Geocaching gremlins grab GPS giving Gerri gross grief

A catastrophe struck in Yuma - one so traumatic that I pushed it deep back into my psyche. Only now can I face it. I lost my GPS’r - my handheld location finder, my geocaching tool. Without it I’m not a whole woman. There was only one way to save my sanity - I had to get a new one. I scouted the shops in Yuma after checking online to see who carried them. They’re usually found at sporting goods stores rather than electronic shops which usually just stock auto navigation units. But I went everywhere and all I found was a really basic model. It just wouldn’t do.

Then a light bulb (a theoretical one) went on! Months before I’d read about the new Garmin Colorado handheld which did absolutely ‘everything’ and more. I coveted it but how could I justify spending more than $500 when my Magellan Meridian was a pretty top notch unit…….but with it gone, I could now have the Colorado. But what to do in the interim? Not many shops stock it and to find one would be almost impossible. I knew I could order it online and I even found one merchant who was selling it for almost $100 less. I had to have it - it was imperative………. but we won‘t be home until April.

Aha! We would shortly be visiting our friends, L&J in Las Vegas and when I asked them if I could have it shipped to their address, they kindly assented. I had my order in and paid for within minutes and a week later, it was delivered. It arrived in Las Vegas three days ahead of us.

Bargain buffets bulk up bodies…….


I don’t know what Laughlin would do without the snowbirds, who flock to the casino parking lots and boondock. They might have free parking but most of them pay their way at the slots which are clanging and ke-chugging away from the onslaught. The buffets provide almost every meal. Laughlin casinos hand out 2 for 1 coupons for their ‘all-you-can eat’ extravaganzas. They’re ridiculously cheap before the additional discount - $5 or $6 for lunch and $8 or $10 for dinner. You can’t make a meal that cheaply. So I broke my golden rule and we had a buffet lunch at a different casino each day (for 3 days). It seems my frugality won out over my abhorrence of buffets. I made my usual mistake - I can’t seem to put a decent meal together - a little of this and a little of that makes for a hodge podge of flavours and nothing goes together. I would much rather have a meal prepared for me and served to me in a proper portion.

There are a lot of choices on where to boondock in Laughlin. Harrah’s at the far south end of the strip is a little off the beaten path; the River Palms high on a bluff affording boundless views but with the necessity of driving everywhere; the Tropicana which seems to be the most popular & is the busiest but RV’s are crammed in tightly; the Riverside had lots of space and the river walk was easily accessible and that’s what we chose. The breeze wafting down the Colorado River was appreciated as the temperature shot up each afternoon. The mercury soared to about 88 degrees F but then dipped again down to a much more comfortable 72 degrees F. It was pretty quiet and we got a spot right beside the river walk with a view over the river to Bullhead City. However, late at night, the chatter and laughter from the night owls strolling along the river walk was a bit aggravating but once we were asleep, they didn’t disturb us.

Fernie’s favourite poker room is at the Edgewater Casino so every afternoon he’d disappear for about three hours leaving Caesar and I to our indolence. No great wins for him overall - he does better online. There’s not much to keep me occupied there without my GPS, so I window shopped at the outlet centre and strolled the river walk and read a book. I really miss geocaching.

Luscious, lascivious, luminescent Las Vegas


Las Vegas is only a hundred miles north of Laughlin so we arrived there about 1pm after a late start gassing up, dumping and watering. Our friends J&L (AKA L&J) welcomed us to park in front of their house. They live on a short, wide and quiet street so I don’t think Maggie caused a problem with the neighbours.


As we pulled in, the landscaper was just pulling out. J&L had their lush lawn torn out and replaced with a rocky desert landscape, much easier to maintain especially with the amount of travel they do. The city of Las Vegas offered a rebate of approximately one half the cost. Water is such a precious commodity that they’re willing to reward those who conserve..
“But you didn’t get rid of all the lawn” I said pointing to the thick emerald patch in the centre.
“It’s artificial - Astro turf” they chorused, pleased that I couldn’t tell the difference. I immediately spread out on the turf and announced I was the first to do so. It was amazingly soft and seemingly authentic. Not to be outdone, J sprawled out too. As an elderly neighbour lady said on her evening stroll “It’s just like a park!”


So, we plugged Maggie in, pirated a neighbour’s strong unsecured Wifi signal and settled in. The weather during the week emulated the stock market in its volatility. Pleasant when we arrived, it disintegrated to clouds, high winds and even rain for a couple of days but returned to the usual sunshine and warmer temperatures. One night after we’d been in bed for a few hours, we were awoken by the wind battering Maggie unrelentingly and wildly swaying the palm trees in a wide arc creating a loud rustling and swooshing sound through the long dry fronds.


Each day, we celebrated ‘happy hour’ with margaritas some days, ruby or cranberry vodka tonics others and sometimes just wine and beer. It’s not just the Bobs that lead us astray or perhaps, it’s us - perhaps we lead them off track……hmmmmmm! Dinners were always together; a couple of nights L&J prepared dinner; another night we brought in barbecued chickens and made a salad; the other nights we dined out. We went back to our ‘regular’ haunt, the Cortez Room at the Gold Coast. J&L took us there the first time we visited them five or six years ago and we’ve gone there every year with them since. It’s a touch of old fashioned Las Vegas with the big curved booths and prices that have gone up little over the years. Unbelievably, dinner for four with a litre of chardonnay came to $70 - and that was prime rib for two and Chicken Cortez for the other two with salad, warm bread and all the fixings.


In the daytime, Fernie and I would go off geocaching - - - Oh yes! My GPS - my Garmin Colorado arrived at J&L’s and it is such a wonder. It is a learning experience though….every night I’d tinker with it and learn what it could do. It’s taken geocaching to a whole new level. YIPPEE!


