This is the last in the series, although we certainly hope to visit more national parks. For the beginning of our Southwest Tour, start here: Arches National Park

We got an early start in the morning, hoping to get to Zion NP before it got crowded. We reached the park around 8:00 a.m. and the parking lot was already full. We had to turn around and find a parking spot in Springdale, the prosperous town that makes a lot of money off tourists, no doubt. The first place we found was $30, so we rejected that and drove further away, finally find a roadside spot for $15. The shuttle buses come along every 10-15 minutes and pick up tourists (for free) to drive them into the park, so we did that.

Once in the park, we stopped at the Visitor Center to get our passport and book stamped and then hopped on a shuttle bus to go to one of the stops along the way. The buses were all super crowded.

Up until now we haven’t seen huge crowds at the parks we’ve gone to, but Zion was packed. The first stop was “Court of the Patriarchs,” where very few people got off, making us wonder if we were chumps. The patriarchs are three distinct stone cliffs that a Methodist pastor named “Abraham, Isaac and Jacob,” back in the early 1900’s. The names have stuck. Photos were taken. There was a smaller formation that was named “Moroni.” The Christians won that round over the Mormons. We walked around a little bit – went down to the Virgin River, but quickly realized that there wasn’t much to see there. Chumps.

The next shuttle took us to Zion Lodge, where the bus driver gave directions for finding the hike to see the “Emerald Pool.” We set off across the street and wondered why we were the only ones interested in the hike, especially in view of the numbers of people there. When we got up to the bridge over the river, it was closed. Chumps.

Back to the lodge, we waited for another shuttle to take us up to the Sinawava Temple area, which is the last stop on the shuttle bus tour. A shuttle bus came, passed our little group waiting for the bus and parked ahead of us. And it was nearly empty, which was a plus – but no one in the group went to go get on. One couple meandered over and got on, so we finally went over as well. Once on the bus, Kris asked why this shuttle parked so far ahead of the other bus stop – was there a difference? Yes, this one was going back down the road to the Visitor Center. We got off and went back to the other line. Chumps.

The shuttle to Sinawava Temple was super crowded – standing room only. We never did find out why the area was named Sinawava Temple, but Kris guessed that it was because the surrounding stone cliffs were so high and close and surrounded us, which gave a feeling of being in a church. I’ll buy that. There was a hike up to the Narrows that we walked for part of the way. We took photos, but the surroundings were so immense that photos will never tell the whole story.

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We decided that we didn’t need to take the hike all the way to the Narrows – we could sort of see it from where we were, so we headed back and took the next shuttle down as far as the museum. The shuttle wasn’t very crowded so I sat up by the front. Kris seemed to want to sit farther back, but I told him this way he could chat up the bus driver. He looked dubious about this prospect, but of course he did chat him up, asking all sorts of questions about the electric buses and how long the batteries on those last. The electric buses each cost $1 million dollars!

The museum was minimally interesting – little bits of information about the early inhabitants of the area: the Native Americans and the Mormans. We strolled around and got on the next shuttle to go back to the Visitor Center. Amazingly, it was noon by the time we left. From the Visitor Center we took a shuttle back to our car and ate our familiar lunch of Wheat Thins, Swiss cheese, and grapes. Kris wanted to drive the road to the east entrance through the park so we did that after we finished eating.

That drive (Highway 9) was stunning and spectacular – I wish I could have enjoyed it more. I felt a little uneasy about the drop offs along the way. I mean, I did enjoy the drive, but with some degree of nervousness. There were a few hairpin turns at the beginning and the road went steadily up from around 3900 feet of elevation to almost 6000 feet at the top. Fairly early on there’s a a couple tunnels, the first one being 1.1 mile long.

