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Progress!

22 Dec
Just another sunrise, just another day.

Just another sunrise, just another day.

What is it about a blank piece of paper?

Every time I think of something to write about, I sit down in front of my computer and as soon as WORD pops up with it’s electronic facsimile of an empty piece of paper, my mind goes blank. Even when I have great stuff to tell you about, it takes me quite a while to get started.

 

It’s just like it was in school. I was a great writer and consistently got A’s and B’s in English, especially in English Composition, but only if I had a deadline. Not that I wrote anything until just before the paper was due though! I always did my very best work the night before any work was to be handed in. My problem writing this blog is I don’t have a deadline and usually when I think up a great beginning, paragraph or sentence, I’m nowhere near my computer and not being under 30, though I own an I-Touch, I don’t use it to it’s full potential, so I forget it.

 

This time around though, it’s pretty easy because I’m writing this and sending it from my computer, through my Internet set up, here on the beach. That’s right folks, here on Rattlesnake Beach! (Run completely by solar power, of course) A couple of weeks ago, two young men showed up at our end of the beach and introduced themselves as the owner and his assistant of a company called Avantek. They wanted to know if we were interested in signing up for Internet service. Now, there are a great many schemes that happen down here and we were pretty skeptical, but after talking to them and questioning how this was going to work, we realized that they could make it a reality. They could even give us Wi-Fi if we wanted it!

See the little antenna?

See the little antenna?

 

I’ll tell you when word got out, there was a line-up at our door of all the campers on the beach who wanted service.

It took a couple of days because we were the test case and they had to keep adjusting our receiver and then running down south to their tower near Ligui, and changing the direction of the sending unit, but eventually they got all the bugs worked out and we have the Internet at our fingertips whenever we want it.

Now, I’ll bet you think that was expensive right? Well think again, the initial, one time set up fee was $1500.00 pesos, then $250.00 pesos per month, which comes to about $125.00 for the set up and $21.00 per month, try getting that at home! Even though we’re only here for 6 months, when we come back next year, we just have to let them know, they’ll put our equipment back up, and we’ll just start our monthly payments again, no new set up charge.

The only draw back for everyone else on the beach is they sold the first 2 units, to us and another couple down the beach, and then used that money to purchase new equipment, which they are waiting on. Since it’s coming from mainland Mexico, it’s taking a while, which is quite common down here. So it’s going to be another week or so before the rest of the campers are online. They can hardly wait!

This is luxury! It means we don’t have to go into town to use the Internet, which is a 35-kilometer drive and usually entailed having to purchase a meal. Not that that was a problem, but it was money we really didn’t need to spend. Or we could go to the local store just down the road, but the noise level was generally so high from all the conversation going on around you, that you couldn’t hear yourself think, let alone concentrate on what you were doing online.

Now, whenever the mood strikes or a question comes up we can turn on the old laptop and surf or Google to our hearts content!

Which brought up an interesting conversation the other day about progress. We all come from modern, first world countries where the infrastructure has been in place for a long time, but down here that’s not the case. We’ve been coming here for 8 years and some of the folks we share this beach with have been coming for a lot longer than that, some for over 30 years. For them, they can remember dirt roads and the need to have a 4-wheel drive vehicle to make it pretty well anywhere. They talk about going to places where the locals had never seen a Gringo and they could park on any beach, anywhere, even in Cancun, back in the day.

My first experience driving down here on MEX1 was NOT a pleasant one. Most of the highway was only 16 feet wide, with no shoulders, a good 2-foot drop off the sides and potholes that could do serious damage. Having anything larger than a pickup go by in the oncoming lane could be rather terrifying especially since the big semis had to actually veer a bit so our side mirrors wouldn’t smash together as they drove past us. Being passed by a semi or bus was an equally frightening event. A bus passed us one day, so close and so fast that it actually made the aluminum side ripple. It sounded like we had sideswiped each other.

Not to mention the garbage. The northern part of Baja looked like a bomb had gone off in a plastics manufacturing facility. There were plastic bags and bits of plastic in every direction, stuck on trees, bushes and cactus, so many that we were told even the locals joked about them being the unofficial flag of Mexico. In lots of towns, none of the roads were paved and water came from pumps strategically placed at the end of roads in every neighbourhood. Hardly anyone had plumbed water to his or her home. The streets were filled with garbage of every conceivable type, and everyone just stepped over and around it. It was, most assuredly, not pleasant!

