Paul Tillich defined life as “one damn thing after another.” I like to think that he was smiling slightly as he said it. Rueful. So it was with us yesterday as the wheel of karma played games with us. It was to say the least, one damn thing after another. It was our first full…
At four in the morning the ocean waves make a steady background drone in the darkness. Occasionally a car passing on the bridge adds an alto hum. By lantern I read quietly while Lyd and Annie sleep. It was a rough night for Lydia again, so after she drank a cup of cocoa I made…
Our holiday preparations have included preparing for a two month move to the southern Oregon coast this year. We have never been snow birds as such and find the long trip to the Southwest beyond what we want of our winter relaxation. We elected to try the Gold Beach area as a warmer clime yet…
River Bend I We were home just over a month when we felt the need to get back out on the road, or at least outside so we’ve come to River Bend for a week. The site is in the foothills of the Willamette National Forest a few miles east of Sweet Home. Not a…
I didn’t write about: Cicadas At the plantation, the trees were full of a loud chirping/clicking sound. Cicadas I thought, but a woman in the souvenir store said they were locusts. Comparing the bug body I found on the path to images on line, the noise was from cicadas, large, 1 to 2 inches, fly-like…
It was dark when I woke, as it usually is. From the other end of the bunk, Lyd said we were in Pasco. My watch said it was 5:30 West Coast time. Sleep had been intermittent. The heating system had alternated between a balmy 90 degrees and a more comfortable 32 degrees. It was a…
Our layover time in Chicago was diminished by the tardiness of the Lake Shore Limited (I really like using the names of the trains, it sounds so knowledgeable and official). The baggage claim process was tedious in the humidity of the station, our bag appearing only after a search by an angry attendant. We re-checked…
Union Station in Chicago is a shrine to travel. It is sleek, white marble, the great hall unadorned by the clutter of shops and kiosks. In its grand simplicity, it is a portal for the world to pass through on its way to other places. Boston’s South Station, on the other hand, is a monument…
Beginning is never easy. Persevering is harder. Lydia and I had been to Plimoth Plantation before (and yes that is how they spell it because it was named prior to the standardization of spelling). In 2008, we had followed Hwy. 20 from its beginning in Newport, Oregon to its end near Fenway Park in Boston.…
Boston was hot, the temperature degrees only exceeded by the degrees of humidity. It was like being in a slow cooker bean pot (pun intended). In about six hours we’d all be fork tender and done. The plan was (and here I must parenthetically insert that the only person in the world more organized and…
barelyaboomer 