Finding Goldsworthy

Now that the year is winding down, I'm trying to post entries I should have written earlier in the year. Here's one that should have been posted in June:

Whilst the family was off exploring the Scottish coast and researching our family roots, I had the day to myself to enjoy the countryside. I stuffed a pork pie in my daypack and with the brochure "Walking in and around Thornhill" in hand, I headed out on the road. I figured out I could connect the 3 mile Nith Bridge Riverside Walk (Nith Bridge at left) outside of Thornhill, Dumfries and Galloway, Scotland; to the 3.5 mile Penpont to Keir Mill walk with a mile or two in between, and then a brisk walk back to the Trigony House Hotel.


It was a lovely day.

And then, on the road connecting the walks, I saw this far off in a field:






A rock cairn.




Then the town of Penpont.


















And then onto my second walk, but as I trekked by the riverside, I could not shake the image of the cairn set alone on the hillside, in full view of the road, without a mention in my brochure.

















The cairn seemed too modern to be one of the ancient memorials found elsewhere in the country. It was perfectly placed, deliberately placed, gracefully, sensitively set on the hill. On my way back, I stopped quite a long time to have a better look.











It was solid, beautiful, and it continued to be in my thoughts throughout the trip. Yet it wasn't until I returned home when I realized what it was, the work of Andy Goldsworthy, and an artist whose work I'd admired for some time. And a long-time resident of Penpont, a local. It was a happy realization to find something so deliberately made could hold its own amongst all that gentle beauty.

The act of placing stone on stone, or Goldsworthy's other work connecting ice to ice, stick to stick, frond to frond appeals to me. It is meditative, instinctual, and calculated, just as the process of placing stitch next to stitch.

For a look at Goldsworthy's work, click here.

One of the advantages to hiring Paul and Pauline, our guides at Homemade-Holidays, is the ability to take personal days away from the family. To read more about their services--and I highly recommend them--take a look at: www.homemade-holidays.com

A Year of Running

As the year winds down, I'm remembering all the great places I got to see because I laced on my shoes in the morning. Mind you, it was tough getting out of bed some mornings, but because I did I got to run:

• through an organic pea field, then an early 1700s graveyard, then straight through a Scottish farm,
• in full view of the stormy Gulf Coast at Corpus Christi...it was too windy to run outside, so I did this from a treadmill at the hotel's fitness center,
• on a trail in Tucson, past towering saguaro cacti,
• between Fort Davis State Park and Fort Davis National Historic Site,
• around Memorial Park in Houston (with so many great dogs running with their human friends) and then downtown and back,
• through the beautiful arts campus at the University of Iowa before it was damaged by flood,
• around my old grade schools in Bloomington,
• across the UT campus and the state capital grounds in Austin, then down by Town Lake and the Stevie Ray Vaughn statue,
• on the road leading into the old Corn Ranch where I was dogsitting,
• countless hotel fitness center treadmills across the state,
• through downtown Dahlongega, Georgia,
• on the taxiway of the Fredericksburg airport, next to my hotel, The Hangar,
• through Gatlinburg, Tennesee and down the Sugarlands Trail in Great Smoky Mountains National Park.
• and of course, my beloved Van Horn Cemetery in full view of Turtleback and Six Mile Mountains, and the always wild and absolutely quiet Hwy 54 north of town.

I'll beat last year's mileage by more than 180 miles, but experiencing all those places made it a great year of running.

Christmas Day run

Monte and I ran five miles late this morning; when he's in town we can run safely in the mountains around Van Horn, I'm not restricted to the cemetery. The variety, companionship and coaching does me a world of good. And the weather, though windy, was lovely.

Senior Ambition

Today's New York Times quotes Philip Seymour Hoffman, “I’m going to be 41, and I’ll go to the bathroom and get a good glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I’m like, What happened?"

I probably felt this way myself at 41. On and off a little doughy and getting little to no exercise, there was the occasional shock of recognition I was getting old, usually in a brutally lit dressing room at the mall.

This is not the way it is today.

Sure, aging slaps me in the face still. Joints creak. Skin looks tired. Eyes droop. But rather than being an occasionally stunned spectator to the march of time, the effects of bad eating and a slovenly lifestyle, I'm in building mode.

I'm building endurance, strength, muscle. Sure the skin may not cover the frame as tautly as before, but instead of looking at a deterioration of things, the focus is on what can be built up. The quadriceps and triceps gain more definition. Stamina increases. I log longer distances in my running journal with less effort.

