Sarasota: Sunshine, Beaches & Delicious lunches

Our month-long getaway trip to Florida continued after we checked out of the Charter Club of Naples Bay after a delightful week’s stay there with our friends, Barb and Bill. Sarasota is about 120 miles north, so we had a nice leisurely drive up the Tamiami Trail, passing through familiar spots such as Fort Myers, Punta Gorda, Port Charlotte, Englewood, and Venice. It was a good “moving day” as it was overcast and rain predicted to set in for the afternoon and into the next morning.

Our next residence was the large and popular Sun Outdoors RV Resort just a few miles east of Sarasota, conveniently located near I-75. The place is truly amazing! Not only is it a wonderful spot for those with RVs of all shapes, styles, and sizes, but it has an abundance of Park Model Homes for rent, which is what we had for our two-and-a-half week stay. 

The place has been there for quite a while, and has been maintained perfectly over the years. This was the first time for us to stay here, and we weren’t certain what to expect going in. As it turned out, we weren’t disappointed in the least. From the moment we checked in and found our nice park model home with an excellent location, we felt comfortable and ready for a pleasant stay.

Late that week, we were joined by Carolyn’s brother, Skip, from North Carolina, and our niece, Kim, from Nebraska. They’d spend a week with us, and it was fun having them join us for our daytime jaunts and tasty lunches at someplace different each day.

It was an easy choice to make for our first lunch that week as we decided on our favorite place to eat in Sarasota—Phillippi Creek Oyster Bar. Carolyn and I never miss having a grouper sandwich here whenever we’re in or near Sarasota. Kim was familiar with it—in fact, she’s the one who introduced us to it many years ago—but this was Skip’s first time there. It has been a long-standing tradition that we eat there. As always, we weren’t disappointed!

During the course of the week with Kim and Skip, we visited other familiar places and also discovered some places we’d never known of previously. One favorite was to beautiful Siesta Key and its beautiful Beach with the white, powdery sand and endless blue skies and sunshine overhead.
Another traditional place we always stop at—at least once, often more—is Mixon’s Groveside Market, just north in Bradenton. There’s always cold, fresh orange juice to sample, and the orange swirled soft-serve ice cream cone is a must. 

The four of us enjoyed discovering a spot we’d never been before: Anna Maria Island, near Bradenton. We patiently worked our way through the long, slow line of traffic out to the causeway and to the island and were rewarded with another lunch at another new establishment. The name alone was worth the stop: The Ugly Grouper. It was good to sit under the open-air roof of rusted galvanized steel and enjoy the shade and refreshing breeze that made the Florida heat comfortable.

Finally clear of traffic and out to Anna Maria Island!

Great name!

Of course, when we weren’t out enjoying our old haunts around Sarasota/Bradenton, we spent many delightful hours right there on the Sun Outdoors property. The huge pool and surrounding deck could accommodate many, many people, old and young alike!

Another day for lunch, it was time to visit the Sarasota Brewing Co. Bar & Grill. Kim had left us the day before, and Skip would be leaving the next day, so it was just Carolyn, Skip, and me for that day’s lunch out.

The Intrepid Lunchers!

Skip & Carolyn

What was surprising about this out-of-the-way establishment was that it was a fine place with a wonderful cold IPA brew and one of the best burgers I’ve ever had! We shall return.

After Skip pulled out to head back home the next day, Carolyn and I continued to enjoy our one remaining week at Sun Outdoors. And after our time was finally up at the RV resort, we packed and took care of all of the “check out” tasks and were on our way to the next leg of our Florida trip: Ormond Beach, over on the other side of Florida, near Daytona. Getting there was half the fun, as they say. I’ll tell you about that next time.

See you then…

Catching up-part II

A scene of recent days that really helps the healing!

Regaining consciousness following open-heart surgery is like returning to the here and now from some distant, unknown journey where there is absolutely no recollection of anything that transpired during the previous hours. In my case, there were about six hours I cannot account for. The first thing I experienced upon beginning to “come to” was the sound of voices, none of which I could really make out what was being said, but it was somewhat comforting all the same.

The critical care nurses and doctors who had been involved with the operation were on hand, easing my return to consciousness in a caring and comforting manner. At some point, they removed the breathing tube, and I was functioning on my own again. And through the haze of waking up, I was able to discern my wife Carolyn nearby, saying my name and some other “welcome back” banter, that I have no recall of what any of it was. Regardless, it was wonderful and uplifting. Although I was slowly coming out of anesthesia and on the brink of total consciousness, I dozed back to sleep.

