Getting to Rapid City was a straight and easy shot from Sioux Falls on the eastern most part of South Dakota on border of Iowa along I-90. There was no problem following the route given by Map Quest and being on an early Tuesday afternoon traffic was light enough to leave my nerves intact. I was pretty anxious to check in and check out the place where I would lay my weary body and relax my mind, as if I really thought I could contain the excitement of being at the base of the Black Hills.
Of course, there had a be a glitch, traveling back and forth along Jackson Blvd trying to find County Club Blvd that would take me to Chapel Lane and whatever cabin would be my home for the next two weeks. Twice I reached a point where buildings became fewer and the twist of a bend found me where there were none.
After passing Sheridan Lake Rd and the Meadow Brook Golf Course and Country Club three times there still wasn’t a road labeled as it should have been. I was so intent on finding Country Club Blvd that frustration finally set in as I began to eagle-hawk every street and driveway along Jackson Blvd. Finally, there was a small, white on green street sign that read Chapel Ln! From there it would have been a quick walk to the entrance of Lake Park Campground if I hadn’t been riding in a four-wheeler.
If I hadn’t been astute to the surroundings, I might have missed the entrance, but there it was with ivy covering part of the sign that told me I had reached my destination.
The office was easily identified with an ice bin, which I would soon find was no longer stocked. Sherry was behind the counter, quick to remember the name from a couple of conversations we had a few weeks prior to arriving. We were a day earlier since we had left a day earlier than planned and drove straight through the first night of travel.
Sherry was very friendly, made us feel welcome and actually gave us the choice of two cabins, both next to each other, one decorated in the mode of a hunter’s abode with an animal’s head hung on the wall, etc. The other cabin had a less manly feel about it but Cabin 11 was the winner, only because the TV was aligned for viewing from an easy chair and a sofa bed. Other than the positioning of the TV the cabins were identical with the same amenities yet in reversed order.
Two bedrooms, a full kitchen, a large cloakroom adjacent to small bathroom with the basic washbowl, toilet and stand-alone shower. In the cloakroom the best friend a traveler can expect was a hot water heater! For us alone, no attached cabins where sharing would have affected water pressure and available hot water. What a pleasure!
The kitchen was equipped with dishes; silverware; glasses; coffee maker, cups and filters; a window air conditioner and a gas heater; refrigerator; basic cable; and pots and pans. There were enough towels for a family of six and a huge supply of quality toilet paper, which saved the rolls I had brought along… just in case Of course, there were plenty of And an outside gas grill – a real one, not some chintzy piece of metal housing. Clean and neat with no acception.
Upon arriving, I had asked Sherry if there was a microwave. Yes. She explained it wasn’t including with any promotional information, including the Inet, because it pleases people to find more than what they expect rather than falling short of expectations. Outside the cabin, next to the grill, was a full-sized picnic table.
Sherry gave me fair warning that I would most likely see resident deer roaming the area, which there were. Without warning and without a camera handy, at one point two deer and three fawns passed next to the cabin, not more than five feet from where I sat in pleasant awe. The first week they were in sight often then they seemed to have disappeared, but Sherry suggested I just walk behind the cabin a short way where she had just seen them. They’re definitely accustomed to humans but still attune to their survival instincts. I saw then quite a few times afterward.
Lake Park Campgrounds and Cottages was the perfect place to lay my head to rest after each day’s adventures. There are other choices in different areas among the hills but the location gave me easy access to Rapid City with its restaurants, museums and a true small town feel of friendliness. Just the right size – not too big, not too small.
Mount Rushmore; a variety of caverns; Custer State Park; Hill City and Keystone, which are quaint tourist havens; Deadwood, where Wild Bill and Calamity Jane dwelled; Sturgis, where the 69th Annual Motorcycle Rally will be held the first week in August next year; and so many other wondrous adventures filled the days. These were less than hour’s drive away from the cabin. Devil’s Tower in Wyoming and the Mammoth Site downstate were within a two-hour drive.
