hugging him, whenever I'd see him. He'd draw back in surprise when I first did it, trying to shake my hand instead. But, eventually, he'd allow it, reluctantly at first, but after a while, I think he might have liked it.

I have tears in my eyes as I'm writing this. I am so grateful to my wife for making it possible to see this side of my dad before he died.

So, next memorial Day, or even sooner, go get a copy of "Saving Private Ryan" and sit down with your kids and watch it. Talk to them about the incredible bravery and dedication of those men who threw themselves into death to preserve freedom. Better yet, if you have the time, rent "Band of Brothers" and watch it a bit at a time. Pay particular attention to the interviews, before and after each segment, with the men who actually experienced this moment in history. If you aren't moved to your core, well, you and I are very different people.

I am not a religious person (neither was my dad), but when I see the kind of sacrifice these men were willing to make, it gives me hope that there may be good in mankind. It makes me want to believe in God.

A Day in Juvenile Court

Had to be there at 8:30. We got there a bit early and found the room to be standing room only, overflowing out the door. You put your name on a list and wait. And wait. And wait.

George looked terrific in his suit. The court had sent a letter warning against showing up in t-shirts, shorts, baggy clothes etc. My feeling was that you want to look as good as possible, to show that you respect the seriousness of what is happening. So guess what the other young people were wearing? Yep, t-shirts, baggy clothes, one guy had a huge hooded sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. My son felt a bit self conscious, there was only one other boy there wearing a tie.

They call the kids in with parents in groups of two or three. We went in with two other offenders and their parents. I saw only one other kid with both mom and dad in attendance. The first thing the judge says as the kids sat down was (looking at my son), "You look very nice for court today. Thank you." That brightened his spirits a bit. The judge had not read the officers reports on these kids, assumed it was a truancy issue and offered them all the option of a court trial or a $57.00 fine plus 20 hours community service. The kids all took the deal, of course. She recommended a charity concert in a nearby town, that she obviously had connections with, as the community service, and told them she would give them the phone number if they wanted. The other two filed out immediately, but George stayed and asked for the number. When the others were gone, the judge again complimented George on his choice of clothes and pointed out the way the other two had been dressed "like they just came in from pulling weeds". She was obviously fed up with the attire of the people coming through the hearing room, as I would be. Hell, some of the parents were dressed as badly as their kids.

Of course, none of this made the results any less than the kids in the gang clothes, but hopefully it sent a message to my son.

After we left, I pointed out to him the quality of the people that were in the room, and how sad it was that we had to sit there with them.

All in all, an unpleasant day, spent in a crowded room and being treated like so many cattle.

We took him to school for his last couple of classes. No point in rewarding him with a day off.

I sure hope we can get these kids through these years without any really serious mishaps. At this point, I can't wait for them to grow up.

Weekend in Dullsville

Tomorrow is George's court date (see"Teenagers, a Cautionary Tale"). I took him down to Men's Wearhouse and got him fitted for his first suit a couple of weeks ago. I figured that since he's turning 16 later this year, he will be needing some appropriate clothes for special occasions.  We picked everything up on Friday evening. He tried it all on today. I think he looks great, especially after his haircut this afternoon.

Besides, his sister has an abundance of nice things to wear. She just went to her first prom a couple of weekends back. She also looked wonderful.  It's strange seeing your kids grow up. I often wonder how a toad like me managed to have such beautiful children.  My relationship with Emilie has been rocky over the last few years, but when things are good between us, it's wonderful. I love these two so much it hurts at times.  Until I had children I never realized how vulnerable love made you.

Big party yesterday at a friend's house, celebrating his son's college graduation. the young man had taken some years off before getting serious about life. Seeing him graduate at age 27 was obviously a huge source of pride for the dad. I was happy for both of them. It was a great party. I volunteered to cook. Barbecued 4 pork shoulder roasts (about 25 pounds of meat) all night over hickory. Made two batches of fantastic barbecue sauce and two big bowls of the best cole slaw in the world. Shredded the pork when I got to the party, then chopped it and made southern style pork barbecue sandwiches.  Onion bun, big handful of meat, bbq sauce, cole slaw, and finally the top of the bun. A big sandwich, a meal in itself. I was intending to take pictures, but was just too busy. I had some worries about whether folks would like them, southern Californians are not big barbecue eaters in my experience. I needn't have worried, the sandwiches went as fast as I could make 'em. I didn't see any half-eaten sandwiches laying around.

On top of this, another friend was there manning the barbecue, grilling up some delicious marinated chicken as well as hot sausages. And many folks brought side dishes. Wow, what a feast! Plus a keg of Newcastle Ale. A bunch of the guys, including the host, have a pretty decent rock band, so live music played on and off throughout the day. My daughter sang 3 songs with the band that she's been practicing with them for the last couple of weeks, and George got on the drums and jammed for a while with one of the guitarists. Great party on a steaming hot day (102 F).

Wish I had taken some pics of the event.

