I'm in San Francisco, at the home of Jim and Dolly. Jim is a seminary classmate who is now a college counselor and delightful Dolly is a nurse. I was lucky enough to stay with them for a few days last year when I came to San Anselmo for study leave. They spoiled me rotten on that last trip and they are continuing now. They have a large house just south of Golden Gate Park. We all went out for Dim Sum today before Dolly had to go to work and I am still feeling stuffed! Sorry I haven't updated lately, but here is the journey so far.
Left Omaha and stopped in Kearney. Got my hair fixed one last time by my stylist. Had to go to church to pick up a few forgotten items and it was OK. Went to storage and dropped off extra clothes and pick up winter coats. Coffee with Lutheran pastor John G, dinner with Presbyterian pastor, Caroline Vickery for excellent Thai food. Yes, Kearney has Thai food made by actual Thai people! Went on to North Platte after dinner.
Spent two nights with the Hawley family in North Platte. Several good conversations with BFF Amy Hawley. Ate good Chinese food, spent time with charming Jamie and Aaron Hawley, the kids. Jim off meeting and greeting with his fellow wizards.
Spent one night in Denver because my little place in the mountains didn't have a reservation the first night. I forget between visits how much Denver just pisses me off. The traffic, the sprawl, the general frack you attitude. At the end when I was trying to get turned around and to a gas station, I just yelled to the cars interior, "I just want to leave this #@& city!!!" So I did and headed for the hills.
I love going up into the mountains. When I was a kid, we went every year from Omaha to just above Idaho Springs where we rented one of the Big Spruce Cabins operated by the Cole family. After we left Denver, we would say the name of the exits like a mantra. Lookout Mountain, Mother Cabrini, Buffalo Bill's grave. Buffalo Bill's grave always included mutual agreement about injustice of him not being buried in Nebraska. El Rancho, Floyd Hill, Chief Hosa, turn off to Central City, Idaho Springs! Idaho Springs!
In the fifties, my dad's best friend moved to Idaho Springs and we would come out first to visit them and my parents former pastor from Lincoln. Renting the cabin for a few weeks meant we had our own place and own place to cook, especially the trout we caught.
The Cole family sold Big Spruce in 1977. Alan Cole, the son of the couple who built the place, came and told us while we were staying there. An era ended in the Harvey family. We had lost that common place we all loved. Since then, Tom and my parents came to love Georgetown, Mike and Sue often go to a friend's home in Salida, Bill and family have Evergreen and Aspen. I didn't find my happy place until I found Hot Sulphur Springs just last year. The Big Spruce Cabins passed through a few different hands and is now owned by people who only rent it out for months at a time and who want to run a credit check before you rent. The days when Mr. Cole would take a personal check and a handshake are long past.
A few years ago, I drove up to Big Spruce Cabins. The Big Spruce it was named for is now gone. Lightening or pine blight, I suppose. I got teary as a took a picture of the enormous stump to show to my brothers.
I still like to stop in Idaho Springs, though. Somethings are exactly the same, like the statue of Steve Canyon, the old gold mines and the water wheel. Somethings are new like the Starbucks and a new addition just this summer since June, a business named "Cannabis Med." I had to circle the block three times to make sure I was looking at what I thought. No, I did not stop.
There is a charming deli in Idaho Springs, Two Brothers. A lot of locals hang there and so do I. It is run by laid-back women, has wonderful sandwiches and soups and coffee.
Then it was up I-70 the the Eisenhower Tunnel. I like to drive in the mountains. Both of my parents had sure hands and taught me how to slow the car without stepping on the brakes by down shifting. It was frustrating all the way up to the tunnel because two lanes had to merge to one. We had a lovely delay of about 40 minutes for about a ten foot section of work being done. Two lanes again through the tunnel. When I emerged from the tunnel, I pulled into the fast lane and descended 3500 feet to Dillon/Silverthorne yelling "WHEEEEE! WHEE! WHEE! WHEEEE!" just like the pig in the Geico commercial.
Exited at Dillon/Silverthorne and wound around into Grand County and Hot Sulphur Springs. Small town, not entirely touristed up like most of Colorado. A bar with good food, a breakfast lunch place with good food, an ice cream stand with good food. A little general store that doesn't sell much besides beer. The Hot Springs spa. You can stay there, but I prefer one of the other two motels, The Ute Trail. There is also a charming candy shop where I bought cocoa and candy coated shelled sunflower seeds. Crazy Delicious.