Wherever a person travels along the roads, there’s no boredom as the scenery engulfs a person’s eyesight. Even the driver can enjoy the views without taking the eyes off the road – they’re all around!
Yes, Lake Park Campground and Cottages is strongly recommended to anyone visiting the Black Hills of South Dakota. It’s a temporary home, a haven of tranquility among towering trees with open views of the sky and the friendliest of people, Sherry first and foremost.
www.lakeparkcampground.com
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Two Years Onward
Hibiscus with yellow flowers. The red of bottlebrush. The orange of honeysuckle. The white and yellow colors of jasmines. The purple of bougainvillea. The bluebells. A trio of snapdragon colors; yellow, purple, pink. The forever greens of evergreens. The bright deep pink of cactus flowers. Cannas with more pink and yellow flowers. The variegated tints of false bamboo and crotons.
These are the plants that are planted along the backyard fence, just this side of the numerous sand hill pines that stand among other plants and bushes in the Sand Hill Boy Scout Reserve that extends from Cortez Blvd and my home. There are a number of other plants whose names I just can’t remember.
It’s been a busy year of my attempts to adorn my backyard with vegetation that will eventually highlight the sights of visitors’ and mine own eyes. And I do mean eventually.
It’s been an arduous journey to rid the full expanse of the privacy fence along the width of the backyard, a large area some 70 feet by 10 feet that the subcontractors of Mr. Adams failed to place a few pallets of sod. The ground had been cleared as the plot of land was being prepared for resale by an investor, with an 1860-sq foot home set back from the road, but sand was left where blades of grass should have grown. The sprinkler system was misplaced as was the missing bahia.
A lot of time, sweat, digging and uprooting of weeds, and gallons of vegetation killer has been spent in preparation of whatever whim, size and expense of greenery I would decide to plant. And plant I did. Still, at this point, there are very few trees. An East Palatka holly, which will at some point have bunches of red berries that will attract a flock of birds at whatever harvest time they choose, and a non-baring fruit fig are the only trees have been introduced to the property.
The bluebells are abundant with their trumpets of purple-hewed flowers. The cannas have been quick-rooters with a continuous bloom of colors fulfilling my expectations of pleasant views.
The front of the house has a well-maintained rock garden. The roadside has a wide swath of cleared sand with a number of arborvitae and, here I go again, plants whose names I don’t remember. There’s also an open pit close to the sidewalk that was carefully bordered with “decorative” cement castings. At some point I will find the right kind of tree acceptable to my standards of shade. It’s right next to a sprinkler head, positioned perfectly for an ever-flowing fountain – no way, my friend; water is more precious to the ground than wasteful evaporation.
With slight patience I await the time when these vines and plants have my expectations of adornment. While I was gone for three weeks, they were left with the harsh weather conditions of drought, still alive but looking as though they were on their last root of survival. This was not good but the lack of moisture and the heat of days also kept weeds from proliferating the clearings.
Eventually is an often-used word of future goals and particularly applies to the growth of vegetation.
What? Maybe two years from now the vines will along the back fence will meld together with the lush of green and colorful flowers? Maybe the same time period for the bushes to flourish and fill in the garden where it now appears to be sparse and too barren?
What? Maybe two years until the housing market regains a sensible, realistic market-driven growth period. Maybe two years until I can conceivably consider my options to move out of Spring Hill, out of Hernando County and out of Florida. As a friend had gifted me with a black and white, simply framed caricature of people leisurely basking in the yellow sun of a California day with words that proclaimed “Another day in paradise”, so I may depart this State Down-under. A poorly-governed State, a County with little insight of futures past, workforces dependent on simpletons, an elderly haven no longer within the means of retirees, a region sure to be plummeted with increasingly destructive hurricanes, and what is becoming a land meant for those with fortunes: causes for concern for my security and happiness in these waning years on this planet Earth, hopefully long before I’m running on empty.
