FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS

Only a few months ago life was “normal,” whatever that means. We walked around without masks, hugged each other or held hands as we walked, enjoyed being close to others.

Now unless we want to chance catching the covid-19 virus, we behave nervously. It’s important to stay six feet away from anyone who does not share our home. We try to stay outdoors when possible, hoping the virus will be diluted in the air before it can harm us.

Recently I learned that my first husband has tested positive for the virus. At one time I loved him greatly, and have never wished him any harm. I hope the test was faulty and he will be well. How many others in my life will be sickened before this ends? Will I catch it myself? At the age of 82 I am quite concerned.

David Brooks, one of my favorite The New York Times columnists,  wrote recently that he could see the country unifying in response to the crisis. For once, I disagree with him. Thanks to Donald Trump, who cares only about being reelected and enriching himself further, the pandemic has quickly become as politicized as everything else in the U.S. Recently I posted some simple information on the local NextDoor site about wearing masks and keeping social distance to protect those of us who are vulnerable. You’d think I had attacked capitalism itself. I was called a virus Nazi who doesn't understand herd immunity.  Many think opening up businesses must happen immediately to protect unemployed people. Yes, they are suffering financially. For those of us who may die, the suffering is worse.

 Copyright © May 19, 2020 by Carol Leth Stone (a.k.a. RovinCrone)

ARRIVING

Over the past several years I have blogged about my travels less and less, both as a result of aging and because I haven’t been able to travel much. I’ve felt I was still a crone, but not a rovin’ one, and probably had become a boring one. Still, I do want to continue blogging and other writing for as long as I’m able. No one has to read it.

What to do? I considered starting a new blog, one that would focus on the years to come. I could call it Endgame, End of Life, or other depressing title that would hardly inspire me or any readers. Finally I started to think of the final years of my life as my chance to come full circle, making sense of my life and possibly even passing some crone wisdom to others. Making my “garden grow,” as Candide advised. So, instead of beginning a new blog, I decided to forge ahead with this one, focusing on rovin’ to my final destination. Thus this post's title, Arriving. I hoped in early March of this year to bring back some former readers and attract new ones along with indulging myself in philosophical speculation and snarky remarks about politicians.

And then, in what seemed overnight the world changed forever. We are all living in a covid-19 pandemic that may continue for years. I have been brooding about it, advising others to practice sensible rules for health, and trying to stay sane and healthy myself. I have no idea now what the future holds, but am fascinated and curious about the possibilities for good and bad. We can count only on profound change. My blog posts are likely now to be reflections of that new world view. Some readers may prefer to lurk only, which is fine, but I hope some will comment or send me emails with their own thoughts, and we can all travel toward some good place together.

 Copyright © May 18, 2020 by Carol Leth Stone (a.k.a. RovinCrone)

Eight weeks with no haircut! The salons are still closed.

DYING CALIFORNIA

Now I have some idea of what life must be like for refugees. No hot water, no electricity, no laundry, no cell phone service or internet access. For about a week my small town in California was blacked out by PG&E in a supposed attempt to protect the public from wildfires. During a short reprieve lasting less than a day I was in a hospital for an important procedure, and came home in pain to a cold, dark house.

For more than 40 years I have been a homeowner in California, and like millions of others have certainly sent a good amount of money to PG&E. Why did they not use their enormous income for repairs and tree trimming instead of paying high salaries to some employees and huge stock dividends to investors?

Living in this state has always been expensive, but it used to be worth the cost. Now I would go back to the Midwest if I could, but at the age of 82 I cannot simply move again. I am greatly saddened to see this once-great state turn into Purgatory.

MY 20:20 PLAN

Much as I hope the year 2020 will bring about a political upheaval, this post is not about Trump. The older I get, the harder it is to accomplish everything I need to. I know getting nine hours of sleep a night is essential for me, but if there’s a good NOVA program beginning at ten o’clock, or if I’m reading an absorbing mystery, it’s almost impossible to go to bed early. Though I carefully write to-do lists and show priorities, at the end of the day there are always some items left over. Also, I simply don’t have enough energy to do as much as I want to.

Still, I’ve worked out a plan that helps greatly. Maybe it will help you, too.

It’s called a 20:20 plan because I alternate tasks that require some physical work with those that can be done sitting down. I start the same way that many people do when they are organizing time, by writing a to-do list for the next day. (Sometimes I can also soak dirty dishes overnight or use other time-saving tricks. And, it’s nice to get up in the morning and find a schedule laid out for me.) After each item on the list, I write A, B, or C. "A" means an appointment or other task that absolutely must be done that day. Usually there are no more than two or three “A” items. "B" means something that should be done that day if possible. “C” items can be put off until another time if necessary. (There tend to be many “C” tasks.)

As to the 20:20 aspect, after breakfast I spend 20 minutes on some basic housework tasks. If the time is up before I finish, I stop! Then I sit down and read, write, or otherwise do a resting task for twenty minutes. Again, at the end of twenty minutes I stop whether or not I’m finished, and return to doing some physical task. By alternating in that fashion, in a few hours I have worked my way down the list through the most important tasks for the day. I  realize this method sounds very inefficient. Too many times, I must interrupt a job in the middle just because the time is up. However, it seems to work well for me. It’s amazing to discover how much I can do in twenty minutes, and I find that I can do just about anything for that long. Knowing that in a few minutes I can relax and read helps me get through physical work that would be impossible if continued for hours.

