A little too dog soppy but great all the same

The Dog Went Over the Mountain
by Peter Zheutlin

Seeing its less than stellar ratings, I'd decided not to put this book on my to-read list. But then I picked it up on the library's "new books" shelf on a days when I'd failed to find any of the other books I was there for. That was an unusual experience--to go in the library for three books that the library's tracking system said were "in" but to find none of them on the shelves. Occasionally this can be expected, but three at once? I don't think so--Murphy was out to get me that day.

So I had low expectations and it was a pleasure to have them contradicted. This was a delight! it could have been deeper, more soul-searching; the journey could have lasted a little longer--six weeks to circle the whole of the continental United States?  He could have repeated himself a little less frequently. But he set out...

to share a lighthearted, heartfelt, and dog-friendly tour of America and, in the process, remind us what remains wonderful and grand and good about it, even as it seems the country is coming apart at the seams.

And that's what he did. I wonder if it's possible that some of the negativity came from peoples' fear?  He does nothing to hide his honest dismay at the hateful politics going on in the country right now (it was published in 2019)?  Or, more likely, from highly religious people who didn't like the way he described driving through the South? He turns on the radio and flips channels one day, switching from a strident woman screeching that "if you don't believe the Bible is the inerrant word of God, you cannot be a Christian," to a host proclaiming the joy of sharing his faith, to a man telling Christians to befriend Muslims in their community, but only so they could proselytize to them, to a man speaking of how one must suffer for the faith. He turns off the radio then.

Faith, it seems, allows for no dissent and no deviations from someone else's idea of absolute truth with a capital "T." If what they are pushing was so wonderful, why does it need such a hard sell?"...it was all very oppressive.

I can imagine a person of this faith closing the book right then. I persevered and was rewarded. He makes it to Woody Guthrie's hometown, to Steinbeck's land of broken dreams. And on the way he hears a few stories and sees a few awesome sights. It's not Blue Highways; it's not Travels with Charley and he makes no pretentions that it will be. It's just a good, solid trip report, and I liked it.

My kind of a thriller (not a thriller)

Careful what you wish for
by Hallie Ephron

I chose this mystery/thriller only because Hallie Ephron is a member of the Jungle Red Writers, a group of mystery novelists with a blog that I adore. I might have seen a blurb for it on there--they promote their own works as well as other writers', both up-and-coming ones and established ones.

Knowing it wasn't my usual cup of tea, I checked the story line carefully. The lead character was a former schoolteacher turned professional organizer, ala Marie Kondo. Between clients, she spent her time making and posting slideshows of her own clean-up process: starting with a shot of her sock drawer, she'd proceed to a photo of the socks on the floor, then each pair one by one on the bed, then the empty space where it was discarded or it living happily (neatly rolled and standing on end)  in its new, tidy home.

(I might have changed the details above a tiny bit but you get the idea.)
She's married to a obsessive collector of junk but wouldn't dare to touch any of it--that's one of the rules of tidying up: only your own stuff. Luckily, she doesn't need to--her new client needs help in clearing out her deceased husband's storage shed.

Since I've Kondo'ed my closet myself, I found the idea intriguing. I picked up the book at the library along with a memoir about traveling with a dog, and when the time came to decide which to start I was of course going to choose "dog" over "thriller"...but I decided to make myself read the first chapter of the thriller before making the decision. I did--and I never stopped.

It started off great and stayed that way. Not too violent and not too scary but action-driven all the way. And the heroine shows some serious lady guts at the end.

(I wanted to use the word "balls", but that's silly--why do I have to describe a tough woman as "having balls"? Who wants 'em or needs 'em? "lady guts" was the best I could come up with. What should I call a strong woman? Mark Twain said, "full of sand" but I don't think many people would understand the reference.

Too comfortable for me today

Murder Lo Mein
by Vivien Chien

After reading this and before writing this review, I started reading another murder mystery. This one suffered greatly by comparison and I'm sorry.

It's very much a "cozy" and although the characters have an interesting ethnic identity, Ms. Chien didn't do much with it. The lead character flares up a little when an old enemy harps on her for not being "Chinese enough." There are mentions of mother-daughter tensions, but they're all happily resolved. And there are various other interesting issues which I can't detail because they give away plot elements. But they, too, turn out all peaches and cream.