A glorious sunny morning beckoned us out to Red Rock Canyon - only a half hour west of our Las Vegas abode. Earth caches are like virtual caches where there is no hidden treasure but they are all about natural phenomena. The circular route around Red Rock Canyon was riddled with earth caches which made us hike, climb, seek and learn. It was exhausting but fun and interesting.


Of course, a couple of days on ‘the strip’ were mandatory as was a visit to the ‘Gambling Store’, Fernie’s paradise where he picked up two books he’d been looking for. Las Vegas Boulevard (the Strip) is ever evolving. This year, the Palazzo a blah addendum to the Venetian had recently opened. Other than the huge faux Lalique statue of a couple of well padded female forms, it was not memorable. The Wynn has developed a mirror image by the name of the Encore which looks to be close to completion. The Aladdin has completed its transition to Planet Hollywood; the décor is art deco and is well done - big improvement. I was disappointed at first to see that the Desert Passage shops had been ‘art deco’d’ too but was pleased that they maintained the Arabian desert theme further back. But the most exciting of all is the huge work in progress between the Bellagio and the Monte Carlo. Finally, they’re filling in that long barren space with MGM’s Civic Centre. It’s a massive development of many buildings and I hope it’s complete by our next winter’s visit. A series of virtual geocaches led us along the Strip from the Welcome to Las Vegas sign all the way to downtown. It was a fun way to see it differently.


Note from Fernie: Surprisingly, there are lots of 2-4 Texas Holdem tables on the strip, whereas most native casinos have scrapped them for 3-6 and 4-8.


J&L loaded us down with additional goodies that they’d gleaned from casino giveaways - a pasta cooker, a set of square lock’n’lock plastic containers, a battery operated screw driver, a set of four coffee mugs with ceramic spoons and spoon holders in the handles and the best of all - a canister of pastel jelly bean Easter eggs - I just can’t stop nibbling them.



I didn’t spring for any shows this year. I was really tempted to see Bill Maher on whom I have an unlikely crush - it’s certainly not his looks that attract me but his opinions which usually agree with mine, his candour and his brilliant mind. He was playing at the Hard Rock - cheap seats were $45 and good ones $95 plus booking fees but he was only appearing on the 13th and 14th and we’d already made plans.


The week flew by and J reminded us as we were leaving to watch for a ‘cheapie’ cruise that the four of us could take together…..not the Caribbean or Mexico or Alaska…..maybe if that ‘28 day around Australia’ one drops it price………That’s how we met J&L on our 28 day around South America journey in 1998.



Dry distant desert days ………

We looked forward to some desert boondocking where we could veg out reading and writing for a few days. We drove west from Las Vegas to Tecopa where there’s some beautiful high desert BLM lands open to boondockers. First we stopped to dump in Tecopa and an old fellow in bib overalls and plaid shirt sauntered over to chat. A set of shiny stainless steel cutlery peeked out of his chest pocket ready for his next meal.
“So, you’re from Canada?” he asked rhetorically “I was born in Canada and lived from the east coast to the west” he continued “I rode the rails across the country in the thirties - - I’m 91 you know”
I gasped because I took him for 75 at the most. His smooth apple-cheeked face exuded a smile which displayed his gappy worn down teeth.
“That’s my trailer, over there” he pointed to an old dented green one parked in one of the county campsites. “I come down from Utah in November and I stay until the end of March - only $205 a month to park here and I get to go in the hot springs every day any time I want. Them springs cost $5 each person every time you goes otherwise.”
“Do you drive down yourself?” I asked amazed at this old geezer.
“Well, I did ‘til I had an accident - last year” he said sadly “they took away my license - but my daughter and her hubby drive it for me now.”
“You gotta go in them hot springs “ he carried on “Some folks go for their rheumatism and their bursitis but I got none of them things - I go because I like it.”
He chatted on with barely a stop for breath.
“I rode a horse down to Bella Coola in the forties” he told us “with two pack horses behind - now that was a journey” he grinned nostalgically. Bella Coola is on the mountainous coast of British Columbia and today it’s an extremely steep mountain road to access it - not for the faint of heart. I can’t imagine what it was like in the forties and on horseback. What an amazing 91 year old!


The BLM lands known by locals as Dodge City sit high up in the wide valley only a few miles out of the town of Tecopa affording a vista almost unimaginably stunning. That’s where we camped and the nearest other trailer of which there were only two was a half mile away. In the vernacular of those younger than us “It was totally awesome!” We spent the first day as planned - a couple of prone vegetables. That night the moon was full and so bright it cast our shadows on the desert floor as we took a stroll before bedtime - it was magical.

A bevy of geocaches in the area organized our proposed foray into the desert realm. Caesar was walked, the car was loaded and I was ready to go when Fernie suddenly doubled over in agony. “Oh no! what more can go wrong with him” I fought off a panic attack - after all, there was nobody else around. I had to be the strong one. I thankfully found out it wasn’t chest pain that crumpled him but more like his gall bladder attack only he doesn’t have a gall bladder any more. I made him pop an aspirin anyway, even though I didn’t think it was his heart. It’ll be my heart that gives out if he continues panicking me like this. We couldn’t help but think that if it were gallbladder related, we have no medical coverage for it now - we’d been warned by BCAA Medical that after the surgery’s follow up appointment for stitch removal nothing else concerning his gallbladder would be covered. So the decision was made on Fernie’s insistence. “We’re going home”. The pain abated slowly but it didn’t disappear and we left the wild open desert and drove back to civilization staying the night at Bakersfield. So instead of four glorious days in Dodge City then two more in Amorgosa at Marta Beckett’s Opera House and a few more idyllic days in Death Valley, it was galloping up Interstate 5 towards home. It just wasn’t worth the chance of Fernie needing hospitalization without medical coverage. Talking to our daughter, Tracey the following day, we were somewhat relieved to hear that she’d been told by her surgeon after her gallbladder removal that sometimes gallstones remain in the ducts and pass later - I‘m not sure where they go???. Hopefully they wait until Canada to pass.