Like most elderly people, I hope to age in place, staying in my own home as long as possible rather than moving to an expensive assisted-living situation. So far the 20:20 plan is helping me do so.

 

 Copyright © August 17, 2019 by Carol Leth Stone (a.k.a. RovinCrone)

HAZILY RECALLING THE MOON LANDING

Fifty years ago, Neil Armstrong became the first person to walk on the moon. Most of us who were alive in 1969 remember the event exactly. We remember his “giant leap for mankind,” the photos of Armstrong and Aldrin bounding across the moon’s surface. I, too, remember it vividly, but with a bit of embarrassment.

At that time I was in Yuba City, Cal, editing the preliminary manuscript of a science textbook being written by some Yuba City authors. I stayed for long periods in the Bonanza Inn motel. On the night of the moon landing, I had a light, early dinner in the motel coffee shop before going to my room to watch the TV coverage. Curses! The set wasn’t working, and I was unable to get another one that night. Then I recalled the large TV in the bar. Certainly even the local rednecks who frequented the bar would be watching the moon landing that night.

Yes, the event was on TV. I climbed onto a bar stool and ordered whatever alcoholic monstrosity was appropriate for that time and place (probably Seven and Seven), then settled down to watch. The Apollo 11 had already landed safely, and surely one of the astronauts would emerge soon. Unfortunately, there was a very long wait, requiring my ordering more drinks. During the hours that followed, I continued watching and drinking. Finally Armstrong stepped out onto the moon’s surface! And I carefully slid off the bar stool. Walking back to my room, I looked up at the moon (or were there two?) and marveled at the idea that a human being was actually up there, and our journey to space had begun. The next day’s hangover was worth it.

Copyright © 2019 by Carol Leth Stone

ERASING THE NIGHT SKY

Elon Musk has done the “impossible” again. Now he has lofted the first of thousands of satellites that will use solar power to travel in a connected path around Earth, with the ultimate goal of enabling people anywhere on the planet to access the internet. No longer will those in remote places be cut off from the amazing amount of information found on the World Wide Web. Musk argues that disadvantaged people will be given greater access to the planet’s resources and information sharing. However you feel about the sharing or trolling this will make possible, you have to admit that this will change lives forever, and that Musk has accomplished something incredible.

Some of us are less than enthusiastic about having 24/7 access to the Net, though. In fact, we will even travel long distances to reach places where we are cut off from it. Those are getting harder to find, but parts of the planet still have no Net access at all. There, hikers, campers and kayakers can escape temporarily from the Net’s cacophony. Many such places are in the national parks.

 

With Ranger Kevin Sweeney at Lassen

 

A few years ago my partner and I did some volunteer work in two parks with Night Sky programs: Lassen Volcanic National Park in California, and Acadia National Park in Maine. We watched enthusiastic amateur and professional astronomers set up their telescopes and help novice users to scan the heavens. Children and adults gasped as they saw the Milky Way for the first time, or saw the rings of Saturn. Apps for cell phones can be interesting and helpful, but they don’t hold a candle to seeing the real thing.

Many professional astronomers have already objected to the satellites on the grounds that they may interfere with studies of distant stars and planets. Musk insists that the satellites will only be visible during limited times, and that astronomy will not be affected.  Not being privy to the details of the project, and not being an astronomer, I can’t comment on that, though I have my doubts.

What I can object to is the change in the night sky this will produce. My field is science education, and I have seen how viewing the natural night sky can motivate children (including the astronomers of tomorrow) to learn about the heavens. They need to have the sense of wonder that can be found in a lonely, Net-less dark place where they can see stars and planets the way the ancient Greeks saw them.. They do not need to see a series of satellites.

 Copyright 2019 by Carol Leth Stone

THE DISAPPEARING PLASTIC BAG

 

For many years I have made a point of declining plastic bags at the supermarket, ostentatiously piling items into a reusable bag or asking for a paper bag instead. This has enabled me to feel superior to many other customers and to think I am saving dolphins and other marine mammals. Today it is actually illegal in some states to supply free plastic bags to customers.

Imagine my horrified surprise when a recent NPR report said that in areas such as California that have banned free plastic bags, purchases of plastic trash and garbage bags have increased. It makes sense when you stop to think about it—most of us don’t want to drop garbage or dirty trash into the bins that are emptied weekly. We carefully package those things in plastic bags first, and if we can’t get free bags at a supermarket, we buy boxes of them instead. What a dilemma for us environmentalists!

Rather than giving in and polluting the environment with large, purchased bags, I’ve come up with a few workarounds, as follows:

1. Before shopping, I make a list. What items do I really need?

2. In a store, I carefully examine packaging. Can a spice be bought in a glass or paper container rather than a plastic one? Can soft drinks, in aluminum cans rather than plastic bottles? Can I buy large economy sizes, minimizing the packaging per unit item?

3. On the way out, I use a reusable nylon or canvas bag, keeping in mind that it must be used many times to pay its way as a replacement for a plastic bag. Some items, such as large oatmeal containers, can be carried to the car by hand or in a supermarket cart. No plastic bag is needed.