So, there’s plenty of time to tidy the house. Minor settlement cracks to fill and hide. A bit of touch up paint here and there – “there” being primary along the baseboards where dust collects, where it’s not easily de-clustered, where a few brush strokes will cover what would turn a white glove with shades of gray.
Two years for my fortune cookie to come to reality, when I “will be at the height of your career”. Two years? I don’t know what that career might be; it has to be something more than working for phone companies for half my life, leaving me with a pension at a quarter of my ending pay. The company-contributed 401(k) was the best route to achieving a minimum degree of financial security (if there ever will be). And yet, as hard as I tried, others in my same age bracket couldn’t be prompted to use common sense. Paycheck deduction makes you budget what’s in hand.
Two years for another recent fortune cookie to fulfill it’s claim that “An alien of some sort will be appearing to you shortly!” Oh, really? If it’s the illegal type then it’s the sort that won’t speak English. Or maybe the Lotto will supply me with funds that are alien to my pocketbook. I might have a better chance that E.T. will sweep me from this slowly polluting, quickly heating planet and take me to heights and sights as I have never seen before!
These are the plants that are planted along the backyard fence, just this side of the numerous sand hill pines that stand among other plants and bushes in the Sand Hill Boy Scout Reserve that extends from Cortez Blvd and my home. There are a number of other plants whose names I just can’t remember.
It’s been a busy year of my attempts to adorn my backyard with vegetation that will eventually highlight the sights of visitors’ and mine own eyes. And I do mean eventually.
It’s been an arduous journey to rid the full expanse of the privacy fence along the width of the backyard, a large area some 70 feet by 10 feet that the subcontractors of Mr. Adams failed to place a few pallets of sod. The ground had been cleared as the plot of land was being prepared for resale by an investor, with an 1860-sq foot home set back from the road, but sand was left where blades of grass should have grown. The sprinkler system was misplaced as was the missing bahia.
A lot of time, sweat, digging and uprooting of weeds, and gallons of vegetation killer has been spent in preparation of whatever whim, size and expense of greenery I would decide to plant. And plant I did. Still, at this point, there are very few trees. An East Palatka holly, which will at some point have bunches of red berries that will attract a flock of birds at whatever harvest time they choose, and a non-baring fruit fig are the only trees have been introduced to the property.
The bluebells are abundant with their trumpets of purple-hewed flowers. The cannas have been quick-rooters with a continuous bloom of colors fulfilling my expectations of pleasant views.
The front of the house has a well-maintained rock garden. The roadside has a wide swath of cleared sand with a number of arborvitae and, here I go again, plants whose names I don’t remember. There’s also an open pit close to the sidewalk that was carefully bordered with “decorative” cement castings. At some point I will find the right kind of tree acceptable to my standards of shade. It’s right next to a sprinkler head, positioned perfectly for an ever-flowing fountain – no way, my friend; water is more precious to the ground than wasteful evaporation.
With slight patience I await the time when these vines and plants have my expectations of adornment. While I was gone for three weeks, they were left with the harsh weather conditions of drought, still alive but looking as though they were on their last root of survival. This was not good but the lack of moisture and the heat of days also kept weeds from proliferating the clearings.
Eventually is an often-used word of future goals and particularly applies to the growth of vegetation.
What? Maybe two years from now the vines will along the back fence will meld together with the lush of green and colorful flowers? Maybe the same time period for the bushes to flourish and fill in the garden where it now appears to be sparse and too barren?
What? Maybe two years until the housing market regains a sensible, realistic market-driven growth period. Maybe two years until I can conceivably consider my options to move out of Spring Hill, out of Hernando County and out of Florida. As a friend had gifted me with a black and white, simply framed caricature of people leisurely basking in the yellow sun of a California day with words that proclaimed “Another day in paradise”, so I may depart this State Down-under. A poorly-governed State, a County with little insight of futures past, workforces dependent on simpletons, an elderly haven no longer within the means of retirees, a region sure to be plummeted with increasingly destructive hurricanes, and what is becoming a land meant for those with fortunes: causes for concern for my security and happiness in these waning years on this planet Earth, hopefully long before I’m running on empty.
