Another Place

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Here is the deal. Since we are sitting still in one place for awhile, we have little “travel” to blog about. So, I thought I would tell you about a previous adventure. A different time. A different place.

The place is Ecuador, South America. The time is the early 70s, say 1971, give or take a year. You know how memory gets after a while. The map is to get you oriented. We lived in Latacunga and Ambato at different time. The story takes place around the city of Santo Domingo de Los Colorados. You can find it on the map. Find the place, then we will continue. Got it? It is west of Quito. OK!

First, you need a bit of background information. The Andean Mountains run the length of Ecuador, north to south. There is a large jungle area to the east of the mountains in the Amazon basin. There is a smaller jungle area to the west of the mountains outside Santo Domingo de Los Colorados. The Taschila (pronounce it like TA-chee-la) Indians live here. They are commonly known as Colorado Indians, which is actually a nickname given to them by the Spanish. “Los colorados” translates as “the red ones.” The name derived from the color of the men’s hair, which after being cut in an inverted-bowl shape, was colored bright red with a vegetable dye and allowed to harden into a “helmet like“ style. They then painted black, horizontal strips around their bodies to ward off evil spirits. They wore only a short skirt of varying design. The women dressed likewise, without any top covering, but no red hair. At times the Indian women could be seen in town wearing a bra with no covering. Some did, some didn’t. You see here a picture of a young Colorado Indian boy.

There are different Indian groups that live in Ecuador. The majority of Indians in the mountain areas are descendents of the ancient Quechuas. It is members of this latter group that are involved in this story. The Ecuadorian government allowed groups of “mountain” Indians to move into the western jungle area and stake off 15 hectares (About 37 acres of land. One hectare = 2.47 acres.) which could be theirs without cost if they would farm the land for ten years. Numerous families took advantage of this opportunity. So, that is the background. Now here comes the story. Those few of you reading this that experienced this adventure with me can correct me if I get some of the details wrong.

Representatives of the families homesteading in the jungle came to our organization requesting help in setting up a school in their community to teach their children. As a result, several of us, Ecuadorians and “gringos” set up a trip to explore the possibilities, I being one of the group. Our jumping off place to the jungle was Santo Domingo. We (that is I, Carolyn and daughter Debbie) made our way down the winding mountain road to Santo Domingo. Carolyn and Debbie were going to stay with the family of one member of our group who lived there, while we “guys” were off in the jungle.

The plan was to drive as far as we could in a four-wheel vehicle to the edge of the jungle. Some Indian homesteaders were to meet us there with some mules for transport back through the jungle to the village. It was a day’s travel. Did I mention it was the rainy season? Well, it was! During the rainy season it doesn’t rain----it pours! This day was one of the few rainless days, but there was nothing but mud for a road, if one could call it a road.

The Indian party that met us had three extra mules. There were six of us in the party. Some of us would have to walk. We decided that after a bit, those who were riding would switch with those walking. I don’t remember the selection process used to determine who rode first, but I ended up walking. No, that is wrong. I was not walking, I was sliding, stumbling, falling and generally looking like an inebriated clown trying to keep upright. I wouldn’t call it walking. After an hour or so of this, an Indian farmer came up behind us leading some pack mules which had just carried goods to market and were now free of burden. Since we were all going the same way, we asked if we could share his mules. At last! A ride.

The mules wore pack saddles, which were made of “x” shaped pieces of wood across the mule’s back, connected by horizontal pieces of wood in the center between the “x“s, held onto the mule with an inch-thick piece of hemp rope around the mule’s middle. It certainly didn’t look comfortable, but maybe better than crawling in the mud. We each picked a mule. I approached a very large red mule. I wondered if I could even get on top of him. When I got beside him, the top of his back was about at my shoulders. I put my left hand on a section of the “x” in preparation to try and get aboard. As I started to attempt the mount, that’s when it happened. The mule turned his head, looked at me, lunged forward and kicked back with both feet. He got me with both. One on my lower, right leg, the other on my left thigh. The next thing I know, I was lifted into the air and landed on my back several feet into the jungle. The event seemed to be funny to my companions, but for some reason I failed to see the humor. I couldn’t feel my legs and wondered if I could get up.

When the laughter died, they came to help me up. It was quickly determined that I could no longer walk, though nothing appeared broken. I was helped onto another mule with a better saddle, a wooden one carved from one piece of wood in the shape of a western saddle. I kept a wooden saddle like that all these years, until we started RVing. The journey continued for hours more.