4. At home, I remove any wrappings (preferably made of paper) and set them aside to be used as small trash bags. Yes, these are a bit more awkward to use than large plastic bags are. I simply think about those videos of dying aquatic animals and do a little more work. It is rather surprising to see how many small  bags are available this way. Unavoidable wrappings of large packages of toilet paper or paper towels, sanitary pads, prepackaged fruits and vegetables, and many other items can provide bags for trash and garbage.

Though this seems like a very small contribution to the environment, if enough of us follow these steps rather than using large plastic bags, we can make a difference.

Copyright 2019 by Carol Leth Stone

 

WRITING A COZY MYSTERY

No-sweat writing.

 

Have you always wanted to write a cozy mystery, to be another Agatha Christie? Of course you can! Simply take your laptop into the nearest Starbucks, turn on a word processing program, and follow this outline. In each section, circle your choice of words. In an hour or so, you will have written a modern cozy that will bring you fame and fortune.

A.     Your heroine is named Maggie/Kelly/Annie. She has left a glamorous career in New York/San Francisco/Los Angeles to return to her hometown. (Describe her wardrobe.)

B.     Maggie/Kelly/Annie adopts a dog/cat/raven.

C.     Maggie/Kelly/Annie opens a bakery/book shop/coffee shop. (Recipes are optional but desirable.)

D.     Maggie/Kelly/Annie meets a tall, handsome lawyer/teacher/writer. He lives in a high-tech modern apartment/a restored Victorian house/a houseboat. (Add a mild sex scene.)

E.      Maggie/Kelly/Annie meets a woman rival/business rival/customer who seems strange.

F.      Maggie/Kelly/Annie finds a body in an alley/in a closet/on the beach.

G.     Maggie/Kelly/Annie argues with the stupid local police chief.

H.     Maggie/Kelly/Annie cooperates with her aunt/her business partner/the police chief to solve the mystery. She realizes the person in Section E is guilty.

I.       Maggie/Kelly/Annie follows the murder suspect and is hit over the head/threatened with a knife/threatened with a gun.

J.       Just in time, Maggie/Kelly/Annie is rescued by one of the above.

K.      End of story.

L.       Preview of next story, which will follow the above pattern.

 

Print the result. Glance at the printout to make sure it has no coffee stains on it. Do not hire an editor! Editors will destroy your unique style, and will even expect you to pay them. Instead, you can easily edit it yourself. All you need to do is to let the spellchecker and grammar checker automatically  make any changes necessary. Or, you can ask your friends to make helpful suggestions. Finally, you can have it self-published rather than deal with rejection letters and other annoyances.

Copyright 2019 by Carol Leth Stone

 

THE JOY OF BEING A WOMAN IN HER EIGHTIES

A recent article by psychologist Mary Pipher (“The Joy of Being a Woman in Her Seventies,” The New York Times 1-12-19) extolled the happier aspects of being a septuagenarian. I agreed with her in general. Certainly the seventies are a time when women have weathered many storms successfully and reached some goals. For me, my seventies were rewarding years of travel, writing, and (for a time) living off the electrical grid in a forested area of northern California. It was a life I never could have imagined when I was younger.

As that decade wore on, though, my health declined and I became unable to continue some activities. Now that I am 81, I sometimes feel sad about some necessary changes in my lifestyle. (Does anyone use that word any more?) I can walk for only short distances, and use a cane. I need my electric blanket and microwave oven. I can’t drive after dark. I don’t try to write about biology, because too much has changed in that field in recent years.

It’s tempting to feel some self-pity about these differences in my life, but there’s no point in doing so. Also, there are many positive aspects of being an octogenarian:

·       I stopped dieting several years ago, and eat for health rather than weight control.

·       My wardrobe consists mainly of tees, sweaters, and pants from Lands’ End® and other reasonably priced stores, worn with sensible shoes.

·       There’s no pressure to keep up with the times unless I want to.

·       Remembering stupid or thoughtless deeds of my own, I’m quite tolerant of other people’s.

·       Realizing that I may not live too many more years, and that some old friends and enemies are dying or very ill, I find it easy to drop old grudges.

·       Sleeping nine hours is a necessity for me, and I don’t feel guilty about sleeping in.

·       It’s a joy to connect with old friends in person or on the Internet.

·       I’m finally reading or rereading books that have sat on the shelf for years. As my memory declines, I can even reread mysteries without remembering “whodunit.”

·       Not wanting to waste much of my remaining time on housework or yardwork, I have hired help with it, just as I did when working and caregiving.

·       Luckily, I can still do some traveling in the RV. Unlike most forms of travel, it provides the comforts an octogenarian needs.

A LETTER TO SAFEWAY

Readers, please note: the new url for this blog is https://rovincrone.blogspot.com.

When I bought groceries today, I suddenly realized that there is more plastic than food in the store. Though I am not optimistic about influencing BigGrocers, there's always hope. So, I have sent the following letter to Safeway. It will be interesting to see if they respond.

 

Ever since moving to California in 1980 I have been an enthusiastic Safeway customer. You have consistently provided nourishing, tasty foods at affordable prices, as well as toiletries, detergents, and other household items. During the past few years you have also added organic foods that are good for customers and for the planet. Thank you!

In walking through my local store today, however, I was suddenly struck by an overwhelming amount of plastic everywhere. In the produce section, individual portions of salads and other vegetables are displayed in plastic containers. Unwrapped produce is accompanied by plastic bags also; they could be replaced by paper bags. (I bring my own mesh bags that I bought at a natural foods store. Why don’t you sell these bags to encourage people to use them?)

