Despite the near-perfect climate at 6,200 ft elevation, the fact that San Miguel de Allende has such a large expat community can be mostly attributed to the arts. If the Parroquia and Jardin are the heart of the city, the Instituto Allende is the creative right brain. Continue reading
It was my sixth or seventh trip to San Miguel de Allende. I’ve lost count of the visits there spanning from two weeks to two months since 2007. My brother Don first broke the news that he had read about this mountain town / artist community that some gringos consider utopia in old Colonial Mexico, so he was driving his Toyota Land Cruiser down from Texas for a month to check it out. He had received a book for Christmas, Tony Cohan’s On Mexican Time, a book that would prompt a permanent paradigm shift for us both about our neighbors to the south. Continue reading
That is not meant as a slam, instead it is meant as a “Thank you” to the friends and followers who have sent personal notes to check in and see if I am doing okay, since as one friend put it, “You’ve gone dark.” Your notes of care and concern mean a lot to me.
I temporarily lost my blogging mojo. Continue reading
By now, news of my Dad has come from home, and I need to get to an airport and find a place to stow the Winnie to fly back to Texas. Phoenix seems to be the most logical option, so as not to have to winterize the Winnie (pay no attention to that recent snow covering on the saguaros!) So I head for McDowell Mountain Regional Park, a place I have been before, so I am familiar with the area. I will make this my base for a couple of days while I scout out suitable storage areas. Continue reading
When I asked Mark and Bobbie for recommendations on Valley of Fire hikes, both stressed emphatically, “You’ve got to hike the wash!” Of course, this means an unofficial, unmarked, unmaintained trail, which makes me a bit uneasy as a solo hiker, not having done much exploring of unofficial trails. But the great thing about hiking a wash is that the trail has been marked by nature. Just follow the gully, and you can’t go wrong. Continue reading
From Thanksgiving amidst the red rocks of the great Southwest to the Jardin at midnight in San Miguel de Allende in one blog post, I have some ‘splainin’ to do. One of my intentions after retiring was to finally get the blog into “real time,” and we see how that has gone. I can’t seem to get caught up, no matter how hard I try. Do I dare make this a resolution? Continue reading
There has been steady, constant drizzle since I arrived at Valley of Fire State Park. The dismal gray skies match my gloomy mood. After so many days of perfect cobalt blue skies of Zion, it seems only fitting that I would be greeted by gray and gloom. Continue reading
I am the last of “the Red Rocks Gang” to leave Zion. Like the last leaf dangling precariously from the bare bones limbs of the cottonwoods long after they have dropped their brilliant golden color for the season, I am reluctant to let go.
Each goodbye has taken a piece of me. It is like pulling the bandaid off one hair at a time. But none stung as badly as the “final goodbye” because it signifies Continue reading
It’s my last day in Zion National Park, and I still haven’t done the one hike I came to do. I had my sights set on the Angel’s Landing hike since last August, when I made plans to join the Red Rocks Gang in Southern Utah. But I psyched myself out that I “wasn’t ready.” For one reason or another, I haven’t been in the right frame of mind to attempt this hike since I arrived. Conditions need be just right….weather that is cool but not rainy, a mid-week day with light crowds, and an opening when the rest of the gang is taking a day off or riding their mountain bikes, so I won’t miss out on a hike with the gang to a destination I have not yet seen. But once I realize time is running out, it’s already too late… Continue reading
It was with an extreme mixture of emotions that I checked Dad out of the rehab center this past week. He seemed to be doing so well mentally, but limited exercise was rapidly becoming a pitfall. Although he had both a Physical Therapist and an Occupational Therapist, neither seemed to be working him to the extent he worked himself, just the weeks leading up to his pneumonia. And no therapy on the weekends made me feel like we were losing ground. Continue reading