The farther we got into the jungle, the deeper the mud seemed to get. It was necessary at times to hold one’s feet up in the stirrups to keep them out of the mud. It was that deep. The mule’s legs made that familiar sucking sound with each step as he pulled his leg out of the mud. The road got more narrow and the jungle got more dense. We crossed streams on split logs only wide enough for the mule’s feet. With each step the mule took, the pain in my legs got worse. The mule’s negotiated down-ward muddy slopes in a unique way. They hunched down on their back legs, put their front legs forward and slid. It was necessary to grab hold of the mule’s tail to keep from flying over his head.

After hours of travel, we came to a clearing in the jungle that was used as a rest area. We stopped. I couldn’t get off the mule. I was helped off and laid out on a split log to rest. My lower right leg was swollen to the size of my thigh. We were still two hours from our destination. Had to go on. Couldn’t go back. I was placed back on the mule and we continued on. The day was nearing the end when we arrived at our destination. I was taken off the mule and helped up the steps to a typical jungle house. The last picture above is of that house.

The house is built on polls. The living quarters are above and the animals (chickens, pigs, etc.) are below.
There is little furniture. The rooms are only hanging cloth dividers. Everyone sleeps on the floor. This was my “hotel” for the stay. When the family here saw my situation, they wanted to help. They had “jungle” remedies. The Father told the Son to go into the jungle and collect a certain type of leaf. What was brought back appeared to be about the size of an elephant ear. I was told its name, but can’t remember it now. They boiled the leaf in water until it produced a thick, green goo. They soaked rags in the goo and bathed my legs with it until the water became cool. I thought they were scalding me. They then wrapped my legs with the leaves and rags and I spent the night that way, wondering if the rats and bugs from below would be crawling over my face. The next morning, to my surprise, the swelling had gone down. Our breakfast consisted of rice, boiled chicken and coffee.

This next morning was to be a consultation day. As for me, all I could do was hobble around a little while the others did what we had come to do. Getting up or down the open steps of the house was a chore to me, so I generally stayed put. Dinner here was comprised of six different kinds of bananas (You didn’t know there were that many kinds did you?) all prepared in different ways. The drink was a tasteless concoction they called “quacker“, because it was made from Quaker Oats. We had water straight out of the streams. How safe it was we don’t really know, so we tried to purify it with our little tablets we mixed in the water, coffee, etc. We survived!

We were to leave the next morning, but during the night it began to rain, and rain, and rain. In the morning it was pouring so hard one could hardly see through it. We decided to wait and see if it slacked. It rained harder. We stayed another day, waiting. The following day it was still raining without letup. We decided we had to try and make it back out in this deluge. We packed up, mounted our mules in pouring rain and started the long journey back to our families, who had to be worried because we were a day late. It rained all the way, the whole day. Everyone was soaked to the skin. Fortunately, the weather was warm. When we returned we found that our families were about to organize a search party and come find us. We saved them the trouble.

My legs were still fairly useless and painful, especially after the long ride out of the jungle. I wanted to get back home and go to a doctor to see how badly I was injured. Each time I tried to stand, my right leg would balloon painfully. We had hours to drive back up the mountain to home. There was only one problem with getting there. There was no longer a road. Because of the heavy rains a 200 foot section of the road had washed down the mountain. No one could pass. We waited for days to allow the road to be made passable. The only alternative was a long route around half the country, which I was not up for. Finally, we heard that the road, although not fixed, was crossable. So we started.

We loaded our car, a large Ford Station Wagon with a mountain transmission, for the trip home. Our luggage included six very long, three inch diameter bamboo poles nearly as long as the station wagon. We strapped the poles on top of the car, attaching them to the built-on luggage carrier. The poles were to be used to construct a
“Quad” antenna for my ham radio. Remember, this was the days before desktop computers, laptops, fax machines and cell phones. The best way to communicate back home to the States was via ham radio. A new antenna would help boost the signal.

We finally started our journey back home. Carolyn was driving, Debbie was in the front passenger seat and I was stretched out in the back seat. In due time we reached the section of the road where it had been washed out. Carolyn stopped the car at looked at the newly “repaired” road and said, “There is no way I’m trying to drive across that!” What was called a “passable road” was a 200 foot long chasm filled with large boulders. Not “rocks,” boulders at least a foot in diameter. Water was still cascading down the mountain and over the boulders to a 1,000 foot drop below. A car in front of us attempted the crossing and began to bob and slide slowly across. We thought at times that he was a goner, down the mountain, but he finally made it.