The Ute Trail is one of those old, two lane highway motels. The furniture is early American blond, the walls are knotty pine, the fixtures in the bathroom are "classic." Every inch is spotlessly clean. The beds are new and comfy, the rates are rock bottom. There are microwaves and fridges and coffee makes. The owner, Dee, has just invested in Dish TV. Dee is a sweetheart and sells discount passes to the Hot Springs. I soaked and vegged and enjoyed for three days.
On Monday of this week left for Salt Lake City. Passed through the area of Utah known as "the basin." The thrifty Mormons have damned up the rivers and have been taking advantage of that greatest of Nebraska exports, center pivot irrigation from Valley. I could see the blue Valley signs on them, some from quite a distance. I thought of a friend who went to Africa and saw an center pivot. He went over to look at it. It was from Valley.
Drove far into the evening to get to a unimpressive but cheap hotel out by the airport. Didn't sight see or anything in Salt Lake City. The next day, drove from Salt Lake to South Lake Tahoe, so two long days in a row. Passed through that amazing Great Salt Desert west of the Lake. Miles and miles of nothing, empty. No birds, no animals, no plants.
People have a need to mark this empty space. There is a sculpture, "Metaphor: The Tree of Utah" by Karl Momen. Here is a link to some info and a picture.
http://www.utah.com/amusement/metaphor_tree.htm
You approach this massive thing for miles and it is in stark contrast to the barren landscape.
There are informal installations as well. People come out, from Salt Lake City, one would think, and leave circles of stones, or cairns or a heart made of stones with two initials in the middle. Some people write out words with stones. There are also places where dozens of beer bottles are pushed neck first into the sand. One would hope that more than one person was involved in emptying all those bottles.
Long but easy drive across Nevada. Stopped in Winnemuca for $3.99 ham and eggs. Wasn't hungry until I saw the sign. Didn't gamble at all in Nevada, not even a nickel into a slot machine. Got into Tahoe about 9 o'clock. My friend Wanda came. We had not seen each other in almost 30 years. We just fell to talking right away. She took me to karaoke and she sang "Promises, Promises" by Naked Eyes and "Megalomaniac" by Incubus. I sang "L-O-V-E" ala Nat King Cole. "Cindy picked up that song and spanked it!" sand the KJ. (Karaoke DJ).
I loved the karaoke. There is a crowd of regulars. They are all really supportive of each other. Nobody gets booed, everyone gets a nice round of applause. Wanda has a lot of friends in that group. I gave her the same caution I give all my friends before they take me to a party, "Don't tell them I'm a Presbyterian minister. Some people really freak out." God bless her, she didn't.
The next morning, Wanda I took one of the midday cruises on the Tahoe Queen a beautiful paddle wheeler. Wanda's daughter Sarah works on the boat. I hadn't seen Sarah since she was three and she is now a gorgeous young woman with a daughter of her own. Then, set out for San Francisco. Wanda and I promised each other it would not be thirty years before we met again.
It always amuses me that almost immediately coming into California, people start driving like Californians! There is lots of jockeying for position and aggressive driving. Came down from the mountains, into the Central Valley and suddenly, palm trees appear. Sacramento, Davis, Vacaville, Vallejo all pass by, suddenly there is the Bay.
I was on the Oakland Bay Bridge in 1989 when it broke during the Loma Prieta earthquake and have never felt happy about driving across ever since. Made it without any freak outs. It helps that I was driving into the city on the top level, instead of exiting the city on the bottom level like I did during the quake. I realized I didn't have Jim and Dolly's address anywhere handy, so I called and got the address and was able to find it without any trouble.
They welcomed me with a comfy room and hot pizza. Today we gorged on dim sum before Dolly went to work and then Jim and I went to the Beach Chalet to sit in the bar and enjoy a cup of coffee for him and a club soda for me. Beautiful building built during the WPA years at the beach end of Golden Gate Park. Filled with old murals and tile work depicting San Francisco. The murals are oddly devoid of anyone Asian or African American or Hispanic. One pair of men was setting off my gaydar, however.
The Beach Chalet was boarded up when I lived in the Bay Area 20 years ago, but a combination of private and public money has made it into a display about the history of Golden Gate Park on the lower level and a restaurant and brew pub on the upper level. The fog lifted briefly on Ocean beach and I was just able to make out the breakers coming to shore. Tomorrow, AT&T park and the Giants, one half game back in the NL West.
blessings,
Cindy
No comments:
Post a Comment