Every year we drove down, there was less and less of the garbage, the roads got wider, the asphalt thicker, the pot holes were filled in, more vados (areas were the arroyos cross over roads) had bridges built over them and the services available increased exponentially. More and more dirt roads were paved and plumbing was becoming part of every household. The old street side pumps were disappearing. Of course, less and less beaches were available to camp on (as the land was being bought up) and those that were, now had a rental fee attached, but that was okay too since it included a garbage pickup.

At first, Internet was only available at businesses that had a couple of PC’s, the connections were poor, down loading was impossible and most of the time an e-mail could be sent, eventually, for about 10 pesos an hour. Occasionally you’d see someone with a cell phone but most calls happened at pay phone booths spread all over town.

A few years later some of the restaurants in town put in Wi-Fi with a good sized bandwidth and suddenly their customer base increased as the Gringos looked for somewhere to access the net while eating a meal or drinking a beer at the same time.

Fast forward a few more years, Wi-Fi is available in many places including the local store down by our beach, everyone has a cell phone, there’s still a little garbage around but nothing like it was before and the roads are starting to look like highways back home. Some places have been expanded to 4 (or 6, we’re still trying to figure it out) lanes including the highway leading south out of Loreto.

The changes have improved life for the locals too. In Loreto, most of the side streets are now paved or will be soon, almost every home has electricity and not a roadside water pump is to be found.

With Internet so readily available even the poorest citizen, who previously couldn’t even afford a TV, can now see the world, not just their small part of it.

It’s made our lives easier so much easier too as we can now contact our kids at anytime and have real time conversations with our grandkids without interruption or distraction.

I guess only time will tell if this is going to be a good or bad thing for the locals, but one thing is for sure, in a place like Baja progress is noticeable, recognizable, and so far, moving at high speed!

 

A curious herd of donkeys we met on one of our hikes. You just never know what you're going to see down here!

The above photo is here to show you that even with all the changes, old Mexico is still right around the corner. We came across these curious donkeys on one of our hikes and you still see the occasional horse, mule or donkey, complete with tack,  tied up beside a very modern store or restaurant in Loreto. It’s kind of nice that the old still co-exists side by side with the new.

 

Before I sign off I just want to take this moment to wish all of you Feliz Navidad and Prospero Anos Nuevo! See you in 2014!

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THE LONG ROAD HOME

13 Mar
Just another shitty day in Paradise

Just another shitty day in Paradise

 

Yeah, I know this post is late. That’s becoming an ongoing theme, isn’t it? Well, I am retired and I run on Baja time, which mostly entails, “Manana”. Why do something today, when there’s no rush and tomorrow is soon enough? Besides, the days all flow into one another and I’m always amazed at how quickly they pass. That’s the biggest reason why my posts are always late from here. I suddenly realize that I haven’t written for a while and when I check the calendar a month or more has gone by.

 

Truth be told, I didn’t really want to write this particular post because it’s the last one from the beach. Yep, it’s that time of year again, when those of us who have a life somewhere else, start to prepare for heading North.

 

The Rattlesnake Beach community started to break up last week with the first 2 campers leaving but the trickle is about to become a rush. By the 16th of March there will be only 5 of us regulars left here and Richard and I will be hitting the road by the 22nd at the latest.

 

Bougainvilla in full bloom! It's Spring in Baja

Bougainvilla in full bloom! It’s Spring in Baja

The big push comes from Semana Santos, or Saints Week, the week of celebration before Easter Sunday, when all the locals who can, move out to the beach and take over every square foot of available camping space. A few of the regulars have friends in the local communities who come every year and camp with them. They apparently enjoy the excitement of having a small city descend upon them for a week!

 

Richard and I feel that since we basically have the use of the beach for 6 months, the least we can do is get off it and let the locals enjoy it without having to share it with a bunch of Anglos. We also camp at the far north end of the beach where the launch ramp is and it gets incredibly busy and noisy during Semana Santos. After 6 months of peace and quiet the last thing we want to take away with us is the stress of absolute chaos, loud noise, music, Skidoos, Pangas, cars, trucks, kids, dogs and people and garbage everywhere!