It was still a revelation when a running friend mentioned I was now qualified to compete in the Senior Olympics. Yeah, I could do that.

When I go back to Illinois, I try to run around Oakland School, the site of so many old humiliations. It is a point of victory for the 10 year old who did not qualify for any event at the all-school sports jamboree in 1968--the only student in the school in this predicament, mind you--to be considering any competition at all. And when I looked at last year's Texas Senior Olympics results and learned I could have easily, easily won a silver medal in the 5K, I smell redemption.

Those following the antics and demographics of the Baby Boomers know that I'm a walking, running, cliche. We're expected to have active Senior years, to channel our defining ambitions in new directions, to strive for new goals, to thrill-seek, to embody Citius, Altius, Fortius. Yet, I suspect the label "Senior" is discouraging Boomers from participating in the Senior Olympics. As a group, we hate the notion of getting old. Elderhostel is having to rebrand...we also hate the idea of becoming "Elder."

This is something I don't mind, the idea or the label of getting old. I may be getting a bit wrinkly, but I'm also getting Swifter, Higher, Stronger, and that feels great.

Ladybird's Legacy

Thursday and Friday I was in Austin for a meeting of the statewide heritage trails program. We were lucky enough to meet at the Ladybird Johnson Wildflower Center on the outskirts of the city, which was as lovely as you might envision it to be.

Thursday the Gregg's Mistflower was alight with Queen butterflies.

Here's a link to the center: http://www.wildflower.org/

Highest Point in Texas

I was there yesterday!

Leaving no stone unturned

I'm constantly looking for new (and free) ways to get exposure for our region.

You've seen our Daily Photo blog? Here's the link: http://www.texasmountaintrail.blogspot.com/

Today I signed up as a CNN.com iReporter, a free venue to submit images and stories to CNN. The chances of something getting picked up are slim, but it is worth a shot, right?

I did this after learning that they were looking for fall foliage photos, and our Guadalupe Mountains National Park is the only place in Texas with true fall color. Here's my profile page, and the photos I've submitted so far: http://www.ireport.com/people/Trailgirl?view=documents&viewingAsOthers=true (And yes, you might have recognized this older photo of me, taken in my first months on the job. It just seemed to fit the page.)

One of the photos was up less than an hour when it got the following comment: "thanks for the pics. As a 5th gen Texan, translocated in Montreal, it warmed my heart to see a bit of home. Love those hills, spent lots of time out in the big open, and its true beauty is amazing. Merci"

Anyway, please go visit the page, and click on each photo for a closer view. THANKS.

Oh yeah, and there's our new YouTube channel: http://www.youtube.com/user/TMTrail

I am testing Spira Footwear's first line of hiking shoes--and the featured video was my "thank you" card to the company about the inaugural hike. More on that later.....

Last week was for the Grandmas

No doubt the saddest part of last week's historic and emotional election was the fact that Barack Obama's grandmother did not live to see the results.

It had me remembering my own grandmother in Port Orange, who went to bed eight years ago thrilled that Florida had been the state to elect Al Gore our President. Waking up to the reality of exactly the opposite was hard for her to take.

She didn't live to see these election results, but she would have liked Barack Obama. And maybe even more important to her, she would have liked Michelle, too.

I was just 10--though it is still so fresh in my mind--when she said, "If we could only elect our President by voting for the First Lady, I would vote for Muriel Humphrey every time." Without question, she would have voted for Michelle Obama's grace, ease and smarts over Cindy McCain's pinched perfection. There would not have been kind words for Sarah Palin's rightwing bumbling ignorance, either.

Grandma, who was born in 1910, would also get emotional remembering her own childhood. She'd speak with anger and tears with the memory of being disciplined because she'd wanted to befriend a little black girl.

But it was a memory of another mother--who never lived to be a grandmother--that brought me to tears on election night. A CNN commentator spoke of the unifying force of this new president, that this win was for all of us, especially for the memory of Viola Liuzzo. Liuzzo was the inspiration of much of my civil rights artwork, and her story speaks to the idea that change belongs to us all.