Moving on to other parts of the store, I saw still more unnecessary plastic. In most cases, it was easy to think of good alternatives. Plastic bottles of vinegar, oil, and so on should be sold in glass bottles, which are easily recycled. Small portions of foods are attractive, but they multiply the amount of plastic used.

Cartons of many foods are made of plastic rather than cardboard. Foam containers used in the deli could be replaced with lightweight cardboard cartons like those traditionally used for Chinese carryout. Meats are sold in plastic packages instead of being wrapped in paper and tied with string. Instead of selling water in plastic bottles, you could sell water from a large dispenser that people would use to refill their own bottles. Wax paper can substitute for plastic in some cases.

Please don’t write me off as a crazy environmentalist. Most people today want to protect marine mammals and protect the environment in other ways, but we are busy. Shopping around for the best choices is time-consuming, and too often we just buy whatever is easily available. If you can use less plastic in your offerings, customers will buy them effortlessly and will appreciate your contribution to a better environment. Please consider my suggestions. Thank you.

Can the good guys win?

Tomorrow is Election Day, and I’m worried. Trump himself is not on any ballot, but his supporters are seeking to win elections as governors, senators, school superintendents, and right down to the town clerk level. They realize the importance of organizing at the grass-roots level. If they want to force all of us to accept the alt-right, racist, anti-choice way of life, they have chosen the most effective way to do it.

Donald Trump is surely the worst president in our history. He may not be the most wicked (I’m not entirely sure), but his tweets and other far-reaching lies have reached far more voters than the messages of any other president have. And his narcissistic, materialistic attitude has been accepted as admirable even by people who should know better. Evangelicals should be emulating Jesus, not Trump! Silicon Valley workers should use logic to assess his statements about science. Middle-income taxpayers should realize that temporary tax cuts will only lead to worse conditions for everyone.

We liberals have begun to fight back, but we tend to tell the truth rather than deceive voters, which puts us at a disadvantage. Meanwhile, the MAGA group continues to besmirch Hillary Clinton long after she lost the 2016 election, to pretend that wretched immigrants fleeing terrible conditions are an imminent danger to the U.S., and to allow the EPA’s environmental standards to be lowered by denying scientific studies of climate change. Though I prefer to set the truth bar higher than they do, I have to admit that their despicable methods are effective. I hope fervently that there will be a Blue Wave tomorrow. However, it is all too likely that hatred and stupidity will win.

 

ON SECOND THOUGHT . . .

On Hurricane Ridge in Olympic National Park

So much for not blogging! Since saying goodbye to readers in my last post, I have thought of too many things to rave or complain about, and blogging is the easiest way to do it. So, the RovinCrone is back.

During the past few weeks my partner and I have spent most of our time in Washington state. Though it’s not all that far from California, we have been here only a few times. We just made up for it, and will certainly return again if possible.

Because he can handle RV travel much better physically than I can, he went on ahead, traveling up through northern California and along the Oregon coast. When he reached Seattle after a couple of weeks, I flew there to join him. An old friend from high school lives in Yakima, and she flew to Seattle at the same time and took us to lunch. Now, that’s friendship! It was wonderful to see Connie again after several years.

The next day my partner and I went into the city, which is very challenging in an RV, even in our relatively compact Winnebago View. The hills alone make driving difficult, and the heavy traffic adds to the problems. However, by holding back some broken branches of a low-hanging tree we were able to park in one of the few available street parking spots in the Space Needle area. There are no lots that can accommodate RVs! Though there are dozens of appealing museums in the city, we had to choose one in order to make our escape and find a place to stay for the night. Our choice was the Chihuly Garden and Glass exhibit,  which combines Dale Chihuly’s wonderful huge glass sculptures with living plants. At $23 each for old fogeys, it’s pricier than most museums, but well worth it. This was our splurge for the trip. (We always allow ourselves one per expedition.)

Following a night in a casino parking lot (during which I managed to be drenched in a rainstorm after getting lost in the maze-like casino and not having my keys with me), we drove to Anacortes, the home of some fellow View owners. Carl and Karen very generously allowed us to stay in their driveway for three nights. And what a driveway! Anacortes is on Deception Bay in Puget Sound,  so  the view from the driveway is stunning. It’s a birder’s paradise, too. Only a few minutes after arriving we saw a bald eagle and other birds. The whole Puget Sound area is one of the most appealing parts of the United States. Victoria, B.C., is right across the water, so we could have visited Canada on the same trip. However, one  of us (who will not be named to protect his guilt ) had neglected to bring his passport. Canada will have to wait for a future visit.

We had expected to drive from Anacortes to the Olympic National Park by retracing our route through Seattle, but learned that we could take a ferry from Coupeville to Fort Townsend, shortening the trip and sparing us another horrendous drive through Seattle traffic . We are both ferry fanatics anyway, so this was a no-brainer. The ferry for us and the View cost only $44 in all, a bargain. Luckily, the recent rains let up on that day, so we had a very enjoyable thirty-five minute ride across a bay.

Olympic National Park, like all the national parks, should be on every bucket list. Much of it stretches along lakes or the ocean, but the highest parts are up in the clouds. (One mountain is suitably named Mt. Olympus.)  We spent several days in the park, traveling counterclockwise around the perimeter. Hurricane Ridge is at 5240’ but seems higher because of the steep topography. And, it is as windy as the name implies. Glaciers can still be found here. Sadly, they may be gone in our lifetimes. The Heart o’ the Hills campground is a simple but comfortable place to stay, just a short drive below Hurricane Ridge.