“No way,” says Carolyn. We had to get home, so I decided to get behind the wheel and give it a try, bad leg and all. I knew that once we started there was no stopping or we would be stuck and in danger of slipping down the mountain. I took a running start as fast as I dared. We hit the first boulders and began to bounce up and down fiercely as we moved forward. The bamboo poles on top of the car were knocking the roof with loud bangs each time we hit a new boulder. We kept going. After much effort we reached the other side safely. We changed drivers again and hours later reach our home in Latacunga.

It was too late to try and reach the doctor to see about my leg. The doctor was in a hospital in Quito, 80 miles up the Pan-American highway. We struck out the next day to see the doc. He confirmed that nothing was broken, but my leg was badly bruised and nearly all the blood vessels in my lower leg had been broken. The blood was what was causing my leg to balloon when I stood. The up-shot of it was, I spent the next two weeks off my feet in bed. Maybe I would have been better off playing the clown in the mud than attempting to ride a kicking mule.
But, that is hind sight and I don’t want to be “hind” another mule. We discovered that the bamboo poles had caved in the top of the car while we bounced across the chasm.

That’s the story. I know it’s a long one. I hope I haven’t bored you too long, but this is just one story. I have more to share with you. Maybe another time.

Travel Data

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OK. I know what you are thinking. What are these pictures all about? Well, I’ll tell you. Those of you who know us well, or have been in our home to eat, know that Carolyn is a good cook, no not “good,” a terrific cook! I could be prejudiced, but I am the beneficiary of all this goodness. Some of you have been lucky enough to receive gifts of her famous date-nut bread, which she sends out at Christmas time. Being on the road has not in anyway slowed this process down. Date-nut bread and cashew brittle are still being made and sent to special people. So, the question has come up. “How does she do it in an RV?”

The first picture is of our kitchen. It is not big, as you can see, but it is a normal kitchen, how-be-it, small! We still have all the normal and useful things like a stove, small toaster-oven and microwave and refrigerator-freezer. The frig is to the left. Cooking is cooking, small space or large. The only requisite is that we be stopped. Of course, it is sometimes a challenge to find the ingredients while in an out-of-the-way place. Our “pantry” space is much smaller than in our previous home, so we cannot always carry needed ingredients. We are still eating pretty much the same as we did in a “real” home, stationary that is, as compared to our present “mobile-condo.”

Take our Noon meal today, which is either Lunch or Dinner, depending on your custom, but for us it is the main meal of the day. “Chief Carolyn” prepared dried butter-beans, yams topped with butter, brown sugar, coconut and pecans. Added to that was a fresh-tossed salad with romaine lettuce, tomatoes, bell pepper, carrots, and onions topped with our favorite dressing. Blue cheese for Carolyn, honey-mustard for me. Add fresh-brewed, decaffeinated iced tea. No meat. No bread. We eat very little meat, when we do it is chicken or fish. We try to limit the bread, but we do like fresh baked bread. We do now, however, tend to make more one-dish meals and lots of home-made soups.

The second picture shows a solution to a problem. “What is the problem?”, you ask. You will note in the first picture that the toaster-oven sets behind the range. In order to open the top of the range, which folds back and sets straight up to use the burners, it was necessary to move the toaster-oven to the side. Is was a nuisances, so Carolyn came up with a solution so we would not have to move the toaster-oven. If you enlarge the picture you will see her innovation. Simple! She went outside and found two rocks, just the right size, to allow the top to be raised just enough, and held in place, to not have to move the toaster-oven and still be able to use the burners on the range. As a bonus, we can use the toaster-oven at the same time as well. You know the saying about necessity being the mother of invention, well here it is.

I promised you two or three weeks back that I would let you know about how our expenses in traveling turned out at the end of the year. So, here it is. We have kept close records of every mile traveled and every penny spent during the last seven months we have been on the road, from June through December 2007. We have traveled 12,412 miles: 8,233 miles pulling the fifth-wheel and another 4,179 miles without. During this time we have moved the trailer 40 times through 13 states.

