Earthship Le Van Gogh Diary
Day 5 - St. Regis, Montana
I’m sitting at Rose’s Restaurant, a nice little home-cooking-just-folks kind of stop right off of I-90 not far from the border of Idaho and Montana. I’m enjoying my excellent breakfast as I tippity tap on my laptop and sip heart-stopping coffee. Espresso has nothing on this! I decided to take myself out to a restaurant this morning since I haven’t eaten in one since I left. That and I’ve run out of yogurt and need to restock. Ok, that’s a really lame excuse - I just wanted to eat out but I do need to get more yogurt. Fluffbutt likes to lick the edge of the cup when I’m finished and appears to prefer Black Cherry, as I do, so that’s what I’ll get.
A group of age-enhanced motorcycle riders are at a table near me. No long, gray hair pulled back in a tail with tattoos and Harley Davidson leather jackets - just regular guys and their wives, most older than I am, or at least so it appears, all riding cycles big enough to lie down on. In fact, the rear seat riders look like they are lying down. Amazing! And they have heaters and gloves thick enough to pick up dry ice with. Since it was cold enough to get goose pimples in the morning chill, I can only imagine what it must feel like to ride in the open. My tender little body would not tolerate that for long!
I heard them discussing 40° below weather in the area, which reminded me of a couple of winters I experienced in Maine. I wonder if Montana gets that every winter? Having your nose hairs freeze is an interesting experience but not something I’d want every time the snow fell. It got cold in Maine during the January/February months, but it didn’t always get so cold you couldn’t start your car without an engine block warmer. Here, I think that’s the norm.
After finishing my breakfast I hit the road and made my way back on to I-90 with Charmagne giving me approving nods every so often. I swear her accent is becoming British even though I didn’t change it. I do wonder where she’ll dump me out today. As usual I inputted (sp?) the exact address of my next campground but I reckon I’ll just wait and see. (Microsoft Works didn’t tell me to correct “inputted” so I guess it thinks that’s a word. Huh.) Inputting the exact address hasn’t worked before but since I don’t mind getting lost when I see such beautiful scenery as I wander around, it’s not really a problem. I only have a Rand McNally Atlas to guide me but it doesn’t have specifics for these small towns. And I haven’t been able to get a wireless connection here in the mountains so I’m left with asking for help. Fortunately I don’t have a problem doing that…
As usual I stayed in the far right lane tucked in between much larger rigs forced to go slowly down some pretty steep grades. There was no runaway truck lane and I prayed fervently that none of these huge trucks would lose their brakes as we careened madly down the hills going a terrifying 45 mph. Ok, laugh, but it was damned scary to me when my van was doing its usual lumbering back and forth across the lane and the truck behind me was getting waaaayyyy too close for comfort going into some of the sharper turns. I was hugely relieved when we finally reached a gentler grade and I could relax my hands which had been bolted to the steering wheel. The mountains are gorgeous but driving them in Le Van Gogh is just a wee too bit interesting for my heart.
About 15 miles before I knew I would see signs for St. Regis Charmagne piped up and announced that I had reached my destination. Oh, for cryin’ out loud! I could buy the dump-in-the-middle-of-the-road scene since at least up to now she had been within 200 yards of our goal. Fifteen miles seemed really over the top. Either Charmagne is just mentally defective or they haven’t updated the GPS coordinates in quite awhile. Sheesh.
I ignored her, indeed I turned her off since what good was she to me now? I continued driving until I saw the turn-off for St. Regis. I pulled into the Visitor’s Center which had a sign outside that said “Visitor Friendly.” Well, that’s good, considering that’s what it’s there for. Inside I found all kinds of information on Montana but nothing on St. Regis. I asked the lovely lady on duty and she looked a bit embarrassed as she searched for a pamphlet amongst the hundreds on display. She finally found a tattered map of the area which showed a town of very small proportions, most of which was centered around the turnoff right here by I-90. She did find a brochure for the St. Regis Campground I was staying in tonight and I thanked her heartily, making her feel a little better for not being able to give me any useful information about the immediate area. Perhaps there wasn't any to give.
