Ignorance is Bliss (And Sometimes Fattening)

I was just laying inside Beagle, having driven from Prescott, Arizona back down to Palm Desert, California, in need of a bit of rest when one of my favorite sensations washed over me; a warm, gentle breeze blew through the screen door and across my body.  Other than being in love, I am not sure I enjoy a sensation more.  A summer breeze on November 24^th, just one of the reasons California is so crowded. 

Just when I thought laying there couldn’t get better, anticipation joined the party.  An often under-appreciated emotion, it is one of my favorites.  Now attune to what might happen, hearing the leaves rustle outside I anticipated the breeze encompassing my body; emotion and sensation tag teamed to create a few perfect minutes.  Will this pairing perform as well together in the upcoming week?

I have been spending a lot of time thinking about what I want in a home—where that home is as well as what that home is.  For Thanksgiving I rented a small house for three nights in Prescott—small, but large enough so that, on more than one occasion, the Noses and I all chose to be in separate rooms.  Apparently all of us needed a bit of a break.  Yesterday, in that little house, I opened the back door to let in a warm afternoon breeze and thought, “A home where I can have the doors open the majority of time is a must.”   I guess that is why I love Beagle—at least while parked in 72 degrees.

Yes, I was back in Prescott.  Over the last three weeks I have driven to Prescott from three different locations:  San Diego, Tubac, and most recently Palm Desert.  Driving on the same portion of highway at least four times--a portion I named Devil’s Highway mostly due to the hellish experience it provides for a driving devotee such as myself.  During this stretch, you turn your wheel maybe three times.  It is long and flat and often hot, allowing for many hours of heated contemplation.

Tired of the voice in my head, I decided to listen to a Sam Harris podcast—from his podcast series not the Waking Up course.   I have access to at least thirty of his podcasts via my phone and so, keeping one eye on the highway (for what I am not sure), I started swiping through my options.   If you aren’t familiar with Sam’s podcast, he covers a range of interests from politics and societal issues to physics and everything in between.  He usually interviews someone well known, highly intelligent and often provocative for the discussion.  (How I would love to qualify for an interview!)

So there I was, swiping away and thinking, “#metoo? Too much, Swipe!  Take that Sam!  Free will at work!  Universal Basic Income?  Not while the stock market is crashing.  Swipe!  Take that Sam, free will at work!”  again and again before settling on Transformations of the Mind.   To which Sam replied, “Yep, right where you are supposed to be.”

Whatever.

Turns out that this episode, an interview with Geoffrey Miller, a noted Evolutionary Psychologist, introduced me to polyamory.  As if I didn’t have enough to navigate with Bumble, Match, Cupid, Tumblr and Our Time (all of which I refuse to participate in, particularly Our Time which makes me want to vomit—who thought up that name?  Why not just go with Depends or Poise and get it over with?),  I learned that on many of these platforms you can identify yourself as polyamorous.  There are various types of polyamory, I will not go into it, you can listen to the podcast if you are so inclined.  I will say that its primary requirement is that everyone involved is aware and willing.  What I thought most interesting was Geoffrey’s comment near the end, the essence of which was, “You can think what you want about the idea but know that there is an entire generation identifying themselves this way.  They don’t believe in life long marriages either.  That should be noted.”

That definitely should be noted.  Personally, I think polyamory (with or without marriage) is a very intelligent way to get the most out of your one precious life.  Of course, pretty sure in order to be polyamorous you first need to be mono-amorous so I have a long way to go.  Don’t hold your breath.

And don’t fret, not everything in the last week was so heavy; I enjoyed two other life-enhancing experiences:  I paid for a wash at the laundromat with my cell phone; and, after flipping the car wash dial from Foaming Brush to Rinse, there was an option to use a Hand-Held Dryer which, incredibly, worked beautifully. 

Enjoy the break?  Good, back to heavy:  I also learned (via another Sam Harris podcast) that dairy cows only provide milk if they have given birth.  This is logical when you think about it—it is just like humans—but I have never thought about it.  Shortly after giving birth, the calf is taken away (often to live a short life on the way to becoming a veal chop) and both mother and offspring call out for each other for days.  The cow has to give birth once every year or so.