 

So we’re already in prep mode, deciding what to take, what to leave, packing up stuff we aren’t using, unpacking it again when we realize we are still using it, trying not to purchase too much food so it will all be used up when we leave, rushing to the store when we realize we don’t have enough for dinner and saying goodbye daily to friends we won’t see for another 6 months. It evokes a kind of sadness; since we know that next year will not be an exact repeat of this year. Some folks will return, some won’t. There’s one thing in life we’ve all learned to accept and it’s that change is constant.

 

Stand up John playing around the fire

Stand up John playing around the fire

It’s not all sad because at the same time excitement is building about getting home and seeing our kids and their families again. There’s nothing to give you that kick in the butt to get moving like having one of your Grandkids ask when Grandma and Grandpa are going to be getting home. There is always some trepidation however, since we all know that the weather will not be the warm 85F that it is here.

 

We won’t be rushing home this year like we did last spring! Grummy will be put to bed properly and tucked in for a long summer sleep. Then we’ll meander our way home in Rosie taking our time and visiting ruins and parks in Arizona and New Mexico, as well as the ranch of friends we spend the winter with. We were supposed to go last year but, well, fate intervened. Plus, just because we leave here in March doesn’t mean we want to get home in March. We like to wait long enough for Spring to have have sprung. At least that’s the plan so far…

 

There’s something a little strange about watching the season’s go in reverse as we head home. We leave here and the trees and flowers are in full bloom. All through the southern U.S., everything is green and the trees are in leaf, then gradually as we continue north the leaves slip back into buds and the greenery declines until we reach home where the buds are just starting to show and the landscape has that look of anticipation, just waiting for the right moment to burst forth with the new spring.

 

 

In some ways we’re going to be swept out of our campsite this year as the winds which were mostly gentle for much of the winter have come back with a vengeance. For the last little while we’ve had tremendous blows, one that lasted 2 full weeks, with average wind speeds of more than 20 knots and gusts pushing 35.

 

I know that at home those wind speeds are not considered very big. Hell, I guided regularly in winds over 35, but with the geography here, winds of that speed push the water to deadly proportions. This is the height of the tourist season so there are Kayakers everywhere and due to heavy winds, we had an almost fatal accident just off Rattlesnake Beach 2 weeks ago. Everything worked out thanks to a very experienced Kayak guide from one of the local companies and a Pangero (a panga operator) who braved the heavy seas.

 

It pays to go with an experienced guide when pursuing a sport in areas that you are not familiar with. The group that got into trouble were experienced kayakers at home but not here, and local knowledge is worth its weight in gold. We’ve become friendly with all the local kayak guides and the companies they work for, and we’re impressed by the qualifications, experience and dedication these people show to their chosen profession. It’s the same where I guided, a professional fishing guide can keep you safe, show you the best fishing grounds and put you into the big fish, most of the time. It’s certainly worth spending the extra money; otherwise you’re taking chances in waters you know nothing about.

 

It’s been blowing now for the last 3 days, making the van rock and roll, scouring the last remaining sand from the beach. Tomorrow it’s supposed to drop down to a reasonable speed then down again to almost nonexistent, maybe we’ll get one last trip out in our kayak before we wrap her up and put her in her cradle, on top of Grummy.

 

Eventually the summer winds will come in from the opposite direction and hopefully blow all the sand back onto the beach so that by the time we all return, there will once again be a sandy beach.

 

There’s still a few social get-togethers coming up, my birthday and the last meeting of the Costillo de Puerco club, but in a few short days we’ll be on the road and slowly making our way home. Next time we talk it’ll be from Penticton, where I’m sure I’ll be complaining about the cold, but it sure will be nice to give my family big hugs and spend a few months visiting back and forth with them.

 

Hold on kids, here we come!

There are things to do everywhere!

6 Jun

So I finally got around to writing another post. My problem, once I get home is I can’t think of anything to write about. This blog is supposed to be about travelling and I don’t know about you, but like most folks I don’t think of “Travelling” when I move about in areas that I’m familiar with.

 

Then it dawned on me that just because I’ve been on BC Ferries hundreds of times and Victoria is just this city I’ve hung around in for years, doesn’t mean that any one reading this blog would have the slightest idea what this place is like, how pretty it is, how diverse the province is or what are the things that make this place interesting. Then I went to a cultural event that made me realize all of us can be tourists in our own familiar areas.