I left with a friendly wave and stopped at a nearby grocery store (everything here is “nearby“) intending to stock up on yogurt and fresh veggies. After seeing the prices I restarted my heart and left hastily to go find a veggie stand. The prices were enormous! I guess the store manager had to raise them to make up for the costs of paying for the health care of the truck drivers who made it this far down the mountain. I did find a lovely little stand, however, and bought peaches and cherries and headed out to the campground which came with a 5-star rating and a Good Sam discount. There was also a discount for military, retired, active or veteran, so I was covered both ways (I joined Good Sam quickly when I saw how many sites discount for membership).
I checked in and was given a nice spot in the ‘quiet’ area, whatever that means. Perhaps they don’t put families with more than one child nearby. Whatever, I had it all to myself when I closed up everything and went to bed. Of course I took advantage of the showers and scrubbed and washed my hair, etc, before I went to bed because I planned on a Wal-Mart stay in Missoula. And although it is convenient to have my own shower, it is definitely not convenient to use it. You have to really want a shower to get this one ready and rinse your hair, turn off the water, add shampoo and lather your hair and scrub the rest of you, turn on the water, rinse everything very quickly, turn off the water, etc. And then towel dry your hair and your body, and make sure the drain area gets dried and then hang your towel on the miniature clothes line that can be strung across the van on this side of the lavoratory and kitchen. And check to see how much water you have left and if it will last you until you reach your next campground where you can refill your fresh water tank. And check your holding tanks to make sure you haven’t filled the gray water up yet. And don't forget to duck beneath the clothesline or you will strangle yourself in the night. All in all, if I’m desperate I’m glad it’s there. If I have a choice, however, I’ll take a full shower that doesn’t require so much work.
It was deliciously quiet after I returned to my little camper, for which I was doubly grateful that I had been placed here. The children section had been placed at the other side of the campground where there was a pool and other playground attractions, but over here was nothing but beautiful pines and grass and quiet. Just quiet. Camp fires were springing up all around me in the twilight and campers and tents alike were softly lit from within by lamps or overhead lighting. No stars shone above because it was overcast, but that was OK. I actually heard a rumble of thunder as a few drops of rain fell with a passing storm. I was delighted to hear it since Port Angeles rarely gets any thunder storms and I had only heard one once since I had arrived there. There had been more than that but I had always been asleep when they occurred, dang it. This was lovely to hear, like an old friend calling to me from the skies.
And now it is 7:00 p.m. and I’m tucked into my little baby trailer across from two monster motor homes. My rig would look like a golf cart between two hummers if I was in their middle. I’ve plugged in the electricity and water so I’m not using mine and I can turn on the microwave and air conditioning. Inside I’m laying on my back, laptop propped up on my knees, Jesse Cook strumming a Moroccan theme on his guitar with fantastic percussionists thumping a complicated beat to his melody and I’m loving this experience! Off to sleep I go and a good night to all.
So much for quiet. When I woke up this morning, my quiet spot had morphed into a more-than-one child spot overnight. Next door to me was a large tent with a young couple, two very small children and grandparents just climbing out with two very sweet doggies already happily sniffing around. The older dog was a shepherd/something mix but the younger was a black lab puppy with big feet and clearly not yet trained. Both ran over to me to say hi and I rubbed, petted and was licked thoroughly by them before the parents noticed and called them back, apologizing for their dogs’ behavior. Not at all, I replied, I love dogs and these are obviously very good dogs. They smiled and began setting up breakfast for their kids, putting the youngest, who appeared to be less than a year in age, in his(?) high chair. The little boy picked up his rattle and proceeded to pound his tray and screech loudly, doing what babies do naturally, which is make noise. His older brother, who looked to be about three, shyly came over to say hi and I smiled at him and waved but his father ordered him back and told him to stay put and go nowhere. I had a feeling that order wasn’t going to stick.