Continuing around the park, we stopped at the Sol Duc River to watch the salmon run. It is fascinating and inspiring to see the fish jump over and over to reach a higher point in the river. Some of them are knocked back by hitting rocks, only to regain strength and jump successfully upstream.

On the Pacific Ocean side of the park, we almost despaired of finding a campground, as “the season” was ending and everything was closing down. Then we stumbled on the South Beach campground, where there were flush toilets (but no sinks, which seemed odd) and we had a site right on the beach. We spent two nights there, leaving only because the trip couldn’t last forever.

At the southwest “corner” of the park is the temperate rain forest I had long wanted to visit. Strolling along the Maple Glade rain forest trail, we saw huge ferns, six-foot curtains of moss dripping from tall trees, bracket fungi, and other rain forest plants. I can no longer walk far, so I was truly grateful for this half-mile easy trail.

All in all, this trip was an extremely good one. As I grow older and deal with declining health, I appreciate travel more and more, and hope this will not be our final RV journey.

Copyright 2018 by Carol Leth Stone

SIGNING OFF

For the past few years I've satisfied the urge to write by blogging as RovinCrone. It has been enjoyable in many ways, but the time has come to stop. I'm interested in trying a different genre and have a limited amount of time and energy for writing.
To all who have commented online here and by email, many thanks. I've greatly appreciated your messages.

GET A PICTURE OF THAT!

Photographers at Yosemite Falls

Too often when my companion is driving and I am peacefully looking out the passenger window he will suddenly shout, “Carol! Get a picture of that!” Of what? I look around wildly while searching for the camera or cell phone. By the time I figure out what he is looking at and aim a camera at it, it’s too late for even a grab shot. I’m chagrined, he’s annoyed. Sometimes he simply snatches the camera from me and takes a photo himself, while driving at 55 mph or so. This is not a good solution.

Taking photos on the run just isn’t that important to me. I do enjoy carefully composing a shot occasionally. Most of the time, though, I prefer enjoying the experience, or taking time to sketch a plant or animal.

Last summer we organized much of August around seeing the total solar eclipse on Aug. 21. It was a wonderful experience, and I managed to get a fairly good photo of it. However, just as it reached totality, others around me gasped. At the time I was trying to compose my photo. I suspect that I missed the full “diamond ring” effect, and wish I had simply watched in awe as the eclipse proceeded.

Can my attitude be taken too far? I have a good friend who is a world traveler. She comes back with tales of taking safaris and climbing  mountains, but without any pictures except some scenic post cards. She wants to concentrate on looking and experiencing rather than on taking photos. I wonder if she ever tries to recall some past trip and wishes she had used a camera rather than on relying on her memory. Like most people of our age, she must have memory lapses! Also, I would really like to see some photos she has taken herself rather than purchased.

Most tourists seem to rely heavily on photos. Busloads of camera-toting Asian tourists are a cliché, and every scenic overlook or art museum is clogged with people taking selfies and scarcely seeing anything but themselves.

There must be a happy medium. From now on I will try to make sure a camera is within easy reach, so I can at least make an effort to take quick photos. However, I will also insist on enjoying the views, not waste a lot of time on photographing them.

Copyright 2018 by Carol Leth Stone

 

 

LAST STOP BEFORE TAHOE

Tourists driving from Sacramento or the San Francisco Bay area toward Lake Tahoe often take Route 50. They pass through Placerville (a.k.a. Old Hangtown), then along an area called Apple Hill, filled with many orchards and vineyards. Apple Hill is extremely popular in the fall, when city folk bring their children to stroll through the orchards, sample a wide variety of apples, and buy pies and donuts. So popular that the highway may be crowded in September or October.

Before getting low on gas or groceries, Tahoe-bound people are apt to stop in Pollock Pines. It has everything they are likely to need before starting the beautiful but long drive to Lake Tahoe.

At the west end of town, they can take Exit 57 from the highway, the exit that leads to Pony Express Trail. Yes, this road actually is part of the historic nineteenth-century trail used to deliver the mail by young riders on horseback. Near Exit 57 is one of the original stations, now enlarged and converted to a restaurant called Sportsman’s Hall. Many other stations between St. Joseph, Missouri, and Sacramento survive, but mostly as ruins. Here, you can have a meal while surrounded by photos and artifacts of the trail. (It’s not for foodies, though. The menu is basic meat and potatoes, plus some good pies and pastries.)

Either by going back to U.S. 50 or by staying on the trail and continuing east for a few miles, you can reach the east end of Pollock Pines (Sly Park Rd., Exit 60 from the highway). Along the way on Pony Express Trail are two good motels, a Best Western and the Westhaven Inn. In what passes for a downtown, visitors can shop at a Safeway, a CVS, several small restaurants, beauty shops, auto supply stores, and gas stations. Note: The gas is a bit higher priced here than in Placerville, back 15 miles to the west, but it’s a long drive to the next station! A charming branch of the county library (open Tuesday through Thursday only) and a post office are useful stops for some visitors. Public restrooms are found in the stores and restaurants.