Fiesta of food fuels feeding frenzy……

March 2 - 10, 2008
Two of our closest friends, the Bobs flew down to Palm Springs for a five day winter sojourn. The younger of them is not yet retired (poor guy) so that’s all the time they could afford. We cheerfully anticipated the change of pace their visit would bring and I promised myself I wouldn’t veer away from my healthy eating pattern - - - easier said than done; those two are gourmands and the temptations became irresistible.

We pulled out of Yuma just as a sandstorm percolated and it worsened as we drove west; the freeway became a ‘yellow-out’ (as opposed to a white-out). We crawled along with little visibility and sudden blasts rocked poor Maggie and sent her veering off to the shoulder. We closed all the hatches as the smell of dusty sand parched our throats and tickled our noses. What a relief when we turned north and the storm abated. As we skirted the Salton Sea, the sky was blue again and only a ripple of wind marred the surface of the lake. We planted ourselves for the night at the Fantasy Springs Casino and when we found we’d lucked into a strong Wifi connection from the adjacent Holiday Inn, we didn’t venture out that evening at all.


While in Yuma, we were bombarded by leaflets promising ‘five days and four nights free camping’ at a membership RV Resort. “Just allow us to show you a 90 minute presentation” - the usual timeshare come-on. We had intended to perch at the Morongo Casino just a few miles outside Palm Springs for the time the Bobs would be in town but we figured we could afford an hour and a half to stay at a swanky resort - something we just don’t usually do. We chose the Desert Pools in Desert Hot Springs and Fernie made a reservation.

As we pulled in to Desert Pools about 10:30am, we were amused at the participatory groups huddled together at different play stations - men only at the horseshoe pitch, women only doing water aerobics in the swimming pool, others playing tennis and badminton, and folks riding by on their bicycles and golf carts waving a hearty ‘hello’. It all looked like a well-staged advertisement in its robotic Stepford community way.
“We’ve slotted you in for your 90-minute presentation on Wednesday at 11:30am” chirped the perky hostess who signed us in and allocated our RV site. She gave us a pile of info sheets and brochures and warned us “Now, don’t miss the lasagne dinner tonight ----- you’ll find your weekly program in here; it‘ll give you all the details”. If one participated in all the fun and games, you’d be busy from morning to night.

When we first pulled in to our site, it seemed alright but there were two empty sites either side of us. Later on when they filled up, we had our first taste of staying at a cooperative community where RV’s are parked ‘cheek by jowl’ with no privacy; with window open, we had to speak quietly so we wouldn’t be overheard by our neighbours. We took a stroll around later on and were shocked to find we’d been placed in the ‘premium, more spacious sites - as potential purchasers of their expensive memberships. Many of the spots were so small that RV slide outs were only a couple of feet apart and their rear bumpers almost touched each other. “Did we partake in the myriad of games, events and amenities?” Well………No! we’re not really the pickle-ball type (Actually, I never did find out what pickle ball was). We only participate in such stuff at family reunions. I guess we’re loners; we prefer to be geocaching or hiking in the mountains or sightseeing.


“Call us at noon” we’d instructed the Bobs, figuring Maggie’d be settled in and we’d be ready to explore by then. So we waited and waited but no phone call. Tired of waiting, we headed into Palm Springs hoping to find them at their hotel.
“You just missed them” drawled the lone desk clerk intent on watching a video on his TV set “they went out to lunch - they tried to phone you”. The phone hadn’t been out of our possession so we guessed they’d got the number wrong. Oh, well! We knew their habits so we wandered down Palm Canyon Drive looking for a ‘patio’ restaurant of which there were many . Eventually, just as we expected, there they were in a canopied swinging booth on a palm tree shaded patio, beer, wine and tapas spread out before them. We quickly slid in beside them, ordered some drinks and nibbled on their tapas, happily whiling away a couple of hours while we caught up on each others’ news. The binging had begun.

Normally, I wouldn’t have been allowed into their small hotel; it’s a men only, clothing optional facility. But the Bobs were the only guests - so in I went announcing “Woman aboard” to the man on duty, just in case he decided to shed his clothes but he seemed unperturbed and went back to watching his video. We sat under the palms beside the pool and planned out our week - with a bottle of wine, of course.


Wining and dining is the top priority when we’re with the Bobs and my diet went out the window. Good thing they were only with us for four days. Last November when we travelled together for two weeks, I put on five pounds. We were ethnically diverse in our meals - Spanish tapas, Thai cuisine, Italian, a Manhattan deli and a great little bar for half price martinis one evening and half price premium wine the next, paired with gourmet flatbreads. Between meals and happy hours; we visited The Living Desert, a combination cactus garden/wildlife sanctuary; we soared up Mount Jacinto in the aerial tram from desert to the snow topped peaks; we packed a picnic lunch and toured through Joshua Tree National Park.


Wednesday morning was the dreaded ‘90 minute presentation’. As the meeting wasn’t until 11:30, we decided to do our laundry arriving at the Laundromat just before 8am, tossing our stuff into three of the four machines. A couple of minutes later, a miserable looking husband/wife duo came in and grunted audibly about us using all the machines. Now - do you think anyone would dare to that in a public Laundromat? Arriving back 25 minutes later to transfer our clothes to the dryers, I was glared at by the dour woman and she shoved in front of me before I had a chance to pickup my basket of wet laundry and she started shoving her clothes into the machine. “Excuse me” I said “I can’t reach my basket”
“Hrmph!” she snorted but I ignored the nasty tone and reached across her for my basket, angering her further. We tossed all our clothes into the dryers and when we returned 40 minutes later there were a trio of unhappy, complaining women waiting for us ----- we grabbed our still rolling clothes out and headed outa there. Who needs this grief! I wonder what it is about this lifestyle that appeals to the masses.

