Wednesday

Another day east of the bay.  The weather forecast didn't sound like it would be much better today, so we stayed in Pleasanton and slept in late.  Starting tomorrow (because we have to leave and head south) the weather will greatly improve.

The wind was brisk, and the temperature cool when we got the bike out  and rode to Foothill Road which is by far the prettiest ride around here. We then wound up having to catch a brief piece of the Interstate to get to part of the loop we were riding, we started wondering if we should have just stayed home... then when we finally got to State Highway 84 and saw the long hill that loomed in front of us, our suspicions were confirmed.  Too late now, so we just kept pedalling.

There's a saying, "what goes up must come down", and fortunately today was no exception. We came within .3 mph of cracking the 50 mph mark... our top speed was registered at 49.7  mph.  Downhill runs can be exhilarating as long as you don't suffer a blow-out!

We found our way back to Crank 2 and did some more bicycle related shopping.  Then it was back to the motel to finish out the day with 32 miles.  We are now sitting in a laundromat, getting all of our cycling gear (and regular clothes too) washed and ready for our trek south, which begins much too early in the morning...

Tuesday Comes to a Close

It’s about 9:20 PM and we’re back in the motel in Pleasanton. After dinner at Scoma’s, we decided to walk back to where we came from, rather than catch the MUNI from the Wharf (which was my original plan). We marched back up Jones Street to Columbus, and then turned on Powell for the long trudge uphill, and then a few steep blocks back downhill to Market Street.

Not satisfied with being back close to the BART, we decided to walk a few more blocks to Pacific Bicycle to see if they had anything that might catch our eye and – yes – they did! I found a jersey in a size that fit, and that was on sale… so it’s now part of my cycling ensemble.

Next door was a Whole Foods store (coming to Boise any year now…) so we had to take a walk through there as well. Then it was back to the Westfield San Francisco Centre (a mall in the heart of downtown) where we enjoyed a Gelato before getting back on the BART for the ride back to Pleasanton.

On the Wharf...

We have just walked from Market and Powell streets to the Wharf... in the rain... under a newly purchased umbrella.  Yes... it's been raining!

I've attached two pictures, taken from the corner of Scoma's restaurant that we are currently sitting in. One [hopefully] shows the TransAmerica building shrouded in the mist, and the other is shot 90 degrees to the right of the TransAmerica shot.

We're having scallops tonight; mine will be a risotto and Valerie's will be sauteed.  A side of clam chowder and asparagus and we'll be on our way... hopefully in a dryer evening!

Rain! Who Knew?

It's Tuesday afternoon...1:43 PM... and the BART train is pulling out of the Dublin/Pleasanton station and we're heading to San Francisco.  In the rain... without our tandem.

Fortunately we got a ride in this morning around Pleasanton where I learned a great lesson about the bike paths there.  What starts out as a delightful asphalt path at some point turns to gravel.  Then, when you reach the end of the trail you find a locked gate, chain link fence and no way to exit the path (outside of some creative teamwork that involved lifting the bike over a barricade and having Valerie catch it on the other side).

In spite of it all we managed to get in 30 miles before the weather turned to liquid...

The Rest of Monday (Getting Caught Up)

We left Boise early Sunday morning to begin a two week vacation – getting away for a “rest” by taking our tandem bicycle with us to get in a lot of riding whenever possible. We stopped in Reno for a little while and invested in the local slot machines; I had decided that I’d donate $20 to the Nevada economy, but they apparently would have none of that and insisted that I leave with $60 in my pocket instead. Who am I to argue?

Taking Interstate 80 over the Sierra Nevada Mountains, we found that most of northern California had also been in Reno and were heading back at the same time we were on the road. Add to that some very rough patches in the road, narrow lanes where construction was going on and accordion stop and go driving and it made for a longer than necessary drive.

Arriving at our hotel in Rancho Cordova (east of Sacramento) at about 6:00 in the evening, we rushed to get our luggage in the room and the bike off the car so we could take a quick ride before dinner. We must have been in a business area because there was no traffic to speak of on the roads near the hotel, and in the industrial area where Ventana was located was pretty quiet too. Not so this morning!

We got 11 miles in, found a place to eat close by and hit the sack. This morning, we got up, went and met the folks at Ventana and then made the drive to our motel in Pleasanton (southeast of Oakland). We normally like to stay in San Francisco, but the hotel rates were more than we cared to deal with (unlike in March or April when we usually visit the Bay Area) – so we picked this area because of its close proximity to the BART line and Crank 2 Performance Tandem Bicycles.

We started riding at wound up at the Nordstrom’s as I mentioned in the previous post, rode to the bike store (where we spent a good amount of time and money) and then back to the motel. It was a little over 21 miles, again not as much as we’d like to get in but there’s always tomorrow.

It was too late to really think about riding the BART over to San Francisco, so we decided to eat locally at a restaurant that we enjoy called Sweet Tomatoes (also known as Souplantion, at least from what we’ve seen in southern California). And this is what this whole post is leading up to: the worst parenting we’ve witnessed in a restaurant in several years.

A man and a woman across from us had a baby in a high chair who was at the stage where she could start learning to feed herself, but was in no way skilled enough to do so with any kind of good result. Her end of the table was coated in smeared food; the floor was so thick with food that she had pushed off the table that the carpet was hidden from view in a few spots. The parents weren’t making any effort to do anything other than offer the child more food to shove on the floor.

There’s a time and a place for everything, and if you’re little angel isn’t up to speed on whether to eat the food or use it as finger paint on the table, then either take the time to feed the little darling yourself… or stay the hell at home and let Satan’s spawn destroy YOUR dining room!