So, there’s plenty of time to tidy the house. Minor settlement cracks to fill and hide. A bit of touch up paint here and there – “there” being primary along the baseboards where dust collects, where it’s not easily de-clustered, where a few brush strokes will cover what would turn a white glove with shades of gray.
Two years for my fortune cookie to come to reality, when I “will be at the height of your career”. Two years? I don’t know what that career might be; it has to be something more than working for phone companies for half my life, leaving me with a pension at a quarter of my ending pay. The company-contributed 401(k) was the best route to achieving a minimum degree of financial security (if there ever will be). And yet, as hard as I tried, others in my same age bracket couldn’t be prompted to use common sense. Paycheck deduction makes you budget what’s in hand.
Two years for another recent fortune cookie to fulfill it’s claim that “An alien of some sort will be appearing to you shortly!” Oh, really? If it’s the illegal type then it’s the sort that won’t speak English. Or maybe the Lotto will supply me with funds that are alien to my pocketbook. I might have a better chance that E.T. will sweep me from this slowly polluting, quickly heating planet and take me to heights and sights as I have never seen before!
Friday, October 24, 2008
What Planet Do They Live On?
A St. Petersburg Times/Bay News 9 poll taken on October 20 thru 22 of 800 local voters showed some very conflicting attitudes to the reality of these economic times. The poll also gave statistics on voter preference and expectations of the next President of the United States, but those numbers were of little surprise.
Do 42% of those polled truly believe their “personal economic situation to be better over the next year”? Do another 39% have faith in their belief that they expect their status “stay the same”? It’s the 12% who “expect it to get worse” that have a better grip on current, and the foreseeable future, financial trends.
That leaves yet another 7% who don’t care, aren’t legally registered voters or on their way out of State.
Those positive-thinking 336 might be the financially secure who can easily afford the rising costs of healthcare, the next round of increasing energy costs and haven’t bothered to check their 401k accounts. I assume their investments in homeownership still provide an upward-moving equitable balance sheet. Perhaps they expect a personal bailout?
They certainly aren’t retirees living on Social Security and Medicare benefits. They most definitely have no fear that they will be among the next 7%, or more, of unemployed Floridians.
Do 42% of those polled truly believe their “personal economic situation to be better over the next year”? Do another 39% have faith in their belief that they expect their status “stay the same”? It’s the 12% who “expect it to get worse” that have a better grip on current, and the foreseeable future, financial trends.
That leaves yet another 7% who don’t care, aren’t legally registered voters or on their way out of State.
Those positive-thinking 336 might be the financially secure who can easily afford the rising costs of healthcare, the next round of increasing energy costs and haven’t bothered to check their 401k accounts. I assume their investments in homeownership still provide an upward-moving equitable balance sheet. Perhaps they expect a personal bailout?
They certainly aren’t retirees living on Social Security and Medicare benefits. They most definitely have no fear that they will be among the next 7%, or more, of unemployed Floridians.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Gas in the Tank, Money in the Bank
Heading to South Dakota gave some unreality checks on the price of gasoline. As the price was at about $3.80/gallon a month ago locally when I arrived in Rapid City the price was about $3.20! What a deal! But wait… that was for Regular unleaded grade (85 octane) but Super unleaded (87 octane) was 5-cents cheaper. Premium was a dime higher than regular. Cashiers inside the quickie-marts weren’t able to explain the pricing.
At the time I left South Dakota, Super was selling at $2.99.
There is still a large difference in each of the state’s gas rates. With the assistance of Google, checking those rates, those sales tax rates are 4% in SD and 6% in FL. Gas taxes are $.24 and $.33, respectively. Niether has a state income tax.
Currently those conflicting rates are $3.08 compared to $2.91.