 

I have lived in British Columbia since 1959 and on Vancouver Island since 1977. In every place I’ve lived there are events of all sizes and sorts, rodeos, festivals, happenings.

 

One of the many Clans set up to educate the public.

What prompted me to make this realization and to write this particular blog was the Annual Highland Games in Victoria. As I said, I’ve lived on the island for years, the vast majority of both of our families did or do live there and thanks to my Mother, a Scottish war bride, I have a Gaelic inheritance, yet I had never had the chance to attend.

 

This year, everything came together and I finally got to go.

I have to say, it was worth it.

 

It was a 2-day affair and since the weather was looking good for the Saturday, off we went. The place was full of tartans, kilts, and bagpipes. The events scheduled included, sheep dog trials, Single Malt Whiskey school, Tug-o-wars, Haggis tasting, Falconry and Medieval Weaponry displays, Pipe and Drum bands, and Band Major competitions. You could look up the history of your family name or clan affiliation and find what tartan you were entitled to wear. But the biggest draw was the Highland games. A Gaelic/Celtic (the word Gaelic is pronounced Gahlic) tradition that oral history tells us is older than Christianity.

 

One of the many dogs showing their stuff. “That’ll do dog, that’ll do!”

The gatherings were essentially war games designed to select the best warriors in each family tribe or clan.

The first Games in Scotland were organized and designated as a sporting event and held in the 11th century. During the reign of King Malcom III (1058-1093), a fairly flat meadowland, the Brae O’Mar, along the river Dee, was used for a royal contest to find the swiftest and strongest in the kingdom.

Games were held throughout Scotland until the Battle of Culloden in 1746. After Bonnie Prince Charlie’s defeat by the English, the Act of Proscription banned playing of the bagpipe, wearing of the kilt, gathering together of the people, and the carrying of arms under the penalty of deportation or death. That effectively squelched a good part of the Highland culture, and literally destroyed the old clan structure.

After the repeal of the Proscription, in the latter part of the 18th Century, Highland Societies began forming, and in 1781 the first society Gathering was held at Falkirk. The success of this venture led to the Gathering of the Clans and the Highland Games, as we know them today. By the end of the 1820s the games were once again being held throughout Scotland.

 

One of the birds showing off their talents, oh, and the handler too.

The Victoria Highland Games are the oldest cultural event in the city going back to the founding of Victoria when Scottish influence was at it’s strongest, this year celebrating their 149th gathering.

 

Though there were many things to do on this occasion, the big draw was the Heavy Events. The most well known is of course the Caber Toss, but it’s not the only athletic activity.

 

There is the Stone Put, an event that is split into 2 versions, the Braemar Stone and the Open Stone. The Braemar, uses a rock that weighs in at 20-26 pounds cradled against the neck and is thrown with one hand, from a standing position, whereas the Open Stone uses a 16-22 pound rock. This version again requires the rock to be cradled against the neck and thrown with one hand, but allows any technique, usually either gliding or spinning.

 

The Scottish Hammer Throw is similar to the modern version with one large difference. The round metal ball, weighing 22 pounds is fixed to a shaft about 4 feet in length, made of wood, bamboo, rattan or plastic. This is whirled around the head and thrown over the shoulder for distance.

 

The Weight for Distance is broken down into 2 events as well. The Light version uses a 28-pound rock; the Heavy uses a 56-pound rock. The rock is thrown one-handed using a spinning technique and is thrown, obviously, for distance.

Throwing the Weight for Distance

 

The Weight over Bar or Weight for Height uses a 56-pound weight with an attached handle. It’s thrown with, again, one hand over a horizontal bar. The bar is generally started at 10 feet and each athlete has three chances to make the height. The bar is continually raised until only one competitor makes it over. The current record is 18 feet 10 inches and is held by an amateur named Csaba Meszaros. (The games attract a wide assortment of participants, not necessarily from a Scottish background).

 

The iconic Caber Toss is the most well known of all the games and it actually has the least rules. The caber varies in length, weight, taper and balance which all effect the successful toss, but the object is to make the caber fully rotate once then land as closely as possible resembling the hands of a clock pointing to 12 from the throwers position.

 

Getting ready to pick up and balance the Caber.