So that was the beginning of my week’s stay in the hospital. I would remain in the surgical critical care unit for most of that time. One unplanned event happened the following day (Tuesday), which caused great concern for us all. Although I was alert and doing well, the monitors indicated that my heart rate was way too low. Dopamine was soon added to my IV regimen for the purpose of keeping the heart rate up.

One of the possibilities going into the surgery was that I might eventually need a pacemaker for just this very thing. And it was decided on Wednesday that I would, indeed, need one—and soon! You can figure out what I had in store for myself sometime on Thursday. Late that afternoon, I was carted to the Cath Lab and had a pacemaker implanted near my left shoulder. At least the procedure was less invasive and didn’t take too long.

My pacemaker appeared to do what it was supposed to do, and the heart rate issue was under control. The A-fib was still there, though, so I knew that I would be dealing with how best to handle that in the weeks ahead. For now, I wanted to get strong enough to be discharged from the hospital by the weekend.

On Friday, I was transferred from Critical Care to a regular room where I would be until discharge—hopefully—on Sunday. And as it turned out, that’s exactly when I “got out” and, heart surgery pillow in hand, I carefully eased myself into the passenger side of my car and journeyed home with Carolyn at the wheel. Since I wouldn’t be driving for six weeks, I knew I would be completely dependent on her for the few times I had to venture out, mostly to doctor appointments, etc. Plus, with so many restrictions due to the COVID situation, there weren’t many places I could go anyway.

Once home, I had to learn new ways to recover: Showering, getting out of chairs/couch, dressing myself, etc. I am now nearly five weeks into cardio rehab back at the hospital three days a week. It’s been great and each day I achieve something new in regards to strength and physical conditioning. There are a couple of issues to resolve at this point: Blood pressure medication adjustment and another cardioversion next week for the A-fib. Keeping my fingers crossed on this one. 

I will spare the reader any further details of this ongoing piece of the adventure. Instead, I will conclude by saying that for so many weeks, I managed to heal and get strong again—physically and emotionally—through the efforts and love and care of my wife.  

Thank you, Carolyn!

A milestone amidst the madness…

Last Thursday, June 11, was my birthday, and I had planned to spend it as I have most every previous one—as just another day—perhaps having a get-together with family and friends. Well, it was made clear to me that turning an age that ends in “0” is not just another day! Of course, as crazy and weird as this year has been, I really didn’t see much reason to treat it any other way. Over the course of the day, however, that would change.

Right around 5:00, as I was relaxing in my lawn chair out front on the driveway, contentedly watching the world go by, I was treated to a parade—a caravan, if you will—made up of ten or so vehicles, full of good friends. Accompanying lots of horn honking, there were plenty of balloons and homemade signs made of poster board, wishing me a happy birthday and congratulating me on reaching this wonderful milestone! 

This type of “drive-by” celebration has been in vogue since the onset of the Covid-19 madness and the “stay-at-home” lockdown. It’s really kind of nice, although it would have been fun to have been able to invite everyone in for more celebrating and shared laughter. As it was, they all made a second loop around the block and came by again. I spent a quick moment as each car pulled up, thanking them for caring enough to participate in a birthday parade in my honor before they left.

For most of the day, I had repeated my wishes to just have the day be nothing more than a normal day, with maybe a quick acknowledgement that I had turned another year older. But that was not to be, and, as it turned out, I’m pretty glad that it all seemed to go against my intended wishes.

Thinking back, I realize that it meant a lot to those who participated in making something special of “my day,” so I guess it was pretty well necessary for me to go along with them, too. In short, it was a wonderful day, from start to finish. It was a bright moment that far outshined the madness.

Balloons aplenty on my “big day.”

Hoping for a Phoenix to rise once again

These past two days have been gloriously sunny, warm, and all-around beautiful in every respect. After so many days straight of cold and rain and drear, along came blue skies full of white, puffy clouds and the warmth of the sun right along with them. It is enough to make one believe, if only for a brief beat, that no pandemic can survive in all of this. Oh, that this were so!

My mornings are those special quiet hours, beginning just before 6:00, when the daylight is just showing itself and the first of the finches visits the feeder outside our sunroom windows. The coffee brews away in the kitchen, and I quickly check out the weather forecast for the day. Out of habit, I scroll quickly thru some social media, wondering why I really waste my time in doing so! Then, surrounded by the morning stillness and the calm before the routines of the day begin, I settle in with whatever book I’m currently ensconced in. Before I realize it, the coffee is ready and the morning has seemingly zipped right along. 