I wasn’t thinking clearly when these folks got up, cleaned the kid off, made a feeble attempt to clean up her mess (they failed miserably) and left without leaving any kind of tip for the poor slob who was going to get to clean up after them. I should have taken a picture and posted it here… but the guy came over and surveyed the area before starting to clean it up and all I could do was look at him and shrug my shoulders and shake my head in disbelief.

Our previous worst dining experience ruined by bad parenting? It was visiting my mother and going out for pizza at a place called Streets of New York. The was a woman there who had one little kid with her coated in snot (the kid was really sick, with a miserable cold and had no business being anywhere but at home) and another who seemed to think it was great fun in climbing up on the table and running from one side to the other.

The mother got really offended when someone made a comment to the effect that if that was the kind of behavior her kid had, and lack of any kind of parenting whatsoever that they should have stayed home. “People forget that they were once little kids too” she said. No… people don’t forget they were once little, but most of us remember that we had parents that wouldn’t put up with that kind of crap at all.

I only wish I could remember what it was I said that got her so offended! (So I could say it again…)

Monday So Far...

We woke up this morning and went to see a shop that manufactures full suspension mountain bikes this morning (a few things are actually still made here rather than in Taiwan). Pictured is a view of the shop at Ventana.

We then made the drive south to Pleasanron and managed to find our motel, a Safeway store for some supplies and a Nordstrom's. I'm currently out guarding our bike while Valerie is inside trying to trade in an item that was mail ordered from our last trip to San Diego.

From here we'll go find a store that specializes in tandems amd women's cycling apparel. Hopefully I'll have more to write about later when I'm not limited to posting via my cell phone!

Nina P. (Voigt) McKay, 1919 - 2011

My mother died about 24 hours ago... she was 91 and very, very ready to go. I woke up a little before 3:00 AM: thirsty, restless and wanting to do something to say "goodbye" in my own way. I kept this blog open as a way for Nina to follow us on our trips and bike adventures, and because she enjoyed this forum I thought it fitting to post her story here. The photo I've uploaded didn't have a date or description, but it certianly looks like it might be from her days during World War II. Of course there are better photos of her, but this one just seems to have a little "self assured attitude" in it... and this just seemed to be the one I felt led to share. Here's to you, Mom... a life well lived!

MY STORY by Nina McKay

I was born five miles north of the little town of Ladysmith, Wisconsin, and delivered at home by my father. Because I was the sixth child they had done this enough times that there was no need of a doctor being present. My five brothers had been sent to school a little early that morning to clear the place of an audience (or 5 of them) and I am told that the birth took place on the living room floor. I arrived at 19 minutes to 9, November 19, 1919, so my parents changed their minds about naming me Marie and chose Nina instead. I liked that name better anyhow. When the boys came home from school that afternoon and found out they had a baby sister, Rudy said, "Oh boy, now we won't have to wash the dishes anymore!"

Our house was a stone block two-story house that my father built. We had a large living-dining room, and a kitchen and a bedroom downstairs, and four bedrooms upstairs. The convenience of an indoor bathroom had never even been considered in those days. Our bathroom was one of those little wooden three seaters with a Sears Roebuck catalogue for toilet paper in it. A path through the snow gave access during the winter. This was Wisconsin so there was always plenty of snow.

We had a huge furnace in the basement that kept the downstairs toasty warm, but the upstairs temperature left something to be desired. This was made livable through the use of feather ticks over and under us in the winter. So we slept in comfort, but when it was time to get up, we raced downstairs in order to dress by the furnace opening.

We lived on a 120 acre farm with a lake on it in which there were bullheads (a small type of catfish) and I learned to fish at an early age - a pastime I have enjoyed all my life. That lake was my favorite place to spend time with just me and my dog "Jackie". Jackie was my constant companion and he took very good care of me when we would go exploring through the woods, hunting berries and such.

Jackie also taught me how to swim. I would put one arm around him and use the other hand to "dog paddle" like my instructor. That is the way I swam for years. Jackie dog paddled - so I dog paddled. It worked and only after I grew up did I learn that there were other strokes that human swimmers use.

There were always lots of calves, chickens, ducks, cats, etc. to play with, but for some reason, I envied the kids that lived in town and always thought of myself as under privileged because I lived on a farm. Now I would love to be able to go back where the air is clean and the traffic is thin. I didn't know how rich I really was back then where we had all the good fresh fruits and vegetables we could eat and had no traffic jams and street rage, etc. No construction noise, honking horns, or deadlines to meet. We could see the stars at night without the smog filter, and early in the morning we would run barefoot through the grass and let the dew wash our feet. Try doing that in a big city! But I did not appreciate any of this then. I could only think of when I would be old enough to move away from here and go to the glamorous "big city".

In the fall we would go picking blue berries in the swamp nearby, or raspberries, cherries, gooseberries or whatever else happened to be ripe. My mother canned whatever we brought home and it would get stored in our huge basement along with the potatoes, apples, squash, and other produce from our garden. Mom canned around 300 quarts of whatever we grew or picked to keep us through the winter, besides making dill pickles and sauerkraut in big barrels. We also had plenty of beef, pork and chickens so that we never ran out of anything. We had an orchard of about one half acre in size that supplied us with apples of many varieties and a few kinds of plums. Mom also made cottage cheese (the best in the world) which she sold along with the pickles and sauerkraut. From the sale of these came the money to buy other needs that we couldn't make.

We had an abundance of pets, as my brothers would find baby animals and bring them home where they would grow up thinking they belonged there until they reached the age of wanting a family of their own. At that time they would disappear, and then the boys would find a new baby. We almost always had a skunk (destinked of course) and a woodchuck. They made great pets. One spring the boys found a baby red fox which I named Skumpy. He never did get real tame so I had to keep him in a pen or on a leash. He finally dug out of his pen and ran away.