And just like that, I can no longer eat dairy.  Pretty soon I will be down to kale smoothies with avocado and almond milk.  Yes, I will give up milk, as well as its delightfully plump cousins Half & Half, ice cream, sour cream, yogurt, butter and cheese.  This will not be easy.   I might be the only person who does not like the “Made with Real Cheese!” sign on the box of Cheese Its.

For a few days now I will enjoy anticipating more than just warm afternoon breezes:  I am headed to Seattle for three nights (flying up, leaving the Noses at the Barkingham Pet Hotel California—a name with an identity crisis if ever there was one.)  I cannot wait to see my apartment, my friends and family, and how I will feel about my life up there. 

-K

PS:  I am undecided about giving up chocolate.  Apparently the bellows of a young calf only carry so far.

Joe Bonamassa

When was the last time you listened to an album?  The arrangement designed by the artist so you experience the tracks in a particular sequence.  Not shuffled by Pandora, but laid out specifically for your ears to hear in that order?

I am in Palm Desert, California, listening to Joe Bonamassa’s album, Live at Carnegie Hall, from start to finish just as he intended.  Nine months ago I didn’t know who Joe Bonamassa was but during our short history, we have traveled from Seattle to Nepal and, now, hundreds (thousands?  I am afraid to look) of miles in the awesome Wurzig/Beagle combination.

A friend introduced me to Joe and despite being new to me he has been playing a long, long time.  He opened for B.B. King when he was merely twelve years old.  A white guy with a massive, square jaw, incredibly cool shoes and eyes that are rarely seen.  My first experience of him was via YouTube, playing Last Kiss.  I immediately purchased three albums but my favorite is the acoustic Live at Carnegie Hall.

I first listened to the full album from my apartment in Seattle.  Sitting with a single malt, staring out my floor to ceiling windows at the Ferris wheel sparkling along the waterfront.  The album makes me dreamy.

I listened to it while lying within thin, scratchy sheets on a hard bed in Pokhura, Nepal at three in the morning.  Despite knowing all the words, I don’t sing along.

And I listened to it on the rare occasion of being a passenger in Wurzig.  Feet up on the dash, windows down, my favorite driving album ever. 

I listen to it tonight and wonder, is this how you start a new life?  You begin finding things that are just Kit and slowly, ever so fucking slowly, you piece together a new life?   

You gather experiences that create memories that become your new life.

Maybe. 

This is not as funny as the last post.

Speaking of experiences, my trip lately has felt way too much like living in a trailer versus exploring life while living in a trailer.  There is a difference:  It is most noticeable when visiting friends and family and wanting to dress reasonably well.  You know, in something that didn’t just get pulled out of a duffel bag from under your bed.

At some point in the last few weeks I got it in my head that I needed to find a house.  Upon further reflection, I think it is just a desire to be in a house at all—a sofa, a shower that doesn’t flood your toilet, clothes that hang. 

As usual, acknowledging the feeling has removed most of the drama.  It has also brought back the adventure.  But for two weeks I am here, well, Beagle will be here in Palm Desert, I’ll be driving back up to Prescott for Thanksgiving, then back down here, then flying to Seattle for a few nights.  The Beagle adventure will resume on December 2^nd.

Happy Thanksgiving my friends and family, I am thankful for you and to be alive.

-K

Conversations from Southern Arizona

(Picture taken in 2015 when Opus was six months old.)

If you haven’t gathered already, we didn’t really fit in down south.

#1:  The Dog Park, Part One

On our first trip to the dog park, Opus stole a ball from a Labradoodle and would not return it.  Personally, I think if you bring a toy to the dog park you should be willing to lose it, but that’s just me.  In any event, the owner of Ubiquitous (name changed to protect the innocent) was quite upset.  Opus, of course, relished being asked for the ball and thought the whole thing was the Best Game Ever.  Eventually I retrieved it and returned it to the owner.  She was not happy, telling me that Ubiquitous only plays with that one ball.

I took Opus and River to the Big Dog side of the park in search of owners who weren’t so small.

The second day we arrived at the dog park, I came prepared with a squeaky ball.  Ubiquitous was there and, when his owner saw us coming, she picked up his ball.  Opus was busy chasing his own ball for a few minutes so Ubiquitous’ owner decided to continue her game of fetch.

Opus stole Ubiquitous’ ball. 

The owner shuffled around after him.

Best Game Ever, Round Two. 