There are times when you need a good cozy under the quilts--if so, this is it. But don't expect any cold to creep through the cracks. And while it is lightly humorous, it's never snort-your-coffee funny.

Not my fave, but good writing

I'm sorry to say I didn't love this as much as Garlic and Sapphires. But a memoir speaks about things that are important to the writer, and some of the names and events that she finds important weren't that exciting to me. Other readers might feel differently, especially if they ever read the magazine (Gourmet) or knew anything about the people involved.

Still, I enjoyed it. it's honest and never forced, with great writing as I expect from her. And her trip to France on a shoestring (for a magazine article) was a delight. "Worth the price of the book" as Jennifer Reece would say.

Griping about recipes

Last weekend, wanting to get rid of the spaghetti squash from the CSA box, I made Sesame Spaghetti Squash Noodles. Results? Absolutely totally yuuck.



The idea sounded good--but only because I didn't think it through. Just like homeopathic "medicine", homeopathic cooking is Bunk with a capital 'B'.  You'll find a thousand recipes out there, saying: "Put spaghetti sauce on squash noodles to make a delicious and low-calorie main course."

No such thing. Tomato-based sauce on squash is hideous; most likely a cream sauce is too. But when I found a recipe that used sesame oil and soy sauce, I thought it was worth a try. I was fooled--some idiot was simply trying to substitute squash for rice noodles or ramen, and they failed royally. IMHO, the only good use for spaghetti squash is pig feed.

But I also made Veggie Sausage Sweet Potato Hash and it turned out surprisingly good. I have found another way to get rid of sweet potatoes!  Not that I'll need it; now that I'm quitting the CSA I won't have all those excess sweet potatoes any more. Unless I take a wild hair and grow my own.

After eating the hideous squash for lunch all week, this weekend I was determined to do better. I made my old standby "2nd Avenue Korma" and I tried a Vegan Japanese Soup recipe from norecipes.com. Here's the soup:




My immediate reaction was, I must have screwed up! There's no way in fishballs that a real Japanese Soup would contain so many vegetables for so little liquid. But according to his notes, it's based on a Buddhist monastery recipe and it's supposed to be "stew-ish" like that. So I'll just enjoy and not be all critical about it.

Traveling with all kinds of baggage..just not physical

by Warren Talbot and Betsey Talbot

I hadn't expected this to be about the luggage, but it sort-of was. Not the physical things they carried around on their world travels, but rather, the emotional ones. Although sometimes it was a little about the physical ones, like disconnecting from the cell phone and learning to live with the wind and stars. But more often it was how to deal with the expectations they had for each other...and themselves.

One significant chapter describes their attempt at role reversal. He was a habitual take-charger: a planner, organizer, and decision maker. She tended to hang back, follow, and worry the details. So they deliberately tried a month on/month off experiment: for one month she did the planning and leading, for the next he did it, and so on.

It was a game changer. She describes, "these daily decisions were mind-boggling." and eventually, "I began to appreciate the role Warren had been playing all along." It wasn't smooth nor seamless, and she doesn't pretend so, but it was an eye-opener to read.

Made me think hard about the habitual roles my husband and I fall into, and it just might for other readers as well. For example: usually I decide where to go and how to get there; he figures out the details of gas, water tanks (we have an RV), and propane.  Sometimes we carry this division of responsibility too far, like the time we were near San Antonio and I decided I was tired of driving around and wanted to skip the planned morning of breakfast and shopping downtown. But when I announced this, I could tell he was disappointed.So for once we did what he wanted to, and it was great.

So as to this book, it's delightfully honest, fun, and it taught me some stuff. Five stars!

Leaving Lake Livingston

                                   “Ô, Sunlight! The most precious gold to be found on Earth.” 
                                                                                                       ― Roman Payne

The skies did not clear up overnight and the wind was still blowing. We drank coffee in the shelter of Mammoth's Mass and watched clouds of chickadees, titmice, and yellow-rumped warblers chitter by. Then, after a quick breakfast, it was time to start packing up to leave.

There should have been no reason to rush--we had all day and no commitments to meet--but we were facing the Deadline of Dallas Disfunction--five o'clock rush hour traffic. The trip would take about four and one-half hours and there was no good detour around that sprawling mass of morons between Lake Livingston and McKinney, Texas. We wanted to be through Dallas by four p.m.