Soon, I realize that I have been enjoying all of this for a little over an hour. I know this because my wife’s clock radio breaks the silence in the bedroom regularly at 7 a.m. each morning. And so, another day begins—another day of wondering how much longer our lock-down will continue.

My stay-at-home situation these many weeks has become a time of inner reflection and a chance for me to discover so many things I hadn’t given much attention to previously. Quite frankly, I look at things much differently—things which I have always taken for granted before. I’m pretty sure that I will no longer assume that our grocery stores will have an abundance of various food products, or that we will be able to move about freely, secure in the notion that all is safe from imminent harm.

I will no longer shrug off the suggestion that there are factions at work in our society who will stop at nothing to gain control over our way of life and to impose their will in trying to transform this country. And I will never take for granted the importance of my family. Each gathering and get-together will be nothing less than special in all respects!

Despite the rocky road we now navigate, I am holding out hope that much good will eventually come out of all of this, and day-to-day living will rise like a phoenix once more. Time to get on with living!

“But…it’s now HOME!”

It has happened! No, I haven’t disappeared from the face of the earth or been swallowed up by the dreaded Coronavirus. My absence from the blog world can be explained simply as I have really not had a whole lot of inspiration—or a regular place where I can write frequently. Good excuse or not, that’s what I’m going with. Anyway, we have finally moved into our new residence after a whirlwind few months since I last posted back in November about the very real possibility of just such a move.

It’s a rather convoluted and involved tale of how we sold our house out in a small town in northern Illinois near DeKalb (about forty-five minutes from where I write this in our new location). The sale seemed to occur in the blink of an eye, and we had only a mere few weeks to be out of the place. Since we didn’t want to lose out on this cash purchase, without realtors involved, we jumped at the opportunity and began weeding out, sorting, groaning, mumbling, packing, more moaning, hauling, and somehow clearing out in time for the set closing date of December 9.

It wouldn’t have been that big of a deal had we had a place already picked out to which we would move, but we had absolutely no plan or idea for any of that! We ordered one of those sixteen-foot Portable On Demand storage containers (PODs) and filled it to the rim and brim with a million boxes of my books, ten million containers full of the wife’s Christmas “stuff,” and our mattresses, and various other pieces of furniture and whatever else we could get in there. (OK, I’m exaggerating just a bit about the numbers of boxes and containers—but not much!)

But the POD wasn’t enough. Thus, to handle all of the other things, we rented two 10’ x 10’ storage units at one of those modern, climate controlled, indoor facilities. That was a lifesaver, and it was conveniently located to where we were staying (our son’s house) and to our eventual new home about eight miles away. So all of our possessions were at least safely stored away. 

We lived out of suitcases for the most part, although we did have a few of those plastic drawer units that served as places to store various clothes, etc., in the small guest bedroom with twin beds at our son’s house. That was December, and it was fun to share life (and a bathroom!) up close with our two teenage grandsons!

Once January and the new year appeared on the scene, we moved in to a house in Naperville, where we spent the month “house sitting” for good friends of ours who spent the month wintering in Naples, Florida. Although we still were living from suitcase and shaving kit, we were secure and still close by to where we wanted to end up.

It was during this period that we got the itch to consider looking around to see what sorts of homes/townhomes might be on the market in the locale we hoped to eventually settle, all the while still insisting that we were “only looking and getting ideas.” After all, it had always been our plan not to do anything too elaborate until we returned from our Hawaii cruise in April, and then we’d begin the serious search for a new place to live.

Of course that didn’t happen. The first—and only—time we went with a realtor friend of ours to look at some properties, we found the house in which I’m now typing this. I’ll not elaborate on the details and the process as to how we finally landed the place, but suffice it to say that we were (and are) thrilled and excited to have been able to make things work.

It’s ten years old, one-story, no stairs, no basement, and, alas, not enough storage. As of last Thursday, February 27, we closed without a glitch of any kind on the place and have everything moved in from the two storage units. The POD is still hibernating in a storage warehouse somewhere and will be delivered after we get back from the cruise in early April. (More on the cruise situation later. Keeping our fingers crossed that this “scare” will diminish before we begin.)

