Getting our just desserts in the desert

The views from our balcony.

Palm Desert, CA -- We had a very relaxed time here in Palm Desert, thanks to the raffle ticket which made this vacation trip possible.
For those unaware, Pat and I won one week in Palm Desert, CA, in a raffle at Calaveras Big Trees State Park. It's the first prize I've won since the third grade when I stopped under the proper colored ceiling light when the music stopped at a roller skating party. I won a hanky, and was proud to get it.
I am afraid to figure out the dollar value of a week at this high-end Marriott resort, but will be ever grateful to the folks who donated it.
Suffice it to say this week at the Marriott Resort Villas has been priceless. It included a one-bedroom apartment overlooking one of the golf courses, a jacuzzi tub, an equipped modern kitchen, multiple telephones and televisions, washer and dryer, high-speed Internet, a waterfall outside the window, ducks and geese on the green, more swimming pools and hot tubs than we can count and a workout room. That's just the free stuff we found.

We hiked into an oasis in a nature preserve, toured Joshua Tree National Park, attended an art show at the polo club aimed at folks with rich taste, went to Palm Springs for the weekly street fair, took a cable-car gondola to the top of a mountain and did a lot of walking and looking.

(These pictures from Joshua Tree National Park give you just a hint how beautiful it is- a stunning place.)




We did not try to play golf, which I gave up because I am lousy at it, and decided there was too much else to do to hang out at the Bob Hope Pro-Am Classic with famous people. The celebrities can come watch us anytime they want to, but we gave them a bit of privacy.
I resisted the urge to wear a bandana and braid my hair to see if any Wllie Nelson fans would freak out when we strolled through Palm Springs. I got a few strange looks anyway.

Free posh digs made me a little less cheap when it came to eating out, so we have eaten well and often.

We started with Italian, then moved through Chinese to California cuisine at poolside, ate with our friends the Tulipanis from Calaveras, and wound up our week today eating on top of San Jacinto Mountain (Toasted Head chardonay as a compliment) after a ride up on the tram from the desert floor. Here's a glimpse of the tram ride and the view down into the desert. Yes I was scared, but Pat loved it.




Last night Pat had a taste for Greek food, so we searched out a Mediterranean place, rode all over the place looking for it, and finally found it in the back of a shopping center.

Only one table was occupied, but a young and attractive woman was performing a rather frenetic belly dance when we walked in the door. The performance continued at our table edge for most of the meal.
(Sorry, friends, but I did not have a camera.)
In fact, I was sufficiently embarrassed (to Pat's amusement) that I looked down at the dancer's bare feet most of the time. She had nice young feet. I also can report she was the only slim belly dancer we have ever seen, and I noticed she had money tucked into the waistband of her pantaloons. We contributed but I made Pat do the tucking. I noticed the waistband was very low, and she had little or no belly.

Did you know belly dancers can talk while performing? Pat engaged her in a conversation that included where she got her outfit (rented, it turns out) and how she learned to belly dance (self taught, from You-tube and instructional videos).

It was a unique experience, eating lamb kabob while a young women was gyrating and (no other descriptive word for it) humping around the edge of the table. The young woman is probably a college student from L.A., and looks about as Mediterranean as I do, but she was working hard and did earn applause from all the employees (all three of them) and the five customers. She looked a bit like granddaughter Delaney, only a bit older, which put me into a patriarchal mood. But I did not lecture.

That's a hard way to make a living.

The food was not very good, but it was an evening to remember.

We have done most of the exercise we promised ourselves. Pat has lost four ounces and I have gained two pounds.

Tomorrow we head for San Simeon in search of the ghost of a newspaper magnate.

Southern California Birthday

We chose not to stay at the motel shown above, even though the rates were quite good.
Instead, we opted for the place below, where Pat relaxed by playing the dulcimer as the sun set on the golf course behind her.


Palm Desert, CA -- My bride and I are celebrating her birthday today with a road trip, and the first full day has turned out quite well.
We started the day at the Buck Owens Crystal Palace Hotel (and Spa) coffee shop in Bakersfield, the home of West Coast Country Music. Merle Haggard Drive is not far away.

We mostly avoided freeways and drove through the desert till we arrived here, in rich folk territory.