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Fat cars had to pay an extra $15 to drive on this road because the park personnel have to restrict the cars to one lane going through at a time when the fatties go through. The first time through the tunnel, we whizzed on through, but on the way back, we had to wait close to 10 minutes for fatties coming through from the other way. It took us about an hour to do the round trip of going to the top and coming back. We stopped a couple times to enjoy the view and take a couple photos. The feature near the top is called “Checkerboard Mesa,” and you could see a large sandstone hill with markings on the side that looked similar to a checkerboard pattern. More photos were taken.

Now you know what to expect if you go there, which you definitely should!

I’ll probably take this on the crowded electric blog bus in the morning.

I’m still wending my way through the family photos, documents and records. Last year I finally finished assembling my mother’s side of the family, and this year I’ve decided to tackle – AND FINISH – my dad’s side of the family. I need all caps for that statement for the days when it seems like an impossible task.

My grandmother was born in Norway in 1900 and emigrated to the United States with her parents and younger sister when she was six years old. As I’ve sorted through the family things, I’ve come across several of her journals, letters and essays, as well as about a dozen poems she wrote in her later years. The earliest one I have was written when she was 63 – two years younger than I am now. I wasn’t quite four years old at that time.

Morning Worship
In the hushed, sweet stillness of the dawn
I feel Thy presence near. I see Thy wonders
In the twinkling radiance of the morning star,
In the miracles of nature and the universe,
In the purple haze of distant hills,
And I pause to give thanks for all Thy blessings.

How sweet to think of her looking out on the world and giving thanks to God for her blessings.

Old Memories
Old memories of by-gone days
When love was new and life was sweet,
As time went on, came tribulations,
Doubts and fears and desperation,
But that was oh, so long ago.
Now we are old, time’s running out
And memories are growing dim.
So lower the shades and close the door
Upon the past which is no more.

She was 70 years old when she wrote that one and seemed to be anticipating the end coming soon. As it turns out, she became widowed at age 72, the end having come for her husband first. What a shock that was for her. One of the journals she left behind is essentially a grief journal, the things she wrote after her husband died: the anguish, loneliness and anger she felt. I was 14 when he died and it barely registered in my emotional life. I was sad he was gone, but gave no thought to the impact it had on my grandma.

Mystery
The profound mystery of life, and death,
The two extremes of our existence.
We know not where we come from
Nor where we go from here.
All mankind is born to die.
From the very moment of birth
We are preparing for death,
In another time, another place,
Another life in the great unknown.

She wrote that one just six months after her husband died. I don’t think she ever imagined she would live so long without him, but she didn’t pass away until she was nearly 96 years old. Think of it – almost 24 years as a widow! She depended heavily upon her two sons, my dad and his younger brother, my Uncle Roger. The following poem isn’t dated, but I like to think that it was written years after she was widowed, as she was learning to face life on her own.

A New Day
This is the dawn of a new day
With new thoughts and ideas,
And inspiration in my mind.
I live to learn about life and people.
Loved ones who have done so much for me,
Give me new strength, new power,
And faith to believe that I can conquer.

It’s not award-winning stuff, but it gives me a window into the woman she was, a woman I didn’t really get to know very well as anyone other than just “Grandma.”

Rest in peace, Grandma.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning. I said “probably.”

Over ten years ago I went through a phase of taking “artsy” sermon notes. I’ve always had a hard time concentrating on auditory content, so it helps to take notes or even just do random doodling while listening. I know I’m not the only one – raise your hand if you’ve ever doodled during sermons.

The artsy sermon note taking was an attempt to marry art with note taking. I’d do some general background painting on watercolor papers and then bring those to church to take preliminary notes on during the sermon. Back at home afterward, I’d write over my penciled notes with ink and then do some illustrating and coloring in. It was a fun endeavor, but rather time consuming, so I eventually quit and went back to regular note taking and/or doodling. It all helps my mind to focus. Otherwise my mind goes quite far afield!

And next is an entry from my “daily cartoon” phase when I first got on Instagram. That lasted about a month. Again, fun while it lasted, but hard to keep going. Some of them were watercolors, and others were of the stick-figure variety, which is my specialty (ha ha!)