 Meanwhile, when the house sitting stint ended as February rolled around, we moved back to our son’s house for a few days before heading off to Florida ourselves, with stops in Ohio and the mountains of North Carolina along the way.

By the time we made it back north to Illinois, February was well along and our closing date on our new house was soon approaching. We vacated our little spot at our son’s and returned full access of the bathroom to the grandsons and took up “permanent” residence here in Aurora. There’s much to do and some repairs which have already begun, but it’s now HOME! There’s furniture to purchase, but it’s now HOME! There’s weeding out to do, but it’s now HOME!  And, there’s writing to get back to, and NOW… THAT IS HOME!

I’d rather take a beating than move!

Ever wonder what life is like when you suddenly have to prepare to move out of your house in less than a month because there’s a buyer who has agreed to pay your asking price and has essentially sold her home in a very short amount of time and will be needing to move in much sooner than expected? Believe me, it’s a good feeling, yet, at the same time, it’s still stressful and not as welcomed as it would have been back a few years ago.

My comfortable, retired-way-of-life has suddenly been shaken up and tossed this way and that, and I’m not dealing with it very well. Although I’m all for vacating and moving on, I’m kind of in a dilemma since this is a red-hot, for-sure buyer who knows our place very well and loves everything about it. However, I’m mentally not ready for this because there’s so much “stuff” that needs packed and sorted out, but the fact that there’s a “hot” buyer kind of closes the deal. Because we’re not guaranteed that another buyer will readily be available if we don’t act now, we’re pretty much sure that we’ll be moving out within the next few weeks. Because where we live is not exactly in the hot bed of real estate action, it is our belief that we have to take the first one that comes along– strike while the iron is hot, in other words;

Yes, my wife and I have talked about moving from our home here in the very small town near DeKalb, Illinois, where we have lived since my retirement in June of 2007. This current desire to move all came about when our son and his wife and two sons—our grandsons—moved from a nearby town 11 miles from us, to another one almost 30 miles away. Since being closer to them was the reason we moved out here in the first place upon my retirement, our lovely home is no longer quite the same special retirement residence we had planned on.

True, there’s still yardwork, mowing, snow throwing, and other general maintenance that needs our constant attention. But, quite frankly, I no longer have the desire to attend to most of those happy home owner duties! I guess at my age, I’m very content to sit back and observe someone else driving the lawn tractor or clearing the  driveways and walkways with the trusty snow thrower.

The interesting thing about all of this is that we have no specific place where we want to end up—just as long as it’s within a much shorter driving distance to our kids! Of course, it will mean moving right back closer to the suburbs of Chicago—where we packed up and moved from in 2007—but I’m slowly adjusting to that eventuality. 

I’m not toally sold on this whole idea of moving. A wise man once told me that he’d “rather take a beating than have to move,” and I am in full agreement with him on that because I don’t even want to think about all that lies ahead in the process of getting out of here and into storage and, somewhere, on our next stage of this adventure! So it goes. For now, Stay tuned…

Happy birthday to me…

I’ve been away from this blog for far too long, and what better time to jump back into posting some poignant and cogent thoughts than on my birthday? Yep, I’ve reached another milestone in this life, and it’s a terrific day outside to add to the occasion. At this writing, a few minutes past 10:00 A.M. Central Time, it’s sunny, clear, and 73° with a most delightful breeze. To say the least, it was perfect for my early-morning coffee on the deck, one of the few times I’ve been able to do so this “spring” with all of the chilly and rainy weather that’s been the rule rather than the exception here in northern Illinois.

The farmers have been desperate to find a “window” to be able to get their fields prepared and planted in time for a fall harvest. Usually by this time each year, corn and soy beans are sprouting up from the good, rich soil. It is doubtful if the field directly behind us will even be planted this year. It has become pretty much an overgrown wasteland. With the warmer dry weather lately, I look out each day to see if any tractors are getting going to break it up and get it planted. Alas, nothing yet!

Weather issues aside, we have spent several weekends “out and about,” mostly for family events: High school graduations in Omaha and West Lafayette; a three-day visit to see my mother in Ohio. 

In early May, I set out one Saturday and took part in the Illinois Route 66 Association’s Red Carpet Corridor event between Joliet and the central Illinois town of Towanda. The gorgeous day provided a wonderful backdrop for driving from town to town along the famous old Mother Road. The day brought back many memories of 2017 when we drove the whole route—Chicago to Santa Monica Pier in California.