About six miles south of town on Sly Park Rd. is a large reservoir called Jenkinson Lake. Nine campgrounds here have spaces for tents and RVs. Fees for single-vehicle sites range from $32 to $80 a day.  Popular with both tourists and locals, the reservoir offers boating, kayaking, and hiking. You can look at the lake and check the weather on a webcam [http://www.slyparkweathercam.com/] hosted by local realtors.

Once past town, and fortified with gas and food, you can begin the magnificent drive uphill to Lake Tahoe along the American River. Or, you may decide not to leave but to buy a home and settle down, as I did several years ago. Like me, many elderly people choose to retire here among the huge pine trees.

 

Copyright  © 2018 by Carol Leth Stone

 

                                                                                                                                                   

AVOIDING ADDICTION

 

Nearly a year ago I began having pain and weakness in my left arm. As I have advanced osteoarthritis, some pain is never surprising, but this worsened. A doctor prescribed a low dose of Norco that relieved the pain for a while. Then it returned. In the hope of strengthening my arm muscles I spent a month in physical therapy, but the pain continued. I continued taking Norco, then switched to Percocet, a stronger painkiller. Eventually an MRI showed a completely torn rotator cuff tendon and damage to the underlying bones that would require a shoulder replacement. Getting in appointment with a surgeon, scheduling the surgery, and getting clearances for surgery from various doctors took months; during that time I continued taking Percocet for the increasing pain.

Both Norco and Percocet contain opiates, synthetic derivatives of the opium found naturally in opium poppies. (The similar term opioid refers to both the natural and synthetic drugs.) Norco and Percocet also contain acetaminophen, the nonaddictive drug sold as Tylenol. The opiate in Norco is oxycodone, that in Percocet is hydrocodone. Both are prescribed routinely for pain following athletic injuries and surgeries.

As everyone knows now, the United States has an opiate epidemic. People who begin taking the drugs for pain can develop a tolerance for them, craving higher doses to be effective. They become addicted, taking the drugs not just to control pain, but also for insomnia or for generally feeling euphoric. Opiates are widely available and surprisingly inexpensive. (Having Medicare Part D, I have never paid more than a few dollars for a large supply.) Teens who want a high from drugs may simply raid Granny’s medicine cabinet to get a supply.

Short-term effects of opiates include sleepiness, pain relief, and euphoria. These result from the release of large amounts of dopamine in the brain. Dopamine is a chemical that links brain cells chemically and is responsible for desire and general feelings of happiness. Though those effects can be positive, dopamine can also lead to unpleasant side effects such as nausea, paranoia, and extreme drowsiness. Like alcohol, opiates can interfere with the ability to drive. When I was taking Percocet, I felt rather sleepy and stupid much of the time. Simple arithmetic and memory tasks were hard for me.

Long-term effects of opiates comprise constipation, abdominal bloating, vomiting, and damage to the brain and liver, as well as dependence (inability to feel well without the drug). Dependence can continue to addiction and to further increase in need for opiates.

Even addiction to Norco or Percocet can be serious, but if a person goes on to use the most potent opiate drugs such as heroin, the results can be catastrophic, even fatal. Norco and Percocet are swallowed as tablets, but heroin is injected into veins.  According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC)[i], in 2016, more than 64,000 deaths were related to overdoses of opiates and related drugs (mainly Fentanyl).

After my shoulder surgery I received another vial of Percocet for the pain that followed. Not wanting to become an opiate addict, I cut back to the milder Norco after a couple of weeks. Now, five weeks post-op, I take only one Norco tablet a day, and am gradually cutting back even more. I often treat pain with ice packs, Tylenol, or a small glass of wine. As the healing proceeds I will soon be taking no opiates at all.

Though the outcome has been good in my case, I think it could have been better. Mild painkillers like acetaminophen or aspirin can control mild pain. (Large amounts of acetaminophen can cause liver damage, however.) Some people can benefit from cannabis or acupuncture. Ice packs or meditation are even better. If the opiates had been expensive, I would have been less likely to use them often. (I also have to take a very expensive drug for a pancreatic disorder, and am careful to buy only the minimum amount needed!) Medical providers and the DEA could benefit patients and have an effect on the opiate epidemic by heeding these suggestions.

                                                                                                                                                   

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[i] https://www.drugabuse.gov/related-topics/trends-statistics/overdose-death-rates; accessed 3-14-18.

A DANGEROUS GENERATION GAP

I’m tired of hearing accusations by the elderly and by Millenials that the other group is hogging all the resources. My group (I am 80) is the frequent target of attacks on “entitlements.” Having paid for Social Security and Medicare for all my working years, I do feel entitled to use them now that I need them. They are not welfare! I’m also concerned about medical insurance in general. When I was young, healthy, and childless, I paid premiums that benefited the elderly, the sick, and families. How dare younger people object to helping me now?

Millenials have their own financial problems, of course. Tuition, even at state universities, is beyond the reach of many families now. (My family was extremely poor, but they managed somehow to put me through an excellent private college back in the fifties.) Competition is fierce for jobs that enable even well-educated young people to earn enough to buy homes and start families. For those with little formal education, life can be very hard.

It may seem at first that the divisions between the elderly and the young are simply a result of a shortage of resources.  Not everyone can have a bigger “piece of the pie.” However, the United States seems to have enough money to cut income taxes for wealthy individuals and corporations, to spend billions of dollars on military adventures, even to build an enormous wall between our country and Mexico.