We had a pet raccoon named "Aywee" because that was the sound he made when we hid from him and he would hunt for us. One time after we had been berry picking, we had separated the spoiled berries and put them in a pail to be fed to the pigs. After sitting in the sun they had spoiled some more and turned into wine. Aywee got into this mess and got himself drunk on it. That night he came into my room which was on the second floor and he started to walk right out the open window. I saw him and got there in time to catch him by the tail just as he started to fall out. He would have landed on the concrete porch one floor below. Drunken raccoons do not have any more sense than drunken people!

The skunks were fun and made sweet pets - sort of like a cat. My brother Art liked to ride his bike with the skunk on his shoulder because people would be startled and give him plenty of room.

We also had plenty of cats and kittens, baby chicks and ducks, calves and even at one time a colt that we spoiled, not knowing how to treat a colt. When he grew up he still thought he was a little baby and could still climb onto our laps, or put his feet on our shoulders. This is NOT the way to raise a colt. I learned to ride a horse, but only bareback. There was one horse that I could go out in the pasture to and offer her a handful of grass which I put on the ground. Then when she put her head down to get it, I would climb up on her neck. She would then raise her head and I would slide back to the proper position in which to ride a horse - no bridle, no saddle, just me and Molly. I would steer her by putting my bare foot alongside her head and nudging her in the way I wanted her to go.

One day when I had ridden her to a neighbor's house, I was talking to my friends when it started to rain just a sprinkle, so I got off Molly and crawled under her where I sat on the ground until the rain stopped. She just stood there patiently waiting. We had another horse called Tony that was a swayback. When he ran it was like sitting in a big rocking chair because of his back. I would get the giggles every time I tried riding on him. However, I never did learn to ride with a saddle, and still can't. I must be part Indian because these new fangled saddles only kept me from being at home on a horse.

One day when I was seven years old my father went hunting with one of my brothers and when they came home my brother neglected to clean his gun to put it away properly. When Dad found it, he became angry and took it outside and threw it away. When he did this, the gun caught on something and discharged shooting him in the ankle. The bullet went through his dirty boot. He spent a week in the hospital but there were no antibiotics in those days and the infected wound led to blood poisoning. Their treatment was to cut his leg off at the calf, but the infection had spread beyond that, so they cut his leg off at the knee. But the infection was already throughout his system and he died.

They called the family in to be there at his passing, and as we sat there knowing that these were his last moments, two nuns came into the room on their regular rounds. (This was a Catholic Hospital). They were laughing and joking and this made a deep impression on my seven year old mind. From that moment on, I had a deep resentment against anything Catholic, and especially nuns. They should not have been laughing when my father was dying! I carried this resentment for years until convicted of it by the Holy Spirit at the age of 53.

Life without my father was a lot different. I had been a "daddy's girl" and I grieved long past the usual time for grieving. I was a lonely child and I became rebellious. I took out my rebellion on my mother which did not make her job of taking care of six kids and a big farm any easier I'm sure, but she hung in there and got us all raised. I know I shall see her again when life on this earth is over, and I do know that she has forgiven me.

One time when I was about eight or ten and it was harvest time when the haymow was filled with freshly cut hay, Mom and I decided to sleep in the haymow. That was quite an experience. We had a litter of kittens at just the right age to leap and bounce on the hay all night long. It was such fun watching and listening to them and now and then they would bounce on us. To me this was just like "camping out", an experience every kid should have at least once.

Of course my Jackie dog was right there curled up at my side feeling very honored at having us spend the night with him. Jackie and I were inseparable. He was a big white dog with black eyes and nose, and a heart full of love. He ran the farm and kept the other animals under control (with love). He was one of the few dogs that I hope to see again in Heaven.

I went to grade school in a little one-room country school house that was just under a mile from our house. We had to walk through snow that had been plowed out and the piles of snow were often much higher than we were so we could not see anything but the road we were walking on. The school had two bathrooms conveniently located outside, behind the school and had paths through the snow in the winter time. I hated snow then and I still do today. The school was heated by a furnace in which the teacher had to light a fire early in the morning after she had walked there from a nearby farm where she roomed and boarded.

When I started in the first grade there were three of us kids in the first grade: Ilo, Earl, and myself. Twelve years later Ilo and I had gone through high school together and had enrolled in Normal (or teacher training) and by this time, Earl had made it to the eighth grade, and we were his teachers. But after about six months, I had decided that I did NOT want to be a teacher - mostly because it meant that I would have to teach in a rural school for four years before I could teach in town. That meant that I would have to room and board at some farm (whoever lived closest to the school) and I would have to trudge through the snow to the schoolhouse early in the morning to light the fire in the furnace so that it would be warm in time for the kids when they came at 9 o'clock. That I did NOT want to do! I don't remember a lot of things about my grade school days except for the cold in the winter and I was always glad to see spring vacation time come so that I could get back to my pets.

My brother Bill and I went to high school at the same time because although he was two years older than I was, he had not started to high school until I did so the two of us and a neighbor kid "Bob" trudged the five miles to school together. We walked the first two years and then the third year we had a car so we drove. That was 1936.