And, of course, there have been the grandsons’ baseball games to attend, and the annual NASCAR weekend over in Brooklyn, Michigan. Again, it was a fun time, with the exception of having the big race rained out on Sunday. As always, that’s the chance one takes. Seems as though we’re hitting more rain issues every year. Mother Nature enjoys playing spoiler with us.

With summer about to bloom again, it’s time for me to get a move on and finish my writing projects that have lain dormant for too long. It’s time to continue my water exercise program I began in May at the YMCA three days a week. It’s time to go for walks and find those smiles once again. It’s time to bring this blog back to its original intent when I launched it a few years ago. It’s time to make this birthday one of re-emphasizing that life is good.

Happy birthday to me!

Trail’s end…

Writing now from northern Illinois, and looking back to our wonderful mid-July trip out on a stretch of the Oregon Trail in Wyoming, I still smile at the many moments and memories forged in that three-day adventure.

Our final day dawned as crystal clear and bright as the previous two had. And this morning’s breakfast didn’t disappoint, either. We weren’t sure how far we would travel on this last day, but we would find out that some beautiful, open country lay ahead. Morris told us that our part of the trip would be finished by lunch time.

Leaving camp, we headed out once more and followed the rugged trail through private land and that of the Bureau of Land Management. We encountered more Mormons making their summer handcart journey. Everyone was friendly and eager to stop and watch as our horse drawn covered wagon rolled along nearby.

Grandson Jack once again spent most of the morning riding Taz, and brother Matt was invited to ride up on the driver’s seat with Morris. After a time, Morris turned the reins over to Matt, who drove us over more original ruts of the Oregon Trail.

Before we realized it, the morning had run on toward lunch time, and as we arrived at another of the many fence gates, Morris announced that our part of the trip was finished.

It was one final lunch out in the great wide open, breathing in the terrific air and basking in the glorious high plains sunshine. Then, it was time to load our trail backpacks and various other things we’d had along with us into the pickup that would haul us back to the remote spot where our car was parked.

And it was as simple as that! It seemed that no sooner had our adventure begun, that it had just as quickly come to an end. Fond farewells to Morris and our other traveling companions occurred and then we climbed into the pickup that Randy would drive to get us to the cars.

It felt good to unload and put our belongings into our car. We pointed the car back toward Casper, where we would be spending the night before heading out the next morning to Devils Tower, Crazy Horse, and Mount Rushmore.

With a sense of accomplishment, we all relaxed and smiled at the notion that we’d be showering and putting on clean clothes for the first time all week!

 

Miles of Memories…On the Trail – (Pt. 1)

Our summer travels in our trusty Chevy Equinox have netted well over 4,000 miles. But, as I like to say, they’re all wonderful miles! Miles of memories! And it’s not just the miles alone that count for all of this, but rather the people who have ridden along with us down those many miles.

Back in July, we had the pleasure of having our two grandsons—Jack (12) and Matt (10)—out to Casper, Wyoming, as passengers and participants for a three-day journey along part of the original Oregon Trail in a covered wagon.

Going in, we had no idea of just what to expect, but we came away from the experience feeling like it was one of the best things we’d ever done.

And though they are too young to actually admit that it was an adventure of a lifetime, we’re pretty certain that Jack and Matt will carry the memories of the journey with them their whole lives, Grandpa and Grandma notwithstanding.

And this was no amusement park staged make-believe trip. Everything was authentic and custom made—from the covered wagon to the tipis we slept in for two nights out in the middle of nowhere on the High Plains of Wyoming.

This all came about nearly a year ago when my wife started researching outfits that provided these kinds of tours. And that is when she came in contact with Morris Carter and his business, Historic Trails West, out of Casper.

When the date to leave finally arrived (following the boys’ baseball season on July 15) we pointed our loaded up Equinox west for the long drive out, stopping in Fremont, Nebraska, for a quick overnight on the way.

After arriving in Casper the next evening, the boys unwound in the pool at the Ramkota Hotel, followed by a good night’s sleep in a comfortable bed.

Matt in front of the Ramkota Hotel

Following a wonderful breakfast at the hotel the next morning, we were up and out to meet up with Morris by 8 a.m. to begin our three-day covered wagon trek. Little did we know just how amazing the next few days would be!

First stop: Independence Rock.

Following Morris, who was driving his pickup pulling a 40-foot custom-made trailer that contained three horses, the wagon, various equipment and necessary items for the trip, and a porta-potty, we came upon

Morris’s trailer

famous landmarks like Independence Rock, Devils Gate, and Split Rock. The early travelers and pioneers used these as guides and indicators of being on the right path west.