How has the split between the “haves” and “have-nots” grown so wide? When I was a child, there certainly were wealthy and poor people, but there was an enormous middle class that had comfortable but unostentatious homes, enough food, and access to good educations. Today, in driving our RV around the country, I've seen huge areas where people are living in shacks or in tents under bridges, and other areas (often surrounded by high walls with locked gates) where elaborate homes are crowded together. What I think of as a middle-class home is quite rare.

In the years after World War II, many affordable suburban communities appeared, allowing returning G.I.’s to achieve what was then considered the American Dream—a house with two or three bedrooms, one or two bathrooms, and a small yard. (I have lived in both Park Forest and Daly City; those communities are still very livable today.)

Today, developers instead construct gated communities of very expensive homes that have few of the parks and other assets families need. They remind me of medieval fortresses.

On the other hand, our growing homeless population (including some of the Millenials and some of the elderly) cannot find decent places to live. People who have graduated from college and just entered the work force may be crammed into apartments or houses with many others; old people may end up in substandard nursing homes.

A country that can spend billions of dollars on a wall to keep out Mexican immigrants could invest much more on simple affordable housing, tuition grants, retirement communities, lower cost medical care, and other things that would benefit all age groups. The growing resentment between the elderly and the young is unnecessary, and we need to work together instead. We must resist our common enemy.

CHECKLISTS ARE VITAL

We moved forward only a few inches--just far enough to get off the leveling blocks! But that was enough. There was a sickening crunch as the opened compartment door hit a post. The repairs cost thousands of dollars.

We are experienced RVers, and there is no excuse for making a mistake like that one. We began kicking ourselves for not adhering to our checklist, which of course includes making sure that all the outside doors are closed before even turning on the ignition.

The NPR program The Hidden Brain gave a great example of failing to use every item on a checklist: in 1935 a Boeing plane nicknamed the “flying fortress” crashed and burned, killing two pilots, because the crew had neglected to check every item on their checklist.[i] Incredibly, the control lock had been left in place.

True, checklists can be boring. In my years of editorial work, I got very tired of making a huge chart for each project and listing all the trivial steps that had to be followed between a manuscript and a book, but those charts saved me from making many mistakes, and I should have remembered their value.

Strangely, the things people forget are obvious steps. In proofreading books, I never overlooked a misspelling or misuse of an unusual word, but several times I failed to notice some problem with a simple word. Our brains tend to see what we expect to see.

One item people often forget to check is the TV antenna. Many times a tidied-up RV will pull out of a campground with the antenna extended. We try to chase the driver down but are not always successful. The results are probably not pretty.

Many RV websites contain valuable checklists. Every owner needs to choose the relevant items from those lists to create a computerized document that can be easily revised as needed.

Most important, the checklist must be printed and followed just before each trip (or before moving off the leveling blocks, as we discovered). No checklist is useful if it is sitting on a computer.

 

 

 

 Text copyright 2017 by Carol Leth Stone.

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[i] https://www.npr.org/2017/10/30/559996276/the-trick-to-surviving-a-high-stakes-high-pressure-job-try-a-checklist

 

The Hidden brain is Hosted by Shankar Vedantam.

THE OTHER SIDE OF LIFE ON THE ROAD

For many of us, the RV life is a series of pleasure trips. We travel for a few weeks or months, economizing as much as we need to, then go back home for a while. We catch up on paying bills, doing laundry, returning library books, and other tasks. We upload photos of our travels onto Facebook, and print them for albums. My partner and I include the details of our travels in a possibly annoying annual holiday letter, also. It’s all a rather enviable life.

One subset of Rvers, full-timers, stay on the road nearly continually. Those I’ve met have fairly large rigs that make traveling easier. They may be equipped with washers and dryers, elaborate equipment for barbecuing, and other comforts. Full-timers usually establish an address in states such as Texas and Florida, where taxes are low. Their mail is delivered to those addresses and forwarded on to wherever the full-timers are staying for a few days. When questioned closely, they usually admit that they have some furniture and other possissions stored at a relative’s home or in a self-storage unit. In some sense, they have roots.

For some others, though, life on the road is not a choice. For a variety of reasons, they have no permanent homes. They live like nomads, following the sun or opportunities for work. Jessica Bruder has chronicled their lives in Nomadland, a rather frightening description of what it’s like to be “houseless,” if not actually homeless. Most of this group live in vans rather than real RVs, which means they have no bathrooms or real kitchens. They are on the move continually, as they are not allowed to overstay limits in campgrounds (when they are even lucky enough to be in a campground rather than in a Wal-Mart parking lot or other temporary spot). Bruder prepared for her book by living as a nomad herself for a time, befriending many of the loosely knit community.

Though the nomadic life has a certain romantic appeal, especially to the young and to environmentalists, Bruder demonstrates how difficult it is. These are not retirees who don’t need to work, and employers take advantage of them. They may take temporary jobs as “workampers” at RV resorts or in warehouses. The jobs are physically demanding and pay little; they also tend to disappear at an employer’s convenience.

Those of us who have a more comfortable RV life may find ourselves looking down at those living in worse circumstances, but it is all too easy for someone in the middle class to slip down the ladder. A few years ago, a study showed that more than 40 per cent of Americans would find it impossible to come up with $400 in an emergency. They live paycheck to paycheck, and have no savings to draw on. I have personally experienced the effects of catastrophic medical costs on those who thought they had done everything right. As Bruder shows, Nomadland may be the geography of the twenty-first century for many.