And then I found this link, about Liuzzo and her friend Sarah Evans, neither of whom lived to see a black president, but who had a part in making it happen.
http://www.cnn.com/video/#/video/us/2005/04/12/nissen.sarah.and.viola.affl?iref=videosearch

Casting my vote

I likely had a different voting experience than all of you reading this blog:

First, at 9:30 this morning, there was no line. Four cars were in the parking lot of the polling place--mine and those belonging to the three voting officials. I was the 19th person to vote in my precinct, probably a heavy turnout for Van Horn especially considering there were only four of us attending the caucus earlier this year. (We were split 2 for Obama and 2 for Clinton until an elderly woman for Clinton acquiesced.)

Second, I was the only one in the building speaking English--all election business was being conducted in Spanish this morning--a common phenomena I'm learning to take in stride.

Unexpected sight

I saw old Bert getting into his truck a few minutes ago. Like many men here who've cowboyed, his gait is crippled and he walks hunched over and to one side, and always, always wears his cowboy hat.

And it was on the back of that hat where I saw a most unexpected thing. Long known to me one of those dear old men (well into his 80s, I'd imagine) with solidly conservative views (as evidenced by the American Legion stickers and other signs of rightwing allegiances) , it was still unexpected to see Bert climb into his truck with a pink Breast Cancer ribbon on the back of his hat.

Photos from El Paso's Dia de los Muertos or Day of the Dead

click on the photos for a closer view.

One of my favorite spots

I went back to my hometown last month to celebrate my dad's 75th birthday and stopped by a place filled with good memories. Near the center of downtown is the site of the old public library. Long ago razed, the city expanded the adjacent park to a full quarter block. The 1911 fountain, sculpted by Lorenzo Taft is still there, adorned by a small garden.

As a girl, I'd go with my mom to work on some Saturdays, and hang out in the library. As a staff member's daughter, I had the privilege of exploring the musty stacks, taking naps in the employee's lounge, and poking through the piles of a old newspapers waiting to be microfilmed. I was a roaming explorer, and when I found something that captured my imagination, such as newspapers from the civil war or 1920's comic strips, I'd spend hours just reading at times cross-legged on the library's old linoleum floors. It was here I first found WPA travel guides, their soft pages giving me a view of this country in the 30s, and a solid foundation for the work I'm doing today. You might say I spent my formative years with my head inside a microfilm machine, and loved every minute of it.

At lunchtime I'd walk down to the Woolworth lunch counter and have a tuna salad sandwich (this was before the allergy hit) and an orange pop. This made me feel incredibly independent. I'd dawdle on the way back to the library...all of two blocks....and soak up the sun outside the fountain before heading back to the soothing darkness of the stacks.

It was touching to see the nymphs and wolves and bears on the fountain were still in such great shape. I miss the old library of course, but I'm glad the spot is still giving the city so much grace and beauty.

Loaded down with safety pins

I was just told this story: leaving church one night when Brenda was pregnant with her twins, the parishoners saw a lunar eclipse and pushed her back into the building. Folks here believe they can cause birth defects, specifically cleft palates. So Brenda was given a safety pin to put on her shirt as protection, before she could venture outside.

From church, they went to a local restaurant, Papa's Pantry for dinner. During the course of the dinner, her husband, Rudy received many calls on his cell phone from folks eager to warn Brenda not to go outside without safety pins. And the other diners brought pins to their table for Brenda to wear.

One of her lovely little boys was born with a cleft lip, and some people think it is because of the eclipse. The doctors think it was because the other twin couldn't keep his feet out of his brother's mouth in utero. Brenda had done her part. By the end of the evening she had 20 safety pins on her shirt. It goes to show that if you're in this community, they really take care of you.

Eton, er Texas Mess, or Thanks to the Dog

(First off, my apologies for the crooked photo...I devoured the "Mess" long before I checked the shot.)

One of the benefits of traveling with a guide is the ability to dissect a menu in record time. This is especially helpful when it comes to desserts...and answering the obvious question when handed a dessert menu..."which brilliant concoction of cream and sugar and butter shall I have tonight?"

Our guides in Scotland interpreted:

Millionaire's Shortbread--shortbread covered with caramel and chocolate. (Good stuff.)

Cream Meringue--two saucer-sized baked meringues sandwiching a layer of sweetened whipped cream, Oreo-style. (Bordering on ethereal, but comically difficult to eat.)

And our favorite, with a name none of us could decipher by ourselves, the Eton Mess. (Absolutely hands-down the best dessert EVER.)