Zack waited patiently. I think he knew.


Ed undertook the novel task of dumping our black water tank. We'd been doing that at home using a pump and a hose that led into our septic system rather than wasting an hour at the park dump stations, but this time we had full hookups. First time for us! The procedure was relatively painless but probably not worth paying a premium price for.  (At this campground loop most of the sites were full hookup)  I can see, however, that if we were going to be taking an extended trip with many stops it would be worthwhile choosing a full hookup site every four or five days.  I'll need to remember that--it's a whole lot better than waiting in line at a dump station.

The sun was beginning to peek out when we pulled out at about 10:50; we arrived home at about 3:30. I didn't make exact notes. Coming into Dallas, my phone offered to reroute us on account of a six-minute delay on I-30 eastbound. I cancelled the option, thinking that six minutes didn't sound all that serious, but then later I passed one of those illuminated warning signs that said I-30 Eastbound had three left lanes closed. That did sound serious.

So we stayed on 635 all the way around to the High Five exchange with 75, and it wasn't bad at all.  That let us avoid getting off 190 at 75 in southern Plano, which is regularly  backed up. Maybe stick with this route in future.

So to sum up--good trip; so-so lake; lack of birdage. I never did get to confirm the American Pipits at water's edge.  All I saw was: Forster's Tern, Cormorant sp., gull sp., Carolina Chickadee, tufted Titmouse, Ruby-Crowned Kinglet, American White Pelican, Bald Eagle, Yellow-Rumped Warbler, Black Vulture.


NOTES:
1. On travel day, check out road conditions close to home. We must have wasted an hour dealing with road construction within ten miles of the house.
2. When you see a new bird, if at all possible make sure you've got the best ID you can make before leaving the site. This is the second time I've planned to go back for a bird another day, only to find it missing in place.
3. People in southeast Texas talk funny.
4. Check out all day trip "places to go" carefully beforehand and make sure the reviews are current.
5. On AN extended trip with many stops it would be worthwhile choosing a full hookup site every four or five days.
6. Retire from work so you can do more camping on weekdays. It's quieter and the good sites are free.
7. Also, when you arrive at a campground in the off season and you have a reservation for a not-so-good site, see if they've had any cancellations. Just in case!

Monday at Lake Livingston (December 16)

Despite all the weather prognosticators (or should I say diviners?) who said that monsoons would be coming in overnight, next morning it was still hot and humid with almost no wind. We stuck with our plan to drive over to Woodville to see Heritage Village and eat "family style" cookin' at the Pickett House Restaurant. We headed out at about 8:45.

Heritage Viillage was lame, oh so lame. I need to spend more time reading real peoples' real opinions of places like this. Possibly the issue was that it was a Monday and not a holiday weekend, because there was nobody there and nothing going on.

Someone had taken a bit of trouble putting the place together, gathering up a lot of old stuff--mostly junk you could find at garage sales--and putting it in little buildings recreating those from frontier times. They'd even labeled a bunch of stuff...although I have to admit the wanted posters in the Sheriff's Office reminded me strongly of ones I'd seen in a hundred other places. But it all seemed haphazard, lazy, and lame, and the Christmas decorations someone had added were awful.

The gift shop was more entertaining than the $5 per person tour. It had some great crocheted baby clothes from a local artisan, a bunch of tee shirt designs I'd never seen, and a decent display of Indian artifacts and rocks. Most of the artifacts were collected locally but the rocks came from all over.

The food at Pickett House was...well....
...not from a can. The menu of the day was fried chicken, mashed potatoes with brown gravy, dumplings, pinto beans, greens, biscuits and cornbread. Plus watermelon rind pickles, my secret obsession. I've had better--these were hardly spiced at all--but they didn't come from a can. When I'm retired I'm going to make my own.

The dumplings were supremely rich, tender and irresistible. A cross between my mother's and my own from the red-checked cookbook. The chicken was definitely better than any from a fast-food restaurant, but probably not free-range; I didn't ask. The greens had a little too much bacon fat seasoning and the biscuits were not nearly as good as my own. Oddly enough, the beans were excellent--and for no reason. There was absolutely nothing special about them, but they were tender and flavorful and somehow exactly what a pinto bean should be.

The pitcher of molasses on the table was promising, but it turned out to be blackstrap, not sorghum. In the old days people had sorghum, I'm sure of it. Even in Texas.