Travelogue

I woke the boy up at 2:10 AM. We had gotten his gear ready the night before and left it by the front door. We were in the truck, pulling out of the driveway at 2:45.

We sailed up and over the Cajon Pass and into the high desert, the Mojave.  Picked up Route 395 and started heading north. I like driving at night, something about it energizes me. 395 is a fairly dangerous road. It is 2 lane blacktop, and has become a major route to the eastern side of the state. Lots of big rigs, and most folks travel at 70 to 75, the speed limit is 65. Because of the trucks, most drivers are looking to pass when possible. Since the road twists and turns and rolls, this becomes an interesting challenge. Over the years that I have done projects up this way, I have found cars coming the other way in my lane while they were passing illegally.  But this night was quiet.

The road rolls across the Mojave. It's a stunning place, with surprising changes in appearance at different times of the year. In the dark, jackrabbits with monstrous ears and darting coyotes appear in the glow of the headlights, then are gone. George falls asleep and softly snores next to me. I look up through the side window at a black sky crowded with stars. Beautiful.

We fly through the mostly abandoned gold mining towns of Johannesburg and Red Mountain. Then past the turn off for Ridgecrest and the China Lake Naval Weapons Testing Area. This is where the Navy ships fire their missiles while sitting off the coast. I've done projects on this base. During the day flyovers by the latest in fighter technology are commonplace. This is where I first saw the stealth planes in flight. But we're not turning here tonight, and speed past in the dark.

Soon the road sidles up to the eastern flank of the Sierra Nevada mountain range. They start small, but soon shoot up to fantastic heights. We will skirt the edge of this mountain range for quite a while, eventually heading up into them. First, however, we pass Owens Dry Lake. This was a mineral lake filled, at one time, by the Owens River. The river was diverted early in the 1900's to satisfy the thirst of Los Angeles. Some of the minerals now expose to the wind are very toxic, as a result, people in this area have one of the highest rates of respiratory diseases. I've driven through here during high winds and it looked like a heavy fog bank. But it was dust that made the inside of your nose hurt and your eyes burn. I had read that the plan was to allow a little of the river water to enter, hopefully covering the lake bed with a few feet of water over a period of several years. I had thought that after this wet winter, I would see some progress, but it looks as dry as ever. The eastern sky is starting to lighten a bit, in the growing light I'm starting to see snow on the peaks to my left. We continue past Olancha, and the turn off for Death Valley. Now it's getting light, and I take a couple of shots out the window while I drive.  Now we pass through Lone Pine, the staging area for those who want to hike to the peak of Mount Whitney, at 14,494 feet. Next comes the towns of Independence, then Big Pine.

At 6:30 we took on gas in Bishop, our first stop. 250 miles on the odo. George was awake, so we did a drive thru at Carl's. He got the "Everything Burrito" and I got the sourdough ham and egg sandwich. Ugh. Couldn't finish it, too heavy. We were out of Bishop by 6:50.

From Bishop, the road tilts up as it climbs over Sherwin Summit. I did a project at a Microwave site on this summit. Spent about 5 days total here. It is beautiful at night. The towns and tourist areas are far away, very little ambient light, and high altitude. At the end of the day, around 8 o'clock, I'd come out to go down to Bishop where I was staying. I would turn off all the lights and just stand there. The Milky Way was impressive, I almost always saw shooting stars.

From here the road rolls along at 6000 to 7500 feet until the turn off to Mammoth Lakes. We got to the ski resort at about 7:30. George got his gear together and I took off. I was back on 395 heading north by 7:50.

Next up is Dead Man's Summit at 8,500. After that it's beautiful June Lake, and then past the road that leads up to the Tioga Pass. The signs showed the pass closed which is no surprise. After a winter like this one, it probably won't be open on the 4th of July. This pass goes up to the eastern entrance of Yosemite Park. I've been over the top once, a few years ago in August. I can't describe how gorgeous it is. After that turn off, it's into the town of Lee Vining (another project years ago), and right past Mono Lake.

Mono is a salt lake, in the past brine shrimp were harvested there. It has been dwindling for years due to the siphoning off of water from it's tributaries, so folks in the cities can water their damn lawns. The last time I saw the lake I was shocked at how low it was. Well, not any more, it was the highest I've ever seen it. Very pretty from the lookout point above, on the way up to Conway Summit at 8500 feet.

From Conway, the landscape drops a bit to Bridgeport, then up again over Devils Grade Summit at 7,500 feet.  At this point the road picks up the Walker River. Today it's swollen with snow melt, it's surface boiling as it drops down the mountain, looping back and forth under the road, first on the right, then the left, and back again. There's a fly fisherman standing in the early morning gray, intently working on his line.

This is the West. Huge, wide open spaces, where, for a little while you can actually be startled by the sight of another human. I roll past meadows with horses, cattle grazing, corral fencing keeping them contained. It lifts my spirits to see all this, and I stop briefly here and there just to soak it in. The turn off for Sonora Pass (also closed) flashes by, then the Monitor Pass, which I was amazed to see was open. I guess they work a bit at keeping this one open because of the town of Markleeville. This is where the Markleeville Death Ride  is held. What incredible country to see from the saddle of a bike. I drove over this pass in the summer once. Alpine meadows, wildflowers as the road travels for miles over a high plateau.