The fourth year I stayed in town and did housework for a family there for my room and board. This was harder than walking, but an experience I had the year before made me leery of Wisconsin roads in the wintertime. One morning after a snowfall, Bob and I started out to drive to school. Bill didn't feel well that morning so he stayed at home. When we got a little over a half mile from home, we got stuck in a snow drift and had to walk back home. I was dressed for riding, not for walking, and we did not realize how cold it was but soon found out! We started to walk home and before we had got about a block from home I had frozen everything I had to freeze! I could not feel my arms or legs anymore and was at the stage, where had I been left to my own, I would have sat down and rested because I no longer felt the cold. At this time, Bob walked backwards and I walked with my head against his chest while he pulled me along by grasping my elbows. In this way, I was able to breathe, because when the wind hit me in the face my breathing was cut off. I am very glad I was not out there alone because I no longer had any desire to resist the weather, but wanted to rest in the nice warm snow bank.

When we got home they had to take my coat and boots off because I couldn't, and rub my hands and feet with snow to get the circulation going again. Later I found out that the temperature that day was 47 degrees below zero, and that did not count the wind chill! They didn't seem to know about wind chill in those days. That was the day that I decided that some day I would leave Wisconsin and move to California. I have hated cold weather ever since.

This was in 1936 and it was several years until I would make this move, but I kept it in my mind. The first move I made when I left home was to go to St. Paul where I lived with my brother Rudy and his family. They later moved to Alaska where they still live and love it, but I have never even gone there to visit. I don't like cold or bears!

While in St. Paul, I worked in several small restaurants as a cook and waitress. Then my brother, Hugo, bought a small restaurant he called "The Chicken Shack" and I went to work for him, but it was an out-of-the-way place and although the food was very good, it never did catch on. We had a couple of young men called Arnie and Arvin as our regular customers, and when Hugo decided to sell his place, they asked me to come and work for them. They had a candy and caramel corn shop called "The Flavo Korn Shop". I spent three fun-filled years working there. Arnie and Arv were great bosses and the shop was a good place to work.

Right next door was a bakery where three of the girls that worked there and I became "best friends". On the other side of the bakery was a theater with more people that were good friends. The manager once said to me, "If I ever catch you paying to get into this theater, you're in trouble!" I would go in there whenever I wanted. I would often go there to eat my lunch, while I watched the show.

Arnie had a 1907 Maxwell that he parked out in front of the shop, and sometimes we drove around town in it just to see the people stare. Believe it or not, I weighed less after working there three years than I did when I started, even if we did carry all kinds of candy, soft drinks and caramel corn. The only reason I finally left there was that World War II had started and I felt I could do more for my country working in a war plant than I could in a candy store. So I applied for work at North West Airlines.

While I was waiting to be called to work, I took a job in a small manufacturing plant where I learned to run a lathe, grinder, and drill press. I enjoyed this very much, but the quality of the stuff they turned out was inferior so I was glad when North West called me. When I had been in this shop for three days, the boss caught me sharpening a drill bit (which only a few of the men could do) and he gave me a raise. Then one day when one of the lathes was not working right, and there was not enough other work to keep us all busy, the foreman asked me to take a look and see if I could find the trouble. So I did. The minute I started to look at it, I found a bent pin that was causing the machine to malfunction, so I went to another lathe and made a new pin and put it in. All this took me twenty minutes. When I showed it to the foreman, he began to swear, but he soon calmed down and said, "I have had the night foreman working on trying to fix that machine for three nights now and he still doesn't know what was wrong!" Then you fix it in twenty minutes! I then got another raise, but I often wondered what the night foreman got?

My application at North West Airlines finally got processed and I quit my job at the little shop and went to work at NWA. With all the boys gone to war, we girls took over the jobs they used to hold, so I became a "Rosie the Riveter" - a title I have had lots of fun with in the years to follow. We worked on B-24s refurbishing and repairing, to get them ready for service. I enjoyed the nearly three years I worked there in the big double hanger, working all over the airplanes. I had a good boss, "Gordie" and a neat partner "Neva". We pulled some funny tricks on a supervisor’s son that got a little too fresh!

This young man thought he could get away with anything because his dad was one of the BIG BOSSES and we would be scared to complain. This young man had an over abundance of hands, and he kept them all busy. When the girls on the crew would be working in tight spots, and couldn't fight back, he would turn his hands loose, and we got tired of that very fast -- but what can one girl do to defend herself against a six foot man?

SO -- one day four or five of us ganged up on him. We surprised him in the bomb bay section of the plane, pushed him into the bomb bay and then proceeded to beat the snot out of him. This time there was enough "girl power" to get the job done. We then told him that if he ever as much as touched one of us again, he would get the same treatment only worse. After that he was a perfect gentleman! Peace reigned on our crew.

So when the job there ended, another friend, Ione, wanted to go to Chicago because her boy friend's parents lived there, and her boy friend, Pete, was in a prison camp in Germany. She wanted to be near them so that when any word of him came through she could find out about him. I went with her and we worked in Chicago for awhile. I worked at a place called Davidsons where they made supplies for the armed forces. I worked as an inspector and learned how to use all the instruments used to inspect the work being done on the machines. This too was an interesting place to work. It was fun taking the "El" or the train to work instead of streetcars like I was used to.

There was a little Swedish restaurant near where we lived that we used to eat in every Sunday. They served everything "home style" and you could help yourself to all that you wanted. We enjoyed that. I also got a second job in a dime store in the evenings during Christmas season. I enjoyed this as it was just for a few weeks and was new and exciting to me.

During this war time, sugar, meat, and cigarettes were being rationed. The clerk in the little store that we traded in would take coupons if we had them, but if we didn't, we could buy in their store what we wanted anyway. So the rationing never was a hardship. We didn't have a car so the gas and tires rationing didn't affect us. I even bought cigarettes for a man at work, and in return he gave me lots of little blown glass trinkets (he was a glass blower). So I had quite a collection which I kept for years until it became too much trouble to move them around.