All in all, we enjoyed our meal but I wouldn't venture out of my way for it. But if you happen to be a person who was raised on real home cooking and don't know how to make it for yourself, go for it.

I'd suggested we might go another 17 miles east to check out Martin Dies Jr. State Park and try to see some alligators. But during our drive to Woodville, the front had started to come through. The national Weather Service forecasters had decided a tornado watch was in order for that area of east Texas, so we headed back to camp. The wind appeared to have picked up a little during the drive, but only when we hit the road along the lake shore did we see whitecaps and know we were in for trouble. Jumping out of the warm truck wearing a light hoodie, thin pants and sandals was an eye-opener to me for sure--






Yikes! 






The temperature hadn't fallen much--yet--but the wind was knock-down icy.  Whitecaps dotted our lovely lake and waves were lashing the sides, shooting spray over the walkway. 

The gulls had mostly disappeared although a few hardy terns still patrolled the waters. I love terns! Any bird that will plunge headfirst into moving water has got to be a superhero!

It was an afternoon fit for hunkering down with a good book...or in our case, a recorded episode of How the West Was Won and a knitting project. So after doing the dishes, which I'd put off on the previous day because it was just too nice outside to stay in and wash dirty dishes, I unraveled about six rows of my knitting and redid them. There's a technique to swapping colors in the middle of a row without causing holes in the finished project, and I'd forgotten it.

Knitting is oddly addictive--you just keep saying, "I have to do one just more row before I stop," and it can never be just one. But eventually I stopped, bundled up in coat, gloves, hood and hat, and took Zack for a nice long walk.

 It wasn't so bad once I got out in it, but of course there wasn't a bird to be seen.  A couple of campers were just pulling in, poor things. Imagine doing hookups in a twenty mile-per-hour wind with temperatures in the forties and falling rapidly.

(But imagine their happiness when hookups are done and they can retreat indoors!)Although I would note that later on at our bedtime walk Zack and I noticed a pair of intrepid individuals had started a campfire. (in a sheltered spot, so not unsafely)  That would have been nice, too.

Sunday at Lake Livingston (December 15)

                                        There's a fine line between fishing and standing on the shore
                                                                                                                      like an idiot.
                                                                                                                  -Steven Wright

The plan was to eat a quick breakfast and get on the lake. We succeeded...except we didn't stay on the lake. The wind started picking up, enough to keep us moving even in the sheltered cove that seemed best for fishing, and the trolling motor wouldn't work. With our old boat we would have tried an anchor, but an anchor won't hold a big behemoth like the bass boat. And we didn't even think to try tying up to a tree. Ed fought the trolling motor tooth and nails for nearly an hour and gave up.

It was nearing time to move our campsite, anyway. I took a jog over to the new site and found that the previous occupants were gone and the camp host had already affixed a label for our reservation. So there was no reason to wait--we moved at about noon.

After that we didn't know much what to do. We'd planned more fishing, but without a functioning trolling motor, what was the point?  I ate some lunch while Ed went to swap the windshield stickers for the two vehicles with the ones for the new campsite, and he also fixed the headlight on the truck. Then it was either sit there and vegetate, or go hike the boardwalk trail to the bird blind. So off we went.

Someone had clearly expended a lot of time and energy in building and maintaining the boardwalk, but the bird blind was abandoned. The windows didn't have glass in them, no one had put out seed or turned on water even though there were hoses and hookups available. What's the deal? Houston Audobon Society, you have let me down.

Zack enjoyed the one mile walk but he lagged a little on the way back and had to be carried. Other than the tiny bit of exercise it gave us, it was a waste of time.

After that Ed wanted to help me find the American Pipit I'd spoken about, so we drove to all the shore stops and walked around a bit, but there wasn't a bird to be seen. Does Kenn Kaufman have days like that? Somehow I doubt it.

There was nothing else to do but go back and vegetate. I guess we could have taken out the boat and just tootled around exploring the lake, but for some reason we didn't think of that. Probably too disappointed about the new toy malfunctioning.

So instead, I took a long walk through the picnic areas and campgrounds around the lake shore. Twice. I heard a kingfisher but never saw it. There were cormorants of course, and Great Egret, and on the lake near our campsite one lone duck. Just sitting in the water alone. I checked the bird book for the "Lone Duck" species but couldn't find it. He was probably out of range.