I still feel that way about stretching. Ow! Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

I’m going through a phase of deleting these in the morning – it probably won’t last.

For the beauty of the earth
For the glory of the skies
For the love which from our birth
Over and around us lies
Lord of all, to thee we raise
This our hymn of grateful praise.
Folliott S. Pierpoint, 1864

These photos are my “hymn” of grateful praise for all the beauty and glory the Lord has put before us. May you hear the music of praise as you look at them.

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A visitor to our fountain. I was gone, so hubby grabbed my camera and got a few photos through the screen. Isn’t he (or she) a regal creature?

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For the beauty of each hour
Of the day and of the night,
Hill and dale and tree and flow’r
Sun and moon and stars of light,
Lord of all to thee we raise
This our hymn of grateful praise.

I’ll probably delete with grateful praise in the morning.

I’ve got good news, which I’ll save for the end of this post. Firstly, a few photos demonstrating the kinds of things going on in our realm.

The first jar of pickled banana peppers has been duly pickled.

And the parsley and dill have been picked and dehydrated.

This is as bad as the flattened frog photo – I’m sorry. We haven’t had nearly as many Japanese beetles this year as in the past, but they still come and wreak havoc on some of our plants. This year, they’ve been particularly fond of the zinnia leaves, raspberry leaves, and hollyhock leaves. Yesterday I saw them on a frail flower of our new clematis. “How dare you!” So I don’t feel too bad about killing them. It’s stewardship.

But here’s a bee doing some good work. I applaud him. It. Whatever.

A sweet little bouquet of strawflowers. They feel just like paper – it’s weird and fascinating.

Now for the good news. Last February I submitted ten of my poems to a publisher for consideration in a whimsical poetry anthology for children that they intend to publish in 2025. I found out a couple days ago that at least one of my poems was accepted AND is being used in a spreadsheet that will be featured as part of a Kickstarter campaign to raise money for the book. Isn’t that exciting? It sounded like others of my poems might be used too. I’m just so THRILLED!

I’ll probably you know what in the you know what. IYKYK

The flattened frog
Has got a prob
That nobody can cure

His webby toes
His warty nose
Have lost all their allure

His croak is dead
Just like his head
He’s had his final leap

The flattened frog
Should not have trod
Right under someone’s feet

When life hands you a flattened frog, you make a poem out of it. I apologize for subjecting you to that photo one more time.

The flattened blog
Has got a prob;
I simply must delete.

When I was seventh or eighth grade, I learned an invaluable skill from my art teacher: how to bind pages for a book and create a book cover. Believe it or not, this is a skill I’ve used many a time over the years, primarily when making books for my children’s school projects.

But back in the day (1970), I wrote AND illustrated my very first book, a book that I had sewn together and created the cover for myself. Today seemed like a good day to share it on the blog. Don’t be too hard on it – I was only 11 or 12 at the time. A couple things to note: I had no concept of perspective. Also, I didn’t like to draw hands, which you’ll notice. You can tell the year by all the bell bottoms in the drawings. 😂

Now for the text. You will not be surprised, knowing me, that it’s in poem form – limericks, to be exact. Illustrations will follow the text.

There once was a cat from Mars
And his name just happened to be Lars.
He was going to earth,
Two months after birth,
But instead he landed on the stars.

Now he came to a planet named Flurple
And its surface was completely purple.
He decided to land
So he moved his hand,
And there was his old friend Murple!

Now Murple was as thin as air
And he was shaped like a weird pear.
So down he went,
Down the vent.
Where he went? Who knows where!

Well Lars decided to come to earth
As he landed, he was full of mirth.
He quickly jumped out
And looked all about.
At last he was looking at the planet earth.

He was soon the center of all attention.
His face was as red as I could mention.
But it was too late,
He was to meet his fate,
For his presence had added to the people’s tension.