“Hi, I’m June” said the authoritative fiftyish woman as we sat waiting for our ‘90 minute presentation’ and the subsequent hard-sell. A strong handshake and a toothy smile warned us that this was our ‘vulture’.
“Have you enjoyed our park?” asked June
“We really haven’t seen much of it” we answered
“What about the pool?”
“We haven’t seen it yet”
“Did you enjoy the dinner?”
“We didn’t go to the dinner”
She looked perplexed.

“Did you fill out the questionnaire?” she asked and we passed it to her. She beckoned us to follow her into the ‘Presentation’ room. Reading over the multiple choice survey, she looked puzzled and asked “Now I’m wondering - - - why is it that you’re here?”
The questions had three options:
A - very important
B - somewhat important
C - not at all important
Out of twenty questions, we’d only marked one as important “Pets allowed” and one as somewhat important. The rest of them such as pot luck dinners, pool games, bus trips, full hook-ups, group sightseeing, and so forth we’d marked as ‘C’ not at all important. So to answer her honestly I said “We were bombarded by people handing us the flyers and suggesting we try it”.
“But, I don’t understand - you’ve marked most of these questions ‘C’.”
“We are boondockers” we answered “we enjoy the outdoors, the freedom and the space and our motor home is self-contained and solar equipped”.
“I don’t want to knock your lifestyle but when we retired with our RV, we wanted comforts and amenities - hot water on demand and a pounding shower, organized events, social encounters. We didn’t want to ‘rough’ it.“ She sputtered.
“I don’t want to knock your lifestyle, but we couldn’t stand the lack of privacy and wouldn’t participate in organized games and trips and we do manage to shower daily” I returned pleasantly. “We’ve noticed throughout our years of travelling the world that there are some who insist on 5 star hotels and restaurants and organized bus tours while we prefer the B&B’s and local eateries, meeting the locals and wandering the back alleys - this is somewhat the same and this is just not our bag”
Five minutes had passed and she got up “I think we’d be wasting each other’s time if we continued” she said and I nodded agreement. “Well, enjoy the rest of your stay” she said as she ushered us out - a total of seven minutes.
YIPPEE! I guess I handled that right - honesty is the best policy ………. And we were off to enjoy the day up Mount Jacinto.

7:30am what I consider an ungodly hour, we were awoken by a tittering of distressed voices. What on earth was going on? We closed the windows and tried to go back to sleep to no avail. When Fernie took Caesar out for his morning constitutional, he found out what the fuss was all about.
“There’s been an oil spill” screeched an elderly gent and the gaggle of his clones clucked their assent of the dire circumstances. Fernie hung around the perimeter of the ever-growing crowd and finally deciphered what had happened. A mobile oil-change service had neglected to tighten the oil cap on the auto he’d worked on and as the ‘lady’ owner drove out, a puddle of oil spewed from her engine leaving about a couple of cupfuls of oil on the gravel roadway. “Woe is me!”
9:30am - The Bobs were picking us up so we sat out front of our motor home in our lounge chairs waiting for them. A man and wife strolled up the road and came to a grinding halt in front of us. The frail but antagonistic man looked right at me and in an accusatory tone barked “Are you the ‘lady’ who dumped the oil?” and he pointed to a dried out streak across the gravel which stretched from our neighbours across the front of our driveway and over to my car.
I was not friendly when I replied “That was there before we arrived”
“Look, it’s right under your car” he pursued.
Fernie jumped in then….when he noticed my fists clenched ready to pop the old geezer right on his nose….and he pleasantly explained it wasn’t us. I don’t think they believed us even then. I turned my back on them - we don’t belong here!

The sporadic rain in January and February enticed the desert plants into a growth spurt and the resulting multi-coloured carpet of flowers across the desert floor in Joshua Tree National Park was glorious - purple, yellow and white predominated. We packed a succulent picnic lunch and a bottle of shiraz and puttered through the park stopping to walk among the flowers, ocotillos, chollas and Joshua trees. It was a long day and by the time we arrived back to Caesar, Fernie and I were too tired to venture into town that evening to the weekly street fair market. We’d been to it several times before so I didn’t feel I was missing anything (that’s a problem with me - I have to see it all).





It seemed the Bobs had just arrived but it was already time for them to leave and go back to work. At least their short stay kept my weight gain to a minimum. It made us realize how wonderful it was to be retired - free and unencumbered and able to travel at our whim.

Some days it seems that everything goes wrong. It’s a strange phenomenon but problems always come in multiples. It started well - the sun was shining, we were leaving the ‘prison’ of Desert Pools and we looked forward to a few days of vegging out at Corvina Beach on the shores of the Salton Sea.


I’d read about a new casino, the Red Earth in Thermal just south of Indio; it was apparently RV friendly according to their website. But we never did find it. The address took us to the middle of a terrifically grungy native reservation - no casino, just the tribal offices. Vicious looking dogs prowled freely between the multitude of decrepit mobile homes so we just cruised on by - the Salton Sea beckoned.

“Highway 111 south to the Salton Sea is closed” announced the large flashing signs and barricades didn’t even allow room for local traffic to pass.
“Never mind - there are several decent back roads through the orchards that we can take” I declared after scrutinizing ‘Streets and Trips’. But one after another were barricaded - no traffic was going south today. The main rail line runs along the side of the highway so we pondered if there’d been a train derailment or perhaps a chemical spill seeing as how they’d sealed it off so tightly. So our dreams of basking on the Salton Sea were dashed.