We sampled the Haggis, (better than my Mother ever made), watched the sheep dogs do their thing with both sheep and ducks, listened to the various pipe bands, marveled at a Drum Major who looked more military than the soldiers attending the affair, laughed at the Haggis Throw, enjoyed the dancers whirling across the stage, looked up my clan (Campbell) and shouted out support for the athletes at the games.

The best Drum Major I’ve ever seen!

 

If you come from a Gaelic background, would like to be Scottish, enjoy watching amazing feats of athletic prowess or thrill to the sound of bagpipes swirling, then attend one of the many Highland Games that happen every year all over North America. You won’t regret it!

 

As I watched and marveled at the prowess of the athletes, and enjoyed some of my family’s culture, it occurred to me that many of you would be interested in these things.  Just as I write about the things I see and do in Mexico, I will do the same for B.C. Maybe it will prompt some of you to come and visit.

THERE’S NO FREE LUNCH

20 Oct

 

 

Just before dawn and only 22c

 

I mentioned previously that the average daytime temperature down here was sitting at around 35c but that doesn’t actually tell the real story. You have to factor in the humidity levels, which are between 35 and 40 percent. Now I know that doesn’t sound like very much but oh, man does it make a huge difference. With the humidity, the actual temperature is between 40 and 45c. In other words, it’s freaking hot here!

Our home, where ever we are

 

It’s so hot and humid that you sweat heavily just sitting still and there is no part of you that isn’t wringing wet all day long. Just before sunrise it’s only 22c but as soon as the sun comes up the temperature skyrockets and within 20 minutes it has reached the maximum it’s going to be for the day and it doesn’t cool down until about 3 AM.

 

So what’s a person with lots of time on their hands to do? Why go swimming of course, or snorkeling or simply standing in the water, right? Uh, wrong. Not unless they have a full-length wet suit. Why? Well, there’s this little creature in the water here that folks call an Auga Male (that’s pronounced malay) Which translates to Bad Water in English. Now that’s probably not its real name nor have I been able to find anyone who can tell me what it really is, but it’s a suitable description.

 

An Auga Male. Sorry, but it's the best shot I could get!

These things are polyps, less than ½ an inch long, and so clear that they are virtually invisible in the water. They feed themselves by deploying a very long clear thread and when it touches bare skin, it burns, a lot! It also leaves a line of raised red welts that sting and then eventually itches like mad.

 

Our problem is where our campsite is. We are the last site right beside the launch ramp, so whenever any of the folks down here are trying to launch or retrieve their boats, they usually need help since all the launch ramp really is, is a gradual decline of sand into the water. Not to mention that except for ourselves, the average age on Rattlesnake Beach is 70 and up, so every day we accumulate large numbers of stings and man, are we going through limes since the best cure is warmed lime juice. Vinegar works but not anywhere near as well and I’m sorry but I’m just NOT going to try the old having someone pee on me experiment!

(Appreciation for help is paid in fish. Not that we’ve ever asked but hey, when someone offers you a Dorado, you don’t say no!)

 

An angelfish swimming by

These little nasty’s will eventually disappear when the water cools down some, but will then be replaced by a jellyfish called String of Pearls which look exactly like their name, except they are an iridescent blue colour. These too make life miserable for swimmers.

 

All in all, though it may seem as if we’ve moved into Paradise, there is always a price to be paid for it.

 

I got smart this year and purchased a full-length wetsuit, but have you ever tried to get into a wetsuit? Try doing it when every square inch of your skin is already wet. I know, I know, use cornstarch, but you know what? When your skin is already wet, cornstarch just clumps. So it’s a struggle and by the time I get the damn thing on, I really do need to get in the water as the sweat is pouring off me. Not to mention that even a wetsuit with mask, snorkel and flippers doesn’t cover every portion of skin. The hands and parts of the ankles and face are still bare and you know, getting stung on the face bloody hurts. Considering how long it takes to get the damn thing on, when the folks need help with their boats, I go as I am and in most cases it’s just my bathing suit and me. Oh well, nobody ever said life was going to be easy.

 

This is a Balloonfish, though they are mistakenly called Pufferfish. These little guys are anywhere there's a rock to protect.