Regardless the reasons for such a discrepancy of prices, the money saved stays in the bank.
At the time I left South Dakota, Super was selling at $2.99.
There is still a large difference in each of the state’s gas rates. With the assistance of Google, checking those rates, those sales tax rates are 4% in SD and 6% in FL. Gas taxes are $.24 and $.33, respectively. Niether has a state income tax.
Currently those conflicting rates are $3.08 compared to $2.91.
Regardless the reasons for such a discrepancy of prices, the money saved stays in the bank.
Other Currently Maintained Blogs
Hernando Hews '08
{The Looks and Outlooks of a Community}
www.hernandohews08.blogspot.com
Florida Menagerie 08
{The State Down Under}
www.ronraeblog.blogspot.com
Parcel Post '08
{Comments to Entice}
www.parcelpost08.blogspot.com
{The Looks and Outlooks of a Community}
www.hernandohews08.blogspot.com
Florida Menagerie 08
{The State Down Under}
www.ronraeblog.blogspot.com
Parcel Post '08
{Comments to Entice}
www.parcelpost08.blogspot.com
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Mike and His Mechanics
Just beyond the border of Mississippi and the final stretch along I-12 toward I-55 there’s a little town of Hammond, Louisiana. From what I could tell, it’s not much of place of action but it was at that point in the trip that a long than wanted stop found the first full day of driving seeking some assistance with the car because the engine light had displayed on the dashboard. The Camry was running and riding fine but the need was still there to find out what might affect the journey to the north.
I quickly found a local auto supply store whose attendant routed me to an AutoZone where they were able to do a diagnostic check. Almost in the snap of a finger, the woman identified the problem to be the “oxygen sensor before the catalytic converter”. I quickly made a silent inquiry to myself as to whether there may other oxygen sensors branching from the converter – maybe after, under, over? Of course, I had no idea so the question was never verbalized. It was a silly thought and a pointless idea but it momentarily distracted my attention from the immediate problem.
The lady was pleasant enough but her insistence that it be checked out further by a qualified mechanic to avoid other problems (such as poor gas mileage) gave a bit more concern as to where I could take the car since it was a Sunday afternoon. A Toyota dealership had been seen on the way about town but it wasn’t open for business and I began to wonder if the night was about to be spent where I didn’t want to dawdle. She suggested K-Mart automotive could handle the job. Wrong.
Hammond, LA, is quite small - about 18,000 people according to Rand McNally but the directions seemed vague and confusing. I couldn’t believe it but I ended up on a highway that took me to another highway, taking me around in circles because their were three different exits. Exasperated and a little touchy, I got back on a surface road and lo and behold! a local police car was idling in a parking lot. How joyful I was and much relieved that he was very friendly, probably noting a bit of "I don't know where I am" facial expression; the officer pointed me in the right direction, one turn and just a couple streets away.
Of course, K-Mart auto strictly does tired so there I was listening to my traveling companion, the owner of the Camry, going through another bout of panic.
Not to worry. Although I didn’t have the business card with me, and knowing his place of business would be closed on Sunday, I thought of Mike at ToyoDoc in my hometown just a short distance across from the St. Petersburg/Hernando Times building. But I quickly thought of his last name, O’Connor. A directory listing from 4-1-1 and a quick dial to his home number availed me the opportunity to leave a message with a simple summary of what I had been told at AutoZone.
By the end of the day, when the Boost Phone voicemail was retrieved, Mike said don’t worry about it, that the gas mileage might be affected but definitely nothing to be concerned about. He’d check it when we were back in town. It’s scheduled for an appointment this coming Thursday. What a relief it is to have such an excellent Doc to handle maintenance and repair servicing with an expertise that fixes what needs to be done rather than any other auto place that would most likely soak the wallet.
Mike and his mechanics are just shy of being saviors for all my automotive needs. Since moving from Chambord St to his recent location on Cortez Blvd some time ago he answered my inquiry as to how business was going. I thought with the economic situation things might be shy of business goals. Not so. He explained that, because word of mouth is the best means of advertising, he has no need to drum up business from any other source.