“Never mind” I soothed Fernie who was getting exasperated from all the driving down curvy and narrow roads. I suggested that instead we go to the Blue Water Casino in Parker on the Colorado River. Maybe a night of Texas Holdem would pacify him. We escaped through picturesque Box Canyon back up to I10 and veered northeast at Desert Centre for a pleasant quiet drive up to Parker arriving about 4pm. But the RV parking area was stacked with Toy Haulers and weekend warriors pulling ATV’s and off-road motorbikes and the only space vacant was way too far from level. Back up towards the highway, we noticed a motor home out in the desert - so that’s what we did and we had a lovely quiet evening. So as it started, the day ended - well!


Still wanting a spot to just veg out for a few days, we decided to try Craggy Wash just north of Lake Havasu and we found the ‘sublime’ camping spot - craggy hills, mountains, trees, wildflowers, space, privacy - it was deliciously perfect and we spent more time lounging, writing and reading over the next three days than we’d had since we left home. Why would anyone want Desert Pools when they could have this ‘Garden of Eden’.

Somnolent siestas satisfy sapped spirits........

“Now remember, no lifting, straining or pulling” reminded Dr. Whitman as he finished removing the last staple from Fernie’s battle-scarred stomach.
“Can I lift my little dog?” pleaded Fernie “he’s only twenty pounds”.
“Well, that’s about fifteen pounds too heavy” replied the doctor.
So, here we are again, just like 2005-06 after Fernie’s other operations - Gerri, the weakling has to do all the grunt work - hefting the 46 pound generator in and out of the compartment, pulling the cord to hopefully start it, attaching the tow car with the heavy tow bar, lifting Caesar in and out, up and down, according to his whim. My muscles are now bulging like Popeye’s.


An associate of Fernie’s from his former working life, who is also his good friend (J), suggested several times that we should get in touch with his father and stepmother who spend their winters in Apache Junction just east of Phoenix. We were hesitant to intrude into their lives, but ‘J’ insisted that we should and we emailed them prior to Fernie’s sudden crisis and made arrangements to meet. A quick cancellation was necessary when Fernie fell ill but he felt well enough the following week and so we reinstated the meet at a pizza restaurant in Mesa where J’s father plays trumpet with a Dixieland band. They were a cool and delightful couple and the music was vibrant while we nibbled on the best pizza I’ve ever tasted. We enjoyed tales of some of jazz’s former greats; we’re truly pleased that J insisted because we had a wonderful evening.

Phoenix to Yuma is only about a three hour drive and Fernie handled it easily. We pulled into the Cocopah Casino’s RV parking area and settled in for the next ten days. Our friends, P&C pulled in a few days later beside us..

Endless days of sunshine, the thermometer soaring to the high 80’s by late afternoon. The mornings were brilliant but cool and we’d venture out geocaching or swap-meeting making sure we got home by 3pm or so for Caesar before Maggie turned into a sweatbox. Afternoons were for lazing and lounging, sipping cocktails in the shade and swapping tall tales with our companions. Our relaxed laughter would ripple with the heat waves across the desert sand. Suddenly the tranquility would be shaken by a pair of low flying fighter-jets in formation or a heavy grey 4-engine bomber looking like a smiling whale from below and then the peace would return until the next flyover.

Yuma is the social hub of Snowbirdland and we enjoyed movies, lunches, dinners and get-togethers. Our social calendar was full. Academy award time was approaching so that meant we’d venture out to see a couple of nominated films. The Oscars are an ‘event’ in our household and we read and discuss all we can in advance of the ceremonies. The Coen Brothers films have long been our favourites, starting with “Blood Simple” and what we consider the peak of perfection “Fargo”. So it was only natural that we’d choose to see “No Country for Old Men”. They created terrific character profiles, the acting was fantastic and the villain with his bland expression sported polyester pants and jacket almost like a leisure suit and a June Allyson hairdo. But the standout film for me this year was 'Juno'....I loved the quirky characters, the clever script and the simple story of a young girl who didn't conform.

Grotesque gallbladder gremlins give gargantuan grief

Feb 12 to 21, 2008
While I was away in Toronto, Caesar woke up one morning with his chronically infected eye swollen and cemented shut. Fernie tried to cleanse the eye but poor little Caesar cried out in pain. So off to the emergency vet’s office they went. $237 later with a slew of prescriptions (ointment, antibiotics - 2 of them & an allergy medicine) Fernie started treatment. Caesar’s poor old eyes are so hazy now with cataracts and I think the infection made his eyesight diminish further. The following night, Fernie experienced a ‘bad case of indigestion’, which took about five hours to dissipate. I guess the two ol’ guys were missing me. When I arrived in balmy Phoenix on Monday evening, Fernie’s beaming face greeted me and when we got home, Caesar was looking and feeling much better.

Tuesday morning, sunny and warm – I sure don’t miss the weather in the north. We pulled up stakes, departed Palm Gardens and headed back over to Wild Horse Pass Casino where we met up with our friends P&C. After dinner with them at the casino, Fernie hit the poker room for a few hours and made a tidy $80 profit. So, as you can see, all was well with the world – for a few more hours anyway.

The timing was impeccable though. What if it had happened while I was away? or before I left – then I wouldn’t have been able to go. What if we hadn’t had the proximity of the casino staff? What if we hadn’t met up with our friends?