I will tell you at the outset that our total expenses for the seven months was $16,681. I am sure that you are not interested in every small detail, so I have broken out some expenses that may be of interest, as a percentage of the total, as follows:

RV Park Fees: 11.7%

Fuel: 16.7%

Truck Maintenance: 3.3% (This includes a large, one-time expenditure.)

RV Misc.: 6.5%

Food: 19.2% (Of this amount, restaurants amount to 32.5% of our food $, 48 times in 30 weeks.)

Entertainment: 3.5% (Mostly fees into parks and attractions, but now including Dish TV.)

Laundry: .001% (The percentage is meaningless, but it amounts to about $4.15 weekly.)

If you want to know what these figures mean in dollars you can do the math. Some of you have wondered, as have we, if it costs more or less living in an RV than in a “regular” house. The way we figure it we are living for about half the cost in the RV, even including the total fuel cost to move us around.

That is about it for this week. Let me share another story with you that was shared with us by a good friend. This is supposedly a true story from the Orange County, Florida sheriff’s office.

An elderly Florida lady did her shopping and , upon returning to her car, found four males in the act of leaving with her vehicle. She dropped her shopping bags and drew her handgun, proceeding to scream at the top of her voice, “I have a gun, and I know how to use it! Get out of the car!” The four men didn’t wait for a second invitation. They got out and ran like mad.

The lady, somewhat shaken, then proceeded to load her shopping bags into the back of the car and got into the driver’s seat. She was so shaken that she could not get her key into the ignition. She tried and tried, and then it dawned on her why. A few minutes later, she found her own car parked four or five spaces farther down. She loaded her bags into the car and drove to the police station.

The sergeant to whom she told the story couldn’t stop laughing. He pointed to the other end of the counter, where four pale men were reporting a car jacking by a mad, elderly woman described as white, less than five feet tall, glasses, curly white hair, and carrying a large handgun. No charges were filed. If you’re going to have a Senior Moment, make it a memorable one!

2008--Week Two

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Time is moving swiftly in the new year. It is almost the middle of January, and we are settling in nicely in Arizona. We are not driving around a great deal now. It sure is a savings of fuel, which, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, is on the rise again. So, we are staying put for a while, resting up for future travels come Spring.

We are enjoying good conversation with our neighbors and getting to know them a little better. The first picture above is a map of our campground. We are in site # 104, on the upper left of the map. The second picture is of two of our neighbors, Jack (on the left) and Roy, in sites #105 and #100 respectively. Both of them are “single” campers who have spent years as permanent RVers. Both have spent most of their adult lives in California. Roy was a pipe fitter by trade, and Jack is a retired Marine Corps Captain. Jack began his RV lifestyle ten years ago after his wife died. He has several children, one of whom is a Major in the Air Force. He said that when his son made Major, he called him up to rub it in. When Jack answered the phone his son said, “Is this Captain Whitford.” Jack said, “Yes.” “Well“, said his son, “this is Maaaajooor Whitford” drawing out the word. Jack said, “Listen, I don’t ‘Sir’ anybody whose diapers I’ve changed.” You just got to love that kind of come back.

Apart from conversing with our neighbors and walking three miles a day, and the occasional trip, we mostly read and engage in a little TV watching, when something worthwhile can be found to watch, which is rare. Most of this new year is taken up with football, on TV that is, though I would much rather play it than watch it. But somehow we can’t seem to get up a scrimmage here among the “senior” crowd. I can’t image why!

Since Carolyn is more the football fan than I, she does the watching and I mostly read. I have read some five or six books lately, mostly fiction though I keep a couple non-fiction books going as well. One of the resent books was the “DaVinci Code.” If you haven’t read it, you have certainly heard about it. There is a lot of controversy surrounding the book, but I found it an interesting read, particularly about a man called Fibonacci. Not only am I familiar with Fibonacci, but I had studied and worked with his mathematical formulas. Let me explain.

First a little background. Fibonacci was a nickname, not the real name, of an Italian mathematician of the Middle Ages during the early 13th Century. His name was Leonard of Pisa, you know, the city with the leaning tower we all know about. His father was named Guglielmo who had the nickname of Bonaccio (“good natured” or “simple”). Leonardo was posthumously given the nickname Fibonacci (derived from the Latin “filius Bonacci,” meaning son of Bonaccio). Anyway, he was the most famous mathematician of his day and is responsible for much of the math we use today. He developed what has come to be know as the Fibonacci Sequence. A series of numbers the next number of which is the sum of the previous two numbers, like 0,1,1,2,3,5,8,13,21 etc.. The result of this is what is known as the Golden ratio, 1.618. I know this sounds like a lot of “gobblely gook,” but bare with me a minute.