A disastrous Pavlova in a dish, Eton Mess is a mixture of broken baked meringues, whipped cream, and strawberries. Wikipedia notes that the first Eton Mess may have been "invented" by a Labrador accidently sitting on a picnic basket in the back of a car on the way to an outing. It is the dessert served at the prize-giving celebration picnic in the spring at Eton College in Britain, and is really quite special.

Since our trip in June, I've been working off my "Meringue and Cream Weight" as I think of it, and am down to my pre-Scotland numbers. So I finally felt I could give a Mess a try.

Hampered by my inexperience with meringues, and yes, I'll blame the altitude too, I ended up with tasty, but weird meringue. The top layer was lovely, thin and brittle. Not attractive mind you, but the texture was right. Underneath was a firm marshmallowy goo. This was not suitable for the Mess, but of course I ate it anyway....standing up, in front of the stove.

Next, I whipped cream with bit of honey, chopped up some mango, since finding a good strawberry in these parts is nothing short of a miracle, and layered it all together.

The completed mess wasn't so pretty, but it had all the essential elements, each spoonful carrying an unpredictable ratio of crunchy sweet meringue, soft cream, and juicy fresh fruit. Fantastic, but probably just a once a year indulgence. Now, do you still think Scotland has terrible food? The secret is knowing what to try, thanks to Paul and Pauline, our guides.

Greenhouse cacti

Click on each photo for a closer view if you'd like!

Running, running, running

Today was a banner day. I topped my 2007 mileage total by passing 700 miles, so the rest of the year I'm marking virgin territory. Even though I tend to log the miles by myself, I'm usually not alone when I run.

There are people I tug along with me, people who inspire me to keep running:

Sometimes I chant with each footstep: Da-ra Tor-res, Da-ra Tor-res, Da-ra Tor-res, for the 41 year old swimmer who, when interviewed after winning a team gold at the Olympics said, "never put an age limit on your dreams." Yes, exactly.

Sometimes I conjure up the image of Dr. Charlie from Fitness Camp, the 91 year old--yes, that's right--cyclist donning his helmet and getting on his bike. This year, instead of sleeping in his little tent as he had in every previous year, he'd sleep in the bunkhouse with the younger guys.

Then there is the seemingly indefatigable Sadie, the 70+ year old marathoner in Houston, who is always out at Memorial Park.

Monte is a good coach when we run together and when we're apart, too. When I'm feeling a bit lazy and say I'm taking an extra day off, a simple "huh" over the phone will sometimes motivate me to get out there anyway. (He also pointed out that it has been 66 days since my last blog entry, and maybe I'd better get back to it.)

But lately, there have been two older guys out at the cemetery watching me get my mileage in. I don't know their names, but they're friendly and we sometimes stop and talk a bit.

On weekends, a portly guy brings Pepita, his honey colored Pomeranian for a walk through the cemetery. On our first meeting, Pepita is happy to see me, running to me to catch a pet and listen to a bit of sweet talk. But this little pumpkinseed is serious about her walks. On the second round she won't stop, determined to keep up the pace, eager to keep her little legs in a blur. She clearly has work to do. Her owner mostly keeps up with her; he's working off the extra pounds at Pepita's pace.

I came to know the other guy, also an older Hispanic gentleman, when I admired his family plot. It is well groomed, and I asked about the handmade cement planters and benches and the paintjob on the concrete curbing around it. He startled me a few months ago, when I heard a painful wailing across the cemetery. At first, I thought he was in trouble, or crying, as he was shuffling slowly and then I realized he was singing. I could pick out one word, "corazon" or "heart," so maybe it was a sad song of unrequited love. Since then we've talked, or tried to. I can't quite understand him as he lisps, has just a few teeth and a very small English vocabulary. But he's warm and happy to see me. And when I'm back from traveling, he comments that I've been away. Now I smile when I hear him sing.

View from the tent in the morning

Running list of wildlife

I added Badger to the list on Sunday after seeing one waddle across the road by my hills training spot. Needless to say, I altered my running plan a bit, wanting to say away from him. So here's a list of the game I've seen since living in the region:

1. Bear
2. Mountain lion
3. Bobcat
4. Ringtailed cat
5. Big Horn sheep/aoudad
6. Rattlesnake
7. Tarantula
8. Javelina
9. Pronghorn antelope
10. Mule deer
11. Jackrabbit
12. Roadrunner
13. Horned toad
14. Prairie dog
15. Lizards
16. Coyote
17. Raptors of all sorts (eagles, falcons, hawks, vultures)
18. Wild mules
19. Feral hogs
20. Badger

Send me 0277

I had a full-0ut tantrum on Friday. I'd waited until I was in the private space of my own car, so as not to take it out on anyone else. But it was a grand beating on the steering wheel and screaming expletives kind of tantrum. Finally, months of frustration came to a head in glorious form.