Fernie woke at 1am to pain in the right side of his chest/stomach – another bout of ‘indigestion’. The pain intensified over the next three hours and Fernie paced up and down through Maggie shaking me out of bed. The pain was now right through to his back and when I massaged it, he flinched. “I wonder if it’s gall bladder?” I said. It’s hard to feel another’s pain and Fernie was adamant for a while that it would go away, so it wasn’t until about 4am that I decided to go over to the casino to ask for help. It was creepy in the parking lot at that hour, so I drove my car over rather than walk. The casino has a 24-hour medic on staff in case of medical emergencies and I’m sure with all the old folk that visit there, he’s kept pretty busy. Tony’s area of operation is within the walls of the casino and so it was compassionate of him to offer to come to our motorhome and check Fernie out. He drove me back over in a golf cart with brightly flashing lights. We were followed by two other vehicles - security officers, who regularly patrol the property. With all the lights & racket, it’s amazing that our friends right next to us didn’t even wake up.

Tony checked out Fernie’s vital signs and other than an elevated blood pressure (the pain would cause that), all else was fine but he suggested that I should get him to emergency and he asked if we wanted an ambulance. I declined and said I’d drive him – always aware that I don’t know what our out-of-country medical insurance covers. Why do medical emergencies always seem to happen at those awful dark and dismal middle of the night hours when all seems doom and gloom? By now, Fernie was writhing and moaning and when I finally got him to the Chandler Regional Hospital’s emergency – about 5am, I needed an anti-stress pill.

Fernie was taken right in and strapped up to an EKG machine by Brian an absolutely total hunk of an intern, 6 foot 6 tall, I’d guess and right out of Grey’s Anatomy. Neither Dr. McDreamy nor Dr. McSteamy has anything on Brian. But I digress. Brian gave Fernie a pain pill, which helped a bit, but it wasn’t until later when he was ensconced in an emergency bed in a flowered nightie that they gave him intravenous painkillers. Over the next few hours, they did blood work and X-rays and finally an ultrasound.

About 7:30am, I had to leave Fernie, knowing he was in good hands, and go back to look after Caesar. I had a huge lump of stress in my chest and throat as I medicated and then walked Caesar in the early morning sunshine. I felt totally desolate. I waited until after 8am to knock on our friends’ door. When they came to the window and asked who was there, it was like I was a little girl again and I broke into tears. Yes, me – a total baby.
“Fernie’s in hospital” I sobbed and the door flew open and I was enveloped in hugs – just what I needed. P&C were my rocks – they delayed their departure for Yuma, staying on beside us to look after Caesar and give me support. The came into the emergency and kept us company during the interminable wait.

Finally, a diagnosis – “Gallbladder” said Dr. Lee. Gee, I could have told them that five hours ago.
“No stones, but full of sludge” she continued. “I’ve talked to Dr. Whitman, the surgeon and he’s going to operate”.
What an efficient process it turned out to be. Within minutes, Fernie was wheeled upstairs on his stretcher with me following. Ron, his male nurse (another hot lookin’ dude) primed him with what was about to take place, followed by the anaesthetist who gave us the full routine and finally [drum roll here] the surgeon, Dr. Whitman.

A tall and heavy-set, light-skinned African American with an elegant demeanour, strode majestically into the room. He looked more like a linebacker than a doctor but I noticed when he shook my hand that his hands were silky smooth and his manner was gentle, informative and calm. His skullcap was bright and multi-hued in an African motif – yellow, green, red, blue, purple.
“Do I really need surgery, Doctor?” inquired Fernie, content now that the intravenous painkiller had put him in a euphoric mood. Dr. Whitman gently pressed on his right side.
“Oucccchhhhhhh!” answered Fernie
“That’s why we need to get it out – because it won’t get any better,” replied the doctor, authoritatively. Turning to me he continued, “the operation will only take a half an hour and he described the method with the four little holes and the camera and the CO2 to blow him up. “I will come out to the waiting room immediately after the surgery and advise you the status. Then you’ll wait approximately one more hour for him to be released from post-op care.” With that, Fernie was whipped away and I made my way over to the waiting room – an opulent airy area with large screen TVs, big comfy chairs, large windows, big leafy plants, a concierge offering bottled water and all overlooking the main entrance. It was more like the lobby of an elegant hotel than a hospital waiting room

Things went exactly as they promised and I was ushered up to the fourth floor prior to Fernie’s arrival. I gasped at the sumptuous décor as I walked down the hallway looking for room 463 – I felt like Alice in Wonderland after falling down the rabbit warren – this surely was the ‘Four Seasons Hotel’ not Chandler Regional Hospital. Fernie’s large private room was high ceilinged and stylishly decorated with mahogany cupboards, a tasteful wallpaper border and it sported a large TV with about 50 channels, a writing desk, a big comfy leather chair and a sofa that made into a bed, just in case I wanted to stay with him and a big private bathroom. The window coverings were upscale and the privacy curtain was in a beautiful silky material, edged with a macramé like border.

When Fernie was wheeled in about ten minutes later, his eyes popped out of his head; he couldn’t believe the opulence. “I think I’m going to be mighty comfortable” he quipped, looking as if he’d never had surgery. He stayed in the hospital until Friday morning unlike our system at home in BC, where you go in at 8am and are kicked out by 5pm the same day. During his stay, a newspaper was delivered each morning, a folder rather like that you get on a cruise ship contained a full run-down of everything he’d be experiencing and it even had a TV Guide. A ‘whiteboard’ instructed the names of his caregivers on each shift and the procedures he’d be faced with. If Caesar hadn’t needed me, I’d have probably stayed there with Fernie. Thursday evening, we sat together in absolute comfort watching Survivor on his large screen TV. I’m beginning to see why the American medical system is so much more expensive than ours in Canada.