UB’s owner was extremely unhappy this time, she slowly stormed up to me and said:

               “Your dog stole Ubiquitous’ ball again and won’t give it back.”

               “Sorry about that, would you like Opus’ ball to play with for awhile?”

               “Ubiquitous will not play with any other ball.  He gets quite upset if he cannot have his ball.  And I have to leave.”

               “Well chasing Opus doesn’t work so here’s $5 for your ball.  When I get it back, I’ll leave it at the entrance so you can have your original ball as well.”

               “I don’t want your money, that is not the point.  That is Ubiquitous’ toy, not yours.”

Silence.  Not much else I can say or do at this point without being rude.  What I wanted to say was, “If you want to let your feelings about a dog toy determine how you experience life there is really nothing I can do.”

               “I’m just going to leave!  Ubiquitous!  Let’s go!  Oh, where are you Ubiquitous?  Ubiquitous!”

Ubiquitous was laying in the shade, next to Opus, they were happily chewing on each other’s toys.  (I grant you that "balls" would have been the funnier noun on which to end the sentence but I just couldn't do it.)

***

#2:  The Grocery Store

Walking to the check-out counter at the cramped but quaint Tubac Grocery, I heard,

               “Sir, I can help you over here.”

Then,

               “Oh, sorry Ma’am, I can help you over here Hon.”

Realizing she was speaking to me I replied,

               “I would rather you called me Sir.”

***

#3:  Time to Go

The day before my departure, I went to the front desk to return my laundry card.  I was happy to see the lady who had originally checked me in; she was fun, quick-witted and closer to my age than anyone for a few miles.  Maybe a few hundred miles.

               “Hello again, I am here to return the laundry card to you—there is some money left on it, enough for one load anyway.”

               “Well that’s very kind of you”, she began, then hesitated, took a breath, leaned back in her chair and continued, “I just have to ask…what are you doing here?”

I laughed—how could I not?  I had been wondering the same thing for a week.  

She continued, “You know, everyone here is talking about you, we are all wondering what you are doing here.”  She said this in a very kind and interested tone—but it was still funny as hell.

               “Well I am mostly here to see some friends but I was also checking out the area as a possible winter home.”

               “But you are leaving on Sunday, right?”

              

More laughter. 

               “Oh yes, I am leaving on Sunday.”

***

#4:  The Dog Park, Part Two

On my way out of town Sunday, I stopped by the dog park to let the Noses have a good run before our long day in the car.  Ubiquitous’ owner saw us coming and picked up his toy.  Unfortunately, there was another Labradoodle, let’s call him Ubiquitous II, with the same intriguing ball.

Within five minutes Opus had UB2’s ball and three people chasing him around trying to get it back.  Best Game Ever, Round Three.   I told them chasing doesn’t work but they ignored me.  At this point, I just decided to let it all play out.   Plus it was cute the way Opus would get down on his front legs, his butt in the air, tail wagging furiously as people, their brows knitted furiously, tried to bend over and grab the ball. 

Eventually the owner of UB2 came up to me.

               “You know, we really have to leave and your dog won’t give UB2 back his ball.”

               “I am sorry about that, here’s $5 for your ball, when I get it back I’ll leave it at the entrance so you can have the original back tomorrow.”  A sentence that just never gets old.

               “It’s not about the money, it just that UB2 won’t understand if he has to leave without his ball.  He’ll be depressed.”

               “He seems interested in Opus’ ball, you are welcome to take that with you.”

               “That just won’t work.  I am telling you he will not understand having to leave without his ball.”

Frankly, at this point I wanted to leave as well so I decided to go play with Opus until he gave me UB2’s ball.  I ran down the side of the park, Opus quickly followed in his joyful lope, we played a bit of tag, I asked him to give up the toy and he dropped it.  I picked it up, walked with it and Opus’ ball to the exit where UB2’s owners were waiting.

               “Oh thank you!” as I turned over their ball.

               “You are welcome.”  I moved away from the gate so they could take UB2, who was sure to be bursting with happiness and understanding, home. 

Except that UB2 followed me:  He would not go with his owners and his precious ball. 

UB2 wanted Opus’ ball.

Eventually his owners came over, grabbed his collar and pulled him to the exit.  I have to admit, I did laugh at that point.