The motto of ToyoDoc: Proverbs 22... A good name is more desirable that great riches.
I say, great riches to the honest man.
A sincere thanks to Mike and his mechanics.
UPDATE
ToyoDoc quickly identified the problem as the catalytic converter, which is under factory warranty for 8 years/80,000 miles. Fortunately, there's no cost. Unfortunately, the Camry has to be taken to a Toyota dealership.
I quickly found a local auto supply store whose attendant routed me to an AutoZone where they were able to do a diagnostic check. Almost in the snap of a finger, the woman identified the problem to be the “oxygen sensor before the catalytic converter”. I quickly made a silent inquiry to myself as to whether there may other oxygen sensors branching from the converter – maybe after, under, over? Of course, I had no idea so the question was never verbalized. It was a silly thought and a pointless idea but it momentarily distracted my attention from the immediate problem.
The lady was pleasant enough but her insistence that it be checked out further by a qualified mechanic to avoid other problems (such as poor gas mileage) gave a bit more concern as to where I could take the car since it was a Sunday afternoon. A Toyota dealership had been seen on the way about town but it wasn’t open for business and I began to wonder if the night was about to be spent where I didn’t want to dawdle. She suggested K-Mart automotive could handle the job. Wrong.
Hammond, LA, is quite small - about 18,000 people according to Rand McNally but the directions seemed vague and confusing. I couldn’t believe it but I ended up on a highway that took me to another highway, taking me around in circles because their were three different exits. Exasperated and a little touchy, I got back on a surface road and lo and behold! a local police car was idling in a parking lot. How joyful I was and much relieved that he was very friendly, probably noting a bit of "I don't know where I am" facial expression; the officer pointed me in the right direction, one turn and just a couple streets away.
Of course, K-Mart auto strictly does tired so there I was listening to my traveling companion, the owner of the Camry, going through another bout of panic.
Not to worry. Although I didn’t have the business card with me, and knowing his place of business would be closed on Sunday, I thought of Mike at ToyoDoc in my hometown just a short distance across from the St. Petersburg/Hernando Times building. But I quickly thought of his last name, O’Connor. A directory listing from 4-1-1 and a quick dial to his home number availed me the opportunity to leave a message with a simple summary of what I had been told at AutoZone.
By the end of the day, when the Boost Phone voicemail was retrieved, Mike said don’t worry about it, that the gas mileage might be affected but definitely nothing to be concerned about. He’d check it when we were back in town. It’s scheduled for an appointment this coming Thursday. What a relief it is to have such an excellent Doc to handle maintenance and repair servicing with an expertise that fixes what needs to be done rather than any other auto place that would most likely soak the wallet.
Mike and his mechanics are just shy of being saviors for all my automotive needs. Since moving from Chambord St to his recent location on Cortez Blvd some time ago he answered my inquiry as to how business was going. I thought with the economic situation things might be shy of business goals. Not so. He explained that, because word of mouth is the best means of advertising, he has no need to drum up business from any other source.
The motto of ToyoDoc: Proverbs 22... A good name is more desirable that great riches.
I say, great riches to the honest man.
A sincere thanks to Mike and his mechanics.
UPDATE
ToyoDoc quickly identified the problem as the catalytic converter, which is under factory warranty for 8 years/80,000 miles. Fortunately, there's no cost. Unfortunately, the Camry has to be taken to a Toyota dealership.
LoveBugs Leave My Car Alone
I can’t really say that the trip to South Dakota started out poorly but after driving through first night and stopping the next evening the splatters on the windshield and front bumper had made a pretty good mess on the car.
What surprised me about the beginning of the journey was that, after traveling safely through the Florida panhandle by way of SR 19 then I-10 and a little stretch on I-12 to avoid New Orleans, the short distance through Mississippi and proceeding through a good portion of Louisiana along the northbound lanes on I-55 brought the sight of LoveBug splotches of gray, black and red colors decorated the Color Guard coating over the paint of the ’03 Camry, including the review mirrors.