Our out-of-country medical insurance through BCAA (AAA) was seamless but when they contacted me, they advised that Fernie was only covered for one follow-up appointment after his hospitalization. If he requires any further medical appointments concerning this surgery, we’ll have to go home. So at this point, as he recuperates day by day, we’re not sure but we assume that recovery won’t be a problem. What can go wrong? - - Infection, I suppose. We’ll run it by Dr. Whitman on next Thursday’s appointment when they remove his staples.

It’s a funny thing – I really don’t think we were destined to drive down Baja, Mexico this year. First there was my odd illness, then Caesar (who is still not back to normal) and now Fernie’s gallbladder surgery. I’m awfully glad he didn’t get sick in the rural areas of Mexico.

Terrific, tempestuous, thrilling times & a tenth in teeming Toronto

Feb 6 – 11, 2008

Gerri’s gallivanting Grandma
In her lifetime which ended around 1940 or so, my grandmother’s travels were limited to the general environs of South Wales between Cardiff and Swansea. Margaret O’Leary Bulger was an elegant, articulate and intelligent woman who was born ahead of her time, according to my mother. When she was not looking after her own family, her time was spent as a midwife, assisting young women in trouble, and fighting for women’s rights. It was no wonder that my mother admired her so highly. Apparently the boys in the family were less impressed. I guess that figures for those times when men were content to keep the status quo where the little woman cooked, cleaned, procreated and was subservient to her husband.

I was brought up with endless tales of my grandmother’s reputation and I learned early that I too should never accept a lesser role in life than a man. Hence my bra-burning years in the 1960’s. My mother was one of nine children and one of the younger ones, so it was surprising that she ended up with the oil portrait of her mother. Perhaps it was because my mother was her namesake or maybe it wouldn’t have meant much to her brothers who (except for one) escaped Great Britain as very young men and settled in Canada. My family emigrated to Canada in 1954 and Grandma’s portrait sailed with us on the Queen Elizabeth sustaining some minor damage on the journey. It was later professionally repaired.

Many years before my mother died, she passed on the portrait to me and ‘Grandma’ has graced the wall in my house for many years. I never failed to think about her and talk about her even though I never met her, as the painting constantly brought her to mind. But Grandma had a new home in her future. Many years ago, my son David elicited a promise from me that one day, she’d be his. Now with our month after month of travel and Grandma in an empty house, I felt the time was right for her to move on, so when David bought a new house in Toronto, I promised him Grandma as his housewarming gift.

Before we left home in January, I packed up the portrait in bubble wrap, stiff cardboard and a protective envelope and popped it into an ‘Out of Africa’ carrier bag for ease in handling. She remained safely tucked into the back of my closet in Maggie until my flight north on February 6th. I couldn’t take a chance on her getting out of my hands during travel – no overhead bins, no being stuffed under the seat and certainly no checking for Grandma.

On the first leg of my flight sitting in an aisle seat, I managed to wedge Grandma under my legs and I obscured sight of it from the flight attendants by keeping an open magazine across my lap – but it was mighty uncomfortable. I was glad when the three and a half hour flight to Cleveland was done and I could stretch my legs. The flight between Cleveland and Buffalo was on a small commuter plane and I sat in a single seat right at the front #1A.
“I’ll have to store your package – FDA rules” said Claudia the one and only flight attendant.
“Oh no! – you can’t” I cried and explained that it was an oil portrait of my grandmother, very delicate and over a hundred years old.
Claudia scratched her head “I’ll think about it a bit” she assured me. Ten minutes later, “I’ve got just the spot” and Grandma was taken onto the flight deck and carefully stowed in the closet behind the pilot reserved for the flight crew’s use. As we taxied in to the Buffalo Airport after an extremely bumpy half an hour flight, Claudia carefully returned Grandma to me intact.

I was so happy to pass along Grandma safe and sound to David at the airport and now her travels will be curtailed for many years hence.




Freezing, frosty and frigid
I’m always a trifle nervous when I fly north from Phoenix to Buffalo in the middle of winter.
“Will I make my connection in Cleveland?”
“Will the weather cooperate and allow David to safely drive from Toronto to Buffalo to pick me up?” and then –
“Will a storm stop David from getting me back to Buffalo for my flight back?”
“What if the US border guards give me the same problem as they did last year and frighten me that they might not let me back in?”

All seemed well as I left Phoenix and it was raining and above freezing in Cleveland so I was quite relaxed. However, as we descended into Buffalo, our flight attendant advised “Thank goodness! They just reopened the airport.” An ice storm had brought it to a halt and earlier flights in and out had been cancelled. I guess I was lucky and I was extremely pleased to see David waiting. It was 8pm and he’d left Toronto at 2pm because of the impending storm. Ice pellets were assaulting our car as we exited the airport and obviously a new storm was attacking. How amazing that they’d had that small window of opportunity between storms to allow our plane to land.

The freezing rain turned the highway into a skating rink and the traffic crawled along about 60kph (35mph) except for the huge transit trucks, which roared by us dangerously. It was a white knuckle, nail-biting ride. Portions of the highway were closed to detour around major accidents – usually one of those mad semi-trailers who’d flipped over. I don’t know how many abandoned vehicles we encountered totally turned around and facing us on the freeway – obviously overdriving the conditions. As we slowly motored on, the freezing rain changed to driving snow and the visibility lessened while the snow built up on the roadbed, pulling our wheels left and right as David struggled to stay in the tracks. No snowploughs had been through and we weren’t sure if the roads were salted or sanded – it didn’t appear so. “This is the worse snow storm that Toronto has experienced in years” ominously emanated from the radio. By this time, I was eyeing up motels.
“There’s a Holiday Inn,” I bleated but David assured me we were safe to motor on. But when I announced, “There’s a Perkins” he happily pulled off and we scoffed down one of their ‘all-day’ breakfast specials and warmed our chilly bones with piping hot coffee and tea.

