I usually take a vacation around late March. This year was no exception. MBW, the HA, and I jetted off to Florida. At the recommendation of a fraternity brother, we booked a week in Destin, located on the coast in the Florida panhandle.
Swordsmen and Supermen is a slim volume of heroic fiction. The selections are eclectic. “Let’s see what we have lying about the office.” Not too much apparently, but an interesting variety. Take a look.
Another birthday approaches. That can often mean the sort of deep navel dive that requires oxygen tanks, acetylene torches, and a rescue party on stand by. What have I accomplished? What is left to accomplish? Have I reached my potential? Where did all the years go?
Not gonna do it. (Those readers of a certain age should read that sentence in the voice of Dana Carvey imitating George Bush.)
The tide of Yule is ebbing this annus horribilis. (Has the near match between annus and anus ever been more appropriate?) Good riddance, I suppose. Still, I’ve made the best of it. I hope you have as well, dear reader.
Last Monday, I packed up MBW and the HA for a road trip. I pointed the vehicle east and we headed for Yellowstone. We decided to take the journey in two stages. I’ve done eighteen and twenty hour stretches, and we could have made the trip in, perhaps, fourteen hours. But I doubted the HA would tolerate it well. So we stopped Monday night at a hotel on the Oregon/Idaho border. The HA played in the pool. Next day, bright and early, we trekked on, reaching West Yellowstone in the afternoon.
I took MBW and the HA for an excursion yesterday. We needed to shake the rust off and see new horizons. So, skirting south of Mt. Hood, then along its eastern flanks for a while, until we cut due east through a national forest, winding along a narrow road, then north to the Columbia River at The Dalles.
I understand there is some sort of kerfuffle going on in the world. People panicking, going into lockdown mode. I’ve been sitting on the beach, sipping cold beer, and listening to the waves come in. We all react to existential threats in our own way, I suppose.
I grew up in the Northwest. Rain is the norm. Wet weather can limit activities, hinder weekend recreation. I recall one of the go-to choices for a rainy Saturday was a trip to Bonneville Dam. Tour the museum, count the fish, visit the hatchery. Not a lot of pizzazz, perhaps, but it can occupy a kid for a few hours.
I have been writing about little excursions here and yon recently, haven’t I? Well, I’ve been taking these little trips, after all. No reason not to mention them. For example, today I drove MBW and the HA down to the State Capital for the State Fair. Rides, livestock, and fried foods. Under a brutally punishing sun. What’s not to like?
MBW, the HA, and I just returned from a weekend at the central Oregon coast, visiting my father and step-mother. A late return means much to do in a short time before Monday’s inevitable arrival. Thus this will be primarily a pictorial post. Lucky you.