Eleven Nights, Ten Beds

We are on vacation!

For me, it's a busman's holiday because I'm set up with mobile telephone (a clamshell), briefcase, laptop, and USB wireless connection. But what the heck - enjoy what you have, eh?

We drove from Tucson to Bakersfield in one stretch, then up I-5 to Sacramento, then the Coast Range in northern California, Ashland and Portland in Oregon, then Bellevue and beautiful Whidbey Island in the Salish Sea. We were loaded with suitcases big and small, and dog food for our two furry kids; enough baggage to spill over into our Thule roof container

Santa Bella, I-5, home of
Anderson's Pea Soup and Motel.

Nine different beds in ten nights.

It becomes a habit. After only one night on the Island, I was restless and anxious to press on. I returned to Seattle and stayed with my downtown sister. Ten beds in eleven nights. I was running out of new places where I could sleep.

We had to spend two nights in this bed.

The only place where we slept a second night was with dear friends whose house was on the market. Sure enough, they had a showing the day we were there so we had to pack and clean up our DNA.

Actually, we were delighted about the showing and only regretted that the show-ees made no offer. Without doubt, that was our nicest bed of all!

Venues for our sleep included a La Quinta on Buck Owens Boulevard in Bakersfield. We'd stayed there before and enjoyed it, but the owners hadn't done any refurbishing over the years and it won our award for least desirable. Even Jasmine the wonder dog was anxious to leave the industrial cleaner infused room.

The most colorful was our good friends' houseboat on the Willamette River. Supremely peaceful and quiet, our hosts did warn us not to fret about the thumping noises we were certain to hear. No, not ghosts. Beavers. No, not Oregon State alumni. The kind that like to eat willow branches.

The fog of Lower Alaska.

The house floats on logs and the little critters had at least three caches of food under the house. They were particularly active in the wee hours of the morning. Sure enough, we heard loud thumping as the beavers did whatever they do under houseboats.

We are very grateful of the good weather we've enjoyed here in Lower Alaska. There has been no rain. There's been little sun, either. The morning fog is so thick it doesn't burn off. Last time I saw sunshine was a couple of days ago. We are reminded why we moved to the Sonoran Desert.