***

As we climbed into Wurzig, River quickly falling asleep in her bed and Opus staring up at me from the floorboard of the passenger seat with a look that said, “Admit it, you liked that as much as I did”, I said, “Well Noses, we came, we saw, we rocked their world.”

And then people for miles around were happy to see us exit the parking area towing a travel trailer.  Maybe a few hundred miles.

-K

Things That Strike Back

The Noses and I are pretending that it is raining outside.  We are enclosed within Beagle at 10:45 AM, having done our four mile morning walk (everyone), bit of a race around the off-leash area here in the RV Park (Opus) and second cup of coffee in the sun (me.)  Now we all need a break from this unrelenting sunshine.  (Apologies to my readers in Seattle.)  Beagle is amazingly accommodating; with the shades down, windows open and the ceiling fan keeping the air circulating, it is only about 70 degrees in here, I don’t even need the A/C…yet.

This trip has taught me that wherever I land, my first instinct is to run away.  Landing here was no different.  If it hadn’t been for seeing my wonderful friends, I would have high-tailed it out of here the day after my arrival.   Looking back on my life, I see this desire to flee strikes me often—and is usually heeded—but when I cannot (like here or like my solo trip to St. Kitts shortly after Alan’s death when I spent the first morning in a failed attempt to fly back to Colorado) it is usually for a good reason.  As with St. Kitt’s so it is with Amado, Arizona, but that is where the similarities end.

After discovering my delightful table, which is now officially named 501 and meticulously stored in Wurzig’s passenger seat when not in use (a damn good thing I am alone on this trip—“sorry travel partner, you have to leave now, I have a cocktail table”) I figured there were more rewards to be discovered.

As planned, I took the Noses on “the one hike I could find”—a snarky comment from my last post.  I had asked AllTrails for a hike of at least five miles that allowed dogs and it came back with only one:  Old Baldy Trail in Madera Canyon. 

To my joy, the directions pulled us to the East and into the hills I am accustomed to enjoying from a distance on my morning walks.  Set in Madera Canyon, the Mount Wrightson Wilderness Area is a delight of interlinking trails, many offering precious shade before climbing to the crest of the hills.  (It is difficult to call these mountains after being in the Sierra Nevada.)   Being prepared for only a five mile hike, I didn’t bring along my morning coffee or lunch.  (Alltrails failed to mention that this trail links to about ten others.)  With no water flowing in the creeks, I had to share my water with the Noses, so despite a strong desire to continue on another trail once we reached the top, I made myself come back down the way we came.  Better the trail you know when out of food and water.

Which made me wonder, on the way down the hill, if I believe so strongly that everything happens for a reason, that life turns on a dime and bad things don’t happen to me, why am I not always prepared for life turning to my advantage?  Why not pack a PB&J?  You know, just in case?

I was alternating this thought with the fact that Opus hasn’t killed anything in two months when, right on cue, Opus lunged forward, striking out at a snake.  (Being in the land of coyotes, javelinas, deer and snakes the Noses were on leash.)

The snake struck back before quickly coiling, leaving his fangs on display.  Opus’ fangs were also on display as were my vocal cords as an involuntary scream leapt from my throat.  We backed up—much to Opus’ dismay.  The picture above has the snake in it although you have to zoom to see it.

I could not tell if it was a rattlesnake, it wasn’t shaking its tail.  But it was aggressive.  Growing up in Southern California, I have seen plenty of snakes.  And even rattlers would rather move away than engage.   Not this snake—he wanted to engage as much as Opus. 

So I waited.  He did not move although he eventually, thankfully, closed his mouth.  After a few minutes I began tossing small rocks in his direction trying to entice him to one side of the trail or the other.  He was oblivious until one rolled into him at which point the fangs came back out.  Definitely not the reaction I wanted.  I remembered that snakes can jump and move quickly when they want—it was time to stop pissing him off.

After about ten minutes a man came up the trail.  I cautioned him about the snake and, when he saw the serpent only a few feet away, involuntarily jumped back.  I didn’t feel like such a wimp.

He looked closely at it and agreed it wasn’t a rattler but didn’t know what else it might be.  He found a long stick and began scratching the dirt beside the snake.  Apparently this was an enticement the snake could respect as he began to move off to the side.  The stick scratching continued until the snake was well off the trail.

I thanked the man and dragged Opus and River away—both were intent on getting the snake, lunging for the point where he disappeared over the side.