Text copyright © 2017 by Carol Stone

RECYCLING ON THE ROAD

It’s so easy at home—every two weeks, at an ungodly hour on Thursday morning, an El Dorado Disposal truck picks up my yellow-lidded recycling can. The fee seems high for my single household, but I am allowed to recycle glass, plastic, newspaper, magazines, junk mail, and aluminum. On alternate weeks, I can put out a yard-waste can filled with grass clippings, small branches, and other yard waste. The only real trash goes into a nearly empty small cart for weekly pickup.

On the road, it’s a different story. We do keep a shopping bag in the shower for aluminum cans, but there isn’t space for plastic and glass, to say nothing of newspaper. (I do try to read newspapers at libraries or online when possible.) Sadly, I must throw away (but there really is no “away”) far too many items that might be recycled.

The NPS does have containers for recyclables in their campgrounds, and kudos to them. Occasional state or county parks provide for recycling, also. Private campgrounds, though, usually do not. Far too many bottles, cans, and other containers end up in landfills.

Availability is only part of the problem. I’ve seen bins clearly labeled as “bottles and cans” used for garbage. Why do people do this? Are they hostile to anything hinting at environmentalism? I don’t think they are illiterate, as simple pictures are on most containers.

Perhaps those of us who care about the environment should complain more. If KOA and other offending campgrounds realized that they are losing some campers by polluting the environment, it might have an effect.

SPOTTING AN RV

There seem to be as many ways of directing an RV to turn or to back up as there are drivers. We observed two women spotters recently who demonstrated the extremes. One, a dignified European, held her arms rigidly, almost like a toy soldier.

 

The other, an American, danced gaily from side to side.  Both techniques were entertaining, and effective with those drivers, but I couldn’t help wondering what would have happened if spotter A had tried to direct driver B, or vice versa. Would driver A have gone over a cliff? Would driver B have screeched to a stop unnecessarily?

All is well when the driver and spotter are in sync. It’s a pleasure to watch couples who work together with carefully preplanned gestures. When the spotter points to the left and holds their hands six inches apart, the driver moves the rig six inches to the left. When the spotter holds their hands up, palms forward, the driver immediately stops. And so on. The rig is moved or parked quickly and efficiently, with no shouting or swearing.

 

 For some reason, we find that harmony difficult. When spotting,  if I am behind the rig and point to my left, my driver is likely to yell, “Do you mean the driver’s side??” (Well, of course I do! ) When I hold my hands up to tell him to stop, he may decide I mean something else, and blithely continue moving. Then there are the times he insists he can back up perfectly well without my getting out of the rig. Those are the times that it turns out there is a rock behind the tail pipe, or there is some other unforeseen problem. (Why are men so stubborn about this issue? Women may be irritated by getting too much direction, but we don’t usually ignore it.)

 

It’s even worse when I drive and he directs me. When he runs a finger across his throat, what on earth does he mean? Stop? Reverse? Give up? When he points to the left, am I supposed to turn the steering wheel to the right, or steer the rig toward the left? Too often, no matter who is driving, we end up screaming at each other rather than parking intelligently.

 

Fortunately, we usually cooperate in other ways. Though the galley can get crowded, we have gradually learned to slide past each other or take turns with the space. Before starting out he checks the exterior while I do the interior checking. He does the tasks that are physically too demanding for me, and I work at the computer that baffles him. Perhaps in a few more years we will even learn to spot in accord, too.

Text copyright © 2017 by Carol Stone

Photos copyright © 2017 by Thane Puissegur

 

BEING A GROUCHY OLD ENVIRONMENTALIST

Smoky sunlight filtering through redwoods

Driving through the Avenue of the Giants along the northern California coast is an awe-inspiring experience. Ancient coast redwoods reach hundreds of feet into the sky. Even today, when the  temperature has reached 100 degrees and the air is filled with smoke from nearby wildfires, this place seems like a cool, quiet cathedral.

We stop at a grove to enjoy the view and walk, and I notice a young man wiping out a saucepan and tossing the contents onto the ground. Was that a paper towel? Disgusted, I tell him to look for a trash container. He comes up and waves a package of baby wipes in front of my face, saying, “Look at the label! Biodegradable! Don’t be so judgmental!” I am too astounded to answer. Does he think “biodegradable means “vanishes instantly”?

We drive on until we see a sign advertising a drive-through redwood. I’ve seen only photos of those mutilated giants, and am curious enough to stop and see the real thing. It’s interesting in a horrible way. How could anyone ever have destroyed a magnificent redwood so that cars could drive through it? We go on.

Later, we chat with a grandfatherly man who recently took a whale-watching tour out of Baja, and proudly shows us his video of people petting whales that had come up to the boat. I ask hesitantly if touching the whales and allowing them to approach the boats is allowed. He chuckles at my naiveté and replies, “Oh, those Mexicans don’t care!”

Well, I care. I’m tired of people who have no respect for the plants and animals that share our planet, who think their litter is OK if it takes a relatively short time to degrade, who endanger the earth their grandchildren will have to live in. Yes, I’ve become an old grouch, and I’m proud to be one.

Text copyright © 2017 by Carol Stone

Photos copyright © 2017 by Thane Puissegur