Just then I happened to come along,
And I told the people they were very wrong.
I picked up Lars
And he thanked his stars.
He was so happy he sang a song.
P.S. Lars floats!

We did have a whole lot of fun
But it was time for Lars to run.
So off he went
And to me he sent
A smile that was a bright as the sun.

The part about the planet Flurple always cracks me up. (Let’s see – if I name it Flurple, I can make the color of it purple!). Same thing with good old Murple who went down the mysterious vent on the planet’s surface.

If I ever get a book published, this first effort will remind me of my humble roots.

I once had blog named Belete,
Which I constantly had to delete.

(To start at the beginning: Adventures in Italy Part 1)

Bordighera to Genova to Milan to Malpensa Airport – August, 2016

Good news for you: this might be one of my shorter emails. On the other hand, this is me writing, so you can never tell. We are currently sitting on the airplane headed for New York; we just left Milan and I have 8 hours to devote to this email!  😉

Yesterday was all about getting from here to there in 4 Acts, mostly boring ones.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

Act One.  Bordighera to Genova
FYI: when the locals say “Genova,” the accent is on the first syllable and the “v” is barely enunciated, so I think I now know why we say “Genoa.” Just wanted to wrap up that question from a few days ago.

When we checked out of Hotel Marligure, they gave us a complimentary bottle of extra virgin olive oil (known charmingly in the cooking world as EVOO).  Alas, we couldn’t keep it, so we gave it and the rose to Ombretta when she picked us up to bring us to the train station.  We enjoyed our stay at HM; the only real oddity was that the key to our room was fastened to a heavy brass bell-shaped thing about the size of a large egg.  Weird, but quaint. 

We found out at the train station that we could have gotten a train going directly to Milan without transferring at Genoa. Ombretta inquired about it for us in case we wanted to change our plans, but the details were a little too complicated, so we stuck with the original plan.

The trains are very comfortable and provide a smooth, quiet ride, especially if you’re on an intercity train. The first few trains we had taken were regional trains, which are a little less roomy, and make a lot more stops.  Before you get on any train, you have to validate your ticket, which generally means putting the ticket into a little machine which stamps it. Our tickets to Genova and Milan were electronic and we had reserved seats (another option on intercity trains) in the first-class cars.  A porter comes through to check the “biglietti” (tickets), so you either show him your paper ticket or your phone.

Act Two: Genova to Milan
We had about an hour to wait in Genova for our train to Milan, so we found a little cafe in the station and got some lunch.  We felt seasoned as travelers by now and the whole process went much more smoothly than ordering the meal in Milano Centrale. I even managed to recall enough Italian to ask for “due piatti” (two plates) since we were sharing a sandwich. 

The train to Milan was about 90 minutes.  I’ve been re-reading “Watership Down” on this trip and got through quite a lot of it, occasionally putting it down to work on a crossword puzzle. Our seating area had six seats, all of which were occupied, but people pretty much keep to themselves – not a lot of chit chat except the occasional “grazie” or “arrivederci.” 

Act Three: Milan to Malpensa Airport
See how quickly this is going?  We hadn’t purchased tickets in advance to the station at the airport because we wanted to leave it up in the air as to whether or not we’d want to stay in Milan for a short time.  It was going to be around 4:30 p.m. when we arrived at the station and after going back and forth on it, we decided to skip the walkabout in Milan and go directly to the airport and then our hotel so we could have the evening to relax. 

Getting off in Milano Centrale station, we were on familiar ground now – platform 18, our old friend!  We found the list of parenzes – departures – and saw that if we hurried, we could still catch a train to the airport without a lot of waiting. We rushed to the ticket machine and got our tickets, but the platform was way on the other side of the station, so for the first time, we found that had to put on a little speed.  We got to the platform with just a couple minutes to spare, but the validation machine wasn’t working. Hoping that wasn’t a big deal, we got on the train anyway.  It wasn’t – the porter validated our ticket with his own puncher. 