We felt renewed as we continued on our treacherous journey but it took forever. When I asked if we were almost there, David replied “Oh no, that’s just Hamilton we’re approaching”. The traffic got heavier as we finally and thankfully hit the Toronto outskirts. Up ahead a slow parade of salt trucks and snowploughs blocked every lane as they prepared the highway for the approaching rush hour. It was now 2:30am. Unbelievable – we’d left Buffalo at 8pm. It’s normally a 1 ½ to 2 hour drive.

The next few days were changeable. Sunny and not even freezing, then snowing again but wet snow with deep slushy puddles and snow falling dangerously from roofs. This was followed by more snow, colder and drier and then suddenly overnight, the temperature plunged from above freezing to minus 28 degrees when the wind factor was taken into consideration. Even the sturdy, native Torontonians could be heard chiming “Brrr! It’s so damned cold”. The biting wind made me dream deliriously of returning to palm trees and balmy weather – 23 degrees C (75F) in Phoenix.

Dark, dramatic, daring, dire and delightful


The reason why. What would take me to Toronto in frigid February? My granddaughter Myffy’s tenth birthday was certainly a draw. Coincidentally, her birthday falls on the same day as my travelling grandmother’s – her great, great grandmother. But the ‘piece de resistance’ was that David had once again garnered a tremendous lead role in a musical theatre’s production of Kiss of the Spider Woman, as Valentin.

To view a musical clip of Valentin singing "The Day After That" please click on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H2t4Hm2kRks


A synopsis of the story:
In a dismal South American jail, Molina, a gay window dresser was serving seven years for approaching an underage boy in a bar. It was a set-up by the police. The dire conditions make Molina escape into a fantasy world where he participates in movies with his idol ‘Aurora’ who morphs into the Spider Woman, whose kiss will foretell death.

Valentin, a macho revolutionary is thrown into his cell, bleeding and unconscious after being tortured so he’d reveal names of his colleagues. Valentin is in love with Marta, an upper crust girl and he hallucinates about her, calling out her name. When Valentin regains consciousness, Molina tries to befriend him but Valentin is disgusted by him and his swishy, feminine ways and draws an imaginary line between their bunks warning Molina not to cross it.

Time passes; more torture; an attempt to poison Valentin by the jail staff, but Molina eats the poisoned meal and ends up in the infirmary. He recuperates and returns. A sort of friendship builds between M&V. Valentin is poisoned but Molina nurses him, cleansing him sheen he fouls himself and Molina finds himself falling in love with Valentin. More time passes; much violence and abuse from jailers but much tenderness from Molina. Valentin allows Molina to share his movie fantasies and Valentin even shares the story of his life. Friendship builds. The jail staff use Molina and threaten him that he must get info and names from Valentin or he won’t get out of jail to his ailing mother but he lies about the names.

Valentin starts to love Molina; a touch, a hug and finally a KISS. More is hinted at. The Spider Woman finally kisses Molina. A surreal movie sequence takes the play to the finale.

A very talented cast brought the story to life. David’s voice was deep, melodious and strong. There was comedic relief in this dark and edgy play, which took away the discomfort of many of the most candid moments.

The content is not what one would normally prescribe for children. The language was blue, particularly by Valentin, the depicted violence was extreme and brutal and the intimated gay sexual encounter was ‘iffy’ for want of a better word.

However, Myffy (10) and Raheem (15) who support and follow their father’s musical theatre performances, understood the content and that none of it was real and the language and violence and sexuality is just a part of that sort of life. They are amazingly sophisticated. Their seats were in the front row while David’s wife, Janet and I were further back. I tried to get some photos, audio & video footage (sans flash), ignoring the announcement that no recording devices were allowed. No one approached me as I tried to be stealthy but I heard later that the camera’s red focusing light stood out like a beacon. Anyways, I figured it was worth the potential embarrassment of being confronted.


Janet and I were blown away once again by David’s talented performance. It is such a thrill to watch him. I know that we have a biased opinion but when he sang the showstopper tune “The Day After That”, the audience exploded with applause. And did anyone wonder how I handled ‘the KISS’? Strangely, David was not David, but Valentin – a testament to his acting ability – and the story evolved so that we empathised with the characters understanding the love that built. So, the KISS was a natural progression.


We all went out to a late (12:30am) dinner after the play at a pub-style restaurant called ‘McSorleys’ but known to the family as their ‘juke joint’. Myffy bubbled over with enthusiasm as she analyzed each scene. Her comprehension was far beyond mine and she dissected each character, song and nuance. She insists it’s now her turn and wants to audition for Gypsy, which is playing in the fall. Of course, she wants the title role.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sunday was birthday party day. It was held at an electronic games parlour. The twelve girls and two boys climbed rock walls, gyrated on dance mats, sang karaoke to their favourite popular songs, played dodge ball, car racing and so on and so forth. It was exhausting watching them. After, pizza and cake and gifts galore. “What a day!” sighed Myffy when it was all over.



Myffy has obtained her first professional acting gig.....a commercial for cystic fibrosis. If you get Canadian Television, watch out for the commercial. Mind you, you won't see her and she doesn't speak. Hmmmmmmm.....what a conundrum! Well, listen closely to the coughing and wheezing. That's Myffy!
"Grandma, I got $60 for it" she told me proudly.






Before I knew it, my visit was over and it was time to return to Phoenix – to Fernie, Caesar, palm trees and sun. Sounds good to me. It was unbearably cold when I left but the sun burned off the clouds. Thank goodness I left on Monday because another major storm was due on Tuesday.