I am still wondering whether I will do another hike.  If so, I will be more prepared for the unknown delights that life might bring.

Speaking of delights, Saturday night, following a day of golf and what is sure to be a fantastic dinner at the Tubac Golf & Spa Resort (celebrating my friend’s birthday), I have booked the Noses and I into one of their fancy rooms.  This is mostly due to the fact that there will be a lot of drinking and there is an immigration check point on the highway between Tubac and my RV park.  Every time I pass through I want to lower my window and ask, “Am I white enough for you?”  But I am fearful of what might strike back.  A small portion of my soul crumbles each time I pass without comment.

So I will leave you all with the question du jour:  How many long, hot baths can Kit take in the course of eighteen hours?

I am sure they will have big, fluffy white robes too.  I might need two nights.

-K

PS:  If you would like more information on the Sam Harris Waking Up Course, his visit to the Tim Ferriss Show is an excellent introduction to Sam and the course.  Buckle up.

Waiting for the Shade

What I have learned so far:

1)      There is a narrow range of temperature ideal for living in Beagle;

2)      There are two unexpected pleasures about being in an RV park full of retired people in their giant fifth-wheels;

3)      I should be more careful with my wishes; and,

4)      Sometimes you have to make your own fun.

I am sitting outside Beagle, it is 78 and the sun is pouring down, it is only 11 AM, the temperature today will be mid-80’s as it has been for a few days.  I live for 2 PM when the shade from the tree at the back of my pitch begins to cover Beagle and the shadow from my neighbor’s giant fifth-wheel provides twenty feet of shade.  In the meantime, I don’t bother taking a morning shower.  

Despite the abundance of golf and tennis near me, I have not played either.  Apparently, for all of the tennis and most of the golf, you have to be a member of the various developments—I am not even old enough to buy into most of them.  Being quite a bit younger than most, this is the first place I garner more attention than Beagle; I am like a spring chicken around here—often scowled at by the ladies and chatted up by the men.  I think everyone should just count their blessings that I manage to keep on a semblance of clothing during this heat.

The RV park has a dog wash—a first for me—and it is delightful.  On our first day here, right when the sun was the hottest, I took the Noses over and gave them a cool bath.  The tub is outside and I contemplated running the shower nozzle over my head as I stood there but decided too many of the people around might flash back to Flash Dance. 

At one point during my time in Prescott, I wished I had more time to write.  So here I am with my wish granted.  No tennis, not any golf yet, and probably too hot for River to do the one hike I could find in the area, although I will try that tomorrow. 

I have been entertaining myself with people:    The usual Beagle Bottleneck began immediately; people walking around the RV park (they do this—they just walk in circles, never venturing outside the park despite the lovely road just around the corner with shade trees and long views across to the mountains—pictured above) slowing as they come to my pitch.  (It should be noted that the Beagle Bottleneck has an entirely different meaning at 5:01 PM.)  Yesterday a man walked up as I was enjoying my coffee outside. 

We chatted, as one does, both of us surprised that we appeared to be the same age.  He and his wife are from Vancouver although he had a thick accent which I pegged for middle-eastern despite his rather pale appearance.  Of course he loved Beagle and asked some good questions; they are thinking of getting out of their Sprinter Van.  As usual the conversation turned to “what brings you down here”, “how long are you staying”, etc.  I still have trouble with these questions, it seems the only thing I can answer is, “My husband died a year ago and I am still putting my life together.” 

This is usually a conversation killer; most people do not know how to respond other than, “I’m sorry.”  But this gentleman looked me in the eye and said, “You have a strong, beautiful soul, you are doing very well.”  My eyes filled with tears for the first time that day.

I had yet to discover the town of Tubac so I loaded the Noses into Beagle, turned on the A/C and left for two hours.  There was an Arts & Crafts Show in town and, although that is not my thing, I thought it a perfect excuse to see what there is to see.

And as far as I could see, Tubac is a town built solely for the purpose of decorating the surrounding homes and feeding those occupants as they shop. 

Much to my surprise, I enjoyed the Arts Fair, particularly after making my first purchase, a Sea Grass hat (crushable as is a requirement for all clothing in Beagle.)  The art was often quite unique; Wheat Weavings, Mosaics with gorgeous stones and tiles, and, my favorite, WeirWud Worx where they make beautiful wooden table tops inlaid with turquoise.