The season of LoveBugs in Florida had minimal affect from the damaging acidity of those pesky little buggers. Previous years had plastered the porch and window screens of my home, even squeezing their pliable bodies through the tiniest openings and flying inside when outside doors were opened. Naivety made me fail to question the feasibility that through the past three decades their unnatural terrains well exceed the confines of Florida.
It wasn’t until after a few days of arriving in Rapid City that time was spent removing their remains from the car. Mild scrubbing before hand gave the touch-free automated car wash an easier job of the rest. Without rainfall locally, lovebugs were denied their basis of multiplying and 2008 gave us a respite.
Fortunately, the trip back to Hernando County was totally void of LoveBugs and very few others.
What surprised me about the beginning of the journey was that, after traveling safely through the Florida panhandle by way of SR 19 then I-10 and a little stretch on I-12 to avoid New Orleans, the short distance through Mississippi and proceeding through a good portion of Louisiana along the northbound lanes on I-55 brought the sight of LoveBug splotches of gray, black and red colors decorated the Color Guard coating over the paint of the ’03 Camry, including the review mirrors.
The season of LoveBugs in Florida had minimal affect from the damaging acidity of those pesky little buggers. Previous years had plastered the porch and window screens of my home, even squeezing their pliable bodies through the tiniest openings and flying inside when outside doors were opened. Naivety made me fail to question the feasibility that through the past three decades their unnatural terrains well exceed the confines of Florida.
It wasn’t until after a few days of arriving in Rapid City that time was spent removing their remains from the car. Mild scrubbing before hand gave the touch-free automated car wash an easier job of the rest. Without rainfall locally, lovebugs were denied their basis of multiplying and 2008 gave us a respite.
Fortunately, the trip back to Hernando County was totally void of LoveBugs and very few others.
Falling Into Summer Vacation
The original departure date to leave from Spring Hill, FL, to Rapid City, SD, was marked as September 22, the first day of fall. After careful thought, a mere four days prior to that date, it changed. First it became a day earlier on Sunday. A day later the final decision had been made for the 20th.
The reason centered on the realization that if someone should ask “What did you do on your summer vacation?” I’d have to say it didn’t happen. So, although it was at the tail end of the season, the departure date had been changed to avoid a disclaimer explaining why it I had no summertime views of this land of natural wonders.
With a little stretch of the true facts, I can now say that I vacationed in the summer and the fall!
The reason centered on the realization that if someone should ask “What did you do on your summer vacation?” I’d have to say it didn’t happen. So, although it was at the tail end of the season, the departure date had been changed to avoid a disclaimer explaining why it I had no summertime views of this land of natural wonders.
With a little stretch of the true facts, I can now say that I vacationed in the summer and the fall!
Still Depooperating
What an exciting, relaxing visit to South Dakota has been. Two full weeks among the Black Hills and all the wonderful sights that invigorated my already love and appreciation of nature had to be left behind as the inevitable return to my home and cats (actually, not in that order!) crept up with reality.
All went pretty well on the trip to the northern plains of America. I suppose I was very fortunate to have found motels along the way that were very accommodating for periods of badly needed rest. Sleeping in comfortable quarters surely made the days’ driving of a few hundred miles kept my mind and body well prepared for the exciting weeks ahead.
But, oh, those three nights spent heading back to Florida wore me down far beyond the energy that kept my being ready for one adventure after another. It was a far cry from the nights spent in the cabin at the base of the Hills.
Body aches from not-to-comfortable beds and by the time I finally reached the final destination in my round trip visit, I returned to find myself too pooped to do much other than wait for the time when I would regain my energy level. And it hasn’t quite yet achieved that degree of energy needed to get the groove back to attend to household chores and yard maintenance.