For a quick break we had chile verde burritos for lunch at a roadside Mexican place named the Kool Kactus, just outside San Bernadino. The cafe was part of a 1940s era motel that looks like a movie set, only real. Think the Bates Motel in adobe. That's the motel pictured at the top, and the cafe below.


We then arrived at the Mariott Resort Villas in Palm Desert, and are safely ensconced in our luxury condo for the week. One look around and we feel like candidates for the Rich and Famous TV series, except our Toyota Van is the only dirty vehicle in the (securely gated) area, probably for miles around.

The view outside the windows and off the patio is of a pond, waterfall and the lushest fairways I have seen since I was a caddy in West Virginia one summer and was allowed on the country club greens - as a worker bee. I can't really afford to play golf here, but it is a great place to watch the inaugural ceremonies tomorrow.

We have the mountains, currently aglow with sunset, and the desert surrounds this area. The temperature is in the high 70s, a heat wave for us, and the sun is shining.

We are only pretending to belong, of course, but it is fun while it last.
And Pat deserves the attention and happy day.

Merry Christmas

Camp Connell, CA - Dec. 24, 2008 -- We've been blessed this year with health, family, and beautiful surroundings.
Can't ask for more.
Blessings on you this Christmas, and a wish for a Happy New Year.

Sanders & Pat

Snow's here for Christmas

Calaveras Big Trees State Park -- Within two days of the recent blog showing us basking in a warm pool in the high Sierra, the snows arrived, just in time for Christmas.

Then early last week we attended a training session for docents at the state park two miles downhill from where we live. Chief Interpreter Wendy Harrison took the photo of our happy group along the trail through the grove of Sequoia trees.

The snow was perfect, the chief interpreter broke the trail, and the rest of us followed along on skis or snowshoes. The training was only moderately strenuous, and we saw lots of tracks: coyote, rabbit, squirrel, mice, birds, and maybe even a fox. The deer have moved downhill to avoid the snow, and the bears are sleeping.

We ended up in the warming hut having lunch together around the fire while the ranger gave a talk on survival skills for winter. This year, for the first time, the park will offer guided tours in the snow and Pat and I will be taking people through the park trails. Pretty good duty.

All in all, a lovely day.

I don't want anyone to think snow is always fun, fine or easy. Since that first good snow we have had snow, sleet, rain, and more snow. Now it is a bit crusty and hard to drive on. My shoulders are sore, and I could do without the needed shovel skills. But my new garage-sale snow blower works well.

And when the grandchildren came to visit this weekend, it was a really good time for sledding and snowball fights. More on that later.

Meanwhile, have a very Merry Christmas and a prosperous New Year.

Sanders & Pat

Just before the snow

Camp Connell, CA -- Friday, Dec. 12, 2008 -- We returned tonight from a quick trip across the Sierra Nevada mountains to take a look at the high country mountains before the first big series of winter storms brings snow.
We started east across California's Highway 4, aka Ebbetts Pass Highway, on Thursday on a bright and sunny morning, cold and clear and beautiful. Fall color is gone, and the trees at high elevation are bare, sparkling, and ready for winter. The brush is ripe with buds and the stems are a red color, indicating they are dormant and just waiting for the Spring to come.
The streams and lakes we passed along the route are all partially frozen, particularly in the shady spots. The route we followed is also known as the old Immigrant Trail, or the Big Trees-to-Carson Pass route once followed by beaver trappers, families moving West, and gold miners in search of fortunes.
Our route took us through Markleeville, seat of California's least populated county, and by a wonderful state park. Grover Hot Springs Park has just what the name implies, steaming hot springs where you can soak at any time of year for a mere $5 fee to the state.
As soon as we had a quick lunch (the cook was sick at the hotel, but they served great soups left over from the night before) we took the plunge.


The springs are at 5,600 feet, and hoar frost was snuggled into the weeds alongside the trail, and small patches of snow in the trees on the north-facing slopes, but the air was comfortable and the springs terrific.
We drove on into Nevada to visit the home of one of our favorite historical characters, Snowshoe Thompson, a mailman who carried mail and packages across these mountains between 1950s and 1870s, on skis in winter.
He is considered the father of skiing, and local resorts pay him homage. It took him three days to ski across a route that took us about four hours of tough mountain driving. Mostly we admire his skill and strength. You can find out more about him at this website:

http://snowshoethompson.org/story_of_Snowshoe_Thompson.html

Then we went on to Carson City, the capitol of Nevada, with a quick drive through Virginia City, the heart of the Comstock Lode silver strike in the late 1800s.
Here's a look.
Of the two, Virginia City is more interesting, though little was open and we opted to spend the night at a casino hotel in Carson City. The Gold Dust West Casino, Hotel, Bowling Alley and RV Park, looked good but the food was bad and the casino pretty sad. (I was too, as I dropped $40 in the Wheel of Fortune Slot machines.)