My Amazon order of my own copy of Caroline Knapp's The Merry Recluse--ironically the book that makes me feel better about living by myself out in the middle of nowhere --had been turned back by the post office with "incorrect address." Never mind that the RIGHT address HAD been used. Never mind that that address had been used successfully countless times before. It just made me feel lost and unreachable, untouchable by the rest of the world. I'd just not added my P.O. Box number to the zipcode, as apparently the USPS now requires.

What it boils down to is this--if you send me anything other a standard first-class letter--be SURE you use the zip code 79855-0277. Or else I won't get it. Grrrrrrr.

The end result of not having a plan

So Sunday I asked him, "What would you like to do today?"

"Hike the Lost Mine Trail," was the answer.

Forget the fact that it was already 10 am and Big Bend was at least three hours away. But we packed up the car anyway, and headed south to test out my new camera.

This morning I asked him, "What would you like to do today?" And this was the result, our first attempt at pulling together a movie.

Let me know how it plays on your computer? Thanks.

Our running route

When Monte is in town, as he is this week, we run north of town on Hwy 54 towards Frankie's ranch and the Guadalupe Mountains National Park.

Green

The summer rains have been plentiful, transforming the desert into an unexpected green landscape. This is Big Bend National Park on Sunday.

I got a new camera!

I'm going to have to step up! My new Nikon D200 is many levels above my humble, ever reliable CoolPix 4300, and I have so much to learn!

The D200 is used, but appears to be in perfect condition and the previous owner added 6 extra lenses, flash, tripod, cases and other accoutrements to the deal. I won't be taking the new camera to Georgia next week, but you'll start to see photos taken with it here, and on the TMT Daily Photo Blog here: http://www.texasmountaintrail.blogspot.com/

The Tradition Continues: The July 4th Kazoo Band

Click the photo for a better view. Sorry for the late posting, I'm still catching up!

And I'll be leaving again on Friday for our Board's strategic planning session and then off to Georgia for Tourism Marketing "Camp," which will be fun, I think. I hear rumors there might be an opportunity to go kayaking!

My gratitude to Betsy and Nic and Leah and Anne and Susan

All those years reading your editorial copy at the Foundation prepared me for some heavy press release production here in Texas. Thank you. You not only tolerated my suggested edits with good cheer, you taught me a more than a few lessons in putting words together. There is still so much to learn. My grammar could be better. My sentences leaner. I could not be so enamored with commas, putting them, well, everywhere, in every sentence, at every breath. HA! Right here, right now, I know I could use your editing skills.

Lately, we've been given free distribution of a handful of releases as introductory offers with PR firms, and my releases are getting quite a bit of attention, which makes me extremely happy. I love seeing my releases on the Reuters website, on international travel email newsletters, and big city newspapers and financial journals. The articles appear suddenly and disappear just as fast. Here's an example, read it while you can! They're doing so well, one firm is profiling us in their internal newsletter. When the sales rep at PR Newswire says, "Obviously your writer has a journalist background," I owe you my thanks.

So thank you.

Solo Mountain Hiking

One of the things I never seriously thought I'd do was solo mountain hiking, but my experiences in Texas' wild spaces primed me perfectly for adventure in the Scottish Highlands. While the family was off exploring other parts, I tackled #69 from the book, 100 Walks in Scotland, "Around the Small Shepherd." There was nothing "small" about it, nor dry for that matter, nor tame. Nor was it a mere "walk." But it was wild and exciting and exhausting and I left the 8 mile hike (not including the 4 mile trek back to the hotel afterwards) feeling so accomplished, I know I'll never HAVE to prove my physical stamina ever again. Though the elevation was just about the same as Van Horn's 4000 feet, the scale was massive, and the climate unforgiving, though completely different from the challenges at home.