Fortunately, the house was left in a near perfect condition and with two cats for a neighbor to care for and the grass grew very little with the typical shortage (none) of rainfall. Roy, the Good Samaritan who actually thanked ME for allowing HIM to feed, clean the litter box and enjoy their company, even mowed the yard shortly before I got back just to even it off!
I had left Roy with a moderately money-filled debit card as a token gesture of appreciation for the duties he gleefully accepted. The day before I got back he used a bag of cat food ($7.95 plus tax) to make sure there wouldn’t be an immediate need for me to rush to Wal-Mart to keep the little critters’ appetite fulfilled! When I handed the card back to him after he welcomed us back and returned the key that gave him access to the backyard, he claimed he wasn’t sure it was meant as compensation for his maintenance fees. And yet, he was well aware of my intention the card was his to use as he wished.
(Roy keeps a key to the house in his possession at all times, just in case there’s ever an emergency where his assistance is needed when I’m delayed or unable to be at home to tend to my own responsibilities. We have a great degree of trust between us.)
Part of my exhaustion comes from the days of return to Spring Hill but a good part of it can be attributed to those very cats, Elvis and Sassy, that I missed so very much. Elvis is fairly innocent in the matter but there’s a certain amount of belief that he may be the actual reason why Sassy is extremely persistent in making sure I get up at a specific hour for the morning feeding.
Most of the clothes have been returned to the closet and dresser drawers but the souvenirs and relished pieces of printed materials, including brochures, sales receipts and bits of notes I scribbled on pieces of paper, that will assist my memory sometime in the distant future are left for another day or week when I become completely depooperated.
All went pretty well on the trip to the northern plains of America. I suppose I was very fortunate to have found motels along the way that were very accommodating for periods of badly needed rest. Sleeping in comfortable quarters surely made the days’ driving of a few hundred miles kept my mind and body well prepared for the exciting weeks ahead.
But, oh, those three nights spent heading back to Florida wore me down far beyond the energy that kept my being ready for one adventure after another. It was a far cry from the nights spent in the cabin at the base of the Hills.
Body aches from not-to-comfortable beds and by the time I finally reached the final destination in my round trip visit, I returned to find myself too pooped to do much other than wait for the time when I would regain my energy level. And it hasn’t quite yet achieved that degree of energy needed to get the groove back to attend to household chores and yard maintenance.
Fortunately, the house was left in a near perfect condition and with two cats for a neighbor to care for and the grass grew very little with the typical shortage (none) of rainfall. Roy, the Good Samaritan who actually thanked ME for allowing HIM to feed, clean the litter box and enjoy their company, even mowed the yard shortly before I got back just to even it off!
I had left Roy with a moderately money-filled debit card as a token gesture of appreciation for the duties he gleefully accepted. The day before I got back he used a bag of cat food ($7.95 plus tax) to make sure there wouldn’t be an immediate need for me to rush to Wal-Mart to keep the little critters’ appetite fulfilled! When I handed the card back to him after he welcomed us back and returned the key that gave him access to the backyard, he claimed he wasn’t sure it was meant as compensation for his maintenance fees. And yet, he was well aware of my intention the card was his to use as he wished.
(Roy keeps a key to the house in his possession at all times, just in case there’s ever an emergency where his assistance is needed when I’m delayed or unable to be at home to tend to my own responsibilities. We have a great degree of trust between us.)
Part of my exhaustion comes from the days of return to Spring Hill but a good part of it can be attributed to those very cats, Elvis and Sassy, that I missed so very much. Elvis is fairly innocent in the matter but there’s a certain amount of belief that he may be the actual reason why Sassy is extremely persistent in making sure I get up at a specific hour for the morning feeding.
Most of the clothes have been returned to the closet and dresser drawers but the souvenirs and relished pieces of printed materials, including brochures, sales receipts and bits of notes I scribbled on pieces of paper, that will assist my memory sometime in the distant future are left for another day or week when I become completely depooperated.
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