But a high chair? Camping??? Two babies??? The mind boggles! I confess that the thought of my niece, Melissa, camping with me when she was five years old, brings visions of total premature gray to my mind. Brian, who would have been three years old to Melissa’s five, would have been just fine sitting on a blanket and looking around raptly, but Melissa when she was a wee thing was curiosity and energy personified. The horror of it, oh, the horror! (Sorry if I’m embarrassing you, sweetie, but you know darned well that it’s true. LOL!)
Before I ate breakfast I went for a walk with my camera tucked in my pocket. I needed the exercise and planned to walk a minimum of 30 min a day whenever I could. Might as well take some photos while I was doing so.
I had seen some lovely fields with farm houses scattered about on my way in to the campground and I headed in that direction to see what lighting there was to be had and if I could see something I could reproduce without screwing it up too much. I saw much to be admired and shot several photos of fields, mountains and cows (leas) in an area that was so peaceful and quiet that I could hear nothing but the wind blowing in the pines. That’s one of my most favorite sounds in the world, second only to the sound of snow falling in the woods. Subtle but oh, so lovely.
And just as I was turning to walk back, I saw an owl sitting on top of a telephone pole. I thought it was a fake owl meant to scare away some kind of bird or rodent, or what have you, but it turned it’s head to look at me and that was enough to pull my camera out again. The picture of course didn’t turn out as well as I wanted since it was overcast and early but you can at least see the silhouette. Pretty cool, huh?
Anyway, I performed my morning ablutions, tidied up, stowed everything tightly and took off. All in all, St. Regis, what I got to see of it at least, is tiny and smack in the middle of some gorgeous country. And I was not able to pick up a wireless connection, so this blog is going to be late in uploading as well as yesterday’s. Oh, well.
Lessons Learned:
That I need to get a new fitting for the end of the sewer hose that fits older dumping stations.
That today was much better than the last time I dumped.
But still a weensy bit of spillage.
Which will get better.
That when I hose down the van I need to make sure all windows are shut, not just the driver’s side.
Oops.
That the gloves I bought for working with the sewer hose aren’t as waterproof as they claim.
That I need to buy another decidedly waterproof and skinny set of gloves to fit inside these.
That I’m glad I brought a whole lot of antimicrobial cleaning agents with me.
Eew.
That I can’t figure out how to set the correct time on the van radio.
That I have user manuals for everything in the van.
Except the radio.
Doesn’t matter, I’ll be changing time zones anyway.
But it still drives me buggy.
Oh, well.
Observations:
A large, very sloppy nest perched precariously on top of a telephone pole. An eagle’s nest, perhaps? I know they’re lousy housekeepers. And I don't expect to see an osprey's nest in the area. They're pretty messy, too.
A warning side by the road that says, “Watch for ice.” Not far behind this sign is another that says, “Watch for rock.” Okay, make up your mind, will you? I can’t watch for both and keep the van straight too, so which one is it going to be? How silly.
I saw a spotted fawn almost at full growth with no mommy in sight. That doesn’t mean the mommy wasn’t nearby, just that I didn’t see her. The fawn ignored me completely and didn’t even look up as I walked by but continued to nibble some grasses under her feet. Pretty little thing and graceful as only a deer can be.
Showing posts with label rural. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rural. Show all posts
Monday, September 7, 2009
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Day 4 - Coeur d'Alene, Idaho
Earthship Le Van Gogh Diary
Day 4 - Coeur d’Alene, Idaho
(It’s actually September 5th but I couldn’t get a signal where I was yesterday. For that matter, I can’t get one now as I eat breakfast at a cute little restaurant further on down the road. You might not see this for a bit…)
(It's now 1730 (5:00 p.m.) and I'm set up at my next stop in St. Regis, Montana. This is the first time I've been able to get a signal. Oh, well.)
Anyway, yesterday I was up with the sunrise in my little spot by the lake and sat for a moment sipping coffee and marveling at the sky. I wasn’t the first up - the huge camper across from me already showed signs of life and a fire was already crackling in the stone ring. The Bendy Men, kitties and I just relaxed and watched the day unfold, or I should say, I did. The Bendy Men were still sleeping and the cats were eating their breakfast. I watched, anyway, and just relaxed and meditated before I began making preparations for departure.