Despite the fact that the tables were all too large for me, I couldn’t help but walk into their booth.  Once there, the father/son duo educated me on the various types of wood and, seeing my eye constantly drawn to a particular burled piece made into a small Lazy Susan, mentioned that they can custom make anything.  “We can even turn this Lazy Susan into a side table.”  The deal was done.  (A picture of the table is in the Beagle Photo Album.)

Yep, I only have twenty or so possessions in the Beagle, and now one of them is a stunningly beautiful, small side table.  Decidedly uncrushable. I have a simple rule for possessions in the Beagle:  They cannot be a single purpose item, even the corkscrew can open a bottle of beer.  This table does two things:  It brings me joy every time I look at it and holds my coffee or gin.  I might name it 501.

I told the father/son duo about living in Beagle right now and of my few possessions in general, saying, “This is huge for me”, as tears filled my eyes for the second time that day.  The son, the artist, looked me in the eye and said, “That is so cool."  Later, back at Beagle, I wrote him an email thanking him for using part of his life to enhance the world around us.

Arriving back at Beagle during the hottest time of the day I quickly became grumpy.  Then the Seahawks lost and I was even more grumpy.  I decided that I was in no mood to argue with Sam about Free Will but would rather be entertained by Ira Glass and turned on Episode #528 of This American Life, “The Radio Drama,Part 5.”

Having met Ira a couple of years ago, it is a delight to listen to his voice knowing the smile reflected in his tone is also aglow in his eyes.  It turns out that this particular episode was recorded on a stage and you can watch the performances on video.  I chose to stick to audio only.  I listened to the entire broadcast—an unusually long one due to the live audience and staging—laughed, cried and laughed some more.  If you only have thirty minutes, listen to the first part; it is about a woman who, in an attempt to make an audio recording free of disturbances, accidentally locks herself into her hotel closet.  It is priceless.  Be sure to listen through the point where they make an opera of it.   Listening to that and eating an entire (yep) box of Kraft Mac & Cheese, improved my mood immensely.

And so my wish was granted, I have all kinds of time to write between mopping the sweat from my forehead and lower back.  To give you an idea, it is so hot that Opus has opted to go back inside Beagle; leaving River and I alone outside.  Truth be told, I think the bugs bug the Bug more than the heat, reminding me that you often hate most in others what you refuse to see in yourself.  He’s a bug, but a sweet bug.

Finally, I woke this morning knowing that if I had been at home I would have quickly walked the dogs and then returned to bed with a hot water bottle.  Feminine issues—half of you know of what I speak (and in all likelihood got there already with the tears and Mac & Cheese) the other half only think you know.  But I loaded the Noses into the car and drove ten miles to the dog park where they raced around in the cool early morning air.  Then it was my turn:  To my utter joy, I pulled up behind a 911 Turbo at, oh hallelujah, the on-ramp of the highway. 

It took me a bit of teasing but I managed to get him to race.  When both lanes of the freeway opened up, so did we.  An obvious gentleman, he let me get to 120 before he flew by, his hand a white blur as it waved out of his sunroof.

Sometimes you have to find your own fun.

-K

Connecting the Dots

Last summer, I was enjoying a glass of wine with a friend while she entertained me with stories of the many interesting projects she has pulled together over the years.  She is one of those people who talks to everyone and ends up bringing people together at just the right time to accomplish amazing things (like teaching girls who have been rescued from the sex trade how to sew—see?  Not your everyday projects.)  Marveling at how she pulls it all together, I asked her,

               “How do you do it?”

               “I just connect the dots.”

               “Damn, I need to get myself some dots.”

We shared a good laugh; as with most humorous statements, it was mostly funny because it was true.

***

Right now I am sitting in the DeAnza RV Resort in Amado, Arizona, just north of Tubac, my first night here; I am tired after towing down from Prescott.   Once you leave Prescott, it is an ugly drive to be sure, until you get south of Tucson where you find mesas filled with low trees and tall bushes drawing your eye across to the mountains in the distance.  It is surprisingly beautiful.

My pitch is lovely, I have a gorgeous view of said mountains and, being the small rig among the giant bus-like RV’s, ample room in my pebble filled area.  I am looking forward to meeting up with some dear friends and spending some time discovering this area.  If my friends like it, I am sure to like it as well; over the last five years, we have managed to live as neighbors in two different states.