Note to readers: sounds boring, but remember--a bad day birding is better than a great day at work. Unless your work is birding. Then it's a conundrum.

Most campers had left--oh, how I love Sundays! The campground was quiet and really rather lovely, however birdless. Since our new spot had a lakeside exposure and a great view of the setting sun, I sat outside, munching on peanuts and enjoying the sunset. It was nice.

Lake Livingston Day 2 - Saturday

(December 14, 2019)
I got up pretty early (Ed the early bird was up at first light) and found that the campground was at least one-third empty. What the heck? The reservations website said there were only two spots free!  Lacking wifi, I didn't double-check the reservations page to see if they'd all cancelled, but it's something to consider another time. I didn't even think about asking at the gate if we could change.

Here Mammoth finds itself caught in an evil snarl

And here's the ugly side of camping where all the wires and hoses go, seldom phoographed:




By the time I'd gotten a yawn and stretch Ed had discovered that the MicroSD card was too high capacity for the Garmin--it needed to be 32GB or less.  Back to Walmart we went. There we endured a painful situation at the electronics counter. There was a lady attempting to purchase a laptop that was supposed to be in stock, but the clerk behind the counter couldn't find it. After examining every laptop box in the case twice and making two trips to the stockroom, she was about to go back a third time when the customer finally gave up and left with nothing. Why would a person ever shop there instead of buying online or at a real electronics store? We were only an hour from the Houston suburbs. Poor lady.

We weren't so smart, either--after our first ten minutes waiting we should have insisted the clerk call for a manager to help out. A manager could at least have assisted the other customers waiting--we weren't the only ones. But, like sheep--or at least people who didn't want to drive to Houston that morning--we waited.

And then rewarded our patience with a McD breakfast and a flock of pelicans on the way back!

While Ed installed the SD card (it worked after he adjusted some settings), I went for a jog but got distracted by a small bird calling in the buses. I never saw it, so I added five minutes to my jog for stoppage time. Then I took Zack for a walk. In the small trees behind our campsite, I saw the crest of a ruby-crowned kinglet!  How cool is that? 

When Zack and I finally got to the waterfront I spent a while watching a bird that was almost certainly an American Pipit. At first it was just one bird, and I took note of the streakiness, the size and shape, the walking, and especially the tail wagging.  Later I saw there was a whole flock of them...but were they all the same or just a coincidence that they were flocking together? The book says they're found in flocks.

 I left them and went on back, assuming I'd see them again and maybe get a picture.

The park had been well maintained and developed with lots of trails, level campsites, and clean restrooms. But I didn't like it was much as I have other spots we've visited--not enough birds!

By the time Zack and I returned, the boat was ready and off we went. Zack got to go too, in his cage. It wasn't too hot for him, nor too cold, and the water was very calm. A bass boats like ours is nearly unflippable at the speed (idle) we were moving. Taking Zack was as safe as it was ever going to be.

The lake was beautiful but awfully built up with houses around most sides. Lake o' the pines is prettier. There appeared to be an island in the middle.  There wasn't a lot of elevation around the lakeside, maybe four feet at places, but there were some spots where the water was fifty feet deep, close to shore. At one point I noticed a 60 foot depth.
HERE
So now I know where it goes when I toss a spitball into the creek behind my house. From my creek (the East Fork of the Trinity River) it flows into Lake Lavon, through the dam and into and Lake Ray Hubbard. After that dam it floats along while the creek joins up with the other forks, then it meanders through East Texas going mostly southward and ends up in Lake Livingston. And there I saw it floating along.

It goes on south to Trinity Bay and Galveston Bay, then swirls out into the ocean and away. But I didn't get to see that part.

After a long time exploring around and learning how the Garmin fish finder worked, Ed chose a likely spot for fishing. Unfortunately, the new trolling motor wouldn't work. It had worked at home. Ed fooled with it for a long time while I tried to fish but couldn't--we kept drifting away from the good spots.

After a long while, mysteriously the trolling motor started working. We then tootled along the lake for a while experimenting with the live-scope display on the Garmin. It's highly cool, but highly complicated.  We did hit a few trees under the water--scary! But at trolling motor speeds it was not dangerous. We fished but didn't get any bites at all.