One more hour on a train. It really wasn’t a bad way to spend the day and much more relaxing than if we’d rented a car and had to navigate to all these places on our own.  

Act Four: Malpensa Airport to Crown Plaza Hotel
At the Malpensa Airport, we tried to hire a taxi to our hotel but the taxi driver told us that there was a free shuttle we could catch, so Kris called the hotel to find out where to get the shuttle and we were off. It turned out the shuttle wasn’t free, but it was only 4 euros each way, so that was quite a bit less than we’d have paid a taxi. The downside was that we had to wait about a half hour for the shuttle to arrive and take us on the 10-minute drive to the hotel.  

It was really great to get to the hotel and be done with all the traveling for the day. We went to the hotel restaurant for cena (supper) and had another excellent meal, which included another variation of pesto pasta.  I am definitely going to serve more of this when we get back home.  I still have some pesto in the freezer from last year, but haven’t used it much.  I’m also going to make some sun dried tomatoes, which we had on an appetizer once; fabulous!  It’s been a fairly tomato-intensive week, actually. Anyway we finished our last dinner in Milan with gelato; I’m going to miss giving myself permission to eat that every day.  I call it “vacation eating,” one of the pleasures of traveling. 

There’s also the related “vacation spending,” in which you feel an insane desire to spend your money much more liberally while traveling. However, we didn’t do any real shopping here (other than for meals/food), mostly because we don’t have any room in our baggage for extra stuff. Maybe next time!  Now that we’ve done this trip successfully, we’re already talking about where we’ll go next. You can always dream, right?

Arrivederci! I hope you’ve vicariously enjoyed your trip to Italy with us.

I’ll be doing some “vacation deleting” of this post in the morning.

I have no posting ideas today, meaning it’s time to purge the forgotten photo file again. These are photos that I have taken great pains to smallify, but never used in a blog post. And by “great pains,” I mean that I figured out how to make a short-cut to do it and the computer does all the work. Let’s get started!

This handsome mallard has been in the file for months, waiting to be featured. Note how he is pretending not to notice that his photo is being taken. I admire that in a duck.

I took this shot using the telephoto lens which had the effect of making a full-grown cannon look like a child’s toy. This is an important lesson in perspective which I hope we have all now learned.

I get an odd feeling when looking at this one. Like I’m being yelled at by a bunch of flowers and it made me so dizzy I’m about to fall over. Somebody wake me up from this nightmare, please.

I have no explanation or excuse for this one. It’s a chaos of images collaged together in one photo. I love the bright green, though!

The ferns and palms are making it all about themselves. Of course.

“All things came into being through Him, and apart from Him nothing came into being that has come into being.” John 1:3

Sometimes you see a flattened frog and you have to take a photo. But there’s not much call for photos of flattened frogs. It’s a flattened market.

How kind of you to read to the end!

I’ll have to flatten this frog post in the morning.

What follows is a true story that happened not so long ago.

A warm day, an overcast day
A kayak and two canoes
A blue lake, five paddles take
And wear your water shoes.

Gliding in water, two sons and a daughter
The parents will lead the way
But in a blink, they’re in the drink
Their paddles floating away

Gliding in water, two sons and a daughter
Must now a rescue make
Parents afloat get towed by two boats
Slowly across the lake

The wind is hoppy, the water choppy
The canoe is upside-down
At last the dock, a solid rock
The parents did not drown.

Yep, it happened. The seasoned canoeists swamped their canoe and learned some humility.

I’m swamping this post in the morning.

We’re enjoying our new flower garden so much. I’ve always wanted to be able to wander out and cut flowers for indoor vases, and it has now come to pass!

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I’m also pressing flowers and leaves again this year to make bookmarks. They always look so lovely before getting pressed, but some of them lose a lot of color.

Short and sweet today to make up for two long posts on Monday and Tuesday.

I’ve got pressing business to attend to – deleting in the morning.