After we were there about nine months, Pete's family finally heard about him and he was released from the German war prison unharmed, except that his health was not as good as it could have been. He got to come home and he and Ione were married and took off for the army life. I returned to St. Paul.

I then went to work for Western Electric where they made telephones. This time I worked as a "Tool and Gauge Inspector". I would explain this as "I inspect the tools that the inspectors use to inspect with." This too was an interesting job. The factory was eight stories high and as an inspector, I had the freedom to go around on all eight floors while most of the people were confined to a machine they sat at and worked. I got to see telephones made from the ground up. They were the cradle type that are no longer used but I kept one for sentimental reasons as long as I could find one that still worked.

It was at this time that my decision made back in Wisconsin to move to California came back into my mind. I decided this was the ideal time, as winter was fast approaching and Minnesota was no better at keeping me warm than Wisconsin, so I quit my job and packed. The day I picked to leave couldn't have been a better choice. As we pulled out of the train station at St. Paul, the first snow of winter was falling. I was ecstatic! I was finally getting away from the cold!

I arrived at my destination, Laguna Beach, after my long train ride, having seen my first mountains on the way. I had a sleeper ticket and it just happened to be the full of the moon as we went through the Rockies, and I don't think I slept a wink for watching the snow covered mountains in the moonlight! Beautiful!!

However, Laguna Beach did not feel like "home" to me. It was nice, but was built on lots of hills and I did not have a car so it would have been hard to get around. One day after I had been there about a week, I decided to take a bus to San Diego and see what that was like. I LOVED IT! So I made a reservation at a hotel and went back to Laguna Beach and got my luggage.

I felt like I had finally found my home. I found a little two-room apartment and a job just about a block away, and I thought I had it made. My job was as cook-waitress in a place called Tig's where I would work for a couple of years, and then I worked at Patricias's (a dress shop) for another couple of years. San Diego was such a lovely, warm place without any snow. I thought I never wanted to leave there.

One night Tig (Thelma Irene Grim) and I went to the dog races in Tijuana, and it got cold. Tig had forgotten to bring a jacket along, but she did have a tablecloth that she was taking to the cleaners, so she wrapped it around her -- I convinced her it looked just like a mantilla -- and after all we WERE in Mexico. We were demonstrating "what the well dressed ladies-wear-store-owner wears to the dog races".

It was while I was working at Tig's that I met my husband Ralph, better known as "Mac". About a year later, I married him and we found a house in La Mesa, a suburb of San Diego. We had been hunting without much luck for a house when we were shown this one and as I walked in the front door, I turned to Mac and said, "I think this is the one." He said, "I think so too!" And it was! It proved to be just the right place for us for quite a few years.

By this time I had gotten a job at Benson's, a Lady's ready-to-wear store in the downtown area. Patricia had gotten married and closed her shop down. I worked at Benson's three or four years and then "retired".

Finding myself with a little spare time on my hands, I enrolled in an adult education class on Pattern Making and Dressmaking. This started a two-year term of what I considered "play time". I loved every minute of it and when they handed me a "certificate of graduation" I was a little sad because it was over now. I had always thought school was a place where they made you work, but this was play - fun and games! I had always liked to sew but never had much time to do so. Because I had moved around a lot I could not take a sewing machine along, so had never done much sewing.

By this time I had taken every adult sewing class I could fit into my schedule. Then in 1955, I entered a sewing contest put on by Walker Scott, a department store in College Grove Shopping Center. They had four categories, and I entered two of them. I made a sport dress for my niece, Abby, and a formal for my next door neighbor, Marilyn.

Abby's dress got up to the finals but was not chosen for a prize. I wondered if it was because two winners from the same source were too much? Anyway Marilyn's formal won 1st prize! Then they took all the garments that had won from all four categories and re-judged them. Marilyn's gown won the 1st Grand Prize! I was elated, but I think Mac was even more so. You would have thought it was his work to hear him brag. There were 433 garments in the contest, and I won a sewing machine and $75 worth of fabric.

Marilyn then wore her gown in a "Miss Universe" preliminary contest and won a big trophy for "Best Appearance in a Formal". Later I made a short, sheer, lace trimmed jacket for her to wear over the strapless gown so she could wear it for a wedding gown. (The church disapproved of strapless wedding gowns.)

I then settled into a life of sewing. From 1955 on I never bought another dress, but made all my clothes as well as Mac's shirts and when Richard was born in 1956 (Nov. 7th) he also had many garments "designer made."

Richard's birth was a bit different than the average. We went to the hospital at 1:30 AM. Mac walked (I waddled) up to the desk and Mac said to the nurse in charge, "My wife thinks she's pregnant."

The nurse took one look at me and said, "I think so too!" So they admitted me. When they called my doctor, he gave the nurse a medication order. She was to give me half of the dose NOW and the other half when he arrived, but she misunderstood him and save me the whole dose then. Then another whole dose when he got there. The doctor was furious, but I was OUT and knew nothing until about 11:30 the next morning! Richard was born at 6:30 AM while I slept peacefully through the whole thing. I never even saw the delivery room. Mac, on the other hand did not have it that easy. He did not have a "sleeping pill".

When I woke up, I found that the bulge I had been carrying around with me lately was gone. I knew I must have given birth, and wondered if I had a boy or a girl - until the doctor wandered in and told me.

We had two dogs at that time: Butch and Susie. What excitement there was when we brought that baby home. Butch was smaller (a Springer Spaniel) so he would stand on the couch so he could look into the bassinet while Susie, a big red ?? dog could stand on the floor and hang her head over the side of the bassinet. Those dogs thought I had brought that baby home to them as a present. They would stand for hours just looking at him.