This Golden ratio has been shown to be found in all of nature from sunflowers to the human form, something known as the Divine Proportion. If one measures one’s height and divides that by the distance from the belly button to the floor, one gets 1.618, known as PHI (pronounced “fee”). The same is true if one divides the length of an arm from shoulder to fingertip, by the length from the elbow to the fingertip. Etc., etc.. Now, what does all this have to do with me?

Some of you reading this are aware that at one time I was a stockbroker. As such, for a time I worked for a man by the name of Robert Precther, founder of a financial research and advisory firm called Elliott Wave International, based on the theory of Ralph Elliott, which was based on Fibonacci ratios.

It is a collection of theories on how a market acts and reacts. Elliott wave theory is an idea that market behavior is based on waves rather than random timing. Elliott believed that market prices rose and fell in a series of waves based on the same Golden ratio or Golden mean that Fibonacci proved. Since this ratio is present in many aspects of nature and science, Elliott felt that it had great significance on the financial markets as well. The basic idea of this theory is that a market rises in a series of 5 “waves”, as he called them. Also, the theory states that the market declines in a series of 3 waves. Elliott’s theory is that on the first wave a market rises, on wave two it declines, beginning again to rise on wave three, has a period of decline again on wave four, and finally completes the rise on wave five. The period of correction is referred to as a three-wave correction, where the market declines for wave A, begins to rise for wave B, and falls again for wave C. Based on this, we analysed all the major financial markets from the Dow Jones on down, and sold this information to financial institutions such as banks, brokerage houses, insurance companies, etc. worldwide who wanted to know what this method said about the psychology of the markets. Yes, I know. That is way too much information. But, believe me folks when I say we are in a “three-wave correction” right now. It is out of my system now. So we’ll move on.

We had to go toward Phoenix yesterday to get some needed things done, so we thought we would get a couple bikes to ride. Since we only walk three miles each day, we need some more exercise, you understand. You see a picture of our new acquisitions above. We had to buy them because we got such a good deal at Walmart. These are 15-speed mountain bikes that we got for $39 each. Such a deal! The one on the left is mine, the other Carolyn’s. Now we haven’t ridden bikes for many, many years. But, hey, we had never been in an RV before either. Master one, master the other!

I’ll leave you this week with a little story about life in the “senior” lane, certainly not the “fast“ lane.

After Christmas, a teacher asked her young pupils how they spent their holiday away from school. One child wrote the following:

"We always used to spend the holidays with Grandma and Grandpa. They used to live in a big brick house but Grandpa got retarded and they moved to Florida. Now they live in a tin box and have rocks painted green to look like grass. They ride around on their bicycles and wear name tags because they don't know who they are anymore.

They go to a building called a wreck center, but they must have got it fixed because it is all okay now, they do exercises there, but they don't do them very well. There is a swimming pool too, but they all jump up and down in it with hats on.

At their gate, there is a doll house with a little old man sitting in it. He watches all day so nobody can escape. Sometimes they sneak out, and go cruising in their golf carts. Nobody there cooks, they just eat out. And, they eat the same thing every night --- early birds. Some of the people can't get out past the man in the doll house. The ones who do get out, bring food back to the wrecked center for pot luck.

My Grandma says that Grandpa worked all his life to earn his retardment and says I should work hard so I can be retarded someday too. When I earn my retardment, I want to be the man in the doll house. Then I will let people out, so they can visit their grandchildren."

A New Year

We have now been in Gila Bend for one month. It seems like a short time. The first picture above was taken by the owner, Donna, at the Christmas dinner. The picture is not the best quality, but what is one to do. Maybe it’s the subject. The couple standing with us is Wayne and Marge Bishop from upper Michigan. They, so they tell us, spend six months a year in their motor-home and the other six months living on their boat in the Great Lake, I forget which one, Michigan or Huron, or maybe Superior. Whichever it is sounds like a life of luxury! We met another fellow camper, or RVer, in the Laundry Room this morning (Friday is our preferred day for laundry) from New Hampshire. They have a fifth-wheel also, and like us, prefer it over a motor-home because it has more living space, and a whole lot less expense. They spend nine months each year in New Hampshire at an RV Park and the other three months in Arizona. They have been doing this for the last nine years. The last three years they have been here in Gila Bend for the Winter.