The desert texture of the scenery I had passed the day before now gently smoothed into rural farmland and the beauty of the surroundings so affected me that I had to get out and take some pictures. Because it was near the end of the season many fields were already cleared while others still lay waiting for the harvester. It was stark and very bleak, even harsh, but it had its own textures and colors and patterns that were simply lovely. It appeared to me that the gods had sewn a large patchwork quilt of muted hues and hand stitched rows that crisscrossed the pieces in incredible patterns resembling a large Japanese garden. Indeed, the hand-raked patterns of the gods that were touched by the early morning light sprang into sharp detail and if there had been a place to turn off so I could take a picture I would have done so. Sadly, I was on a small, two-way connecting road taking me back to 90 and there was too little space for my van to safely park. I did take some other pictures from the side of 90 but they cannot do justice to the colors I saw. Some day I’ll get the hang of manipulating my photos. Sigh.
I noticed yesterday before I reached Cle Elum that the crops on both sides of the road were in many stages of growth, from corn no more than two feet high to fields still not quite ready for harvest. Soybeans and hay were likewise at different heights and I envied an area that could coax three plantings from the fertile grounds. In Maine the only two-harvested crop I saw was hay but the growing season was so short that everything else was lucky to reach full growth in one season. The potatoes and cranberries were naturally of one season and the family gardens reached full growth near the end of August, individual vegetables and fruit notwithstanding. And in Kentucky and Illinois I only saw one growing season for the corn and soybeans, so eastern Washington was fortunate, indeed, to have three! Amazing! It was either that or the drought delayed the growth of these immature crops. I like my story better, though. Happier endings always work well for me.
I noticed also that the land, which maintained its rural leanings as I drove along, changed sharply when I drove over the Spokane county line. A sprinkling of fir trees sprang up which quickly became very thick in growth as I headed east. I wondered if the firs had been told that it was illegal to grow beyond the boundary. The ground hadn’t risen sharply or even at all and yet here we were, the line of demarcation suddenly catapulting me into fir city. Interesting. Lovely, but interesting.
I took a nap just outside Spokane and awakened refreshed and made the last few miles easily to Coeur d’Alene. I’m glad I had the rest, however, because I went out and beyond the city down 90 and deep into gorgeous mountain scenery trying to find the Wolf Lodge Campground. Charmagne was doing her best to get me there but once again, she dumped me in the middle of a road and pronounced me at my destination. Hmmm… I saw no sign for the Lodge and decided to check out a nice gravel road far up into the hills while looking for something to give an indication of the location. Even though I was tired I wasn’t sorry I made the extra drive because I passed the most incredible surroundings, long, green valleys with horses grazing, wild flowers swaying everywhere in the breeze, and the patterned light gently touching the firs and trees surrounding the fields. I stopped at a modest house to ask for directions and was greeted by a very nice goat, five chickens and a ferocious watch dog who came shuffling up to me with tail wagging and a big grin on his face.
“If you’re the watch dog, someone’s not getting their money’s worth,” I laughed, as I gave him a rub and assured him that he was a very good dog even if he wasn’t much in the way of security. I walked around looking for someone but even though the garage door was open and the back of the SUV parked in the driveway was flipped up, no one answered as I called out. I shrugged and gave the ferocious dog one more rub, stroked the nose of the goat who liked the taste of my fingers, and left with the sound of the pitter-pat cluckings of the chickens in my ears.
Eventually I saw an Idaho DOT truck heading towards me and I waved it down. The young man driving it gave me the proper directions and I thanked him and drove on. On my way out I saw a female turkey and her almost grown chicks sauntering around in the grasses on my right. Yep, I could live here, alright. Never mind that every house in the area had their own bulldozer for winter snows and some of the driveways were sloped up to the road making it all but impossible to get out in an ice storm. Maybe they didn’t want to get out. I wouldn’t. What a gorgeous place to live!