I’m sure your sitting there thinking, Jeez, what a whiner, but you know, writing a travel blog requires truth so here it is, these things are the price we pay for our little slice of Shangri-La… this year. Next year it could be a plague of flies or biting insects, a Grande Norte that blows hard all winter long or a continuation of drought that makes fresh water difficult to come by. We never know what to expect until we get here but we always know there won’t be any free lunch!

 

TTFN

Heading to the 25th parallel

13 Oct

Hidy Ho Campers! Here we are on beautiful Rattlesnake Beach in Southern Baja, once more, ready for another winter in the sun.

Daytime temperature is 33c and nights cool down to a balmy 22c. The water is holding steady at 28c. Yeah, I know that’s rubbing it in but hey, this IS a blog about travelling and I’d certainly be remiss if I didn’t tell my viewing audience what to expect if they decide to come for a visit or want to live vicariously through me, right?

Now, the last little missive I posted told you I have a peeve I want to rant about, so I might as well get it off my chest right away. I started to notice as we slowly made our way down roads less travelled that everything had a name; roads, bridges, overpasses, parks, beaches, trails, underpasses, byways, freeways, you name it. (hahaha, sorry)

Lake Crescent, northern Washington, on Hwy 101

What got me going was that almost everything was named after, in most cases, “Some Politician”.  Now, I tried looking up some of these names and for the most part Google just went “Huh?” What is it about your average politician that they just have to have some edifice named after them, especially since within 20 years, no one is going to remember who the hell they were, except maybe their closest friends, (Is that possible?) and relatives.

I’ll give you an example, in the town we lived in, there was a lovely park in the downtown core, on the foreshore and it was called simply, Foreshore Park. Kind of says it all doesn’t it? Certainly tells you where and what. A couple of years after a Mayor who had served for 3 terms died, his wife and political cronies who still made up the city council decided it would be a great idea to rename the park after him. So in their finite wisdom, the local politicians changed the name to the “Robert V. Ostler Park”. Pretty much everyone still refers to it as Foreshore Park and even my kids who grew up there have only a vague recollection as to who Robert V. Ostler was. Give it another 10-15 years and only those who stroll through City hall and see his name on the list of mayors will have any clue.

The first beach we came to in Washington State, Ruby Beach

Don’t get me wrong, I see no problem naming things after “famous” politicians, you know, the ones you learn about in school or read about in history books, but the local ones? Give me a break! These, as far as I’m concerned are just a bunch of arrogant, self-centered egotists who see a way of giving themselves a form of immortality and the really crazy thing is, WE GO ALONG WITH IT!

Okaaaaay…..enough about that.

Back to our story…

We were enjoying our last visit with our youngest daughter and her family, playing with our Grandkids, sampling the fruits of their garden and being overwhelmed with her gustatory expertise when the rain started. Sure it was only a little and the sun did come back out every day, but the temperature was going down and this year there was nothing holding us back. Richard was starting to get antsy but I kept delaying leaving as a Mexican Visa is only good for 180 days and the last thing I wanted was to be coming home in March. Richard however, held out a carrot. I have a last surviving aunt in Ontario so he suggested that we could work our way along the southern US and then up into Ontario before we headed home. Damn, that was a good carrot!

One of many, free, secluded spots we always find on our travels

Cape Ferrolo, Ore. The last time we saw the sun. If you have the time and the weather permits by all means travel the 101. The views are to die for.

Once again we took the Coho Ferry across to Port Angeles, but this time we turned right instead of left and took the 101 Hwy down the Pacific Coast. The weather was good and we moseyed down the road instead of thundered. The scenery was gorgeous and we had high hopes for a slow, picturesque journey, hopping from secluded forest campsites, to beautiful beaches, all the way down the Washington, Oregon coasts, with a side trip to McMinnville in northern Oregon.

The best shot I could get. Big isn't it?

McMinnville is a small town but it contains one of the biggest airplanes ever built, Howard Hughes’ Spruce Goose. This is the crowning glory of The Evergreen Air and Space Museum there and though we had known about this place for sometime, our route and/or schedule had never let us stop and visit. This time we did and we spent the day wandering around, while outside the weather was summer like…and that was the last time we saw the sun, until we crossed the Mexican border.

Not bad eh? Okay it's a picture of a picture, but if you like space stuff, this is a good place to start!