When I would go out to hang up the wash, they would stay inside by the bassinet. If Rich would make one suspicious noise both dogs would burst out the back screen door and come flying out to the clothes line to tell me "get back in quick, he's awake." I never worried about leaving him alone with them while I was hanging up the wash.

A couple of years earlier, Mac and I had attended a school meeting and voted in favor of the addition of lower grades in the local school. We never dreamed that shortly thereafter we would benefit from that meeting by having a school within walking distance (about 5 blocks) from home from kindergarten through the eighth grade. By the time Rich was through the eighth grade, the new high school had been built just about three blocks from home so he had an easy trip to school all the way through high school.

During these years we had a yellow cat named Elmer that spoiled me for thinking there were NO cats other than yellow cats. To this day, both Rich and I think that if a cat is not yellow, it is not a prime pussy cat.

We also had a desert tortoise (I don't think we ever named him) but he was part of the family and liked to walk over our bare feet when we sat out in the back patio. I think he was showing how friendly he was, but guests often were startled when this big, round animal climbed over their feet. He liked to eat rose petals and corn on the cob. During those years, I had three plum trees and a pomegranate tree - also a banana tree, which produced bananas, but they were not worth peeling. I also had a ten-foot long Concord grape vine that covered a part of the back fence. Being in California, I was able to grow several epiphiliums - a flower that very few people are acquainted with. But they are gorgeous! They are halfway between a cactus and an orchid. They have huge flowers and gorgeous colors. I had 4-5 colors of them and have never seen one any place but San Diego. I still miss them!

Then in 1973, Mac Died of emphysema and asthma. He had been ailing for a long time but with his oxygen tanks, he managed to get along. He never complained but after he had prostate cancer, he got weaker and was semi-bedfast and one day he just lost the fight.

At this time Rich was in his last year of high school, and when he graduated he married and then joined the Air Force. I soon had a grandson who we called R2 because his real name was Richard the 2nd. He was my pride and joy. We were best buddies for four years, and then Richard and Karen were divorced. She remarried and they moved out of the state taking my buddy with them. That was probably the saddest day of my life. I shall never forget the look on his face as they left. He was sure I had deserted him, and in his little four year old mind, I was throwing him away. While all the time my heart was breaking. But I could not do ONE thing about it.

I was not to see him again until he was quite grown up, but the damage was done. The love that we once shared I could no longer see in his eyes. Now he has a little son of his own and has also had some hard times to go through. I pray that he will find the Lord and happiness again. R2, If you ever read this, I just want you to know that I STILL LOVE YOU!

By this time, Rich was working at the VA and transferred to Boise, Idaho. When he left on the 3rd of January, I was feeling quite blue. Then I looked out the window and saw three epiphilium blossoms in the shape of a triangle and felt the Lord say, "We're still here!" Now this was January and epiphiliums do NOT bloom until the middle of June! I had become a Christian in 1973 after Mac died and this is just one of the things God has done to show Him love to me. I have never felt alone since that.

I stayed in San Diego until 1984. By that time the town had grown so much, the traffic was so thick and the smog so bad that I began to wish I could go somewhere that the air was a bit clearer and the roads safe to drive on.

Then one day Richard called and said he was being transferred and had a choice of three places where he could go. He said, "Would you like to live in Prescott or (and he named two other places). At the sound of the word "Prescott" I came awake. I had never been to Prescott, did not know anybody there, but I knew that's where I wanted to go and if he transferred there, I would move there too. But on the day he was to transfer, another opening right there in Boise became available. Because he liked Boise, he decided to stay. I felt a letdown in my spirit, but decided I would put my house up for sale and move to Boise.

A short time later, a friend of mine brought some brochures about Prescott to church and gave them to me. I took them home with me and read them that evening. I got all excited again! So I said to the Lord, "I think You are trying to tell me something. If you want me to go to Prescott, I'll go whether Richard is there or not." The next day my house sold! Now I had the house on the market for three years, and had NO offers on it.

When my realtor called me and told me she had a buyer, I felt that this was an answer to my prayer for guidance as to where the Lord wanted me.

Now I had gone to Boise for a couple of months each summer for three years, and had looked for a house there, but I not only did not find a house, I didn't even find an area that I wanted to live in. But when my house in San Diego sold, I took a four-day trip to Prescott. One day to travel there, two days in which I bought a house, and then another day to travel home. I had expected to be gone longer but it was not necessary. (14 years later I met the owner I had purchased the house from (she lived in Oklahoma then) and learned God was doing a good thing for her too or she would have been burdened with double house payments until it did sell. Now she is my good friend that plays Scrabble with me every Sunday afternoon!)

I loved Prescott, and found a manufactured double-wide home in a park where we own our own lots. It was four miles from downtown Prescott and was near two lakes. This was as close to rural living as I could get and still live in town. I was just two blocks from the city limit and there was a lot of open land all around with antelope roaming around, that I could see from my back porch. In the winter when the leaves are off the trees I can see Willow Lake from my front window. Now (20 years later) downtown Prescott has grown so that I feel like I am right downtown. Even my favorite grocery store has built less than a mile away from me.

When I was getting ready to move from San Diego, everything fell into place as though I didn't even have to do anything. I just had to pack and go. On the day before I left there, I had been out to the garage for something, and when I came back to the house and walked by the fence where the Concord grapes were, I said to the Lord, "I sure would like to have some of those grapes before I leave." Then I went on into the house. Early the next morning, I looked out the window and there, right in the center of the 10 foot length of grape vines was ONE big cluster of ripe grapes! This was in July and the grapes don't get ripe until October! Another miracle the Lord did just for me! All the other grapes were still about the size of peas or just a bit larger. I then knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was in the center of His will and Prescott was where He wanted me.