I saw gulls and terns and a few cormorants. Some terns were large, almost as large as a gull, with the black spot on the eye. Dare I put down a Forster's Tern?  Whenever the terns got a fish, gulls attacked and tried to steal it away.

Then for a while we watched a really big, chunky water bird. Huge beak, longer than its head. Long, spindly legs. We never got close enough to know for sure, but on retrospect, I decided it was simply a Great Blue with his neck tucked in. Not impossible; just unusual. Maybe he wasn't feeling good.

There were also a bunch on those shorebirds that totter--spotted Sandpiper. I didn't get a good enough look to be sure.

We made steak, skewers and potatoes for supper. Which is a heck of a lot better than Taco Bell at its best. Ahhhh!

Mammoth Moves South. Ish.

Lake Livingston State Park, with boat
Friday, December 13 - Tuesday, December 17

US-75 South to SH-190 East; I-30 West to I-635 South; I-45 South to US-190 E, FM 946 S, TX-156 N, FM 222 N and FM 3278 E to State Park Rd 65 in West Livingston.

1. Planned distance: 264 miles
2. Map time estimate: 4:18
3. Adjusted estimate: didn't calculate
4. Actual distance: forgot to check
5. Actual time:  didn't check, but the return trip was about 4:40 with two stops
6. On way out, gas stop in McKinney; on return trip gas stop on the way to Huntsville and pee stop at rest area on i-45
7. Average mph trip: unknown

The year was waning and day length decreasing, so I chose "South" for our next direction of travel. Ah, the sunny south!  Not to mention Ed's new toys--he had his new trolling motor and live scope to play with, so we needed a destination with a nice, sunny lake to explore.

For reasons I do not recall, I chose Lake Livingston, near Houston, as an appropriate site, and started looking for campsites. The best ones were reserved for all Friday and Saturday nights in the near future, so I made a 2-night reservation at a site that wasn't in a great location, then added another 2-night reservation at a prime site right on the water.

Our plan was to leave as early as possible on Friday, but that soon fell through. Installing the trolling motor and Garmin Live Scope took all day Thursday, and on Friday morning when Ed finally got ready to test out the Live Scope it refused to complete its software updates without an empty USB device or a Micro Sim card. We searched the house for something that would do, and finally found a sim card--but we first needed to back up the pictures on it. When that was done, Ed inserted it with great expectations...and the Garmin refused to accept it. He gave up.

After that he took the boat and truck to fill up on gas and that took a short century. I had time to organize the RV and put the sheets on the bed while I waited, plus take Zack for a walk and clean up the kitchen. It turned out that there was construction on highway 380 and they had it closed down to one lane eastbound--a fill 'em up trip that normally took fifteen minutes ended up taking forty.

He had decided to hook up the boat in the church parking lot, so I went there to wait while he took Mammoth for propane. When that was done, we hooked on the boat but we still needed diesel. The best place for that was just northeast of town--but that would require us suffering through the construction on 380 again. So we detoured north on New Hope Road and guess what? Construction.  It was down to one lane with a guide truck making the circuit. We discovered this after turning onto it, of course.

After a few bangings of head on steering wheel, we made it through, got diesel and headed south for a pretty smooth drive around Dallas--until the huge backup getting on I-20 west toward I-45 south. That sort of thing is normal for Dallas so we weren't surprised.  Eventually things calmed down (and sped up) but my brain was in overdrive--we'd gotten started so late that it seemed impossible that we would arrive before dark. My brain made a lot of desperate calculations and concluded that if we didn't have to stop again, we wouldn't.

So with only a small cup of water to drink and a tiny bag of trail mix, I called Ed and determined that we both had enough gas to get there. That was going to have to be enough. Drinking and bladder relief was going to have to wait.

Traffic was heavy with a constant stream of cars headed to Houston, but otherwise the drive was boring. Very. I don't remember it ever being any more boring.  Of course I was driving a huge Ford F250 and looking in my rearview all the time, making sure I didn't dart around across lanes and leave Mammoth blocked in by slower traffic.  It wasn't like I had time to gaze at the scenery. If there had been any.

Our arrival was smooth and the sun had barely set.

We'd arrived!

...but we discovered that the best overflow parking for the truck was a good way away from the camp site. There was another, closer parking lot but the attendant warned us that it was more isolated, with no one to watch our vehicle. So? It was a beat up, fifteen-year-old pickup--who was likely to bother it?  I volunteered to go park it while Ed did the hookups.