Waving goodbye to the family at the trailhead, before heading through the Lairig Gartain. On the right is Stob Nan Cabar; on the left, Stob Dearg. It was spitting wet out, just shy of pelting cold, needlesharp rain. Wonderful.

The white tufts in the Glen are cotton grass; at upper elevations, the white is snow. Diminutive wildflowers are everywhere, but so small they're barely visible underfoot. They're tucked next to patches of green, brown, khaki and maroon spaghnum moss, which makes up much of the unmarked trail. So wet and loose and spongy, parts of the route could barely be called soil. Step after step, my boot would sink into the moss and suddenly I'd be standing in an inch or two of water. Thankful our guide advised me how to get out of a truly unstable bog before I headed out...you spreadeagle face down, distributing your weight so you don't sink quite as fast....it was advice I was glad not to have to take.

The trail was marked only in spots, just boot-worn stretches and an occasional rock cairn. This satisfying little detour offered a well-constructed pathway. It begged to be taken and did not disappoint.

Pure clean water.

Many tributaries to traverse, and waterfalls everywhere. Plenty of opportunities to hop boulder to boulder, the river roaring at my feet.

Ordnance maps are sometimes a challenge, so when you think you might be lost, take the time for a goofy self-portrait! And smile like you don't have a care in the world. (Turns out, I'd followed the trail perfectly! Yay! I hadn't been lost at all!) Do I have a Himalayn sherpa look going? No?

The view of Dainess Estate far below in the Glen.

For awhile, I was hikingin the clouds. Here I'm near the end of the actual hike; so I head back to the hotel. That's four miles back in the cold rain. But for this hot desert dweller, that was tremendous fun, too. I knew a hot shower, a warm pint and a hearty venison casserole was waiting for me.

Portions of our Times Square Ad

CBS Morning Show appearance

With national weatherman, Dave Price.

the next challenge

There I was, standing with my colleagues in the Random House lobby last week, surrounded by the entire history of the legendary publisher. We were in a temple of corporate achievement--thousands of volumes glowing in a huge space of sunlight, polished wood and honey-colored marble. I was in the company of books I'd loved as a child, trashy best-sellers, and classics I hope I have the time to read. It was an architectural statement about vision, greatness and achievement.

In two days, our team had meetings in editorial offices all over the city. We'd been in the test kitchen of a leading food magazine, successfully cold-called the editor of a travel journal at a rarefied publishing empire, engineered a cheesy but fruitful appearance on the CBS Morning Show, and even used the bathrooms at Men's Vogue. Our trio had been a success in just about everything we'd tried; West Texas was getting noticed in the Big Apple. It was heady and exciting and exhausting.

And surrounded by Random House's temple of achievement--all those books--I'd had a rather cliched moment of clarity: I found myself saying, "life is there for the taking, all you have to do is reach for it." I'm a bit embarrassed by the unremarkable and saccharin sound of that statement, but most of you know I'd been stuck for years. Though there was evidence to the contrary, especially concerning my artwork (exhibitions, residencies, publications, etc.), I felt unable to reach terribly far. And now I realized I'd gotten much, much better at seeing possibilities instead of obstacles...and that I clearly had found my "second mile."

I haven't made an entry here in more than a month because (happily, amazingly) life has been filled with signature moments. They have been BIG moments of challenge and achievement; experiences I'd never even dared to dream for myself. But there they were and I was going for them, aggressively pursuing LIFE with a comfortable confidence. But, frankly, these BIG moments have come in such rapid succession, they've worn me out. (I'll post about them and you'll understand why) So after a rare week of short work days and long naps, I'm back to running, cooking, giving Daisy and others important to me quality time, and maybe, maybe posting new blog entries.

Across the Sea

Leaving midday for Scotland, though I won't actually arrive there until sometime late Thursday. I won't be checking email until I get back on the 19th. Thinking of all my Iowa City friends--here's hoping the flooding isn't as bad as the forecasts predict. Stay dry; stay safe.

A week at Frankie's Ranch

Tomorrow I pack up Daisy and a week's worth of leftover groceries and paperwork and head back to the apartment in Van Horn. We had a good time sitting with Frankie, the pug, while her people were away. It gave me quiet time; fresh breezes (there's more than one window at the ranch house); wide clear open skies; and blistering hot weather.

Tonight, on my last hike up the mountain, I saw little pink blossoms everywhere, after an incredibly dry spring (only .52 inches of rainfall all year) the cacti were finally blooming.