Soon enough, I've passed the Nevada state line and Lake Topaz with it's casino. From there it's not far to my destination in Gardnerville. I pull up to the job site for the 10:00 meeting at 9:50. I have now traveled 425 miles. The meeting passes uneventfully, I take lots of pictures for review and I'm out of there by 12:00.

Everything in reverse, and I'm back at Mammoth by 2:30. I find George sitting on the sundeck in a t-shirt talking to a nice woman he had met. He's about done, conditions are getting soft with the warm temperatures. But he's got lots of stories, which he tells as we head back down to Bishop. We have our dinner at a Thai place and stop in the great bakery in town for a few loaves of their bread. We tank up again and head out, seeing the mountains dwindle as the evening's light does as well.

Pull back in the driveway at 8:45 PM. We've been going for 18 hours and 850 miles. What a day!

Much of this trip would make a great bike tour. We saw about half a dozen folks doing just that. Most of the road above Ridgecrest becomes divided highway, with a nice shoulder. The speed of the cars going by is a bit intimidating, and would be terrifying on those stretches of two lane with no shoulder. I remember long stretches like that on the ride across the US, where you were riding on the white stripe painted at the side of the road, getting crowded every time traffic would meet coming both ways. Pretty scary when you start thinking about the fact that they are going 70. The best stretch would be the road between Bishop and Lee Vining. And quite a workout.

Goin' North

This week. There is a project up in Gardnerville, Nevada coming up and someone needs to go to the job start up meetng. It is on Friday at 10 AM. Since I will undoubtedly do the job, I am the logical choice.

So we decided I will fly up. MapQuest says it is a 8.5 hour drive, which means I should be able to do it in 7.5. After all, who needs to stop to pee or get coffee, right? But a flight should take only about 1 hour, eh?

So I get the young gal at the receptionist desk to call the travel agent and make arrangements. She says that nothing is available on Friday morning, I will have to fly on Thursday afternoon. Oh, and by the way, the flight leaves at 3:30 and arrives in Reno at 9:30. That's 6 hours of travel time, because, you see, there is a stop over in Phoenix for 3 hours. Insane. Remind me why I'm not driving?

Hmmmmmmmmm, I start thinking. There is still snowboarding up in Mammoth. Snow base is 13 to 15 feet (yes, in May).  If we left at 2 AM, we could get to Mammoth around 7:30. The lifts open at 8:00. My son, George could board for the day while I head another 2 hours north for the meeting. That should get me back by about 3:00. The lifts close at 4:00.

Mammoth is totally cool. The peak is at almost 12,000 feet.  There are so many lifts that you can spend the whole day moving all over the mountain. Last year, I had a project about an hour north of the resort. My company put me up in a room at the main lodge, at the foot of all the lifts. George took 3 days off school a week after Thanksgiving and went with me. Every morning, I would get up early and head out to the project. The boy would board all day, come back in and do his homework. I got in about 7 and we'd go to dinner in the hotel, then go up to the room and fall into bed. It was fun. It's good for boys to get that feeling of independence. But scary as hell for dads.

Report to follow.

Eye Candy

The last few weeks have been hectic around here as we prepare the house for sale. I had the exterior painted, garage door replaced, and lots of yard work done. Still to come is a new roof and some repair work on the pool.

So today I figured we'd go out as a family somewhere, and we decided on Descanso Gardens. The kids were happy to come, for a change, because they are both grounded. Goerge's reason was explained a couple of posts ago.  Emilie pulled a stunt this week at school that caused a huge ruckus. I'm telling you, between the two of them, they had me to my knees this last week.

But, what the heck, I still love these two monkeys, and it has been a stunning southern California weekend, with temps in the high 70's, clear and breezy. So, off we went.

Descanso is beautiful, located a few minutes west of Pasadena it is quite large and well tended. Lots of huge trees, tons of flowers and open green areas. Being such a lovely day There were a bunch of other people there, but it didn't start getting crowded until we were leaving around 1 o'clock.  There's a small railroad that runs through the gardens, and in spite of their size, the kids couldn't resist.

We've been doing a lot of looking at local plants and landscaping as we plan for the new house.

I took a few pictures, so I thought I'd use this post to show some of them. I'm really fascinated by flowers and the combinations of color in nature. So here are some photos of my favorites, irises, the ubiquitous California Poppy and others that I know not.

  After the gardens, we went into Pasadena on Colorado Blvd. and walked around, looking in our favorite stores. Stopped in the Gordon Biersch brewery for a light lunch and a beer sampler, and headed home.

                                                                                                                        

In spite of the hardships, worries about the future, teenagers, the cost of gas, and all the rest of it, this is one incredibly beautiful world.                 

               I'm glad I got a chance to see it.