Several miles later, we finally reached our “setting off” place, a camp run by the Mormons.

The first duty was to get the trailer unloaded, the wagon cover (bonnet) attached, and make ready to “hit the trail.”

Jack and Matt’s first job became obvious when they each were handed a shovel and directed to the portion of the trailer where the horses had

“Super Scoopers”

been riding.

Finally, all was ready and Morris called out to the two-horse team of big white Percherons (Jess and Jordan) to get going. And so we bumped along, crossing the first creek right away and slowly winding our way along a dirt trail westward.

Tazz and Matt getting to know each other

We also had another horse (Tazz) for anyone who wished to ride. Matt started out on Tazz and later switched off to let his brother ride. They both enjoyed riding the trail atop Tazz!

Jack up on Tazz

One of the horses (Jess) had developed a sore hoof along the way and was limping badly by this time. Morris knew that a change in the horse teams would be necessasry before tomorrow’s journey continued, and he was in contact with his home base to arrange for a switch during the night ahead.

After nearly eleven miles and experiencing so much wide open space and scenic surroundings, and the afternoon growing late, we reached our first night’s camping site. In a vast and wide open space, we had our first experience of setting up camp.

First, the horses were unhitched and watered and allowed to roam and graze in the vast open spaces. Under the guidance and instruction from Morris and Randy, we all helped to put up the cook tent and help with setting up a couple of long tables and chairs. Next, the two tipis were up in a relatively quickly, ready for our cots and sleeping bags.

Soon, Randy had the charcoal ready for the potatoes and pork chops,

Morris “coaling up” the dutch oven cobbler

and the dutch oven cherry cobbler cooked slowly over the heat. It was a delicious trail meal that first night out, and afterwards we crawled into our sleeping bags relatively soon.

Sun setting on our first day

Next: On the Trail-Day 2

 

 

 

 

 

“That guy” who lives in the past…

It’s mid-June already, and life here in northern Illinois keeps rolling right along. It seems as though those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer have definitely arrived, and the constant whirring of our air conditioner is the background “music” as we go about our daily living around the old homestead.

 I quietly “celebrated” another birthday a week ago and have been busy attending the grandsons’ baseball games a couple of times each week. As before, I’m doing way more reading than writing, but I keep intending to make amends in that department—soon! 

As these summer days settle in around us, I find myself harking back to last summer and those two magnificent trips we took: Alaska cruise in August; driving Route 66 in September. And although I am trying to avoid being that guy—the one who constantly lives in the past—I do have very fond memories of that Alaska trip.

For sure, I wouldn’t mind being on board that magnificent Holland-America ms Noordam once more, plying the Inside Passage to Ketchikan, Juneau, Skagway, and Glacier Bay. And the long day’s bus ride out of Seward up to Denali National Park on that dreary and rainy day, wouldn’t be so bad right now, either. The splendid views of the magnificence of the entire area rest prominently in my mind’s memory right now.

 I find myself flashing back to our wonderful Route 66 Journey of last September (not many weeks after we returned from the Alaska trip) and wishing we were just preparing to do it all over again. I often lose myself recalling all those twists and turns on the “old” stretches of highway, the weather-worn, rusty neon signs and forgotten roadside businesses we encountered all along the way. 

I have several Facebook friends and Route 66-themed pages I follow every day, and I love seeing many of the same photos of the same places we experienced. Each one, familiar now, evokes so many wonderful memories.

Perhaps another journey along the Mother Road in the not-too-distant future is possible. After all, there are things we missed or didn’t have enough time to enjoy as thoroughly as we would have preferred. I’m afraid, though, that my traveling “partner” is not hot on that idea, as she feels that once was enough for her! We shall see…

I can’t, however, rest solely on last summer’s delightful road adventures. At this writing, I’m only a month away from another adventure, this time with our two grandsons. On Sunday, July 15, as soon as the boys are finished with the baseball tournament they’ll be wrapping up that day, we’re setting off for the territories once more! This time to Casper, Wyoming, for a three-day trip in a covered wagon on the old Oregon Trail. 

I suppose that it’s only fitting that we spend some time this summer experiencing another of the famous roads so full of historic importance in the great land of ours. Lots of miles ahead, but I’d not have it any other way.

Photo by Sebastian Voortman on Pexels.com