I visited northern Idaho briefly while I was stationed in Salt Lake City as a medical officer recruiter. The powers that be had arranged for a conference up in a small lodge and I don’t even remember which one it was. I do remember how beautiful it was and now I could confirm that memory of loveliness around me and in me, so healing to see and feel!
(Pause to go outside and take some morning photos of the surroundings.)
Ok, I’m back. I have far more photos than I can upload to my blog. I’m only aloud three per blog and yesterday I was given the option of thumbnails only. You can’t click on those and get a large view of the photos that way so I’m going to start an album on Facebook with the others. I wish I was a better photographer so I could do justice to the scenery around me but I have no doubt there are professionals out there who have taken some of the area and made a far better job of it. It is what it is, I suppose.
Today I’m heading to St. Regis, Montana, about halfway between Coeur’ d’Alene and Missoula, Montana. I’m only going to go about 100 miles a day because 200 is wearing me out. Plus, I want to get out and explore as I go along and I can’t do that if I’m constantly preparing to get to the next stop. That’s not what I planned, that’s for sure!
The kitties are fed and in their traveling positions, the Bendy Men are back after a night on the town and sleeping it off, and I’m going through my morning ablutions, including writing a blog. May your day be as blessed as mine!
Until tomorrow!
Lessons Learned:
That just because you want to dump your tank at the next stop because you feel too lazy to do it this morning doesn’t mean that there will be a dumping station at the next stop.
That you should always dump when the opportunity presents itself.
Always.
Forget being lazy.
That Charmagne is good with the broad scope but not so hot with the particulars.
That if the address doesn’t have a cross street, you’re going to end up in the middle of the road.
That forgetting to turn the shower nozzle off completely will lead to copious amounts of dripping in the lavoratory.
My cup runneth over.
I needed to mop the floor anyway.
That it’s not a good idea to let the kitties out when your spot lies directly in the path of dog walkers.
That just because the dogs are required to be on a leash doesn’t mean that they won’t give the kitties a heart attack.
That the normally docile, friendly doggies, even the miniature dachshund (think Jaqq) wandering by, believe themselves to be ravening beasts at the sight of a little white cat cowering on the top of the picnic table.
That I should check the location of the dog path before I do this again.
That if you want the furnace to blow hot air you must first turn the propane valve to ‘on.’
And don’t forget to turn it back off.
Observations:
While passing some of the tilled, dusty fields I noticed what appeared to be wisps of smoke going straight up into the clouds. There were numerous little smoke stacks dotting the fields on both sides and it looked like tiny puffs of steam bursting from the ground. While driving close to one I saw that it was actually a tiny tornado drawing the dry ground up into its little vortex. And off to the right was yet another. And another. Must be the spirits of the gods dancing in the fields!
On the far side of the divided highway, a statue of David painted in the bronze hues of a Native American man with a loin cloth draped modestly around his hips.
Two streets noted in Spokane named Freya and Thor. Must be the the Norse Gods behind the patterned fields. Perhaps it's Loki who's out dancing with the wind.
A young pregnant woman and her husband(?) with a sleeping hound dog sitting in the sun at the top of an exit ramp just outside of Spokane holding a sign that said, “broke and stranded, please help.” Probably a scam but I gave them $5.00 anyway because the dog had such a great smile.
Before Spokane a road sign saying Cheney Medical Hospital. I had visions of small groups of patients in swimsuits and bloomers lining up by the lake for a healthy dip in the healing waters while Cheney stood by nodding benevolently.
I have been plagued by nightmares about this ever since.
Just kidding.
I have no idea what day of the week it is. I know what time it is and the date, but that’s it. I don’t suppose it matters, actually. I rather like it.
Day 4 - Coeur d’Alene, Idaho
(It’s actually September 5th but I couldn’t get a signal where I was yesterday. For that matter, I can’t get one now as I eat breakfast at a cute little restaurant further on down the road. You might not see this for a bit…)
(It's now 1730 (5:00 p.m.) and I'm set up at my next stop in St. Regis, Montana. This is the first time I've been able to get a signal. Oh, well.)