The day I arrived in Prescott, Richard and Gayle (he had married again) showed up here about 20 minutes after I got here. They said they came to check out my new home. The movers were supposed to get here around noon, but they finally arrived at nine that evening. They had run into a hail storm and their radiator had gotten all messed up. So we sat there and waited for them. It was quite a day, but I was home! I have never regretted coming to Prescott. I even put up with a couple of snows each winter, but they never last long.

The next big event in my life was the birth of my granddaughter Christal. I had gone to Boise for the occasion and when we went to the hospital we found out that this was no regular delivery line birth. She had lots of complications, so instead of being with Gayle as I had intended, I spent the whole time in the chapel praying. Christal won the battle though and emerged a beautiful, healthy baby.

The next occasion like this was the arrival of Emilie. I did not get to partake in this event. The other grandma had the honor that time, and I got to wait for the news at home. The last time I remember seeing Emilie, she was four years old and was as cute as a button. She had shoulder length hair that just would not tangle up no matter what. Turn her upside down and when she got back on her feet every hair was in place. I was impressed because my hair always looked like it needed combing.

That was quite awhile ago. The girls are quite grown up now. Christal is almost out of college and Emilie is about to start. I am still in Prescott and feel at home here. I am still driving my 1973 VW that I bought new in San Diego, and I hope it lasts as long as I do because it is such fun to listen to the teen-age boys ask all about it and want to buy it. I have offers to buy it almost every time I go anywhere in it. The answer is always, "NO!"

I will be 85 years old at my next birthday in November. I have slowed down a whole lot, but still get around with the help of a walker, which I call "my motorcycle".

Rich and his third wife, Valerie come to see me whenever possible and I enjoy their visits. Valerie is a beautiful addition to the small family, and a joy to have around. She and Rich are both mail carriers and in their time off they ride a tandem bike.

Four of my five brothers are gone now. Only Rudy is left. He and his wife Della live in Alaska and are both 92 years old. They still bowl on a team twice a week.

It is amazing to me how fast eighty-five years can go by, especially when I remember how long it used to take for Christmas or my birthday to get here when I was a little girl. My Scrabble partner says that is because as a child of 10, one year is 1/10th part of our life. When we are 85, one year is just 1/85th of our life. Each year is a smaller piece of the whole!

April 19, 2011: Nina’s story was written in the fall of 2004. She gave up driving a year or so after writing this text; her son still has her VW Bug and drives it from time to time. Her brother Rudy died a few years ago, and Nina was the sole survivor of her siblings.

Nina moved to Boise, ID almost three years ago and spent the rest of her days living at the Samaritan Village Apartments. Up until last winter she enjoyed going out for dinner every Saturday evening with her son, Rich, and her daughter in law, Valerie. As winter set in, she didn’t feel like braving the weather any more, and transferring from electric scooter to a wheelchair to the car was getting to be harder for her. The last few months saw a decline in strength and ability to do much of anything, but her mind and sense of humor never seemed to wane up until the end.

She was fiercely independent and wanted no part of assisted living (even though we tried it for a couple of months last year). She wanted to live in her own space and feel as independent as she possibly could, and longed for the day when she would meet her Lord and Savior. Today both wishes have been fulfilled.

Born November 19, 1919
Died: April 19, 2011

Paris: The End of the Story. Epilogue

So you've figured out that we made it into Chicago... you're correct. Although for the first time in my life I checked the seat back in front of me to make sure they had a barf-bag included with the in-flight magazine and SkyMall. Something I ate later in the flight must not have settled well, and I was actually feeling queasy... something I don't usually worry about. All fears aside, I kept my lunch on the inside, which was better off for everyone concerned.

Once in Chicago we had three hours to kill before the next flight, and I was looking forward to relaxing, maybe finding a Starbucks and enjoying NOT being on a plane. Boy, were we in for a treat.

Little did we know that as soon as you get off an international flight, you're herded into a corridor that goes on and on for what must have been the length of a half-marathon. Turn left, turn right, up an incline, down an incline... this airport Bataan Death March seemed like it would never end. Skeletons of the people who didn't make it were strewn along the side of the walkways, still clutching their carry-on baggage.

Finally, we got to the U.S. Customs and Border area, and passed through. Then we got to go claim our bags... all of them. For some silly reason I had assumed that once checked they'd go all the way to Boise from Paris. I assumed wrong.

Then we get to wheel our bags through another check point, then go to a spot on the other side of said check point and have our bags rechecked for the remainder of our flights. After that we got to find our way to a different terminal, and go through the TSA screening one more time.

The whole point of this little rant is that by the time we finally got to the actual gate for our flight they were starting to board! So much for relaxing...

Our flight routed us through Denver, where we switched planes and then headed back to Boise. Nothing out of the ordinary here. In fact I was feeling hungry and brave enough to put some more food back inside of me, so I got a little pizza from the Pizza Hut near our gate and chowed down. Valerie found some treats at a pretzel stand.

Anyway... we're home, and have gone back to work. I'm missing France, and the little pastry shops and bakeries that seem to be found in every village and small town. I really enjoyed the rural areas, and the peaceful bike riding opportunities that they afforded us. I'm missing the family we stayed with, as they made this trip something more for us than just the usual tourist's vacation. We got to see the spots that most people on a commercial tour would never stop and see, and experience life as it's happening, rather than as it's planned in a daily itinerary.

Thanks to the dear friends we stayed with; we had a great time! And thanks to the folks who were curious enough to follow us through this blog, and also to those of you who added comments or sent e-mails to us.