I hopped in, consulted the map and drove off...and discovered I couldn't see the road in front of me.  (Okay, I could see well enough to not hit trees. But I couldn't read a single sign or portent.) I circled the camping loop and turned onto the road--in the exact wrong direction. A road opened out to my right and I took it, thinking it might be a shortcut, only to find myself in another camping loop. At the end of that loop, I turned right again and found myself at a dead end facing a huge pile of compost.

After a dainty eight-point turnaround, I switched on the inside lights and carefully examined the map.  I needed to go back to the front gate (left turn then right turn), pick up the boards we'd accidentally left behind (wheel stops while swapping the boat from RV to truck), then go left, straight, and take the second right. It was absurdly easy--especially after I realized that when I put the headlights on high beams I could actually see where I was going!  The left headlight was out, as I discovered after parking.

It was nice to know that I wasn't going blind after all. The walk back to the campsite was easy after my eyes adusted while waiting to let some deer cross the road. Only their eyes reflected my flashlight beam--all eyes and stick bodies--ghostly in the dark. I switched off the light and let them pass in front of me.

It was getting on to seven o'clock by then and neither of us had any interest in cooking. Plus we still needed that MIcroSD card for the Garmin. So I suggested taking a quick drive to the Walmart in Livingston...and by the way, my phone said they a Whataburger!  Yes, dear, we're still in Texas!!!

They also had a Taco Bell right in front of the Walmart. Back at the RV I had plenty of refried beans, Picante, tortillas and extra tomatoes. All it would take was a bit of lettuce--and we were at a Walmart with groceries--to make a delicious taco salad and a bean burrito for myself.

But no--I am a child of the seventies. Fast food is my destiny. My fondest memory of freshman year college is eating lunch every Friday with my brother--at McDonald's. After a week spent eating dreary cafeteria food from a meal ticket, I gave myself a treat:  McDonald's filet-of-fish, fries, and a diet coke.

So the question of whether or not to stop at Taco Bell was never a question...but this one turned out to be severely disfunctional. There were at least seven cars in line and each took at least five minutes. If we'd noticed this before we were trapped between barriers, we'd have jumped the curb if necessary to get away from the torture.

But when we were safely back in our cocoon with Ed's Whataburger and my Taco Bell, we were satisfied. It was a nice evening. I couldn't fall asleep, of course, but that's normal for a first night out camping. I've learned that no matter how long I lie awake, eventually I'll drop off and it will be better next day.  So don't sweat it--sleep will come. Someday.

Murder and mystery and chef's knives

The Chef's Secret
by Crystal King

There were many conflicting reviews about this book, which I know because I pre-screened it very carefully. I was thinking it just wasn't my cup of tea--in medieval Rome a nephew inherits his uncle's recipes, chef's knife, and a tall stack of handwritten journals that he is instructed to "burn without reading." Long passages in the journals are in cipher.

Of course he chooses to ignore the instructions. You'd have guessed that from the title. But I'd never have guessed exactly how very much I would enjoy this book!

One of of the criticisms was, "I didn't like any of the people." Well, I liked them!  I thought they did stupid things, of course, but that didn't make them unlikable. Another was that the guy didn't decode the journals quickly enough. Bah! I say. He explained several times how time-consuming the process was and he did have a life to carry on aside from that. Another that he didn't safeguard the recipes well enough--that one I'll allow, but it was only a stupid mistake. And finally a reader chided the author about the sex scenes being too detailed, with a warning not to leave it on in the car when you stop for gas. (Tee, hee)  But that is trivial--they weren't so very detailed and sex was a major motivation for some of the plot lines.

No matter. I enjoyed it with all it flaws or features, depending on your viewpoint. It was a "romping historical mystery."  The people and situations were mostly invented, but it did have a lot of real history in it. And no vampires.

Last book of 2019

The Life of Birds
by David Attenborough

All the facts you ever wanted to know, artfully arranged in an easy to read book with gorgeous pictures. It reminds me of the old Wild Kingdom episodes, where the camera shows lots of creatures going about the business with only a light narration. Enjoyable; wide-ranging; a tad bit shallow.

You'll gain a lot of random knowledge reading this, but I can't say you'll come away with a well-filled stomach. It's an appetizer and a salad, not a main course.