Anyway, yesterday I was up with the sunrise in my little spot by the lake and sat for a moment sipping coffee and marveling at the sky. I wasn’t the first up - the huge camper across from me already showed signs of life and a fire was already crackling in the stone ring. The Bendy Men, kitties and I just relaxed and watched the day unfold, or I should say, I did. The Bendy Men were still sleeping and the cats were eating their breakfast. I watched, anyway, and just relaxed and meditated before I began making preparations for departure.
The desert texture of the scenery I had passed the day before now gently smoothed into rural farmland and the beauty of the surroundings so affected me that I had to get out and take some pictures. Because it was near the end of the season many fields were already cleared while others still lay waiting for the harvester. It was stark and very bleak, even harsh, but it had its own textures and colors and patterns that were simply lovely. It appeared to me that the gods had sewn a large patchwork quilt of muted hues and hand stitched rows that crisscrossed the pieces in incredible patterns resembling a large Japanese garden. Indeed, the hand-raked patterns of the gods that were touched by the early morning light sprang into sharp detail and if there had been a place to turn off so I could take a picture I would have done so. Sadly, I was on a small, two-way connecting road taking me back to 90 and there was too little space for my van to safely park. I did take some other pictures from the side of 90 but they cannot do justice to the colors I saw. Some day I’ll get the hang of manipulating my photos. Sigh.
I noticed yesterday before I reached Cle Elum that the crops on both sides of the road were in many stages of growth, from corn no more than two feet high to fields still not quite ready for harvest. Soybeans and hay were likewise at different heights and I envied an area that could coax three plantings from the fertile grounds. In Maine the only two-harvested crop I saw was hay but the growing season was so short that everything else was lucky to reach full growth in one season. The potatoes and cranberries were naturally of one season and the family gardens reached full growth near the end of August, individual vegetables and fruit notwithstanding. And in Kentucky and Illinois I only saw one growing season for the corn and soybeans, so eastern Washington was fortunate, indeed, to have three! Amazing! It was either that or the drought delayed the growth of these immature crops. I like my story better, though. Happier endings always work well for me.
I noticed also that the land, which maintained its rural leanings as I drove along, changed sharply when I drove over the Spokane county line. A sprinkling of fir trees sprang up which quickly became very thick in growth as I headed east. I wondered if the firs had been told that it was illegal to grow beyond the boundary. The ground hadn’t risen sharply or even at all and yet here we were, the line of demarcation suddenly catapulting me into fir city. Interesting. Lovely, but interesting.
I took a nap just outside Spokane and awakened refreshed and made the last few miles easily to Coeur d’Alene. I’m glad I had the rest, however, because I went out and beyond the city down 90 and deep into gorgeous mountain scenery trying to find the Wolf Lodge Campground. Charmagne was doing her best to get me there but once again, she dumped me in the middle of a road and pronounced me at my destination. Hmmm… I saw no sign for the Lodge and decided to check out a nice gravel road far up into the hills while looking for something to give an indication of the location. Even though I was tired I wasn’t sorry I made the extra drive because I passed the most incredible surroundings, long, green valleys with horses grazing, wild flowers swaying everywhere in the breeze, and the patterned light gently touching the firs and trees surrounding the fields. I stopped at a modest house to ask for directions and was greeted by a very nice goat, five chickens and a ferocious watch dog who came shuffling up to me with tail wagging and a big grin on his face.
“If you’re the watch dog, someone’s not getting their money’s worth,” I laughed, as I gave him a rub and assured him that he was a very good dog even if he wasn’t much in the way of security. I walked around looking for someone but even though the garage door was open and the back of the SUV parked in the driveway was flipped up, no one answered as I called out. I shrugged and gave the ferocious dog one more rub, stroked the nose of the goat who liked the taste of my fingers, and left with the sound of the pitter-pat cluckings of the chickens in my ears.