I will now put this blog back into a deep sleep until our next biking vacation...

Paris: The End of the Story. Part Four

Thursday morning, the alarm goes off at 6:00 AM and after getting things ready its off to the airport right around 8:00 AM. I'm thinking that there's the possibility of getting the taxes we paid on all of our purchases back as we get ready to exit the country, so I'm hopeful of getting a small, but welcome rebate. Once we've arrived at the airport I discover something else. One way to avoid not paying back the tax money to non-residents is to have the refund line on the side before going through airport security. When someone (like me) sees how long both the lines for the refund and the line through the security and border check is, and they don't know how long all this will take... they panic, throw the receipts in the trash and go stand in the lines that will actually get them home on time.

If the tax refund line was on the other side of all the check in procedures, I would have gladly waited in line until I either got the refund or the flight started boarding. The refund window is where it is for a reason!

Once through the check in procedures, Valerie found a couple of last-minute souvenirs and before too long the flight started boarding. When our turn came to board, I picked up our two carry-on bags and we started walking toward the jetway. As we were ready to turn the corner and head to the plane, I got picked for a random inspection. Valerie was told to proceed to the plane, even though one of the bags was "hers".

They, of course, went through everything (including frisking me too). They found my case of nylon tipped knitting needles and got very concerned, calling over supervisors for their wisdom. These were, naturally, against the rules and needed to be removed from my bag. They would be checked as regular baggage and would be found when we claimed our checked baggage later.

This is the part where I get a little pissy. We really could use a little regulatory uniformity. These knitting needles were not a problem when flying OUT of the United States. Flying OUT of France? Oh, no! It makes me wonder how many other holes there are in the system... and what's being brought on board an aircraft in some part of the world that really shouldn't be. C'mon folks, one set of approved and banned items for every airport worldwide!

Oh yes... and while standing in their inspection area I suddenly got a (thankfully small) nosebleed. No tissues, or any offer for something to help. I just had to stand there pinching off my left nostril with a finger while they went about their business.

After getting through the inspection process I boarded the plane to find that most of any overhead space for carry-on baggage had now been taken. (If I had boarded with Valerie there would have been lots of space still.) The flight attendants weren't very helpful, and at first made me feel like I was the bad guy for arriving on the plane late. (It wasn't MY idea to be randomly inspected!) Another attendant told me to keep looking for a spot for the bag; there had to be something somewhere. In the end one attendant actually started helping me look in the overhead bins and found one where we could reposition some items and make it all fit. From there it was eight hours of smooth sailing to Chicago...

Today's photos were a view of Châteaubriant , a view into the neighbor's yard and a field along the coast to Omaha Beach.

Paris: The End of the Story. Part Three

There are three photos in this installment; one is the view of Montmartre from the Eiffel Tower. We walked to the basilica from the North Paris train station and then over to the Eiffel Tower and then maybe a third of the distance back to Montmartre before the day was over. Definitely more than just a walk in the park!

The second picture is of us on the Eiffel Tower. Notice how the brim on the right side of my hat is folded upward. In the third picture, Valerie stands in front of what is the entrance to the Louvre. Notice how here hair is standing straight out to the left. Both these photos attest to the WIND that we were putting up with in Paris on two of the three expeditions we took there.



As I have said previously, the second motel we stayed in (the night before heading to the airport) had a bathroom and a shower. It was one of these self contained units just a little bigger that some Recreational Vehicles might have, and probably not as nice. But the motel served us well in that the trip to the airport was short, quick and easy. We would have stayed at a nicer hotel on the airport grounds, but there's apparently a trick to getting a room at a "reasonable" rate; reserve it much further out than just a week before you're scheduled to fly out! We expected to pay over $100 a night for a hotel room at the airport in a name Americans would recognise... but the "cheap" rooms were long gone, and the only rooms left were the more posh ones starting at about $350 a night and going for more than double that amount. Yet another reason we stayed at "El Schlocko".

Next door to this motel was a restaurant called the Hippopotamus Grill. (This is apparently a chain...) The morning we transferred over to the motel Valerie wanted a decent cup of coffee. Badly. So she wandered in to the Hippo to get one, and was rudely greeted and told they were closed. Okay... that was our mistake as we didn't catch the time that was on the door, seeing some other numeric designation and thinking that meant they opened at 7:00 AM.

She waited and then went back in when they were open, and tried to get some coffee and was refused again. Apparently they're too good to serve just coffee; it's a full meal or nothing. So she left in a huff and we started our journey into Paris.

After the day's adventure when we were back at the hotel, Valerie decided she needed a little dessert, and possible a coffee. So... stupidly... we tried the nearby Hippopotamus once again. They asked if we were there for dinner, and Valerie told them that she'd just like to have a dessert and coffee and they told her they could not do that. (Forget that I might have wanted a dinner for myself...) We both turned and left in a angry mood and have vowed never to return to this restaurant. (That shouldn't be a hard vow to keep, considering their location...)

In case anyone from the Hippopotamus Grill accidentally finds this blog and reads this, we had no trouble with ANY other food selling establishment on our trip except for YOURS. We have but a two word expression to express our sentiments to you, and the second word in that phrase is "you". Take a wild guess at the first word!

As for anyone who might be heading to France, our advice to you is find some other place to eat. The choices are numerous, and most businesses welcome the chance to sell anything to someone who wants to buy it. Except if you're a Hippo...

We walked the other direction and found little to choose from, and finally settle on a KFC where she found something to satisfy her sweet-tooth, and then promptly dropped it on the floor when the store manager bumped into her. Apologies were offered, another dessert was quickly given to her, and we walked back to the hotel to settle in for our final night in France.