Let me connect a few dots here:  I last wrote from San Diego where my sole purpose was to visit friends and family and for that, it was priceless.  But I could not wait to hitch up and drive away from the chain linked nightmare that is the Mission Bay RV Park.  I hit the road as early as a dog walk, tank clean-out and hitch up would allow and headed toward Prescott, Arizona.

I have been to Prescott numerous times over the years as my parents have lived there for, I think, over 20 years now.  I have driven up from Laguna and Phoenix but never from San Diego.  So I headed out I-8 East, anticipating the dry and desolate landscape I was sure to see after leaving the water’s edge.

But, as with so many things on this trip, I was completely surprised.  Driving east from San Diego, the hills began to pop up and they look just like the hills that surrounded me in Ramona while growing up.  The same sage- and low brush- filled slopes with rocks that jut out every which way.  And soft looking rocks, light in color and mild in shape.  But some quite large:  Boulders.  I was taken back to my (what I call) formative years, sixth through twelfth grade, when I would walk along the many trails from our house, usually dog in tow, climb the hills and sit on the giant rocks.  They are such fond memories.  I guess I should not be surprised at my affinity for hiking.

Of course, I flashed back to that memory I alluded to in the prior post.  It was such an innocent time in my life; the most innocent love I have experienced.  As life would have it, Modern English’s “I’ll Stop the World” came on my playlist—it was “our” song.  (Just to give you an idea of the randomness of this, I have over 300 songs on my playlist and it is set to shuffle.  I have not heard this song in months.)   I love life when it turns like that.

Unfortunately, the rest of the drive was horrendous.  Long, hot, boring.  I arrived in Prescott with the intention of having dinner with my parents but I was too stressed out.  Eight hours on the road and the last half hour is twists and turns so sharp I was down to 25 mph.  That’s what it takes to get back into the mountains.  I begged off seeing my folks and instead downloaded the new Sam Harris Waking Up App (finally available on Android!) and began the course.   Sam is a neuro-scientist whose main philosophy (and the subtitle of his book, Waking Up) is “spirituality without religion.”  I thought we were soul mates.  I could not wait to begin the course.

You can do the lessons in any order, so I swiped through a couple before seeing, “Free Will”.  Yes!  This was for me!  I love free will, I live for free will, I would rather die than not have free will. 

Sam does not believe in free will.

I will leave it to you if you want to investigate this more.  I will say this, he has a good argument but I am a long way from taking that side.  This is great though, this is just what I wanted out of this trip:  tests; new ideas; and maybe a dot or two.

My four days in Prescott flew by:  I discovered a friendly and competitive tennis group who quickly adopted me for their Tuesday/Thursday Cardio Tennis hour and took a ninety minute private lesson on Wednesday from the Pro.  Wow, did that feel good!  Other than two days hitting against a backboard in Bishop I have not played since leaving Seattle and I missed it terribly.  I was sore and relished that feeling. 

My campground in Prescott, the Point of Rocks RV Park, was nestled near Watson Lake, up on a hill with trees and boulders to maneuver through.  Ideal.  (No sarcasm, it was ideal.)  I could take the dogs right from my pitch and hike trails for as long as I wanted.  The first morning I hiked over to Watson Lake (the photo above) and, when the trail became nothing but rocks, I noticed a sign that said, “Follow the dots”, looked down, saw white dots here and there along the way and thought, "I have dots!".    

Opus’ favorite route, however, was the six mile round trip to the off leash dog park where he ran so fast through all the people and dogs that one man put his hands on his hips like a super hero, puffed out his chest and said, “Mighty Dog!  The fastest dog on earth!”  I love finding funny people, people who are not afraid to be who they are wherever they are.

“Nirvana for now” is what I texted a friend of mine.  And it was nirvana for four days.  I even took over my Mom’s kitchen and roasted a (free range, organic) chicken and vegetables for dinner one night—a treat since Beagle does not have an oven.

I enjoyed my time there so much, and the tennis folks were so welcoming, that I exercised free will (yes!) and changed up my plan a bit.  I will be here in the Tubac area for about a week before returning to Prescott for a week on my way to Palm Desert.  

No rest for the experience seekers.

-K