I’ve only included one picture of the Spruce Goose because it’s impossible to get a correct perspective of this baby, but suffice it to say that there are over 100 planes of all sizes nestled under her wings. If you’ve ever been up close and personal with the Martin Mars, you’ll have some idea, but even these don’t come close to the Goose. If you get the chance, enjoy looking at historic airplanes or are interested in the history of the space race from both the American and Russian perspective, go, it’s worth the visit. McMinnville is on Highway 18, just south of Portland and be prepared to spend the day!

Well, folks that’s enough for now. You know where we are and the winter is just beginning, so stand by for the continuing adventures of Travels with Grummy!

TTFN

DEAR DIARY….

28 Jul

Dear Diary, today I …….

Did you have a daily diary when you were a kid? I got one for my 10th birthday and for the first few weeks I dutifully filled the pages with the minutia of  my life and trust me, when you’re 10, in most cases minutia is being polite. I tried really hard to find something to say but I got bogged down in the need to physically put words on paper.

One of many mouldering old buildings in the Okanagan

When I was in school, I did exceptionally well when it came to composing stories, at least as long as I was partnered and my partner was willing to be my scribe while I dictated. I helped with the vocabulary but not the spelling since I sucked at it.

Which leads me back to the stupid diary. I could talk to it all I wanted and no words would appear on the pages and since I hated to write, it didn’t take long before the diary got stuffed in a drawer and forgotten. To this day I really don’t enjoy the physical act of writing. If I write slowly and carefully, my writing, so I’ve been told is quite lovely, but since I am usually trying to write as fast as my brain is coming up with the words, it usually devolves into something even I have difficulty deciphering.

A beautiful insect that posed for me on the back deck.

As for typing, well, I’ll give you a small glimpse into my adolescent thinking. It was Grade 9 and we were required to decide what courses we wanted to take as electives. My choices were between typing class and Gourmet cooking. I reasoned that if I took typing, I would end up being someones secretary and as far as I was concerned that just wasn’t ever going to happen, so cooking won out.  Eventually, I graduated with honours plus a complete inability to type. The funny part about that is eventually I landed a job as an executive secretary for one of the Regional Managers of what was then known as Radio Shack. He was well aware of my lack of typing skills, but it was my personality that won me the job, besides he figured even using the hunt and peck method I could eventually put together a respectable letter, given enough time and White Out. Ever since then I have perfected the 4 finger typing skills that I currently employ.

Talking on the other hand is certainly a skill I have in abundance. My brain is filled with jokes, stories, trivia and a great deal of information on many different subjects gathered over the years. I could keep just about anyone entertained for hours and did so for over 15 years as a fishing guide. You’ve got to have something to talk about when the fish aren’t biting and being able to hold intelligent conversations with people from all walks of life makes for a good time for all concerned, as well as resulting in fairly large tips.

I also have what many seem to think of as a bad habit. Anyone who knows me well has certainly heard me talking to myself. Hell I’ve even been known to argue vociferously with myself and I don’t care what anyone says, I’m not crazy!

Having a conversation with myself has allowed me over the years to write well received speeches, worked out ways to ask for raises and to tell people to bugger off in such a manner that they weren’t even aware they’d been insulted. It also helps me write this blog. I pour over subjects I want to explore, I work out  how it will sound by saying it out loud and that works for me. The only problem I have is I’m still waiting for voice activated computers like they had on “Star Trek”. I want a bloody computer that hears what I’m saying, waits till I tell it to write it down, prints it in a readable format then sends it to this blog.

I can dream can’t I?

Another old building abandoned and allowed to return to the earth in it's own time. There are many of these scattered all over the region.

When I get into conversations with people and we start to talk about our lives, eventually they look at me and say, “You should write a book.” I answer by saying, “Thanks, I admit that my life has certainly taken some interesting turns and the thought has occurred to me, but my journey isn’t even close to being over yet and maybe, when I’m old and decrepit I’ll think of putting words to paper.”

Yeah, right, only if I can find a Boswell who’ll work for free. Though perhaps technology will come to my rescue. The eldest was just telling me last night about an app on I Touch that just might do the trick. So who knows, maybe one of these days I’ll be telling you about my new book, though please don’t hold your breath waiting, it could well be a very long wait.

In the meantime you’ll just have to be satisfied with the poor ramblings of an over heated brain as I blog my way through the ether.

TTFN!