Friday we drove west toward home by way of Carson Pass, a beautiful two-lane route that goes near Lake Tahoe (though you can't see it from Carson Pass). It is named for Kit Carson, who came this way 150 years ago.
We went by Kirkwood Ski Resort, and then through the gold rush towns of Jackson, San Andreas and Angels Camp before arriving home just at dark.
The rain started about 9 p.m., turned to sleet by 10.

P.S. We woke up to a light covering of snow this morning.
Much more is expected Sunday.

Odetta, a force of nature

Camp Connell, Ca -- People sometimes think of folk music as a quaint experience, best left to children and old men.
But Odetta was one of those people who lifted spirits, drove societal change, and entertained us all at the same time. When you listened to her sing, you could hear the voices of people long dead, telling their stories and their hopes and fears.
History spoke in ever song.
I was a teenager living in Mobile, Alabama, when I first heard her sing on one of her early albums. She was almost too powerful to take, but also too wonderful to ignore.
She was one of the reasons I bought a guitar in 1956, and start listening and learning music that speaks of the hearts of people, their pains and their joys.
Music has been one of the great blessings in my life, and Odetta is one of the people who blessed a lot of us.
She died this week at 77. A well-done obit is at the link below, and be sure and take the time to listen to the video link, which includes an interview (only slightly marred by the intrusive interviewer) and some wonderful renditions of her songs.
One of the quotes I liked best: folk musicians don't steal one another's songs, they "pass the tradition along."
Check the obit:
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/03/arts/music/03odetta.html?_r=1&emc=eta1

Me, I'm heading for the basement to pull out my old 33 rpm recording of "I'm on my way..."


RIP

A girl and a goat- a non-fable for our hard times

Camp Connell, Ca. - At this time of year -- Thanksgiving to Christmas with an economic collapse in between -- we were heartened in the past few weeks to learn a bit more about a girl named Beatrice. She's actually a young woman now, but her story begins for us when she was a nine-year-old living in a poor village in Uganda.
Uganda is one of those places on the far side of the world which we will probably never visit, much less understand.
But we know about Beatrice and her situation because of a children's book, "Beatrice's goat."
Briefly, the book relates the true story of how Beatrice's family was living in such tragic poverty, she could not even attend a nearby school. She stayed home to help her mother with the younger brothers and sisters. She really really wanted to go to school, and played at being a student as she watched from afar.
Then her family was chosen to be one of 12 in her village to receive a free goat. The goat was named "Luck" because that was what the family hoped it would bring. It did. The goat quickly delivered not one but two kids -- named "Expected" and "Surprise." As the kids grew older the extra milk was sold to other villagers.
That one goat provided enough for the family to send Beatrice to school, and then the abundance brought in enough coins that the mother tore down their small shack and rebuilt a real home with a roof and sides.

One goat.

That's all it took to change the lives of everyone in the family. The children's book ends there, but there is a sequel.
Turns out that the benefits of the goat and the attention from the book generated enough money for Beatrice to leave Uganda and attend college in the United States.
She graduated in May, 2008, went home for the summer, and is now back in the U.S. attending graduate school.
Pat called the story of Beatrice to my attention this year when she was working on a Sunday school program for children, hoping to teach them something about sharing and caring. She turned the story into a little play for the children, who performed it in church last Sunday -- Heifer Project Sunday.
Heifer Project International, as some of you may recall, is one of our favorite successful and worthwhile non-governmental organizations we had researched and decided to support several years ago.
I don't think we ever sent a goat. but we have sent numerous beehives all over the world. For someone who made their living at "The Bee" for most of my professional life, it seemed appropriate.
There are more little girls and boys out there who could use your help. Check it out at www.Heifer.org

And enjoy your holidays.