Eventually I saw an Idaho DOT truck heading towards me and I waved it down. The young man driving it gave me the proper directions and I thanked him and drove on. On my way out I saw a female turkey and her almost grown chicks sauntering around in the grasses on my right. Yep, I could live here, alright. Never mind that every house in the area had their own bulldozer for winter snows and some of the driveways were sloped up to the road making it all but impossible to get out in an ice storm. Maybe they didn’t want to get out. I wouldn’t. What a gorgeous place to live!
I visited northern Idaho briefly while I was stationed in Salt Lake City as a medical officer recruiter. The powers that be had arranged for a conference up in a small lodge and I don’t even remember which one it was. I do remember how beautiful it was and now I could confirm that memory of loveliness around me and in me, so healing to see and feel!
(Pause to go outside and take some morning photos of the surroundings.)
Ok, I’m back. I have far more photos than I can upload to my blog. I’m only aloud three per blog and yesterday I was given the option of thumbnails only. You can’t click on those and get a large view of the photos that way so I’m going to start an album on Facebook with the others. I wish I was a better photographer so I could do justice to the scenery around me but I have no doubt there are professionals out there who have taken some of the area and made a far better job of it. It is what it is, I suppose.
Today I’m heading to St. Regis, Montana, about halfway between Coeur’ d’Alene and Missoula, Montana. I’m only going to go about 100 miles a day because 200 is wearing me out. Plus, I want to get out and explore as I go along and I can’t do that if I’m constantly preparing to get to the next stop. That’s not what I planned, that’s for sure!
The kitties are fed and in their traveling positions, the Bendy Men are back after a night on the town and sleeping it off, and I’m going through my morning ablutions, including writing a blog. May your day be as blessed as mine!
Until tomorrow!
Lessons Learned:
That just because you want to dump your tank at the next stop because you feel too lazy to do it this morning doesn’t mean that there will be a dumping station at the next stop.
That you should always dump when the opportunity presents itself.
Always.
Forget being lazy.
That Charmagne is good with the broad scope but not so hot with the particulars.
That if the address doesn’t have a cross street, you’re going to end up in the middle of the road.
That forgetting to turn the shower nozzle off completely will lead to copious amounts of dripping in the lavoratory.
My cup runneth over.
I needed to mop the floor anyway.
That it’s not a good idea to let the kitties out when your spot lies directly in the path of dog walkers.
That just because the dogs are required to be on a leash doesn’t mean that they won’t give the kitties a heart attack.
That the normally docile, friendly doggies, even the miniature dachshund (think Jaqq) wandering by, believe themselves to be ravening beasts at the sight of a little white cat cowering on the top of the picnic table.
That I should check the location of the dog path before I do this again.
That if you want the furnace to blow hot air you must first turn the propane valve to ‘on.’
And don’t forget to turn it back off.
Observations:
While passing some of the tilled, dusty fields I noticed what appeared to be wisps of smoke going straight up into the clouds. There were numerous little smoke stacks dotting the fields on both sides and it looked like tiny puffs of steam bursting from the ground. While driving close to one I saw that it was actually a tiny tornado drawing the dry ground up into its little vortex. And off to the right was yet another. And another. Must be the spirits of the gods dancing in the fields!
On the far side of the divided highway, a statue of David painted in the bronze hues of a Native American man with a loin cloth draped modestly around his hips.
Two streets noted in Spokane named Freya and Thor. Must be the the Norse Gods behind the patterned fields. Perhaps it's Loki who's out dancing with the wind.
A young pregnant woman and her husband(?) with a sleeping hound dog sitting in the sun at the top of an exit ramp just outside of Spokane holding a sign that said, “broke and stranded, please help.” Probably a scam but I gave them $5.00 anyway because the dog had such a great smile.
Before Spokane a road sign saying Cheney Medical Hospital. I had visions of small groups of patients in swimsuits and bloomers lining up by the lake for a healthy dip in the healing waters while Cheney stood by nodding benevolently.
I have been plagued by nightmares about this ever since.
Just kidding.
I have no idea what day of the week it is. I know what time it is and the date, but that’s it. I don’t suppose it matters, actually. I rather like it.
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