By the way, although the terms seem to be interchangeable, there is a difference between a “camper” and an “RVer,” so we have discovered. A “camper” is one who takes an RV out to the lake, the woods or a recreational area for a vacation, or a weekend. An “RVer” is one who makes the RV a home for all or part of a year. You can understand the confusion in people’s minds since the paths of the two cross and occupy the same area for a time during the year. We, as you know, are “RVers.” As such, we have to carry our life’s goods and entertainment. The second picture above is how I have tied down our Dish Antenna and tripod to keep the strong desert winds from blowing it over again and again. You know the trouble we have had with the Dish already, if you have been reading. If you haven’t been reading, shame on you! Here I am working my fingers to the bone trying to keep you up-to-date!

Did you miss me? Of course not. You didn’t know I was away, did you? You thought I was still here doing my “fingers to the bone” thing. Right? Well I took a break. We took another one mile walk in the desert. We are now trying to walk three miles each day, a two mile walk in the morning and a one mile walk in the later afternoon. After the walk, we decided to go down the road and get some needed propane gas for the RV. Since we were there, we decided to get a Subway sandwich for Supper at the near-by shop and take it home. When we got home we had to eat it. Then it was time for the National News, so we had to find out what was new in the world outside Gila Bend. Now we know. Now I’m back. Aren’t you glad?

As some of you know, I have been doing a lot of research in genealogy. Since we now have time, I am getting into some of it again. I am from West Virginia and West Virginia was mostly settled by Parsons. Before WV split from Virginia, my ancestors were pioneers in opening up the western territory. I don’t wish to bore you with all this, but in reading a book called “Pioneers of Jackson County” (that is Jackson County VA/WV) by John House published 102 years ago in 1906, I discovered an interesting story concerning my great, great grandfather Charles Parsons. It also includes his brother, my great, great uncle, “Captain Billy” Parsons (a name he received from military service). My great, great grandfather was also know as “Devil” Charles, or “Devil” Parsons. Now why he was called that I haven’t yet discovered. I hope it is nothing bad. Anyway, here is the story as John House wrote it.

“Charles Parsons and his brother, Captain Billy, would often hunt together. One of them would follow around the hillside, and through the coves on the Little Creek side of the ridge, the other on the Big Run side. Whenever one heard the other shoot, he was to go to the top of the ridge and ascertain if he had killed game, and if so, help to dress and hang it up out of reach of wolves. Thus, they would follow round the hills, sometimes over on to Trace Fork and Sandy water, until evening, taking a packhorse the next day, to bring in their spoils.

One day while thus engaged, probably about the winter of 1824, Charles, when around near the low gap, heard the report of his brother's gun in the opposite cove. Being a clubfooted man, it took him several minutes to reach the top of the ridge. When he gained the summit, a strange sight met his gaze. Down the hillside a short distance, he could see through the underbrush, the form of a large buck, with its head down, rearing up partially, and churning down with its forefeet.

Seeing there was something wrong, as indicated by the peculiar actions of the deer, he hastily raised his rifle and fired, the ball passing through its body, near the heart. With the report of the gun, the buck reared to his hind feet, bringing up the redoubtable Captain Billy, a man of full two hundred pounds weight, hanging on to his horns, and pitched off down the steep hill, in the agony of death. Billy's hunting shirt was cut into strings by the knife-like hoofs of the deer, and he carried marks of the encounter for many days.”

So that is the story. Do you think the name “Devil” had anything to do with his clubfoot? Perhaps I’ll find out some day.

Since we have been RVing everyday is Saturday. We can do as we please. Get up when we want. Go to bed when we want with no fear of being late for anything the next day. It is very pleasant after some 64 years of having to live with a schedule. Nice! We have time to sit and enjoy the beautiful sunsets here in the West. We can take the time to watch the color spectrum change every so slowly into lavenders, gold and deep red. We can enjoy the whole changing color spectacle. We hope you will take time to enjoy the sunset where you are. I hope you can see a sunset where you are! I really hate to rub it in, but the last two days we have enjoyed temperatures of 74 degrees with brilliant sunshine and not a speck of moisture.

We hope the new year is starting off just right for each of you. Until next time………keep good thoughts.